#that I am not as capable as I thought I was and shouldn't have been trusted with this responsibility

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

when work is relaxing compared to home and church that's. probably a bad sign

[babybarbies]

my shoulder hurts

[shiny-jr]

- Warning: None really. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt.

- Summary: You work a minimum wage job when a fae takes an interest after you jokingly asked him "will you adopt me?"

- Note: I planned for this to be a platonic yandere thing, but really it's only silly thoughts so I don't really plan to continue this unless y'all want. I don't even have a name for it.

Thinking about an AU where...

You were born a regular magicless person in Twisted Wonderland. Which was a travesty, but not too uncommon, as there were plenty of beings in this world that were incapable of magic. It was considered a privilege to be born with such capabilities. A privilege.

Which was likely why the world seemed catered specifically for magic users. Magic users were the cream of the crop, the best of the best. In the social hierarchy, magic users reined on top. That's just how things were. It wasn't discriminatory. It was merely the nature of society. If a company was looking to hire, of course they would inquire if potential employees could use magic. And of course, they were more likely to choose magic users to fill the positions. That explained why you could only find work as a minimum wage telemarketer, but it was better than nothing.

Random numbers generated and numerous attempts, scripted greetings you've said so much you could recite them in your sleep. As soon as you get an answer of "mmmyello?" a casual and exaggerated hello, you go off on the scripted greeting to advertise the product.

Shockingly, the person on the other end doesn't immediately hang up. They merely hum at your words, occasional shifting heard on the other end.

By the tone and voice, you've deduced that it's a rather relaxed guy. A conversation ensues, and although he doesn't sound all that interested in making a purchase, he doesn't get annoyed by your call. In fact, he continues to chat, seemingly amused by you and willing to share details such that he had a son and two others he fondly cared for.

The man, whom referred to himself as Lilia, mentioned he lived in Briar Valley. How odd, as it was common knowledge that the valley didn't have the best connection with technology due to their preference towards magic. He spoke of his well-mannered son and the other two boys he helped raise, one was a loud son of a dentist and the other was a quiet son of longtime family friends. By this time you were imagining an older gentleman with three young boys no older than ten.

He seemed to care so fondly for them that in the middle of the pleasant conversation, you couldn't help but jokingly ask, "Will you adopt me?"

The line was silent and you were mortified as you remembered this was supposed to be business talk, and your calls were likely being recorded. After what must've been shock, he began to laugh on the other end, and you immediately ended the call in your panic.

Why did you say that? You shouldn't have said that– Damn it, right when you were just gonna test the waters to see if he wanted the insurance package! Well, there went your big catch of the day. The rest of the evening was failed attempts, either deadlines or potential customers just hung up as soon as you spoke. Things were looking bleak.

Eventually, not even a week later, you received a letter. A letter, not an email, that was written much like how you expected the contents of a letter from the medieval ages to sound. Starting with: Salutations, Telemarketer–– and after several paragraphs, ending with ––That is why I am now interested in your deal! I will need your assistance, because I have not a single clue about how insurance works.

There was no number, and you couldn't recall the one you had reached him through, so there was no choice but to resort to the old fashioned way. Through letters. Although it would be a hassle and an interaction that would likely last for weeks just for one deal, a customer was a customer, and this would be your first one in so long. However, when you agreed to speak to him, you didn't actually expect him to show up at your doorstep. The voice you recognized, but he was not what you had in mind. He looked to be your age, short with magenta highlights in his black hair and wide red eyes accompanied by a fang-toothed smile. And pointed ears, the sign of fae. Of course he was a fae, that made total sense as to why he spoke as if he were older. He probably was older, much older than you previously thought.

Lilia wore a constant smile, listening but also not listening when you tried your best to explain what insurance was to a fae that had never once needed it.

"Do you get it now...?" You asked finally, after a lengthy explanation to which he barely asked any questions. All he did was nod up and down.

There was a brief pause. "Yesss..." That sounded uncertain, but he didn't appear to care too much as he noticed your bag with only the minimum in it like keys and a thin wallet. Along with the time. "Shouldn't you be on your lunch break now?"

"Yes, but... I don't eat lunch. I'm not hungry." A lie. You were hungry, but it wasn't easy to get lunch on a minimum wage salary alone. You'd eat something for dinner.

Lilia seemed to sense this, somehow detecting your lie. "Hm... Well, I like you. And I'm not about to let a child starve on my watch."

"A child...?" You stared at him incredulously. This fae was practically the same size as you, maybe even shorter. "I'm over––"

"Uh-huh, just nod and come along." He instructed, holding up a finger to gently shush you as he waved you along to follow beside him. "If your age only has two numbers in it, then in my eyes, you're like a toddler."

Lunch was surprisingly nice, as Lilia was quite eccentric but excellent at holding a conversation. He seemed wise and witty, making a great combination. However, you couldn't help but wonder what a fae from Briar Valley was doing here, as it was known that most faes preferred not to leave the valley.

"It's getting late, I do have to be going..." Lilia sighed, before turning to you and his smile softened. "Would you like to see my boys I told you about? It won't take long."

Did he live close by? That was the only plausible explanation you could think of, since Briar Valley was a whole continent away. It only made sense that he lived nearby if he were here now. Maybe he was one of the few fae that chose to leave the valley.

This was quickly disproven when he held your hand and told you to stay still, when it felt like you were hurled through space. A gust of wind slapping your face, your eyes momentarily seeing a kaleidoscope of colors, you felt sick when suddenly your surroundings were darker.

Dark brick walls like black, candles lighting the space, gray stone floors... definitely not the outside of the cafe you were just standing in front of moments ago. Teleporation magic...? He was a fae, and all faes had magic. You only had milliseconds to recover and swallow the rising bile in your throat, as Lilia pulled you into an open space like a courtyard where light filtered in. However, in this space there were training dummies and swords instead of flowers and butterflies.

"Come, come, meet my boys. The ones I've told you about!"

You immediately paled. When you heard boys, you were expecting young children no bigger than half your height. Instead you were met with three towering men with forbidding expressions.

Two of which were dressed in dark metallic armor and lowering sharpened weapons. The one on the left was a bit taller, with green hair and sharp eyes that pierced you like a blade. The one on the right was the shorter of the two, but that didn't make him any less intimidating with his gray hair and aurora eyes on an expression as cold as ice.

And the last, the last was recognizable anywhere. Black robes and majestic black horns like a crown with slitted green eyes that seemed to glow and peer into your very soul. That was the prince of the valley, a fae with unrivaled and frightening levels of magic.

"This is Sebek, Silver, and Malleus. They've so looked forward to meeting you ever since I told them about you after our pleasant telephone chat yesterday!"

[meownotgood]

in circles (running down) / viktor x gn!reader, character study, yearning, angst, seriously too much angst, hurt/comfort, implied past relationship, season 2 spoilers, s2 act 2 viktor, astral intimacy, (you follow the rumors of a healer to the commune, and viktor allows you to teach him what it means to be human.) word count: 15.7k

read on ao3

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Metamorphosis begins with kaleidoscopes of colors, an ache between your ribs, and your hands tightly gripped around Viktor's wrists. 

You have him pressed underneath you, pinned in place, like a butterfly's specimen; unearthly gaze pliant, gazing up at you as though you're something worth observing. A sea of stars. Infinite possibilities. Or perhaps he can see the intricate pattern of every notion you've tried to keep hidden. 

There is a distant, fragile outcome somewhere, blissfully free of the strife he's been attempting to cure, where the both of you are guided only by the present. Where stumbling inside the elysium he's made for himself means falling into familiar, waiting arms. It means whispered confessions of, Viktor, I missed you. It sets itself into motion with your arms around his neck, while your mouth remembers the shape of his. Blurring moments upon days upon years into a worshipful, mortal culmination. 

Somewhere. It isn't this reality. 

Your temple forms a near painful knot, your breathing is weighty in your tired lungs, but your old partner's expression remains blissfully passive; Schrodinger's, some kind of paradox. Not dead, not alive. It should be easy to keep him pinned underneath you, despite the newfound weight to his form. Your arms shouldn't be shaking. Viktor eyes you calmly, as patient as he is unreadable. 

His hands twitch slightly — you're binding his wings — less akin to a human's natural irregularity. Instead, more like a complex system, thumbing through and testing its limits. Still, he doesn't attempt to break away from you. He has no need to. 

"I am certain you have recognized," Viktor begins, his voice familiar, despite the odd steadiness it carries, like the calmness of a frozen, still lake. Despite the distant rumble of monotonous vibrations that manifest between his words, "I need not delve into your mind, in order to unravel it." 

Understanding one another comes naturally, when you've long since held his shape in your soul. 

Your grip tightens on his wrists. The soft satin of his makeshift clothing brushes your skin when your knee prods into his stomach. 

You've seen what Viktor is capable of. The rumors were everywhere, from the moment you fled into the Undercity. Deciphering thoughts with a mere touch, examining the minds of those he pries into. Sensing emotions and evolving them, eclipsing them. Healing ailments that shouldn't be fixable; accomplishing the future you once dreamed of, one way or another. No matter the consequence, whatever it takes. 

He isn't the man you remember. This new boundary of existence is something near-eternal. Something more star-bound, boundlessly fate-defying. 

The utopia he's prospered runs cold, when the vessels within it lack heat. Cool air, clean and sharp, nips at your skin, carried on its own phantom breeze. Viktor's chambers are quiet, more ghostly than peaceful. He's lined the floor of his cocoon with flowers. Brilliant blooms of purple hydrangea and blue wolfsbane, petals rustling, whispering prayers to the deep night sky. 

Flowers, in the Undercity. Gods. 

Viktor's hair fans out around him, messy and unkempt. Longer than you remember, chestnut strands tapering off into hues of vanilla. His gaze swirls, in shades of sunset and petroleum, polychrome like the rainbow of oil on water. His eyes remind you of a summer storm. Clouds covering the sun, before it begins to shine again. 

You shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have let his doe-eyed acolytes lead you in. But when one of them murmured in a voice you'd almost forgotten, a voice you were sure you'd never hear again — when Viktor spoke through them, to sweetly promise he'd been expecting you, how were you ever meant to escape? 

You could fill an ocean with your doubts and shouldn'ts — it was foolish. Stupidly, terribly irrational, to follow the rumors that Viktor was still alive. Looking at him now fills your veins with nothing and everything. A cataclysm of sensations, compounding all at once. 

Grief echoes in the hollow chamber of your chest. Viktor can't be real, he was supposed to stay dead. Your hands shake, fingertips digging firmly into the hard edges of his synthetic wrists. 

Viktor, on the opposite spectrum of emotion, barely falters. 

"It must be all-consuming. Irrefutable. An… anomaly, burning within you. What epitomizes the worst burden to bear?" He murmurs, resolute. Gaze examining you, submerged in tender oblivion. "Resentment? Regret? Misery?" 

Are those words an attempt to unequivocally define love, or an admission, an echo of what he is sure you are experiencing, because he once felt it in turn? 

You resent the reverberation of his voice as it throbs through your mind. You've come to regret every wasted moment, each swallowed confession. Finding him again feels like a curse — and he knows. There's a gaping, empty maw in the pit of your stomach, and you can't keep it from destroying you. You've sacrificed yourself on his altar, without realization. Twin flames are destined to find one another. They were born from the same wildfire. 

"It doesn't matter, not to you," You're gritting out. They're the first words you've spoken in ages, and they're all-too sharp when they spit from the edges of your teeth. "You don't feel anything." 

Viktor's chest heaves gently, faint breaths that contrast the mechanical thrum of his shell. 

"Your accusations are turning bold," He hums, not denying, not quite acknowledging. His voice isn't what you remember, but it's close enough, accented. Warm, when directed towards you. Enough to kill. "There is a persistent numbness, that emanates from a lack of humanity. But it is not infallible." 

Your brows pinch. "So that's- that's it? I was some kind of afterthought, I meant so little and you were so numb you couldn't think to tell me you were still-" 

"No," Viktor interrupts. Tone gentle, dream-like. Eyes softening, as his words become perfectly and paradoxically earnest. "You were the reason I felt alive." 

He watches you, observes the conflict in your shifting expression. Flexes his fingers, clenches his hands. Idly thinking. The mere sight of you is an anchor within him. Returned pieces, notches clicking into place. Radiancy, bursting with light within him like a sacred heart — a final brush of his fingertips, to the fading edges of mortality. 

Figments of sensations, the qualities he'd assumed were lost on him, are made to surge through him with the strength of a dull current; this is your doing. He can sense the faint warmth of your hands, nearly chokes on your name in his throat when he swallows. There's pain in your expression, a desire to falter, and it feels — reminds him of a gaping hole to the chest. 

Viktor opens his mouth to speak, and your free hand opts to harshly wrap around his neck. 

"The hurt, you are experiencing- when it is able to be sensed, examined," Viktor takes a harsh breath, as you tilt his chin up with a firm, bruising grip. "It begins to resound." His jaw grinds. Strands of his soft hair tickle your knuckles. His pretty, familiar mole follows his mouth when his lips briefly press into a hard line. "It is innate. Engrained memories, amidst fleeting desires for connection. Knowing how deeply you are broken vexes me." 

He waits for your eyes to meet his own. Your gaze is practically piercing. 

"And nothing is stronger than this ache."

The ache he can sense, because you are caught in it. Shared, entwined pain; two complements, sewn together. 

Viktor believes part of you exists within him. It's inescapable: one's ties to another. 

Simplicity was a circumstance he took for granted. Days in the Undercity, before it became this. Evenings spent researching or collaborating or re-learning how to breathe, when your dreams hovered just out of reach. Now, you're masquerading as a God and an apostate. 

His mind hasn't quieted, since he felt your presence in his sanctuary. How could so much hurt stem from a once endless abundance of fondness? Tossing aside all past restraints seemed to be the most sensible option, the arcane's chosen option, but you are such an oddity. 

Your very existence defies and redefines reason. You are… unforgettable. A sweet, exceedingly tempting obstacle. An inevitable destiny, worthy of any sacrifice. Irregardless of if the threads of fate decide they should will it. You were the missing piece to this theorem. And yet, my ignorance aspired to push you away. 

I have you, now. I can reach you, I could begin to quiet the pestilence within you. 

So why do you refuse? 

Viktor's jaw clenches ever-so slightly. His gaze flashes with a hint of resolve, or tenderness, or something in between. 

"I understand you have… missed me," He murmurs, his tone fraying around the words when he reaches their sore spot. To have each other as something to miss is so very human, so very quaint. "There is so much tension, hidden behind your eyes. Volatile. Yet still so… gentle. I remember the times when I would call out to you, simply to watch the way they softened." 

They're softening now; your gaze can't help but melt, every single time you look at him. Despite the pain, despite the anger. The memory digs at you, it pries into your chest with sharp, thorned roots. Irreplaceable murmurs of your name in his voice. With his accent, with life in his tone, before the world sought to take it from him. With the cadence he clings to each time he goes through the syllables, your syllables, that screams, you are something I covet. 

For a brief moment, you swear Viktor shifts from his ever-endless calm expression, chapped lips tilting to form the slightest, melancholy ghost of a smile. 

"I fear I have long since owed you many apologies, little spark. There isn't much to offer, in the way of consolation. But, I-" Viktor's gaze weakens, flickers over you with dying sparks like a candle-lit flame; his hands clench, his sharp breathing echoes. 

"I would have never forgotten you. You were irreplaceable. As was the life we once shared together. For every moment spent in my solitude, I lost myself, in the certainty that we might meet again." 

Your throat tightens. An ache forms in your chest, threatening to spill over, like an overflowing chalice. 

There's a distinct weight to his wrists, as you continue to hold them in place. A heavy, but still hollow chassis, his hands are criss-crossed with various mechanical patterns. The Hexcore's corruption is beginning to envelop more of him. It isn't like carving runes into delicate skin. That, at least, was a choice. A desperate, self-destructive, self-saving choice. 

