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jellyfishsthings · 8 months ago

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Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1, navigation

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds

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kii-nami · 9 days ago

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STAINED GLASS DELIVERANCE, EVERSHATTERING | PHAINON

To love you was to love this world. And to love this world he had to love himself. In the upcoming tomorrow, Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae vowed to love himself enough so he could love the world twice as much, for you existed in it. And this would always be enough for him.

With that, the thirty-three million, five hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and thirty-sixth cycle came to an abrupt close.

cw: 7.9k words; fem!mc with she/her pronouns; a spinoff to this fic and a direct continuation of this mydei fic, read it or you would be lost as hell ngl; a beautiful art of mc by my friend @sewersaga is here; mc is pregnant at some point, idc!!; fujos please dni; i hope i did cyrene justice bc i am scared of elysia fans; kiamei references bc every single version of kiana deserves happiness, i am looking at you two men; using both phainon and khaslana; i am not a hsr lore scholar, i am simply suicidal; have a nice day and please send asks ig

In the promised glory of inevitable deliverance, his soul died a million times before his body tasted the pain of descent.

Sometimes, when hope could be measured by droplets, Khaslana thought that he loved you before he even knew you. Cyrene spoke of a girl with the voice of a windchime and the moodiness of a lightning strike with a sort of reverie Khaslana could not quite understand yet. Not yet a man with no name, burdened by the eternal recurrence of loss placed upon his shoulders by a malevolent ruler above, as a little boy Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae dreamt of running away. Of escaping the fields of wheat and the quiet waves splashing on the nearby dock and disappearing amongst the unexplored lands of Amphoreus and beyond. He could not, so he was forced to spend all his evenings by the swing, Cyrene humming a tune that sent cold shivers running down his flushed skin.

Khaslana once told her this, a little annoyed by her constant humming and Cyrene laughed, her usual teasing glimmer brightening her eyes. Then she told him it was a soundtrack for a romantic tale like no other. Young and enchanted by the idea of an adventure, Khaslana told her he didn’t believe in romance and wished she would rather write a hymn about his future life as a knight. Cyrene shook her head, always the knowing one, and admitted it was you who wrote the song. Soured by the mention of your faceless presence, Khaslana said that he hated you for it. Blessed by the gaze of Time, Cyrene called his bluff.

The melody of Nameless Faces haunted him into the bleak future, a flicker of the guiding candlelight amongst the darkness of despair.

And when Khaslana finally met you for the first time, you looked right at home in the warmth of the night. Squished together on top of the tiny swing, Cyrene was fruitlessly trying to tug on your pointy ears, and you, all flustered and squeamish, kept pushing her hand away. Noticing Khaslana’s presence, Cyrene winked at him, expecting her friend to help her out in her sly endeavor. You watched him, dark eyes almost hopeful, all but begging him to save you yet never asking him to pacify Cyrene’s unruly hands.

Loyalty to a mischievous forest witch or chivalry, bestowed upon a runaway princess; for the first time in his life Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae stood at the crossroads. The decision was never his; your quiet words of gratitude were inked into his crumbling flesh with the brightest of gold. Khaslana often looked at this fateful meeting with longing, cradling the broken glass shards in his bleeding palms. Loving you was never a choice he was allowed to make, yet against the better judgement of those above, he did so anyway. And in this one singular act of selfish defiance, he saved your life by resigning you to eternal suffering.

Since that fateful night Khaslana stopped wishing to run away and started chasing after you instead. From the swing to the wharf. From the wheat fields to the windmills. From his house to the courtyard. From your home to the maze. From the temple to the woods. From the dreamscape right into his open arms. You moved at half pace, yet he ran full throttle, just so he could get to the finish line first and patiently wait there for your uncertain arrival.

Cyrene said he had nothing to worry about, your heart might have been guarded yet your feelings were as transparent as the sunlight on a hot summer day. She was right, it was a romantic story she was writing, after all. Yet her words never eased his worries until your heart was beating along with his, and his voice fell at home with yours, following your lead yet failing to grasp the right notes every time. Warm and hopeful, the world has never felt kinder than in the moments when he held your hand in his.

And even amidst the destruction of that very world as you all knew it, that kindness lingered. Your love, young and naïve, held him standing even when the Black Tide washed over the fields and the pressure of this world’s true nature tugged him down into the Abyss. And when Cyrene’s body dispersed into hundreds of whisps right before your eyes, her ghostly touch still lingering on his cheek with the warmth that was gradually fading away, you hid him safely in your embrace, fearful that he too may vanish. And by Kephale’s name, if he were truly nothing but some lines of code, then he must have been written by one hell of a programmer, Khaslana was sure of it. For what other reason would his heart be so full of despair at the thought of never holding you like this ever again?

Your touch scorching, you ran your fingers along his cheek, never letting the tear fall, “It is my decision to make.” It was. Yet how cruel would it be, to allow himself to be so selfish as to push you off the precipice into what could possibly be the longest eternity known to the universe? How egotistical was he to allow you to love him enough for that devotion to doom you to a myriad cycles of uncertainty? You two were far too young for such worldbearing decisions. And somehow you still stood, trembling and terrified, yet unwavering in your convictions. “So if this world they built is destined to end in your suffering, I want to be with you for the rest of time. Not because they forced me to, but because I decided so. Please, Khaslana, allow my love for you to see tomorrow.”

His throat felt too tight to form proper sentences, shallow breathing barely keeping him alive. Unable to handle your affection, choking on his own yearning, Khaslana averted his gaze. Once blazing blue eyes were now flickering with the sparks of gold, yet the tears dulled their shine akin to the rain clouding the glow of the sun.

Shaky breath and racing heart, he cradled you to his chest, “When I was younger I used to dream of running away so I could fight for all that is beautiful in the world.” The words came with a price, the one that he would never repay in full even when the last cycle would inevitably run its course, yet it was a price Khaslana was willing to pay if it meant there was even a sliver of chance that he could meet you again, under the brighter sun. “Then I met you and realized that in my heart, you're the most special part of all those beautiful things this world can offer. I am sorry, my love, but I can’t accept this. Eternity is far too cruel of a fate for you, [Name].”

“And this world means nothing to me without you!” Truly a lightning strike, your anger could rival the wrath of the heavens.

He refused to look at you, so you pushed him aside just to reach out to him the very next second, for once being the one chasing after him just so he would finally look at you. The moment your eyes met, Khaslana knew he would do anything you asked him to, even if it meant walking through hell side by side with your corpse. Resigning it all to fate, Khaslana fought the unbearable heaviness in his limbs just to feel your skin under his fingertips. Stuttering breath, you leaned into his touch as if it were the only comfort that you have ever known.

“Your heart is far too full of love to be reduced to just a string of code, thus I refuse to treat you as such.” Your hoarse voice was muffled by the tears you so fruitlessly tried to keep at bay. They soaked in the fabric of his sleeves, yet he still held your face so tenderly in the palms of his hands. The very same hands that one day would be stained by blood. And how cruel his fate was, that it was yours that he would be forced to spill at the dusk of the first cycle. “Look for me in the shattered stained glass, Khaslana. And I will wait for you at the end, wherever it may be. Just know that for as long as you can spot me in the ripples of time, you will never be alone.”

He kissed you then, for the first time. A romantic farewell to his only love tasted like salted copper and bitter defeat. You may have died by his hand but Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae got buried along with you. He could only hope that wherever the time took her, Cyrene wasn’t too disappointed with the man he turned out to be. Your blood smelled almost like cinnamon and burnt oranges when he had to scrub it off the ceremonial blade Cyrene entrusted him with.

It was by your own will that you could only ever exist in fragments, and it was by his own choice that Phainon was born from the ashes of the person that died when your mortal body shattered into a billion pieces of colorful stained-glass shards. He, Khaslana, searched for you in every cycle yet was never able to graze even the hem of your dress before your hand got snatched from under his nose by the false Deliverer. Phainon was overflowing with a peculiar kind of wide-eyed ignorance that forced your broken fragments to steel themselves with the resolve of the thunderous skies ready to strike lightning and even with his crumbling sanity Khaslana thought you deserved better than that.

Heart heavy with the Coreflames stolen from his friends and teachers, Khaslana watched time and time again as he – the one of sound mind and high hopes – let the light slip from your eyes, the heartbeat fall flat inside your chest. Every version of him deserved a taste of true love, Cyrene said at the end of each cycle, even if it always ended in tragedy. Too early into this eternity, he never truly understood her words to their fullest.

There were times when the world was engulfed in flames and your blood, still warm and not yet golden, soaked up in the black fabric of his tattered cloak. Phainon, still wide-eyed but no longer delusional – watched as his shadow self crumbled right before his eyes. The sword that slayed all his friends was thrown aside and the empty gaze was so tender one could mistake it for love, Phainon could not force himself to breathe. The Flame Reaver held you till there was no blood left in your body and even when the ice crept up your stiffing limb, the shadow of a swordsman who took away everything that Phainon cherished so dearly still clung to your corpse as if terrified it would shatter if he were to let go.

Blurry vision clouded by the buzzing of crimson static, glitching screens flickering in and out of existence; those were the moments when Khaslana had to remind himself that he could never give this up. Even if it broke him to the point of no return, even if there would not be enough space for the Coreflames left in his heart, even if the stench of blood his friends drowned him in overpowered all his senses, with the last of his sound consciousness Khaslana forced himself to remember.

You died to preserve his hope in the future and you would die again and again, until there would be no more broken glass left for him to collect. Only then would you meet again at the end of this perilous journey. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make, he reminded himself, piercing the ceremonial blade into his own disenchanted reflection. He could live with this pain if it meant he got to reunite with you at the beginning of the new era, amidst the sea of flowers Cyrene was so painstakingly planting just for the three of you.

Yet there was never space for hope in the code which made up the simulated universe of Amphoreus, not under the administrator’s watchful gaze. And the next time Khaslana saw you again, he came to Aedes Elysiae to reap the Coreflame of Time, only to drop his worn-out sword when your fragment showed herself, shielding both Phainon and Cyrene. He found you without even searching. You stepped out of the tiny house with the stained-glass windows – which once used to belong to your father – and closed the door tightly behind you. The most faraway piece of glass he would ever find, all paling and losing color, you looked out of place amidst the golden sea of wheat and rustling trees.

“Now is not the right time for anguish.” Unafraid and resilient, you stood your ground firmly. The glowing marks on your skin seemed to move the way the liquid gold did. A demigod deserving of the title, you knew your end was near. It must have been the Coreflame that let you inherit all those memories, yet Khaslana still wondered what he had done to deserve the punishment of your becoming a flamebearer this time around. “If I am to die, it mustn’t be with them witnessing my departure. Let’s leave this place together. I wish to fall asleep amidst the sea of flowers, where your embrace will guide me into the new start.”

He knew he was supposed to kill you. He did it once before, despite all his corroded memories Khaslana still remembered that day as if it were yesterday. He should have fought you and he would have won. No weapon but a pouch with something clanking along to your every breath, you stood guard between the calamity that was the Flame Reaver and your only family. It would have been so easy, the easiest cycle of them all, the fastest one with the least regret for there would be nothing to look forward to. And yet he couldn’t will himself to strike. Defying the will of the code forced upon you and the promise he had given to Cyrene, Khaslana walked away. To Lygus’ greatest misfortune and Khaslana’s greatest shame, the Eternal Recurrence of the 8128th cycle lasted for over 2000 years.

You died a decade after Khaslana’s departure, body enclosed in glimmering ice, buried at the vast golden fields with the Coreflame of Time vanishing as if it never existed. Your passing shook something in the depth of the universe, the gaze of Remembrance watching this doomed world far closer than ever before. Under Fuli’s unyielding presence the flow of time was never the same in the small village of Aedes Elysiae, resetting itself whenever your translucent fragment heaved her last breath, as if racing to help in gathering your uncomplete image from the stained glass that Khaslana scattered around Amphoreus with his own two hands.

Avoidant and oh so careful, he watched your diluted remnants fall in love with another. Painted with ruby and gold, your devotion to one of his dearest friends made for the suffering far greater than whatever he would have felt when ending your brittle life with the dull side of his blade. The administrator could not think of the punishment wicked enough for his and Cyrene’s defiance, so the Aeon of Remembrance brought the divine retribution to his doorstep for the misery he has thrown you into.

You never feared death. As if searching for something, you traveled to the very end of Amphoreus, a haunting song and an unsettling gaze mesmerizing even the coldest of hearts. For two thousand years you chased after him, be it the warm midnight glow of your presence that greeted him with agonizing kindness or the fading pallor of your most unreachable crystalline pieces that was thrown at his feet, you found him even when he forgot his true name. Yet he ran, despite his memory failing him and the crimson overtaking his vision. Khaslana ran until he could not run anymore.

With the Black Tide closing in, the Chrysos Heirs fought their way to light, yet the clouds gathered right back over the dark skies. Hunted by the Flamechase into the secluded corner of the Abyss of Fate, Khaslana was left with no choice but to continue his Sisyphean endeavor of retrieving the Coreflames.

It was then, amidst the heavy battle, that you caught up to him at last.

The darkness of your eyes could rival the longest of nights, the familiar glimmer in your smile made you seem closer than ever before, almost sending him back in time to the swing near the dock. That singular moment of hesitation was more than enough for Mydei and Phainon to act, yet they could never predict you standing in the way of their fury. You fell by the strike of Phainon’s blade, as it pierced you clean through your chest.

Despite not being his in this lifetime, your last fleeting smile was a gift you were willing to give only to the estranged prince of Kremnos. Overflowing with devastation, Mydeimos struck him once more, leaving Phainon to fruitlessly try to stop you from bleeding out. Yet even with his mind all but lost, Khaslana knew the truth. The prince loved you even when you met your end during your eternal pursuit of the shadows of the false Deliverer. Truly undying, he carried all those memories of you with him till the bitter end. And maybe that was why stealing the Coreflame from Mydei this time around brought him far more shame than your second self-sacrifice did. Mydeimos deserved your love far more than he ever did, and that might have been the cruelest chapter of this romantic story.

With only you and him left standing, you brought your bloodied hand to the jagged edges of his mask, Phainon’s shallow breathing playing a tune of inevitable end somewhere behind you. “Let us end this loop at once,” you whispered, the strength slipping from your voice. “We must move towards light and deliver this world by any means possible. She is waiting for you on the other side, Khaslana. But trust me, your suffering will never be forgotten. Or forgiven. They will pay the price; she will make sure of that.”

The Coreflame of Time rested solemnly on the palm of his hand. Khaslana was not yet aware, but he would not meet a fragment as close to resembling you as this one in all the thirty-three million, five hundred forty-two thousand, two hundred and eight cycles that would follow. The you that existed in the fragments after that was far more resilient, changed yet permanent, engraved in the glimmering crystalized ice with the will of Remembrance. Your desire to preserve the memory of his self-sacrifice wasn’t left unnoticed by Fuli, nor was it left unrewarded. Cyrene said your second death brough the changing tides to the still waters of the abandoned shores. Khaslana could only dream of believing her.

In the last cycle before the great blaze of destruction, Khaslana watched your broken pieces come together into a glass sculpture of the you which could only have it all at the price of losing everything. Not the woman he loved but the culmination of all the moments that cut him open, your broken soul was at the brink of evanescence.

Cyrene’s body forgotten, you dragged Phainon by the sleeve until the scorching fires that engulfed Aedes Elysiae disappeared from under the smoldering horizon. Okhema felt foreign to you, he could see that. Even when you sent Phainon to the Grove, arguing that it would help him to regain some sense of normalcy, you never truly felt at home under the dark candlelight of the Temple of Silence. And when you stared down the Goldweaver, her unblinking eyes watching you with apprehension, you turned the other cheek, walking away from the only friendship you were able to form since Cyrene’s unfortunate passing. And it was only in the privacy of your shared bedroom that you admitted – shamefully yet earnestly – that you wished he could set aside his burden as the Deliverer and live as just Phainon.

It almost felt like you were speaking to him as Khaslana – all unstable and malfunctioning – through time and space, breaching the impervious darkness just to deliver your true thoughts to him. It could not have been so, yet he yearned for it, drifting through the waves of the all-devouring Black Tide. Not even a short month after that hushed confession, this cruel, yet beautiful world threw the Prince of Castrum Kremnos your way.

The Coreflames of Strife burning in his chest, Khaslana watched as Mydeimos confessed his feelings for you. In spite of Phainon’s own devotion never left unvoiced, you rejected both of them, subsequently selling your body and soul to the fire. By marrying the flame, you lost your hearing, yet in this union of mutual self-destruction you were able to preserve all that existed under the false sky and all that could ever exist beyond the will of the Scepter.

In spite of their differences, they chased you down. At that moment in non-existent time, for the two of them sharing your love seemed like a natural thing to do. And as inevitable as it was, you caved in. Be it the pressure of your duty or the memories that did not truly belong to you, yet you loved them with all that you had. And when it was time to move towards the blinding light of inevitable tomorrow once again, you pressed a lingering kiss on Phainon’s forehead and turned your back on him.

“My dream remains the same,” you confessed, not knowing whether your words brought forth blight or salvation. “May this world never have need for a Deliverer.”

“It is for the better,” Phainon admitted then, yet his words never reached your ears. “I never ever loved myself. So how… how can I love this world if it seems like instead of saving them, I only hurt those I love the most?”

You could not hear him, so you never pacified his worries. And for his own good that you didn’t, or he surely would have begged you to stay. Instead, Phainon saw you and Mydei off to the gates of Okhema, then returned to the numbing darkness of your empty bedroom and prayed to whoever would listen to take this burden of deliverance off his shoulders, for they were never strong enough to bear the weight of this world. No answer followed, yet it never meant that nobody was listening.

As one and only act of self-love, Khaslana granted Phainon his last wish of departure.

Blazing with flame and fury, Amphoreus burned. Mydeimos the Undying stood no chance against the blade that bathed in his blood far more times than the shallow count of victories the prince was allowed to taste. You averted your gaze from the golden ichor staining the stones, shameful frown smearing your lips. Be he any saner, Khaslana would have tried to erase that sorrow, instead he embraced the maroon creeping up his vision, feeling like nothing more than an intruder in his own crumbling body.

Crimson crackled and his limbs moved despite him never willing them to. The sword and the blade became one, his own shadow self ripping the Flame Reaver’s mask, unveiling the true horror of this Eternal Recurrence. Stunned into breathless silence, Phainon took a guarded step back, a flimsy shield between your fragment, Stelle and the calamity that wished to be anything but. Just like that time you bore the Coreflame of Time, you took an assured step forward, dispersing the suffocating tension with a tender touch of your hand.

“It is finally over, Khaslana,” you said solemnly, thumb gliding over the ridges of cracks on his cheek. “You held off till the arrival of the true Deliverer. Now it’s time for us to go.”

It all seemed so easy, so tempting. And he was so tired, so worn out. Maybe in this new cycle he would finally find peace. It would be just like he used to imagine. You and him in a little house on the hill above the windmills, the stained-glass windows would be catching light. Golds, blues, pinks, purples; you would watch Cyrene’s reflection in the colorful glass. She – no longer a child – would be chasing little Aspasia, Myrrhine, and Odessa around the courtyard, Snowy hot on the young girls’ tail. He would lean down to kiss your bare shoulder, Sotiris safely cradled to his chest. No armor and no dreams of stealing away into some wild adventure. Only the wheat fields and the sea of flowers Cyrene put all her love into. You would grow old, and your children would grow up. It would be enough. It was always enough.

“Would it…” the rasp in his voice was hard to combat. His brain wouldn’t cooperate, and his mind was too foggy to think properly, Khaslana all but forgot this fragment of you could never truly hear him. “Be different this time?”

Yet the flame long had been reaved and you put your trembling heart into the fire, just so his anguished words could reach you, “Yes.”

“Did I do enough?” Despite all your efforts in preserving his memory, after passing the torch to the Phainon of today, Khaslana knew he would cease to exist in all but the crystal you would keep on your person for the rest of times.

“More than that.” You nodded, a crack in your tone dripping with unspilt tears.

“And she’s still… waiting for me?” At the end of this journey of destruction, amidst the most beautiful things this cruel world could offer. He still hoped it wasn’t all in vain.

“Always.” You smiled, the tears in your eyes were nothing short of stars. “So be kind to yourself, she loves you more than this world can comprehend.”

With that, the thirty-three million, five hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and thirty-sixth cycle came to an abrupt close.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae would burn this world to ashes just for one single chance of delivering you into the brighter tomorrow where the jagged fragments of your broken soul could gather themselves into the shiny stained-glass mural of your unwavering devotion which he would never have the need to share with another. For you would only ever be his. Mended with care yet complete, he would disregard the Aeons and Titans and pray to you and the gold-filled cracks of your body till his knees turned sore and his voice failed him. He would build the dream of a simple life from scratch with his own two hands and prove that they could reject their purpose of destruction and create a divine reverie where all that was beautiful could be eternally at peace.

He would. But first Phainon had to destroy this cruel, ugly world that brought you so much suffering.

“You must go, outlander.” Your voice kept getting lost between the crackling of fire and the scorching boulders falling from the blazing skies. Stelle looked at you, heartbroken and dazed, as Cyrene tried tugging her closer to the exit of the Vortex of Genesis. “Be the hero this world needs.”

“If I can save at least someone, let it be you.” Phainon could sympathize with Stelle’s anguish, he remembered the pain of losing you for the first time. The agony of not being able to save even one single person. The only one left, her trailblazing companions put their lives on the line and fell in the process just to deliver her here. And it was now Stelle’s turn to repay them. If only things were that simple. “It’s not fair.”

“Our whole existence is unfair.” You scoffed, his most beloved lightning struck with blistering thunder. “We are nothing but some sentient lines of code, and we are more than aware we cannot make change, yet you still have a chance.” A heavy, defeated sign fell from your lips. You placed a deep blue, almost black crystal into Stelle’s trembling hand, “When you meet the me of tomorrow give this to her, she will know I sent you. She might not be me, but she will be complete. Competent. You can trust her to aid you. She and Cyrene will not let you fall.” Cyrene screamed something, it got stranded amidst the destruction. You put your heart into the fire, yet Phainon doubted you would have heard her even if her new voice was loud enough to reach you. “I am begging you, please save him, Deliverer.”

Swallowing her fear, Stelle nodded, “I will. All of you. I promise.”

