#still unsure if what was taken from him was like. an actual soul???? and if so were there two souls in him or just the one?

[evenmorecrows]

kieran is my little guy. my boy my son. maybe i Am rotating an au in my head where hes the datv protag. maybe he enters into a romance with lucanis. like father like son (his dad being m!amell who romanced zevran.) plus itd be. so fucking funny

[oddinary4bts]

Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai​ for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

                December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

                Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

                “You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

                You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

 Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

                Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

                You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

                You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

                Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

                “Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”  

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

                You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

[luxxid]

"why do you love me?"

characters : ayato, albedo, al haitham, kazuha, tartaglia, tighnari, venti, scaramouche, heizou.

warnings: tooth rotting, cotton candy fluff, gn!reader, kissing, teasing, reader being a bit too curious.

☆ ayato who gently smiles, his eyes avert to your orbs, holding intense gaze withing the depths of your pupils. "well darling, your the only one who made me feel a certain way, your the only one who showered me with the riches of love and the true meanings of life." his soft curve still drawn onto his youthful face. his hand reaches out, a gesture of warmth and comfort. he holds your warm hands in his, and you feel the love and passion between the both of you. he leers and speaks once more, "i'm glad i found you." his words linger in the air as if they were a sweet melody, and you can feel the intensity of his emotion seep into the depths of your soul. he looks deeply into your eyes and you can feel the warmth of his love reaching out to you and protecting you in his arms. so this is what true love felt like.

☆ albedo who looked up from his notes, his face showed no trace of doubt on why you were asking this question, but his mind was in question. he set the feather dipped in ink down on a piece of paper. he looked up and met your gaze, a thousand questions in his eyes. he opened his mouth to ask but no sound came out, just a faint exhale. he glanced away, his brow furrowed in thought. "what can i say? your like a white rose in a bundle of red roses." he stated, he was unsure on what to say. he paused, his eyes searching for understanding. "it's like you stand out from others," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. he cleared his throat and shifted back to his notes, a silent understanding between the two of you. his heart was thumping. oh god he loved you so much.

☆ al haitham furrows his eyebrows in response to your question. confusion runs wildly in his green spheres. "your more bearable than kaveh and anyone i've met." he responded calmly before diverting his gaze into the book he held. you were taken aback by his response, not expecting that answer from him. he seemed to sense your surprise and managed a small smile before he looked away again. you found yourself smiling in response as you realized he wasn't as bad as you thought he was. his finger tracing on lines of the pages, ocassionaly shifting his concentrated gaze to you.

☆ kazuha who gently takes your hand in his, his other hand brushing a strand of your hair to the side, "it's simple dear, i love you more than others." he speaks out like the wind, his words loitering in the air, a crimson hue powdered your cheeks, he emitted a gentle chuckle in return to your bashful form. he really loved you. really. a soft kiss was pressed onto the crook of your neck while he squeezed your hand, transporting pure love to you. his voice resonated with sincerity, pouring out love as sincere as it was deep, letting you know that his love was something one of a kind, something that would never be replaced.

☆ ajax feels as if he had stopped breathing. why would you ask him such a question? "i love you because..." he muttered anxiously, unable to end his statement. a warm hand folded against his cold ones, a forced smile returned to his spry face. "i don't know how to explain it love. did i ever tell you that true love can't be explained unless you actually experience it? it's like that." he stammered, his heart racing faster than light. only you could make him feel like this, only you. he felt his heart flutter as the realization of what true love meant sunk in, and he knew that only with you could he truly feel this way.

☆ tighnari stops in his tracks. the forest ranger was surprised by the numerous amount of questions you had up your sleeve. he turns around to meet your hypnotizing orbs. "i don't think now is the time to be asking such foolish questions y/n." he states without concern. yet, something in his guts were pulling him to give you a proper reply. he sighs, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "you taught me how to use a spade correctly, that's one reason maybe. his mind wanders off to collect words to reply your oh-so-curious question. "i love how you keep me entertained during forest ranges, just like how you did now." you blink once, twice, thrice. he slowly turns away, a small smile playing on his lips. you watch as he slowly walks away, each step growing further away from you. you really loved him, so did he.

☆ venti smirks like a madman, his soft giggles were soothing to say the least. "i love it when you lend me mora to buy wine!" he obviated loudly, "venti you still owe me 400 mora from last week-" your words were cut off by the bard himself. "uh-uh we don't talk about that windblume." a large grin present on his face. archons, he was so childish. "but i also love it when you listen to my lyre" you sighed, shaking your head. "venti, you really need to be more responsible." he chuckled, taking a step closer. "but I'm so much more fun when I'm not!" he winked, his smile widening. mhm, he was never meant to change.

☆ scaramouche appears agitated with your question, his purple optics staring daggers into yours. "i only love you because your the only one i can handle-!" he blurted out, his face was covered in a pink palette. "i don't love you because i have to," he added, the intensity of his gaze increasing, "i love you because i want to." his tone softened as he finished his statement, the intensity of his gaze fading away. he meant it, of that you were sure. his expression was sincere, he wasn't just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. a small smile tugged across his lips, of course he wouldn't allow you to know his soft facade that only appears for you.

☆ heizou smirks menacingly, almost as if he was amused by your question. "you've been a bit too influenced by me, hm? he jived, his slender fingers petted a branch of your hair, "well.. i love you because you're the only one who can understand me, even when i don't understand myself. you challenge me, never letting me remain the same and you make me feel stagnate." he spoke like a breeze flowing abundantly. his breath washed over you. "and that's why I love you," he concluded, a determined glint in his eye. "oh and i also love you for this," he added before grabbing your face towards his before moulding his warm lips against yours. oh well, seems like he's got his way.

[cuubism]

touch-starved dream in a universe where any human who touches the endless falls to ruin. 6k. E.

--

Hob had always felt that his stranger was untouchable.

He was too beautiful, for one. The kind of face you imagined when you were young and dreaming of marriage (or, less respectably, when you were young and jerking off). The kind of face that didn’t appear in reality because real beauty had flaws—that was kind of what made it real.

Hob’s stranger’s beauty was a fall of light easily dashed by a hand. Impossible to touch.

For another thing: it was a bad idea to touch him. You didn’t go around offering yourself to strange beautiful things you met in the woods (or in a tavern). That was how you ended up a not-so-virgin sacrifice, or a meal, or a soul traded for riches. That sort of beauty was a lure. That was just common sense.

Hob had never had much of that. Hob very much did go and offer himself to a strange and beautiful thing he met in a tavern. A thing which never touched him, it must be said, but only offered an enigmatic smile, and a promise of a later meeting.

And then Hob dreamed of him. In his dream they were touching, in his dream Hob pulled his long robes away from his pale, slim thighs and took him in his mouth. He touched him a lot in that dream. Lips spread over his cock, hands wrapped around his thighs, his stranger’s nails scraping over his scalp.

In 1489, his stranger didn’t touch him, though the twinkle in his eye suggested their late rendezvous may have been slightly more than a dream.

In dreams that night, Hob had him as close as two creatures could possibly be, his stranger thrusting into him, one long-fingered hand wrapped loosely around Hob’s cock, the other around his throat, and it felt strangely like approval. Like appreciation.

In 1589, Hob didn’t expect his stranger to touch him, and he didn’t.

His dreams were absent, too, but for a flash of starlight eyes, a hushed growl, the ghostly, erotic drag of claws up his spine and over the back of his skull.

In 1689, Hob wondered if, maybe, his stranger would extend a hand. He didn’t, but for the first time there was a hesitant curl to his fingers.

In dreams, Hob was held, and sobbed with the lack of shame inherent to dreaming, because it had been so long since he had been touched kindly. And the dream repeated, in subtle variations, for many years after his stranger had gone again.

In 1789, Hob thought he’d be pinned against a wall. To be bitten, or fucked, or have his throat clawed out, he was really unsure. His stranger’s gaze held teeth. Disapproval. Heat. Appreciation of Hob’s swift if unneeded defense. A war of emotions, and Hob felt appraised, wanted, derided, devoured, and would have accepted any pleasure or pain his stranger saw fit to deal out, would have taken it gladly, on his knees, over a table, against a wall. Again, his stranger did not touch him, but his eyes were hot as coals.

In their dreams, he had his stranger on his back, fucked roughly into him, and it felt like judgment. Does that make you feel powerful, Hob? But his stranger’s moans were loud and his body tight and hot and his gaze haughty, and Hob knew he was enjoying himself.

Afterward, he combed his fingers through Hob’s hair, like Hob might still be redeemable. Hob didn’t know, but at least his stranger was touching him.

In 1889, Hob tried to touch him.

Just to lay their hands together on the table. Just to say, I know there’s something there between us and whatever it is, I’m telling you that I see it. Hob reached.

His stranger yanked his hands back.

He stood up, eyes flashing. Hob understood how colossally he’d fucked up before his stranger spoke a word. Before he stormed out, taking Hob’s hope that this might be anything with him.

He had the strangest dream that night. The only one of his stranger that could not actually be of his stranger. It must have been a fabrication of Hob’s mind, that time. A way to provide himself with closure that he wasn’t going to get otherwise.

In the dream, they were sitting again in the White Horse. Hob reached out his hands, palms up. His stranger hesitated. He did not look offended, this time. He looked—afraid. And wanting.

Slowly he reached out his hands, and laid them in Hob’s. Hob tangled their fingers together. Squeezed. And his stranger smiled.

His stranger didn’t come in 1989, and Hob didn’t dream of him either, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to tell him, I won’t touch you if you don’t want. I think you do want, but it’s no matter. Just come back to me.

No matter. Hob would wait.

No human had touched Dream in many, many years. The last to try had been his captors. Burgess’s guards, as they tried to move him into his glass prison. Even with Dream’s magic bound, they had met the same terrible fate Dream had expected.

One could not look directly into the sun without burning one’s eyes. One could not stare into the swirling core of all dreams and nightmares without going mad.

The guards had clawed off their clothes, torn out their own eyes, scratched at their temples until broken nails pushed through bone to blood and brain matter and the knowing, the seeing, finally stopped.

It was not for living things to touch Dream while waking.

Thereafter the living guards had chased him with cattle prods to get him into his prison. Dream had held his ground for a long time, staring into their eyes as they coursed electricity through his nonhuman body, just to see their resolve weaken, to witness their terror. For them, he was the uncanny, the rabid dog fearing nothing, whose touch meant death. Still, they eventually maneuvered him into his prison.

No matter.

Dream was now free. Dream had his tools again, and his realm. And still he felt like that feral animal, poisonous to touch.

Worse that it was true.

He almost did not follow his sister’s suggestion to find Hob again. He did not trust himself. He no longer knew how to maintain a safe distance. After how Hob had touched him in their last shared dream, after Dream had fled from him, held his hands and later his body against his chest, Dream did not know how to keep his hands away. But he must. For Hob’s sake, he must.

Eventually, he found himself at the New Inn. Hungry. Starving. Cold. Would Hob welcome him back? Even if only in dreams?

At least in dreams, Dream’s touch could not burn him.

Dream found Hob sitting in the inn, like he had been waiting there all that while. The smile that graced Hob’s face when he saw Dream was beautiful, was terrible, for it bore the care Dream had not allowed himself to see, and the danger that care put Hob in.

And then Hob got up, and came around the table, and—before Dream could move away, or perhaps Dream just stood and watched it happen, awaited the immolation—Hob hugged him.

“No,” Dream whispered, and Hob chuckled, one arm wrapped around Dream’s waist, the other cradling the back of his neck, over his collar.

“I know, I know, you’re touchy about being touched—ha. Indulge me for a second, won’t you? I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried?” Dream repeated at a whisper, for Hob had yet to run screaming, clawing out his own eyes.

“Haven’t seen you for a hundred thirty years, yeah, I was a bit worried. Even if I can imagine you taking that long just to think something over.”

He released Dream, then, and gestured for Dream to sit down. Which Dream did, still awash with confusion, and then realized:

Oh. Hob had only touched his coat, not his skin. Dream’s clothes were made of dream stuff, and, as was true of his tools, could cause madness or eternal sleep when possessed by humans for any significant duration. But a brief touch would not harm them. Not like touching Dream himself.

Hob had not come into direct contact with him. Dream hated that he felt disappointed, and not relieved, as he should.

Hob deserved an explanation, though. At least to be sure he would not try to touch Dream again.

“It is not that I wish for you not to hug me,” he said. Indeed, he had thought of their nighttime rendezvouses often, in his prison. Hob kissing him. Holding him. As no one had for many, many years. Perhaps, if Hob truly forgave him, they could have it again in dreams.

But he would first have to explain what he was, would he not?

“You don’t?” said Hob, looking surprised, but pleased. And then, with typical audacity, he took Dream’s hands.

“Do not!” Dream’s voice cracked with power, with desperation, but it was too—

Hob was standing on a vast field of black sand. A vast, empty field, glimmering and iridescent, the sky an utterly blank white, like light shining through an empty monitor. Like a blank sheet of printer paper, missing ink. The air was utterly still.

And standing before him was his stranger.

This was not the stranger Hob had met in dreams, that he had held and bedded in sheets of silken dream stuff, or sat across from in the inn. This version of his stranger was… magnificent.

He was robed all in black fabric that draped in illogical swirls and lines. He was tall and thin and angular, with hands sharp like claws, his hair blowing about without wind, and his eyes were terrible. Bottomless black void that made Hob feel like he was falling upwards into the sky.

He was beautiful.

“Hell of a place for a date, stranger,” Hob said, nervous despite himself. But at least he wasn’t here, wherever here was, alone.

“I am sorry, Hob,” said his stranger. Now Hob recognized the look on his face. It was grief. He had seen it once, in 1689.

“Why?” Hob asked, and then his stranger took his hands. The movement had an inevitability to it: Hob had done it in the inn, and now his stranger was bidden to do it, too, here.

He took Hob’s hands in his, those soft, fragile hands that Hob had always longed to hold when out of dreams, at their meetings. Hob ran his thumbs over his knuckles, and his stranger’s expression cracked, an iridescent tear slipping down his cheek.

Hob raised his stranger’s hands to his lips, and kissed his knuckles. And—

Oh.

Oh.

There was his stranger. Hob could see him now. Truly.

The strange being before him, his stranger, not so strange anymore—he was… everything. He was stars, Hob could see all of them wheeling, and he was music, a collision of notes all upon each other, and flowers in bloom, and children playing pretend, and meticulously typed memoirs, memories held by trees, and root networks, and insects singing. He was proposals, he was invention, and flickering film reel, and dance. And not only that, but shadow, and all of Hob’s fears of being left, and a bite to the throat, a claw to the chest, a haunting memory, and he was beautiful.

Hob came back to himself, to that blank, open space, head full of infinite visions, heart full of his stranger. His stranger was still looking at him with that grief. Did he really hate being seen that badly?

“I missed you,” Hob whispered, voice thick. He squeezed his stranger’s hands. He could still feel it. The massive everything of him.

His stranger’s eyes widened. “You… are not mad.”

“What, in general? I’m certifiably mad, I’m sorry to tell you.”

His stranger stepped forward, sudden as a flicker of light, and took Hob’s face between his hands.

“You should be ruined,” he said, staring into Hob’s eyes, that endless void of him.

Hob laughed nervously. “Should I?”

And then his friend threw himself at him. Hob could never have expected him to move so ungracefully. He clawed at Hob’s shoulders, pressed their bodies together, shoved his face into Hob’s throat. The clawed points of his fingers ripped holes in Hob’s jacket, drew blood from his skin, but he didn’t care.

Hob wrapped his arms around him, rubbed his back. “Is that all?” he said gently.

“All,” croaked his stranger, and then suddenly they were sitting in the New Inn again, but his friend had crawled into his lap and had his face pressed into Hob’s throat, just as in the dream.

Hob shook his head, working out the dizziness, then looked down at him. “You okay, love?”

“Hob Gadling, you are a marvel, and you do not understand.”

Hob definitely didn’t understand anything, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Not for now. He had his friend back, after all.

“Does that mean I get to touch you now, for real?” Hob asked. “Now that I’ve beheld your magnificence? Is that how it works?”

His friend pulled far enough away to look at him. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes looked raw. “Your dreams were real,” he said. Even though Hob had always known that, had felt it.

“Good.” He took his friend’s face in his hand, ran a thumb over his lower lip. Beautiful thing, him. “Hell of a waste not to be shared, those dreams.”

His friend’s eyes were blue here, but as deep as in the dream. “Indeed.”

Hob leaned in to kiss him. They were making an absolute scene here in the inn, with his friend in his lap, but Hob couldn’t care less. He drank of his stranger’s mouth, head tipped back, taking of those soft lips, that giving mouth, that wanting tongue. His friend whimpered against him, fingers wrapped loosely around the back of Hob’s neck.

“No humans can touch me,” whispered his stranger, pressing their foreheads together. “Not while waking.”

“No humans can live forever,” Hob pointed out, and his stranger gave a small laugh.

“Truly.”

“I always wanted to do this,” Hob confessed, stroking his hands over his stranger’s back. “Always wanted to touch you—outside of dreams. Just wasn’t sure you would want that.”

Tears beaded along his friend’s eyes. So much feeling from him today. “I did not, but only because it should be impossible. I am Endless, Hob Gadling. I am not a creature for humans to come so close to. You all visit my realm, but to perceive this concentration of my being—it can only harm you. It would drive you mad.”

“I’m quite mad already,” Hob reminded him, but his heart hurt for his friend. No one could touch him? Could hug him? Or bring him pleasure, like they had done in their dreams?

“I have seen men claw out their own eyes after seeing me,” said his stranger, with the inevitable intonation of a storm. “I have watched them crack their own skulls, take Death’s hand, so they would no longer have to know. And you wonder why I would forbid you to touch me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know you?” Hob asked. Yeah, yeah, the forbidden knowledge of the universe and so on. Hob still wanted to see it. Whatever writhing power existed at the heart of his eternal friend. Wanted to know it. To touch it.

“Thing is,” he continued, when his friend merely stared at him incredulously, “I wouldn’t claw out my eyes, ‘cause I want to see it. See you.”

“Even if I were to blind you?”

Hob gave him a cheeky grin. Not unlike the one he’d given him in a fourteenth century tavern, when for a moment he’d really thought he could charm the strange creature he’d encountered into his bed. “Darling, I was blinded by you the moment I saw you.”