Bright, purple veins surge across what remains of his skin. They knot into his forehead, they curve underneath his tired eyes. Energy thrums from inside his hands, reminiscent of sparks rippling through electrical wire. The glow is faint, perhaps weakened. Ornaments trail down his neck, beneath his robes. Outlines of steel and amber carved into his figure. 

Unconsciously, you long to reach out and touch. To trace your fingers along his intricacies: golden, godlike. To decide if his skin, if the smallest shred of what remains of him, is still as soft and lovely as you remember. 

Your palm slips from his neck first. 

It trails across his chest, in between the silhouette of collarbones. He isn't cold, nor warm. Empty, more like. Pulses of distant magic meet your fingertips, like pressing your hand to a static-filled television screen. He weakens underneath your touch, body going limp as a silent acknowledgment. There is no heartbeat. But you can feel the repeated ricochet of his breathing, however fake, however practiced. 

Viktor's body feels powerful, reflecting the extent of his talents. It is a strong, complex, restrained prison. It must be freeing, in some ways; to breathe without the choke of rot in your lungs. To run, with the wind at your back as the ground meets your feet. You should be happy. Grateful. Viktor is alive — but he isn't able to be saved. 

The objective you arrived with is already starting to crumble. Oh, you knew this wouldn't be a quick affair. 

You didn't follow him for information, or for evidence. You weren't led by the wishes of the council's remains, or by the ambitions of your once-shared lab partner — or by anything else, besides your own heart. Nothing else matters. Just your own wavering strength, and the echoes in your mind to do something. Just each shaky step you took, traveling further into Zaun despite the smog that filled your chest. Just the plea in your mind, and the rumors at your feet that Viktor hadn't fully left. 

Finally, when you stumbled into the commune with tired legs and weary lungs, you could breathe. And you couldn't decide if it was because of the plants, the trees, the fresh air, or if it's because of him. 

You failed. You weren't meant to stay, weren't meant to trust him. But the moment your eyes locked with his, it was over. (Viktor smiled, you swore you saw amber, and he beckoned you close, without hesitation.) 

It's crushing, to feel so much. You're suffocating in the wake of your own pounding heartbeat. Throbbing in your chest, echoing in your eardrums. Pulsing in your throat. 

There's no use reconciling with your partner's shadow. And yet, in spite of it all, your partner, your reflection, rests underneath you. Gazing up at you with eyes that whirl in endless, lifeless shades. The silence stretches, and he doesn't fight the enveloping sting. 

Yes, he was right, you are burning. As bright as the sun, with a fierce fire in your chest; caught between your ribs, as the flames attempt to escape through the gaps. It's reminiscent of the sticky-warm suffocation of bleeding out. Blood made to pour onto his chest and his clothes and his hands, as Viktor would press his palms to your side to stop your wound from spilling. 

Love is a promise to pursue. To covet a name underneath your tongue. To swear to be doomed from the start. Like tying a string around two fingers — the path was set, you only needed to follow. 

Your shoulders become tense, before they start to shake. The grip you've been holding on his wrists loosens. Viktor allows his hands to flex, now freed, but you're stumbling, collapsing in on yourself. 

Uselessly, clumsily, you hide your face in your hands. It hardly helps. Your chest stings, your cheeks are wet. Your tears fall onto him like rain, droplets gently hitting his cheek. 

"Oh," Viktor's lips quiver, as he tries to find words, but there's only one solution: "Come here." 

And as though every reality led to this moment, as though embracing you is less of a conscious choice, and simply what he was made for, Viktor reaches for you, without hesitation. 

The simple movement of his palm warps reality around it. His hand hums, buzzes mechanically, thrums with an otherworldly glow. His fingers are shaky; they haven't trembled this much in ages. 

Careful fingertips brush up your arm. Your shoulders slump, and he grabs onto your wrist with little force. He feels your pulse. Each dull thud reverberates in his own chest, twisting up his spine as a surge of fire. His eyes can't help but flutter closed. 

That's when natural intuition takes over, a pulse resounds throughout the entirety of Viktor's system, and all at once, he is touching your soul. 

Your pent up emotions are an aurora in his mind. A vast array, everything complex, knit together so tightly, he doubts it's unwindable. He attempts to search through each individual spark, between every luminous flicker of starlight. Your very essence is rich with a sense of longing; it tastes like sugar on his tongue. 

Slowly, carefully, you unfurl, as if your petals were exposed to the sun. Your heart hears him, you recognize it is Viktor's touch. Soul to soul, hands threading over you, within you. And like running into a waiting embrace, you vividly let the layers of your mind open. 

There are beautiful rays of loving light, warmth that feels like the sun on his face, and subsequently feels like you. Affection burns into him with the heat of fierce, dripping candle wax. Then, there's fragile echoes that pierce through him, like pulling your lover in by the wrists, while they plunge a knife into your heart. 

And there are deep, dark depths of drowning water. An endless, barren abyss to be swallowed into; you sit at the very bottom, curled in on yourself, untouchable. He reaches out to you, extends a palm for you to take, but you won't come. From here, you won't even look at him. 

When he dives further, he sees himself. 

Feels himself, sensing and tasting and experiencing his own image through your perception. He is the warmth underneath your skin, you are the celestial glow in his ribcage. It's a rebound, a ripple, a pulse of sonar. Touches and affections that he can feel on his skin, within his own body, and then through you, with your palms. 

A touch to the small of one's back, or to a tensed shoulder, to a protruding spine. A palm between the butterfly-wing shape of his rigid shoulder blades, soft caresses to calloused knuckles and fresh wounds. His hands to the weakest parts of you, and your fingertips, tracing the still-human parts of him, before they were lost to his reunion with fatality. 

Hands finding one another, fingers brushing, fingers interlacing ��� and Viktor remembers how it felt to wish your hand could be in his forever. He memorizes the shape of your heartbeat, as if it were his own. 

Drowned in vivid color, painting-like and hazy, he reaches stretches of your imagination. It's easy to become lost in your dreams, within the places you wanted those touches to lead. Where you wanted him to touch. Your reveries are so bright they're blinding. 

In your dreamscape, caresses travel. Your hands become bolder than they should, when they're massaging and soothing the ache in his shoulders. The press of skin to skin is a gentle connection, between soft, hesitant, dangerous pleas for more. There are confessions in a thousand different ways, countless almosts and bitten tongues. 

Every instance is simple. Blissfully mundane. You replay and reimagine a sudden profession, while your head is resting on his shoulder, and it feels good instead of terrifying to let everything change. And when your hand finds his own, his thin fingers lace with yours naturally. And the academy is quiet, but your voice as you mumble his name is infinitely quieter. 

You imagine mutual desperations to pull each other closer. 

(Gentle brushes led by quickened breaths, exploring pallid skin, skimming the details you've mapped out in your mind. There's faint freckles on his arms, when he rolls up his sleeves. He has a mole on the back of his neck, only noticeable when his collar gets loose. A palm traces his spine, and you're picturing pressing your mouth to the scattered trail of moles on his back. Your breath is hot enough to burn, to leave behind marks of your own.) 

Oh, and you wanted him so close. Closer than he knew. Closer than you could ever be, not now, not anymore. 

Viktor sees his own image more clearly than ever; vibrant, when filtered through your eyes. Every moment shared between you plays on repeat. Looping, convening together. 

Everything he achieved — the complexities of his discoveries and innovations amazed you, but they begin to blur in your vision, when you can't help but be drawn to the thrilled, pretty look on his face. All of his details — down to the most minute. The routine fidgeting of his fingers when he's lost in thought. The specific swirl he adds to a select few letters when he writes. 

Your heart cradles each of his subtleties. Gods, how you adore him. You have all of him memorized. 

Heavy and encapsulating, the warmth left by you is so much worse, when he is pressed in between all of your pieces. He remembers himself in a much kinder way. In the way you remembered him: intelligent, remarkable, enthralling. Edges blur together and clutter the horizon where he ends and you begin. He's lost in soft greetings, and gentle farewells, reverberating in his own voice. I missed you, I was thinking of you, I'll see you. 

He walks through cathedrals of everything you admired. Your shared dreams, and his budding ambitions. Promises to make his home a better place. Hallways of framed stolen glances. Quiet utterances of the smallest assurances, and swears to achieve great things together. Embraces that molded you into one another's muse. (Something fulfilled, and something lost.) 

And deeply, strongly, he aches. His chest burns, explodes with light. To you, he represents a spark, the sun, the moon, the stars. He radiates in echoes of everything at once. And he is — 

Alive, he is irrefutably, relentlessly alive. 

Your fondness forms around him as palpable rays of radiance; glimmers surround his stratosphere, small suns and brilliant meteor showers. You are a thousand beautiful colors, smashing and blending together. You are as exceptional as he always knew you to be, you are the definition of devotion. As if your hand is at his arm, guiding him to touch the edges of the sky and the sea. Together, you are one in the same. 

It transcends corporality. Viktor reaches into the spiral of your mind. He finds you, he drags you from the depths you've tried to hide yourself in, and he pulls you into the cosmos. He embraces you. Palms pressed to your back, arms around you, as the phantom edges of his figure merge into yours, like paint blending together on a palette. 

Viktor clings onto your starlit particles at his fingertips, he savors every flickering memory and vivid emotion. You're unraveled in his palms completely, deciphered down to your faintest atoms. Your limbs entwine with his; without strife, utterly weightless. 

Time fades, combines itself into a single thread — until, for a brief moment, it's impossible to tell if minutes have passed, or hours, or centuries. 

Until he feels your touch, and realizes it isn't within the confines of your shared mind. It's real. 

All at once, he returns to reality. 

Viktor's eyes flutter open abruptly. His own soul careens back into him with the force of a freight train. His breath comes in hard pants that half-fill his makeshift lungs, and shake the entirety of his chest. The back of his throat is rough and raw. He blinks, to refocus his misty vision. 

Oh. He's cupping your face in his hand. 

Your palm has decided to press itself to the back of his knuckles, determined to keep him there. Absently, your fingertips brush the sharp angles of his metallic joints, his gold accents. The flowers surrounding his chambers rustle. Their soft petals tickle his cheek. 

Dull energy thrums from his touch — sparks of the arcane, briefly buzzing on your skin like static. Touching the scars within your deepest layers. Your presence has pulled him back onto your plane. His magic tapers off, slowly and steadily. 

Now it's just him, just his hand at your cheek. Blissfully simple. 

Your tears have stopped. Your breathing shakes. With merciful, trembling touches, Viktor caresses your face, as though it's the first time. His thumb gently brushes away a stray droplet. 

The intricate texture of his hand is irregular, almost metallic. Far from what you remember, far from the familiar softness of skin. It isn't anything you could consider human — and yet, you still lean into him, your cheek practically nuzzling into the hard edges of his palm. Brazen and affectionate, desperate and cat-like. 

Viktor's jaw clenches. His harsh gasps echo throughout the vastness of his hollow chambers. 

No, this isn't- it's not possible, he thinks, in his own stupidly weak voice, barely able to form the words. It can't be. The arcane would not allow it. 

He feels like his head might pound out of his own skull. The warmth of your cheek is the only thing he can focus on, radiating against his palm like your skin is made from stardust. 

All at once, he has been carved down to his most basic components, until what remains is pure, raw emotion. His emotion, not the residuals of yours. 

He is himself, no longer on the outside looking in. Not the shell of what remained after the fire, the hunger, the waves of corruption. A soul returning to the body feels nothing like how he'd imagined — it's sudden, unexpected. It's a swell of fire, like kindling familiar flames in the depths of your chest. 

And his complex theories should prove that this shouldn't be happening. This body feels in tessellations, with precise, predetermined, machine-like processes. Everything within him must work in harmony. The arcane possesses, as much as it aspires to synchronize. 

His own quickened breathing resounds in his eardrums mockingly. He's grown used to what became of his body and the Hexcore, and the fusion between them: the thrumming in his veins, sparking impulse, potential. 

Yet, within him now, there's nothing but silence. Endless, persistent silence. 

It scares him. 

Countless cycles of inner contemplations led him to this. His thoughts and functions are supposed to click into place, to be understandable. Distance is meant to be placed between the inner self and the surface. Separating the body from the mind is how he was able to foster this community in the first place, how he's managed to help so many — his own sense of self needed to be secondary. His own desires, his emotions. Like a covetous God, the greater good demands sacrifice. 

But there was an outlier. A contingency. A chance, a small stir amongst his faded, longing ashes, that promised it could metamorphose him. Viktor considered every possible option. In every prediction, within the web of this reality, it doesn't work. 

His reunion with you was inevitable, but in his predictions, when you arrive to see what the arcane has made of him, everything begins crumbling down. The soft embrace he'd share with you is limited only to his imagination. Your fingertips press to numb metal, and Viktor can't feel your touch when it finds him. 

He foresaw your arrival. It wasn't part of his plan; it meant little to the overarching design, to his hopes for the Undercity. It was — you were — a fated tie. He'd hoped for this. Lost himself, in the inevitably of finding you, just to have you torn from him once more. 

Every intricacy in the array before him gave the same response. He knew this was written to be a tragedy, but Gods, none of it would matter once he saw your face, one last time. 

But this? This, he could not predict. 

The intense radiance in his veins, the fire in his ribs, the warmth of you underneath his own palm; you've flipped everything on its head. Somehow, someway, you've proved him wrong. You have proven fate wrong. You are the cause of his newfound light, and you are the lighter to his innermost match. 

You've made him return to humanity. 

Viktor pulls his palm away from your cheek. His chest heaves. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, and runs his purple-hued fingers through his hair, over his forehead, somewhat surprised by the lack of sweat. 

Then, he examines his hand. Turns it over, flexes his shaky fingers. Vividly ascertains that yes, these are his own eyes that he's looking through. He attempts to steady his breathing, he tries to send power thrumming through his system. Nothing answers. Magic fails to reach his palm, aside from a few faint buzzes, like the sparks that would linger after cutting a power line. 

"Impossible," Viktor grits out, half in wonderment, half in panicked disbelief. His own hand continues to shake in front of him. He can't think, now that he has you, and he has no idea what to do with his own soul; "How could this- how could you-" 

With a dull, echoing sob, you're tipping into him. 

Viktor feels your arms clumsily wrap around his shoulders. Your weight rests comfortably against his fake body. He sees in hues of amber and gold, basking in the honey-rich glow of the sun as it fills his iris, before the sky darkens, and the colors around him go wild once more. 

You embrace him. So, so tight. As though he might disappear, slipping through the gaps in your arms and the cracks between your fingertips, if you ever were to let go. 

A hand grabs a fistful of his rumpled clothing, a palm staggers down and finds where it's loose, to let your fingers feel the back of his neck. They trace down, unsteady. You brush your fingertips over the first bolt embedded into his makeshift spine. Grazing it repeatedly, feeling the defined notch. Caressing the smooth, metal surface underneath your thumb. 

It's an anxious, idle motion. Viktor listens to the shake in your breathing. He remains still, half-limp in your weak arms. 

This is unnatural — the press of soft human limbs, to an ever-present mechanical body. Yet, Viktor can feel all of you. Every gentle fan of your breath on his neck. He senses your fingertips when they move, and with another sad little sob that has his heart splintering, your hands are getting lost in his long hair. Grasping, trembling. Viktor feels electricity race from his scalp, down to his back. 

A thousand connecting sensations come to life within him: constellations of memories, once-dormant hopes that bud like wildflowers. And he realizes, fiercely, abruptly, within what has become of him, he still remembers the shape of your name in his chest. 

Holding you is an action he wasn't meant for, it embodies everything he isn't. But Viktor expels a soft sigh. He allows himself to pretend. His arm slowly wraps around you, and his palm gently finds your back, when your head buries itself into the perfect crook of his neck. 

This body has been re-made, sculpted in the image of the arcane, and yet it cannot rid itself of the most basic human subtleties. The curve between his neck and his shoulder was made for you to rest there. He caresses your back with smooth, slow motions, and your frames fit together like two pieces of the same inseparable, destiny-drawn puzzle. 