You did not stay long enough to oversee their safe escape, just turned your back on hope and surrendered yourself to misery. The flames raged on yet never grazed you and even if this festering heat scorched you, you never let it show. A personification of destruction, a fallen angel of the most malevolent god, Phainon watched from above as you stood at the precipice of demolition. Allowing himself to touch the divine before his inevitable descent into carnage, he lowered himself next to you, knees hitting the ground right before your feet.

“Why did you stay?” Despair. How much despair a man could keep inside the cracks of his ribcage before it stared spilling like his rotting insides? “The flame of this ire is not under my control, it will not spare you.”

“Do you think I care for being spared from the fire that will take you away from me?” He must have crossed the line, as your lips formed into a frown of heavenly retribution. “For the third and final time I wish to fall with you.”

How unjustly cursed you were with this devotion to a man who could never rise to your expectations. “I failed to save them. I failed my promise to Cyrene. I failed her trust in me. And I will fail you too. Why would you still wish to burn with a sinner parading himself a savior?”

“Savior?” Something so painfully bitter bloomed on your face. You reached for him, the heat of his skin contrasting with the chill that followed your fragments wherever they went. Always freezing, you lost all your warmth when you fell apart into the sparkling pieces of glass. Delicate and gentle, yet never hesitant, you pressed your palms to his cheeks. “Not for her. Not for me. To me you were never a Deliverer. You were simply the man I loved and the man I wished to be loved by. You were just Khaslana. Just Phainon. In my most treasured dreams, I fantasized of a simple life with nothing more than you quietly loving me. And it was always enough.”

“Loving you quietly?” He laughed as if your words insulted him. And truly, they did.

Khaslana, Phainon, Flame Reaver. In no iteration of his being could he ever offend your existence by staying quiet. Not him, not his devotion. He was created not to destroy but to meet you, to hold you, to steal the air you inhale, to be the one you can rely on unconditionally, to be the only one you call at any given time. Phainon knew he was made for you, and it was the only reality he would ever accept.

“I will love you against all odds, despite our nature, regardless of circumstance. I will love you loudly, shamelessly, with no remorse and no abandon.” That was the only truth he could ever live. In any universe and in each cycle in which you allowed yourself to be his, he would love you with everything he had. “I loved you in the irretrievable yesterday, I am in love with you amidst the inexorable today, and I continue loving you come the inevitable tomorrow. This love for you will fuel my hatred, and it shall burn us a way into the new dawn where you have no need to exist in pieces of broken glass.” A stutter, his breath stumbling over the heavy lump in his throat. His tears could never be seen, for they evaporated faster than they could fall. “Just give me one more shameful chance to prove it to you and leave this place before I hurt you any more than I already did.”

“She promised to wait for you at the end of the Flamechase. And I will get you there even if this vessel turns to ash. I may not be her, not fully, not yet… but in our memories we only burn for you.” Stubborn and headstrong, you leaned onto him, allowing the skirts of your dress to catch fire.

You surely must have known that Nanook was watching the birth of his newest emanator, and oh how disappointed They must have been, seeing him bend to the will of a shard of Remembrance, instead of following the call of Destruction. Yet knowing that gaze could touch you only fueled his anger, fanned his rage and fed his wrath. If They wished him to become a perfect pathstrider, then he had to embark on the journey of demolition, for his love would be enough to incinerate even the personification of carnage.

“And if rescuing you is a sin, I will gladly become a sinner.” You were no better; he came to realize in that timeless moment. A beloved daughter of Remembrance, you would stop at nothing if it meant to preserve his memory. What a terrible match you made. “Farewell, Khaslana. May we meet again under the bright new dawn where your shoulders do not cave under the weight of Deliverance.”

He may have been born of fire, yet the kiss that followed your words lingered even after both his wings were torn off and his all-encompassing anger reached Nanook’s ever-imposing, yet pointless existence. Impressive as it was, Phainon fell, nonetheless. And as he rapidly descended back into this wretched world, he could still taste your scorched flesh as it melted on his tongue. He could still feel your ashes staining his lips. He recalled as they soaked up the golden ichor of his blood until they became one forever more. And as his vision crawled with the flickering specs of crimson for the last time, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae vowed that he would carry a piece of you into tomorrow by any means possible, even if he needed to turn his own body into the vessel of your love.

So run, Akivili. Bring forth a cycle of hope.

Amidst the colorful meadow full of blooming flowers, a new dawn broke.

In this tranquil quietude the clear skies awaited the world to wake up from its golden slumber. Alone in these early hours, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae watched two white doves on the olive branch with a longing he would never be able to describe to those who have never been through hell. And maybe it was for the better that not many people could relate to his suffering, it meant the world – no matter how cruel – was still full of beautiful things worth fighting for.

“What, planning on running away before the responsibility catches up to you, Deliverer?” He still shuddered when someone mentioned the word, and he battled nightmares every time he closed his eyes. Yet somehow, Phainon still pushed through the cold shivers and the bitterness coating his tongue. Because under this brand-new sun, in this new less heartless world, there was no need for a Deliverer.

He scoffed, wiping his sweaty palms on the harsh fabric of his pants, “I bring my wife’s honey cakes to my sister-in-law’s house once, and this how you repay me?”

“No need to be so defensive.” Mydei heaved a tired sigh, yet he never pushed any more than was necessary when it came to you. Despite their competitive nature they both had a line they would never ever cross, and this line started with the mention of your name. “She is not going to die.”

“Easy for you to say, my friend. Kassiani isn’t troubled by her weak health.” Still a little shaken, Phainon resumed his bird watching, yet the doves long since left the olive branch. The disappointment of their departure brought him back to reality, and only then did Phainon realize how insensitive he must have sounded. “Not that I am saying that she should be.”

Mydei sent him a look of guarded apprehension. The one that would have surely started a fight if circumstances were even a tiny bit different. Only Phainon didn’t have it in him to compete right now, he could not allow himself to make you worried. What you needed was peace, yet with friends like yours who would ever get even a second of quiet.

“He’s right, you know!” As if sensing that he was in desperate need of rescue, Cyrene plopped herself onto the ground next to him. No longer stuck in between time, she finally grew into a lovely woman she was always supposed to be. It was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes, but Phainon was still hesitant to let them slip, unsure whether he was able to control the heat that would follow. “It is a beautiful romantic story in which we get to see my dear nieces be born to grow big and healthy. Because bright and positive girls deserve only the happiest lives!”

“Cyrene…” Phainon used to dream of times like these. To chastise her for unabashed behavior, to reprimand her mischievous antics. As if back at the swing you first met, only this time instead of tugging on your ears, she was threatening to raise the whole village with how loud she was. Phainon would not give this up even if they had to kill him for it. “Please lower your voice, you will wake [Name] up.”

An annoyed huff, a sleepy, tired foxian emerged into the clearing. “She’s already up.” So rudely awakened, Shuhua must have been looking for the doves, Phainon realized. Too bad they left before she was able to catch them with her teeth, “Little Miss Pink Elf can’t stop tugging on our ears even in her sleep.”

“Can you blame me?” All coy and teasing, Cyrene clapped her hands, “I just can’t resist myself when I see a cute girl!”

One confused blink in her direction, Shuhua gifted Cyrene the most deadpan of stares, “You are well aware that I am happily taken.”

Pursed lips and a feigned disappointment, Cyrene sniffled, “How cruel of you to remind me of that man.”

A cunning snicker from Shuhua’s side, Stelle’s hand dropped on her companion’s shoulder. She seemed so much more mature right now, contrary to that time he so shamelessly dropped his burden on her lap, it rang in dissonance to the childish words that left her mouth, “A trusted songbird source told me that you should try March instead.”

“Oh, is that so?” Cyrene pretended to catch the bait, hurriedly sprinting away through the rows of flowers, on her way to the house with the glass-stained windows. “I’m right on it~”

So little space and so many people. Phainon knew the outlanders would inevitably depart soon once more, visiting only when a glowing crystal or glossy tarot card would call them back into the world which harbored the slumbering beast of destruction.

Mydei and Kassiani would soon leave as well; a King could never let himself avoid his duties any more than his mother would allow him to. Hyacine, Anaxagoras and Melpomene would pay them a brief visit; once a week, on the dot, but they would never overstay their welcome, far too busy with the Grove to spare any more of their time. Castorice and Polyxia would drop by for some tea; Castorice would shyly ask you to read yet another short story she wrote in the time that passed since she saw you last and you would eagerly read it, cuddled with Cyrene on the porch as the sunset burned with oranges and purples. Aglaea, Cipher and three fragments of Tribios would invite you two to Okhema, any bad blood long since lost in the purifying flames, and you would spend hours complaining about his awful sense of style, Cipher staring him down for the empty spot next to you. Phainon would let her win, and you would scratch her head while Trianne, occupying your other side, would tug on Cipher’s tail and put all the blame on him for which Phainon would surely get a scratch or two himself, courtesy of Cipher this time around. Neither Tribbie nor Trinnon would sell their sibling out and the cold war would continue until it was time for you to go,

And then you would return home, Cyrene and Snowy waiting for you at the front door. She would inevitably tug on your ears to her heart’s content, and you would try to push her away, kicking and screaming for Phainon to save you.

This life was so simple. This life was so beautiful. This life was all Phainon ever dreamed of, he was constantly afraid it all would inevitably get taken from him in one single written command. And it must have been oh so obvious to everyone around him. It had to be, Phainon could not see any other reason for Stelle’s adamant insisting on staying here, in this tiny house till your daughters were born.

Breathless heaving, these days you were way too tired to even stand, yet still you decided to come all the way here. Phainon sent you a stern look, the one that he kept trying to muster for the future he would have to live as a father, but he wasn’t sure whether he seemed convincing enough. You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as a silent sign of gratitude for helping you down on the grass below.

Stelle still watched you with the same haunted gaze she donned back at the Vortex of Genesis, and Phainon had to remind himself that Deliverance was not a thing that simply happened to someone. It was a continuous path which one had to walk for the rest of their life, and only at the very end would they finally be saved. His true Deliverance would always be forgiving himself. And it was a process far too tedious for it to happen overnight.

“Stelle, what did you say to Cyrene?” Finally calming your breath, you looked up at her with accusatory stare. “She almost broke the front door…”

“Now why would you think it was me?” Stelle coughed awkwardly, trying to hide her guilt behind a pathetic chuckle yet never succeeding in doing so and giving up halfway, “Okay it was me…”

“You’re grounded.” Shuhua’s disgusted hiss was the only warning sign before she dragged her friend back to the house.

Watching outlanders leave, Kassiani smiled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, “We should head out as well. Mother must be going insane all alone in that castle. Call me if you need anything, sister.”

You nodded, a little tightlipped, and once more Phainon wondered how you must have felt, stripping yourself from a part of the past that made you into who you were today to create another living being. Dan Heng once said it was like creating a copy of a previously existing file, and Cyrene scoffed at his clinical cynicism. She said that someone as cute as you couldn’t be this dull and your power as a pathsstrider of Remembrance simply made you special. Because all pretty girls like you and her were special by default.

The eccentric lady in a big hat that once showed up along with the rest of Astral Express simply called you and Cyrene emanators, then left to never show her face again when nobody entertained her overinflated ego. Phainon was inclined to trust the narcissistic witch’s judgement more than his pink friend’s usual rambling.

“She has your face; she has your temper. But whenever I see her, it’s as if I am looking at a stranger.” Phainon himself felt like he would never truly be used to it, yet he would never ask for anything other than this. “At some point I remember thinking that he was far more deserving of your love. I wish I could tell that Phainon to be kinder to himself.”

It was still a terribly arduous endeavor to not reduce himself to those he could not save. Phainon knew he would most likely spend his whole life running away from the shadows of nightmares clinging to him whenever he closed his eyes. But you were here next to him, complete albeit covered in glowing golden cracks, and when the terrors finally caught up to him, you held his hand firmly in yours. Even if it burned you, you still refused to let go. Because his loud love was enough.

“You are the only one who deserves me.” You said it with such conviction, even a man like Anaxagoras would have believed your most egregious lie were it delivered with that voice of yours. “He met a broken fragment of my soul, the one that was never allowed to love you. It would be far too brutal to take it away from them. All of you and all of me deserve to be loved.”

Lips pressed to the palm of your hand, Phainon lingered, “Thank you, for letting him keep this happiness.”

You raised your brow at him, unamused, “He is my friend too, you know.”

“I do.” He did. He had never doubted you even once. For this you, the complete you, were always his and his alone. “Is this enough?”

“It is more than I could ever hope for.” At last, Phainon allowed himself to cry. Some fell into your open palm, some evaporated before they could ever touch you. He wondered if you would be open to the idea of letting him choose the names for the triplets. He could swear on the love he harbored for you, that his atrocious taste would never be an obstacle this time around. “But please tell them to vacate the premises before I am forced to do that myself.”

Maybe tomorrow, then. After dinner and a little cake Cyrene would inevitably feed you by hand. Maybe then your temper would not strike him with lighting for such foolish question. “A precaution in case things go haywire. You can never be too sure when it comes to delivery.”

“Alisa is enough.” You pointed out. “Hyacine was enough, actually.”

“Not when Cyrene is around.” Phainon shook his head, not backing down despite your greatest efforts. “Not for as long as I breathe.”

You laughed, your voice sounded just like windchimes, “Whatever you wish, husband.”

The crystal on Alisa’s nightstand was glowing the purest shades of blue.

Cyrene was right, it was a romantic story like none that has come before.

#phainon x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x reader #hsr imagines

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 71 of human Bill Cipher trying to debate his way out of still being the Mystery Shack's prisoner. Soos has found the stolen Journal 4 in Bill's possession and has to decide what to do about it in light of everything else he's learned about Bill lately.

[*this chapter was renumbered to squeeze in the Axolotl plot arc! If you. Haven't read it yet, go back to ch 61 and read it!]

Soos stared dumbfounded at the journal with a 4 on the cover that he'd pulled from Bill's hiding place. Ford had lost Journal 4 last fall—he'd said gnomes had stolen it. How in the world had Bill gotten it?

Soos sat in the attic window seat and flipped through it. The first few pages were Ford's journal entries—his observations of the dimensional rips they were glueing shut in Gravity Falls post-Weirdmageddon, a hand-drawn map highlighting various places around the globe he wanted to investigate, a few drawings and observations of paranormal beings he hadn't seen his first time in town, half a sketch of a gnome that ended with a jagged scribble across the page followed by a page that said "Shmebulock" over and over.

And then a page that said, in an unfamiliar handwriting of jagged, narrow gray letters: "CURSED BOOK! If your name is Mabon Mason Pines, STOP READING NOW or ENJOY YOUR HEX!"

Bill had written page after page of some weird code of gray and yellow-green dots and dashes. A few sentences in English—every one of them was a threatening message to Ford. "Everything would have been fantastic if you'd just helped me finish, Fordsy." "You'll regret not siding with me when you had the chance." "You should have known better than to let your idiot brother turn you against me." "Sixer, you're lying to yourself every time you say you never worshiped me, and you know it. You spent the first third of your life running away from the god you were raised with and the second third chasing after me. Don't waste your last third denying it. YOU'RE MINE." A small, worrying diagram of what looked like the interdimensional portal. And a sticker.

Wait, hold on.

A sticker. One of Mabel's. The rest of the page was the same as the others, the two-tone dots and dashes, except for the sticker, and an arrow drawn from one paragraph to the sticker.

A yellow smiley, its round edges filled in with black marker to make a triangle, over the words "Good job!"

Soos stared at the sticker.

####

A couple of weeks ago, Melody had texted to let Soos know that there was a mess in the upstairs bathroom, and the kids said they'd been fighting a werewolf ghost.

When Soos had gotten home the next morning, Melody had pulled him aside and quietly told him she hadn't wanted to worry him and the Stans, but she did not think it was a werewolf ghost.

When Soos saw the bathroom, he didn't think it was a werewolf ghost either.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Menacing magical sigils painted all over the walls in blood and toothpaste, Bill's zodiac painted on one mirror, the other mirror broken, glass and water all over the floor. It looked like the site of a really wet demon summoning. This contained none of the hallmarks of ghostly or werewolfish activity. Why would Bill do this?

Soos was kind of reluctant to ask Bill. Bill still sorta scared him sometimes. Sure, he looked like a lost 18-year-old, but Soos knew what teens were like in a fight. So he asked Mabel instead.

Mabel pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Ask Dipper."

So Soos asked Dipper.

Dipper winced and. "Promise you won't get mad."

Soos considered that. "Yeah, I guess that's a fair deal."

Dipper confessed that Bill got accidentally locked in the upstairs bathroom for like a whole day, because he and Mabel didn't hear him yelling. Not because they were out of the house when they shouldn't have been. They were just... somewhere else in the house. Doing something loud. For the whole day.

While Bill was trapped alone.

####

Soos had vented to Abuelita about cleaning the bathroom. Like sure, he got Bill was annoyed about being stuck, but that seemed excessive.

Abuelita had made the observation that sometimes people in profoundly bleak and oppressive situations would just... destroy whatever was around them. Like punching a hole in the wall or snapping a pencil when you were angry, but much more so. Not because they wanted their surroundings to be destroyed, but because that was the last and only thing they had power over, and they needed to feel like they were in control of something. Even if that thing was merely changing their environment from ordered to chaotic.

Bill didn't have control over very much. He probably hadn't since he died. Soos didn't know what kind of space triangle afterlife Bill had been in before he showed up as Toga Lady, but it couldn't have been great if he'd come straight back here.

Soos could remember the one time weeks ago he'd let Bill into the bathroom to shower and forgotten to come back and let him out. How Bill had screamed so all the Mystery Shack's tourists could hear; how he'd seethed in Soos's face, how he'd said he'd rather blow their collective cover and throw them all on the mercy of the town's law enforcement than remain locked in the bathroom a second longer than they'd agreed upon. Soos had thought Bill was just impatient and hotheaded.

Standing in the bathroom, looking at the material evidence of Bill's claustrophobic terror—the broken glass, the spilled blood—he wondered.

####

The same day, he had felt a breeze in the gift shop and found the trap doors to the roof left open. He'd climbed up, shut them, and in between tours he'd visited his office to check yesterday's security tapes.

He saw Wendy coming into the shack to hang out the morning before. That was fine. Soos had discovered she did that from time to time on days the shack was closed, but she wasn't doing anything bad and she hadn't brought it up yet, so Soos didn't bring it up either. Maybe she just needed a private place to hang. Teen stuff. He was just glad Wendy felt that safe at the Mystery Shack. Maybe she'd just gone up to hang out on the roof and forgot to shut the trap doors...

And then, right there on screen, Soos saw Bill letting himself into the gift shop, through the door, which he shouldn't be able to open. A chill shot up Soos's back. The door curse was their only real means of containing Bill. If he could use doors now, he was out, there was no way they could trap him without doing something crazy like locking him in the bunker and hoping he didn't kill himself.

Or could he use doors? Soos thought back to the frantic messages on the bathroom wall, written in Bill's own blood—his desperation over being unable to escape. Maybe he could use doors but not doorknobs. That was okay, maybe?

On tape, he saw Wendy run into Bill. He saw Wendy take Bill onto the roof. Out in the open air, where he could just... do whatever. But he didn't do whatever. Soos fast-forwarded the tape until Wendy and Bill came back down, and Bill simply returned to the living room.

He'd had the perfect opportunity to shove Wendy off the roof or escape. He didn't take it.

If all Bill was using his new door skills for was ducking into the gift shop and hanging out on the roof with Wendy, Soos thought maybe it would be kinda mean to take that away from him. There weren't a lot of other places Bill could go in the shack. (Soos kept seeing the blood on the bathroom wall. He kept trying to imagine what kind of helplessness would drive someone that far.) Maybe Bill needed the open air.

So Soos had put the security tape on his desk, not sure what to do about it.

####

A couple of day after that, while Soos was restocking the gift shop in between waves of tourists, he'd seen Wendy reading an oddly dull-looking booklet instead of one of her usual magazines. He tilted his head to glance at the cover. The Oregon state driving manual. "Aw dude, gonna get your learner's permit?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Don't tell my dad."

Soos remembered Wendy groaning about her dad wrangling her into doing errands if she ever got her license. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks."

"What made you change your mind? You were totally against getting a license a week ago."

"It's probably those stupid Gleeful Auto commercials that have been worming into my dreams." Wendy laughed. "I'm just waking up in the morning like, neeeed caaar."

"Oh yeah! Heh, funny coincidence, Melody says she had a dream like that too. Sometimes she gets these like, dreams about monsters watching her in bed? But one time, the monster was Bud Gleeful, whispering in her ear about a big car sale. She totally woke up laughing!"

"Ha! Annoying car commercials should be banned, man. Why do we need to be told multiple times a day to spend thousands of dollars?"

"You make a salient point."

They fell silent for a moment as Wendy read a couple more paragraphs. Then she said, "That, plus... I was talking to Goldie the other day."

Soos looked up from the t-shirt he'd been putting on a clothes hanger. "Oh. Yeah?"

"About where we wanna go when we get out of town."

"Huh." Very casually, Soos asked, "What did Goldie say?"

"He wants to go on some big vacation. Like a world cruise or something, I dunno."

"Huh." Soos wondered if that was true. He tried to imagine Bill Cipher as a tourist. Floating triangle in a Hawaiian shirt with a camera hanging from a strap and a fanny pack. What kind of places would he even visit? Soos bet he wanted to visit the pyramids. Heh. (Was that stereotyping? Maybe that was stereotyping.)

"And I told him I'm moving to Portland for college."

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were thinking about college."

"I... actually, never told anybody else before," Wendy said. "I've been thinking about it for years, but part of me felt like it's just a fantasy? But Goldie said when he got out of high school, he did the same thing—moved to another town, made a new group of friends, all that. And... I don't know, actually talking to him out loud about it just... made it feel real, you know? So I thought, if I'm gonna move to Portland, I should probably start planning for it. Starting with how I'm getting there." She held up the driving manual.

Soos nodded slowly. "Huh. Yeah. That's a pretty mature way to look at it."

And that was what Bill was talking to Wendy about on the roof? Just... listening to a teen vent and helping her figure out her future?

And so, Soos took the security tape off his desk and put it in a drawer.

####

A few days later, Soos had heard the downstairs bathroom sink running for several minutes, assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, and went to turn it off himself—and had caught Bill, in the dark, half undressed, washing himself in the sink.