His friend kissed him. Desperate enough that his teeth dug into Hob’s lip. Hob laughed. “Can’t believe that terrible line actually worked on you.”

“It is working,” said his friend, face still pressed tight to Hob’s, hands gripping his shoulders, sharp fingertips digging in.

“Wanna touch you more,” Hob murmured, and his friend nodded feverishly. “But they don’t love exhibitionism in this day and age.”

His friend looked up and around at the inn, as if suddenly remembering where they were. He did not seem embarrassed, but perhaps startled to have forgotten himself.

“Besides, I don’t want to share you,” Hob said. “Come upstairs with me?”

He held out a hand. His friend—lover?—took it, and they disentangled themselves, and Hob led him upstairs.

In his bedroom, Hob pushed his friend’s coat off his shoulders. In disbelief this was happening. His stranger, really here, in the soft lamplight, looking at him with wide, dark eyes. Looking like he had been starved. Recently I have seen men driven mad, he had said. Who had tried to touch him? Why?

“What’s your name, darling?” Hob asked. Just a bit choked up. “You never did tell me.”

“Oh.” Under the coat, he was wearing only a t-shirt. Hob wondered if he was cold. “I am Dream.”

Dream. Look into the heart of dreams and know it. How could that drive you mad? Wouldn’t it be brilliant?

“Dream,” Hob sighed, and kissed him again. This time it was soft, a meeting of lips in the semi-dark. Dream’s hands found his jacket, pushed it off, then stole under his shirt to press flat to the warmth of Hob’s chest. His fingers were cold. Hob pulled his shirt off entirely and tugged him close, wrapping Dream’s arms around himself, tucking Dream’s nose into his throat.  He let out a low whine that reverberated through Hob’s chest.

“Come on,” Hob murmured. “Come.” He got both their shoes off, and maneuvered them up onto the bed, where Dream pulled him down to drape Hob’s body over his.

It was not like any of the times Hob had been with him in dreams. Their dreams had been ephemeral, diaphanous moments spun of longing, where ultimately Hob woke aching and hard and lonely.

This was present and physical. Dream’s body was bony and real under his, each moment forced to connect in linear time so he could not miss or forget any touch of his old stranger’s.

Hob kissed him again, hungrily. He thought he would never tire of it. Dream’s long fingers skated up his back to tangle in his hair. He moaned into Hob’s mouth. Shivering. Oversensitive.

“Okay, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded.

“Do not stop.” It would have been an order were it not for the thread of desperation wound through it.

“I’d be mad to want to stop touching you. Madder than I am.”

“Be no more mad than you are, then,” Dream said. “Please.”

So Hob laid his hands on Dream’s body, held his narrow hips, pet his hard flank, pressed down on his soft, concave belly. He dipped his fingers under the waistband of Dream’s dark jeans to feel the bend of his hipbone and the sensitive crease of his thigh. He kept expecting to feel something strange, or wrong, a bone that bent the wrong way, something to mark Dream’s otherness, but for now, it seemed, he was human. Nor did he feel again the vastness of him that he’d seen on those sands, though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was still there.

“Take it off,” Dream breathed, and before Hob could, he let his jeans dissolve back into whatever dream stuff made them up.

“You’re showing me up,” Hob laughed, as he wiggled out of his jeans and briefs the normal, awkward way. Then he was naked with his stranger, and while they had been so before, in dreams, it had never felt so physical, and Hob had never been able to see all of him, only impressions, fleeting glimpses and sensations.

Hob was shocked by how much he just looked like a person. An otherworldly person, true, but a person all the same.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He thought Dream might have blushed, though it was too dark to really tell. “Truly no one’s been able to touch you like this? At all?” Hob couldn’t possibly imagine anyone not wanting to, so it must be a matter of ability.

“Not in this realm,” confirmed Dream. “You… are new to me.”

Hob didn’t like the idea of Dream held at a remove, unable to get even a hug, but he did, selfishly, like the idea of being new. Of being special, the only one to have Dream like this.

He’d have to be sure to do right by him.

He kissed his way down Dream’s chest and stomach, watching his skin jump at each press of his lips, each skim of his teeth. Dream wrapped his arms around him even as he moved, as if to pull away from Hob would see him cast away from a temporary warmth, into the cold.

“Won’t let go of you,” he promised as Dream kept clutching at his shoulders. Dream only held him tighter at that, fingertips digging in. Hob didn’t mind. Let him hold tight, it was what Hob wanted anyway.

He relished in the feeling of Dream’s legs wrapped around him as he kissed the jut of his hipbone, the vee of his pelvis, the soft skin of his inner thigh. Nuzzled the tender skin at the base of his cock, as Dream pleaded above him, hands in Hob’s hair, “Hob, please—”

So much for the domineering creature that had once taken Hob to bed in his dreams; this was a wanting, needy thing, a man desperate enough to beg for he hadn’t had in so long, or ever.

Hob hushed him, stroked his thighs. Dream was shivering now, though Hob had barely touched him. His fingers shook in Hob’s hair. But Hob did not think he wanted him to stop.

Instead, he devoted himself to making Dream fall apart. He wouldn’t have to go without, not with Hob around. Hob would touch him so much his skin would burn.

He licked up Dream’s cock, an echo of how he had once pleasured him in a dream, but this was a different kind of worship. Dream made a mewling sound above him, so Hob took him in his mouth, bobbed his head, swirled his tongue over the slit. Silent stoic stranger, if you don’t cry for me I won’t have done my job right. Dream would cry in pleasure and never know what it was to lack it again.

Dream’s hips thrust up, bumping the back of Hob’s throat, a jerky motion that felt involuntary as he tripped over into pleasure, but Hob hummed and encouraged him to do it again. To take what he wanted, what made him feel good. Dream groaned but did, thrusting into the back of Hob’s mouth, legs twisted around his shoulders. Hob greedily took the heft and pressure of him, the knock of Dream inside him. He felt only more euphoric the less control Dream’s motions had.

But. He did have other ideas, too.

He pulled off, crawled up his body to meet him in a kiss, turned Dream’s face to his and swallowed his whine, which was so high and sweet. Dream’s kiss was soft and pliant, his eyes closed. When they were close, when Hob broke the kiss but kept his hands on him, their faces together, he looked at peace. Blissful. Languid and warm, as of a late morning spent pleasantly sleeping in. Just from closeness, he looked that way.

Hob turned him on his side and pressed their bodies together, back to front. Like this, they could touch from ankles to hips, bellies to chests to shoulders, and Dream sighed into him, going boneless.

Hob held him close, Dream’s head pillowed on his arm, kissed marks over his shoulder and up his throat. Worshiped his skin. Meanwhile he slipped a hand in the tight space between their bodies and pressed an exploratory fingertip to Dream’s entrance.

Dream shivered all over and pushed his hips back against Hob’s hand. Thrilled, emboldened, Hob pushed the tip of his finger inside him. Much more and he would need to get lube, but that would require moving, and he did not particularly want—

“You need not,” murmured Dream and, as if Hob didn’t understand what he meant, pushed himself back on Hob’s fingers with another groan. “I. Can take you.”

Hob was inclined to take his word for it. Not least because he himself was desperately hard, and to be so close to Dream, to be inside him, was too enticing to resist.

So he lined up and slowly pressed in, still with Dream held tight to his front. Dream sucked in a gasp but his body gave to Hob’s. So easily and so beautifully. By some presumably dream-logic, Dream was already loose and wet for him, like he had been waiting with held breath for just this moment. Hob slid into him like he’d spent ages prepping, and it wasn’t until he was all the way in that he took a breath.

“Feel so good, love,” he breathed.

“Hob,” Dream croaked, a broken sound. He clutched desperately at Hob’s hand when Hob laid it flat on his stomach. If he pressed down he could feel himself inside Dream—oh, Christ.

“I have you,” Hob promised, his own voice shaky. “You okay, love?”

“I am,” said Dream, still squeezing Hob’s hand. “I am. Overwhelmed.”

Hob knew he had done this before—he had fucked Dream himself in his dreams in the past—but this world seemed to be so much louder for Dream. Each touch was like a scream—but Dream did not pull away from him. He held Hob to him and submitted himself to the maelstrom.

“It’s okay,” Hob assured him, kissing the back of his neck.

“I do not know if it is,” Dream confessed. “I am used to it not being.”

Hob kissed the hinge of his jaw, leaned over him to speak there. “It is. I want to touch you, remember? What could be wrong with that? Nothing bad’s going to happen. You believe me?”

“I trust you,” Dream whispered, which was not the same thing, but the more meaningful for it. Hob’s heart hurt to think of him so uncertain it was okay to have such a simple thing as touch.

But perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all.

“It’s okay, love,” Hob said. You can have what you want this time, please believe that.

“‘Love,’” Dream repeated, and released a long shuddering breath that drained the tension from his body. He took Hob’s hand and brought it close to his mouth, kissing and nuzzling at his fingers. “Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dream chuckled. It was a lovely sound.

And so Hob started moving in him. His first few thrusts dragged a strangled groan from Dream’s throat, so he increased his pace, Dream’s impossible magic slicking the way, like a dream where there were no barriers to touching him. He lost himself to the heady feeling of having him in truth, the addictive heat of Dream’s body and the even more delicious moans pulled from his lungs, louder as he grew bolder in his pleasure. Hob spoke to him mindlessly, praise and sweet nothings against the nape of his neck, you’re doing so well, darling, you’re so beautiful, does that feel good? When he caught the right angle to hit his prostate, Dream’s body went tense and he let out a ragged cry. Hob smiled against his neck. Perfect, you’re perfect, everything about you is all I’ve ever wanted.

“Hob,” Dream moaned, “Hob, please—”

Hob redoubled his efforts to break him apart. He would have taken him in hand but Dream seemed more inclined to keep Hob’s hand in his own grasp. So Hob squeezed his hand and kissed a bruise into the side of his neck, and moved within him until Dream was writing and pushing back against him, torn between pulling away and desperately grabbing for more.

“I’m—” he gasped, then broke off in another moan. There was nothing better, Hob thought, than hearing his eloquent stranger broken into gasps of pleasure.

“Close, darling,” Hob panted against the back of his neck. The sight of Dream so wanting, combined with the heat of his body, had him balancing on the edge, holding on only because continuing to touch Dream was more delicious than letting go.

“Please,” Dream breathed, tears pooling along his eyes.

To reduce his once-stranger to such base expressions of emotion was too much for Hob, and he came inside him with a groan. At the feeling Dream clutched at his hand and came untouched, crying out.

And then he truly did cry, tears spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

Hob clutched him tightly, arms around his middle, still coming down from his own climax. But he recognized the crash Dream was feeling. He’d experienced it himself, coming down off of certain drugs, collapsing in a war camp during a lull at battle—the absolute plummeting drop of adrenaline, of dopamine, after something so very intense. Dream hadn’t had anything in so long, and now he’d thrown himself on the fire of it, and that he wasn’t human didn’t matter when it came to getting burned.

Hob turned him, gathered him close, tucked Dream’s face into his throat, ignoring the mess between them. Dream sobbed raggedly as Hob pulled out, but still went, tangling his legs in Hob’s, tucking his fingers between Hob’s body and the mattress.

“Sweetheart,” Hob murmured, stroking his back as Dream shook against him.

“Help,” Dream whispered. A frightening word to come out of his mouth, truly. “I— I cannot—”

“Shhh. You’re okay.” Hob drew a blanket up over them. “You’re okay, my love. It’ll pass.”

He did know the feeling of that adrenaline crash, after all, though not how it felt for someone like Dream. Nor how long Dream had gone without any touch. A long time indeed. His heart, his throat hurt at the thought, and at the feeling of Dream shaking, even though he knew that, ultimately, this was good, a good thing, a cathartic thing. “I am not,” Dream insisted, but Hob shushed him again.

“You are, you are, sweetheart, I promise. Just breathe.”

He felt Dream, whom he was fairly certain didn’t need to breathe, take a breath. Then he let it out shakily. Then another, more slowly.

“There you are,” Hob soothed. Perhaps that had all been too much, too fast. Perhaps he should have eased him into it. Hob had never been very good at moderation.

Dream didn’t seem displeased, though. Merely overwhelmed. He was still clutching at Hob. And Hob was more than happy to hold him as long as he wanted. Forever, even.

“Breathe,” he reminded him. “There’s a love.” And finally Dream seemed to slump against him, his body unsticking from itself, and he let out a heaving breath, like a great animal finally allowing its massive lungs to rest.

“Alright, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded against his neck. “Bit overstimulated?”

“Yes,” Dream replied, quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. It was—” he contemplated. “No,” he finally said, minimally verbal again.

Alright, then.

“Hope you’re staying a while,” Hob said, instead of asking if he wanted to. “Might need to pry me off you otherwise.”

He felt a tiny smile against his throat.

“Yes,” said Dream. Hob dragged his fingers through his hair. A fully body shiver ran through Dream at the touch.

“I would not care to give up this succor,” Dream continued, when they had lain together for some more minutes, apparently having recovered his voice. “I am too selfish to let it go, after all that has happened.”

“After all that’s happened?” Hob echoed, and Dream stiffened, realizing all at once that he had let slip something he had not previously revealed.

“No, don’t go,” Hob begged, desperation rising as he clutched Dream close before he could melt himself away. “Stay. Tell me what happened?”

Dream was silent for what felt like several full minutes as he thought. Hob waited.

“I was imprisoned,” Dream said at last.

Hob stiffened, holding him tighter, nails digging into his skin. Dream hummed in a way that suggested he found this pleasurable rather than painful.

“You were—” Hob repeated, choked. “What?” But he had heard him. He had heard.

“It kept me from our meeting,” Dream continued, too matter of fact for Hob’s comfort. “And reminded me once more of what happens to any man who comes too close.”

Hob felt ill. he didn’t even know the details, and he still felt sick. Dream, caged.

“Dream…” he didn’t know what to say.

“It reminded me, too, that to most humans in the waking, I am… a terror.” This, quieter. “So you see my astonishment that you should even want to touch me, never mind be able to, and how I will not be able to take my teeth from your throat now that I have tasted blood.”

That... sounded more appealing to Hob than Dream had probably meant it to. He recalled the eerie, otherworldly Dream of his past, the awesome Dream that had met him on that strange desert. If that Dream wanted to feed on him, he didn’t think he minded.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Dream... God.” Imprisoned. “You say that like I could possibly want you to go.”

Sharp teeth pricked at his throat. “You will.”

“No.” Imprisoned. I am a terror. What happens to men who touch me. “I won’t.” He squeezed Dream tighter, wrapping a leg around the back of Dream’s thigh. “I won’t.”

“You would keep me, then.” Half desire, half threat.

“Yeah. I would.”

Finally, Dream’s teeth left his skin. “Good,” he said, almost a growl, almost a purr. Then pressed himself in closer, more demanding now than needy.

“Imprisoned,” Hob echoed, at last.

“In iron and glass,” Dream agreed. “I have known… only hardness, this century. Before that, I suppose, nothing.”

“But our dreams,” said Hob.

“I am dreams. I cannot have, or experience them as you do.”

Didn’t that hurt. “Experience it now, then.”

Dream seemed to agree, for he kept his body tucked against Hob’s. His tears were now dry, but Hob could only imagine the well of pain within him. Held at a remove for so long.

He could not fix it all in one moment, though. Especially not for a being as grand, as magnificent, as eternal as Dream was. So he kissed the top of Dream’s head, tucked his nose into his hair, and like that, Hob tried to warm him, at least for a time.

Dream was untouchable. Until.

Dream was lying upon a fire. Every nerve in his affected body sang in pleasure and pain both. He wanted more. He could not handle more. Still he wanted it.

Until Hob dared to find him in dreams.

Hob was still holding him, and it was… everything. The most privileged balm after a century on cold glass. He had ceased crying, recovered, mostly, from the wave of stimulation that had swept through him, but still he was nearly overcome with the wealth of touch. And so easily bestowed.

Dared to chase him.

How much more might he be allowed? Was there truly an infinite depth of it, as infinite as his very being?

Dared to welcome him, hug him, see him.

“Hob?” he murmured. The King of Dreams should not be so needy, and yet.

Dared to know him.

“Yeah, darling?”

Dream had ruined men, burned away eyes, unmade neurons, made those who looked on him bleed as they clawed themselves apart. Had witnessed the annihilation of small worlds caused just by his wanting.

“Truly you wish me to stay?”

Hob could not be clawed apart, not even when Dream got his talons in him. Hob had proven resistant to annihilation.

Hob took his hand, and kissed his knuckles, the way he had done in a dream.

Now Dream himself was burning with hands on and in him and skin pressed everywhere to skin, and he knew why others were ruined. How he, himself, had already been in ashes.

“More than anything,” Hob said.

He suckled the blood of Hob’s veins and the succor of his fingertips. The grounding warmth of his skin. He sank into the bliss of being wanted.

“Very well, then,” Dream murmured, and laid his head back down on Hob’s chest.

Dream did not truly have blood, or fingertips, or warmth or skin, but. He was not meant to experience bliss or wanting, but. He was a terror, a nightmare, an ephemeral thing, and he could not be touched, could not be held, could not be kept.

But.

[crazy-bxmbo-bxtch]

Hey, if you don't mind, can I request some Hazbin Hotel Yandere Head cannons please, if you don't wanna do it, you can skip this ask 🥰

Hell yeah.

PART 2

Charlie🌈🔑

Honestly, Charlie enjoys the pretty things in life. And you are that pretty thing.

You most likely were a sinner

Or she followed in her father's footsteps and tempted you to get you to sin. which is not her thing.

To her, you're her hope, and the only person who she does not want to leave to go to heaven as she wants you to stay with her in hell.

She is really respectful of you and your privacy, but you still have to stick to her rules, like, for instance, her forced affection. It seems innocent at first, but when you look into it, she probably very sweetly and passive aggressively threatened you.

In the bed, she is more of a "let me pleasure you" person, not because she can't feel any sexual pleasure, she just like to makes sure you are taken care of

Singing, lots of singing.

~HELLS PRINCESS~

🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑

Vaggie😇👿

Vaggie is an angel that got left in hell. Like babe, she was used to the peace, but now she is stuck in chaos. She found her peace when she found you.

She is very protective and feels as if it's her job to be up your ass every two seconds, you can't leave without her, you can't eat without her. Let's be real. You can't PISS without her.

She is obviously a dominant bitch. She may seem unsure on the outside, but she, for real, knows what's she is doing.