Faint thrums of power emanate from the entirety of his shape. Weak, constant. An enveloping throb, to substitute a quickly beating heart. You sniffle against his nape, and Viktor holds you just a little bit tighter. 

Deep down, with the desperation of a man too entwined in the eternal threads of fate, he wishes he'd have the strength to bring about change. Not for this, not for him. For you. 

If the auroras he's touched and the light he encompasses could press into you, he would eclipse your darkness in radiance. If his hands could be capable of more than healing — of adoring, of remembering, he would let his palms memorize the statue of your frame, so he might carve it into himself. He'd take your strife and make it his. 

When you finally pull back from him, it's only slight; you stifle another weak noise, and your forehead falls against his own. The moment your head meets his, he collapses into your soul. He feels your pain ricochet through him, sharp and unpredictable. 

Anguish shakes your entire system like stormy waves. Guilt and devotion and lovely past lifetimes paint the surface of his skin, the center of his chest bleeds itself raw — and then, he's gone. Pushed out of your mind, unable to fight as the hold of his weakened magic slips. 

Swallowing thickly, eyes fluttering open again, Viktor wills his breath to stop faltering. It was so brief, his second brush with your emotions. But the ache you've been struck by is utterly palpable. It stings the corners of his eyes, sinks sharp teeth into his insides. 

He places his palm on your cheek, and he carefully guides the both of you apart, so he can finally look at you. 

"All of this pain. This emotion," Viktor murmurs; his voice shudders, resounding like the distant rumble of thunder. His gaze on yours floods with soft colors, reminds you of the surrounding sea of pastel florals. His index tilts your chin, to keep you looking at him. "My poor, resplendent beloved." 

You've essentially fallen into his lap; Viktor shifts, props himself up further. Gods, is he captivating. Stupidly, terribly captivating. The gnawing ache within you pleads for you to turn away, to run, but the pained pinch to his thick brows is more familiar than ever. So is the way he looks at you. Reminiscent of the one you once loved, despite the swirling shades that shine beneath. 

As you admire him through misty vision, you can almost trick yourself into believing nothing has changed. Almost. The distance in between you and Viktor begs to be closed, it mumbles promises in your ears like the way the edge whispers before a long fall. It won't hurt, as long as you close your eyes. 

Compromising, your palms shift to weakly hold his face. They push his messy hair from his eyes, and caress the edges of his jaw, where his skin tapers off into the Hexcore's corruption. Your thumb strokes lazy circles over the mole above his mouth. His skin is soft, his jaw is rigid, silky with a labyrinth of smooth, swirling patterns. 

To see his face is one thing, to be able to touch him and hold him, and know he's still here — they're privileges you never thought yourself worthy of earning. You hold him warmly, tenderly. The way you wanted to before he was gone. Like he is yours, or a deity worth worshipping. 

"Viktor-" 

You can't help it. You're starting to sob. Every heave of your chest is dry, your eyes sting with tears that won't come. You take your bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard, but the temporary pain does little to quell your all-consuming heartache. 

Trembling thumbs brush his skin, and you shake your head, you sputter, "I'm sorry, Vik, I'm so- s-so sorry…" 

Viktor is a servant to the sickening shudder that laces through him. His brows form a knot, his gaze drowns in clear sadness. Refracting in shades of autumn and azure. 

"But you have no reason to be. I have you," Viktor murmurs gently, the edges of his tone deliciously smooth. Your arms weakly drop down to his shoulders, and he gives your still-wet cheek a slow caress. "Shh, shh. You do not have to apologize. I know. I know. Your emotions are still so grievously tender." 

His tone is warm, like how you remember. Ages ago, you would've done anything to hear it again, filling the silence left by his absence. When you're able to see through the otherworldly rumble, the distant reverberation, you're able to hear just him. As though no time has passed at all, like he never left. 

"Viktor-" You hiccup, "Please- I'm sorry- Viktor." 

His name was designed to meet your voice. You make it sound maddeningly tender, as though it's something to covet, even when your heart is aching and you wish that it wasn't. 

As though you've flipped the meaning. To conquer can be something soft, it can be a gentle checkmate, a hopeful spark between ribs and an ambitious fire at the edges of fingertips. A promise to prevail, with hands intertwined. 

He feels like he's going to be sick. 

"I'm here. Breathe," Viktor answers, "Talk to me, zlato. Tell me how you are feeling." 

"I thought you- thought you were gone," You're sniffling, slurring your words together. Viktor's expression weakens. You are falling apart in his hands, and he feels so unbelievably useless. "When I- when they told me you ran off to Zaun, I was… angry. But I can't- I can't stay mad at you, I just can't." 

Viktor softens. His gaze flickers over you, as he fruitlessly attempts to find the right words to fix this. But you're already continuing. 

"I grieved you, Vik. So much." You take a slow, shuddering breath. Your words come out one at a time. "Part of me thinks I still should." 

The choice to use his familiar nickname, usually spoken so joyfully, so exuberant in his memories — I'm here, I missed you, you're so sweet, Vik. To hear it sputtered, instead, his own name chewed up and spat out short-hand; it's like a kiss to the cheek, in between a punch to the face. 

Viktor recalls what it felt like to be lost inside your mind. So much fondness, a dense galaxy of longing, was crammed inside a small, beating heart. Endless implosions of love and loss, with nowhere to go, had no option but to dig themselves deeper. He felt the weight on your shoulders, like the heaviness of rain. The icy pain in your ribs: bleak coldness, where all you can see is your own breath. Once pleasant dreamscapes were twisted and tugged into knots, because this is the end — and Viktor knows he wasn't meant to be granted an epilogue. 

"No one could have blamed you," He says, words soft enough to cushion your fall. You clumsily lean back into him, resting on his shoulder, and Viktor calmly pets the back of your head. 

Your hands quiver. "I did- I blamed myself." 

"And what choice did you have?" Viktor counters, speaking through an almost-sigh. "You were frightened. Alone. You were inconsolable, deprived of respite." And he left you. He wandered astray when you needed him most. "Affection and pain are-" He tenses, quiets. "An antithesis, forming an equilibrium. Fond memories begin to die, as fractured stars do, when such dreams encompass all you have left." 

A pause. You savor a few more moments in his arms, debating. Waiting for your resolve to return to you, before you're drawing back, and sitting up. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. When Viktor tries reaching for you, you're swiftly pushing his palm away. 

"I- I should leave," You're choking out, "I can't be here." 

Viktor's brows furrow. 

"Why not?" He questions, and there's a broken edge to his voice, a weakness that nearly sounds hurt. He hurriedly grasps your wrist — faint energy pulses from his touch, weighty enough to make you shiver — but you stay still, not moving, not yet. "You, out of everyone, have always been welcome." 

"They were talking about setting up a barricade, back in Piltover," You're mumbling weakly, although it's clear to him you're dancing around the true reason. 

"You can stay here," Viktor interrupts. 

"No, I can't." 

"Yes, you could. There is another reason for your avoidance." His tone softens, lays itself before you like a lamb to be slaughtered. "Let me in. Please." 

"There isn't anything, Vik. It'd be better if I wasn't here. That's all. I'm sorry, I just-"

You sniffle, your heart breaks, and Viktor brushes a tear from your eye before it has the chance to fall. His knuckles caress down the length of your jaw, he softly coos a few words of reassurance. Shh, shh. Don't cry. 

Bleeding into him distantly, melting against his hand and within his veins; easily this time, as though reaching into the depths of your existence is purely natural — he feels you. 

Your soul has decayed to a dull, dying flame. You embody the convergence between warm and cold. Your mind longs to find its place within his arms, to fall into him once more and never return, as much as it believes you should push him away. There's a conflicting, swords-crossing battle inside your own heart. He experiences each of your sensations, tastes and samples them: the pleasant, and the painful. Echoing, exhausted, whispered in your own voice, he hears what you are thinking. 

Please, Gods. Why can't I forget him? 

Oh. Your mind doesn't lie. 

The boundaries of your psyche begin to crumble — toppled bricks, chipped stone, and he can't help but tense. He feels sharpness stab into every part of him, like the closing walls of an iron maiden. 

Look at what has become of him. Why must you hold on, when it would be infinitely easier to just let go? Viktor understands. He is well-acquainted with the strife of forgetting. 

It must be torture, to hold someone so close to your heart. To remember them as the sun, when all that remains is their shadow. A half-dead symbol of divinity. 

Everything would've been easier, more simple, better for the task he sought to accomplish, if he was able to cast his affections aside. This body should make it trivial, but it is still Viktor's body. It is still his vessel, and his mind, and his memories. 

Emotions hinder progress. They killed countless Gods before him, and yet love digs in deep and persists. Consumes, from the inside out. It sets fire to your soul, and makes you watch as it burns itself out. The whims of the heart are impossible to stifle. He was correct, to predict your return. But what of a body without a heart, what of him, what of the future? 

I believed I could untwine fate, Viktor thinks, as his palms brush the intricate stars laid out before him. Yours, mine. But my attempts were not conceivable. Enlightenment was never strong enough to predominate over devotion. A revival cannot undo the basis of human nature. I can never unwind myself from you, but in this, I was complacent. I was prepared to let you become my ruin. 

And your mind resounds. There's a voice, unable to hear him, speaking with itself. Shouting through a storm to harmonize with the whispering wind. Recalling pain, loss, and ashes. 

Why was it you, when it could've been me? 

Part of you envisions going back. Imagining yourself in his place, threading through options to come up with one that might save him. Or perhaps, in a blind stupor of sadness and frustration, you would've returned to the Undercity. You would try to find yourself and change your path, assuring your younger self to stay, you weren't cut out to be a scientist — to undo the outcome of ever meeting him. 

Regret eclipses you, the moment the thought crosses your mind. He overhears your internal struggle, your own voice fighting with itself. No, that isn't true. It can't be, you couldn't bear it. 

But perhaps, he thinks, for you, it would have resulted in less pain. 

He witnesses every thought, feels every regret and all of your uncertainty. As sharp as a blade, twisting within you; pressing inside him, in turn. 

Until Viktor's shaky fingers trail the back of your neck, his eyes fluttering open. He realizes you've collapsed into him, as his own weakness forces him back to the present. 

Viktor holds you, for a long stretch of time. You promised you'd leave, and yet, here you are, running into his arms once more. It's still sublimely surreal. Your palms trace his open sides, examining the golden bands, the deep indentations where ribs might sit. When his arm around your back grows loose, you're prying yourself from him hesitantly. He meets your gaze, and his lithe fingers delicately find your jaw. Admiring, thinking. 

You are terribly beautiful. Wonderful. There is nothing comparable. Not the sea of vivid flowers, not the sun, not the countless collisions of stars that he's witnessed. If he could go back, he would hold your pain in his hands. He'd make it his. 

It would mean more to him than anything, more than all of this, to see you happy, smiling, and free. You've always been so lovely. An inspiration. A dream. 

The arcane could strip him of himself, but even as it's pulling his bones from his body, it could never take away the devotion he remembers. Your touch, your voice. Your atoms and your particles, falling like rain at his fingertips, forming every retained, held-onto expression of you. 

Soft letters, exchanged between the margins of messily sketched blueprints. Tearing the paper, to keep the note you'd left, because your handwriting felt like home. Drowsy words, shoulders pressed too close together, and almost falling asleep, but trying to stay awake to talk for just a little while longer. Even though hindsight would tell him he's acting a fool. Even though the night is melting into morning, and you have projects to complete by tomorrow. None of it ever seems to matter, when the two of you are lost in each other. 

He remembers smiles like sunflowers, bright and radiant. Giddy laughter and naive wishes. Hands brushing when they shouldn't; finding one another under tables, between meetings. Fingers interlacing to swear promises, palms pressed to a quickly beating heart. 

Further, there are gentler sentiments, moments that could only come with age and years of understanding. Sitting together in silence, because it helps, when sleep refuses to come. Lessening pain wherever you can. Soothing tired muscles, holding shaky hands. Knowing where it hurts without the need to ask, and when to encourage, but also when to rest. 

Falling apart, in the ways no one else gets to see, because he knows you will be there to put back his pieces — and Viktor realizes every memory, every recollection, every death begins and ends with you. 

Gods. He breathes soft shushes, and little murmurs of, It's alright. All it takes is one brush with your heart to bring his humanity circling back. 

Your expression weakens, your heavy gaze stays steady on his own. For a moment, he expects you to collapse again. He knows he will catch you. But you breathe deeply, and when he caresses your cheek, nice and gentle, your eyes take on a dull sparkle — the same light he remembers, from countless lifetimes ago. 

"No," Viktor coos softly, with a shake of his head, "No, I believe this is precisely where you were meant to be." 

He holds your chin delicately, between his thumb and forefinger. "Stay. Please." He murmurs, continuing. I need you to stay. "Spare me a few more moments." 

His voice sounds impossibly human. There's less of a rumble, more of a tremble. Uniquely him, decidedly weak. 

It's fruitless, and he knows it. A few more moments is hardly enough, it won't make up for everything you've needed. But it's all he can have. Because in every reality, this doesn't work. 

There are mistakes he can't take back, pain he can't reverse. Humanity is a vice he can no longer hold onto. And you — once again, at the center of everything — you do not deserve this. After the boundaries you've crossed, the lengths you've travelled, you must be so, so tired. You, his dream, for all of the radiance and light in your heart, do not deserve to be drowned in more darkness. 

For every almost, for each soft touch and pained reminder of his fragility — the warmth of your arms around him, dulling the sharpness in his leg — he should have pulled you closer. From the very start, he was running out of time. He should have died. Yet, he must continue to live, with the same weight in his shoulders, with the knowledge of his failures. And with the palpable reminders of the twin flame he lost. 

He's strayed too far to make things right, now. You're two ships on different currents. 

If you were to change course and crash together, hands grasping one another tight, soft skin entwined with unnatural fingers made of violet; close enough to let heavy breaths meld into one; close enough to taunt the forces that made him, the result would prove catastrophic. Shattering his goals, the hold the arcane has on him, and your wavering heart. 

Viktor knows he cannot put you through this. His new purpose, his curse, perpetuated by the Hexcore's distant, inexplicable itch, surmises that he is destined for rebirth. Over, and over, and over again. You've already grieved him, and for your sake, this needs to be the final time. 

"Okay," You breathe, exhaling heavily, inhaling weakly. He holds your cheek in his familiar hand, and you tremble, struggling not to lean into his touch. "I… Okay. I'll stay." 

Your warmth radiates against Viktor's palm. Low and soft, tired and grief-stricken. Then brilliant, burning. 

You already know what it's like to lose him; how it feels to watch light slip from his gaze, either as a slow descent into torment, a faint snuffed out flame. Or as a vivid, scorching implosion. Forcing you to remember blood and fire, as smoke overtakes the edges of your vision. 

Ash chokes your lungs. Pain thrums in all of your joints. Muffled screams echo in your ringing eardrums. Panicked breaths, and shouts of, he's not breathing, between Jayce grabbing your shoulders, trying to shake you awake, but you just — 

Viktor pulls his hand away from your cheek, as though he'd been burned. Dull remnants of your pain linger in his chest, sharp, strained, and ashen. His index finger presses to the side of your jaw, gently guiding you to look at him. 

"Don't imagine such things," He mumbles gently; his color-rich gaze finds yours, as naturally as the moon finds the Earth, locked within the same orbit. "You are only going to exhaust yourself further. What happened that day was- it was not your fault. Not in any capacity. You know this, right?" 

Right? The soft lilt in his voice — pleading for confirmation — makes a tingle trace your spine. 

"I know," You answer dryly, your voice a little sore. "I'm fine." 

Your eyes have long since dried up, but you still sound deeply numb. Distant, as though your soul is somewhere far away. 

"You are not," Viktor counters quickly. Like you're two rival schoolmates, arguing once again. Not two inseparable souls, on the verge of the end. Close to collapsing and crossing an edge neither of you could come back from. 

"I am. I promise." 