After Soos had backed out and profusely apologized, he'd asked, "But—how come you're washing in the sink? I can let you in the upstairs bathroom if you need—"

"Worry about your own grooming habits and leave mine alone," Bill snapped. "As long as I don't smell, what do you humans care how I do it. Soap is soap and water is water."

It took Soos several days to realize he didn't think Bill had had a shower since he got locked in the bathroom. And nobody had noticed, because Bill made sure nobody noticed, because he'd been keeping himself clean in the bathroom he couldn't get locked in.

####

Dipper would go all summer without showering if he could get away with it; Stan showered like once a week and had constant old man smell; Abuelita also showered weekly and had a more refined old lady smell; Soos didn't know when Ford showered, but he'd never caught him doing it and Ford always smelled weirdly like burned hair. Soos showered almost daily during tourist season—that Mr. Mystery suit was hot—but outside that might go three days at a time. Mabel showered near daily.

From what Soos had observed, Bill was showering like, at least twice a week. He didn't know how often Bill cleaned himself in the sink in between.

That meant he was showering more often than two-thirds of the house.

Yet he was the only one in the house living under the threat of being thrown in the tub at 3 a.m. if someone decided he hadn't bathed enough for their tastes.

The reason Bill had refused to shower during his first week of imprisonment was so he could use the condition of his body as a bargaining chip—with no physical possessions in the world, his own body was the only bargaining chip he had—to try to buy a little more dignity. In return, his captors had taken more dignity away. They permitted Bill less autonomy over how to take care of his body than the household's children had.

Dipper had never gotten forced into a bathroom he couldn't let himself out of.

####

The day after the eclipse, Ford had pulled Soos aside and said quietly, "Soos, as soon as you have some time—could you repair the door to the kids' room? Before the end of the day? The latch has been broken since the tooth fairy's attack."

"Uh, sure, I can probably do that," Soos said. "How come?" The latch had been broken for a couple weeks, and the Pines hadn't been worried about it before.

"Right now, the door can swing freely with just a push," Ford said. "I think Bill's figured out how to use that to get in. Which is worrisome, since he shouldn't be able to use any doors..."

"O-oh." Soos thought about the swinging door into the gift shop. "Yeah, uh... sounds bad. Byyy the way—how'd you figure out he knows how to use the door?"

"Dipper says Bill somehow got in and out of the room last night," Ford said. "Mabel fell asleep in the living room and Bill carried her upstairs. I really don't like the thought of Bill being able to get his hands on the kids while they're asleep and defenseless."

Ford was mad at Bill for tucking a kid into bed? That was the big red flag? "No problem! I'll fix the door right after work."

The next time Soos visited his office, he took the security tape out of his drawer, rewound it, stuck it back into the tape recorder, and let that day's security camera footage overwrite and erase the evidence of Bill's visit to the gift shop.

####

And now, today, carrying Journal 4 in both hands, Soos trudged downstairs, trying to figure out what to do with it. He had to return it to Ford, obviously—but Bill and the Stans were already in the middle of a discussion that sounded a lot more like an argument. Flinging a stolen journal into the middle of the proceedings would just make it worse. Maybe he should wait until they were finished and everyone had cooled down a little—?

While Soos was upstairs, the discussion had apparently moved into the kitchen. He hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

"What do you mean, you need kitchen access," Stan was asking, "you already have kitchen access. It's never been off-limits! Even after you peed in the sink!"

"It's not kitchen access if I need to ask someone else for permission to eat anything but snacks."

"No one's making you ask for permission! You can take what you want!"

"Okay, fine. So what can I eat?" Bill gestures at the shelves. "Go on. List anything you can think of. Anything."

Stan grimaced, and glanced at Ford to see if he was willing to walk into the obvious trap first.

Ford looked at the nearby shelves. "Cereal."

"One point for Stanford Pines! Cereal! So am I supposed to eat dry cereal for every single meal, or—?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, then what else?"

"Brown meat," Stan said. "We've got plenty of brown meat. It's good for you!"

"You didn't give me can opener rights," Bill said.

"Huh."

"So no brown meat," Bill said. "No canned soup, no canned chili, no canned fruit, no canned vegetables—"

Ford cut in, "Some of the cans have pull tabs, you don't need a can opener for those."

"Terrific observation! As soon as you realized I could open those cans myself, you moved them all under the counter because you thought I'd use the sharp edges as weapons!"

"It's... possible to open cans without a can opener, I did it sometimes while roughing it in other dimensions—"

"Yeah, wearing off the metal rim with a rock, right? Lemme just go outside and grab a rock—oh wait." Bill crossed his arms.

Ford sighed, and turned to Stan to suggest something else.

Stan surveyed the available supplies, spotted the bread, and said, "You could make sandwiches!"

"With what filling?"

"Uh..." Stan kept looking.

Meats and cheeses, of course, were kept in the fridge. Along with jelly, condiments, most vegetables... tuna or spam weren't options, they were canned... "Hey, we leave out some meats that don't need refrigeration. Sausages and stuff."

"Right, right. The ones that don't need refrigeration because they're wrapped in plastic you need a knife to cut," Bill said. "Sometimes I bite the plastic open with my teeth and rip off chunks of sausage with my fingernails, that's always fun! Then you put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'm out of luck until we buy another sausage."

"You could put... peanut butter on your sandwiches?" Ford tried. "Peanut butter's nutritious."

Bill fixed him with a hard look. "For the past five weeks, every time I've gotten a meal without asking someone else to help feed me like a baby, I've had nothing but peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter and jerky sandwiches, peanut butter and raisin sandwiches, and peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. And we're out of bananas, jerky, and raisins." He pointed at the tortillas. "Once I decided to get creative and made myself a cold peanut butter quesadilla! I can't even add spices, because guess where the breakable glass spice jars are kept?"

"Pasta," Ford tried. "We could keep the pasta out."

"Oh, wow, that'd be great! I just love pasta! But I can't open the microwave and I can't turn on the stove! How do I heat the water, Stanford?"

Ford frowned. "Hm."

"I can cook, you know—not that any of you bothered to ask! It might not suit your tastes, but it suits mine! I wouldn't need your help to eat if you didn't make me need help! I am sick to death—" his voice went thick and took on an uncharacteristic waver, "—of having to beg to... eat." He cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. "Sh-shouldn't even—need to eat." He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

Stan and Ford exchanged a guilty look. Stan said, "You don't have to beg— I mean, we know the, uh... position you're in..."

Bill was silent for a moment as he tried to get a tough face back on. His voice came out as a rough whisper—too thick to get any louder without breaking. "I had to negotiate to get burnt eggs."

Ford winced.

Soos was dumbfounded.

When had Bill had to negotiate for food? He could all too easily understand how it might have happened—Bill was an annoying guy, sometimes they had to pull out dumb bargains to get him to do stuff. But bargaining for food should never be on that list. Meeting Bill's basic nutritional needs couldn't be dependent on whether he was annoying that day. If it was, he'd starve.

It sounded like he was starving. Right under Soos's roof. He hadn't even noticed.

He thought about the piles of junk food trash upstairs and the bag of chips Bill had hurled across the room.

Ford said, "We'll... discuss it."

"We'll figure something out," Stan said. "I mean it."

Bill nodded silently. Head down, without uncovering his eyes, he hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

He nearly bumped into Soos's chest without noticing him. Soos backed up a step, tucking Journal 4 under his arm. "Whoa, hey!"

Bill froze, head jerking up. "You." His voice was thick and his glare was watery and poisonous. "Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?" He tried to elbow past Soos, smacking his leg with his umbrella. "Move."

Soos realized uneasily that Bill's face looked a little slimmer than it had when he'd arrived.

He stepped in Bill's way. "Can't go upstairs right now. Attic's being cleaned."

"I didn't ask you to clean!"

"I'm not cleaning for you, dawg. It's just gotta be cleaned."

"Fine! Whatever!" Bill veered around the staircase and stomped down the hall, muttering, "Can't decide when I eat, can't decide when I shower, why should I get to choose when my hovel's swept..."

Soos's leg hurt where Bill had smacked it. (Bill couldn't even control whether or not he cried; all he had control over was making someone else hurt.)

In the kitchen, Stan murmured, "Didn't even realize we don't keep anything decent out on the counters. They're so crowded..."

"Chip bags take up a lot of space." Ford sighed. "I assumed he'd get a serving with everyone else whenever Mrs. Ramirez cooks."

"He does, but she only does dinners. And he'll only eat it if he watched her cook it. I've seen him get lunch with Mabel, but I don't know what he does when she's not..." Stan spotted Soos on the stairs. He tiredly called, "Soos? You need something?"

"Uhhh..." Soos hid the journal behind his back. "Nope! I just thought I'd come downstairs! For no reason." He awkwardly walked up the stairs backwards, journal still tucked behind him. "And—and now I'm going up again." He stopped at the landing and scooted sideways up the next flight of stairs. "See ya."

He pressed the journal to his chest and returned to the attic.

####

When Soos and Abuelita moved into the shack, the first thing Soos had done was turn Ford's ground-floor study into a bedroom for Abuelita. Because she was a little old lady, and not quite as steady as she used to be, so Soos didn't want her constantly going up and down the stairs—because falling once, just ONCE, could send her to the hospital or worse. That was how serious it was! You don't mess around with that!

Bill tripped and fell on the stairs so often that they could use it to tell when he was awake. And nobody had thought to offer him a cane? Did anybody even ask if he was alright?

When Bill first arrived and tried to murder everyone, naturally, he came out of it pretty banged up and bruised. That was to be expected. It was self-defense. They'd gotten used to seeing Bill with scrapes on his arms and legs, rope burns around his ankles, and the angry purple-black bruises of chain links over his arms. But in all the weeks since then, Soos hadn't seen Bill bruise-free once. Bruises on his shins and arms, scrapes on his elbows and knees. Soos had seen him with a four-inch burn on his forearm. Bill had brushed it off.

In Bill's first few days in the shack, he'd resorted to peeing in the kitchen sink because nobody had bothered to give a guy who couldn't open doors a way to use the bathroom. And they were the reason he couldn't open doors in the first place!

He threw up in the living room in the middle of the night and went upstairs to sleep on couch cushions on the floor and nobody had talked about it.

He burned off all his hair and was so upset about it that he stole Soos's zodiac blanket and hid under it for half a week, and everyone but Mabel just ignored him.

In less than a month in the Mystery Shack, Bill had lost a tooth.

He had been dragged out of the house during a weird weather phenomenon while terrified out of his mind. Soos had seen Bill cowering on the ground in fear, Ford looming over him, grabbing him by the collar and snarling in rage. Bill had been pleading with everyone in hearing range not to make him go, and had come back in such a state of shock he could hardly walk.

And yet, he'd protected the whole town from getting hurt in zero gravity—and he'd brought a pet for Soos.

They'd tried to execute Bill two days later.

####

Soos sat in the window seat, flipping through the remaining filled-in pages in Journal 4. The last few pages were packed with stickers. A cat that said PURRFECT! A smiling fish that said A REEL PAL! Bill had started a little collection of pizza slice stickers for some reason. A couple of holographic rainbows, a smiling scratch-and-sniff sun. (Apparently, the sun smelled like lemons and oranges. Astronomy facts!)

Soos reached the current page. Bill was using several pieces of paper—regular printer paper and notebook paper, folded in half—like a bookmark. Soos unfolded them. A list of animals ranked by fuzziness. (Soos was satisfied that he'd been placed under the "smooth and squishy" category, but wondered whether he should be bothered by the fact that he shared the category with pigs and slugs.) A drawing of Bill riding a looping rocket ship and waving a fishbowl helmet above him. A drawing of a blue house with a couple of kids and a pig in the window. Several drawings of shape people kinda like Bill: a pink heart person labeled "Me in Flatworld," a stern-looking red stop sign wearing sunglasses labeled "Bill's parole officer," Bill dancing, the pink heart protecting Bill from some villainous-looking shapes—all clearly Mabel's art.

Several notebook pages in someone else's handwriting detailing names, addresses, and contact information, with statements Soos couldn't make sense of—as if maybe someone had been asking somebody else questions and writing down their answers. He thought the questions might be about how some people had reacted to the end of Weirdmageddon. He got the impression the people being discussed had known that Weirdmageddon was coming. He got the impression they were disappointed it hadn't happened. There were several questions at the end: How will we rendes-vouz? (Whoever was writing didn't know how to spell rendezvous, but to be fair Soos wasn't 100% sure either.) What supplies do you need? What are your interim orders?

Soos stared at the notebook papers.

He flipped back through the journal again, looking at each page more closely.

Sometimes the two-tone dot-and-dash segments had a stray human word: a few characters he recognized from his Teach Yourself Japanese workbooks, sometimes words Soos thought might be Arabic but honestly he didn't have a clue. At one point he listed half a dozen human names that Soos didn't recognize. The most common character was a stretched-out letter M (Mabel?), followed by a 6 knocked on its side (Sixer?).

The dot-and-dash segments had occasional amateurish illustrations. Sometimes they were human stick figures; sometimes the stick figures' heads had symbols off of Bill's zodiac wheel. He saw Stan's fish symbol, Gideon's star symbol, and Mabel's shooting star symbol. Ford's stick figures were the only ones with hands; Bill consistently gave them six fingers. The doodles were like particularly esoteric cave drawings; they were so bad that Soos couldn't tell what most of them were supposed to illustrate.

Except for one featuring Bill (as a triangle) and Mabel and some other inscrutable figures in a really awesome car with flames on the side, its coolness limited only by the fact that it was all in gray and yellow-green crayon. When Soos had been in high school, there had always been a couple of kids who didn't know how to draw anything except expensive cars or name-brand sports shoes, but they drew them in extreme realistic detail. Apparently, Bill was that kind of artist. Nothing but stick figures and the sickest crayon car Soos had ever seen.

It didn't do anything to dispel Soos's impression of Bill as a lost alien 18-year-old.

On one page, in sloppy lines of handwriting that meandered drunkenly up and down the paper, Bill had written, "I don't get why you won't give me a second shot. I asked you to join my gang. I serenaded you in a pyramid. I got a fantastic makeover. I offered you godhood. I showed you my dimension. I didn't torture you until I had to. I even made you a skin couch! I know how much you've always wanted a leather furniture set! I've given you everything from chicken zombification magic to jelly beans, what does it take? What am I missing?"

Soos reread Bill's other messages to Ford. All that "you'll regret not siding with me" junk wasn't threats. It was the impotent rage of a socially inept teenager who didn't understand his own creepiness had driven his friends away. It was the whiny moan of some guy going "Why doesn't she like me anymore" about an ex-girlfriend who had told him five times she didn't like him anymore because he didn't listen to her. Like that guy Wendy dated last summer. So like, a jerk, but not a terrifying world-ending monster jerk, just an annoying creep jerk. A regular jerk. A human jerk.

Soos stood, gave one last look at this journal—clearly stolen, definitely a violation of Bill's "no writing materials" restriction, completely stuffed full of mysterious messages to outsiders and some kind of weird alien code that could say anything at all and might have been super dangerous—and he slid it back into the ripped seam in the attic seat cushion where he'd found it.

He finished vacuuming up the potato chips Bill had flung across the room, thinking about how offended Bill had been that Soos had given him any food except what he'd asked for, remembering what Abuelita had said about people who destroy the things around them when they feel like that's the last and only thing they still have power over.

Enough was enough.

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Next week we may interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to post a TBOB-based chapter I'm inserting early into the fic—it depends on if I get it done by next Friday. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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runninriot · 6 months ago

Text

hold on together

for @stervrucht, inspired by this beautiful art piece | rated T | wc: 625 | tags: dealing with post UD trauma, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort | also on ao3

"We're alive."

The words hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He feels like someone’s dropped him into ice cold water, startled awake by the impact. Slowly, the world around him comes into focus.

"We're alive and we're safe and whatever you saw in your dream isn't real, okay?"

Strong arms wrap around him, giving Eddie something to hold on to, keeping his trembling body steady.

"You're okay, Eddie. We are okay."

A sob forces its way out of his throat but doesn't have the chance to get very far. Not with Eddie's face pressed against Steve's shoulder - held tight against warm skin. Skin that is damaged, covered in scars that will always remind them that the horrors are real.

Were real.

"It's over. They can't hurt us anymore. You're safe, I promise."

Steve's voice is a soothing vibration against the shell of his ear, the hand at the back of his head encouraging him to bury his face where he always feels safest, hiding in the space between Steve's shoulder and neck.

"I'm here, Eddie."

He always is. Always is there to get Eddie through the nights when the monsters seem too real and he can't escape, can't run from his own mind when it's playing those images over and over again. When he can feel the teeth sinking into his flesh and smell the blood. When he feels so cold, so alone, so scared. When he wakes up screaming and drenched in sweat, unable to breathe.

Steve holds him through all of it, never complains about losing sleep, never makes fun of Eddie for crying.

"I'm sorry, Steve," he says weakly, the words offering no real solace for how fucked up he feels. "I'm so, so sorry for being such a mess."

"Shh, don't worry. I got you, Eddie."

Steve always does. Is the only one who gets to see Eddie like this. The only one who can catch Eddie when he's falling.

"It's all gonna be okay. Do you hear me? I love you, baby."

Loves him despite how broken Eddie is. Loves him with all his flaws, loves him with all the burdens of a tattered mind, the trauma, and barely healed wounds. Loves him and keeps him close. Lets him fall apart in his arms before he helps him pick up the pieces time and again.

"I don't deserve you," Eddie snivels before he dares to look up, teary eyes searching for Steve's hazel ones, "You shouldn't have to put up with me."

Steve takes him in for a few seconds, eyes flitting between Eddie's, seemingly searching for the right words to say. And then his lips curl into a lopsided smile.

"You're not getting rid of me that easy. Sorry to break it to you but you're stuck with me forever. We're trauma bonded for life, baby."

Eddie laughs, all wet and choked up - he must look disgusting with his puffy eyes and red, blotchy face but Steve kisses him anyway. Kisses him, and holds him, and it's like a dream. A beautiful dream that slowly replaces every last memory of the nightmare he had.

"Feeling better?" Steve asks when their lips part and Eddie nods, wordlessly follows Steve back underneath the covers where he crawls into waiting arms, quickly drifting, falling back asleep.

Maybe tomorrow, he will be the one offering comfort. Right now, though, Eddie can rest safely in his boyfriend's arms.

Hopefully one day, the recurring nightmares will finally end for both of them. Until then, no matter how hard it gets, they have each other as their anchor. Protected by love as their armour. Two hearts beating for one another, their rhythmic melody a reminder that they made it.

They are alive.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie drabble #for ster #small riots

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dakusan · 1 month ago

Note

Hiii there! I absolutely adore your vampire!skz, the way you write is absolutely so delicious and I could read it over and over and over (and have…I’m a loyal member of the blood legion/loyal vampire fuckers.)

I had a weird question- how would blood disorders work in your vamp!skz au? I personally have sickle cell- ig I’m just wondering if blood disorders would be a deal breaker- like if it would taste gross or unfulfilling for the vampire who drinks it. Would disorders like these disqualify admission into blood doll circles? Would there be a secret market of vampires who’d pay high price for “different” blood? How do you think it would taste to a vampire? How would vampire!skz handle a blood doll or a soulmate who has a history of imperfections with their blood?

I am so thrilled to be a part of this legion of freaks and I cannot wait to be reading more of what you post on here 💕

OH ANON. You sweet, blood-rich, gorgeous anon. You didn’t send a weird question. You sent a banger.

let’s talk about blood disorders in the Vamp!SKZ AU. And more importantly, what it means to be wanted when your blood isn’t what the world calls “normal.”

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🩸 B L O O D D I S O R D E R S I N T H E V A M P ! S K Z A U 🧬

or: what happens when your blood is not “perfect,” but still yours.

❓ Q: How would blood disorders work in this universe? Would they taste gross, be dangerous, or disqualify you from being a Blood Doll or soulmate?

💉 SCIENCE FIRST, BLOOD SECOND:

In the vamp!SKZ AU, vampires are highly attuned to blood composition—not just for flavor, but survival. Their entire feeding experience is a chemical, hormonal, emotional interaction. Blood is more than liquid—it’s data. Memory. Soulprint.

That means blood disorders like sickle cell, thalassemia, hemophilia, etc., do register differently. But not as “gross” or “impure.” Vampire tongues and scent receptors don’t classify by human ideas of normal—they register signature. Think: distinct melody, not broken song.

⚙️ BIO-VAMP PHYSIOLOGY:

Abnormal vampires (like Chan, Minho, Hyunjin, Felix and Jeongin) have ultra-refined palates and metabolically enhanced processing systems. They can read your blood like a fingerprint.

They do notice when blood is oxygen-deprived, or contains misshapen cells, or coagulant inconsistencies.

But here’s the twist: 🧬 The rarer the blood, the more valuable it is.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about uniqueness.

🌑 W O U L D B L O O D D I S O R D E R S D I S Q U A L I F Y

💔 Absolutely not. You might not be mainstream market material in elite Blood Doll circles (the sterile, elite-approved feed farms for idle nobles), but:

Blood Dolls are chosen. Soulmates are fated. And fate doesn’t give a damn about genetics.

Some vampire households would reject atypical blood due to fear, ignorance, or outdated purity standards. But the trueblooded elite—especially Abnormals—are known to value rarity above all else.

Sickle cell blood? That’s a melody only a few can sing. And the right vampire? They’ll memorize your rhythm until it becomes gospel.

🛑 S E C R E T M A R K E T ? O H B A B Y Y E S .

The Shadow Market, often whispered as “The Velvet Below,” trades in all types of off-grid blood. There are factions of vampires (collectors, fetishists, anarchists) who seek out:

Blood with rare traits (sickle cell, hemophilia, RH-null, Bombay phenotype)

Blood from ill or near-death donors (said to taste “closer to the veil”)

Blood altered by intense trauma, hallucinations, or strong pharmaceutical history

“Bruised blood” (term for chronically ill donors with uncommon chemistry)

It’s dangerous. It’s underground. But it’s very real. And some vampires will pay entire estates for a vial of blood that tastes like nothing else on earth.

👅 H O W D O E S I T T A S T E ?

To vampires? Blood with disorders is often:

Deeper in flavour (like aged wine)

Softer or sharper in texture (depending on viscosity/coagulation)

Emotionally louder — pain and resilience imprint the blood with psychic weight

Occasionally more feral or unstable to drink — some vamps say it “fights back” or burns going down (not in a bad way)

It’s not about yum or yuck. It’s about experience. Chan would say:

“It sings different. I like when it surprises me.”