When you two are in the hotel lobby, she is always looking at you. She is participating, yes, but she is still burning a hole in your head.

~The Fallen Angel~

👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇

Alastor📻🐾

You. Spoiled. Ass. Bitch.

Alastor more than likely fell in love with you when he came to you with a deal, but you did not know that part of that deal was to be his doe.

Now, alastor ain't scared to use pure intimidation on you when he needs you to listen. He has you on a schedule for your whole day.

It corresponds with his, of course.

He chooses your clothes, diet, and almost everything else you do. Remember, he owns your soul. Don't do anything too stupid now...

I know that he is asexual and honestly, I feel as if he won't mind pleasuring you, but you and touch him and he won't touch himself, you get what you want when u do good tho.

All you have to do is ask and day please and it's all yours.

You might be his favorite plaything. Radio is life. Radio is love, but if u begging hard enough, he might get a tv.

~The Radio Demon~

🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻

Husk🃏🥃

Probably the calmest out of all, he plays his gambles fair when be is with you and even teaches you how to hold your own without him.

When you two are alone, he makes you drink with him, and it would be cute if he did not FORCE you to get drunk with him.

In public, you both look like a normal couple...that's how you are supposed to play the game anyway. If you do anything that does not like to play in his favor, and by the end, he can do whatever he feels like with you.

In the bed, he surprisingly ly is softer on you, as he can be a little awkward himself and actually is always looking forward to giving u aftercare so honestly....

Yolo🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

~The Bartender~

🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏

Angel Dust💋🕷

When you are in public, he is his usual flirty self. Making jokes and sexual remarks about your body, when you are alone it's diffrent.

You have seen him go into depressive fits of rage and see him take many drugs to ease his pain. You are one of those drugs. Holding you helps him cal down, but he still drowns in his thoughts.

When it comes to intimacy, if he had an awful day with Valentino, he takes out his stress on you, not in an abusive way, tho. If his day was great, he was more considerate of your pleasure than his. If he had to have a long shoot and take jobs from his boss all day, he refused to think about sex. It would just make him upset, and when he gets upset, he ingors you a little, just to make sure he says nothing he doesn't mean.

He forces you to go to bars with him and watch him slip away into his sins. But he tries not to be an awful person.

~The Porn Star~

🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋

Sir Pentious🐍🥚

He is hella dramatic. You could run away and get caught, and he'd be like, "How could you leave me like that? You could have fallen in a puddle and drowned".

He is hella unexspirianced when it comes to sex, so he has to bottom. He is a Hella soft yandrre and just wants you to love him.

He makes his eggboi's wait on your hand and foot. He makes sure all your demands have been met.

If you are a newer sinner he is gonna want you to teach him the ways of the you people...don't

He walks around like "What's the tea sssisss"

~The Egg Lord~

🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍

Lucifer🎪🍎

YOU.SPOILD.ASS.BITCH

ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IT BREAT AROUND SOMETHING YOU LIKE AND ITS YOURS

He worships the ground you walk on, and feels rainbows in your presents.

You are his antidepressant.

Hella Clingy and delulu, he sticks to your side and even bathes with you. He chooses your clothes and takes you for nights on the town.

We already know how he probably is in bed...he bacicly told us....bro stole both of Adam's bitches sooo...have fun with his godly stamina

He marries you immediately and is trying to force you to take the title of Queen of Hell, but you just keep refusing him, he won't give up tho.

You are never leaving, so just let him super glue that crown to your head.

~The King Of Hell~

🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎

Ahhhhh, my first post in a while. If you are wondering why I did not do nifty, well I was not really comfortable with it, I know she's an adult, but she is just built like a kid, and I refuse, I still love her character tho.

Request: Open

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 52]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

-

Nia and Tobias have their mission. It's time to plan their next move, and get some training in while they're at the Lexym Guild.

-

Telling Maggie about their trip to Asra and Shivergleam is a tense affair. The meganium stays quiet for most of it, but Nia can see her honey-gold eyes darken after each brush with danger that they skim over, clumsily trying to fill in the gaps left in their story.

Finally, what feels like hours later, they're finished. Quiet falls over the three of them.

With a forced sort of calm, Maggie asks, “Is that everything?”

“It’s all we know so far,” Tobias hedges. “Our plan right now is just to find Xerneas. Hopefully she can prevent any of this from happening. Or at least fix the dimensional border if it does break.”

If she doesn't, the world falls apart, Nia silently adds, knowing she doesn’t need to say it for it to be in the forefront of all their minds. Both the Pokemon world and the human world would be destroyed.

Nia fiddles with the soft fur of her tail, too nervous to look up at Maggie. The silence while the grass type digests everything is heavy.

Finally, Maggie sighs. Nia jumps.

“I’m going to need a hug after all of that,” Maggie says.

Nia finally looks up, relieved, and willingly scoots closer for the meganium to pull her into a hug with her vine. Nia leans against her petals, soft but firm, and breathes in her fresh floral scent. She sees Tobias getting the same treatment on Maggie’s other side.

Immediately, Nia feels a little better. Everything feels less dire when she's tucked against Maggie like this. It's still quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. It’s only the three of them in the herbalist quarters at the moment, Sage having been politely shooed out of the room to grab some berries for breakfast once Maggie realized that neither Nia nor Tobias felt comfortable explaining their trip with the ivysaur present. Sage had taken the obvious excuse with grace, thankfully, and is taking his time in returning.

“Thank you for telling me.” Maggie says. She takes a deep breath, Nia lifting with the exhale. “I just wish you two weren’t thrown right in the middle of all this mess. You’re so young.”

“We’re not little kids,” Tobias mutters.

“Oh, don’t pout.”

“I'm not pouting!” Tobias says, absolutely pouting.

Nia turns her face into Maggie’s petals to stifle a laugh.

“When were you planning on talking to August about all of this?” Maggie asks.

Nia pulls away to look at Tobias. He seems as unsure as she feels.

“Should we tell him?” Tobias asks, crossing his arms. “We’re getting intel from a banished legendary, if he even believes we're telling the truth. And we don’t know that he’ll actually do anything even if he does believe us. He said he’d look into the fire that happened in Ghatha but nothing ever came from that.”

Nia has to admit that he has a point.

Maggie sighs. “Even if it’s not obvious, I’m sure August is doing all he can to help. And if this is something jeopardizing not only our guild but the entire Pokemon world, I promise you he would want to know about it.”

Nia and Tobias exchange a doubtful look.

Maybe sensing that they’re reluctant to talk to August and worried that they’ll try to put it off completely, Maggie only allows a quick breakfast of the berries Sage brings back before marching the two of them straight to August’s office herself. The rillaboom looks pleased to see them, a soft sort of relief on his face when he catches sight of Nia and Tobias safely back from their travels. His warm smile fades as he locks eyes with Maggie, though, his more casual posture straightening up. He waves them in without a word.

Verene seems to be out, so they’re the only ones present in the spacious office. The leaves weaving in and out of the wooden walls are a lovely gradient of warm autumnal tones.

August takes a seat behind his desk, chair creaking. “Welcome back, Team Scarlet. It’s good to see you both safe. I heard from the crew of the Aqua Jet and that little sableye that you both showed impressive prowess as Seekers yesterday.”

Nia murmurs a thank you. Tobias nods.

“However, gauging by your expressions, I must assume that’s not why you came to see me today,” August says. “A shame. I could do with some good news, for once. What can I help you with?”

Nia looks to Tobias, so he starts them off. Retells the story once more with Nia stepping in on occasion, trading the explanation back and forth.

They mention Asra, first, to explain everything that comes after. Giratina. The protective shell of this world weakening from a preemptive crack in the very fabric of the dimension. Nia and Tobias being assigned to find Xerneas in a desperate bid for hope.

August’s brow knits and falls lower and lower as he listens, chin resting on bridged fingers. By time they’re finally finished, Nia’s throat is dry. The same oppressive silence from before falls over the room, and it feels thick enough to choke on.

August’s amber eyes settle on Nia. “How sure are you that Giratina was telling the truth?”

Nia tries not to let her own doubt show on her face. “W-Well…I guess I don’t have any proof that he was? But he felt…honest. And it makes sense. Or at least more sense than anything else people have guessed for why the world is breaking down, right? Could anything else cause natural disasters and make evolution stop? Or force legendaries to go dormant?”

“You think Giratina would have something to gain from us seeking out Xerneas?” Tobias asks, eyes narrowing.

August sighs, raking his fingers back through his leafy mane. “That’s difficult to say. I’m no expert on either legendary.”

“But surely there’s enough here to merit a deeper look,” Maggie pipes up. “If Giratina is being honest, then…”

August lets a rush of air out through his nose. “It would be disastrous for us to ignore him, yes.”

The quiet returns like an itchy, ill-fitting sweater.

“I’ll ask Alistair and Tawny to look into it immediately,” August finally says. “If they feel that searching for Xerneas is likely to be of help and not just playing into Giratina’s schemes, then I’ll reach out to the other Guildmasters so we can plan from there.”

Nia lets out a breath. Knowing that they aren’t solely responsible for saving the whole world feels like the weight of the Lexym Tree itself being lifted off her shoulders. She kind of wants to cry. “Thank you.”

August nods. “Of course. I’m here for anyone in the guild, but a matter pertaining to the safety of the entire world? That is not to be treated lightly.”

“Speaking of safety,” Tobias says, in a tone that would be casual if it didn’t sound like it was barbed with thorns. “You said you were going to send someone to look into the fire at Ghatha, right? And other human discrimination. Anything ever come of that?”

August gives Tobias a dry look. “Put away your fangs, Tobias. I did indeed look into the matter.”

“And?”

“The investigation into the Ghatha fire has unfortunately gone cold. While they can assume it was a fire type at the convention who started it, Rai’s guild hasn’t been able to determine who was the culprit. They’ve marked it closed for now unless new information arises.”

"Yeah, and I'm sure that decision has nothing to do with the guy not liking humans," Tobias mutters.

August's eyes narrow. "Where did you hear that?"

Nia blinks, surprised, and exchanges a look with Tobias. August doesn't know? "Keegan mentioned it, back when we were in Ghatha."

"The guild's second-in-command," Tobias clarifies. "A ninetales."

"Hm." August looks past them for a moment, locking eyes with Maggie. Before Nia can figure out what the two older Pokemon are thinking, he speaks again. "That's not something I was aware of. What are your thoughts on Keegan? I haven't had the chance to speak with him myself."

"He was nice!" Nia says.

"A little too nice," Tobias scoffs.

August hums. "...Noted. Regardless, for now the investigation remains at a stand-still."

Tobias’ muzzle crinkles, mirroring Nia’s own displeasure. While this news isn’t entirely unexpected, it is unnerving, not knowing the Pokemon who made a very intentional effort on all of the human lives at the convention in Ghatha. What if they try something else in the future? The thought makes Nia feel…uneasy. Unsafe.

“My scouts did also confirm your claims regarding the general perception of humans in Ghatha. It seems the aggression towards them is increasing. Considering you saw the same in Asra, I can only assume the trend continues elsewhere as well.”

“But why?" Nia protests, voice cracking. "We aren't doing anything wrong!"

“I know,” August says, rubbing at his face. “We know you have nothing to do with what’s happening to our world, Nia. None of the humans do. But unfortunately, the natural disasters and mystery dungeons are only becoming more and more common. Pokemon are injured and frightened, and humans are a handy group to shoulder the blame.”

“It’s escalating, isn’t it?” Maggie cuts in, voice soft. “Not just the aggression. The natural disasters. The spread of mystery dungeons. The Haven hasn’t been hit too hard yet, but…”

August hesitates with a glance at Nia and Tobias. “Yes. Which would line up with what Giratina is claiming. The closer we get to the moment when the barrier of our dimension breaks, the more and more dangerous our world gets. And the more that tensions run high, the more rumors spread about whose fault it could be.”

Another silence. Nia can hear the walls of the Lexym Tree creak around them in the wind.

“What about Will?” Tobias asks. Nia looks at him, surprised that he’s even willing to bring up the yamask he dislikes so much.

“Ah, yes. You mentioned wanting to visit him to see if he has any leads in finding Xerneas. My scouts didn’t hear much about his group while in Ghatha, but they also couldn’t find many humans at all, seeing as they’re keeping a low profile.”

“I sent him a letter before we left for Asra,” Nia speaks up. “Telling him about Giratina trying to pull me into the distortion realm through the stream. A-And about me recovering some of my memories. If he’s written back by now, he probably left a way to find him, right?”

“Should we even bother seeing if he has information, though?” Tobias asks, face twisting. “If we know that we’re looking for Xerneas, what are the chances he knows something Alistair and Tawny and the other guilds don’t?”

“Can we risk not checking?” Nia murmurs.

Tobias doesn’t have an argument for that. “I guess just flying straight to see him ourselves would be faster than waiting for mail.”

August's hand strokes at his chin. “I believe Nia is right. We can’t risk missing a potential lead from a network of information outside of our own. If you are willing to track him down, then I approve your travel to seek him out in a few days’ time. I will have the guild cover your flight costs across the sea.”

“Why’re we waiting?” Tobias asks, frowning. “Shouldn’t we leave right away?”

August shakes his head. “I want to first discuss with Alistair and Tawny. If they believe seeking out Xerneas could be as beneficial as Giratina suspects, I’ll have them spread word to the other guilds to start an official search. If they believe we could be playing into a plot, then we’ll put a hold on seeking out any information.”

Nia and Tobias trade an uncertain look, but eventually agree.

The three of them depart the office shortly after, August giving them a distracted goodbye as he turns to some papers on his desk.

“So we have a few days until we can leave,” Tobias says, jumping right into it. “What’s our plan until then?”

“We should probably go to our quarters first, right?” Nia says. “To see if Will even wrote back?”

Tobias frowns, but nods.

They reach the medical floor, and Maggie stops, reminding Nia and Tobias that the meganium has a job to do elsewhere.

“Oh, don’t give me those yamper eyes,” Maggie laughs. She nuzzles the top of Nia’s head, then Tobias’. “I have a job to do as well! And I’ll still be right here if you want to stop in again later tonight.”

Tobias visibly relaxes at the reminder, and Nia thanks the meganium for her help. For listening.

“Of course! Someone has to look after you two, always running off into trouble,” Maggie says with a wink.

Nia turns to head down the stairs, but pauses when Tobias doesn’t follow. The charmander is hesitating, staring at Maggie with a conflicted expression. Then he darts forward to squeeze Maggie’s leg in a hug. The meganium seems as surprised as Nia is by the unusually open affection, but after a beat her expression softens. She lowers her head to return the hug with her long neck and a vine, squeezing him tight.

Ah, right. Tobias had told Maggie about finding the home of the crobat outlaw, too. About finding the crobat's grave, and the loving family he’d left behind. Maggie had smothered him in a hug then, too, but it makes sense that he’s still feeling a bit emotional about it all.

Tobias only tolerates the affection for a few seconds before ducking free and slipping past Nia, calling for her to hurry up over his shoulder. Nia smiles as she waves to Maggie and hurries after her partner.

The two of them head to the Seekers’ quarters a few floors down. Most of the doors are closed since Pokemon are out and about doing missions in the middle of the day, but there are a few lattice windows in the halls that let in glimpses of bright sunshine and whistling gusts of air.

Their own room is just as they left it, save a thin layer of dust over everything. The wall is lined by a few wooden cabinets, along with a bookcase and chest to keep their belongings in. A large window sits on the far wall, its lattice-like roots currently opened wide. A leaf-woven curtain is pulled down over it to keep out the wind, and the sun shines through it beautifully, casting a dim golden-green hue over everything. In the center of the room lies their plush scarlet red rug, and away from the window sits their nests, resting side-by-side.

Tobias dumps their satchel next to the chest. Nia goes to the mailbox set into the wall by the door. She’s excited to find three pieces of mail inside—two letters and one thin slip of paper. She pulls them out and looks at the smallest one first. It reads 20% Off at the Kecleon Brothers Shop! with a cute little drawing of a pair of…chameleons?

“They have coupons in this world?” Nia asks, strangely amused by the thought.

Tobias’ warmth appears at her side as he peers over her shoulder. He snorts. “The kecleon merchants are really well-known. Good quality wares, but make sure you stay on their good side.”

“Um, okay. Why?”

Tobias flops down in his nest. “The last ‘mon that tried to steal from ‘em left with less limbs than they started with.”

“But they’re so cute!” Nia says, aghast, as she looks again at the little drawing.

“So are fairy types, and they’re terrifying."

Nia sinks into her own nest, gently setting the coupon aside. She’s not sure she wants to deal with the shop at all if that’s the reputation they keep. She lights up when she sees the second letter, though—it’s a cute little thing, blue, with Nia’s name written in delicate, loopy cursive.

Tobias rolls over to squint at the envelope. “Who wrote us a letter in gibberish?”

Nia blinks. “You can’t read this?”

“You can?”

Nia takes another look at the letter. At first she thinks the problem is that the writing is cursive, but then she realizes that it’s probably because it's English. Not the native Pokemon language.

“Oh,” Nia laughs, feeling a strange pang of homesickness. “It’s in English. A, uh. Human language.”

She opens the envelope with care, pulling out the stationery and smiling at the letter, which is also written in looping cursive. Tobias doesn’t say anything else, but she can feel his eyes on her so she translates as she skims.

“It’s from Hazel. She says that she can make me a human bed! Oh man, you are going to love it. You’ll never be able to go back to a normal nest. And she’ll even give me the family discount! Aww!”

“She should give you more than that after we saved her mate’s tail,” Tobias says.

“We hadn’t even met Beck yet when I sent the request! Let’s see here…she also says—”

Nia bursts into laughter.

“What?”

“She also says that she’s glad you’re nicer to me now, but that she’s willing to knock some sense into you any time if that changes.”

Tobias straightens up, flushing. “She did not say that.” Nia cackles, turning the page over to his grabby hands. “She did! C’mon, she’s the reason I confronted you in Afon’s Cap at all!”

Tobias makes a face, but he’s still bright red. Nia isn’t sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed to be called out, or because of his behavior during their early partnership in the first place. Either way, he folds the letter back up and frisbees it at her, huffing.

Nia laughs again and tucks the letter off to the side with the coupon. She’ll have to write the old raichu back later. Nia’s amusement dies down as she picks up the third letter.

Tobias sits up as he sees her expression. “…Will?”

Nia nods. Hesitantly, she opens the yamask’s letter.