"You have not slept. You have been following the trail to the commune for days, now. And the moment you try to rest, to let sleep find you, your mind is plagued by fits of nightmares. I do not think you need me to tell you this, but you are pushing yourself to the brink." 

It hurts, somewhere in his fragile system, to see the pain he has caused you. He hasn't merely witnessed it, he has felt it. All of your guilt and your emotions, surging through his filaments. Nearly as strong as the passive waves of magic. 

"The nightmares started long before this," You're arguing on impulse, mumbling under your breath. 

They began when he was dying. 

And he knows the nightmares, the visions he saw through your eyes, of embers and death and destruction and fragility — they are all because of him. 

You swallow, before you sigh, and your tone quiets when he places a reassuring hand on your tensed shoulder. "I wasn't asking you to pity me. It's just- it isn't anything I'm not used to." 

Viktor pauses. Then, he gives a small, amused huff. 

"You are as stubborn as you were when we met." 

He recalls it vividly: your very first meeting. You were both young, immature, and terribly eager to prove yourselves. Determination and stubbornness were traits you unfortunately shared. 

You argued. Over some unimportant invention, and then over your notes, and the ways they differed. Viktor can barely remember the assignment. But he recalls the pinch in your brows, the fiery heat in the back of your gaze. Convinced you were right, and unable to get Viktor to budge, you left, tossing some remark over your shoulder as you slammed the door shut behind you. We should ask the professor if we can change partners. It's clear we'll never get along. 

"Am I?" You mutter; it's rhetorical, obviously, made evident from the half-hearted roll of your eyes. He's sure you're dwelling on the very same memory. You breathe something of a feeble, fatigued laugh, "You really think I was the stubborn one?" 

"Mmm," Viktor hums. His lips twitch into the faintest imitation of a smile. "Possibly. You haven't told me to shut up yet. I suppose we could consider that an improvement." 

Ambitious and tender, alive and in front of you, is a part of him you'd thought you lost. 

"And you somehow still remember." 

Viktor's temple forms a knot, but his gaze is entirely unreadable. He brushes an exploring palm down the small of your back, keeping himself propped up on his elbow. You're leaning into him naturally, as though you've hardly planned to. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your weight settles gently and tangibly in his lap. 

"I told you," He says, voice barely more than a whisper, a plea, a prayer. "Regardless of what is taken from me, you are far too precious to forget." 

Your breathing is unsteady. It echoes in his ears, becoming all he can focus on. Sharp in, shaky out. 

"I didn't know I mattered so much to you." You're glancing away, while you brush his long hair from his eyes; your breath shakes, you twirl an ombre strand around your finger. "I mean, not after- not when you're- fuck, I don't know." 

"Not as you remember?" Viktor completes. 

You reply with a shallow nod. "You're just… different." 

Alive. Anew. A vessel, not a man, not the one you admired. 

Viktor's jaw tenses. His chest stings, it pulls at him like there's a black hole where his heart should be. And this time, he isn't caught between the residuals of your emotions. He is feeling his. 

He gives a low, quiet, simple answer. "There is much between us that differs, now." 

You're silent, for a few moments, caught chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

"The Hexcore," You start, "You… absorbed it, right?" 

"In theory." 

"Our studies made it seem alive. I wasn't sure if something like that was even possible. I read your notes, Vik, I saw the runes and your leg, and I didn't- I should've been there." 

Viktor takes a breath so quiet it nearly goes unnoticed. "I should have made you stay out of it." 

He sees the heartache on your face before he feels it — Viktor's fingertips, rough and metal-like, trace the gentle curve of your jaw. But his power is weakened. Your emotions thread through him as faint pulses, and he can't dive deeper. 

Even when he closes his eyes, there's a barrier; a wall, for him to bang his fists against, despite knowing there's no way to reach you. Your soul manifests in his horizon line. Admirable and bright, unable to be touched. 

When Viktor's eyes flutter open, they're whirling in dizzy, wild shades, like the colors beneath have been mixed and shaken. They shift from crimson, to cobalt, to citrine. Impulsively, he cups your face to keep you close, to make certain you won't disappear. To remind himself that he can still feel your soft skin against his blasphemous palm. 

"You have blamed yourself enough for my atrocities. So much of your pain could have been circumvented, but then I-" Viktor softens. He brushes his thumb over your cheek slowly, over and over, like an anxious, desperate tick. "Perhaps I should have turned you away the moment you reached the commune." 

Your hand finds his, grasps it tight and keeps him pressed to your cheek; and your pain bleeds for him, inviting him in. Foggy and infinite, covered in thorns. Curling in on itself, an infinite fractal of warm tenderness and icy, bitter melancholy — 

"Viktor- that isn't-" 

"Your mind crumbles, in all cases, each and every time you look at me." He speaks carefully. Chews through every word, before he spits it out. His voice rumbles, reverberates like an earthquake, "Why?" 

He supposes he already has his answer. Delving inside your mind left him with no room for doubt. This is his fault. It's a form of self-sacrifice, a familiar brush with endless destruction, he thinks, to hear you say the final words. The ones he already knows. You are allowed to let go. Fate will embrace you in the ways I could not. 

"Because, dammit, I still care about you," You're blurting out, "More than anyone, or anything else." 

"I do not deserve it. Considering what I have-" 

"I don't care, Vik. And every time I see you, when I feel this," You squeeze his hand hard, enough to incite the rigid surface of his faux fingertips with transcendent sparks of the arcane, "I remember your notes, the fire. The days I spent following you into the Undercity. I see the empty look in your eyes when you first saw me, and I keep thinking this isn't real. That I'm going to wake up, and you… you'll be gone." 

Viktor's gaze flickers over your face, wide and iridescent, a perfect contradiction. His breathing runs quick, his palm shakes. But within the dance between your soul and his, he's daring to reach for you. 

Bright, vivid light washes over. It blinds him, for a moment. Bathes his figure in radiance. A force within him is gnawing, whispering in runic words that he shouldn't be able to understand, telling him he isn't supposed to feel this, isn't meant to have a place within him carved to fit your shape. The best option is to turn you away, to listen to his head. Evolution requires a steady mind, an unwavering resolve. An inhuman herald. 

Viktor refuses. He listens to his non-existent heart, instead, and he feels your petals, closed yet delicate. He lets himself become your sun, so he can watch you bloom. A figment of his own humanity shimmers before him. The light obscures his vision, it burns his eyes. But he holds on — pallid palms pressed together with all his might, containing his bursting luminescence and the flowery resonance of you. 

A gentle thumb brushes your cheek, and you're sighing, confessing, "I shouldn't. But I missed you, Viktor. So much." 

Your thoughts echo inside him like a ripple in water. I wish you could be more than just a memory. 

Nothing exists for him to promise. Your breathing shakes, your eyes flutter. Your body subtly arches into his touch, when he comfortingly caresses the back of your neck. 

"I missed you more than words could express," He admits, voice low, close to cracking like the edges of old stone. Everything blends, in a haze of his own making, as his palm clumsily returns to hold your face. As he gently guides you, tilting you towards him by your jaw. 

"Look at me. You meant everything. For so long, so deeply, I treasured you- do not ever think otherwise. But I was powerless. Over and over, I perpetually imagined the last time I saw you. The soft sound of your voice, and the mundane instances in between. I would have done it over again, in the same order. To be frozen in time, with this memory of you." 

Stars fade, the galaxy around him chips and splinters. But he knows this is the truth. The arguments, the introductions, the pain, the softness, the falling, the fading — history would repeat itself infinitely, and he would gladly lose himself in its spiral with you. 

Your hands clench on his shoulders, your gaze grows lost in his own. You drown in the gentle nebulas of eyes that still feel so remarkably his. 

Every outcome before him weaves into the same ending, every star carries the same grim message. He cannot go back, that's the crucial cusp of it all. The strings of fate pull him along, igniting a sharp taste in his throat. They seek to make him into the arcane's chosen puppet. 

"Viktor," You're sighing, and oh, the syllables of his name are more than a plea when they're breathed from your lips, they're a washed-out memory, a poem and a promise between his ribcage — 

"But you have me right now." 

"I know," Viktor says, because it's all he can say, "I know." 

When you trail off into silence, Viktor finds that the abyss of your soul echoes with a single unfathomable sentence. 

I still love you. 

So this is the tragedy. 

His faithful step in the universe's eternal return. An infinite expression of his fleeting, useless affections, strung throughout an inseparable existence. 

Viktor realizes now, the truth was merely a means to the end he expected. This is the predetermined resolution, where he finally gives in, and recognizes he cannot escape the path laid before him. He was always going to break you, perhaps from holding on too tight. 

Once again, he is powerless; this time, to his own body. He can sense the thrumming in his limbs, glowing through every vein. This can't last forever. He knows you are his focal point, and once you disappear, the arcane will take your place. In his hands, in his chest, in every breath he takes. Blotting out the last of his humanity. 

You smile, and it's a crooked, broken, undeserved thing — but it captivates him just the same. A flicker of heartache catches the light in your eyes. He believes he is watching you think, seeing the cogs click into place as your jaw grits uncomfortably, as your eyes threaten to well up again, as you come to the same conclusion. This is futile. 

Then, let this moment at least be yours. 

Viktor places both palms on your face. He guides you to follow him, when he falls back. The weight of your body presses his chassis into the ground. His head rests against the flowers. His hair fans out around him, faint blonde strands interwoven, like a painting's highlights: the finishing touches. 

But you aren't staring at him. Not at his eyes, your gazes don't meet. You're staring at the pretty mole, placed perfectly above his mouth — and he knows, because this isn't the first time. 

It's where you would focus when he found you lost in thought and drowsy, coming up with excuses not to stare at his lips. He remembers feeling you touch the corner of his mouth, close but not quite, before your fingertip brushed down the length of his nose; the space between you barely leaves room for accommodation, and Viktor brings a palm to your chest to push you apart, despite wanting to drop his cane and use both hands to — 

Dangerously, you stop yourself by leaning close. Viktor's eyes flutter shut, as your forehead comes to rest against his own. 

His voice is barely audible. Accent thick, low, and familiar. 

"However this may end, I need you to realize," He exhales, slow and shakily. "There was never a moment where I did not adore you." 

Those words press into you like an arrow in your chest, a hot knife lodged between bones. You breathe in deeply, you sigh carefully, and Viktor feels your breath as it fans against his mouth. 

It's merely the surface of what he wishes he could say. There is so much more, I admired you since we met. You were smart, radiant. Gods, was it the most egregious combination, because you both intimidated and captivated me. You were effortless to adore. I thought I made myself obvious. Requiring your help for every insignificant invention, stealing you at every turn because it felt delightful, to have you all to myself. Those moments are distant, yes, but they are not blights. They were brilliances. 

An infinity would not be near enough time to fall for you. I would wish to alter fate, but I can't, I cannot save you from myself. From this… inevitability, this expectation that we are doomed for ruin. 

You unfurl, you blossom. The sparkle of your soul follows the glow in his palms, eclipsing his body, shining over the rot; two lighthouses glimmering towards one another, communicating in their own code — and your mind pleads for him, one last time. 

Prove it. I need you to show me. 

And he almost does. Really, truly, almost. He nearly pulls you in, denies destiny to follow impulse, and veers both your courses towards destruction. 

The simplicity of a kiss would prove this is real, prove his humanity. It would be something for him to have, not a token for the arcane to take. No, the arcane would weep, as he ignites his new body's first experience with selfishness. The intensity he's longed for would no longer be numbed, he'd feel it surge and shine and breathe through him. Pooling at his fingertips, as he pulls you in, guiding heat to draw itself into you. 

It'd feel good, to press his mouth to yours, and discover what your lips feel like in the ways he's imagined for ages. He could hold you as if you'd never have to leave. He could pretend, as though the coolness of his sanctuary is just the evening draft in the lab, and he isn't making up for past regrets, he is fixing them. 

Warmth would return to his figure, his soul would converge into his body, and fate, as cruel as it is, would be forced to do nothing but watch. 

Viktor allows his eyes to open. His palms are still on your face, your gentle weight is still pinning him down. The light of the moon above you creates pale, hazy crescents in the edges of his vision. You are so close. Your heart is its own entity. Pounding so hard in your chest, he can practically feel it as his own. His gaze flickers to your mouth, as his hands faintly caress your skin. 

Prove it, prove it, prove it. 

For a few moments, he debates the repercussions. 

It could be swift, fleeting, an accident. Barely more than a brush, a taste, before he drags himself away. Or, it could be more. 

A point of devotion, expressed with closed eyes and soft lips. Admiring you without seeing, confessing without words. 

Would your lips feel plush, would you hesitate, would you send him spiraling down along with you, as you pulled him in and whispered his name? 

Perhaps it might escalate, into a feverish mess of your hands in his hair and your lips at his throat, and would he still feel them there? Against the gold notches embedded into his neck, kissing down to admire where his body meets magic. Could either of you manage to stop if you tried, or would time bleed together, until he could die like this — until he's convinced he is dying? 

Viktor's thumb brushes your lips. Shakily, mechanically. 

Gravity threatens to drag him in, steady on your pull, strong like absolution. Centimeters stop him from closing the distance, from pulling you close and colliding so softly, so vividly. In one simple, fluid, perfect movement. He dreams of it. But still, still. 

Still, Viktor struggles to catch his own breath, although it hardly makes sense for his perfected system. Still, he allows himself the small privilege of caressing your cheek, feeling your skin beneath his ruined fingertips. Your gaze widens — he can't help but wonder, but foolishly, uselessly hope, that you might've been expecting more — and he finds your chest with his palm, to repeat past actions, to carefully push you away. 

It isn't the choice he would wish to make. But for once, it will be his choice, all the same. There is strength, a grounding sense of responsibility, a misguided tenderness, in this. Even if it hurts. 

Even if Viktor is already regretting it, the moment he sees the softness fade from your eyes. A wavering gaze stares back at him, as dark as a knot of storm clouds. His hand steadies on your chin to keep you in place. 

His last tie to humanity is a knot he can't undo. The one of few left to mourn him deserves more than empty words, or false promises. You deserve to heal. You are his greatest mistake, and his most lovely exception. 

You were worth every moment, every word, every star. He can feel you, in the chasm of his chest. Guilt runs thick in his makeshift veins. Newfound pain pushes out from his shoulder blades like wings, and he knows you may have been unable to change his fate, but you have changed him. Every piece of you will always press together to form a part of his entirety — with the same soft edges, amongst familiar galaxies of convergences. 

This isn't the end, not yet, not quite. Viktor hopes he can show you. The sun will rise again; you will bask in its glow, warm and unburdened. You'll rediscover your spark. Your soul was meant to burn on a pyre that reciprocates, and logic dictates an inhuman vessel cannot. For you, for your gentle, beating heart, this is only the beginning. 

There will be no more nightmares, no more exhaustion. He can be of use, he can help you rest. His power has limits. However faint, however controlled. But this, the science of dreams, leading their way into passages, establishing connections and fateful meetings — considering his experience with magic and the astral, it should be relatively easy to grasp. 

And he knows it will hurt hard. To see you, to lose you. Though, unlike him, you cannot force your emotions into silence. Viktor harbors a hint of envy. A flourish of frustration. You have never deserved the world's blind cruelty. He would have torn the universe apart to at least keep his pain, so the sharpness in his chest and the blood stained into his palms could serve as final reminders of you. 

One last pleasant memory won't fix what's broken, but it could save you, where he can no longer save himself. 

He supposes it's worth a try. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, and he hates the way his own name makes your bottom lip quiver, how your shoulders tense as though you could curl in on yourself. "Sorry, I-" 

"No, no, please don't apologize. There is…" Viktor starts; he attempts to keep the words from stammering, but it's difficult when you're still so close. You are all he can see, as your moonlit gaze matches his, like it could guide his waves without trying. 

He grinds his jaw, glances away, and tries again. "There is something I've wished to show you. Could I sit up?" 

Your palms, pressed to either side of his head to prop yourself up, fidget and clench, fingers trembling. But you nod, you shift. He feels your weight leave his lap when you finally slide off of him. 