❤️‍🩹 H O W W O U L D V A M P ! S K Z H A N D L E A S O U L M A T E W I T H B L O O D I M P E R F E C T I O N S ?

Let’s go one by one, just a taste:

Bang Chan

Would immediately research your condition in its entirety. Probably already owns three private medical labs. Knows more about your body than your doctors.

“Your blood is yours. It chose me, remember? That makes it perfect.” Never feeds without tracking your vitals. Will invent a better treatment if one doesn’t exist. You’ll feel like both a temple and a miracle.

Minho

Barely blinks. Already knew. Says nothing, just makes subtle accommodations. Would kill anyone who even insinuated you were defective.

“It’s your blood. That means it’s mine. Problem?” Will literally destroy a blood bank and offer his vein in silence.

Changbin

EMOTIONAL REACTION KING. Cries when he finds out, not out of fear, but love.

“You’re still here. After all that. You’re still fighting.” Says your blood tastes like fire and steel and poetry. Calls it “warrior’s wine.”

Hyunjin

Romanticizes it instantly. Paints it.

“Your blood bends the rules and still blooms. That’s art.” Would never see it as weakness. Only story. Only strength.

Jisung

Worries about hurting you—asks a million times, makes spreadsheets, will delay feeding until he's 3000% sure it’s safe.

“You’re not broken. You’re just built different. Like... like titanium spaghetti or something?? I dunno—cool though!!”

Felix

Soft. Devoted. Will read your blood like Braille and cry over its history.

“Every cell chose to keep you alive. How could I not treasure that?” Makes feeding rituals sacred. Always checks in. Never rushes.

Seungmin

Dry humor activated.

“Well, if you die mid-bite, that’d be awkward. Let’s not.” But deeply respectful. Will advocate for you in any blood space. Gives no tolerance to elitist blood snobs. Will snark them into dust.

Jeongin

Terrified he’ll hurt you, so he learns everything. EVERYTHING.

“I’ll never bite without a backup plan, snacks, saline, and a playlist.” Ends up being your biggest fan and your softest nurse.

T D L R :

– your blood 🩸 is not “bad” or “gross,” it’s just built different™ – vampires taste everything 🧠🔬 — cell shape, oxygen levels, iron, hormones — it’s science but sexy – blood with disorders like sickle cell = 🍷 rare vintage energy – it might taste sharper, warmer, richer, or have an emotional “kick” — like spiced wine or electric honey 🧃⚡️

💅 You are not disqualified. You are couture.

– elite vampires might be snobs 🙄 but Abnormals? they’re out here like:

“mmm trauma-infused resilience with an iron twist? 10/10.” – secret vampire markets exist where your blood would go for $$$ bc it’s unique 💸🧛‍♂️ – flavor isn’t about “normal,” it’s about signature ✍️ – and if you're a soulmate? bitch it's FATED. they’d fight God for a sip 😤💍

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

Thank you for bleeding this question into my inbox. You, my dear, are not disqualified. You’re one of the rarest vintages in the vault 🩸🦷💌

#ask dakusan #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids imagines #vampire!skz lore #vampire!skz series #vampire!skz x reader

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alastor-simp · 1 year ago

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Be My Valentine - Alastor x Female Reader

♥️HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE! Also I know Alastor is AroAce, but lets just assume in this fic he is not. Enjoy♥️

It was finally Valentine’s Day in Hell, a little holiday that some demons enjoy doing with their partners and others that find it absolutely ridiculous, like a certain deer demon. Alastor didn’t much care for a silly little festivity like this. He found romance a bit ridiculous, but he wouldn’t go as far as to make fun of someone else in a relationship, it wasn’t who he was. He did find Charlie and Vaggie’s relationship adorable, since he saw how happy the two of them were together. The little sparks between Husker and Angel were easy for him to spot, and it led to lot of teasing at the hands of Alastor, which earned him a middle finger from a certain cat on occasions.

Since it was Valentine’s Day, Charlie thought it would be a great idea to decorate the hotel. Heart paper strings were hanging from the ceiling, along with XOXO and heart balloons on the walls. It wouldn’t be Valentine’s Day without some sweets, so Charlie along with Niffty made some chocolate covered strawberries and pretzels for everyone else to enjoy. You were trying to figure out how to help liven the mood. “Music would be nice” you thought. Heading over to the record player, you skimmed for any good songs to play. Frank Sinatra was what you picked, and you decided to play that. The melody began to carry out all throughout the lobby, catching everyone ears, causing them to sway. “Ah! Excellent choice my dear!” You heard Al’s voice call out from behind you. He was sitting on one of the chairs, with a hot cup of coffee in his hand, wearing a pleasing smile. Smiling back, you made your way over to the couch and took a seat, listening to the tunes.

Soon Charlie came running back, “Okay everyone! Ready to start the Valentine gift exchange!” Before the decorations were put up, Charlie suggested that everyone pitch in and do a Valentine gift exchange. The gifts would be exchanged between two individuals: Charlie + Vaggie, Angel Dust + Husk, Niffty + Sir Pentious, and You + Alastor. Everyone got together and presented the gifts. Charlie had given a bottle of perfume and new hair bow for Vaggie. Vaggie gave Charlie a unicorn plushie and T-shirt with their faces on them. Angel got Husk a fancy bottle of Italian wine. Husk gave Angel a popular perfume from the Lust ring plus some mini outfits for Fat Nuggets. Niffty had actually handmade mini plushies of Sir Pentious and his egg bois. Sir Pentious got Niffty some roses plus a new sewing kit.

Now it was time for you and Alastor to exchange gifts. While you did have something for Al, there was something else you wanted to give him, but it was a surprise. Alastor was smiling down at you, hands behind his back, holding a mini box and bouquet. “Here you are my dear!” He handed you the box and flowers. Ahh he remembered how much you loved (your favorite flowers). Thanking Alastor, you opened the box, which contained a beautiful ruby necklace

“W-ow Al! This is beautiful! Thank you.” Holding the necklace up, you looked up at Alastor, face flushed. “You’re welcome, my dear! Allow me!” Grabbing the necklace from your hands, he motioned his body behind you, helping to place the necklace around your neck. Turning back around, you pulled out your gift and presented it to Al, “Happy Valentines Day Al” Grabbing the black box with red ribbon from your hand, he opened it, revealing a new rose tinted monocle. He had broken the one he had before, and didn’t have the time to replace it. “Ah I needed a new monocle. Thank you kindly, y/n!” Smiling you nodded your head and faced back towards the others

Al looked into the box again and saw a little piece of paper that was placed underneath the monocle. Turning away, he took the paper out and read it:

“ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏꜰᴛᴏᴘ ᴀᴛ 8 ᴘᴍ”

Well well, what was this? Another surprise, perhaps? Smile widening on his face, He placed the paper in his suit pocket, before turning back to everyone like nothing happened. The day continued as normal, with everyone chatting about random topics and participating in some bonding activities like board games and watching some random romance movies. It soon gotten late and it was time for everyone to head to bed, or so you thought. The glances you saw between Charlie and Vaggie hinted that they were going to be doing something else. Even Husk and Angel dust, especially since you saw Angel dragging Husk into his bedroom, well good for them, they make a cute couple. Going to head up and finish your plans, your eyes caught Al who had looked right at you. You smiled and walked away.

**8 PM- Alastors POV**

"Hmm I wonder what the little darling has planned for me?” Al thought to himself, as he made his way to the location you told him in the note. Ascending up the stairs, Al arrived at the door that led to the rooftop and opened it slowly. His eye widen at what he saw. In front of him was a small dinner table with chairs, decorated with candles and roses.

He was left stunned by what he saw. Walking closer to where the table is, he admired the little set-up. "Do you like it?" Turning his head around, Al saw you standing there, wearing a flowy black dress, bright smile place on your face. Alastor looked back at the table, then at you, "Was this the little surprise you had planned for me? If you wanted to have dinner with me, all you had to do was ask, my dear." Alastor gave a soft smile, making his way to you, lifting your chin, "You look positively radiant, darling." His words caused you to flush, "T-thank you. Go and take a seat Al. I'll be right back," Alastor smiled and let you go, heading over to the chair to take a seat.

Soon, you came back holding two plates, the aroma wafting off of them was mouth-watering. Placing them down, the smile on Al's face had widen. In front of him was a tender venison steak, his favorite, along with a side of salad and baked potatoes.

After that, you had grabbed a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and poured it into the wine glasses for both you and Al. Once everything was set in place, you slowly took a seat on the other side of the table. "This is my first time cooking venison, so I hope you like it." You fidgeted with your fingers under the table. "This looks spectacular! Thank you my dear!" He grabbed his wine glass and held it up in front of you, "Cheers, my dear!" Smiling, you grabbed your glass, bumping it against Al's, letting out a small clink. The both of you started to eat the meal you prepared, well you were watching Al more than eating, monitoring his reaction. You knew about his diet and what he mainly ate, so last thing you wanted was for him to try the venison you prepared and do a spit-take. The fork in Al's hand, held a piece of steak, and slowly it made its way into his mouth. The whole time you were sitting there, gazing at his reaction to see if he liked it. His expression didn't change, but he went back in for another bite, and another, and another. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that he liked the meal, letting you go back to your meal.

Soon the both of you had finished eating, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Delicious!" Al said, wearing a pleasant smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Are you in the mood for some dessert?" You said as you got up from the table, and made your way over to grab the dessert that was hidden. Walking back, you placed a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries on the table.

"My dear, you know I'm not a fan of sweets." Al said to you, while looking at the bowl with strained face. "I made these myself using dark chocolate, so they won't be as sweet, trust me." Grabbing one of the strawberries, you held it up towards all, "Say ahh." Al raised an eyebrow at that, but he shook his head, amused at your actions, before taking a bite. Looking at him, you were expecting him to spit it out, but surprisingly he swallowed, "Not bad!"

Whew, glad he liked them. Now it was time to tell him what you were thinking/feeling. "Um Al? Can I ask you something?" Alastor looked at you, smiling like the joker. "Of course my dear! What is it?" He leaned in, placing his elbows on the table, lifting his head up with his hands. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy, and your palms were sweating. Your eyes looked down at your hands, until you turned your head back up to look at Al. "W-will you be my valentine?" Alastor eyes widen at that statement, but he continued to gaze at you. Feeling nervous, you looked back down to your hands, "Y-you don't have to answer, I understand you find romance and stuff a hindrance." you said. The two of you were sitting in awkward silence, until you heard his chair scrap across the ground, indicating he had gotten up. You knew it, he was going to leave. You had made him upset.

A hand was placed under your chin, making you look up. Alastor hadn't left, he had only gotten up to get closer to you. "Stand up, my dear." He said to you. Moving slowly, you got up from your chair and stood in front of Al. He continued to look down at you, his eyes flashing crimson. Then he got closer, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. "What an adorable request! I must admit, developing relationships with another is still new to me. However! I wouldn't mind forming one with you, my dear. I accept!" He whispered all of this in your ear, causing goosebumps to form. Your eyes got teary, as you hugged him back. After a while, Alastor moved a bit, placing one hand under your chin, and the around your back. He had a small smile on his face and his eyes were soft. "Happy Valentines day, my doe." His head moved closer to yours, causing you to slowly shut your eyes, letting his lips press against yours in a soft kiss.

~END~

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

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sealcowboy · 29 days ago

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tidebound

merman!joost x pirate!reader ʚ pt. 2 to this, highly recommend to read that before this

rpf || dni if you don’t like, just block

even after a few days, the crew still didn’t ask questions.

not when you started walking the deck barefoot before dawn, or when you stopped snquinting at maps like they had all the answers. not when you took to humming old shanties to yourself, even the silly ones.

they figured you were clearing your jhead.

they figured captains did that sometimes.

you didn’t tell them about the shell, or the spiral, or the boy in the tidepool. you didn’t say his name, not out loud, not around them. some things stayed between you and the sea.

but every night, when the ship settled quiet and the crew snored in hammocks or curled against crates, you found your way to the railing.

just to look.

just to wait, even if you didn’t call.

and more often than not, he was already there.

joost.

he didn’t always arrive with a splash or a ripple. sometimes he was already resting against the ladder, half-draped over it like he belonged there, waiting like it wasn’t even a question. other times, you’d spot him from a distance. pale hair bobbing just below the surface, tail flicking lazily behind him as he swam in slow circles around the hull.

you learned to tell when it was him before you even saw his face. something about the hush in the air. the way the sea stilled. the quiet curiosity that always seemed to follow.

and slowly, night by night, you built a rhythm.

he would offer you something small. a shell, a polished shard of glass, a bit of carved driftwood that looked suspiciously like a bird if you tilted your head. once, a fishbone shaped like a spiral. he handed each one over like it was sacred.

you started bringing things too. little gifts from your world. a broken compass that no longer pointed anywhere. a scrap of red ribbon. a button with an anchor stamped into the metal. he collected them with quiet delight and kept them tucked somewhere you couldn’t quite see. maybe in the folds of the coral behind his shoulder, maybe tucked under a fin or inside some underwater hiding spot. you didn’t ask. it felt private.

he didn’t talk, not in words you understood, anyway. but he liked sounds. if you whistled, he’d echo it. if you tapped out a rhythm on the rail, he’d match it with little flicks of his tail or taps on the ladder.

once, you sang.

just a few lines from something your mother used to hum. and when you stopped, a little embarrassed, he stared at you like you’d hung a star just for him.

he didn’t try to repeat the melody. he just watched. quietly. reverently. like it was something worth remembering.

you didn’t feel alone when he was near.

and the more he stayed, the more you found yourself doing small things to make it easier for him. lowering the rope ladder before sunset. dragging a crate over so you could sit at eye level with him. learning how to lean without falling when the ship shifted. letting your boots stay off, even after the chill set in.

you still captained the ship. still gave orders, still barked over the wind when storms threatened, still steered her true when needed. but there was a softness to your step now. something lighter in your voice when you weren’t being watched.

your crew noticed. they didn’t mention it.

they weren’t stupid. they saw you leave bits of food near the edge of the deck. they saw the way you paused at the waterline in the morning, like you were waiting for a sign. they saw the smooth green stone you kept looped onto a cord around your wrist.

but they said nothing. maybe out of respect. maybe out of kindness. maybe out of fear.

either way, they let you have it. whatever it was.

and it became… normal. strange, but steady.

sometimes joost stayed longer. not just minutes hours. long enough for you to fall half-asleep on the deck beside him. long enough for him to trace idle shapes on the wood with his fingertips while you talked to him like he could understand every word.

you talked about simple things. what the clouds looked like. the names of your crew. which fish were the worst to eat and which ones tasted like heaven when grilled. how once, when you were ten, you fell off a dock and thought you were going to die, and now look at you.

he listened. always. eyes bright. head tilted. hands steady.

sometimes he’d mimic your gestures, clumsy but earnest. sometimes he’d offer little nonsense sounds in return, and you’d try to guess what he meant. more often than not, it turned into a kind of game.

you’d point at things and say the names. he’d repeat them, wrong, always, but with such musical precision that it felt like he was singing your world back to you in his own tongue.

one night, you said your name again.

he repeated it, softly this time. still wrong. still beautiful.

then he pointed to himself and tapped his chest.

“joost.”

you smiled, and replied. “i know.”

and when you touched your hand to your heart, quietly, without thinking, he mirrored it.

that was the first night you fell asleep on the deck with your head resting against your arms and woke to find a blanket over your shoulders. not one of yours.

woven from seaweed and something finer. soft, still damp, but not unkind. it smelled like salt and stone and sun.

he was gone when you woke. but the blanket stayed.

you folded it gently. kept it safe.

you never asked what he wanted. he never asked you to stay. neither of you needed to.

you had your ship. he had the sea. but between those two places, on warm nights with stars blinking overhead and wood creaking gently beneath your feet, you had something else.

not love. not yet.

just quiet company. the kind that made the world feel less sharp.

and every time he surfaced, every time you saw that pale hair catching the light, that easy tilt of his head, those bright eyes watching you like you were worth knowing.

you smiled.

“joost.”

you didn’t whisper it to call him anymore.

you just said it because you were glad he was there.

and because, this time, he stayed.

i was playing crk while writing this so ignore any mistakes

#joost klein #joost fanfic #joost fanfiction #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x y/n #joost x you #joost klein x you #joost klein fanfic #tundra fanfic

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sillygoofyqueer · 2 months ago

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After a day of no mad scientist AU (hey guys go check out my fanfic if you like Wei Wuxian whump 💪) I am back to make up for it!!!!! It's hard to exactly say what happens after the spirits and corpses descend upon the Wen and Jin. There is just utter carnage and bloodshed, screams of agony and panic from the enemy mixing with the shrieks of delight and excitement from their executioners. the Sunshot Campaign are absolutely in shock and don't really know what to do, but they still take advantage of the confusion to join in with the battle and just hope that the spirits don't turn on them. It's all a bit chaotic after that, more resentful energy being born from the battle itself and sending Wei Wuxian's 'army' into even more of a violent rage, everyone only being able to use a person's robes to figure out if they are an ally or a foe.

A few of the enemy break free from the carnage to go for the man of the hour. These morons are either dragged back into the fray by the resentful energy, or the haunting melody cuts out for around a second and the screams make up the background noise as Wei Wuxian draws out Suibian and guts them himself, before going back to playing as though he had merely brushed away a fly. He is untouchable. He is the composer of chaos, the harbinger of death, the controller of the uncontrollable. His music paves the way to a clear victory for the Sunshot Campaign with less losses than they had steeled themselves for when they marched to face their foe head on.

After the few foe retreat, followed by a few resentful spirits still baying for a bit more blood before they can finally move on after so long of being stuck in the void of anger and sadness that made up the Burial Mounds, there's just a blatant moment of shock. Everyone looks around at faces they didn't think would make it through the battle, before slowly all coming to face the man whose intervention led to such an outcome. Wei Wuxian is still hanging back by the treeline, barely visible from the distance he's at, but nobody wants to try and get close, sort of treating him like a wild and skittish animal that could bolt at any moment.

Nobody quite knows what to do - Lan Wangji takes a step forwards like he wants to go over to the man himself, but then there is an unrest in the crowd behind them. People are shifting around, and there is one teenager shoving through them with an expression filled with panic and hope, his face and robes splattered with blood, bow clenched within his fists. Wen Ning practically screams Wei Wuxian's name as he breaks through the crowd, sprinting towards the man. It's like a spell is broken, and Wei Wuxian is stumbling over himself with how he fast he's running to get to his didi. They go crashing into a hug, toppling to the floor with no concern for the states they are in. Nie Mingjue realises that this is likely a very private, emotional moment that nobody would want an audience for, and begins directing the rest of the army to collect their dead, while Lan Wangji leads the Lan to start performing cleansing - only to realise that there is nothing to cleanse.

Meanwhile, Wen Ning and Wei Ying are still sobbing into each other's arms, random jumbles of "I thought you were dead" "I missed you so much" "you're alive" and so on. This goes on for a while before Wen Ning finally pulls back a little in order to get a good look at his gege and realises that he looks so very fucked up. I don't need to explain how he looks, we all know by now, but just imagine how he must look to a guy who isn't a resentful spirit, undead/not dead crow, or a thing that hasn't even seen humans before. He looks undead. He's breathing and he's got a pulse but he looks like he's a corpse being puppeted by resentful energy, sickly and covered in scars. He is tits out and obviously on the verge of passing out at any moment, but he is there and there's a teary smile on his face but he just looks so weary. He helps Wei Wuxian to his feet, and tells him that they should go see Wen Qing and Xue Yang.

Wei Wuxian, who has had not had any social interaction for years, does not see what Wen Ning is hinting at and goes "family??!" because of course all he's thinking about is seeing his family again. As he lets himself be dragged over to Lan Wangji (who Wen Ning trusts implicitly as a friend and as someone who cares about Wei Wuxian because Xue Yang trusts him, so you know), he shows off Chenqing (who has most certainly had enough resentful and spiritual energy poured into it that They've cultivated Their own spirit), and wants to explain how They were made. The moment he sees Lan Wangji though, it all leaves his mind and for some reason he's so happy that he got to see that serious, stoic face again, greeting him with a pleased "Lan-xiong!" and waving his hand around.

Lan Wangji takes one look at a Wei Wuxian, who to be both limping and unable to properly move his limbs that are plagued with resentful energy, who desperately needs care and is seemingly punched in the stomach with the urge to be the one who provides such care. He wants to take this incredibly injured, incredibly tired man and spend hours clearing the resentful energy from his body, then removing the blood and the grime from his skin, eventually wrapping him him up into a soft blanket and holding him until he finally falls asleep. Now this comes out of nowhere and is possibly the wildest shit he's ever felt - this is NOT how friends feel!! He barely knows this man!!! What do you MEAN he wants to cuddle with someone. SHUT UP.

Instead of doing such things, he nods to Wei Wuxian calmly and then asks if Wen Ning needs any help escorting the man back; there's no way they're travelling back with the rest of the army, Wei Wuxian is in no condition for such a thing! Wen Ning is feeling sort of possessive over his gege considering that this is the first time he has seen him in like three months or so, but he's also just watched how an exhausted Wei Ying perked up at the sight of a guy he barely knows. He knows that Lan Wangji is a good man. He also saw how - for a split second - Lan Wangji looked so wretchedly desperate but in a 'let me help' sort of way, that it's a no brainer to let Lan Wangji take hold of Wei Wuxian (so gently, like he was fragile glass that could break at any moment), and hop onto Bichen with him.

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sammy35426764 · 1 month ago

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[📜✨ Xiao x Reader – Reincarnation AU | Angst/Romance | “Endless Return”]

you come back every lifetime. he falls for you every time. and every time, he loses you.

The first time Xiao sees you, it’s spring.

The glaze lilies are blooming around Liyue Harbor, and your laughter rides on the wind like a melody he’s never heard before—sharp, bright, and aching with familiarity. You’re a traveler from Mondstadt, curious about Adepti, about the yaksha who lingers in the shadows.

He pretends not to notice your stares, the way your eyes linger on him like you know him.

You fall in love slowly, gently—like rain soaking into parched earth. Xiao doesn’t understand it at first. The way his chest aches when you smile. The way he wakes from karmic nightmares whispering your name.

When you die that time, it’s sickness. Human fragility.

He doesn’t understand how something so cruel and quiet could take someone so warm.