Nia,

While I’m pleased to hear from you, I wish it was under better circumstances! I’m relieved that you escaped from Giratina unharmed, but concerned that you had such a close call at all. If you do feel unsafe where you are, please don’t hesitate to come join the community of humans we have amassed thus far—we’re growing by the day! We're just south of Ghatha, past Stonebrook and closer to Kaleido Bay. If you can find Stonebrook, they can direct you from there.

“Stonebrook,” Nia murmurs, tilting her head. “Why does that sound familiar?”

Tobias, who had scooched closer to read, frowns as he tries to recall as well. Then he groans and plants his face in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s where your stupid rookidee friend lives,” Tobias says, words muffled.

Nia gasps. “Junie! Oh my gosh, you’re right! We could stop by and see her! She could—”

“We are not inviting her to join us.”

“Aw, why not? I miss her!”

“You miss her because she doesn’t pick fights with you constantly!”

Nia looks at him for a moment. “I thought you kind of enjoyed it. It's like how you squabble with Andyn."

Tobias stumbles over a retort—outright stammers—his face growing red again, and Nia bursts into laughter.

“Oh my God, I knew it! You do like bickering with them! Why do you act like you hate them so much?”

“I do hate them!”

“Mhm.”

“They’re annoying and loud and—”

“They’re your frieeends,” Nia coos, poking him in the cheek.

“They are not,” Tobias hisses, swatting her hand away. “Shut up!”

Nia can feel him heating up with embarrassment so she knows he’s lying, but she takes mercy and backs off, still grinning.

“This is exactly why you don’t need to be spending more time with either of them,” Tobias grumbles, rubbing at his cheek. “They’re rubbing off on you.”

Nia finally tames her delight down to a manageable level and goes back to Will’s letter.

I am thrilled, however, to hear about your returned memories, even if you had to endure a terrifying illness to find them. After speaking with more of the humans under my care who have recovered their own memories, I have to wonder if there is a correlation between severe injury or illness and the recovery of one's memories. Perhaps brushing by Death’s doorstep unlocks a part of the brain once buried?

Huh. Nia has to take a moment to think after reading that. The handful of memories she recovered did only return to her when she was gravely ill, but she didn’t think it was a direct correlation. But Will seems to be implying that nearly dying could be a trigger for that process. If Giratina is correct, maybe it has to do with them getting close to…leaving their new vessels? So the memories that Mew sealed away kind of…loosen?

Nia shakes her head, unnerved by the reminder that she nearly died, and reads on.

I would love to discuss with you further if you do feel like visiting. Know that you’re always welcome. We have exciting developments in the works! Until then, I hope you and your partner are well.

Will

Nia sits back. “Well, he’s open to a visit, and we have directions…”

“Guess it’s settled then,” Tobias sighs. “I’ll let August know tomorrow.”

“August said to give him a few days to run everything by Tawny and Alistair, right? So…what should we do in the meantime?”

Tobias makes a thoughtful sound in his throat, eyes trailing over the faint pattern of leaves forming the window curtain. “We don’t want to wear ourselves out completely before traveling, but we should definitely do some training or missions or something. We need to keep getting stronger, and we need to keep rising higher in the ranks so Pokemon take us seriously.”

“That would give us more funds, too,” Nia agrees. “So I guess for now we just work on recuperating and take a few missions?"

“Then when we’re cleared for travel we go to the flying outpost.” Tobias finishes, a smirk growing on his face. “You excited to get back in the air?”

Nia groans, falling back into her nest. The soft scent of straw and moss wafts up around her. “Not even a little.”

Tobias snorts a laugh. “You’ll survive.”

There’s a moment of quiet where Nia lies starfished in her nest, listening to the wind blow against their curtain. The midday sun has warmed their little room enough for it to feel nice and cozy.

“It’s too late in the day to start a mission,” Tobias says, snagging her attention again. “But I’m going to go see if Azami or Val are around to spar with.”

While he isn’t outright asking Nia to join, the way he pauses to look at her makes the implied question clear. Nia perks up. “Oh! I’ll come with! I’ve been wanting to chat with Val about how my aura’s shaping up anyways.”

Tobias grins, pushing himself to his feet and offering a hand to help her up. The two of them leave the cozy atmosphere of their room to wind their way down the Lexym Tree.

At the doorway leading into the training floor, Nia nearly bumps into a taller Pokemon. She hops back with an apology, craning her head up to meet their eyes. They look interesting—an olive green and tan Pokemon with a mushroom cap and a long, almost kangaroo-like tail. In their bright red claws, tucked close to their body, they hold something like a clipboard.

The mushroom Pokemon starts a polite apology, but cuts himself off as he catches sight of Tobias standing behind Nia. Nia’s own apology trails off as she looks between Tobias and the new ‘mon. Tobias is clearly uncomfortable, an echo of his old, closed-off demeanor resurfacing as he crosses his arms and scowls up at the taller grass type.

“Try to keep everything in one piece,” The new Pokemon finally says, tone clipped, as he slips around them and walks off.

Nia turns to Tobias with a concerned frown. “Who was that?”

“Archer,” He grumbles, good mood clearly soured. “He keeps track of inventory.”

“Oh. Um. Why was he..?”

“I used to be more…destructive, with some of the dummies. They’re flammable.”

“Oh.” Nia stares at him, trying to parse that information. With how often they travel nowadays and how much Tobias has softened up around her, Nia always forgets that there are Pokemon in the guild who aren’t fond of Tobias for one reason or another. This reason doesn’t seem like a very fair one, though. “Aren’t training dummies meant to be attacked?”

“Not when you’re using fire, apparently,” Tobias snaps, moving past her and into the training area with his shoulders tense.

Nia hurries after her partner, relieved when she sees that not only are their mentors present, but that Val is working with Xander’s team. The medicham is listening to something the luxio is explaining, the rest of his teammates gathered around to listen as well.

Azami is nearby, manning a different fighting area. The tsareena is watching a treecko as they attack a dummy, but she beams behind her tall collar when she catches sight of Nia and Tobias. “Spitfire! And little Riolu. Good to see you!”

Tobias ducks his chin into his scarf, but Nia thinks he’s secretly pleased to have such a warm reception after bumping into Archer. Val, Xander and the rest of Team Shellshock turn at the loud greeting as well.

Avery smiles with a delicate wave.

Felix grins, fluffy ears perking. “Nia!”

“Good to see you," Xander says. "When did you two get back?”

“Last night! Sorry, are we interrupting?” Nia says, approaching the group.

“We were actually just saying we need to branch out a bit with our sparring partners,” Xander says, giving Nia a friendly flick of his star-tipped tail. His gold eyes move to Tobias. “Either of you interested in joining us for combat training?"

“Yeah! I’ve been dying to see how you squirts do in a fight,” Kry says. The fraxure cracks her knuckles to punctuate her words, as if her looming presence isn't intimidating enough.

Tobias, however, flexes his claws and steps forward to meet her. “You’re on.”

"Ohoho! Bring it, little 'mon!"

“Oh, this oughta be good,” Felix says, turning to lead everyone to the sidelines.  “C’mon, we’d better clear the field for these two.”

“They’re going to battle right now?” Nia asks, giving Val a wide-eyed look even as she follows. They just got here! Shouldn’t they warm up or something?

The medicham shrugs. “Charmander stepped forward.”

Well, she can’t argue with that. Still, as Nia sits to watch, she can't help feeling nervous as Tobias crouches into a battle stance across from Kry. The fraxure lashes her tail and lowers her head with a sharp grin. Nia doesn’t think the brash Pokemon would actually hurt Tobias, but…

“Battle!” Val calls.

Both lizard Pokemon lunge, Tobias ducking under a slash and spinning to trip up Kry’s footing with his tail. The fraxure recovers with surprising grace and goes on the offensive again. Tobias is forced to backstep, shooting off small bursts of fire to try and gain some distance. Kry leaps right through one of Tobias’ flames as if it were nothing more than smoke.

“Whoa,” Nia murmurs.

“How was your trip?” Xander asks, leaning over to whisper.

“We had an, uh…eventful week,” Nia chuckles. “Solved a mysterious earthquake problem, fought some outlaws, got caught in a mystery dungeon on the river, so fun times all around.”

They also found the grave of a long-hunted outlaw and met with Giratina of all Pokemon, who told them the world was ending, but Nia feels reluctant to drop all of that onto Xander so suddenly.

Felix whistles. The wartortle’s gaze is on the fight, but his fluffy ears are angled her way. “Busy, busy! No wonder Tobias is holding his own pretty well. You two just don’t stop, huh?”

Nia smiles and straightens up, proudly watching her partner continue to dance around Kry. His fighting style is still more offensive than defensive, but he’s playing it smart, relying on his smaller size and speed to keep the fraxure from landing a spar-stopping blow.

“You willing to try a round next?” Xander asks, giving Nia a friendly nudge with his elbow that nearly knocks her over.

Nia laughs, a little nervous. “Sure? But, uh, I’m not as good at fighting as Tobias.”

“Somehow I doubt that’s true,” Avery speaks up from Xander's other side. The kirlia gives her a warm half-smile. “You tend to underestimate yourself.”

Nia flushes under her fur and looks back to the fight, wincing as Kry nearly lands a devastating punch on Tobias. Instead, her fist slams into the wooden floor with enough force to crack it. The fraxure seems to be getting frustrated, but Tobias is starting to slow too, panting hard. He hasn’t used his smokescreen yet, though Nia isn’t sure if that’s a matter of pride or if Kry’s vision would be sharp enough to see through it.

The fight continues for another minute, Tobias landing a few brushes of flames and claws on Kry’s tough hide, but the fraxure is the one who ends it. She clips the charmander with a left hook, and as he stumbles, she slams him hard in the gut with her heavy tail. Tobias staggers, and Kry takes the opportunity to pin him to the ground with her greater weight.

After a few moments of Tobias struggling to free himself—that tail whip must've knocked the breath out of him if he isn't using his fire—Val calls the match. Kry releases him, stepping back, and Tobias sits up slowly, wincing and rubbing at his stomach. Felix calls out a jovial “Good match!” while Val moves to Tobias’ side. At first, the charmander seems reluctant to listen to her, but after a few quiet words he looks at her fully, scowl lessening as he nods. She must be giving him advice.

Kry makes her way over and grins down at Nia, breathing somehow unlabored. “You next, scrap?”

Felix pouts. “You already got your turn, Kry.”

“And I asked first,” Xander says smoothly, standing and moving to where Kry stood before. He doesn’t sound bossy, but somehow even Nia can hear the quiet authority in his voice. While Nia and Tobias don’t really have a “leader” of their team, it’s clear that Xander holds the title for Team Shellshock.

“You up for it, Nia?” The luxio asks, confident expression softening.

Nia feels her heart flutter with anxiety, but Avery gives her an encouraging nod. She pads over to where Tobias is finally getting to his feet.

“Good fight,” Nia whispers to him as she passes.

“Kick his tail,” Tobias says in return, though it sounds less heated than the scathing comments he used to make towards Xander.

Nia nods and gets in position, lifting her hands and crouching just a bit, feet spread wide and stable. She still doesn’t particularly like fighting, even for fun, but she just tries to think of it more like…a friendly sporting match.

Xander spreads his paws wide as his tail flicks. Sparks come to life and crackle across his black fur, like stars in a night sky. Nia shifts, suddenly registering the fact that Xander is nearly twice her size. Usually the thought is comforting more than anything, but facing him as an opponent…

“Show ‘em what you did to that steelix!” Tobias shouts.

There’s a lull in the group's conversation that makes Nia’s ears flatten, embarrassed by the attention. However, the comment does lessen her nerves a bit. Hard to be intimidated by a luxio when she’s faced down a metal serpent the size of a semi-truck. And she did just learn work up in the last mystery dungeon, which should make her more powerful, but that might up her attack too much—she doesn't want to actually hurt Xander, after all.

Nia can hear Felix asking Tobias about the steelix comment, but Val starts off their spar with a loud, “Battle!”

In complete contrast to Tobias and Kry’s fight, Nia and Xander stay frozen in place, sizing each other up. The sparks crackling across the luxio’s fur make her wary to get in close like she usually does—he can probably cause paralysis, right? He is an electric type. But if she doesn’t get in close, then her only option is to—

Xander makes the first move, lighting up with a flash of electricity and sending a test bolt her way. Nia rolls out of the way on instinct, but she can feel the charge in the air prickling at her fur.

Xander’s eyes narrow. He darts forward to attack.

Nia yelps and creates a staff of aura, taking a swing to make him leap back. He does so, but shoots off another electric attack. Nia barely manages to scramble out of the way, rolling and leaping from bolt after bolt. She doesn’t realize Xander is herding her closer and closer to himself until he’s suddenly slamming into her side.

The electricity in his fur stings, and the blow sends her tumbling across the floor as her staff vanishes. Xander hesitates. Nia takes the opportunity as soon as she lands on her knees to charge up a messy ball of aura in her paws and launch it at the luxio. Xander’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting that, before he gets hit head-on in a flash of blue.

Nia winces. Yeah, she really doesn’t like fighting her friends.

“Oh, you learned aura sphere while you were gone?” Nia hears Avery say, excited.

Nia blinks, looking over at the kirlia. “I did?”

Tobias is also staring at Avery. “She did?”

Nia sees Avery’s eyes widen a split-second before Xander bowls into her again. As she rolls to a stop, she notices the tingly current racing through her body, making her limbs feel numb and locked into place. She struggles to sit up but can’t move. Xander takes his opportunity to pin her down, paws heavy on her arms.

He smiles. “My win.”

Nia accepts defeat with a sigh, letting her head drop back. “I got distracted.”

Xander laughs. For a moment his claws flex, and then Nia feels the electricity in her body…recede, as Xander’s own sparks increase. He steps back, and Nia can move again. She blinks as she sits up, rubbing the remaining tingles out of her arms. Did he…take back the paralysis? Like a lightning rod?

“Good fight, Nia!” Felix, ever the optimist, cheers.

“It really wasn’t,” Nia says. “At least not on my end.”

“That aura sphere caught me off-guard,” Xander encourages. “And I have a feeling you were holding back on me.”

“Not on purpose,” Nia assures, even as she keeps her mouth shut about how Xander hesitated too. He reminds her of her brother in the human world, Clay, so of course she doesn’t want to hurt him. She imagines he sees some of his younger siblings in her as well.

As they rejoin the rest of the group, Kry and Felix pass them to spar next. Val gestures Nia to sit at her side, between her and Avery.

“Sorry, I promise I’ve been keeping up with my training. I can fight better than that,” Nia says, shying away from her mentor’s inscrutable gaze.

“So we heard!” Avery says, ruby eyes shining. “You fought a steelix on your own?”

Nia shrugs, ears pinning to her head. “Tobias and Samir weakened him first.”

“It is still impressive, Riolu,” Val finally says. “Do not downplay your achievements. You fight hardest when there is a true threat. That is admirable in its own way.”

Nia relaxes, giving Val a thankful smile. “I just worry about hurting my friends when we spar.”

“Xander can take it,” Avery giggles. “But forget about that—what other aura techniques did you learn while you were gone?”

Nia perks up as she describes her improved control over her aura. She can form a pretty reliable staff of aura now, officially replacing her trusty branch as her main weapon, and apparently even throw something like an aura sphere at a short distance, at least according to Avery. Plus, there’s the way she used her aura to find Tobias in the mines under Asra—like a pulse. A radar.

At that revelation, Avery interrupts. “That could be a really useful skill to master.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely! Other than being able to find Pokemon buried beneath rocks or snow, you could even use it in battle or in the dark if your vision is impaired.”

Nia looks down at her hands, flexing them. She supposes she did kind of “see” Tobias’ aura to find him in the rubble. And she remembers when she was first learning to use her aura that Val’s energy formed a sort of…silhouette of color. Nia hadn’t thought of practicing her aura as a form of vision, but Avery does have a point about it being useful in certain situations.

“Want to try it?” Xander asks, dropping into the conversation from Avery's other side.

“Now?” Nia asks.

“Why not?”

Nia looks between everyone, but they all seem open to the idea. Tobias, sitting on Xander’s other side, looks a bit uneasy as usual at the mention of aura, but he doesn’t protest. Maybe since Nia has already seen his aura once, albeit on a very surface level, some of his reluctance has melted away.

“You…don’t mind if I look at your aura to practice?”

Everyone shakes their head, save for Tobias. He just shrugs, looking down to fiddle with his scarf. That's as close to a yes as she's probably getting.

Well, they’re all waiting for her. With a hesitant nod, Nia closes her eyes, trying to remember what she did down in the mines. At the time she was fueled by desperation, so it feels strange to try and replicate the move in a more relaxed environment. She thinks she just kind of…pushed out a thin pulse of aura? Like a wave.

She tries it once, gently. Her aura barely even leaves her body, brushing against Val’s orange energy and flashing in her mind’s eye before petering out. Frowning, Nia turns up the power a few notches. Not so strong as to hurt, but not so weak that it dissipates immediately.

On her second try, the aura washes over all of them in a single pulse. Colors light up in her mind’s eye, resembling their vague silhouettes. Val’s bright, strong orange. Avery’s calming indigo. Xander’s eye-catching red. Tobias’ deeper scarlet. For an instant, for a moment, she sees them all, before it goes dark again.

“That felt…interesting,” Xander says, making Nia open her eyes. He’s rubbing a paw over his chest.

Nia blinks. “You felt that?”

Avery nods. “Yes! It’s so hard to describe. It almost feels like you…brushed your paw over my arm to get my attention. But…against my mind instead? My emotions, maybe?”

Nia cringes, immediately glancing at Tobias. He was the touchiest about her aura being invasive.

He does look a bit wary. “How does it feel for you? When you do that.”

Nia looks down at her hand, curling it. “I…don’t think I focused on anyone long enough to get a read on anything? But I’m familiar enough with all of you that it was easy to tell who was who. I could still…feel your personalities? But not any specific emotions.”

“If you were to focus your aura more steadily, in a direct connection rather than a radius, I wonder how well you could track an opponent, even with your eyes closed,” Val says, hand at her chin.

“Could you attach your aura in some way?” Avery adds. “Tag someone, so you would have a constant link?”

Nia sits back. Huh. She certainly hadn’t thought of that. She’s glad these two are here to help. “I…don’t know? I’ve never tried.”