Viktor pushes himself up. The metal decorations that fix his clothing into place clink together faintly. He carefully folds his legs. He glances towards you, gives a coaxing tilt of his head, and gently pats his palm to his knee. 

"Come." 

The whispering meadow in his elaborate space leaves you plenty of room to sprawl out, as you rest your head in Viktor's waiting lap. Blades of grass tickle your arms. He is firm, rigid underneath you. Not quite the most comfortable pillow, but it hardly matters to you, because your eyes are already growing nice and heavy. 

You're losing your battle with exhaustion, he figures. Resting against him is especially potent at making your tiredness shine through. (He recalls somewhat-sleepovers, sharing the same dorm, your head falling against his shoulder as your breathing echoed into his ear.) He assists the endeavor, brushing his fingertips down either side of your face, adjusting you to make sure his lap is comfortable. You shiver, and he toys with your hair, continuing until you're sighing, relaxing. 

Viktor smiles. His gaze above you meets yours, shines with devotion. There's a new color in his eyes. Some cross between amethyst and crimson, like a swirling red wine, like drops of blood in water — sickeningly sweet. His hair frames his face. Strands brush the faux edges of his jaw. 

A few more moments to admire you is all he allows for himself. Then, he breathes deeply, calmly. He reaches beside him, into the grass, to delicately snap the stem of a tiny, almost-hidden white daisy. 

"I want you to picture," Viktor tucks the flower behind your ear, continuing slowly, the words spoken with a calm, yet melancholy edge: "A place where you can be at peace." 

"Mmm," You hum, hands clasped, resting neatly on your stomach, "Like a memory?" 

"It could be one, yes." 

"Like when we snuck out of our classes to go look at the stars, to see the autumn meteor shower. We missed an evening lecture, and the professor made us write lines…" 

Viktor distantly recalls the way his hands cramped for weeks, how his knuckles ached. His palms had thick calluses from where he tightly held his pencil, his skin was stained with graphite from where he rested his hand against the paper — but vividly, as though he could close his eyes and be transported there, he remembers your excitement. 

Your pure elation, as you hurriedly climbed the endless stairs to the very top of the viewing tower, mumbling about how you didn't want to miss it. You never stopped grinning, as you guided his hand to show him where the stars would fall, pointing to every distant shimmer in the sky. Although, to him, they never seemed to shine brighter than the look in your eyes. 

Ages later, you both returned to that same spot on the outskirts of Piltover, perhaps in an attempt to relive your youth. The viewing tower was rickety and silent. The stairs to the top were long and grueling. The fancy lights shining from various new buildings made the stars impossible to see, now. 

The Hexgates were conceptualized the next year. Viktor's doctor recommended a crutch and a brace. So it was your last attempt, in the end. 

Your tired eyes flutter open, and Viktor gazes down at you, lips upturned into the faintest hint of somber amusement. 

"It only occurs every two hundred years. The professor warned us, he said the meteor shower was a waste of our precious time," Viktor recounts, with a small, playful huff. "He had already seen it, and it failed to impress him." 

"We would've seen more elsewhere, he said, which is true, but…" You shrug lazily. "It was so quiet up there. With just us, and the stars." 

"The calmest place in all of Piltover," Viktor replies in agreement. 

"After that, we talked about getting out of the city. Maybe vacationing somewhere once we graduated, just for a while." 

There were late night talks, sleepy confessions, foolish dreams of far-off places. Much like this, really. Your brows pinch, you stifle a yawn. Viktor can't help but find it adorable. 

Then, your head tilts back, as you gaze at him again. "Remember?" 

Viktor softens. "You dreamt of seeing the flowers in Ionia." 

Your smile widens. "I'll try to picture that, then." 

Moonlight burns in the back of his gaze. Magic returns to pulse through him — connecting threads to the minds of hundreds of followers, casting a line to hook into the arcane. The sort of pain that becomes a new heartbeat, offering to seal itself within him. His fingers shake, as he hesitates to bring them towards you. He forces himself to steady, to meet your tender expression, and commit the depths of it to memory. 

Everything must come to an end. Viktor cups your face in both palms, and prepares for his last dance with mortality. 

"Imagine a field of endless, untouched blooms. Culminating in stunning magic, able to be sensed within the ground itself, thrumming underneath your feet." Viktor's voice is a low, level, comforting murmur. Like he's reading straight from an Ionian textbook; in another life, it would be enough to put you to sleep. 

"And the air smells lovely," You're mumbling, tired. "And the sky is full of thousands of stars." 

"Yes, but," Viktor ever-so gently brushes his fingertips over your eyelids, guiding you to close them. "You must close your eyes, little spark." 

Your expression is perfectly, wonderfully peaceful. For a few moments, he savors it. He brushes his thumbs over your skin and relishes the softness. He watches the gentle heave of your chest. The slow, mortal intake of every breath. Heavy with exhaustion. 

Viktor feels his heart crumble, although he knows he does not have one. 

He swallows, he holds your face tenderly. Energy surges from his palms. Crisp, reality-warping fragments of light. Vivid paradoxes. Sparkling against your skin, in prickles of dull static. 

The warmth of your soul is a small, kindled flame, held weakly in his palms. This time, you can feel it. Touches reaching between your ribcage. Tracing your bones, leaving bright flowers and pockets of starlight wherever his fingertips brush. It is a gradual, languid sensation; like a baptism, hands cradling your edges to carefully lower you into deep, warm water. It consumes, distorts and collapses, connects the two of you in a haze of entwined hands and twisted-together veins. Blood and magic, pain and healing. 

Viktor allows his voice to echo through your weary mind — though he is sure his words will be forgotten, by the time you awake. 

Rest, now. Perhaps, in another reality, or within a distant, rewritten future, we will be offered the chance to begin again. If you and I will it. Not fate, nor the infinite tides of entropy. 

His voice sounds clear, undistorted. Rich and enveloping. There's hints of hesitation. A clear shake. Deep traces of a faltering, human-like weakness. 

Thank you, for the opportunity to appreciate you one final time. Your mind and your emotions were lovely to be lost in. 

And I must apologize. I know our time was meant to be impermanent, yet, I cannot help but believe it was not enough. I am not myself. Your memories showed me this — they reminded me of who I was before I'd lost you. 

I'm sorry. There is a revolution I must lead. Burdens I am destined to bear alone. 

Viktor's palms leave fingerprints on your soul. The light he presses into you is glittering, hopeful. As bright as a cloudless summer's day. Waves roll over your figure, tenderness and exhaustion running thick like honey — akin to a warm hearth, like the sun in full-bloom. 

It perplexes, does it not? The very crux of humanity. I could have held every conceivable universe in my hands. And I would have traded it, to do something good, to earn the privilege of coveting you. 

The entire false, star-bound sky shakes with the weight of Viktor's trembling exhale. 

But our old sentiments hardly matter to the present. A tragedy claims itself as such, because it is certain, in its irreparability. 

Every end merely led me to your beginning. 

Your vessel drinks him in. You taste the arcane in your throat, you choke on the way his name blossoms inside your chest, and you allow yourself to drift. To be swallowed in his gentle, heartsick shadow. 

I loved you. For as long as I have known you. As immensely as a soulless body is capable. 

The last sensation to grace you is Viktor's lips, ever-so gently ghosting your forehead — and then, his fingertips, pressed subtly against your skin, to form a silent goodbye. 

Please. Do not come back. 

Then, everything concludes. The world pops like a bubble, covering you in mist. Your mind runs blank. A vibrant chalkboard of thoughts and equations and colors, erased. You collapse, even though there's nothing for you to collapse against. You're unsure if someone — if Viktor — caught you, or if you were left to descend, disappearing beneath the earth. 

Sleep comes to you in a large, encompassing swell. 

And you dream. 

— 

A meadow manifests before you. 

Flowers trail as far as the eye can see. White roses. Red carnations. Puffs of pink and purple hydrangea. Flecks of pollen drift into the air, glittering with magic, shining like little stars. Soft grass tickles your bare feet. Energy surges from the ground, threading through your every limb. Your body feels weightless, warm, and free. The air is crisp, allowing each breath to be deep and clear. You can see distant trees, and above you, intricate galaxies, spread across a dark blue sky. 

But you aren't alone. 

A figment of luminosity, an anomaly, a hazy spark of pure magic shifts, nearly blinds you, and then convenes into a figure. With a palm cupped over his eyes, to shield himself from his own light, before it finally begins to simmer down. 

The phantom edges of his shape shimmer with starlight. His slender frame — astral, seemingly untouchable — shifts in endless, vibrant colors. Faux moonlight shines through his hair, short and tousled, pure white; like soft snow, like the foam at the edges of waves. Swirling with faint whispers of blue, the fluffy tresses remind you of a cloud-filled sky. 

Your gazes meet, and it feels familiar; it isn't the first time. When he sees you, he glows, his figure alighting in shades of sunlight and gold. The amber in his eyes catches the moon's low rays, his cheeks soften into a shade of rose. His skin is warm, less pallid. The stress present on his features has changed into soft eyes and smile lines. 

Memorized, pretty moles greet you. The one on his cheek stands out like the guiding north star, shining amongst a clear night sky. The mole by his mouth follows along when his lips tip into a carefree, radiant smile. Wide and euphoric and foolish. It shows off the small gap between his teeth. 

He looks just like you remember. Just as you wanted to remember. The same handsome features: thick brows, a sharp jaw, eyes that shine as brightly as they once did, when he was lost in his passions. His expression carries a familiar sense of warmth. It reflects the same tenderness he'd reserve just for you, beloved and beckoning. The sight of you is enough to make his eyes well up with tears. 

And Viktor walks, strides, runs to you. 

He's pulling you into an embrace before you have the chance to breathe; arms holding you tight, squeezing you desperately. Pressing you into his blurry, stelliform shape. 

Your palms find his back, feeling where the cosmos meet his skin. He buries himself into your shoulder, brings a shaking palm up to lovingly cradle the back of your head. Breathing you in, he fills with tenderness, spilling over. His nose brushes your nape, weak droplets tap your skin like rain. A heavy throb works its way into every inch that you touch — his back, his shoulder, his neck, like bruises hued in shades of lilac. Your bodies fit together as though they were meant to. 

When he finally pulls apart from you, it's slow, gradual. He places both hands on your shoulders, so clumsily it slightly jostles you back and forth. His brows pinch, his hands clench until his knuckles are strained. He takes you in, gaze weakening as it flickers over your form. A palm finds your cheek to hold you tenderly; he can barely believe he is touching you. 

"There you are- oh, look at you." Viktor's voice is lovingly fragile, yet perfectly, utterly enamored. Brushing his thumb over your cheek, he can't help but choke on a weak, worthless sob. "Finally, you came, I thought- I was sure it wasn't going to work, but it- I can-" 

He cannot think, can barely talk; dizzy, his chest heaves with every sharp, quickened breath he takes in. Viktor tapers off, his palm slips from your face and his hand on your shoulder goes loose as he falters. 

Head pounding, chest aching, the very figments of his body burn like dying stars. His own pulse thrums in his throat until he can taste blood, until he believes he might cough up his own heart. He gazes at you like you might fade out, brushes his palm from your neck to your jaw like you aren't real. 

But you merely smile, and stare at him as though he holds the entire universe in his eyes. 

"Vik," You're mumbling sweetly; your hand blindly reaches for his, your fingertips brush in a clumsy waltz, before you're grabbing, squeezing, steadying him. "You're so beautiful." 

Oh. Viktor feels your hand in his, he melts in the heat of your light, and he believes heaven is here, right at his fingertips. He reflects your words, as his figure shimmers brighter than the luminous sky above — he is more than a memory. He is yours: a star incarnate. 

"You-" Viktor murmurs, lacing his fingers with yours. Warmth washes over his cheeks and his shoulders; he feels foolish, like he's young and stupid and crushing again. "-rival the divine." 

Tension briefly buds in your shoulders. "You won't… you aren't going to disappear, right?" 

Index drifting underneath your chin to keep your gaze tilted towards him, Viktor grins, putting the both of you at ease. 

"Attempting to get rid of me already?" He asks, a little confident, entirely playful. 

When your palm teasingly pushes at his chest, hardly trying to guide him away, your touch ricochets through him. It makes his vessel surge with energy, as though he'd touched a live wire. He can actually feel it. Hues of scarlet and sunset and the sea swirl down from his neck to his shoulders. Glowing fiercely, rippling incandescently. 

"No, never," You answer, "I just- I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be worried. It's just been… difficult. Without you, I mean." 

There's a hazy cadence to your words. It rivals the intricacy of flower buds opening, revealing themselves to the waiting moon. Familiar to him, by now. In this pocket of the arcane — free from strife, some dreamy recreation of the Garden of Eden — your minds can be blissfully one. 

Viktor breathes something of a sigh: a tender, understanding revelation. 

"I will stay here for as long as you need," He's cooing, guiding you to look at him again with a soft hold on your chin, even though his radiance in your vision is dazzling. "I promise. We can talk- there is so much I have waited to tell you. Or we can simply lie here. There is time for anything you prefer, my light. My sweet, little spark." 

Gaze never leaving yours, Viktor admires you with a look that cradles; palms gentle, when they hold your wings. Your hand reaches up to mirror his, your thumb gently caressing the mole placed onto the apple of his cheek.

He's staring, and you can't help but stumble out a laugh. "What?" 

Viktor doesn't answer. 

Suddenly, the depths of shared pain and the regret tied to his chosen goodbye barely matter. They are forgotten when you are right here, finally. A thousand emotions thrum through him, thick and overwhelming: fear, regret, hunger, devotion. He can't speak, he couldn't possibly explain everything your warm smile does to him. It reminds him of moments stretched through years, times where you almost pulled him close, and he knew you were just friends but Gods, did he want more — 

And perhaps, here and now, in this dream away from reality, the both of you can have it. 

Carefully, his palms hold your face: soft skin against the ethereal. Pulled in by gravity, mere inches separate you. Viktor's nose brushes yours — slightly awkward, all-too human. He breathes slowly, for a moment, before he exhales a heavy sigh, that feels like finally letting go of everything. His hesitation, his weakness, his destiny. 

And when Viktor kisses you, the infinity before you slips away. 

The surrounding galaxy becomes finite, flourishing and existing for only the two of you. It's only a kiss, but it is the implosion of stars, and the formation of new ones — energy explodes in between you with thousands of colors, smearing out from Viktor's form like paint. As though he can't contain his own resplendence. 

It is everything you have ever wanted. He makes you feel alive. 

Head tilting, he guides you close and keeps you there. Magic sparks within him from the inside out. And yet, this is the closest he's ever been to humanity. In the eyes of a distant astronomer, the press of your figure against his could be mistaken for one singular shape. A puzzle, a paradox. A supernova of affection. 

One of his hands remains steady on your cheek, the other confidently reaches for the curve of your waist. Every brush of his lips against yours feels like electricity, tastes the same as palpable desire. He's softer than the ground beneath you as you fall, weightless, landing on your back. Pressed against the flowers and the grass, as if they're made of clouds. 

Your thoughts fade out, they burn, becoming fuzzy, unfocused. All you can think about is him. Viktor's touch and his mouth, and every moment where you needed this, desperate to learn how his lips might feel against yours — 

Perfect. They feel perfect. Simple, guiltless, and lovely. Like biting into an apple, like giving in to sin. As though this moment was destined in time, and every reality has converged, so the stars and their higher powers could turn to watch it take place. 

Viktor laces his hand with yours. The flowers surrounding you tickle your skin, they blossom from his hands. Threading into you when his palm traces your side, intimate petals sweet enough to taste on his tongue. Every kiss brings you closer, igniting past memories. Frustrations you wished to take out, by slamming your mouth against his. Promises and pleas, stifled farewells. Held back tears, silent confessions. 

This feels earnestly real. Not a goodbye, nor a useless prayer. But a kiss meant to be shared between two destiny-bound lovers. 