He mourns for decades.

You return fifty years later.

New name. New family. New life. But the same eyes. The same laugh.

You find him again during the Lantern Rite, staring at the sky from Wangshu Inn’s rooftop.

“You remind me of someone,” he says carefully, not daring to believe.

“I think I’ve known you before,” you say with more certainty than he’s ready for.

This time, it’s love like wildfire—fast and consuming. You fall for him like you always do, even when he warns you, pleads with you to stop.

“You’ll die,” he says, voice tight.

You smile. “Then let me love you until I do.”

That time, it’s war. A stray arrow meant for someone else. You die in his arms.

He doesn’t scream. He can’t.

Your third life is quiet. You run a tea shop at the base of Mt. Tianheng. You don’t remember him, not at first. But your hands know how to make almond tofu, and your dreams are haunted by amber eyes and distant mountains.

He watches from afar for years.

When you do remember, it’s like breaking glass.

“I remember dying,” you whisper to him under moonlight. “I remember you.”

He cries for the first time in centuries.

That time, it’s age. Your hair grays, your hands tremble, and you die in bed. He sits by your side until your last breath.

“Thank you,” you say, and smile.

Something inside him splinters.

By your fifth life, Xiao avoids you.

You chase him across Liyue—always drawn to the name “Xiao,” to the flute in the wind, to the ache in your chest that screams find him.

“I can’t,” he tells you when you finally corner him. “I can’t watch you die again.”

But you remember now. You remember all of it.

“I’d rather die a thousand more times,” you say, reaching for him, “than live one life without loving you.”

That time, it’s a landslide. A cruel, stupid accident.

Xiao howls. Not like a man. Not like a god. Like something broken.

He stops believing in salvation.

Each life, you return brighter, stronger, braver.

Each death, Xiao cracks a little more.

By your seventh life, he’s barely speaking. The other Adepti say he’s disappearing, dissolving into the dust he came from.

But you find him again. You always do.

“You said once you could hear my prayers,” you say. “I’ve been praying for you to stay.”

His voice is hoarse. “I don’t know if I can.”

That time, it’s poison. You whisper his name until your voice fades.

He screams into the void until it echoes back in silence.

You are a student in Liyue Harbor, studying ancient legends. You stumble upon stories of the Vigilant Yaksha—fierce and sorrowful, protector of the dead.

You see him one night, on the roof of Wangshu Inn, the moon a silver scar behind him.

He doesn’t expect you to remember this time.

But you do.

And you’re crying.

“Please,” you say, voice cracking. “Please don’t give up on me.”

Xiao, tired, angry, grieving, looks at you like you’re a ghost.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispers. “I can’t survive another lifetime of watching you die.”

“Then don’t,” you say. “Stay. Fight for one more. Just one.”

He wants to say no.

But your soul—familiar and fearless—pulls him back to shore.

He steps forward.

“I’ll try,” he says, and takes your hand like it’s the last tether holding him together.

And maybe this time, he’ll find a way to break the cycle.

#genshin angst #xiao genshin impact #xiao x reader #x reader #angst #reincarnation #genshin au #reincarnation au

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myeyebagsaredesigner · 3 months ago

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Uhh, concert band au because I (a former band kid) say so. Here's the bats and co. in a couple situations that I have witnessed or experienced from my time in band.

Alright, in my mind, we got:

Dick on tenor sax, Jason and Tim on trumpet (Tim because he'll probably follow Jason wherever he goes), Damian on clarinet, Steph, Roy, and Babs on percussion, Cass on Euphonium, Wally on trombone, Kon on French horn, and Jon on alto sax. Duke doesn't want to be there but is forced to handle passing out music. And Bruce as conductor, obviously. Bear with me now.

Walking down the halls and transporting instruments after a performance

Dick, rolling a timpani, struggling: "I don't get why I have to take this broken ass timpani. I don't even play it."

Jason, holding a cymbal: "Yeah, good luck with that."

Tim, walking back to the band room: "Dude, that was so bad. I cracked like half those notes."

Damian: "I would've been fine, had my reed not chipped."

Tim: "Yeah, that's the thing to blame."

*Hears a loud thump and turns around, seeing Dick crashed the timpani in the doorway and Jason cackling on the floor*

Tim: *Turns to Damian*

Damian: ".. We were never here."

Kon: *Leaving to get water*

Jon: *Takes his mouthpiece and passes it to the back row*

Jason, taking the metal: "Haha, this is so much funnier when it's not happening to me." *Passes it down the line to Wally*

Kon, coming back: "The fuck? Where's my mouthpiece?"

Bruce: "Alright, horn on measure 15"

Kon: "Where- WHERE'S MY MOUTHPI-"

Duke and Babs chatting:

Roy in the background, gearing up to smack Dick's ass:

Wally: *Playing his music*

Cass, in the middle of rests: *Flips his page upside down*

Wally: *Panic*

Percussion having a lil jam sesh, AKA being called out and worked on by Bruce:

Everyone else: *Silently bopping their heads and dancing every time Bruce looks away*

Duke, in a mocking voice: "Duke, go pass out music! Duke, Collect all the originals! Duke, go find me an overture! Duke-"

Bruce, calling out from his office: "Duke, go make me copies!"

Duke:

Bruce: "Okay Jon, this run we're playing through your solo, so be prepared to go on."

Halfway through the piece, before the solo

Roy: *Farts audibly*

Jon: *Giggles*

Jason and Tim: *Grabbing onto each other in silent laughter*

Steph, head in her hands on the marimba: *Snorts*

Jon misses his entrance and the solo is replaced by silent giggles across the room. Bruce does not stop conducting, sighing in disappointment.

Roy, trying to cover up the boards:

Steph, very much in his way, trying to hump Cass while she packs up her horn:

Bruce: *Working with percussion*

Tim, sighing: "Man, it's always the percussion."

Steph: *Hits him on the head with a drumstick* "You take that back"

Duke, passing out new sheet music: "The fuck is a bassoon? Are any of you a bassoon? What even are you, you all look the same."

*Moves on to brass*

Duke: "Are you a trumpet or a cornet?"

Jason and Tim: *Shrugs*

Duke: "I- whatever, have both."

Duke: "Finally, Cass. Someone reasonable. Are you baritone or euphonium?"

Cass: *Shrugs*

Duke:

Dick and Jon watching a Minecraft parkour video from the phone placed on their stand:

Tim, Jason, Wally, and Cass watching from the row behind them:

Anyone needing to play a solo:

Everybody turning around to stare into their soul:

Jason, minding his own business:

Wally: *Snatches his music and passes it down a row*

Jason: "Hey wait- nO-"

Damian, counting his rests on his fingers: *Looks over to Jon*

Jon, with a different amount of fingers up even though they have the same amount of rests: *Panic*

Damian and Jon, silently communicating and panicking about the rests, both missing their entrance

Jason, squinting at his music: "The fuck? Why the hell is there a 6/8 in here?"

Tim: "How do you count 6/8 again?"

Jason: "That is a very good question." *Mumbling the rhythms to himself* "1 and 2, 3 and, and- no that's not it.. 1 e a 2? 1..2?"

Tim:

Jason:

Jason: "Maybe Damian has the same melody before us."

Tim: "Yeah, let's just listen to him."

#batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #duke thomas #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #jon kent #conner kent #roy harper #wally west #band au #for funsies

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hwangjoanna · 2 months ago

Text

'Red Light, Green Light.'

SKZ Squid Game AU

Hyunjin X Reader

Enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers

Dom/Hyunjin, Sub/Reader

Possessive & jealous Hyunjin

Hyunjin, Seungmin & Minho are all mean (sorry)

Felix and Jisung Besties (Soft boys)

Warnings- mentions of blood, mentions of dead body, mentions of death, grief, angst, pining, swearing, nightmares, mentions of sex.

A/N - Once again thank you for your patience! This one is a hard chapter, a lot of grief and angst, let me know your thoughts and thanks again for all the support!

Word Count - 6,530

Chapter 8 - Here!

[Series Masterlist]

Chapter 9

In the harsh light, Jisung's hair pooled around his head like a halo, its dark strands entwining with shadows, creating an ethereal framing reminiscent of a fallen angel. Each lock carried the weight of sorrow, shimmering with an otherworldly lustre as if touched by the ghostly hands of fate. It whispered of lost dreams and forgotten love, a silent testament to beauty intertwined with grief, an exquisite melancholy that lingered in the air like a haunting melody. In that moment, he became a tragic figure, embodying both grace and despair, forever suspended between realms of light and darkness.

“NO! NO! NO!” you screamed a scream that you never thought your lungs capable of making. It bounced off the walls in the small room where the five of you and a stranger stood—deafening, blood-curdling. The kind that grew from a place deep inside your soul, you had never felt loss like it, apart from when your parents had passed, leaving you alone in the world.

Now, though, you weren’t alone in your grief, Minho stood stiff as a board, his eyes boring into Jisung’s face as it turned a blueish grey. For a moment, all that could be heard was your loud sobs, small whimpers leaving your wet lips. Felix still had his arms around your waist, you could feel your T-shirt moist from his tears leaking into the garment. He cried quietly while he held you, his face buried into your back.

Hyunjin and Seungmin felt unworthy of the same grief, they stood as if they were voyeurs to the despair. You leaned back against Felix, “Why him? WHY!” You unashamedly wept.

Seungmin approached Minho, tears had started to fall down his features, but his eyes burned with anger, and Seungmin felt Minho's searing energy radiate from him as he placed his palm against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “I’m sorry, Min,” he said softly to the older man.

Minho turned to Seungmin as if his words had broken him out of a trance. Without a word, he moved away from him and towards the man who had been the reason Jisung didn’t join them in the room. Minho was all adrenaline and hate. It flooded his senses as he punched the man in the jaw. Number 090, the stranger cried out in pain, but his breath was stolen mid-yelp when Minho’s fist came in contact with him again.

Then, he just kept swinging, the sound of number 090’s bones crunched loudly under the weight of it. Blood spurted in droves, and his eye socket collapsed.

The four of you watched in shock, though you felt no remorse for the man. Like each hit brought you closer to relief. You had never felt blood lust like this, you wanted to see the stranger in pain. A primal urge that you didn’t even know was inside of you.

“Minh- please stop!” Felix cried out. “You’re killing him!”

Felix’s words only spurred him on, his punches becoming stronger and faster now and then, the stranger just stopped breathing, his face mangled and disfigured.

Minho paused and was just staring at the man’s bloodied body on the ground, you couldn’t see his face as he had his back to all of you. Then, he turned slowly, controlled. The malice from his features completely vanished, and his eyes were soft and hollow.

The guards were outside moving Jisung’s cadaver into a box, his body limply dropped into it like a bag of bones.

He was gone.

You turned back to Minho, his face dripping in a mix of his sweat and tears. His features were covered in blood splatter. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing more crimson over his honeyed skin.

On instinct, you went to him, slowly approaching him calmly like he was a dog known to bite.

He just watched you intensely quiet, like someone had placed their hands over your ears. The silence was deafening.

You bought your palm up to his cheek, and he leaned into it, “y/n”, he whispered like a lullaby.

The sound of your name leaving his lips broke something in you. Minho, who was usually teasing, a little cold and reserved, was speaking to you like you were the salvation to his pain.

But you weren’t, you couldn’t be. Jisung was never coming back.

You pulled him into your embrace with no hesitation, you didn’t give a fuck that he was covered in blood as his soiled hands wrapped around you.

Seungmin had come to Felix’s side and allowed the blonde to lean on him as he continued his quiet sobs. Hyunjin’s back was against the opposite wall, his eyes puffy from his own silent tears.

Then an alarm, the door swung open, but none of you moved.

“The game is over, please follow an assigned guard back to the main room.”

You heard the announcement echo coldly. Relief washed over you briefly. You wouldn’t lose another friend, not today at least.

You pulled away from Minho only to take his hand in yours. Hyunjin followed behind, and Seungmin wrapped his arm around Felix’s waist to help him walk on his shaky legs.

You all exited the room in silence, none of you looked back.

◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️

Author POV

The control room was bathed in a sterile, blue-white glow. Rows upon rows of monitors stretched across the wall, each screen flickering with grainy footage of the contestants—eating, sleeping, plotting, praying. It was quiet, save for the soft hum of surveillance equipment and the occasional click of a keyboard.

Perched in the centre of it all stood the man in the black mask.

He didn’t speak often in here. He didn’t need to. Every blink, every tilt of his head, every subtle clench of his gloved hand carried weight. Authority.

His eyes were on you.

Camera 42. Bed 9. You were sitting cross-legged on the mattress, head bowed, fingers nervously plucking at the edge of your sleeve. He zoomed in. The dark circles under your eyes had deepened. You were exhausted after the game. Since you’d watched blood pool beneath your friend’s crumpled body.

“You’re not breaking yet,” he muttered, more to himself than to the silent guards behind him. “Interesting.”

You were unpredictable, a wild variable in a game that thrived on control. He had reviewed your file over and over. Quiet, stubborn, analytical. He thought you’d fold in the first round.

But you didn’t.

On the screen, you suddenly looked up, straight at the camera. Not at it, not really, but the timing felt intimate. Like you knew you were being watched.

The masked man leaned closer.

“She’s aware,” one of the triangle-masked guards said behind him.

“No,” the man in black said, still watching you, “she’s calculating.”

It wasn’t just about surviving anymore. You were starting to understand the system—the rhythm of the guards’ movements, the way the games were announced, the pattern in the meals. He saw it in the way your eyes tracked the magenta-suited workers, in how you never took more than one step without checking your surroundings.

This wasn’t good.

Or maybe… maybe it was.

His fingers twitched at his side, as if tempted to reach for something. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned to another monitor, one showing the main hallway where the next game would begin in a day.

He imagined you standing there again, chin lifted, blood drying on your collar, but eyes sharp, alive.

“She’ll make it through the next round,” he said flatly. “Prepare accordingly.”

“Yes, Leader.”

But as he stared back at the screen, his and yours gaze lingered.

A part of him wondered, if you knew who was behind the mask… would you still fight to survive?

Or would you fight him?

Y/N POV

You didn’t sleep that night, you couldn’t, every time you shut your eyes, Jisung was there.

His eyes as he wept, his voice.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry, Jagiya.”

His lifeless form a heap on the ground.

Scarlet floors.

Nothing you could do would force you to sleep. Felix had moved down into Jisung’s bed, you could feel every toss and turn of his body above you. The bunk rattled under his weight.

He huffed a sigh. “Lix,” you whispered. A pause, “yeah?” He replied.

“You can’t sleep either?” You asked, another pause. “No,” he said with a sad tone.

“Wanna go for a walk?” You said gently.

You felt him move above you, the bunk swayed slightly as he made his way down the ladder slowly.

“Come on, Angel,” he whispered, offering his hand to you. You took it and rose from your bed. The two of you walked towards the bathroom.

The lights in the room blinded you temporarily, a harsh contrast from the darkness in the main room. Your eyes adjusted quickly, and you both jumped up onto the counter on the side wall. Your legs dangling off the edge as you got comfortable.

You spoke first, “I can’t believe he’s gone,” your voice cracked.

Felix hummed before he replied, “I didn’t say I love you back, I-” he hung his head down in shame. Tears pricked in his beautiful eyes and fell against his freckles.

You held his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as you began to cry with him. “I didn’t either, but-“ you stopped to catch your breath. “He knows we did, we do.”

“You think?” He sniffled.

“I know,” a small smile on your lips.

Felix broke down, his sobs grew in volume, echoing against the bathroom tiles. He slipped off the counter and stood between your legs and leaned into your body, his chin resting on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Trying to hold him as tightly as you could while you cried together.

‘Doong-geul-gae doong-geul-gae, jjag bing-geul-bing-geul dor-a-ga-myeo chum-eul chub-si-da, son-ppyeo-geul chi-myeon-seo.’

Screams

“I’m sorry, Jagiya.”

‘Doong-geul-gae doong-geul-gae, jjag bing-geul-bing-geul dor-a-ga-myeo chum-eul chub-si-da, son-ppyeo-geul chi-myeon-seo.’

Six.

“I love you.”

His sorrowful expression, his body on the floor.

Blood, so much blood.

Screams.

The morning siren blared through the room, you woke in a sweat. You were panting, you don’t remember when you fell asleep, but it wasn’t too long ago, your limbs ached, your muscles were tired, and your joints were tense.

You looked to the bed next to you, Minho’s bed, unmade. He usually made his bed every morning, but today, tangled sheets and pillow slanted.

You caught sight of him coming back for the bathroom, his hair a mess, strands sticking out at every angle. His skin was pale, with heavy lids and hollow eyes.

The guards entered to serve breakfast, but you lay back down, pulling your duvet over your head.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, your stomach was in knots, and you couldn’t even think about eating breakfast.

You felt the mattress dip from someone’s weight on the end of your bed, but you didn’t stir.

Their hand rested on you through the sheets, “y/n?” It sounded like Seungmin.

You lifted the cover and looked at him, his eyes soft, a small smile on his lips. Not his usual teasing expression.

“Come with me?” He asked gently. You followed him as he walked towards the bathroom. He knocked before peering through the door to check if no one was there, and you both went in.

The dim light of the room flickers, casting long shadows that dance across the cold, concrete walls. You walk in, your heart heavy with the weight of loss, each memory of Jisung a sharpened shard of glass in your chest. You can still hear his laughter echoing in your mind, a cruel reminder of the day before, the day everything shattered.

“Sit,” Seungmin said, pointing to the bathroom counter. You furrowed your brows in confusion, but did what he asked.

“Can I touch you?” He caught you off guard with his question. You nodded, wondering what was going to happen. He nodded back, “Thank you,” he said.

He started wetting a paper towel and ringing it out over the sink, you watched with curious eyes. He took off your numbered hoodie and rolled up your t-shirt sleeve with a light touch. He didn’t say anything, then he brought the damp towel to your skin and began running it down your arm. The sombre atmosphere enveloped you both. His hands move with a tenderness that surprises you, as if each swipe of the cool cloth across your skin is a silent promise that you won’t face this alone. He wipes away the blood and sweat, his focus unwavering, as if he’s trying to erase not just physical pain but also the emotional scars that linger.

You continued to sit through it, both of you silent.

He then stood in front of you, his short, dark hair framing his soft face, glossy skin under the harsh lights. He was beautiful, you just looked at him as he began to treat your face with the same careful wipes.

“You’re staring,” he commented with a little chuckle.

“I just-“ you said, feeling a little embarrassed, as you looked anywhere but at him. “Why are you doing this?” You asked.

“No reason,” he said bluntly.

You glance up at him, feeling the weight of his gaze. It’s heavy with concern, searching for a spark of the old teasing banter you used to share. But there’s no quip, instead, the air is thick with grief.

“You go from being an absolute menace to-“ you paused, “whatever this is?” You didn’t mean to come off rude, but the flip in behaviour slightly concerned you. Here’s Seungmin, funny, playful, the one who thrived on banter. Now transformed into a caretaker, stripping away the layers of hurt, one towel at a time. It disarms you, this sudden shift, and for a moment, you’re thrown off balance.

He continued for a moment and then stopped, throwing the bloodied tissues in the bin. “Look,” visibly gathering his thoughts, as if wrestling with his feelings, “I don’t cuddle like Felix, I’m not good with words like Hyunjin, but-“ he paused to make eye contact with you. “But I’m good at aftercare, and well, this is my way of looking after you, of giving you some comfort after Jis-“ he didn’t finish the sentence, his expression one of melancholy. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, that wasn’t my intenti-“

You interrupted him mid-sentence, “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I was just a little taken aback, I appreciate it, Seungmin. Thank you.”

Underneath all of that mischievous bravado, he was actually really sweet and caring. If anyone had told you this a few days ago, you would have laughed in their face.

“I can’t make things okay, I can’t bring him back and though I didn’t know him as well as you,” his voice softer now. “I don’t think he would have wanted you to give up, he didn’t do what he did for you to stop fighting through this. You’re still here because of him, don’t let yourself drown in this-“ he paused, looking away with a little shake of his head before his eyes bore into yours. “Pain.”

In that moment, the teasing and playful jabs you once shared feel hollow compared to the depth of his care. It’s unexpected, but beneath the sorrow, there’s comfort, a bond forged in shared pain and understanding. You feel the warmth of his presence seep through the shadows, grounding you in a reality that still hurts but doesn’t feel quite as isolating.

You smile at him, and his eyes soften as he lets out a small sigh through his nostrils.

“You’re not good with words, huh?” You pushed on his arm slightly, putting your grief aside for one moment of relief. One moment to see the old Seungmin.

He scoffed, “Shut up.” he stepped back, shifting his weight on his feet. “You’re still my kill for fuck, marry, kill,” Seungmin winked playfully but his usual smirk wasn’t there.

You decided in the moment to give him some of the old you, too, in hopes it would also comfort him.

“I’m also your fuck,” your grin widened slightly.

He rolled his eyes with a chuckle, “touché.”

He leaned forward again and ran his fingers through your hair, gently pulling out the knots and patting don’t the parts that looked messy.

Once he finished, he whispered as if to himself, “beautiful,” it was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

Your breath hitched, but before you could question anything, he spoke again.

“Right, let’s get some food, yeah,” you nodded and jumped off the counter, following him out of the room.

Together, you pushed the heavy door open, only to nearly collide with someone standing right outside.

Hyunjin.

He looked between you and Seungmin sharply, his dark eyes narrowing for the briefest second before smoothing into something colder. His arms were crossed over his chest, posture casual, too casual.

“What were you two doing in there?” he asked, voice low and light, but there was a tautness to it, like a wire ready to snap.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Seungmin glanced at you, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Just cleaning up,” he said. “Long morning.”

Hyunjin’s gaze dropped to the faint wet patch on your sleeve, the lingering redness around your knuckles. His jaw twitched. “Yeah? Took you a while.”

There was an edge to his voice now, almost hidden, but you caught it. He wasn’t stupid. He saw more than you wished he did.

“We talked,” you added quickly, forcing a small smile that felt too stiff. “That’s all.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a long moment, and something dark and possessive flickered behind his eyes. You could feel it in the way his hand brushed too close to your arm when he shifted his weight, in the way his stare pinned you to the spot like he was trying to read every hidden thought in your head. But he didn’t push, at least not right now.

Instead, Hyunjin gave a tight smile, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and said, “Right. Just talking.”