“Would you want to?” Avery asks, practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of experimenting. They clearly wouldn’t mind being a guinea pig.

“Sure? If you don’t, uh. Mind. Any suggestions for how to do this? Since you’re a psychic type?”

“Well, you should probably start out by touching them, right?” Xander says, tilting his head. He glances Kry and Felix’s way when a small explosion goes off from their sparring. Felix is cackling as Kry shouts something at him.

“That would likely be a good place to start, yes,” Val says.

Avery holds out a hand, smiling. Nia hesitates, then takes it, closing her eyes and reaching out with her aura.

Avery’s purple-blue aura, as curious and deep as the night sky, flares to life behind Nia’s eyelids, making up the kirlia’s silhouette. Nia’s own bright blue aura is a strong contrast to it, the two colors a beautiful mix where they overlap at their hands. But when Nia pulls back her paw, Avery’s aura vanishes. She frowns, and touches the kirlia again so the indigo flares back to life. So she does need to…attach her aura to them, somehow. Anchor herself?

Nia can’t think of how to do such a thing, so she tries to let her instincts take over instead. Aura is all about emotion, after all. About her life energy, what she wills into being. So what if she just…wills her aura to connect? Wills her bond with the kirlia to become something…tangible. Something physical. Something more than the surface-level observations of aura that she's done so far, something deeper.

She thinks about Avery’s soft voice and bright eyes and the delicate way they move. How they’re always happy to help Nia think through a problem and how their very presence soothes something anxious in Nia. Warm affection wells up in her heart.

Nia’s aura moves to follow that pull, that connection, latching onto Avery’s instead of just brushing against it. She feels a rush of emotion, of thought, that isn’t hers.

fascinating eager friend proud curious

It’s less a voice, and more a…feeling of each word. Not too different from what Nia has felt in the past, but somehow more intense. Clearer. Nia yanks her hand away, startled, but between them a string of bright blue aura remains, tying her to Avery’s indigo aura and keeping their form visible behind her eyelids. If Nia focuses on it, she can still feels Avery’s emotions, distant. Like a voice from the next room over or a palm radiating warmth through a heavy sweater.

Worry friend okay?

Nia’s eyes snap open, and she feels the connection cut out, leaving her feeling almost…lonely. She’s panting like she hasn’t since the early days of her aura training. Avery, Xander, and Tobias are watching her with mirrored expressions of concerned curiosity.

“I-I think it worked?” Nia says.

Avery lights up, leaning forward. “Tell me everything.”

Nia tries her best to describe the experience as Felix and Kry return to the group, Kry pouting at her loss and Felix ribbing the dragon type with an elbow to her side. As soon as they’re caught up on what’s happening, Felix eagerly volunteers to be Nia’s next test subject.

Nia has a slightly harder time connecting to Felix’s leafy green aura, and frowns as she tries and fails to find a foothold.

“Maybe your aura is too depleted?” Avery suggests.

Nia considers that, but shakes her head. No, her aura isn’t anywhere near gone. It’s just like…trying to stick one piece of cotton to another, with no adhesive to hold it in place. With Avery, it was like there’d been a piece of Velcro to snag onto.

Val, arms crossed and head tilted, flicks her gaze to Tobias. “Charmander.”

Tobias, who had been watching the whole process with an unreadable expression, frowns. “Yeah?”

“You next.”

Nia and Tobias shake their heads at the same time.

“No.”

“H-He doesn’t have to, really!”

“He is your partner,” Val cuts in. “He of all Pokemon should be the one you are most familiar with. If you two are separated, I want to know you have a chance to use this skill to your advantage.”

That is…unfortunately a good point. Except Tobias has been so private with his aura, from the very beginning. Not that Nia can blame him! It’s a really personal thing. But…she also doesn’t want to disappoint Val, and—

“Fine,” Tobias grumbles, scooting over to sit in front of Nia and jabbing his hand forward. “Get it over with.”

Nia blinks at him, surprised. Just like that?

Tobias flushes. “She has a good point. C’mon.”

Nia still hesitates, but after glancing at his face one more time she closes her eyes and reaches out a hand.

Before even brushing against him, her aura leaps from her body to his, latching on like a magnet. Tobias’ emotions filter through the string, somehow…louder than Avery's. Clearer, like the reception is better.

hide hide hide calm down Nia won’t hate calm down will she get it over with already—

Nia cuts the connection herself, recoiling with wide eyes. Tobias glares back at her, none of the turmoil she just felt showing on his face.

“Riolu?” Val prompts.

“You didn’t even touch me,” Tobias grumbles. “Why do you look so freaked out?”

“I-I didn’t need to?” Nia says, more a question than a statement. “I…my aura connected on its own?”

“Without contact?” Avery asks.

Surprised, Nia nods. Her attention is admittedly torn, though, caught on the thoughts and emotions Nia felt when she connected to her partner. He’s…so scared of her looking at his aura. And not because of privacy reasons, like she’d previously thought.

He’s…scared Nia will hate what she sees?

“Hm.” Val looks like she expected this turn of events. “I suspect the depth of your bond with someone influences how easily you can connect to them.”

“Or maybe Nia is just getting better as she goes?” Felix suggests.

Nia can’t give the speculation her full attention like she usually would. She’s too busy trying to tear her thoughts away from Tobias’ suddenly worrying self-esteem, or lack thereof. She…doesn’t think she can really bring it up directly, since they were kind of his private thoughts? But she’s more than a little concerned. She’s confident that the two of them are friends at this point, but he’s still so scared that she’s suddenly going to…what? Turn on him? Just because she gets a better understanding of who he is?

“Try again on Wartortle,” Val says.

Nia manages to focus back on the conversation, at least a little. Distracted, almost without thinking, she reaches out and tries to make her aura connect to Felix again, this time without touching. Her aura strains and reaches an inch or two past her body before snapping back. Completely different than it was with Tobias, where it leaped for him like a long-lost friend.

“No,” Nia murmurs. “I think Val is right. It’s…it feels completely different.”

Felix looks unusually put out by Nia struggling to connect with his aura. Val, Avery and Xander, however, just seem thoughtful. Kry is busy picking at her teeth.

Tobias is staunchly looking everywhere but Nia, face redder than usual and fingers rubbing at his scarf. Embarrassed. Nia supposes she understands how he feels, even in her distracted state. It’s one thing to feel close to him, but another thing entirely to have tangible proof of their friendship. Then again, apparently he needs proof, if his inner thoughts are anything to gauge by.

“If only we could speak with one of the lucario tribes,” Avery sighs. “They must know so much more about aura and what it can do. Psychic energy can be used for telepathy and more physical techniques like telekinesis, but aura is an entirely different matter since it deals directly with life energy and emotions. I’ve heard you can even influence a target's emotional state and manipulate their aura like you would your own!”

Nia leans back, something in her gut turning over as she snaps back to the conversation at hand. Influencing others’ emotions? Manipulating their aura, their life energy?

"That…uh, sounds a little scary, Avery."

Avery seems surprised, but then laughs. “Apologies. I suppose it does. I just thought it was fascinating! And I know you would never misuse your aura, so I don’t fear that kind of power in your paws.”

Nia’s unease fades a bit as she gives them a smile. It’s nice to know Avery has so much faith in her.

“For now, continue to explore this technique, Riolu,” Val says. She tilts her head towards the battlefield. “Avery. Luxio. You are next.”

Avery looks reluctant to leave the discussion, but sighs and stands with an unreasonable amount of grace. They give Xander a teasing smile. “Think you can win this time?”

Xander laughs, lighting up in the way he only seems to around the kirlia. It’s kind of adorable. He nudges his teammate as they walk onto the battlefield together. “I’ll certainly try my best.”

Val hums, gaze lingering on the two of them as they start sparring without her call. “Charmander, you will battle Wartortle next.”

Nia frowns. Felix just battled a bit ago. “Shouldn’t I..?”

“You can fight if you would prefer to, but I can see you are reluctant. I believe you are making fine enough combat progress to focus on your aura today.”

Oh. Nia would prefer that over sparring, if Val thinks she’s doing all right. “O-Okay! So should I just..?”

“Practice with my aura while I monitor the sparring,” Val says, still watching the battle. “Connect to me, then try stepping away to see how far you can go before you lose the connection. Take a break between each attempt.”

There’s no hesitation in the medicham’s words, so after a moment Nia nods and closes her eyes to connect to Val’s orange energy. It’s not nearly as easy as Tobias or even Avery, but not any more difficult than Felix. A gentle tap to the fighting type’s arm, and the connection, though weak, is made. Val’s thoughts and emotions, calm as a still lake, leak through.

Luxio spark more aggressive Avery work on physical strength Riolu take breaks cannot forget exhaust herself—

Nia tries to channel out the medicham's thoughts, feeling a bit like she’s intruding. The thoughts are still there, but like someone murmuring nearby. She can kind of tune them out, and instead focuses on getting to her feet.

Whoa. She feels a bit woozy, as she usually does when stretching her aura in new ways. After a moment she manages to back away, one step at a time. The string between them stretches longer and longer. All Nia sees is her own aura and Val’s, the orange silhouette of her a bright beacon amidst the sea of black behind her eyelids.

Nia makes it ten steps away before she feels the string…strain, for lack of a better word. A tug on her soul. Then, one more step and it snaps. Nia gasps and stumbles, barely managing to catch herself before she can fall.

“Nia?” Tobias calls, apparently watching. His brow is furrowed.

“I’m fine!” She pants. That feeling just…surprised her. It was as if something she was leaning her weight on suddenly vanished.

“Take a break,” Val calls.

Nia does so, staggering back to Val’s side to sit and watch Xander and Avery exchange blows.

That’s how the training session continues, the others taking turns sparring, Tobias included, while Nia trains this new facet of her aura.

Avery, of course, gently interrogates Nia every time they are on the sidelines, watching Nia’s progress with fascination. The two of them hold a conversation as Nia treads back and forth, getting familiar with seeing the others through her aura. Avery is as curious about Nia and Tobias’ travels to Asra and Shivergleam as they are about everything else.

When Nia brings up how protect and misty terrain stopped the effects of the forming mystery dungeon on their way back from Shivergleam, Avery falls silent. When Nia finishes that round of connection training and opens her eyes, Avery is staring at her in much the same way they did when Nia made the connection between aura and type energy. Like their world has just shifted on its axis a bit.

“Avery?”

“…It’s almost a shame you became a Seeker, Nia. The research community would be lucky to have you.”

“Has no one ever tried to use a move like that in a mystery dungeon?” Nia asks, frowning. It feels kind of…obvious?

Avery hums. “I’m sure someone has, but it’s certainly not a well-documented strategy. The number of Pokemon who know such moves is already small, and the number of those Pokemon who just happen to get caught in a mystery dungeon forming are even smaller. To then also have a calm enough head to try defending rather than running? Even less so.”

“Oh.” Nia suddenly feels very, very glad that her instinct seems to be to freeze and defend, rather than to fight or flee. In this case, it worked in her favor.

“Mystery dungeons are a fairly recent phenomenon, in the grand scheme of things,” Avery continues. “Less than half a century old. And considering how dangerous they are to study as well as how randomly and rarely they appear—at least until recently—many basic facts about how they function are still unknown."

Huh. Nia guesses that makes sense.

"So this is an incredible discovery!" Avery says, excited. "I’ll need to share with Father later and ask him to connect with the researchers and archivists at the other guilds. I wonder why those moves can interact directly with a mystery dungeon? Is the environment itself using an attack somehow?”

Avery’s voice trails off to a mutter, and Nia has to stop herself from responding. Because she knows the answer to that, thanks to Giratina. Knows that the weakening border around the Pokemon world is the cause of the mystery dungeons, and that it’s made of life energy, of aura, just like any Pokemon. It makes sense that moves, which also use aura as their base power, can interact with it.

But sharing that knowledge would mean admitting to her run-in with Giratina. It would mean sharing the news of the world ending, the news that their hopes currently hinge on finding a long-lost dormant legendary. And August is going to talk to Alistair and Tawny anyways, right? Nia doesn’t want to put that burden on Avery’s shoulders. Not when there’s nothing they can do about it. They’re having a good time, training together! There’s no reason for Nia to bother Avery with terrible news. Not yet.

Nia takes a break shortly after that conversation, starting to feel truly worn down. Tobias sits down beside her after his latest spar, panting hard after facing off against Xander. Felix and Avery battle in front of them, while Xander and Kry talk strategy and Val observes.

“Hey, you crazy kids!”

Nia and Tobias tilt their heads back to see Azami hanging over them. She must be done training her own students. The tsareena’s mouth is hidden behind her high collar, but her eyes are crinkled with a smile. “Good to see you back at the Tree in one piece.”

Tobias scoffs, but Nia feels the way he relaxes at her side. “What, you think we were going to lose an arm or something out there?”

Azami laughs. “I never know with you, Spitfire!”

The tsareena takes a seat on Val’s other side to watch the spar now that she’s done mentoring her own students. After a moment, she decides to cheer on Avery. Felix sends her a betrayed look in the midst of battle that results in him getting blasted by a fairy move. Val gets up a moment later to move to where Felix is groaning on the floor, a quiet lecture about getting distracted in battle likely on her tongue.

On Nia's other side, Tobias is now arguing with Kry and Xander about offensive versus defensive strategies. Tobias insists that offensive is best, of course, while Xander leans more towards defensive strategies. Kry seems to be arguing that going on the offensive is not aggressive enough, somehow.

Nia, left to drift in the middle, sits in contented silence, letting her fatigued aura rest. She watches Val talk to Avery next. The medicham’s stoic expression is softened ever so slightly as she directs the kirlia on how they could’ve better dodged a tricky aqua tail attack earlier in the battle.

Azami leans over to whisper to Nia, “You’re one of her favorites, y’know.”

“W-What?”

“Val,” Azami says. She straightens up, but keeps her voice low. “She didn’t have the greatest mentor growing up, so she tends to keep her students at arm’s length. But she always perks up when you and Spitfire are back in town.”

“Oh,” Nia says, unsure what else to respond with. Her ears feel warm.

She…wasn’t expecting that. Val doesn’t seem to hate being around Nia and teaching her, but Nia has a hard time believing that Val holds any particular fondness for her, either. Especially considering Nia’s inexperience with pretty much, well…everything. If anything, she’d thought Val might find her kind of exhausting to deal with. Not that the medicham ever let that slip, but she doesn’t let much of anything slip.

“Trust me,” Azami laughs. “Other than Alistair, I’m the best Val translator in the guild. We’re close.”

Her voice is sly, and Nia glances at the tall grass type.

Azami winks.

Oh, Nia thinks as her brows shoot up. She doesn’t want to assume anything, but Azami isn’t exactly subtle. Does that mean her and Val..?

Val finishes offering advice and returns to sit between Nia and Azami, stopping Nia’s moment of revelation. Still, she can’t help peeking over at the two Pokemon afterwards, trying to figure out if Azami was just teasing her or not. Azami does lean awfully close to Val when they talk, and the medicham doesn’t seem to mind at all. Then again, cool and collected is kind of her default state.

For a moment, Nia thinks, I could connect to Val’s aura to find out.

Then she registers that thought and tears her gaze away to watch the next spar, stomach turning uncomfortably. She’s going to need to be careful with how she practices this new technique. Every time she thinks she’s getting a grasp on her aura, getting comfortable with it, something new pops up to throw a curveball and make her feel like she’s handling a live bomb. It’s just…scary. To know she holds so much power.

Val calls it quits on everyone’s training soon after. Tobias and Xander’s team are radiating exhaustion, and they eagerly agree to break for a late lunch. While Nia isn’t physically tired, her aura is worn down to a fraction of its usual amount and that leaves her ready for a rest and a good meal, too.

“Wanna come with us to the dining hall?” Felix invites, smile broad as he stands and stretches.

Nia glances at her partner. Tobias seems uncertain, but doesn’t disagree immediately, so he’s probably just feeling shy about how to say yes without a fuss. Nia accepts for them both, and the group packs up to head down the Lexym Tree to the cafeteria floor.

As they leave, calling thanks to Val and Azami, Nia spots the tsareena slinging an arm around Val’s shoulders, laughing about something. Val’s mouth twitches into a small smile.

Nia bites back a smile of her own and hurries after her friends.

[fanaroff]

DP Oneshot: He’s Death

“I’m sorry.”

Danny was confused. He stared at… he didn’t know who this was actually. Was he even actually staring?

“I’m sorry.” What did they have to be sorry for?

He could feel that he was confused. And unsure. But everything else was kind of… away? No. Disjointed? No that’s still not it.

“Disconnected.” Ah yes, that was it. Thank you. What were they sorry for again?

“You’ve died.”

Died? Died. Dead? He’s dead?

“No. You’re Death.”

That… didn’t make sense. He’s dead? He’s… death? Did this being have a stutter? Did they mean deaf? He’s not deaf. He’s hearing them perfectly well.

“I’m tired.”

He was tired too. Couldn’t he close his eyes and sleep? He didn’t sleep well the night before. A mix of trepidation and excitement. His parents had a new invention, see? And—

A hand was grasping his wrist, pulling him closer. There were eyes. Eyes bright— bright—too bright green—it hurts

—

“I’m sorry.” That was himself. The words coming out of his own mouth before he even thought about it. Tucker and Sam stilled at his side. He could feel the confusion coming off of them. He felt a lot of emotions these days, a lot of them not his own.

They couldn’t see her. She had a trans flag pin and a she/her pronouns pin on her bag. She was confused too. Staring at him with wide eyes. Green like his

“I’m sorry.” He said again and held a hand out. “You’re dead.”

He could feel the panic like static coming from his friends, but the girl (she was young, hair barely to her shoulders in its first long growth, he could feel the dysphoria she went through and the struggles to just be accepted—) calmed. Her shoulders lowered from where they’d risen. She felt relieved. He could feel it flowing between the two of them. The relief he craved so much himself, but would never have. He was so tired

Sam and Tucker were barely at the back of his mind as he focused on the girl. Anastasia, she’d chosen. The name now scorched onto her soul. Confusion— quietness— unsure— hope?

“Yes.” He replied. He didn’t move a muscle, eyes looking straight into hers. She stepped forward and took his hand. All it took was a single tug for her to pass through the barrier and she went from shade to entity. In a moment, her humanity bled into green and she took the form she was meant to as a ghost. A lovely young woman looking and feeling the way she wanted. Vines grew from her wrists and sprouted gentle looking flowers.