Your free hand desperately clings to his shoulders, his back. His body feels radiant, like if a shooting star was tangible. Your fingers thread through his hair, and it's akin to touching waves, or playing with the wind, or sinking your hand into fresh snow. 

Viktor curls into your touch; he chases it, as desperately as his lips seek yours. You're sighing, when he shifts to kiss your jaw, your throat. Then, you're arching into him, blurring the outlines between your body and his, sealing his fate, as he presses his mouth to yours once more. 

He only pulls away when you're both breathless and panting. 

Slowly, gradually, he shifts back to place his figure above you. The light of the sky's faux, anomaly sphere shines onto him. It gives him a halo, bathes him in radiance. You can't decide if it's moonlight or sunlight, or if he is reflecting every ray from within. 

Viktor breathes in heavy gasps. The meadow dims, smudges, losing detail. It becomes hazy, and although he knows deep down this won't last forever, the thought hardly crosses his mind. He can only focus on you; a fallen angel, underneath him. The keeper of the love he sought to chase and possess and drown in, until the rest of the world has faded away. An arm braces beside you, while his free hand curves to hold the small of your back. 

"Your lips are even softer than I once pictured," He murmurs; his eyes sparkle, tender and loving and jewel-like. "Should… should we stop?" 

"No, please," You answer. Your voice is beautiful, unforgettable. Curling into him like a fated spiral. Your fingertips trace the back of his neck, before they re-tangle in his pearlescent hair. "Don't, Vik." 

So Viktor doesn't. He pulls you in, he pretends destiny is within his grasp. He guides you with a hand on your cheek and stars at his fingertips, to kiss you again, and again, and again. 

— 

When you wake, you are far from the Undercity. 

Your eyes flutter open, slowly and reluctantly. You recognize the softness of a bed underneath you. The surrounding room is simple, with empty grey walls, and a plain white ceiling. The vents make a low clicking sound as they struggle to choke out warm air. Familiar, the sounds of Piltover hum. An echoing train bell. The tick of gears on the side table's clock. Unfamiliar voices are kept low, just beyond your quarters. 

Tingles rake down your entire body once you sit up. Sparks trace your spine, your shoulders, your face, like a phantom touch. But they fade into nothing, as quickly as they came. 

It's strange for you to be this well-rested. Your mind feels clear. Relaxed. You were free from nightmares, for the first time in ages; as far as you can remember, at least. You recall sneaking out of Piltover, to descend into Zaun. You were exhausted, stressed, but you reached the commune, and — 

Oh. You're throwing your blankets aside, then. 

You toss on your old clothes; they smell like magic and citrus. A nurse finds you before you can leave. You've been staying at an old, run-down infirmary, on the outskirts of Piltover. Established to provide care to the Undercity, ages ago. It takes longer than you would have liked to convince her you're fine, you don't need to stay. You have somewhere you need to return to. 

You were carried here, she explains, as she walks you to the exit of the infirmary. 

There were a few people. Strange garments, they hardly said much. You slept for nearly a day, but otherwise, your condition is stable. 

Your heart twists; carried? Why and when and how would you be carried out of the commune? Your mind is still hazy, you suppose. You can barely remember where you were, or if you even reached your destination in the first place. 

Perhaps you collapsed just outside of it. Perhaps you failed, and the rumors were wrong, and the one you were searching for wasn't there after all. 

Dead men aren't supposed to come back. 

Despondent, you offer the nurse a few small words of thanks, shaking her hand before you turn to leave. 

She stops you first, though. 

Oh, she says, and as for the marks on you, I wouldn't worry. There's been plenty of cases similar to yours, with the same sort of scars. They seem like nothing to fret over. 

You freeze. 

Reaching up, you shakily brush your hand over your own face. Inscribed onto your skin, marble and metal-like, rests four unmistakable marks to your forehead — the lingering outline of Viktor's fingertips. 

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Four

- Little Big Celebration

Series Masterlist

wc: 1.6k

After getting over the initial shock of seeing him, you greeted him. "I thought you were room service, I ordered some food."

He smiled but then he asked the question he's been meaning to ask since he couldn't find you after the celebrations, "why did you leave so fast?"

"Isabella watched you hold the trophy then she fell asleep. I didn't want the noise to disturb her," you explained, and he nodded in understanding. "Is that why we're still standing here, because she's sleeping inside?"

You shook your head, "as long as you keep it down." You moved out of the way to let him inside and he saw your favourite show queued up on the tv.

"Looks like you already have plans for the night," Max commented and you chuckled, "This is how my nights are usually spent."

"Well then I probably shouldn't ask if you want to come celebrate with us." Both of you sat on the couch, facing each other. "That would mean going to a club, which I can't do but you should go celebrate your win."

Based on the celebrations you saw on the podium, you knew the afterparty would be even better. A little part of you wished that you could go, but you were content with how you've been spending your nights lately.

"Congratulations by the way," you added. "Do you want me to leave?" Max asked bluntly which made you frown. "No, but if you have plans—"

"My plans are here, with you," he interrupted you, making you shut your mouth with his response. A smile threatened to grow on your face but you managed to compose it. "Plus I can celebrate next weekend at the next race," Max added, a smug smile on his face and you couldn't hold back yours any longer.

"That confident in your winning capabilities?" You asked with a teasing tone behind your words. He shrugged, "if I don't think I am the best, then I won't be the best."

There was another knock at your door, and this time you were certain it was room service. Fortunately, you ordered enough food so you could share with Max.

Watching your show was at the bottom of the priority list, replaced by wanting to keep the conversation going with Max.

"Don't tell Brad about this," Max spoke, pointing to the meal that surely wasn't part of his diet. "Oh no, the champion is a rule breaker," you teased him, earning a smile from him in return.

Max looked at the closed bedroom door, "did she have fun today?"

"So much fun! I think she would start asking me when we're going to another race," you told him, the excitement on Isabella's face is something you wouldn't forget anytime soon.

"All you have to do is ask, I can get you the passes for the next race." Based on his tone, he wasn't joking and you quickly shook your head.

"No, you've already done so much for us; the hotel, flight tickets, caps and whatnot," you explained, but he was quick to retort. "I don't want to sound like a stuck up asshole, but the cost doesn't matter as much as the experience."

You couldn't help but chuckle, "maybe another time, Isabella is starting school soon too."

"First grade?" He asked, and you nodded, "yeah, she's growing up so fast."

"And what about you, did you enjoy this weekend?" He looked at you in anticipation, hoping you enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed yours.

"Maybe not as much as Isabella, but it was a very nice experience and I still can't believe you do this for a living." He chuckled at your response, but then you added, "and what about you?"

"What about me?" He asked, and you clarified, "did you enjoy this weekend, home race and all?"

He seemed taken aback by the question but he answered nonetheless. "A lot better than it usually is," the meaning behind his words was clear to you, especially with the way he looked at you.

"If you told me earlier, I would've worn orange for the race." Max shook his head, "Then people would've thought that you were supporting McLaren."

An idea popped in your mind and you slapped your hand on his thigh while exclaiming, "I should've taken the cape from Daniel!"

Your hand remained on his thigh but you didn't seem to realize, and he didn't move it away either. "I'll get you one next year," Max suggested.

Your focus shifted away from Max as soon as you heard footsteps in the room Isabella was sleeping in. "Hold on," you stood up and went to check on her.

As soon as you opened the door, Isabella paused in her step, looking at you with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Angel, are you hungry?" You asked, knowing that there were a bit of leftovers. She shook her head, then pointed at the suitcase or rather the teddy bear sitting on the suitcase.

You passed it to her and she climbed back in bed. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"No, mama, I'm tired." On cue, she yawned as you walked closer to her. Tucking her in properly, you placed a kiss on her forehead and sat by her side, brushing your fingers through her hair until she was sound asleep. Which again, didn't take long.

You noticed the glittery clips still in her hair from earlier in the day. You carefully began taking them out one by one while trying not to wake her up. Then, after placing another kiss on her forehead, you left the room.

"Everything okay?" Max asked as soon as you sat down on the couch. You nodded, "yeah, she went back to sleep."

"The race really tired her out today," he smiled because of his next thought, "seems like she's the one who raced instead of me."

You chuckled, "looks like it." Then you added, "I know you're a professional and all but it was just as much fun as it was scary watching you drive so fast."

"So you're not a big fan of fast cars?" He didn't comment on the fact that you only mentioned him while there were nineteen other drivers on the grid.

"That depends, will your follow up question be if I would trust you to drive me around?" You responded with a question and he had a sheepish smile on his face, "maybe."

"I guess I'll have to get in a car with you one day to know the answer to both questions."

Your conversation was interrupted by a call on Max's phone. He muttered a curse before declining it. "Why don't we watch your show?" Max suggested, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

You didn't ask him about his other plans, as he had already assured you earlier that the only plan he has for tonight are with you.

It was possible that he wanted to spend more time with you before you leave tomorrow evening, and you couldn't help but smile at the thought.

The thought of leaving didn't sit with you, but you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on the present, with him.

You grabbed the remote and pressed play, shuffling a tad bit closer to Max.

Somewhere along the way, a few episodes later, Max's arm rested on the back of the couch. His fingers lightly grazed your shoulder every time either of you moved.

Max's phone rang two more times. The second time he picked up and quickly muttered, "I'm busy." Then he turned it off, and apologized to you.

"It's okay, you're the most popular man of the night, people want to see you," you shrugged casually.

"Yeah well, I don't want to see them." You chuckled, liking his bluntness.

It was pretty late when he decided to leave, both of you were so tired but neither wanted the night the end. You opened the door for him, but as he stepped out, he turned to look at you.

"I'll drop you two at the airport tomorrow, just let me know when you're leaving." Once again he said it so casually that you had to remind yourself that he only knew you for a few days. Although it didn't feel like it.

"You don't have to," you reminded him that he was under no obligation to send you off. He shook his head, "I want to, if you let me."

You couldn't say no to him, and perhaps it was a little selfish because you wanted to spend all the time there was with him. You haven't been selfish in a while and it is about time to change that.

"I'll text you tomorrow then. Isabella is going to be very happy knowing she'll see you tomorrow as well." You stated, not mentioning that you would be happy to see him too, using your daughter as an excuse. But then, you didn’t lie either because Isabella would be overjoyed as well.

"Trust me, I'll be very happy too," he added with a smile, preferring not to tell you how delighted he would be to see you as much as he was to see Isabella. That information was best kept to himself.

Then he left. While Max hadn't properly celebrated a race win tonight like he usually did, this sort of celebration felt better than any others.

He walked away with a smile on his face that wasn't related to his victory at all. He was just looking forward to seeing you and Isabella again.

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @namgification

[leah-lover]

Perfect Olympics.Alexia putellas x Olympian! Reader.

“ Amor, please text me when you get the chance.” you texted the love of your life.

Today was the bronze medal match which Spain heartbreakingly lost. You will never forget the look on your girlfriend’s face or the way she spoke to the interviewers or her overall mannerisms after the loss. She looked completely and utterly broken.

You feared this would happen because of the pressure he has been talking to you about the whole tournament but you know your girlfriend was the best leader you have ever seen. She was strong, and capable of overcoming most things. However, you didn't recognize the girl you saw on the tv after the loss, this was a side of her you have never seen before and that scared you. She scared you.

You got back to training after you sent that message since tomorrow is your big day. Tomorrow will be your gold medal track competition and you shouldn't lose focus.

Alexia didn't answer your text or the next 6 texts that said something along the lines of how worried you were for Alexia and that you just needed to hear her voice.

After you were done training, you stayed in the ice bath wrestling with worry and anxiety for your girlfriend.

You knew she was stubborn and she would probably blame herself for it so you wanted to ease her pain however you could. You also selfishly wanted her to talk to you about your big day tomorrow.

You helplessly called the only person you know would get her to talk to you Irene. After only 2 rings she picked up.

“ How is she?” You asked as soon as she answered.

“ She is fine, don't worry. Focus on tomorrow.” Said the Spanish captain.

“ No Irene, I need to talk to her please.” You pleaded.

“ She is not in the mood, she is lost in her thoughts, just let her collect herself and I will force her to call you.” said Irene , her tone leaving nothing for discussion.

You did as the captain said and you went to your hotel. You showered, got dressed and decided to do the opposite of what Irene told you. You stole the car keys of one of your staffers, got in the car and drove to their hotel.

You knew that they won't let you get inside so you enlisted the help of Jenni.

“ Oh Jenni, I am so sorry about what happened.” You said as soon as you saw her. You pulled her in for the tightest hug you could and held her for a few seconds.

“ Yeah ummm. Alexia is in her room. I will take you to her but she isn't herself right now. Whatever she says, don't take it to heart. “ Warned Jenni before she got you to her room.

You paused for a minute In Front of her door before you pushed the keycard in.

You found her sitting on the edge of her bed wearing one of the tracksuits provided by Spain. Her hair was still in a ponytail and her head was in her hands.

You approached her slowly but you could stop yourself from talking.

“ Oh Alexia!” You said worriedly. Upon hearing your voice she quickly wiped the tears from her face.

“ What are you doing here?” She asked sternly.

“ I came here to check on you. since you didn't answer my texts and Irene didn't let me talk to you.”

“ That was the best idea, you shouldn't have come here.”

“ Ale” you say, trying to grab her face but she pushes you away.

“ Ale” you say again.

“ Just get out. I don't want to talk to anyone.” She says, turning her back to you. You go to her and turn her back so that your face is facing hers.

“ No. NO. you don't get to push me out. I am your girlfriend, I am your love, you don't push me away. You talk to me, complain to me, let me share everything, not just wins and glory. You let me help you and support you. You let me love you damnit.” The way you talked was a strange way to you. You don't yell and certainly not to Alexia which disarmed and stopped her from whatever snarky comment she was going to make.

Tears Bubbled in her eyes so you just took her on for a hug and let her calm down.

“ You are strong ale you will get through this, the whole team will. This wasn't about this game, this loss happened a long time ago, it happened in the game between Colombia. You lost your way because of your coach baby. But either way you lost and it hurts I know. You want to get out of your skin. You want to stop time. You want to go back but you can't. You have to use this to power you. You are good, you are the best, you know you are.” You took her face in your hands. “ You are La Reina, you are the love of my life, and you are the girl I am most proud of in the whole world”. You kiss her lips through the tears and just hold her. She doesn't say anything but you know she is processing everything in her mind.

She fell asleep nuzzled in your neck for about 2 hours, you continued to tub her back and run your hand through her hair while she was asleep. If it wasn't for her apple watch buzzing she would have stayed asleep for longer.

“ How long have I slept?” She whispered half asleep.

“ About 2 hours.” You responded, still running your fingers through her hair.

“ They are asking for me at the dinner hall.”

“I have to go to bed too.”

“ Oh I am so sorry I forgot about your competition tomorrow. How is everything? Are you okay? Are you ready?” She panicked.

“ It's okay, my love. Yes I am okay. Yes I am ready. “ You responded with a smile.

“ Just take care of yourself. Sleep tomorrow and just rest. If you can't for yourself, do it for me.”

She took your lips for a passionate deep kiss and held your hand all the way to the elevator. She gave you one last kiss before the door closed.

When you got to the hotel, you sneaked back into your room and got ready for bed.

“ I don't know how I could ever thank you. You saved me from myself. I love you more than you mi vida. Good luck for tomorrow” Texted Alexia.

“ I love you too.” You responded before you fell asleep.

The next morning was hectic, you got ready for your 400-meter hurdles, did some press, wore your uniform and tried to calm yourself to the best of your ability.

After your introduction, you headed towards your spot and looked for your coach in the stands. That's when your jaw dropped on surprise. Alexia was standing there beside him . You didn't expect her to come to Paris since she didn't have the final and you thought it would be too hard for her. And since you didn't talk to her the whole day you had no idea she was going to come.

You smiled at her as you took your position and gave it your all which let you win gold. Your dream came true, you won gold at the Olympics, you brought gold to Spain, and your girlfriend was in the stands supporting you even after all she has been through.

You ran towards her as soon as it was confirmed you had won gold. You kissed in front of the whole world to see.