He stepped aside to let you and Seungmin pass, but as you brushed by, you felt the weight of his stare burning into your back. And when you glanced over your shoulder, Hyunjin was still standing there, watching, eyes unreadable as if daring you to turn around and explain yourself better.

But you didn’t. He was acting ridiculous, and somehow, you knew this wasn’t the end of it.

Lunch had come around in a blur. If you were honest with yourself, Jisung’s death had affected you more than you realised it would. After hanging out with Seungmin, you just sat on your bed disassociating, most of the others did too. You all ate your food, not talking to each other, and then you lay back on your bed.

After a moment or two, you felt the bunk shift as Felix made his way down. He looked adorable, all groggy from a nap, his eyes half open. “Hey Angel, can we hang out?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual.

You sat up cross-legged, and he sat opposite you. For a moment, he just looked at you. Neither of you said anything. Then, naturally, your conversation steered back to Jisung. You spoke about stories he had shared, your favourite things about him, and how you both missed his laugh.

Minho rounded the bed and looked at the two of you, his expression cold for a moment, then his eyes changed, softer. “Can I join you both? I’d like to hear about your memories of him,” he asked tentatively. Felix moved down the bed so he could take a seat. “Of course, man,” he patted the space next to him.

You all continued the conversation, now Minho sharing his thoughts about Jisung, it was so nice to hear him speak so highly of him, you hoped it was helping him get it out in the open.

You hoped it was a comfort to him.

Then, a pause and Minho’s features turned into a frown. “I feel guilty,” he whispered it so quickly you barely caught the words. “What do you mean?” You asked gently.

He opened his mouth and closed it again before continuing, “I was the one who was pushed by that guy; I wasn’t meant to make it, he died because of me.” A tear fell from his eye, you might have missed it if you blinked, because he wiped it away before it got to his cheek.

“That’s not true,” Felix offered. He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“You know he would have done that for any of us,” you added.

Felix sighed before speaking, “It was that player's fault, we already had our group, he caused this, not you, not Jisung.” Minho looked up at the two of you, “You think so?” You both smiled, “Yeah, we do,” Felix said.

“I still can’t help how I feel,” Minho said.

Felix moved closer to him. “Of course, it’s normal to feel that way, this game is fucked up, it will eat away at you, you’re gonna feel shit, you’re gonna be tested until the end.” You were shocked at how brutally honest Felix was. “At the end of the day, there’s only one winner.” He said it so sternly that you felt taken aback. Sweet Felix, your sunshine, your best friend, talking like that. For a moment, it worried you, like there was another side of him that was beneath the freckles and boba eyes. You didn’t comment, though, you let the words sit in the air.

Minho nodded, “I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” he said softly. “Thank you, though, I needed that.” Felix leaned into Minho as if to offer a hug, and Minho paused for a second before he leaned in too. The hug was short, but it felt good to see them bond; you’d all need each other more than ever now Jisung had gone. He was like the glue that held you all together, the one who openly bridged the gap between your trio and theirs. The one who led with love and friendship, you weren’t quite sure how to be without him. You’d have to figure it out, though, fast, because as Felix said, there’s only one winner.

And you weren’t sure what would hurt more, surviving without them, or dying trying to keep them.

Hyunjin POV

She’s driving me crazy, and it’s almost like she knows it, like she’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me.

Ever since the last game, she’s barely looked my way. I’ve seen her speak to everyone else, but she’s not spoken to me, not really.

I know I wasn’t close with Jisung, I know I called him her guard dog and didn’t always speak to him nicely, but I’m also not a complete fucking monster. I would be there for her if she just asked me, and I want to be.

But now I don’t know how to approach her, it’s been too long. Even after I saw her with Seungmin outside the bathroom, she acted like it was nothing and like there was nothing between us. It was confusing, she seems hot and cold, one minute she’s letting me lick her pussy, moaning my name. So fucking sweetly, god just the memory of having her makes my cock twitch in my pants. Next, she’s almost avoiding me, barely making any eye contact, and no glances like she used to. I’m not sure what I did to cause it. I thought I had been nice to her, I thought I had shown her that I was someone she could rely on.

Her laugh breaks me out of my thoughts, “oh my god, why are you such a dick!” Y/N chuckles as she slaps Seungmin’s arm playfully. “I thought you liked me like this? Hmm?” Seungmin replies with a smirk on his face. She shakes her head, “You wish, puppy,” she replies.

Since when did they get so fucking close, she’s flirted with him before and I always found it funny, but now it feels like something has shifted. Like her attention has shifted. I don’t fucking like it.

“Are you doing okay?” Seungmin asks her, low and steady, like he’s afraid she’ll break. “Yeah, thanks for letting me talk about it. He was awful to me, and I just hate bringing him up, but sometimes my dreams, they don’t let me forget,” Y/n replies to him in a quiet voice.

Oh, she’s not talking about Jisung, surely not? Who is she referring to? I try to lean in slightly, though at this point I’ve been staring at them so long it’s probably blatantly fucking obvious that I’m listening in.

Tears start to drop from her shining eyes, god, I don’t know what it is about her crying that makes me wanna fuck her till she’s begging me to let her cum. What is wrong with me? She’s upset, and that’s where my mind goes.

Seungmin just pats her shoulder, leans forward and whispers in her ear. She wipes her tears away and laughs again. My jaw clenches in frustration, my teeth grind against each other. He’s not even that funny? I don’t get it.

Of course, as if on cue, my least favourite man arrives to worm his way in, Felix, I don’t even know what it is about him. Maybe it’s because I know he saw her first, got close to her immediately, the guy she runs to every time. Or perhaps it’s the fact that he’s annoyingly attractive and sweet to her. The good guy act is almost nauseating. He smiles at her, “When’s dinner? I’m starving!” Felix says to both of them. “I don’t know, I’m not your wife, go ask a guard.” She bites back, but I know she means it sarcastically. She giggles as Felix rolls his eyes at her, “Not yet, Angel.” He replies, winking at her. She blushes at that like she always does.

Have they done anything? No, I would have noticed. I can’t help but obsess over her, like she’s the only thing that keeps me grounded and crazy at the same time in the this fucking hell hole. Maybe I should just talk to her? But I don’t know if she even wants me around.

I stand up and look at the piggy bank hanging from the ceiling like a reminder of why I’m here. It’s fuller now, knowing that one of those stacks of cash represents Jisung’s life makes me feel a little sick. But I need to escape the syndicate; their hold on me has been suffocating. I need to get away from Seoul, start a new life somewhere. It will suck to leave San, but I’m in danger if I stay. I never threatened Wooyoung’s girl, never went back to meet the man in the alley. If I go back, I’ll be killed. I have to win this, but to do that, I have to let everyone else be eliminated.

I have to let her be eliminated.

The thought alone causes my chest to tighten, and the knot in my stomach aches. I’ve not known her that long, and yet I feel drawn to her. Like our paths were meant to cross, and that scares me. It scares me more than this game, the man in the alley, the syndicate, my cold parents.

I need to make sure I don’t get too involved, in too deep. The time will come when I have to let her go.

Once again, I feel the urge to look at her, but when I do, she’s already watching me as Felix and Seungmin chat next to her. A small smile that doesn’t reach her beautiful eyes is present on her face. But I don’t return it, I just glance over her features for a moment before walking away to the bathroom.

I need to think alone.

Y/N POV

The day dragged, like every second was reminding you how long it had been since you had witnessed Jisung’s life fade from his eyes.

You had barely eaten, Seungmin had told you to, but you managed a few bites before offering him the rest. He took it with a frown but didn’t press the matter. For that, you were grateful; he had continued to distract you throughout the day, being annoying as ever, but it was welcomed. Felix seemed to perk up a bit, too. Unfortunately, you would also need to push through your grief to get through the rest of the game.

Hyunjin, however, hadn’t spoken to you at all. Apart from the awkward moment outside the bathroom. It made you wonder what was going on inside his head. Was he pulling away on purpose? Was he angry at you? You hoped he would approach you and comfort you like he did when the guard had hurt you, but he didn’t.

A small sob broke you out of your thoughts as you lay in bed in the darkened room. You looked towards the sound and noticed Minho bundled up in his sheets. he was turned away from you, his shoulders bouncing uncontrollably as he quietly cried to himself. The sight made your heart ache for him. He hadn’t been himself at all since the loss of Jisung.

He sniffed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from comforting him. You rose from your bunk and made your way over the short gap to his.

You pulled back the cover slightly and got into his bed, lying down and facing him. He stilled for a moment, and you shuffled in closer, spooning him. “Y/N?” His voice was broken, coming out in a choked breath.

You put your arm around his waist and pulled his back flush towards your chest. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” you whispered to him. Without another word, he grabbed your hand that was gently lying over his stomach, and he squeezed it like a desperate plea for you to stay with him.

And you did, both falling asleep after a while, your silent support helping him drift into slumber.

You woke up suddenly, the regular morning alarm bursting through your ears. You heard a groan, the sound bringing you back to reality as Minho shifted slightly beneath you. Your head was resting on his chest, his arm wrapped around your form.

The siren continued blaring as the bed shook. Seungmin was coming down from his bunk, his eyes heavy from sleep. He turned to the two of you for a moment and just chuckled to himself before making his way to the guards for his breakfast.

“Morning,” Minho said in a deep, sleepy voice. You turned to him awkwardly, “Uh- morning,” you replied, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked with his eyes still closed lazily.

You nodded against his chest and hummed, “mhm, no nightmares, so that’s good,” you said quietly.

“Oh, yeah. Jisung told me you suffered from them.” He said absentmindedly. He opened his eyes and looked at you, then, noticing your uncomfortable expression. “Don’t worry, he didn’t go into details.” He offered, then his lips pulled into a line that formed a slight smile.

You sighed in relief and smiled back when Minho looked past you, You followed his gaze to find Hyunjin standing at the bottom of the ladder, eyeing the two of you. Minho dropped his arm from your shoulder, and you began to sit up.

“What’s this?” Hyunjin asked in a cold tone.

“What do you mean?” You asked softly.

“This? You and him in bed together.” His voice rang out, like he was accusing you of something.

“Hyune, it’s nothing”, Minho interrupted, with a little chuckle.

“Sure, okay,” Hyunjin said before he walked towards the bathroom.

Minho went to get up and follow him, but you held his arm lightly, “Don’t, I’ll go,” you said. Minho just nodded in agreement and stepped into line for breakfast.

You walked into the bathroom, the lights flickered dimly like they knew what was about to happen. The room was empty apart from Hyunjin, who was leaning over the sink, his arms braced against the counter, his veins prominent, muscles pulled tight from the tension in his shoulders. He was staring at his reflection, a scowl on his face, brows furrowed, eyes dark as night.

He glanced at you briefly, “Which one is it, thirteen?” He mumbled, but his tone was biting.

“What?” You asked, confused.

He turned to you and leant against the counter, crossing his arms. “Or is it all three of them?” His voice was louder than before.

You stepped towards him and he watched you, waiting.

“What the fuck are you talking about Hyunjin, spit it out.” You commanded harshly.

“You think I don’t see it, hmm?” his tone was softer now as he started pacing towards you, his eyes predatory. You stepped back against the wall, wincing at the cold tiles. He stopped a few inches away, leaning over you; he towered above you. You looked up at him through your lashes. One of his palms was against the wall next to your face. “The way they look at you, the way you flirt back,” his tone was coaxing. “One minute you’re in the bathroom alone with Seungmin, the next you’re waking up in Minho’s bed.” His jaw was tight, his eyes intense.

You couldn’t speak; his breath tickled your cheeks.

“I thought you were mine, hmm,” his other hand came up to your face, his thumb gently traced your jawline.

You pulled away from his touched, pissed off that he was insinuate such a thing. “Stop it, Hyunjin,” you spat.

He looked dumbfounded for a moment before he continued. “I don’t share, sweetheart.” He raised his voice.

“I’m not yours to share!” You started screaming back. “I was in bed with him to comfort him, to comfort me! My best friend here was killed right in front of me! I just wanted one moment of peace, to sleep without nightmares.” You took a deep breath, lowering your voice slightly before continuing. “Seungmin was just helping, god are you that fucking jealous?”

Hyunjin grabbed your jaw, “You know I am, thirteen!” His voice is louder. “You always go running to someone else, I should be the one you go to. I’m the one you should be in bed with.” He leaned in to kiss you, his lips grazed yours, but you pushed him away.

“No, that’s not your decision to make, Hyunjin! You don’t get to talk to me like that and then kiss me!” He huffed, staring at you darkly as you screamed at him. “It takes two, you never approached me either. Don’t act like you’re a white knight and I’m some pathetic woman.” Then you said something you knew you shouldn’t, that you knew would hurt him. You were so lost in the moment, too emotionally charged to make sense of yourself before it came out.

“Felix doesn’t look at me like I need saving.” You deadpanned, voice cold.

His eyes went wide in shock for a moment before they turned distant. “So it’s him, then is it, your precious little guard dog.” He tutted under his breath.

You were fuming at this point, you didn’t like the thought of someone having a hold over you. Wooyoung had done enough damage over the last few years, and you were sick of it. How dare Hyunjin act like this? He had no claim over you, it hurt that he would accuse you of such things.

“Fuck you, Hyunjin!” You shouted. “I think it’s best you leave me alone.” You started to walk out, and he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he said menacingly.

You pulled your wrist free. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, you need to back off.” Then you whispered, broken with tears starting to fall down your cheeks, a mix of anger and sorrow. “I needed you.”

He looked at the floor, almost guilty. He didn’t respond and just walked back to the sink. You watched him for a second longer, but he never looked back at you. You scoffed and wiped your tears away. Walking out of the room and slamming the door behind you.

AUTHOR POV

Triangle 156 had been put on breakfast duty as usual, his uniform hung loosely on his frame, his mask a little more suffocating today. It would be his first time seeing you again after the game, after he dragged you into a room to save you, after he saw your friend, number 246, shot dead as you cried through the door window.

A sick part of him liked the fact you were suffering, you’d be a lot more pliant that way. Weak and easy to manipulate, something he knew how to do easily.

As he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on you almost instinctively. You were getting out of bed and following number 320 into the bathroom. Triangle 156 turned to the guard on his left, square 009. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He stated, no room to question him. Square masked guards were lower in rank than him.

He slipped through a secret door, a viewing room. A window where guards could watch players in the bathroom through the double-sided mirror. The stalls are the only blind spot. He was hoping they wouldn’t go into one.

He watched as you leant against the wall, number 320 on you.

“One minute you’re in the bathroom alone with Seungmin, the next you’re waking up in Minho’s bed.”

Number 320 had his voice raised. Triangle 156 had noticed how close you were to the men in here that you hung out with. He’d been keeping a close eye on what you were doing. He knew for a fact Number 320 had claimed you as his, he wasn’t sure how it had happened. How you had accepted that, but he couldn’t push it. Not yet.

He’d need to bide his time.

Get you alone, without the others seeing him.

He was going to make sure you didn’t fall for someone else, he needed to use you for the money. He knew you were an easy target for him.

Triangle 156 broke out of his thoughts and looked at the two of you, the argument between you getting more heated.

Perfect.

Just what he wanted.

“Fuck you, Hyunjin!” You shouted. “I think it’s best you leave me alone.”

Triangle 156 couldn’t believe his luck, he wouldn’t even need to try to get in between the two of you. You’d pushed number 320 away yourself.

You left the room shortly after, and he watched number 320 stare at himself, then pace the room. Then he screamed, “FUCK!” and punched the nearest wall.

Triangle 156 chuckled to himself, “Finally, he’s gonna break.”

Then he left, joining his colleagues in the main room, a sick smirk hiding under his mask.

Chapter 10 - Here!

△ ○ □ • □ ○ △ • △ ○ □ • □ ○ △ • △ ○ □ • □ ○ △

Proofread by the lovely - @hoes4minho (please check

out her writing!

Please do not copy my work!

Images in banner are not mine!

Dividers by - @sisterlucifergraphics

Taglist - @eridanuswave @astro-des @ot8girlfie @fairylix @estellan0vella @nightmarenyxx @missygore @mysterysold @chloe-elise-2000 @hhwangsmoon

@minhosglasses @akindaflora @minniesverse @riri53

Open!

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #18+ mdni #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz au #hyunjin x reader #lee felix #han jisung #kim seungmin #lee minho #skz ff #skz fanfic #skz smut #squid game imagine #squid game au #skz imagines

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lemoncrushh · 1 year ago

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Her Album

Summary: Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it.

Warnings: Angst, lots of feelings

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: A short one-shot written in 2019 in first person from Harry's POV. While this is not necessarily a reader fic, the woman's name is never mentioned. This was written before Fine Line was out, so it's pretty wild to think about it now.

The album was done. I’d made a visit to the studio to hear the final mix and then had lunch with Jeffrey and Glenne. As I drove home, I listened to the songs again in the car, deciding not to stop at my house when I got there, but instead to keep going so I could give one last listen straight through.

I’m not sure how I ended up on her street. It used to be automatic, like taking my shoes off before my trousers, or putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I’d driven down her block so many times before, I probably knew it better than my own neighbourhood.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring up at her window. I wasn’t even sure if she was home. I couldn’t tell if a light was on, but it was the middle of the day and that window was her bedroom, so she could’ve been anywhere else inside. I let the album loop around to the first track again, the opening chords hitting me in the chest just like the first time I’d heard them.

I wanted her to hear them too. I wanted her to listen to the melodies and have them bring back the memories that had inspired me to write them. I wanted her to listen to my lyrics and know they were all about her, even the ones that weren’t as obvious. Songs about love and loss. Songs about sex and lust and forbidden fruit. Songs that sounded like they were about something completely different, hidden behind loose meanings and innuendos.

But they were all about her.

I scrolled through my phone and opened the contacts to her name. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. I’d lost count. Being in the studio had helped to heal my broken heart, and my pride, but it certainly hadn’t erased her memory. She was with me every single day, every moment that I worked on a song.

I almost tapped on her name, my thumb grazing over it. But I stopped myself, turning off my phone, and then my engine. Climbing out of the car, I walked around it to the pavement in front of her building, once again looking up at her window. For a second I considered being like John Cusack in Say Anything, holding up an 80s boom box and serenading her with my music so she’d notice. But I reckoned that was borderline stalking, not to mention disturbing the neighbours, so I made my way to the stairs and climbed them to the second floor.

I stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a good two to three minutes before I even lifted my hand. I took several breaths, wondering if I was making a mistake. She probably didn’t wanna see me, let alone talk to me. She didn’t give a shit about my album. She had moved on.

But I was there. I felt like something had brought me there for a reason, and that reason was to play her my music. Let her know exactly how I felt about her - how she drove me crazy and how she’d hurt me and how I’d hurt her. How in love with her I’d been. How I still…

Finally, I knocked, a little too softly at first, but I didn’t want to startle her. At least that’s what I told myself. When no one responded, however, I knocked again, much louder and with determination.

“Jesus, I’m coming!” I heard her yell from inside. “Hold your-”

She stood before me with a half-eaten apple in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She wore a t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and no makeup. She looked beautiful.

“Hey,” I said, my voice not quite cooperating so I sounded like a frog.

“Harry.” She said my name in almost a question, though she knew it was me. She just wondered why it was me.

When she didn’t say anything else, I shifted my eyes up and down the hall and shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

I admit, I expected her to nod and step back to let me inside her apartment. But when she shook her head, my face fell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she remarked.

“Um...why not?”

“Because…” she began, her tone hard as steel, “I just got over you.”

“Over me?” I gulped.

“Yeah. It’s taken me a while, but I finally am,” she explained, placing the apple on the table by the door. Then wiping her hands on her shorts, she leaned against the door frame. “You haven’t shown your face here in nearly three months. I can’t just let you waltz on in here and undo everything.”

“‘m not…” I stumbled, “‘m not undoing anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her gorgeous but stern eyes glared at me, piercing through my heart. I looked down at my feet, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. She didn’t want any more to do with me. I’d waited too long and missed the window. Maybe there hadn’t even been one.

Lifting my head, I looked at her beautiful face again. It was then that I recognized the shirt she was wearing - my old AC/DC t-shirt.

“Looks like you’re not completely over me,” I pointed. I dunno why I said it. It was petty and juvenile.

“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

She looked down at the emblem on her chest, seemingly just realizing what she had on. With a sigh, she dropped her arms.

“I just like it,” she said, her head held high. “And you basically gave it to me anyway.”

“No, I didn’t.” Shut up, H, you’re making it worse, I thought to myself.

“Well, you left it here. And I ended up sleeping in it. And you never came back, so…” She crossed her arms again in defense.

She was right. The last time I’d been in her apartment, we’d had a massive fight, and I’d told her it was over and stormed out. She’d tried calling and texting me for a couple days, but I’d ignored her, stubborn with pride. When I’d finally agreed to talk to her again, I was only being a right twat, unable to see or accept her side. So, we only ended up fighting again until she said she needed some space.

“I was giving you your space,” I muttered, knowing damn well I sounded like a wanker.

“For six weeks?” she snorted and shook her head. “You have some nerve, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What was that?” she stepped closer to me, her brows furrowed. “Did you really just say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For being a dickhead? For not calling or texting or even saying one word to me for freaking ever? For telling me it was over in the first place? Or for showing up here now when I’m finally over you?”

I blinked. “All of it,” I admitted.

Her lips twitched, and for a second I thought she was going to smile.

“Fuck you, Harry!” she exclaimed.

Stepping back, she grabbed the door, ready to slam it. But I brought my hand up and stopped it.

“I want you to listen to it,” I said, remembering why I’d come.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not to me. To the album. It’s finished, and I want you to hear it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t be serious. You came here so I’d listen to your new music? You really are a douchebag.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she interrupted. “But seems to me you had weeks to explain yourself, Harry. I’m done crying over you.”

She was about to shut the door again when I called out, “I’ve been crying over you, too!”

She stood still, her hand on the door that was opened only a crack. Leaning her forehead against it, I could tell she was holding back tears. I didn’t want her to cry now, at least not over this.

“Liar,” she croaked.

“It’s not a lie, ba-” I almost called her baby, but I knew she wouldn’t like that. Not yet. “Please. Let me in. You don’t even have to talk. Just listen to the album.”

I stood silent for a moment, watching her eyelashes flutter against her pink cheeks. Finally, she let out a sigh and stepped back, opening the door to allow me to step inside.

“Thanks,” I muttered low as she closed the door behind me.

She didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t even look at me as she grabbed her half eaten apple and went into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for her return.