Happiness!!— hope— thanks— appreciation— rest—- relief— acceptance—!

In a moment, she hugged herself and started to fade. Her Obsession fulfilled just like that.

Danny closed his hand and let it drop to his side. He was glad for her. Abruptly turning, he stuck one hand in his pocket and curled the one she’d taken around the strap of his backpack.

Sam and Tucker stumbled after him. They asked questions he didn’t answer. Questions he couldn’t. They may come to their own conclusions.

How does one tell their friends that one day you will reap their souls? After all, he was Death.

[torscrawls]

Spilt Coffee

Tim just wanted to get a coffee before work. Was that too much to ask for?

The universe seemed to think so as it first threw a potential new friend in line with him (yay!) and then promptly followed it up with an armed robbery (boo!).

But maybe he wasn't the only one in the coffee shop with a hidden side.

Words: 2 254

Can be read on AO3!

-

“Hey, is that any good?”

 Tim stood at the counter, waiting for his morning wake up kick-in-the-teeth, when the sudden question startled him out of his half sleeping apathy.

 He turned around and found himself eye to eye with a very tired looking stranger who stood in line to order. He looked to be around Tim’s own age and had black hair and blue eyes, a combination that Tim was very familiar with. As was the bone-deep tiredness practically oozing from the strangers' very being.

 Tim raised an eyebrow, guessing he was referring to the coffee order that Tim had just placed. “The Deathly Darkness?”

 The stranger nodded, eyes half open and underlined with almost impressively deep bags.

 Tim shrugged. “If you don’t mind a heart attack, but you look like you might need it. No offense.”

 “None taken,” the stranger said lazily and with a hopeful grin spreading over his face.

 Tim had the dawning realization that he was speaking to a kindred soul and despite the criminally early hour, he found himself laughing, “I have to warn you though, the fine print says that the shop isn’t liable for any health issues. I don’t want to be accused of causing your death.”

 He sent the barista a wink and they smiled back at him, more than used to his shenanigans and no doubt grateful that he took the time to inform the new guy so that they didn’t have to.

 The stranger waved him off, eyes still half closed and a carefree smile on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t tend to stay dead.”

 “That's… great?” Tim blinked at the strange phrasing, unsure how to respond.

 The stranger opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he said was lost in the sudden sound of screaming voices from behind them.

 “Everyone, get down on the floor!” A man in a very tacky black ski mask screamed as he waved a handgun in the air. He was backed up by another, bigger, man with a bag and a baseball bat of all things.

 Tim had to suppress the sigh that almost escaped him.

 Of course it had to happen while he was actually, maybe, making a new friend for once—Alfred would be so proud of him.

 And of course it had to happen before Tim had even had his morning coffee.

 Speaking of his coffee, Tim watched in genuine horror and grief as his cup dropped to the ground beside the hunkering barista who had practically thrown themselves on the floor behind the counter before having the time to safely hand it over.

 The black liquid spread across the floor in a very accurate imitation of blood. Which it was. His lifeblood.

 “I said, get down!” The man with the gun screamed again as he aimed the weapon at Tim and the stranger, who were now the only people left standing besides the robbers.

 This time, Tim didn’t even try to suppress the sigh as he lowered himself carefully to the floor. It wouldn’t do to get shot in a café first thing in the morning. Alfred would kill him, regardless of whether Tim made a new friend or not.

 And it certainly wouldn't do to reveal his identity to spare a coffee-shop a few dollars. Bruce would have his hide. Even though it was the best coffee in town. Hmm… Maybe he could just…

 His scheming thoughts were interrupted by the man quickly walking over towards where Tim lay and he felt himself tense up, ready to fight back. What if this wasn’t just an ordinary robbery? Tim knew that he was a very well-known and public person, a very rich person, and that meant that sometimes people decided to try and use that against him. Or against Bruce. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

 But he would not be taken hostage today, thank you very much. He was planning on having a nice, completely normal day for once. Besides, his siblings would never let him live it down if he allowed himself to be taken hostage by a couple of idiots in ski-masks.

 He readied himself to subdue the man with the gun as fast as possible, but just as he was about to jump up, the man—

 The man walked right past him.

 Instead, the robber stopped just to his right.

 That was when Tim realized that the stranger he had been talking to and bonding with over coffee hadn’t laid down with everyone else.

 Tim risked a glance up and saw the stranger still staring up at the menu with a thoughtful frown and dead eyes, seemingly completely oblivious to what was going on around him as he swayed slightly on his feet.

 “Dude!” Tim managed to hiss out before the gun-man stepped in front of him and aimed the gun right at the stranger’s head.

 “Get. Down.”

 The boy blinked and slowly seemed to focus on the barrel in front of his face.

 Tim expected fear, expected a scream, expected wide eyes and panic. What he didn’t expect was for the boy to smile and simply go back to looking at the menu. As if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

 Movement out of the corner of his eye told Tim that the big man with the baseball bat had approached the standoff as well and Tim readied himself to intervene once again.

 Maybe he could have just sat this one out, but it was looking increasingly unlikely; a robbery with no one getting hurt was one thing, but a civilian casualty under his watch was something completely different.

 “Are you not listening?!” The gun-man raised his weapon up high and brought it down on the boy’s head.

 Tim winced, knowing how much a hit like that hurt, but the boy didn't even stumble. 

 “What the fuck…?” the gun-man breathed out, looking from his clearly metallic gun, to the boy, and back. 

 Tim had to agree with the statement. What the fuck? Maybe he wasn’t the only one in the coffee shop with a hidden side. Or, Tim thought a bit maniacally, maybe he was too tired to feel it.

 At least the hit to the head made the boy blink and focus on the robber as he slowly said, “You have to wait your turn like everyone else.

 The robber blinked. “...What?”

 And Tim couldn’t fault him for his confusion. Did… Did the guy think the robbers wanted coffee?

 He must be even more dead on his feet than Tim had first assumed.

 The boy gestured at the counter and then frowned as he finally noticed it was empty, the barista lying flat on the ground behind it and out of sight. “Hey, did they go on a break?”

 He then turned in Tim’s direction and blinked slowly at the empty space where Tim had been standing before slowly looking down at the ground. “Dude, what are you doing down there?”

 Tim only stared incredulously before pointedly gesturing at the man aiming a gun at the boy’s face. 

 It took a few more seconds before Danny followed his line of sight and frowned. “Oh.”

 The gun-man shook off his confusion and donned a somewhat strained evil smirk. “Yeah, oh you brat. Get down on the floor.”

 Tim had to give it to him, he and his buddy were goal oriented. A+ for effort. If it had been him, he would have simply walked out by now and called it a day.

 The boy was back to frowning at the robber. "That's a bit rude, don't you think? Besides, I'm waiting for my coffee.”

 At least his reactions were so outlandish that the gun-man and his baseball-carrying friend looked more surprised than angry. The baseball-man hefted his weapon and angrily asked, “Are you stupid or something?”

 A light bulb seemed to go off behind the boy’s eyes as he glanced from the baseball bat, to the gun, and then to the ski masks. “Oh, this is a robbery.”

 And the statement was followed by a wide grin and he seemed almost delighted as he said, “It's been so long since I've seen a good old-fashioned robbery.” Then he gave a slight frown and muttered, “At least by humans.”

 Tim really didn’t have the time or brainpower to unpack all of that this early in the day.

 His weird cheeriness seemed to unsettle the robbers—as well as Tim—as the big man with a baseball bat stepped up next to his companion and growled, "Hey, Kevin, we don’t have time for this. We really need to get a move on." 

 “Don't fucking call me by my—“ the gun-man cut himself off with a sharp sigh before raising the gun high. "Never mind, just take him out.”

 The big guy raised the steel bat high and, before Tim had the time to interfere, brought it down across the boy’s face. The resounding clang made Tim instinctively close his eyes in sympathy. There went his coffee-soulmate.

 But when he squinted them open again and looked up, it wasn't the guy’s face that had a new indent, it was the metal bat.

 Well, that explained some things.

 The boy had to be a meta. It had been a while since Tim had seen one in Gotham, not many dared cross the Bat and his clear dislike of them being in his city. Maybe this guy was new. Or too tired to remember to hide.

 Whatever the case, Tim had a brief moment of relief that his coffee-buddy was still up and standing.

 The big guy stared down at his weapon with wide eyes as the gun-man took a short step backwards. “You freak!”

 “Wow, that's the best you've got?” the boy said in a bored tone of voice before turning towards the counter and asking to the empty air above the cowering barista, "Don't you have an automatic alarm in here? Or a gun?"

 It was Tim's turn to blink. Why would the coffee shop have a gun?! 

 At least the hit to the head seemed to have woken the guy up, if just slightly.

 “Don't even think about it!” the gun-man snarled before whipping the gun around to aim at the barista over the counter. “I'm not gonna go to jail for robbing a fucking café!”

 The barista’s terrified shout rang out in the café and Tim had just made the executive decision to step in when the boy moved.

 As soon as the gun was trained on someone else, all signs of tiredness disappeared from him as if they had never been there in the first place and even Tim—who prized himself on being very well accustomed to different fighting styles and used to crisis situations—had a hard time following what happened next.

 He could have sworn the boy’s hand went through the gun at one point.

 It was all brutally effective, relying more on speed and strength than finesse, and it was scarily effective. The guy moved as if he didn't have to make the conscious decision to do so; as if his body spoke the language of violence without effort.

 Before Tim had the time to do more than push himself up off the floor, the two robbers had taken his place on the grimy tiles. The gun-man clutched at his arm with a scream and the big man was moaning as he cradled his left knee. 

 “Stop whining, I didn't hit you that hard.” The tired guy gave a huge yawn before he reached down and snagged the baseball bat from where it had fallen next to the big man, effortlessly bent it in half, and then dropped it to the floor where Tim's eyes followed it as it rolled to a clattering stop with a distinctly metallic sound, a hand shaped indent at either end from where the boy had grabbed it.

 Then the boy grabbed for something at his waist before he suddenly stopped and frowned. Tim had a split second of hope that he had finally realized what had just happened, and that he might finally say something that wasn't completely off the rails. But his hope was dashed when the guy turned to face Tim, opened his mouth and said, “What do I do with them? Leave them here? I can't really suck them into my thermos…”

 And he sounded so genuine in his question, as if his normal go-to action was to suck criminals into a soup container. 

 How in the world was Tim supposed to explain this to his family? The only words that found their way out of his mouth were, “Your what?”

 The guy, completely without sympathy for Tim’s plight, waved him off and turned back to the counter, leaned over it to look down at the wide-eyed barista hiding there and said, “I would like a Deathly Darkness, thanks.”

 His eyes caught on where Tim’s dropped coffee was still laying spread out across the tiles and the sad look that crossed his face was the most expressive Tim had seen him yet. He cast a quick glance Tim's way, and added, "Make that two cups of Deathly Darkness, please." 

 Okay. Maybe Tim didn’t have to tell his family just yet. The guy didn't seem like such a bad person and it would be a shame if Bruce chased him out of town before they had the time to talk.

 Anyone who would buy him coffee was a good guy in Tim’s book.

[miilkphone]

MCD REWRITE LONGPOST :

The Divine Warriors/Irene powers/Relic Thoughts

okay so starting off. I know I did a poll over if I should rename Aphmau and people said to keep her name as Aphmau but I got attached to the name Amalthea

HERE !!! are a couple of Amalthea concepts, + a face close up of her after unlocking Irene/Malthasso's powers/memories AKA it's her starting her transformation ig + the beard she kinda has going on is her moth fluff, which also runs down her neck ON TO MY THOUGHTS

i will say that a lot of this is copy + pasted from where i rambled in a few disc servers

I'm considering naming the rewrite Metempsychosis

" me·tem·psy·cho·sis [ˌmedəmˌsīˈkōsəs, məˌtemsəˈkōsəs] noun metempsychosis (noun) · metempsychoses (plural noun) the supposed transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same or a different species "

unsure if I actually will or not

I want to rename Irene to Malthasso because the name Amalthea is derrived from it, and it always bothered me that Aphmau and Irene's names weren't a little similar

all of the divine warriors have something buggy going on

Irene/Malthasso - Moth

Shad - Beetle

Esmund - Cicada(thinking of the golden cicada)

Enki - Spider (Because of the Web from TMA)

going along with the moth theme, when Malthasso slumbers to become Amalthea, she goes into a sort of cocoon? and eventually Amalthea comes out, Amalthea has very vague and fuzzy memories of the cocoon and the Malthasso dimension (probably also going to get renamed), but she doesn't actually know what it is until her and the others get sent to the dimension

Now for Malthasso's powers, I saw someone give her time abilities instead of healing, and I liked how they did it so I wanted to do something similar, but I think instead I want to do something similar to how Nhika's(The Last Bloodcarver book mc) powers work. It's a bit hard to explain, but by touching people Nhika can feel every bit of someone's body, all their organs, all their veins, etc., and she can go in and heal whatever needs healing but it's not an instinctual thing, she has to actually learn about the body and how it functions. It's a dangerous power that could either be used for good or bad, it's not only used for healing. Anyway, I was thinking of Malthasso's power working similarly, except instead of being just humans/animals, it could also work for plants n such, like she can feel every bit of the earth and the roots as if it was a body and veins

LAURENCE he does not get his sight back completely, either it'll be like Kenshi from Mortal Kombat or similar to Toph from ATLA leaning towards similar to Toph since he'd be healed from the effect of the Malthasso statue, or at least somehow from Malthasso/Amalthea's abilities, he'd also be able to sort of 'connect' with the world around him

Adding in relic thoughts,

Absorbing and having a relic taken are both very painful things too, as well as having your Jury title renounced(thinking of something specific for the Garroth n Katelyn scene)

Absorbing a relic, when not gone to it's "rightful" owner(but still to a compatible body), it feels very unnatural, suddenly your body doesn't feel like your own anymore, you feel stuck inside a hollow shell and there's always a part of you trying to claw it's way out

Absorbing a relic, when gone to it's "rightful" owner, it still feels unnatural but not in the same way, it just feels like you've gained another limb or organ, you feel more whole than before

Having a relic removed is like having an organ or your heart ripped from you, it's very very painful

I DO HAVE MORE MCD REWRITE THOUGHTS but I figured it'd be better if it wasn't shoved into one big post, trying to kind of 'sort' which thoughts go together. but anyway lmk if you have any questions:))

[skeleton-mischief]

Helloo! I read the ask you got about the skeletons reacting to their first time meeting their Soulmate and each having a mark on their body like a tattoo and all that. I was wondering if you could write about the horror tale brothers? Especially Saint because he's a silly big man and I love him and also I really like how you headcanon him. I think the way you write his character it's exactly how I imagine him to be in my mind, I could never put it into words until I read your take on him and I was like, yes, this, this exactly.

I LOVE SAINT AND LUNAR SO OFC‼️💥 I feel so flattered that you like my interpretation! I try to fuse both of the popular interpretations of "Soft bear" and "Asshole" personalities so thank you :)) <3

As a treat, I'll add a bit more details for the two! Enjoy!!

Saint: He is one of the very few that would acutely be aware of his soulmate being you. He's in tune with his magic and anything that shifts in it is usually a small sign for him to investigate. He would directly understand it at first though, since his universe was so deprived of the concept of soulmates after everything. He lost any desire to even dream of ever having one, and since he has such a shit memory he won't remember that he in fact studied it.... years and y e a r s a g o..... Nonetheless, Saint would instantly feel almost frustrated as to why you seem to have a sway in how he's feeling or why he feels the tingling sensation on his wrist. He'd shove his hand in his pocket, grumble a bit, and stare at you as he'd linger in your space. He almost wants to believe you're doing something intentionally before he hears the concept of soulmates, something that would spark those memories. So.... You're his soulmate??? Really???? It would've taken him awhile to figure out what was going on, so he would've built a relationship with you in some shape or form. He would be unsure of himself, mumble around you, and avoid touching you or interacting. Any initial progress would be stunted for sure, as he'd have to feel absolutely safe in the idea of being close to you. He lost a lot of people, saw things that traumatized him, and became someone he doesn't love. He'd feel guarded around you, BUT.... He might feel an inkling of protectiveness for you he can't get rid of or ignore when situations arrive. Even in the early stages of your friendship and eventual relationship would have him lingering around you to make sure you're safe. (He would still be suspicious and then eventually blame it on you getting into trouble too often for him to look away from you.) By the time you both have gotten close to each other, he's practically holding onto you and willing to enjoy the sensations of his soul finally finding comfort in another.

Lunar: Unlike Saint, he has always felt an inkling of hope that someday he'll find someone who was destined to love him despite everything and vice versa. From the moment he met you he recognized that strange feeling in his bones that you were someone special and worth protecting. He would actually go out of his way to tell Saint about it privately, and in return Saint would support him cautiously and keep an eye on you both. He, similar to Saint, would linger in your presence and actually avoid touching you too much since he's so hyper aware of his strength due to his...altered state. Even if he feels worried that he would make a fool of himself near you with his slightly odd mannerisms, he has an obligation from his very soul to feel protective of you and openly express his concerns about your safety. He has also lost a lot of friends and felt powerless to stop the descent of the Underground from his world. Knowing that someone he's desperately been hoping to someday meet is right in front of him? The thought alone of losing you to something preventable crushes him. He would slowly find himself willing to allow your touch, even reciprocating it when he realizes that his soul feels more alive than it ever has been. He's afraid that he won't meet your expectations of a good lover or even friend, but he would never voice that to you until WAAAAY later on with gentle coaxing. He loves you, and being able to just experience the cluster of stars that is you and your soul is something he will always be grateful for. You're magnificent. Your existence alone reminds him that despite all he's gone through, something as wonderful as a soulmate is much more precious than he initially thought

Thank you for reading :-) 🙏

[spuffybaby]

Time to Heal (1)

I'm writing this mainly for myself to cope with all the post series finale emotions in my system. I've never written Spuffy, I originally come from different fandoms, but in case someone enjoys this, I'll leave it here. Set a few months after the battle at the Sunnydale Hellmouth.

chapter links: (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

The moon was bright, not quite full, not yet full enough to worry about, as she walked between the graves, catching a glimpse of a year here, a name there, sometimes she read them, wondered about them, whenever she had a moment. It wasn't like there was much need to patrol, there were few new additions to the cemetery, and the closest Hellmouth was far enough away. It was, however, one of many nights during which she'd thought actual patrolling could give her a sense of duty, something to keep her mind from wandering. During the day, it was easy, doing research, helping newly called Slayers, even with the burden shared, her sacred duty remained. But nights such as this, they'd become frequent than she liked. It had been months since Willow's spell and the activation of other Slayers all over the world, she had taken time and effort to do right by them, to teach those who asked whatever she could, but still, her new way of life, after she had got so used to sacrificing so much of it, she still had not quite managed to settle into a routine.