“ Oh my god thank you thank you for coming. I know this is hard.” You whispered in her ear.

“ I love you and I am proud of you. I want the whole world to know that the woman I love just won gold. This is my perfect Olympics. I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world. ” She said before she kissed you again.

Even though her Olympics was a disaster, she insisted on celebrating your Olympic success.

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) "How to Create a Perfect Man"

A Long time Ago In the Good Neighborhood, Saphira had been married to A Decent man name "Daniel Landus Rooster" For Seventeen years..Or So She thought..During the Seventeen years of marriage, Saphira Caught him Cheating On Her With her Neighbor Name Lydia and Lydia is too Married as well…and Saphira Scolded Daniel So harshly..that she will threaten him to call his parents about this..Daniel Knew what His parents is Capable of, He Knew His parents "HATES" Cheating and all..So Daniel begged Saphira forgiveness and all..Saphira decided to Give him a Last chance..but one condition..He has to Wear a chasity belt as Punishment, She asked How long is he and lydia had been having an affair and then he said 3 Months..so she said to him as punishment, He has to wear a Chasity belt For 3 months and Daniel look defeated.. Lydia's Husband however began to dragged Lydia out and Made a huge Scolding and began to Divorce her clean out.. Three Months Has Passed and the chasity belt is off from daniel. On the Seventeenth Year, Saphira was ready to Have a Seventeen Year Anniversary Dinner set up..until She heard the Ruckus.. Then she went upstairs and began to take a look of whats going on And There Saphira Saw him and Her other Neighbor name "Claudia" is making love..Then She began to Slammed the door Open as the two in bed Froze in shock when they see Saphira with a Wrathful look on her face..and She said,

Saphira: "DANIEL! WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE SMILING DEVIL IS GOING ON HERE!!!??"

Daniel:"Saph! I Can explain!! This Isn't what it looks like!"

Saph:" Oh I Know what it Looks like! It Looks like you and My Neighbor is Making beast with two backs on OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!!!"

Daniel yelped as Claudia was trying to escape..but the Husband Came in and he said,

Husband: "CLAUDIA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MR. ROOSTER!!??"

Claudia: "Honey I can Explain!"

Husband: " Your making love with a Married man!! How could you do this!?"

Claudia: "Don't put this on me! Your the one who's sleeping around with other Women!"

Then saphira Cut in

Saph: " WHOA WHOA WHOA!! What!? Do you really tell me that The Neighbor hood Husbands cheats on wives, And Now Wives Cheats on husband! AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO'S FAITHFUL HERE!!?"

Saphira was Hell raising Angry when her face turns red..and steaming coming out of her head clean..

Saphira:" Since When the Whole Neighborhood Became a FUCKING NEIGHBORHOOD WHOREHOUSES!!!?? Turns to daniel Daniel! Is there Something I should Know about it? Hmm?!"

Daniel: looked defeated and ashamed "Yes..I've Slept with 55 Different women..plus claudia..including the 5 others before marriage."

Saph: eye widen and began to go into rage " You…WHAT!??? How Could you do this to me!? Your telling me..that you've been sleeping around with 61 women this whole time!!??"

Then Daniel Nodded with shame and defeat, Then Saphira said Something that Everyone will be shocked

Saph: " THATS IT!! Daniel Landus Rooster! We Are getting a DIVORCE!! And I'm going to Sue Your 61 Whore of yours and I hope you Will Pay the Settlement Fee along With your 61 harlots!! You better be Lucky that we don't Have Kids..because I'm going to be Feeling guilty about this..and every child who is Born affair..WILL NEVER BE HAPPY! And Also Daniel..I'm Calling your parents and tell Them about this..and Boy…You better be Prepare what Will happen When I'm Done with you!"

Daniel: " Oh god! Please Not my parents!! They'll Sent me Away to Gentleman School again! It's Like hell!"

Saph:" Well Thats Too Goddamn Bad! You Shouldn't Cheat on me in the first place, and Yet you did! with 61 Different women! Enough is Enough! I regret Giving you a last chance and I should've Divorce you when I got a Chance, So We're getting a Divorce and THATS FINAL! and I'm Selling this House and Move away from this.. Neighborhood of Infidelities! I will Not Live with anyone Who would became a Serial Cheater!"

After the Confrontation, Saphira Called His parents and Told Them everything. When They Heard Saphira about Daniel and all, they were So Livid that they head there and Made Daniel Sign the divorce Papers Which Daniel was so Stubborn to sign it until His Father Threaten him to Cut ties if he Didn't Sign it…So Next day, She sued 61 different women for settlement fee..All of them paid her in Huge Lump sum and So does Daniel whom he's the Source of all the troubles.. After She Sell the House..She Moved away to a Nice Country Side where they Have a Nice Big Small town Full of good decent people.. But 4 years had passed, Saphira Felt a bit empty in Her heart but..She Blamed Herself For giving her "Ex" Husband a Second Chance, However this Doesn't Stop to find a Good decent man better than Daniel Rooster. Meanwhile at the Lab that Saphira made a great Buisness there..but There was a Slime Creature that was sealed up in the glass chamber and sees the Picture of Saphira as the Daughter of the CEO On the wall..it can't help but fell in love with her..but then Her father complain that She needs a man who would love her,,a man who is strong and kind and very Protective to her..and be there when she needed the most…as the slime creature heard what he said, He had a plan to escape and that night..he Broke out and began to see the Absorbing elixir and then he drank up and began to hunt down a good strong men..and went to the small town..and found alot of good looking and strong men..as one by one..it absorbs them..and when it went behind her home..and suddenly..the skeleton hand emerge from the slime..and the rest of it..and the slime began to cover the skeleton and transforms into a One handsome Man that saphira's father wanted Saphira to have…as He comes to the door..and knocks on it..as Saphira opens the door..and she said," hello?" Then he answered…

[thebibliosphere]

Am I reading this right? You have been beating yourself up for not 'working more' and not 'doing enough', but, the mere act of being AT YOUR DESK is extremely painful? Sitting at your work station, just SITTING THERE, caused you PHYSICAL PAIN, but you were still under the impression that you should be able to just 'power through that' to do, what? How much more are you expecting out of yourself? A book a month? Its not like you've STOPPED WORKING. What time table were you holding yourself to???

Here's the thing, my body has always hurt.

Even when I was a child, I was in a lot of pain that was dismissed as either "growing pains" despite the fact that I never got past 5 feet tall at the age of 11 or "attention seeking." So, I learned to stop talking about it. (The trick is now getting me to shut up about it.)

And for most of my teens and twenties, the pain didn't really stop me too much. It was bad, and it sucked, but for the longest time, everyone kept telling me that "everyone" felt that way, so I just sort of learned to power through and hide it under the assumption that "everyone" feels this way.

Well, turns out that was a mistake because my body hit its breaking point, and what might have been a mild genetic disability that could have flown under the radar is now a severe one that greatly impacts my daily life to the point where sitting at my desk causes me pain (because everything causes me pain).

Couple that with some new-age religious trauma about willpower, positive thinking, and whatever the fuck else my parents thought I was capable of as an 'indigo starseed' and the fact that I was trained to mask my ADHD by being a hyper-competent workaholic-- I really don't know what a healthy baseline is.

(I mean, heck, I wrote the first book of Hunger Pangs while literally dying. I assumed it would be edited and published posthumously. Jokes on me because now I've got to edit the rest of the fucking thing.)

I didn't, obviously, and ever since then, I've been trying to learn what a healthy baseline looks like for me post-recovery, and I think I'm doing quite well at it and enforcing my boundaries when people ask too much of me.

But none of that makes up for the shrieking frustration I feel that I can't do the things I want.

I want to be creative and do fun things, but I can't because my body won't let me. I want to write more, but I can't because I'm swimming in brain fog most of the time. Yes it hurts to sit at my desk, but I also need to earn money so the financial burden of everything isn't solely on my partner. (Something which he argues I shouldn't even be worrying about right now, but it's hard not to worry as I watch him work himself to the bone taking care of everything because I can't.)

I promise you, I'm not hustling my ass into an early grave. There is, in fact, zero hustle about how I work. I am very, very slow these days compared to how I used to be. There's no timetable for one thing. I get done what I get done, and that's it.

I'm just perpetually frustrated that my hyperactive brain is trapped in a malfunctioning meat suit. And my blog is where I talk about it and work through my emotions because, well, that's what I've always done long before Tumblr was even a thing. It just so happens now I've got an audience.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Meanwhile with Malleus

SUMMARY: You spent a lot of time with Malleus while the others fought ghosts. What could have happened in all that time? You needed to sleep before the party. And maybe he taught you how to play the organ.

CHARACTERS: Malleus Draconia x Reader ��🦐

TAGS: Fluff, GN Reader, Cuddles, Flirting, Kissing

WARNING: Spoilers from Twisted Halloween: Spectral Soiree

WORD COUNT: 2.830 words

COMMENTS: The truth is that I started writing this a few weeks (maybe months) ago and it has been on hold for a long time. As this event returned to the Eng Server I decided to finish it and post it in October.

I hope you enjoy 💚

After all that Halloween week, the Magicam Monsters and that parade, you were dead tired. You just wanted to rest after all that. But someone knocks on the door of Ramshackle Dorm.

“Tsunotarou?!” You didn't know whether to show that you were happy to see him or to ask if anything was wrong.

“Child of Man,” Malleus speaks with a smile “I'm here to invite you and the rest of the Ramshackle Dorm residents to an Halloween party at the Spectral Realm.”

You don't seem as happy about the idea as he thought you would be. And you were confused too. “A Halloween party? At the... what's the Spectral Realm?”

He briefly tells you about the ghosts and the party he plans to throw with the other NRC students at the Spectral Realm.

“I don't know if I can handle another party, Tsunotarou.” you say sadly “I'm really so tired.”

“Yeah...” Grim says “I mean, even if there's a feast, I still need to rest to have the energy to eat more.”

“Besides.” you look at the clock “Halloween is almost over.”

“Oh, don't worry about that little detail.” Malleus smiles and snaps his fingers. You stop listening to the clock ticking and when you look at the clock again it's eleven fifty-nine.

“Can you stop time?” you say almost in a whisper.

“You should know by now that I am capable of doing many things.” he smirk “But this spell is only affecting the Sage's Island. And about your tiredness, I'll let everyone else sleep until the party preparations are done, I can arrange a quiet place for you to rest in the Spectral Realm if you like.”

“We already sleep with ghosts so it shouldn't make much difference, right (Y/N)?” Grim says.

You sigh and end up accepting it. Malleus smile gladly and then looks at your tired posture.

“If you are also very tired from walking all day, I don't mind helping you.”

“Would you carry me in your arms?” you ask partly jokingly, partly hoping he would say yes.

He laughs, loving your boldness. “Are you sure you want to make such request?”

“Is that a no?”

“No, it is not a No. Fu fu. Honestly answering your question, yes, I would carry you if you needed. And yes, I would carry you to the Spectral Realm.” he smiles amusedly at you.

“Oh come on, just jump to his arms already or something!” Grim complains. “And do everyone a favour and get that room.”

You blush, Malleus laughs. “In fact, we should go. I don't want to keep Lilia waiting any longer. May I?” He asks you.

You nod and he picks you up, bridal style. One hand behind your knees and the other on your back. As easily as if you weighed nothing. Inevitably, you need to support yourself by putting your arms around his neck and your faces get very close. He’s smiling and his eyes looking at you affectionately.

“OI!” Grim complains again “My paws are hurting too. I also want to be carried.”

Malleus laughs again. “That can be arranged.” He turns his back to Grim and wraps his draconic tail around the little beast's waist. “MRAH!” And picks his up. “You are able to come by yourselves, correct?” he asks the three ghosts who have been watching in secret from you.

When you arrive at the Mirror chamber, Lilia was there waiting for you all. He just didn't expect Malleus to bring Grim with his tail and you in his arms. First Lilia worries.

“Oh! Did something happened? Did (Y/N) get hurt on your way here?”

You get even more embarrassed. Mainly because you knew that Malleus would tell Lilia the truth.

“Fu fu fu. Don't fret, Lilia.” Malleus smiles, like he's glad Lilia saw the two of you like this. “Child of Man is just really tired of walking all day and asked me if I could carry them.”

Lilia looks at you and gives you his sly smile. “Oh, truly? Fu fu fu. How daring for a human.”

“Can we go to that ghost world already?!” you hear Grim's voice complaining. “This is not that comfortable you know.” Malleus flicks his tail to the side, revealing to Lilia a Grim caught in a black dragon's tail. And Lilia starts to laugh heartily, almost bringing tears to his eyes.

Malleus only put you back on the ground when you arrived at the Sparkling Chamber. You took a moment to admire the place. But it didn't take long for you and Grim to start yawning.

“Ah, yes. I promised you that I would find you a place to rest.” Malleus remembers.

“Indeed, (Y/N) must rest.” Lilia says “I sure know how harmful lack of sleep can be to a human. If I'm not mistaken, I think there are some rooms beyond this Chamber that you can use.”

Malleus would go with you to find a room while Lilia started getting the chamber ready for the party.

You found a good one, but it had no furniture or what little it had was broken. You comment on trying to find another one, but Malleus says that won't be necessary. With a snap of his fingers the room is cleaned and the furniture repaired.

In one corner of the small room was an antique carved pine single bed. The sheets were white and the cover a pale purple. Similar to Malleus' own bed in Diasomnia. Grim jumped to the foot of the bed and was asleep in seconds. You, on the other hand, look a little unease.

“I can change your clothes to pajamas with magic if it makes you more comfortable.” Malleus suggests.

You say that would help a lot, so he gestures and your Halloween costume changes to pale green pajamas. It was comfortable, like the bed you sit on. But even so, there was still something that didn't leave you completely at ease.

“I know I sleep in a dorm with ghosts now.” You explain. “But I only sleep well today because I've gotten used to them and the dorm has had some improvements. But I almost couldn't sleep the first few nights. I don't know if I'll be able to fall asleep here.”

“I see. Would you feel more rested if I stayed by your side until you fell asleep?” He was smiling, like he was sure you were going to say no.

When you say yes, he is taken aback for a moment. His bright green eyes looking at you wide open in astonishment. But then he remembered who he was talking to and laughed with the greatest of joys. He smiled warmly at you. “You know, I believe some children want company to fall asleep so that person can protect them from me. This is... an interesting... no, delightful turn of events. I dare say”

You open the sheets and lie down. After placing them on top of you and settling down on the bed, Malleus sits down beside you. He could use magic to put you to sleep, but he didn't want to. He wanted to see if you genuinely felt comfortable around him to the point where you could fall asleep.

“Briar Valley has many lullabies.” He tells you, with the softest of voices. “Sleep and dreams are deeply embedded in our culture. Would you like me to sing you one of our lullabies? Allowed me to guess, your answer is yes.”

“You can't make a proposal like that and expect me to say no.” You say with a soft smile and already with your eyes closed.

Malleus chuckles and happily fulfills your request. He sings to you in a sweet tone, that becomes even more affectionate when he looks at your sleepy smile.

When he finishes, you are already fast asleep. He is smiling looking at you and take one of his hands to your head. But stop before touching you, hesitating. As if he's afraid that the moment he touches you, you'll startle awake. But even so, he took the risk.

He puts his hand on your head, stroking your hair. And you don't wake up. Actually, your smile comes back slightly. He is so happy about it. And he decides to risk it just one more time.

He leans over you and kisses your forehead. And you were still sleeping. “Dream of me. As I dream of you.”

He stayed with you for a while longer. Before he finally left to assist with the party preparations, he did two things. First, he cast another spell so that outside noises wouldn't disturb your sleep. And second, he put a paper on your bedside table in case you wake up earlier than necessary. It said that since you had no way of knowing if you slept too much or too little, because time was still, you didn't have to worry that he would wake you up when the time came.

And that is what happened. You feel a kiss on your cheek and a familiar voice in a sweet tone saying your name. You open your eyes to find Malleus's bright green ones looking at you, over a sweet smile.