“Okay,” she gestured toward me as she plopped onto the couch. “Go ahead.”

Spotting her laptop on the coffee table, I pointed. “Do you mind?”

She merely nodded and I sat down next to her and opened it. Then sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the USB drive and plugged it in, bringing up the files I’d saved in the studio. With a click of the mouse, the first track began to play, those familiar chords ringing once again. I sat back and watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction on her face.

But none came.

Not when the first track ended, nor when the second song started, the first lyric blatantly about her. I started to get restless, rubbing my palms on my knees and bouncing my leg. I ran my fingers through my hair, a habit she used to tell me was endearing, only now she didn’t give any indication that she even noticed.

Finally, during the third song, I saw her make the slightest move, leaning against the arm of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. We made eye contact for a second before she quickly looked away, her eyes hazy. I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted so badly to ask, to pry it out of her, but I’d promised she needn’t talk.

We were halfway through the album when I caught more movement out of the corner of my eye. I’d been sat with my head down, unable to look at her during track seven, the most intimate and personal song I’d written. My gaze lifted to her, and I noticed her shoulders were shaking. Her head was still in her hand, her cheeks now wet with tears.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her in my arms. God, I wanted that so bad. But I let her be. I knew she needed to cry without me giving false promises that everything was okay. None of this was okay.

I’d cried when I’d written that song. I’d broken down in the recording booth when I’d sung the chorus for the first time. I only just realized as I watched her body shake with sobs that I’d been an idiot for not telling her how I’d felt. But maybe...just maybe she could finally hear me through my songs.

By the time that track ended, I was in tears too. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sniffling as I tried to compose myself. I sat back on the couch again, my head leant back. I shut my eyes and listened to the next song, one a little more uptempo. I tapped my fingertips on the cushion at my sides, humming softly. This song was about happy memories, when we’d laid on the beach or beside my pool last summer. When we’d been so in love and hadn’t a care in the world. Before all the fighting and jealousy and…

I almost didn’t feel it at first, her hand brushing mine. It was such a light touch, I thought perhaps I was imagining it, lost in the song. But my eyelids fluttered open when I felt it again. I stared at my right hand on the cushion, her slim fingers over mine. She used to like to do that, when we’d be sat together watching a movie, or lying in bed reading. She’d trace my hand and knuckles with her fingertips, her delicate hand dancing over mine before I’d smile and thread our fingers together. It was an unspoken gesture of affection we’d had. I missed it.

God, I missed her.

I raised my head to look at her. I half expected her to be looking at me too, but she was focused on our hands. Her expression wasn’t one I’d hoped either. She looked sad, her cheeks still tear-stained. I wanted to kiss them, make it all better.

I opened my mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and she looked at me. I turned my hand over then like I used to, wanting to thread our fingers together. But she pulled away, her jaw set.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, my voice a deep rasp.

They were the first words either of us had spoken since the music started, and I instantly regretted it, knowing I’d meant to stay silent until the end. We were on track nine now, a couple more songs to go. I still wanted her to hear all of it. I wanted her to know I still felt the same, even though I wasn’t completely over the anger, over the heartbreak. But I’d spilled my guts out in my songs. I was shit at communication, I knew that. I hoped that she could understand it all in my music.

“I...I don’t know,” she whispered.

She crossed her legs then, sat in the corner of the couch. She reached behind her head and pulled at her bun, letting her hair fall freely down her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, at least less resistant than she had when I’d knocked on her door. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she kept her mouth shut because I’d told her she could. I also felt like she was really listening though. And that was really all I wanted.

“That was a really good song,” she surprised me after track ten. But she didn’t say anything more.

Clearing my throat again, I sucked in my lips when the final song started. If track seven had been the most personal, this was the companion to it. This was me giving my heart, me asking forgiveness and giving it back. This was me wanting another chance to prove how I felt about her. I’d known as I was writing and recording it that the possibility of that happening was slim to none. But I had to take a chance. I was tired of keeping it bottled up, being a stubborn prat because I’d wanted my way and had to be right. I was all kinds of wrong. I knew I wasn’t fully to blame for our break-up, but I was taking responsibility and owning up to my part in it. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.

By the time the song was over, my head was in my hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa shaking. I’d already listened to it a handful of times in the studio and in my car, but it hadn’t had the effect it had now, sat in her living room with her beside me. I was sobbing like a baby.

“Harry…” I heard her whisper.

When I lifted my head this time, she was right beside me, her face so close it startled me. Her hands were in her lap, and she wrung them like she was either nervous or was trying to keep herself from touching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “For everything.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I heard.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked, turning to face her. I wanted to lift my hand to touch her face but thought better of it. Instead, I hesitantly reached for her hand. I was pleasantly surprised when she let me take it.

“Only if you forgive me, too,” she said.

I let out a deep breath and leant forward. I wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if she was ready yet. Lifting my hand this time, I grazed her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb.

“I still love you,” I admitted. “I never stopped. I’m just so sorry I waited this long.”

She bit her perfect bottom lip, her big eyes blinking fast.

“I thought I was over you,” she said. “I thought you were over me.”

“Guess we were both wrong.”

She leant into me then, and I took it as my cue. I took her into my arms and kissed her, like I’d wanted to kiss her for months. She felt so good against me, and I quickly found myself shedding more tears.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” she whispered when I released her lips.

“I know,” I agreed. “I promise I’m not walking out this time.”

“Good,” she nodded before kissing me again.

We ended up listening to the album again together while we prepared and ate dinner. There were more tears, but also lots of conversation. We had a long way to go, but I was hopeful.

Something had made me drive down her street. I guess it was me.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

281 notes · View notes

airybcby · 12 days ago

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⋆｡°✩┊airy's blue lock masterlist

જ⁀✦ a scrapbook of sweethearts, sorrow, and second chances

✦ airy's events

⋆ Spotify Wrapped 2024 Event Masterlist ⋆ starring ⋆ the bllk boys

✩ i took people's spotify wrapped top artist/song and assigned them a blue lock character and scenario!

⋆ More Than A Married Couple ( but not lovers ) Event Masterlist ⋆ starring ⋆ the bllk boys

✩ i took people's favorite blue lock character, added a fruit and sweet to give them a random trope and ending, and this is how it turned out!

✦ airy's series masterlists

⋆ Seven Petals, All Poison ⋆ starring ⋆ m. kaiser ⋆ r. mikage ⋆ r. kunigami ⋆ r. itoshi ⋆ s. ryusei ⋆ a. ness ⋆ s. itoshi

✩ He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me—

But love, in these stories, is never soft. It’s hunger. It’s obsession. It’s silence where warmth used to be. Seven men. Seven sins. Seven ways to be wanted—and ruined. You pick each petal hoping for something whole, but all you’re left with is poison on your fingertips.

⋆ The Garden Of You ⋆ starring ⋆ i. yoichi ⋆ r. itoshi ⋆ s. ryusei ⋆ r. mikage ⋆ t. karasu ⋆ m. kaiser ⋆ y. kenyu

There are things we can’t always say — so we leave them in the petals we press between pages, in the blooms we give without words.

Some are soft. Some are fleeting. Some were never meant to blossom. But each one leads back to you — the one they never forgot. Read between the petals.

This is where love lives.

⋆ Stay For Soundcheck ⋆ starring ⋆ m. kaiser ⋆ r. itoshi ⋆ s. ryusei ⋆ r. mikage ⋆ h. yo ⋆ i. yoichi ⋆ y. kenyu

✩ Some stories burn out like feedback on a dying mic. Others echo forever like a melody you can't forget. But every love in this band is loud. Messy. Real.

You weren’t supposed to matter to them. Not to him, not to the band, not in a world where everything ends in noise.

But whether you were the one behind the lyrics, the muse in the crowd, or the quiet soul who saw through the spotlight—each of them noticed you. And none of them stayed the same.

This is a series of stories where every member of the band gets their moment—with you at the center.

Some will love you like a song on repeat. Others will leave you in silence. Because in this band, the music always says what the heart won’t.

✦ airy's one shots

⋆ The Albatross ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu

✩ Yukimiya Kenyu had always been told that you were "nothing but trouble" and "terrible danger." Despite that, he still couldn’t keep himself away from you after getting out of the Blue Lock facility.

⋆ I Can Fix Him (no really, i can) ⋆ starring ⋆ otoya eita

✩ Otoya Eita has a reputation for cheating, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. When he starts dating you, everyone warns you it'll end the same way. But you believe you can change him, convinced your love is different.

⋆ you left your typewriter at my apartment ⋆ starring ⋆ sae itoshi

✩ packing had never been a big deal to you, but when you're putting all of your exes stuff in a box to give to him? all the memories come back to you and you're not sure you can handle it.

⋆ i would stay forever ⋆ starring ⋆ reo mikage

✩ you've loved reo mikage for a long time, so seeing him in a tux and teary eyed down the isle makes your heart ache.

⋆ together forever ⋆ starring ⋆ rin itoshi ✩ rin itoshi had broken your heart in the snow once, you just hoped he wouldn't do it a second time

⋆ always picking a fight ⋆ starring ⋆ alexis ness

✩ There was only two ways to describe Alexis Ness—loyal to a fault, and yours completely.

⋆ mind on the road, your dilated eyes ⋆ starring ⋆ rin itoshi ✩ A life where Rin Itoshi wasn’t consumed by rivalry, where you weren’t just his race engineer. But this life wasn’t that. And you knew, deep down, it never would be.

⋆ no, nothing good starts ⋆ starring ⋆ bachira meguru ✩ Meguru Bachira was known for one thing in the F1 world, his insanity. You just hoped you could hold onto your own when living with him.

⋆ i'm wonderstruck ⋆ starring ⋆ alexis ness

✩ HAPPY BIRTHDAY NESS!

⋆ turns out her heart hand fits right in the palm of his hand ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu

✩ you and yukimiya had everyone's dream relationship, but how did it begin? were you just lucky? well…

⋆ bet you resent all of me, all of it ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu

✩ You and Yukimiya Kenyu were the kind of high school couple people talked about like a fairytale. but even some fairytales aren’t meant to have happy ever afters.

⋆ what's misery without company? ⋆ starring ⋆ nagi seishiro ✩ even if nagi seishiro never got to play soccer again, at least he had you. but how long could you deal with who he's become?

⋆ guess second best is all i will know ⋆ starring ⋆ reo mikage ✩ Being given away at your wedding was supposed to be joyous, something every little girl wished for at least once. But how were you supposed to be excited when Reo Mikage couldn't even write his own vows?

⋆ til your bones feel embarrassed from all the attention ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu ✩ Yukimiya Kenyu took the title of Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man to a whole new level. He just wished he didn't have to hide it from the most important person in his life- you.

⋆ i know that i should hate you ⋆ starring ⋆ isagi yoichi ✩ You told yourself you would forget Isagi Yoichi, just like he forgot you. You were a good liar when you wanted to be.

⋆ don't get sentimental ⋆ starring ⋆ reo mikage

✩ Reo always wonders that if he stayed in the perfectly crafted cage his parents made for him…would life be different?

⋆ only threw this party for you ⋆ starring ⋆ sae itoshi ✩ Sae Itoshi has been unknowingly giving you pieces of his heart for the past 10 years. At some point, there's no more to give.

⋆ what are you doing to me now? ⋆ starring ⋆ michael kaiser ✩ you only started tutoring michael kaiser so he would leave isagi alone, but now you're starting to feel like it's more.

⋆ you already know babe ⋆ starring ⋆ michael kaiser ✩ slammed doors. silence. and thick air, heavy with words unspoken. you and kaiser don't know how to talk and that may be your undoing.

⋆ it was like slow motion ⋆ starring ⋆ sae itoshi ✩ you looked beautiful for someone who was abandoned on their birthday by the one person you wanted there. and you weren't sure if you could take any more.

⋆ you're no prize either ⋆ starring ⋆ michael kaiser

✩ Kaiser had spent hours just trying to learn your name. He'd be damned if he let anything else ruin it…even his own mistakes.

⋆ i'm sorry every song' about you ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu ✩ You had fame. lights. parties. access to anything you could want. What more would a girl need? Well…you needed your boyfriend.

⋆ you will love me until you resent me ⋆ starring ⋆ barou shoei ✩ Loving Barou Shoei was really a waiting game. And waiting was a game you were getting tired of playing.

⋆ just to sit outside your door ⋆ starring ⋆ oliver aiku ✩ mints and closed doors. that's what separated you and oliver aiku from being a couple. well, that and the fact you two swear there's nothing going on.

⋆ cause what if i never love again? ⋆ starring ⋆ reo mikage

✩ Reo Mikage will go through as many lives as he has to. Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you. And in every life, you leave him far too early.

⋆ forever, this time ⋆ starring ⋆ bunny iglesias ✩ Bunny Iglesias has been alive for over 4000 years. And over those years, all he's wanted is you.

⋆ the sweetest apparition ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu ✩ you hate the dream you have where yukimiya kenyu leaves you …but what happens when it's not a dream?

✦ airy's headcanons

⋆ Daylight ⋆ starring ⋆i. yoichi⋆b. meguru⋆r. kunigami ✩ bllk boys and what type of boyfriend they'd be

⋆ It Always Leads To You ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ what kind of situationship the bllk boys would be

⋆ Call It What You Want To ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ soft launches with the boyfies <3

⋆ Now I'm Covered In You ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ bllk boys and what type of boyfriend they'd be

⋆ If I Could Never Give You Peace ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ what happens when your relationship is leaked?

⋆ Did You See Me On TV? ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ yes, he's a world famous soccer player, but he's also your boyfriend. how does this effect your relationship?

⋆ sniper, sniper, sniper ♡ wifey, wifey, wifey ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ blue lock boys showing off their girlfriend :)

⋆ and he keeps a picture of you ⋆ starring ⋆y. kenyu⋆s. itoshi⋆a. ness⋆r. itoshi ✩ some bllk boys (yukimiya, sae, ness, rin) and what their phone lock screen is :)

⋆ the faded picture of a beautiful night ⋆ starring ⋆r. mikage⋆k. rensuke ⋆n. seishiro⋆s. ryusei ✩ some bllk boys (reo, kunigami, nagi, shidou) and what their phone lock screen is :)

⋆ i bless the rain down in africa ⋆ starring ⋆s. itoshi⋆s. ryusei⋆i. yoichi⋆y. kenyu ✩ bllk boys ( sae, shidou, isagi, and yukimiya) at a drive through safari with you :)

⋆ he is in love ⋆ starring ⋆ multiple bllk boys ✩ soft launches with the bllk boys!!

⋆ all the pieces fall right into place ⋆ starring ⋆r. itoshi⋆n. seishiro⋆o. eita⋆t. karasu⋆k. yukimiya⋆i. yoichi ✩ which bllk boy i associate with each elf glow reviver lip balm flavor (?)

⋆ you're the one i want ! ⋆ starring ⋆ rin itoshi

✩ thinking of bf! rin 🫠

✦ airy's drabbles

⋆ you outshine the morning sun ⋆ starring ⋆ sae itoshi

✩ sae itoshi didn't need to be a soccer god, not as long as he had you

⋆ redemption lies plainly in truth ⋆ starring ⋆ shidou ryusei ✩ ryusei shidou knew he was hard to love, but you made it seem so easy.

⋆ every lover's game ⋆ starring ⋆ nanase nijiro ✩ nanase nijiro loved you, and he loved how competitive you were. he loves you so much…until you ask him to play a game.

⋆ my boyfriend…and his boyfriend ⋆ starring ⋆ alexis ness ⋆ michael kaiser ✩ you loved your boyfriend alexis ness, every part of him. except for one. his stupid ass 'best friend' michael kaiser.

⋆ fears that the world would divide us ⋆ starring ⋆ tabito karasu ⋆ otoya eita ✩ Dating Karasu Tabito is full of sweetness, Dating Otoya Eita is full of matching outfits, Dating both of them…well it's complicated.

⋆ pop that pretty question, right now baby! ⋆ starring ⋆ isagi yoichi

✩ isagi yoichi's fraternity brother's think you're a witch…

⋆ checkmate, i couldn't lose ⋆ starring ⋆ rin itoshi

✩ you'd made an agreement with rin itoshi when you started tutoring him, his grades go up- you go away. but now he's not sure he wants to follow through.

⋆ in and out of the beams of a neon moon ⋆ starring ⋆ karasu tabito ✩ Karasu may be voted one of the top frat f-boys, but even his best friends don't know he leaves events just for you.

⋆ i wanna feel guilty, i wanna feel that it's wrong ⋆ starring ⋆ shidou ryusei ✩ Ryusei Shidou knows the feeling of shame all too well. So well that he knows he should feel it when sneaking into your room. But also enough to know he doesn't feel it when you open that window for him.

⋆ if your first kiss goes well ⋆ starring ⋆ rin itoshi

✩ Rin Itoshi wasn't someone who crumbled. ever. So when you go to his house and hear him watching a video on how to have your first kiss? It's just a little entertaining.

⋆ so my type, got butterflies ⋆ starring ⋆ sae itoshi

✩ pulling on sae's wedding ring on his necklace when you're kissing him…drooling

⋆ the real thing ⋆ starring ⋆ yukimiya kenyu

✩ You and Yukimiya Kenyu were two different sides of a coin- one constantly worried and the other as calm and cool-headed as could be. You just weren't sure how much longer he could handle you.

⋆ glitter & goals ⋆ starring ⋆ sae itoshi

✩ Hiding your relationship was hard, but you swore you could do it. Who knew a little glitter would throw that plan in the trash?

⋆ TALK BOUT INNITTTT ⋆ starring ⋆ multi fandom boys

✩ thinking abt just being so obsessed with your bf...so yeah.

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #airy's masterlists!#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock fic #bllk fic #bllk x you #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 70* of the first day of the rest of human Bill Cipher's life—he's back in the Mystery Shack but whether or not he's a prisoner anymore is up in the air, he's proven he knows how to escape, and the Pines have proven they don't want to execute him anymore. For now. How's he gonna celebrate?

With back pain! That's what you get from half a week of running around in the woods ignoring all your body's pain signals.

But at least it can't get worse.

This chapter is book compatible but book spoiler free! The fic won't remain spoiler free, but while I figure out how to incorporate the new info in the fic, we're proceeding with pre-written chapters unaltered.

[*"hey, wasn't this chapter 62 a few days ago?" I renumbered the chapters after the Axolotl arc. If you haven't read the Axolotl arc, go back and read it!]

####

Soos was awakened by Melody as she thrashed and sucked in a gasp like a scream. Groggily, Soos said, "Babe? You okay?"

She rolled over, grabbing for his arms with trembling hands. "Soos—"

"I've got you." He half sat up with a sleepy groan and pulled Melody into his embrace. She pressed her face into his chest with a sigh. As he stroked her hair, her breathing slowly steadied out again.

"M'good," Melody said. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't worry about it, babe. Always happy to cuddle." He yawned. "Sleep paralysis again?"

"Yeah," Melody sighed.

For as long as Melody could remember, she'd had sleep paralysis nightmares: nights where she'd wake up and find she was unable to move any part of her body but her eyes, and a monster escaped from her worst dreams was lurking in the room. Shadowy figures with glowing eyes, twisted demonic representations of her least favorite teachers, hunched hags with claws extending out of tattered robes—for three years, it had looked like a werewolf-mummy from an old horror movie that terrified her as a child—filling the doorway, or silhouetted in the window, or standing perfectly straight in the corner with neck tilted sideways as though it were broken, or staring hungrily down at her from the ceiling with bulging eyes, or crawling up from the foot of the bed and over her body to grab her throat.

The first time she spent the night with Soos, she'd warned him about her sleep paralysis; but for the past year, she'd never had a nightmare while sleeping in the Mystery Shack. She'd even been completely free of them for several months—something subconsciously reassuring about having her fiancé next to her, probably—until their unwelcome house guest moved in and she'd gone back to sleeping at her aunt's house in town.

And now she was even having them in the shack.

"This is the third time in less than a month," Soos asked. "Same one as usual?"

"Mhm."

"I couldn't protect you this time," Soos said mournfully. "I have failed you as your knight in shining armor... Maybe I need shining armor. Do you think they make like, shiny silver spandex pajamas?"

Melody laughed. "Soos, you goofball." She hugged him tighter. "It's fine. I always get sleep paralysis more when I'm stressed. And the situation in the shack's been... well..."

"Yeah," Soos sighed. "I know." She didn't need to tell him what part of "the situation" was stressing her out.

For the past year, ever since Weirdmageddon—which she'd been just unlucky enough to catch live on a weekend trip to visit Soos—her sleep paralysis demon had looked like Bill Cipher.

She'd told Soos this last fall, and in a panic he'd told her that Bill was a dream-invading demon; and for a moment they'd feared this meant Bill had found a way back. But no—according to Soos, Bill was a real chatterbox, and he was always doing something if he invaded your dreams. The thing Melody saw acted like any of her other nightmares: creepy. Standing on too-long legs at the end of the bed; giving off sickly yellow light she could see through her eyelids; staring at her with one bloodshot eye; crawling onto her chest with claws like gnarled black branches. It was just an unlucky coincidence that the real Bill had been a dream demon, and just an unlucky coincidence that being petrified by an eye-bat felt so much like sleep paralysis.

Ironically, now she had confirmation that her nightmares didn't mean Bill was back—because, when Bill did come back, her nightmares hadn't changed.

"My subconscious just hasn't caught up to the fact that you guys finally executed him," Melody said, getting comfortable to go back to sleep. "The good news is, the real Bill's gone and we never need to worry about that again."

"Oh," Soos said. "Um. By the way. The craziest thing happened at like one in the morning."

####

Bill was creeping upstairs to bed when he heard Melody shout, "He's WHAT?!"

He had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out giggling.

####

Bill was getting better at using his other eyes in his sleep, even when he hadn't chemically connected himself to them. His range wasn't very far yet. From inside the shack, all he could feel was his hoodie, his new necklace, a handful of drawings Mabel had done, and four blankets of his zodiac wheel: two in the kids' room, one in Soos's, and one in the dark.

Around eight in the morning, Mabel was still sleeping comfortably and Dipper was staring at the ceiling worrying; all was right with the world. He only glanced into Soos's room long enough to overhear Melody, "—I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad about the whole situation. I mean, I'll adjust, but still—" before moving on, uninterested in listening to a cutesy couple reassuring each other.