Dawn had offered to come out with her, but she'd told her sister she wanted to clear her head. Earlier that day, in a coffee shop she'd come to like and visit often, a man had asked her for her number. She'd politely declined. It wasn't like she'd never been asked out, nor that she'd never turned somebody down, but it was the first time since Sunnydale. It brought back the image in her mind she'd managed to escape for a few hours.

Spike. How he stood in her darkened kitchen in her mother's house, his hand on the door knob, ready to accept that then had not been the time. “After this is over,-” she'd said, under her breath, unsure of how to continue. He maybe hadn't heard, maybe hadn't understood, hadn't dared to hope in that particular moment. In her own mind, things could not have been more clear. No, then had not been the moment. Things had happened, she needed time. He needed time. But she could see where they were headed, if things evolved slowly, if they continued to find their way back to each other, without her taking advantage, without him pushing, without her using him as a punching bag, without him just wanting her. They'd been headed towards what she never had thought could happen. And then, Angel had taken him from her. He never had intended to wear the amulet, the same way Spike had never hesitated despite the unknown consequences. Her bloody champion. She never would forget the look on his face, the realisation that she recognised him as the champion, when she handed him the amulet confidently. When she'd led him to his death. She'd seen his soul, felt it between their palms, and yet, he'd died not believing that she loved him.

A loud growl and she was knocked from her feet, falling hard onto her back, gasping for the air that was momentarily knocked from her lungs. She blocked her attacker, her eyes staring into a pair of glowing black ones, the demon above her unlike any she had seen before, she remembered vaguely seeing something similar in the book, hairy, though covered in slime, and she tried to free her hand to reach for her dagger, beautiful silver, a present from Giles. She knocked the demon back and it fell against one of the gravestones, though before she could rise to her feet, make her attack, it jumped onto her again, her weapon flying from her hand, her stake rolling to her side, her wrists restricted by the claws of the demon, her neck exposed as it leaned to bite and she could not break free, despite forcing er full strength against the monster above her and behind it, another approached. She tried desperately to trash against the grip, gasping when she heard a shriek and she could move her arms again.

For a moment, she wondered if she'd been scratched, bitten, somehow impacted to hallucinate, as she could have sworn she saw a white head of hair fly by. No, her mind was playing tricks on her. She grabbed her dagger in one hand, the stake in the other, then jumped to her feet and charged at the newly arrived demon, kicking its face and making it tumble, the element of surprise on her side as she trapped it against a tree, without second thought or strategy plunging the dagger into its neck which made it growl loudly in pain and she pulled the weapon out, stepping back before stabbing it again, twice before it fell motionless to the floor.

She spun around, ready take on the other, a blow to her face rendering her off balance and she fell back, a sharp pain against her forehead as she hit the ground, the demon approaching in her blurry vision. Blindly, she searched for the dagger which could not have gone far, but braced herself for impact, attempting to roll away as she pressed her hand against the throbbing feeling on her forehead.

She thought she was about to lose consciousness when the demon screamed, blood bubbling from its mouth and before she fully realised someone actually had fought alongside her, the demon fell forward by her feet and behind him, a blurry figure stepped into view, extending a hand to her.

Between the blood and the dirt, she smelled something else, something familiar. Her mind was toying with her, she was passing out.

He cleared his throat.

She forced her eyes open, saw the defined jaw, the bleach blond hair she'd thought she'd already been able to make out moments before. This was cruel. She stayed awake, yet she saw him right there. God, what would she have given for this to be real? How many times had she dreamt about this? During the night and during the day.

Her heart sank. Sunnydale was buried and yet, it clearly wasn't over. All that loss, all that sacrifice – had it been for nothing?

“I thought we defeated you,” she spat through gritted teeth. “Haven't you had enough?” She winced in pain at her own voice, her head heavy. She wondered if she was bleeding. At least it could not attack her. And she would not be manipulated. “You don't deserve taking his form.” Tears stang in her eyes, from the pain in her head and from the cruel irony. He'd died for nothing. Here the First was, ridiculing his sacrifice and taunting her in her grief.

“Buffy.” A voice she had not heard for months. It hurt, made it feel like her heart broke all over again. Dawn had said that the pain would ease, but this hurt worse than day two.

“I won't be manipulated. Don't waste your non-existent breath.” She had to get to the other Slayers, she had to tell someone. Things were going to start all over again. She was exhausted. She tried to gather her strength. “Leave me, it's not like you can touch me.”

“Buffy.” He sounded more insistent this time, his hand was still there, close enough for her to take and fingers wiggling slightly.

Her eyes widened. The smell of cologne. The dead demon by her side. With all the strength she had left, she forced her body upward enough to reach for the pale hand, a choked out sob coming from her throat when the cool palm wrapped tangibly around her fingers and pulled her gently but steadily to her feet. “No.”

He drew his hand away as soon as she stood somewhat balanced, the corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “I'm real. It's me, Slayer. I'm not the First. And I'm ready to explain. I know you have no reason to believe I'm not... something else. But please... I'm not. Let me prove it.”

She took a step back, brushing her hair from her face. “Am I bleeding?”

He pressed his lips together. “You are, pet. Let me take you home.”

“You're not real,” she mumbled. Maybe she was lying there. She turned around to where she'd been on the ground, half-expecting to see herself in the grass. There was only the body of the demon. “You died.”

He couldn't help but chuckle. “You're one to talk.”

The sound made her tremble. Hell, if it wasn't him, it was doing a good enough job for her to enjoy the moment, to pretend. But she had to know better. “How did you find me? Convenient, you showing up when I was about to become demon dessert.”

“Pure luck, love.” He shrugged it off. “Trust me, it took quite some time. Finding you.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, continued speaking.

“But I'll explain it all, answer any question you have.” He leaned forward, though then stepped back. “I-...” He swallowed. His eyes were tired, but fixated on her face. “I just want to make sure you're alright first.”

Buffy pursed her lips. She wanted to wake up. Her guard was up and she was too cautious to get lost in the mirage. As much as she wished it, she knew it could not be true. What if she pretended for just a little while? How bad could it get?

He sensed her hesitation. “Hey.”

She sank to her knees, saw him follow without missing a beat, the leather pooling on the ground around him.

“Look at me.”

She did as he requested. His eyes were so familiar, surely no one could copy them exactly like that, their intensity, their unique depth that had never failed to make her heart skip a beat when she looked directly into them.

“Your last words to me were...” He paused. “You told me you loved me.”

“I-”

“I'm not done. I just want you to know it's me. So we can get you somewhere safe. Don't want you to be go anywhere alone in this condition.” His eyes remained on hers. “The night before, I told you I was terrified because of how we spent the night before. And then we did it again that very night. I left and you said that maybe after the battle...”

She hadn't imagined it. He'd heard it. He'd taken it in. He was here. Spike.

He rose to his feet again, the leather duster shuffling. He held out both his hands and she took them without hesitation that time, letting him pull her up.

“You don't have to trust me. Let me just get you home for now.”

Buffy took a deep breath, knew she should not stare at his face any longer. She could no longer fight it. She deserved this, hallucination or not. “Okay.”

A small smile played around his lips, relief in his eyes as she moved. “Lead the way, pet.”

[thursdayinspace]

For the game: ❤️🎁🎨

Thanks!

thank you!

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

it's unposted because it's still a WIP, and it's more than one line, but currently this:

--

Losing her would be like losing his heart, his soul. He’d be half a person, the other half buried in the uncaring earth with her. He would dig up her grave, crawl into her coffin, hold her cold body close until his own grew cold too; he would rot with her, their remains becoming one, finally, their bodies fused the way their souls already are. But she’s alive, alive, and he will keep her that way, whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

sure, have one from a different WIP:

--

“What are we?” she asks.

He looks unsure, scared, and she doesn’t care, not now, not after everything.

“Before you were taken,” she says. “We weren’t just friends, Mulder. We certainly were more than coworkers. And you know it. When I buried you, I didn’t bury my best friend, I buried my partner. The man I loved. Who I thought had loved me too.”

“I -” he tries, but she’s still not finished.

“And then you come back, and it’s like you’ve time traveled back eight years in our relationship while I am stuck here dealing with the consequences and you don’t even care.”

“I care,” he says. “Scully, I care. Of course I do.”

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it.” She’s angry at herself for crying. Angry for having to let him in like this when he hasn’t shown any interest in being here lately. “And if you tell me now that you need time to figure this all out, I will have to ask you to get out. Because time is a luxury that I don’t have."

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

oh god, anything. i'm just so grateful when anyone actually takes the time to do that, when some silly little thing i've written inspires somebody else - that's the absolute greatest compliment in the world.

[serenaoffaerun]

Acquiescence

My version of Chapter 2 to @alpydk's piece, "Consequences" - PLEASE READ THAT FIRST!

Summary: Tav slept with Mizora, Gale left. BIG catty fight ensued for the remainder of their adventures in Baldur's Gate. Hate sex ensues at the epilogue party. And then...

Word Count: 2,640

CW: References to (consenting) sexual encounter, depression, and alcoholism.

Screenshot: Taken from my own gameplay. Please do not re-post as your own.

There are a couple more chapters to follow, because my brain went HAM on this assignment. Stay tuned throughout the week for more!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He spoke first, finally standing up and putting himself back together in his pants. “So, now what?”

She turned to him and pulled her dress back down, trying to flatten the wrinkles and keep her hands busy.

“What do you mean, ‘Now what?’” she barked, a tone slipping out much harsher than she meant. Clenching her fists and slamming her eyes shut, she shook her head quickly, not wanting to go back down this road yet again.

“Sorry, I just…” She sighed and looked at him, continuing in a much gentler tone, “I just mean where could we possibly go from here?” Guilt stabbed at her heart for the eight hundred and fifteenth time that week, and she knew that she was still too tipsy to hide her real emotions much longer.

He sighed, crossed his arms and looked down at his shoes, idly kicking at the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s anywhere to go. But…” He hesitated, unsure if he could commit to his next thought.

He looked up at her while keeping his arms crossed, lest he slip into some inadvertently romantic gesture like grabbing her hands. As he took in the sight of her hair, disheveled from their…escapade, hands nervously fidgeting with her dress, moonlight radiating off her skin, he felt that familiar heartache he’d been carrying around the last six months bloom in his chest. Hells below, he’d missed her, even after all the venomous words and hurled spells.

Her eyes were much softer than they had been earlier this evening. Plus, she’d actually apologized for her tone. Apologized.

He saw a door being cracked ever so slightly open, and gods be damned if he wasn’t going to push through it.

“But I don’t want to believe that,” he continued, voice solemn and quiet. “We’ve done some pretty impossible things together. Surely there’s some kind of progress to be made.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as tears welled in her eyes. Damn it all to the hells and back, she did not want to cry. It could be the wine, the adrenaline crash from the mind-shattering rage orgasm, the long-lost gentle touch in the stroking of his thumb against her hand afterwards…or his words just now that betrayed hope in his softened voice. His stupid, comforting voice from his stupid, handsome face looking at her with stupid, soulful eyes that bore a hole in her soul once again.

It was her turn to examine her own shoes now, crossing her arms while sniffling sharply, tensing her jaw and trying to will back the emotions from escaping.

‘Fuck it,’ she thought, meeting his gaze and steeling her resolve.

“I don’t think I can talk about this in-person yet. I don’t think either of us can. But we clearly have unresolved shit to deal with.”

‘It’s a start,’ Gale thought to himself.

He took a slow, deep breath and said, “How about we exchange letters for a while. Take time to properly get our thoughts out without fueling each other’s tempers. Give us time to process and think out our responses.”

She huffed a brief laugh through her nose. “What, communicate like actual functioning, mentally healthy human beings?” They both half-smiled and looked back towards the ground, thankful for the slight emotional reprieve. She continued, “We clearly seem to bring out the worst in each other, don’t we?”

“That we do,” he replied before looking back up. “But there was a time that we’d also brought out the best in each other, once. I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again. Someday.” Much to his displeasure, his voice cracked a bit during the last part.

Tav’s breath caught as a few beats of silence went by, her lip quivering. She wanted to run at him and hug his neck and cry until the sun came up. She felt hope for the first time since that dreadful night with Mizora that they could act like reasonable people with each other again, if nothing else. ‘Someday.’ But she figured she’d better quit while they were at least on neutral ground.

“Alright,” she said quietly. She finally looked back up, trying to appear more confident. “I don’t know where to begin, but since I started all this, I’ll go first. Expect a letter in the next week.”

He pressed his lips in a line and nodded his head curtly, if nothing else but to keep himself from rushing forward and crashing their lips together again. He could tell that this was equally difficult for her and wanted nothing more in that moment than to comfort and be comforted by her. But that would have to wait. He didn’t want to push her away.

“Alright. I’ll make sure to respond within the week after.”

“Alright,” she replied.

“Okay,” he said.

After a couple of seconds of silent gazing. She turned on her heel and walked towards her portal home. Before she stepped through, she paused, looked over her shoulder, and said, “Goodnight, Gale.”

Bowing his head slightly, he answered, “Goodnight, Tav.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was pouring rain in Baldur’s Gate when Tav returned.

‘How fucking appropriate.’

As she walked up the steps to her front door, her hands trembling as she brought the key to the lock. She knew what waited inside, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face it yet. Hesitating with her hand on the knob, she closed her eyes, swallowed thickly, and took a deep, shaky breath.

‘Come on, Tav. You’ve walked into rooms filled with goblins, tadpoled drow, mindflayers, and torture devices before. Get a grip.’

As she swung the door open, she was hit with a wall of smells: stale alcohol, dust, even rotten food. Lip quivering and feet unsteady, she leaned on her door frame looking inside. Books littered the floor in a pile on one end of the room, having been shoved off the shelves in anger a month ago. How dare they smell like his tent. His tent that had contained the tomes of every adventure’s loot pile, begging to be scoured for information that would nudge them closer to a victory. The tent where she’d lain every night for months, her head on his chest, breathing in the smell of him and the pages and letting the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.  

Down the wall from the traitorous book pile was a waste bin filled with dirt and burned scraps of fabric. The charred remains of her camp clothing. That cloth had the audacity of smelling like him too, even after they had started sleeping as far away from each other as possible in the remaining weeks after “The Fight.” She couldn’t explain why, but she’d held on to them in the bottom of her wardrobe when she unpacked. Something inside of her wouldn’t let her get rid of them.

That is, until after she’d returned from Waterdeep with her heart re-broken. The first thing she did when she got home was rip those clothes from the drawer, toss them in the bin, pour oil on them, and light a match. It wasn’t her brightest moment, though the flames that started to lick up the wall sure were. After taking an entire sack of dirt from her garden and quickly dumping it over the fire, she didn’t have the energy or motivation to clean it up.  

Wine bottles littered the tables and the floor throughout the rest of the room, some broken and remnants spilled. Down the hall in the kitchen, some plates were left on the counter with remains of meals barely eaten, days old at this point.

Never would she have admitted to anyone at the party that her home, her life, had been reduced to a disheveled mess of depression and filth. It took everything she had within her to get dolled up for tonight’s gathering, to the end that she was over an hour late. It’s why the first words out of her mouth were a dig at Gale: she was overcompensating.

She made her way over to her living room sofa, collapsing into a pile of tears and rain-soaked hair,Gale’s seed still coating the inside of her thighs. Every emotion washed over her as heavy as the rain outside her windows: guilt, anger, hope, relief, uncertainty, disappointment in herself for being so weak… Kicking off her shoes where she lay, Tav buried her face in the pillow, and cried.

One night. She would give herself one more night to wallow in her self-pity and heartache. First thing in the morning, she’d clean up the house. She would take a shower. She would feed herself.

And she’d write that damned letter. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Meanwhile, Gale popped back into his library in Waterdeep, walking past the dusty shelves, the stacks of papers to grade, the pile of crumpled up letters in the trash – the letters he’d started writing dozens of times over to her. Some were pleading for forgiveness at how harshly he’d reacted to her betrayal, not even giving her a chance to speak. Some were filled with more digs and rage, wanting to make it perfectly clear that he would not be speaking with her from this day forward, including at the party. Others were just random lines of free thought, like how much he missed her and how she inhabited his dreams. He walked past those discarded thoughts and headed straight for the balcony, opening the double doors to the salty sea air and falling back on his favorite bench.

Blowing a huff of air out from his bottom lip to push away some of the stray hairs away from his eyes, he thought, ‘Well, now you’ve done it, genius. You let your guard down, lost all self-control, and allowed her to walk her pretty little high heels right over your heart again, didn’t you?’

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples like that would erase the memories from the previous hour.

‘Can’t rightly blame her completely though, I suppose. Not like I can say I just so happened to trip and landed with my dick in between her thighs, can I?’

Leaning back again, he let his head fall against the outer wall, arms crossed, looking up at the stars.

A few moments of silence went by before he heard, “You’re brooding again, Mr. Dekarios.” Tara had landed on the other end of the terrace without him even noticing, which already told her he was miles away.

“I do not brood, Tara. I’m reflecting,” he replied, still looking up, a slight pout in his voice.

“Brooding, reflecting, contemplating… Call it what you’d like, but I get the impression the night took an even worse turn after my departure.” Tara hopped up on the table across from him, settling in to pick at her claws with her teeth, dinner having recently been acquired on a neighboring rooftop.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say it was for the worse. It’s yet to be seen if it will be for the better, however,” he replied, sitting up straighter and picking at his own fingernails. He didn’t want to look her in the eye. He already knew what was coming.

“…Well? I’m listening…” Tara drawled, still busying herself with her claws.

There was another several beats of silence before he mumbled, “We had sex again.”

Still attentive to her claws, she said, “I’m sorry, dear, I couldn’t quite hear you. Enunciate your words, for goodness’ sake.”

He gave an exasperated sigh before practically shouting, “I made love to her across the top of the picnic table, Tara, is that what you wanted to hear? That I don’t have an ounce left of self-control and I let her completely bewitch my body and soul again? Are you happy to hear that?”