The fourth blanket was in some tight dark container—leather?—but he could hear a muffled voice: "If Bill's staying here on a long term basis, we need to renegotiate... almost everything about his captivity." That was Ford. It was gratifying to know that even when Bill was asleep, the whole household was thinking about him.

"Yeah, you're right," Stan sighed. "We can't just let him keep sleeping on a couple of cushions. We haven't been able to use that couch all summer." There was the sound of a zipper and the lid over the zodiac blanket swung up, revealing Stan standing above.

Ford said, "And trying to get him to sleep in the living room is a lost cause. He says he needs to sleep in a room where he can see the stars."

A guilty look crossed Stan's face. "Right. That's probably it." He pushed the zodiac blanket aside, pulled out a t-shirt, and shut the suitcase again. "We could get—I don't know—an inflatable mattress or something..."

"There's an unused mattress in the basement, isn't there? Maybe we could haul it up." (It wasn't a terribly comfortable mattress. But Bill supposed they only wanted to give him the bare minimum so they could get their precious couch cushions back.)

"I'll ask Soos about it," Stan said. "Well, let's get this over with."

That was Bill's cue to wake up. He'd like to look alert when they came for him. Negotiations ought to go in his favor; he could still threaten suicide if their terms felt too restrictive—or even just threaten to escape, he could do that now if he didn't like their terms!—but they couldn't threaten to kill him anymore. He wondered if he could get phone privileges...

He opened his eyes. He was laying on his left side, the window at his back. He tried to push himself upright.

Sharp pain exploded in the left side of his back. He gasped, collapsing on his side. The pain clawed over his left shoulder, inside his arm, up his neck, across to his right shoulder blade, down nearly to his hips. His entire body tensed around the pain.

He let out a weak, wheezy laugh. (He could feel his ribcage contracting as he exhaled.) That was truly exquisite pain.

All right. He shouldn't be surprised by this. He'd spent four of the last five days tromping through forests and mountains and three of the last five nights getting next to no sleep, including two nights in a thin sleeping bag. The last couple of days, he'd hiked all over creation carrying two fully-loaded backpacks, in a body that had gotten next to no exercise for the past month and probably hadn't been designed for hiking in the first place. And on top of all that, first he'd thought the Axolotl was coming to arrest him and then that the Pines were going to kill him—and human bodies handled emotional stress very poorly. Not to mention whatever the heck had happened when three-fourths of his body had simply stopped working for an hour.

He'd ached for days. He'd simply kept pushing himself through it all, because this stupid weak human body didn't get the luxury of rest when Bill's life and death were on the line.

Apparently, that was all the pushing it could take. Now he felt like someone had shoved a knife in his back and twisted the muscles up around the blade like twirling a forkful of spaghetti. (Oh, that sounded delicious. One more brilliant idea to implement when he restarted Weirdmageddon: spinal muscle spaghetti. Freshly grated parmesan, maybe a little pesto.)

It was difficult even to breathe—that little motion was enough to make his back muscles squeal in pain. He had to carefully move his hips and right arm in tiny motions to let him roll onto his back while roiling up his pained muscles as little as possible; and then he just as carefully rolled onto his right side, his back to the room. The human body was such a fascinatingly complex interconnected thing, crisscrossed with puppet strings that all tugged each other; no matter what part of his body he moved, somehow it managed to yank on something in his upper left back. He curled his left arm against his chest and squeezed his elbow with his right arm, trying to find a way to tense the rest of his body that reduced the tension on his back.

He heard the door to Mabel and Dipper's room open. For lack of a better plan, he shut his eyes and tried to look natural as they passed him on the way to the stairs. Like heck was he about to let the kids know he was in pain, much less ask them for help. He doubted he was severely injured—he combed through his knowledge of human anatomy—probably just a muscle spasm. It would reduce in a few hours; and then he could make his way downstairs and figure out how to convince someone to get him an ice pack out of the freezer without betraying that anything was wrong. For now, he just had to lay down, try to find a position that didn't stab into his revolting muscles, and wait...

Downstairs, Stan bellowed, "Hey, demon! Get down here!"

Right. What were the odds Bill could make it downstairs and fake that he wasn't in agonizing pain in front of the Pines family? Could he suppress those winces convincingly? He tried to sit up.

And immediately fell to his side again with a gasp. In spite of his breathtakingly self-destructive willpower, he physically couldn't force himself to sit upright. Why not! What was the point?! He didn't mind the pain half as much as his body did, and he thought he should be the one in control here!

Stan hollered, "BILL!"

His voice cracked, "Later!" Ugh. Good thing he'd gotten in his dramatic return last night. He suspected that was the last time he'd look cool for a while.

####

Soos was just emerging from the bedroom when he heard Stan shouting, "I said get down here, Cipher!"

There was a long pause before the reply came from upstairs: "Can't!"

"I WASN'T ASKING!"

"ME NEITHER."

Something was up. Bill always talked a little too hard—not always loud, but hard—as though he were trying to carry on a regular conversation over a strong wind; but Soos thought something about his voice seemed even more forced today. Almost strained.

Soos heard Stan and Ford talking quietly as they headed up the stairs—"...sounds off, do you think he's injured?" "I can't imagine how, if he'd been up this morning we would have heard him banging around..."—and he followed them up.

At the top of the stairs, Stan demanded, "Well? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me." Bill was curled up on his usual cushion bed. He didn't even turn to look at them. "Just—let me sleep in. Am I not allowed to sleep in? It's not like I have a job." Now that he wasn't straining to shout, his voice sounded even more pained—barely more than a tight whisper.

"All right, fine. Nothing's wrong with you," Ford said. "Then what's wrong with your body?"

Bill chuckled weakly in defeat. "Back's in too much agony to do its job, so I'm giving it the day off."

"Oh, dude," Soos said sympathetically. "Back pain is the worst. One time, I messed up my back after carrying a bunch of boxes between the museum and the attic? Yeah, it was pretty bad for like, a day. I was kinda crying, because it hurt, but also because I had to miss work, and I felt awful about it—but then I remembered the Mystery Shack was closed that day, and I wasn't missing work. So I went to sleep."

Stan and Ford stared expectantly at Soos.

"That's it, that's my whole anecdote."

"Riveting," Bill said flatly. "Did you invite everyone up here to stare at me?" With great difficulty, he pulled his bedsheet up over his head, leaving only a pile of golden curls visible. "Anyway. I'd love to come downstairs—really, I'm famished—buuut my back won't cooperate, and I can't tell you how furious I am about laying on the ground like an idiot at the feet of three of my captors, so if. you. all. would. leave. Please." The "please" came out sounding like the final word of a hex.

Soos winced. Oh, yeah, he supposed being stuck on the floor in front of a bunch of guys you didn't like was pretty embarrassing. He looked toward the stairs and shifted his feet, waiting for the Stans to make a move that direction.

But instead they huddled up to discuss. Stan muttered, "Think he's faking?"

"Why would he?" Soos asked.

Ford murmured, "Soos is right—unless he's that desperate to sleep in, I can't think of a reason he'd lie. He had some... muscular issues after the eclipse—and who knows what he's been up to the last couple of days..." Ford raised his voice, "This isn't the same thing as after the eclipse—?"

"No, just garden variety human back pain," Bill said quickly. "I assume it's garden variety. I've never had back pain before."

"Can you tell what muscles it is?"

"Ugh." Bill let out a shaky sigh. "Pain's... generalized, but... top suspect is the latissimus dorsi. Next guess is the erector spinae group."

"What," Stan said.

Ford nodded like he knew what Bill was talking about. Which he probably did, Soos figured. Doctor and all. "Probably not a severe injury, then. It likely just needs rest—"

Irritably, Bill snapped, "Like I said."

"Great," Stan said. "Then I don't care anymore." He headed downstairs. "Lemme know when the demon can walk again."

Soos and Ford exchanged an awkward look, silently debating whether to follow suite. Ford turned to Bill and cleared his throat. "What do you want for breakfast."

Bill groaned and muttered, "Probably can't use utensils. Whatever, just—bacon and toast and the strongest painkillers in the house."

"All right." Ford headed downstairs.

That struck Soos as inadequate. Trailing after Ford, he said, "Dude, Bill's in so much pain he can't even sit up. Shouldn't we offer to call a doctor or something?"

Ford said, "Knowing Bill, he'd rather die."

Soos considered that. "I'm gonna offer it anyway." He backtracked enough to get his head above the attic floor. "Hey Bill, do you want us to call a doctor or something?"

"I'd rather die."

"Haha, okay! Welp, glad I checked."

But as he headed down to the kitchen, something about the situation still bothered Soos.

Ford was already laying out bacon in a frying pan. "Soos, could you get the painkillers?" he asked. "We should probably give him individual pills rather than the whole bottle. When he got his hands on the cold medicine, he used it to get crossfaded with cider and to drug a wild animal."

Soos winced. Ouch, was that the cold medicine he'd given Bill? (He wondered when Ford had learned the phrase "crossfaded.")

"Hey... didn't Bill say he was famished?" Soos asked. "Is it kinda weird he's just asking for bacon and toast?"

It took Ford a long moment to answer. He didn't look up from the bacon. "I... suppose he's too proud to ask for anything more complicated."

"Why wait for him to ask, then? Just make him some more stuff anyway?"

Ford shook his head. "He'd be insulted."

Ford had been right about Bill's reactions so far, but— "Okay, fine. Then I'll bring it upstairs and insult him. He'll be insulted and fed. What do you think he'll eat?"

Ford glanced at Soos. Soos thought the look was grateful.

####

Apparently, Bill's age looked a little bit different to everybody. Soos had first found out when Abuelita mentioned that Bill looked like one of those ladies she saw at bingo night who were clearly 60-something, but had had a little too much work done—makeup, facial injections, hair dye. The sort who never really looked younger, but rather just gave off the impression that they were terrified of looking older.

So Soos had asked Mabel, and she said that Bill looked like he was in his mid-20s—about Soos's age, maybe a little older. He'd asked Dipper, and Dipper said he had no idea—to him, Bill never really looked quite convincingly human, more like an alien wearing a human rubber mask—but if he had to take a guess at the age the rubber mask was supposed to portray... like, middle-age-ish? Parent-middle-age-ish? Maybe 40-something? 40-something. Melody had had a hard time as well, but eventually settled on early 30s—the age you imagined a snotty Silicon Valley startup CEO would be.

Which was all very fascinating to Soos.

Because to him, Bill looked eighteen. Exactly eighteen.

At 23, Soos was just reaching the age where 18-year-olds stopped looking like peers and started looking like babies. Eighteen was "you know this is what an adult looks like, but it takes you by surprise almost every time" age. Eighteen was "you wouldn't be surprised to see this face behind a counter working as a barista, but you'd be a little alarmed if you overheard them talking about paying rent" age. Eighteen was "they can be all alone in the world making their own decisions and it's technically okay, but if they are, then someone failed them" age.

To him, Bill looked like somebody who'd been flung callously out into the world before his time—unprepared, overwhelmed, and alone.

Soos knew Bill was older than the whole universe or whatever. He knew that Bill was the guy who'd tried to take over the Earth. But he wasn't that guy now. Look at him. He shouldn't have been worried about imprisonment or world domination or getting executed. He should have been making pocket change working at the mall food court over summer break and playing Dancy Pants Revolution at the arcade with other recent high school grads and making puppy eyes at all the small business owners in town until somebody offered him a minimum-wage full-time job and sneaking into the movie theater on Saturday mornings.

Soos was finding it more and more impossible to see Bill as the enemy, much less as some incomprehensible alien. He had cousins who looked like Bill. Slap a pair of sunglasses over his freaky eyes and try to ignore that his body proportions were just a bit unnatural, and he could blend right into a Ramirez family portrait. Just another post-high-school pre-college kid in the middle of the transition from skinny teen to fat adult that most Ramirez women went through by 30. His neon yellow hair would fit right in beside Reggie's little sister's current neon red dye job.

From the moment Bill temporally poofed into the Mystery Shack on June 1 with a Pony Heist bedsheet toga and an ineffective vengeance plot, he'd been going through the physical and emotional wringer. Soos got it, of course Bill was having a bad time, he was a prisoner because he was a danger to the whole universe. And being human for the first time was probably tough. One time Soos was stuck in a pig's body and that was rough, and it was only for one day and at least Soos had still been a mammal. It was probably inevitable that Bill was having a bad time.

But it bothered Soos, seeing somebody in his house who was so miserable. And it bothered him that no one else seemed very bothered.

He loved the Pines family—he'd reverse-adopted Stan as his dad and he'd give his life for any one of them—but part of him had to wonder whether they'd be more bothered by witnessing the hell Bill was going through if he looked like he could be part of their family.

####

"Hey dawg!" Soos hefted up the tray as he entered the attic. "Breakfast!"

Bill was still buried under his bedsheet. "Stanford couldn't be bothered to come up himself?"

"I wanted to bring it!"

Bill grumbled something inaudible. He'd made no secret of the fact that he disdained Soos, although Soos had no idea why. When a human looked down on Soos, he had a couple guesses; but he didn't know what an alien could judge him for. Was it the British dog man nightmare? Was Bill insulted by Soos's 10th grade geometry grades?

But Bill didn't protest, so Soos scooted around his makeshift bed to set the tray down on the floor in front of him. "Uh... feel better, dude. Hey, you know—if sleeping on the floor is hurting your back, the fold-out sofa in the living room is still totally available. Just, in case you wanna—"

"Not interested," Bill said. "Buzz off, Questiony."

"Okay." He'd offered.

Soos was almost back to the stairs when Bill said, "What is all this stuff?"

"It's breakfast!" The tray included bacon, a toasted sandwich, a drink with one of those straw that bent in the middle so Bill didn't have to sit up all the way up to drink it, a pre-opened chip bag, and a pre-opened pill bottle. (Soos had elected to ignore Ford's advice that they mete out painkillers one pill at a time. If they gave Bill individual pills, he'd have to ask for more when they wore off, and Soos suspected he'd rather choose to suffer.)

"I didn't ask for this."

"Well, I thought you might want some other stuff."

"I don't."

Surprise! Bill was insulted. Soos didn't understand how he could be insulted by some extra food for breakfast—he's still gotten his bacon and toast—but all right, fine, Soos had been warned. "Oh, okay. Just don't eat anything you don't want."

Bill grunted in response.

As Soos started down the stairs, Bill said, "Hey, Questiony. If Mabel asks where I am, just tell her I woke up for breakfast then decided to sleep in."

Aww, he didn't want her to worry. "What about if Dipper asks?"

"Tell him to mind his own business."

"Heh. You got it, dude." Soos headed back to the kitchen—still bothered.

####

Yesterday, Soos and Melody had made plans to take advantage of the Mystery Shack being closed for the day to make breakfast together, the way they used to during the off season. But today, Melody had said that, now that Bill was alive again, she wasn't comfortable eating in the shack, and she'd gone to her aunt's house. She'd said she wasn't mad at Soos, and he believed her—he'd played no part in Bill's continued survival—but still. It kinda felt like she was mad at Soos.

So Soos was eating brunch by himself in the kitchen when Bill gingerly eased himself downstairs—leaning to one side, wincing in pain, one eye squeezed shut, and supporting himself on his broken umbrella; but, mobile again. He ducked into the living room where Stan and Ford were watching TV and, from what Soos had overheard, planning what to do with the rest of their summer. "Okay, I'm here," Bill said. "Negotiations?"

"Hey—no weapons," Stan said. "Hand over the umbrella."

"What! You let me keep it last night."

"Yeah, when it was raining and we were tired. I don't see any rain inside the house."

"Hey, Mr. Pines?" Soos leaned out of the kitchen. "Bill was just using the umbrella to walk? Maybe we could let him keep this one?"

Bill shot Soos a dirty look, face flushed. (What was that for!)

Stan paused, and turned to Ford for a verdict. Ford pressed his lips together, looked away, and muttered, "Well, if he's using it for legitimate purposes."

Bill stared at Ford, brows raised in amazement. "Wait, wait—I'm allowed to have it now?"

"Yes?" Ford said. "I mean—If you're using it to walk, why wouldn't you be?"

"Why wouldn't I—?!" Bill laughed in disbelief. "'No weapons, Bill!' 'No weapons, Bill!' Ev-ry sin-gle time! No canes, no umbrellas, no brooms, no baseball bats, no GOLF CLUBS, no STICKS, no CURTAIN RODS—"

"Oh come on!" Stan spread his hands defensively. "Some of those can obviously be used as weapons—!"

"I wouldn't have needed a baseball bat if you hadn't already taken my cane!"

"You tried to brain Soos with a cane on your first day."

Bill shot another dirty look at Soos.

Soos said apologetically, "That did objectively happen."

Bill rolled his open eye and glowered at Stan again. "What, so because of that I'm not allowed to walk?"

"I," Stan said. "That." He turned to Ford again for help.

Ford said, "If we'd known you needed a cane—"

"I fall down the stairs twice a day!"

"Well," Ford said.

"You use me falling to tell when I'm up in the morning!"

"Ah."

"Did it not occur to you! That this was a problem! That I was trying to solve!"

"I see your point."

Why didn't he just say something, Soos wondered; followed by, what, the guy who refused to explain why he was stuck laying on the floor until we dragged it out of him?

"Well, you've got an umbrella now," Stan said. "Happy?"

"Elated," Bill said sourly. He perched on the armrest of the sofa, visibly wincing as he crossed his legs and found the right position to balance himself. (Soos noted that, since Stan and Ford were already occupying both armchairs and the sofa's seat cushions were in the attic, Bill didn't have any cushioned place to sit. With back pain, no less.) "Let's get this over with."

The crux of the negotiations was that, when Bill and the Pines had initially agreed on the terms of his imprisonment, they'd only been meant to be sufficient enough to last until either the Pines figured out how to kill him or Bill figured out how to escape. Now that both had happened and it looked like Bill would be staying here longer than planned, they supposed they needed something more sustainable.

Bill requested door rights back. Stan and Ford nixed that immediately; they didn't trust him with that kind of freedom.

"Fine, then at least let me go outside. I want fresh air, blue skies, and a social life! I'm an extrovert, I'm losing even more of my mind in here."

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. "Yeah," Stan said grudgingly. "He's more or less in solitary in here. Even for him, that's harsh." (A ghost of a triumphant smirk flickered across Bill's face and disappeared.)

Ford considered that with an unconvinced grimace; but he said, "I suppose... you can make occasional trips outside the shack for... mental health purposes. Under adequate supervision."

"Finally," Bill sighed. "So what's 'adequate' supervision?"

That was where negotiations broke down. Stan and Ford did not think that Mabel alone was adequate supervision for the villainous Bill Cipher, and Wendy was just barely sufficient for Rainbow Club nights but he couldn't be trusted alone with her outside that; Bill, on the other hand, objected strenuously to the suggestion that he could only go outside with somebody who hated and/or distrusted him—which described everyone in the shack except Wendy and Mabel—because that would just make going outside miserable.

They couldn't agree on what kinds of things Bill would be allowed to do, either. They didn't like the idea of him hanging out with Rainbow Club members outside of club meetings, or going with Abuelita to bingo, or visiting a bar in town—all of those would give him too many opportunities to manipulate people with minimal oversight.

"Okay," Bill said irritably, "so are there any social activities I am allowed to participate in! Since it sounds like socialization itself is off limits—!"

Soos decided to make himself scarce before things got any more heated. Maybe he'd go upstairs to retrieve the tray from breakfast.

####

The bacon and drink had been consumed; the bendy straw had been tied in a double loop; the pill bottle was alarmingly light; the sandwich had been picked at, before Bill elected to eat the toast around it and leave the filling behind on the plate; and the potato chip bag had been flung across the room, crushed chips left in its wake, in some sort of protest against receiving unasked-for food. Okay. So Bill was really insulted, then.

Eh, Soos should probably clean up here anyway. He took pride in keeping the Mystery Shack clean, but he hadn't had a chance to thoroughly clean the attic since Bill and the kids moved in for the summer. And it looked like the projectile potato chips weren't the only junk food trash that had accumulated. He saw empty chip bags, candy wrappers, peanut butter jars, jerky packets, cider cans... a lot of cider cans...

He went downstairs, got a broom, a trash bag, and a vacuum, and got to work.

As Soos worked his way across the floor sucking up potato chips, he quietly sang to himself, "Am I cleanin'? Girl, I'm cleanin'. I vacuum in the attic. 'Are you cleanin'?' Yeah, I'm cleanin'. I vacuum in the..." He picked up the couch cushions to vacuum under them—he still wondered why Bill preferred to sleep on the cushions rather than the sofa bed downstairs. Maybe he got scared of the dark and liked to sleep by a window? That would make sense. Since Bill used to glow when he was a triangle, he probably wasn't used to the dark. Or maybe he just thought the attic was cooler than the living room.

Soos almost set the cushions back on the ground, noticed bloodstains on one, and froze. He'd seen Bill with a lot of little injuries, but had he seen any cuts that big? The blood didn't look fresh. They'd at least been here long enough for Bill to hide them on the underside of the cushion. Soos looked around wildly for any clues about how or why or when, uneasily decided that since they were dry and Bill wasn't dead he didn't need to worry about it, and pulled out the upholstery attachment to give the stain a halfhearted vacuuming before putting the cushions back in place. What the heck was happening in this attic?

Soos scooped up the mostly yellow and black clothes sitting at the foot of the cushion-bed—they were outside Bill's cardboard box "dresser," he figured that meant they were dirty—wrapped them in Bill's Pony Heist sheet, and tossed the bundle toward the staircase. They flew down to the landing without hitting the stairs. "Yes! Three points! No net!" Soos pumped his fist.

He cleaned the window seat's cushion with the upholstery attachment, picked it up to clean underneath—and the cushion was really heavy on one side. He felt that side of the cushion; there was something hard and brick-ish inside. He caught a flash of white along one edge. The cushion's stuffing was coming out of a tear in the seam. Soos reached inside.

His jaw dropped. "No way. How did he...?"

Soos had pulled out two stubby crayons and the long-lost Journal 4.

####

(If you got this far thank you for taking a break from the fandom-wide riots over the book in order to read my fic. (I'm assuming there's fandom-wide riots, I'm queuing this Monday night so that I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the week.) Anyway, I'd love to hear what y'all think about our first Soos-focused plot arc!

And as promised, now that the book's out, I'll be getting to work crossposting the fic to Ao3 soon-ish. I don't know when yet, since I'm writing to y'all from the past, but soon.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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