Tara had abruptly stopped cleaning her claws and stared at him unblinking. “MIS-ter Dekarios, I am SHOCKED. Can you REALLY still be so reckless. Why if your mother only knew—”

“Morena will NOT hear a SINGLE. WORD. about this, Tara, do I make myself clear?” Gale was actually shouting this time.

“How dare you raise your voice to me, why I should—” she started to lecture back at him before being interrupted again.

“Not. One. Word, Tara.” he said, voice quieter but still firm. “I am very well aware of just how much of a fool I made of myself this evening, but I managed to keep my prior relationship with Tav from Morena in the first place, including its tumultuous downfall, and I’ll not have you spilling this particular batch of tea to her, if you don’t mind.”

“Hmph,” she huffed as she put her paw down and looked away.

Gale got up and walked over to a chair at the table, sitting directly in front of her averted gaze. “Listen, Tara, I apologize for shouting, but I need you to understand something. The woman I loved, the woman who saved me from myself, from Mystra, the woman who still carries the broken pieces of my heart… She’s still in there, Tara. I saw it in her eyes. I heard it in her voice by the time we parted ways this evening.”

Tara looked back at him narrow-eyed and said, “I’m still listening.”

He took a deep breath and continued, “You know as well as I do that I haven’t been able to forget her. I’ve tried my damndest. Thrown myself into my job, tried going out to the pub for social time, graded papers and researched cures for vampirism until my eyes practically bled… But she won’t leave my heart. If there is one iota of a chance to stay in each others’ lives, to work at repairing the damage that’s been done, I can’t walk away from it again.”

Tara sat up straight and looked down her nose at the pleading wizard. “Well I certainly hope she’s not coming here any time soon. One night of indiscretion at the hands of a devil is one thing, but after all the horrible things she said to you, I don’t know if I can be so forgiving.”

Gale sat up to meet her disapproving gaze. “I’ll remind you, Tara, that I said quite the list of unpleasant things to her as well. I am not blameless in this scenario. And she won’t be coming here any time soon, for what it’s worth. We’ve agreed to write back and forth for a while, so that we may converse in a much more amiable manner.”

“Hm,” she almost snorted. “Well, I supposed that poses less of a risk of splintered tables and shredded curtains at the very least.”

“Tara…” he started scolding.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your robes in a twist. I’ll behave as long as she does. But I promise you, Mr. Dekarios, if I need to spend another several months reminding you to clean the tower, feed yourself, and pull yourself out of bed to go to the Academy, I will go straight to your mother for assistance this time.”

He didn’t want to argue. Tara had a right to be concerned, and he was honestly surprised that she’d conceded this easily to the idea of possible reconciliation with Tav in the first place.

“You won’t have to, I promise. Tomorrow, this tower will be in tip-top shape and nary a fleck of dust will grace these shelves again under my diligent cleaning rituals,” he replied, standing now, but bowing theatrically in her direction.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she retorted as she spread her wings and flew off.

His gaze followed her across the rooftops by the shore as he thought to himself, ‘These women really are going to be the death of me yet.’

[miscellaneoussmp]

Did Bad and Bagi interactions inspire this? Yes. Do I expect this to be anywhere close to Canon? Nope. Anyway, here's the story of The Grim Reaper meeting a set of twins (cw/tw: blood/violence/death mentions, general Cellbit fuckery):

In war, a lot of horrible things happen. That's just how it is. People die, and it's a tragedy, as it always is. Bad always finds himself on the battlefields. His duty to the world beyond demands it of him. Reaping the souls of those who have unfortunately passed on during battle is as simple as it's always been. It's just more time-consuming than usual. Bad can't find the energy to mourn every single soul he takes. He mourns for souls he's yet to take, instead.

Bad likes to believe he's seen everything in this world. He's just as old as it, if not even older. This world shouldn't hold many surprises. As always, he's proven wrong. In the woods not incredibly far from a main battlefield, Bad finds two people. They look young, really young. One sits next a body that is ripped to shreds, and the other sits further from the body. The one closer to the body wipes blood from his mouth as he looks up at Bad. His brown hair was held out of his face with a set of goggles. The one farther is chewing on what looks to be stale bread. She looks between the other and Bad, through her ash blonde hair. They look like siblings, twins maybe. These two are the types of souls that Bad mourns. He can feel they're destined for greatness, yet they're stuck here.

The young duo looks absolutely terrified as Bad approaches them, two sets of wide bright blue eyes stare at him. The one next to the body stands, holding his knife in a shakey white knuckle grip. The one farther grabs a sword in an equally shakey grip. Bad points to the body, and he tries his best to explain that he's just here for the soul. The young brunette nods before turning to his companion, his sister Bad assumes, and translates. Bad recognizes the language as Portuguese, but he doesn't have any hope in understanding what was actually said. Both lower their weapons, the closer sits back down, and both look in amazement as Bad tears the soul from the body. Simple as that. He jokes about soul, luckily, being left in tact. Neither one of the younger two laugh.

Bad stays after his job is complete. He's curious about siblings. He's still guessing at that fact. He wants to know more about the young soldiers. He wants to know more about the young souls he's mourning for. Bad asks about their names. The demon wants to know what names he needs to plead cases for in front of Death, herself. The brunette looks to his sister, a guess still, before turning back to Bad shaking his head. Neither has a name. Bad didn't have one for a while either, so he doesn't push. Next, he asks about their ages. How young are they truly? They can't be much older than eighteen. Bad hates the answer he receives. Quinze, the blonde, speaks finally, her voice shakes. Fifteen, the brunette translates in unsure tone. Was Bad ever that young? He can't remember. Finally, he asks if they're actually siblings. There wasn't any hesitation, both nod.

Bad is taken a back when they question him in return. He really shouldn't have been. They ask–the brother mostly asks, but the sister speaks, as well, in their native tongue–about his name. He shares with them his name and a few nicknames he's gotten over the years. There's a hint of recognition in their expressions with a few of his names. After a few more questions, some of which Bad doesn't answer, he offers the siblings non-stale bread. The brunette doesn't take it, instead licking his lips that are still covered in blood. Bad gets it. He really does. The blonde cautiously takes it with her hands still shaking as she does so. She examines the bread for any tampering. Bad gets that, too. He really does.

The Grim Reaper takes his leave after the siblings fall asleep, it was hours of a futile struggle to stay awake. He knows they sleep light and fearful. Bad mourns for their souls before he ever needs to reap them. The demon curses whoever or whatever has forced these nameless teens to fight. He mourns for the day he'll take their souls. At least they'll know peace then.

After nearly eleven years, Bad meets one of the young souls he mourned for, once again. He took the name Cellbit, and Bad thinks it's a fitting one. Cellbit is a investigator now, and his face holds a relaxed smile. He thanks Bad for being kind to him all those years ago. He doesn't mention his sister.

After nearly eleven years, Bad meets the other young soul he mourned for, once again. She took the name Bagi, and Bad thinks it's a fitting one. Bagi is a pacifist now, and her bright eyes are full of curiosity and determination. She thanks him for being kind to her now. She doesn't mention her brother.

[viaphni]

RUINED REALLTY SEASON THREE: CATALYST TRAILER ANALYSIS

I have to completely admit that the end of season 2 and its epilogue had me very hesitant for the way things are going, and I am still a little hesitant, but i DO BELIEVE THAT THEY ARE 1000% COOKING

First of all, that trailer was AMAZING!

The music, atmosphere, and cinematography were all done very very well (and great voice acting from Rinzler too)

But onto the actual trailer

It opens up on the results of the Soulstice's arrival, with Light alone, showing everybody's souls stolen away and their bodies on the ground. Light has lost it all. He immediately blames himself. It's also made apparent pretty quickly that Soullless is still present in some way, and is going to play a significant role again.

One of the first really interesting things to occur is Light taking the Soul Eater's weapon in his hands.

He stares at it for a moment before picking it up, the screen fading to black. But why would he be using his worst enemy's weapon? What benefit does it serve him? Mostly likely, I think it would have something to do with Soulless. Whether he likes it or not, Light now has a complete tie to the Soulstice itself. As he takes it, he says "And now, another threat is here..."

And Void's new reign of terror is displayed:

We are shown the Yellow Kingdom again, and the areas around it, completely overtaken by Darkness. Void must have taken complete control of the situation, as we just saw Seer with active dominance over their body in the epilogue. Maybe it was a defense mechanism to keep him alive after Corrupt's attack?

After these shots, we see what I think is the center tower of the kingdom—and there is a deep, bottomless pit surrounding it where the moat of lava once was.

It reminds me a bit of the castle entrance to the Depths from Tears of the Kingdom. Void might have something important down there.

A few more shots cycle through of the tower, and we see this—

The camera is descending into the chasm.

Next, we see a room maybe akin to some kind of lab?

It could also be a big machine. Somebody is standing there, but even with heightened exposure and brightness, it's hard to tell who it is. I'm sure it's Void, however, due to the chasm and darkness. This shot is really interesting, too--

--because it seems to be the view of the surface from this area underground. With heightened exposure, the walls look very machine-like.

Whether that or a lab, it clearly serves a primary purpose in Void's plans. (One of my first thoughts was likely a stretch, but I asked myself if it could be similar to the Soulstice--in the way that a machine was created to steal all souls, another would be created now to spread Darkness. Shadow Sabre did something similar in RQ.)

The next four shots emphasize what seems to be some of our new group of main characters.

We see the Purple Leader in his home. Him coming into the main cast will be very interesting, as I'm sure it will give us more opportunities to learn about the histories with people like the Sorcerer and Phantasia, strong links to the Soulstice. I'm sure this knowledge will be vital to the fight.

Now this next photo--I can't exactly tell what's going on here? It appears to be Corrupt's lab? When the exposure and brightness are edited, I can't see any details. But this is 1000% Corrupt is just is trust frfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrffrfr Corrupt is alive

The shot then switches to an Indigo and an unidentifiable Aquamarine who seems to be imbued with light energy, given the white eye. I assumed this could be Aaron, but his soul got stolen. Who knows? The Indigo is the Doctor Indigo, I would think--given the coat and monocle, but he didn't have a design in Season 2, so I'm unsure. Both of these could be completely new characters.

And now, Dimension facing off with the Soulstice. It seems that Dimension will play a much bigger role now and actually put in the work for once. I guess that was his final straw? Or maybe the season will start and he will still show absolutely no concern.

A couple of interesting shots of Light and Soulless show up after this.

In a similar fashion to the Season 2 intro, Light walks towards the camera and glitches into his other forms, this one being Soulless. It only emphasizes his apparent new role in the season.

After this, we see a standoff between the main cast and the main opposition. Light, Professor, Dimension, Purple, and...a strange new variant of Assistant. It makes me think of the assistant robot from A Dark Soul, which was also themed around light. In the beginning of the trailer (and in the thumbnail), we only see the Assistant as a head. I guess he got repaired, and Light was a major factor playing in it.

I'd also like to point out how odd the new Sculk Steves look. They have gray streaks, like light energy. Since Corrupt was absorbed by the Soulstice, I imagine that the light crystal he held became of high use to the Soulstice, allowing it to power up these Steves like this.

The patterns on the ends of their limbs also look much bigger/brighter/saturated, or maybe its just the lighting--like soul flames instead of the typical sculk steve pattern.

The Steve standing above in the second picture catches my eye, though. It seems to be a "normal" being, and even appears to be holding something if you look closely.

Right by the head there. This figure is also standing closest to the Soulstice, so they must be important. Could it be Corrupt? Well if you watch a few more seconds--

Right there. We see Light fighting with who appears to be that figure. But that sword... We have seen that sword before!

Corrupt's sword.

We never saw Corrupt disappear when the Soulstice found him. It's more than probable that he simply could have just absorbed the light energy from him, used it to power up the sculk steves and other operations, and left Corrupt weakened. But what purpose would he have even leaving him alive? The Soulstice has everything it needs now, right?

Light found Toxin, too. And with a potion effect? He seems weakened. Perhaps Void has abandoned him and Light will team up with him? He already seemed to be cracking during his fight with Light in the forest where his prior identity as Soren was revealed. Is it finally time we get Soren back? Or will he still be evil?

The next few shots depict a battle between Light and Void, seemingly at his new base of operations. I'd put photos, but I'm almost out of space, and I want to keep this all in one post. Plus, there isn't a lot to analyze there.

The final shots of the trailer are some of my favorite ones.

There's a good bit to break down here.

We start out by seeing Light's cursed form, except his curse appears to have spread greatly. I've also just realized that he doesn't have his soul-afflicted eye in this form. Images of Purple Leader, Soulstice, Professor, Soulless, and Assistant are not surprising--we already know of their larger roles. I believe that's Corrupt again in the 5th shift. As for the 8th, I'm a bit confused. I don't think we know who this person is. However, the purple belt definitely brings up a few ideas, even if they're stretches. Could we meet a new Purple Steve--maybe even Phantasia?? I doubt that's the case, as it seems pretty outlandish. The Yellow Leader being present actually makes a lot of sense as well. His Darkness should give him resistance to the Soulstice.

BUT, I'm really focusing in on those last three. Louis, Cliff, and,, Seer.

We saw the Elites' souls taken. Clearly, they find their way back to the land of the living eventually (and with some sick new redesigns.) Louis doesn't change much, but Cliff appears to now be entirely a Light Steve. Which brings up another thought--if he is now 100% light, does this mean that he is completely purged of Darkness? Is his Shadow gone? Is his shadow the reason he had to become fully light?

And then there's Seer. There's no doubt that this is him. My friend @chaoticcyprus brought up this photo:

We saw this shot during the semi-finale when Void was battling the Soul Eater. The outfit aligns perfectly, except now his hood is down, and he seems to have been set free from whatever chains held him previously.

But how would Seer and Void separate? I assume it would have something to do with Corrupt's final blow on Void.

Corrupt dealt an absolutely MASSIVE amount of power onto his opponent. I'm sure that the sheer amount of light energy could be enough to somehow split Void and Seer apart. It would explain Void's sudden spike in power and authority that he seems to have in the next season.

As for any final thoughts,,, I can't think of much else for now.

But I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone else has to say, and also what the team presents for Catalyst!

[royaltyoon]

HEADCANONS

Escape room headcanons

[A/N]

This is extremely random.

I really really really should be studying :|

Samuel

Samuel is a smart man, he knows what he's doing. ...Most of the time

But unfortunately, his lack of patience is a problem. A prominent one when it comes to solving an escape room

His patience level goes somewhat like

His hypothesis doesn't work? He inhales sharply.

The key isn't the right one? He pinches the bridge of his nose.

You suggest an excruciatingly stupid idea? He puts his head in his hands.

The puzzle just. Won't. Get. Solved?? He grits his teeth.

The damn door still WONT OPEN?! He punches the wall.

His impatience was doing him no favours. Nor did his inflated ego.

"Samuel, let's just take a hint?"

"no." The boy absolutely refused to take help.

Even god himself couldn't convince him.

'God' in this situation happened to be the employee who was assigned to look after your room.

"sir, do you want a hint?" A voice rang out from the speakers. Bless his soul for noticing how we were stuck on the puzzle for a good 10 minutes.

You grew hopeful thinking atleast now Samuel would take a hint.

But to your dismay, he just turned to the camera and gave the meanest most cold death glare known to humanity. One thing you took out of this experience? Never test Samuel's patience beyond a certain limit.

You could practically hear the Shiver that ran down the poor employee's spine. "S-sorry sir."

"come on Samuel, let's just take one hint." You coaxed him, hoping it did more repair to the situation. "Fine" he muttered, begrudgingly that is.

The employee had to confirm it twice with us before giving us a hint, poor soul. You noted mentally to give him a bigger tip than usual.

You remember that 'excruciatingly stupid idea' of yours?

Yeah, that was the right answer.

HAH!

You immediately, I mean IMMEDIATELY threw Samuel a 'I told you so' look. And he just as quickly looked away.

His god complex shrivelling up inside of him, and with every cell of his body hating the idea he mumbled a small 'yeah alright I'm sorry'

All in all? Samuel is never doing an escape room ever again.

And you're almost sure you noticed the employee from before looking at new job opportunities on his phone.

Jake

Jake would actually try, in the beginning that is.

You could tell he was genuinely trying when he moved all the displayed objects at a certain angle hoping a secret door appears out of nowhere.

He asked questions which went from smart to plain dumb faster than you'd like to admit.

Not like you were much help in the situation either. Apparently feeling up the wall for secret buttons isn't a good idea either. Shockingly. The idea seemed genius in your head.

At one point the room just stood silent, both of you looking at eachother before silently coming to an agreement.

He spoke, louder this time, "can we have our first hint?"

Guess what? The hint didn't do much to help.

You could practically see the gears in Jake's mind stop working.

"um, can we have a more specific hint? Something that would actually give us the answer in not so vague words?"

The room fell silent again. Before the employee cleared his throat before spoon feeding us the answer.

It was not taken well by jake that solving one puzzle isn't the end of the escape room.

"THERE'S MORE?"

The employee let us know that 3 hints were the maximum they were allowed to give out.

It settled in the feeling that neither him nor you are fit to escape a room.

You both stood on opposite sides of the room, looking through narrow eyes if anything of meaning pops up. Spoiler alert: it didn't

Finally you both decided on giving up and rather just talk your time away.

"we can't solve this because there's no urgent need to get out. If this was a real situation, our brains would work faster." He said, seeming very unsure of what he's saying.

"Of course, we're not that stupid. If our lives were on the line, we'd definitely escape the room. Probably."

Yeah, you could say delusional would be an appropriate self diagnosis.

"what kind of escape room doesn't have trap doors and secret buttons? Those would be the first thing I would look for if I was locked in a room!" He emphasised

"honestly, if I was trapped in a room like this I wouldn't panic to get out immediately. It's pretty well furnished, there's even a TV. As for the bathroom, I'm sure I can make do." You shrugged looking around.

"I know right! If I was to cage someone up, I most definitely won't give them a TV. That's more like adopting rather than kidnapping. I'd also not give them hints to get out. That defeats the point, unless they figure out the trap doors and hidden compartments." If you can't tell he was really set on the idea of trap doors.

"If I were to hold someone hostage, I'd have them tied to a chair. There's nothing safer than that. No risk of escape whatsoever." Yeah the conversation got dark real quick.

But he just nodded in agreement.

Needless to say, you both got uncomfortable side eyes from the employees once the timer was over.

All in all? Time was well spent. Not doing the escape room.

Here's part 2