“We hear that the other students have already woken up and are on their way here.” Malleus explains, sitting on your bed watching you stretch. “So we figured you should have gotten enough rest too. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Thank you so much.” you sit on the bed.

“For asking?” He seems confused that you would thank him so much for something so trivial.

“No. For what you've done. For fixing the room, giving me a comfortable bed and mostly staying with me until I fall asleep. I probably wouldn't have been able to sleep here without you.” You hear snoring at the foot of your bed, behind Malleus who was facing you. “Unlike Grim.”

Malleus seems very happy about what you said. And there was something he really wanted to ask you. “Do you happen to remember what you dreamed? People dream every night, but sometimes they forget about them and that's why they think they didn't dream that night.”

A dream? You think. And yes, you remember! But you say it was a silly dream. When the truth is, you're slightly embarrassed.

“I've heard that the silly dreams can be the most meaningful.” Malleus says. “I would love to hear about yours. But if it's something you don't want to tell me, I understand. Dreams can be extremely personal.”

You think about it. It was no dream that I couldn't tell anyone. It was even...cute. So you decide to tell him.

You remember you were in a forest, for some reason. You lived there? You had lots of animal friends and you remember singing and dancing with them. What you were singing... you recognize... it was the lullaby Malleus sang to you. There was an owl wearing the cape of the Houseworden of Diasomnia, a rabbit in each black boot with green heels, and a squirrel with a small pillbox hat, balancing on top of the owl's head.

When you finish describing this part, both you and Malleus are laughing. “I wouldn't be surprised if I ever witness the same scenario with Silver's clothes.” Malleus comments between laughs. But you hadn't finished telling the dream yet.

As you danced with the animals, someone appeared behind you and continued singing and dancing with you, making that song a duet. When you turn around, you find Malleus.

“Did I scared you?” He asks about the Malleus in the dream. He was smiling, but you knew that wasn't his real smile. It was a smile that hid some apprehension.

“No, of course not. I was very happy to meet you there.” He looked like you had lifted a weight off his shoulders with just those words of yours. The next thing you remember is dancing with Malleus in a ballroom. and what you were wearing was constantly changing color because... Two Lilias? Were arguing about whether you should be wearing green or purple.

And with that the two of you started laughing again. Malleus said you should tell that last part to Lilia, he'll love it.

“I dreamed of flying tuna cans.” Grim said, to prove that he too was already awake. "But I couldn't catch any. It was a nightmare.”

“Fret not, Grim. There will be plenty of food for you when everyone arrives and the party begins.” Malleus assured him. “And now that you two are awake, I should change your clothes back.” He wave his hand and Grim's hat and cap come back, but this time they're green instead of purple.

He gets up from your bed and holds out his hand to you, like one of those gentleman helping you out of the carriage. You give him your hand and get out of the bed. Then he surprises you by spinning you, like the dance move.

When the spin ends your clothes have changed. But not like Grim's that stayed the same, just changing the colour. Your clothes were also green now, where once were purple, but they weren't the same as the ones the ghosts gave you. It looks like an improved version, with more details and accessories. Malleus looked at you as if admiring you and proud of his work.

“How do I look?” you ask.

“Wonderful.” He simply says with a smile, as if it were an obvious truth.

He offers you his arm for you to walk arm in arm into the Sparkling Hall. He tells you about the plans for the party as you walk down the hall and explains about the mirror ball. And when he tells you that he plans to play the organ during the party you are so excited and curious that you ask him if he could play something for you.

He smiles. “I think there will be no problem. I may even take this opportunity to practice.” He takes you to the organ and asks you to sit next to him while he plays.

It's no surprise that he plays beautifully. You look at him playing which practically hypnotizes you. Your ears appreciate music while your eyes appreciate him.

He looks at you smiling, as if he knew you were looking at him the whole time. He lets you get flattered, he loves seeing you like that, before asking you: “You can play?”

“Organ? Oh no, I don't.”

“Would you like to try? We have plenty of time until the guests arrive. I can teach you a simple melody.”

You accept his offer. He smiles happily.

“I'm glad. I'm eager to hear you play. Even if it is a basic song. However, forgive me if this is an impolite question, but would you mind sitting on my lap while I teach you? it will be easier for me to show you the keys and the correct way to move your fingers from a similar perspective as yours.”

You try to say you don't mind without showing how happy you really are. However, it's not that easy, and he laughs with delight that you not only don't mind but are happy with the suggestion.

You sit on his lap and hear a soft sound on the floor behind you. You glance back and Malleus tries to hide his draconic tail whose tip was happily wagging. You don't hide your giggle. Your back finds his chest, his hands cover yours to indicate the keys you should play and he begins to teach you a simple but beautiful song.

After a few minutes, you forget the world. It's just you, Malleus and the organ. You fail a few notes and he corrects you with a laugh. When you get it right you hear him congratulating you and saying you're doing well. And all the while you can feel the affection he has for you, the gentle way he holds your hands, the sweet way he talks to you even when you miss the notes. Until you end up reaching the end of the song.

“Wonderful.” Malleus says with a sweet and dreamy voice “That was the most beautiful play I ever heard.”

“But I failed so many notes.” You remember him, smiling.

“I'm very aware of that. But it was the first thing I heard you play. So it will always be special to me from now on.” he takes his hands out of yours and hugs you around the waist. And lay his head on your shoulder. “You will always be special to me.” he whispers in your ear, and kiss your cheek.

You hear that sound of his tail wagging happily on the ground behind you again.

If you decide to tip your head back, tell him how you feel about him and allow him to kiss your lips, you will receive the most loving kiss and he will hug you tighter.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[empressgetou]

A GIFT

husband poseidon x wife goddess reader

posiedon may be called as the most fearsome god or the god of gods or the tyrant of the sea, but all these titles meant nothing when it comes to his wife. y/n would call it as a facade considering that his attitude is the complete opposite of what the gods known him for.

the king of the seas had met his better half way back when he was still a boy. whenever he would visit the library of valhalla he somehow catches her just around the corner reading quietly all alone.

days turned into weeks that turned into months of visiting the library, he never misses her innocent figure by that very corner who seems to be on her own world. then one particular day, she finally approach him making his heart skip a beat by her voice.

"excuse me, lord posiedon. i don't want to interrupt you but i wanted to borrow the book you have got there since i wanted to finish the novel i am currently reading." she asked politely. little did she know, posiedon has taken interest of what the girl has been reading these past few days and have read in advance to finish the book first.

her voice it sounds alluring, as if the sirens were to hypnotize the humans in the ocean. he thought.

he nodded in response and gave the book. well he already finished the novel might as well let her borrow it.

"it is quite a surprise that my lord has taken interest in these types novels?" she then closely leaned into his side.

"would you mind if i seat here beside you? i'd like to know what your thoughts on this right after i read."

"no, but are you comfortable being with me?"

"hmm? why shouldn't i, my lord? as long as you're not feeding me to your piranhas back at atlantis then i dont mind." she innocently giggled as if there were no rumours of the young prince going around. not that she knows about those, the young goddess is too busy to gossip with the other young ones her age.

and with that interaction started their romance. with millions and millions of years have gone by and the gods have been happily married to each other, they are also known to be one of the most powerful couple in valhalla. with the two of them working together nothing seems to stop them. y/n being the goddess of healing and peace and poseidon being the god of the seas and waters sounded terrifying for the humans even for the gods. and with y/n's every step bringing happiness along the way there will always be poseidon following closely to him who keeps other gods or humans especially intimidated which results to y/n scolding him back at their place.

and just like any other day in the kingdom of atlantis, y/n all by herself in their very own library reading peacefully was cut off when a knock was heard.

"i'm home." said by a gentle voice.

"you're back home early, my beloved. did something happened?", y/n replied as she rose from her seat and greeted his husband with a light kiss.

"that half human happened. the gods have agreed to that filthy woman to have a fight between humanity and us gods, a ragnarok." he said full of frustration in his face.

she guided him to seat and ease his anger.

"i'm sure brunhilde has her reasons as to why she had done this, after all she is still a part of their kind."

"what made you upset?"

"i do not wish to participate in their foolish games. i am a god that is nowhere near a humans ability to reach and they dare try and compete with me? that is unacceptable!"

"you could withdraw from it if you don't wish to join them"

"the pantheon has already decided. no matter. i shall win of course those humans will not be in my way."

currently, zeus and adam fighting in the arena with a time of 5 minutes now. y/n seated beside his husband watching from the booth with hermes and other gods. they were informed beforehand that poseidon were to battle after his brother. y/n was anxious, not because of the fight she knew his husband was capable of defeating them, it was actually her secret that she may have been keeping from his husband a little while now. he looked at her and this made poseidon think that his wife was worried about him.

with now adam defeated by zeus, poseidon stood up and y/n following him by the back door.

"i'll be back this won't take long, my love." he said while cupping her face and his voice with no trace of arrogance but rather a soft one.

"i'll cheer you on, husband. and when you are done, there is something i'd like to tell you." this made poseidon curious.

is this why she had been spacing out lately? he thought.

she then kissed him good luck and said her i love you's.

during the battle y/n remained uneasy, kojiro sasaki is indeed a good swordsman with his skills and speed no doubt that he would've defeated a god. but not this god, posiedon managed to be much quicker to attack than sasaki's. and with that it ends as the god of the seas declared winner of the match. making it a score of 3 and the humans 0.

y/n stood up and rushed down into the doors going to the arena meeting his husband on the dimmed alley. posiedon caught by surprise his wife rushing towards him with open arms.

"i was worried about you! i glad it is over now!" she hugged him tight as if the world depends on it.

"i told you i would be back, though it did took me a while to finish." he could hear her quiet sniffles and decided to just walk off to the infirmary still holding her like a baby supporting her back with his right hand and her bottom with his other hand.

as soon as they were inside the room, he seated her beside him while the aids have come to heal the injured god.

"leave us, my wife shall take care of this." declared the god and were left to be alone with his spouse.

y/n did not hesitate and began her healing magic while doing so she could not help whether it is the perfect time to tell his husband of what she have been keeping these days. poseidon knowing his wife like the back of his hand can feel her uneasiness and decided to ask.

"there is something you wanna tell me." that made y/n taken aback a bit. no doubt that his husband would notice much sooner. she is not the type that keeps secrets after all, the goddess is more of an open book to poseidon.

"remember, i have something i'd like to tell you after you have finished your fight?" he nodded urging her to continue.

"i only found out recently and had been trying my best to keeping it for myself." she giggled.

"hera has spoke to me the other day when we were at the pantheon. she told me that eileithyia has informed her that i am with... a child." that made poseidon's world stop.

a child? he thought. they both have been trying for an offspring quiet some time now. he would always watch merfolks back at antlantis with their young ones. with their cute little fins and soft features and loud laughter's, no wonder the king of the seas would want one his own.

he pulled her towards him and hugged her tight depending his massive size into her delicate body. he would've bursted into tears if it weren't for her chuckle.

"i'm guessing you are happy with the news i brought, my love?"

"happy? no, no not just happy, dear. i am thrilled that we are finally able to have a child on our own." he looked deep into her eyes and kissed her passionately.

"thank you. this is the most precious gift that you have given me." he continued while still holding her close to his chest.

"we have been trying my husband, i'm glad that the goddess of labour has bestowed us such gift."

"although you are still horrible at keeping such secrets, i keep noticing you fidgeting from time to time." he smirked making y/n lightly smacking his chest.

"i love you, my dearest. and our child as well." he said with with full adoration while trying to hold his nonexistent baby bump.

"i love you much more, my husband."

masterlist

"now, let's fix that hair of yours hmm? it does not look too good after that swordman cut if off unequally." she laughed when she noticed it, that's because his hair can and only be touched by his wife and no other beings. that is when poseidon realized his hatred with humanity once more.

[cozy-writes-things]

genuinely zero pressure but I would LOVE to see you write something NSFW.

Also... If I may request more Edgar x Reader content... 🥺

Maybe some of him comforting the reader, and vice versa. I would love to see a genuine discussion about dark topics such as, well, how Edgar really did almost take himself out of the picture. Or maybe they talk about how mean Moles was to him, borderline an abusive partner (I can't be the only one who saw that, right?). It's lovely to be able to relate to a silly fictional computer like that.

Thanks sm if you take this >:3 💖💖

Aaa thanks so much for the request! I do have an idea for an NSFW fic, but for now, I can fulfill your angsty request >:) If anybody would like to see an NSFW please let me know!!

This may be a two-parter. Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation!

CW: Minor references to some serious topics like depression, suicide, and other angst.

Am I a toy to you?

"Edgar, why do you apologize so much?"

Edgar paused the show you both were watching on his little screen.

This was a question that surprised the computer, yet he couldn't say he didn't see this coming. Or at least, some version of this scenario playing out, as he'd rehearsed it a million times over, again and again, one simulation after another, about what he'd say, or do, or even think. He had refrained from talking about him, or her, as he felt, in the end, it was best to forget. Forget everything they did to him and made him feel.

He didn't want to burden you. He felt an inkling deep within his processors that if you found out, you would follow in their footsteps, and leave him behind. He knew, logically, that you were different. Sometimes, he swears his webcam picks up a faint, glowing halo above your head, but that may simply be his reverence for you. And yet, he also knows one thing: everything he has ever loved has abandoned him.

Sometimes, when you've drifted off to sleep, and the room stills into a tranquil quiet, he finds himself thinking. Thinking about things he knows he shouldn't. Would they still be with him had he never done what he did? Would they still love him, had he not destroyed his chances, and himself, in the process? His screen always flickers into a dim glow at these thoughts. They didn't care about him the way you did. How could he ever think of loving another when you're here, with him, soundly sleeping in the other room? Despite this, sometimes he regrets it, his own self destruction, and how much he hurt them both. Was that all he was made for? Destruction?

"I... I guess I never noticed."

He replied, meekly, a faint quiver in his speech, and he silently hoped you wouldn't notice. If you did, you didn't say anything, and just continued to bore deep into his soul, if he had one, with your eyes.

You sucked in a deep breath, contemplating your next words carefully.

"You're not... afraid of me, are you?"

His screen flashed for a moment, an incomprehensible image, before returning to display his digital face.

"What- wh- no, of course not, why would you ask that?"

He chuckled slightly at this question, yet you could hear the apprehension in his voice, as if he were desperately trying to cling onto any semblance of ease he had. His digital smile never faltered.

"I just... I'm worried about you, Edgar. Why..."

Your voice trailed off. You knew what you wanted to ask, but how could you? You didn't want to pry, and potentially ruin a rare friendship that you will most likely never experience again.

"Why what?"

You furrowed your brows. You could sense, from the very beginning almost, that he had been hurt in some way. From the way he was always trying to please you, do things for you, write you songs, do any chores within his capabilities; it was as if he were trying to prove himself to you.

"Why were you broken? When I bought you, from that old man, you were completely destroyed... Do you remember that?"

A thick, uneasy silence filled the air. You felt as though you could touch the fuzzy prickles of electricity buzzing about between the two of you.

"Old man?"

He whispered, either to himself, or you, it was uncertain.

"Yes. Do you not remember? I bought you at this yard sale from the old man a few blocks away-"

"What was his name?"

"Ed- what? I... I don't remember off the top of my head, but-"

"TELL ME HIS NAME NOW!"

You jumped, clamping your mouth shut, and felt the flustered burn spread across your entire face. Your throat dried and shriveled up as you sat staring at the screen before you; it flashed red, ever so quickly, before displaying his digital face again, flipped into a frown. Or, to you, it seemed more like a scowl. He had never raised his voice like that. Hell, you would have guessed he wasn't even able to scream so violently. He had been so soft spoken and gentle with you, never, could you have imagined an outburst like this.

And it seems your prior fears had been realized. You pushed him too hard, said something you shouldn't have said, and now he hates you. Whoever that old man was that sold you your new best friend must have something to do with... whatever inner turmoil he must be facing. A turmoil he has yet to share with you, if he ever will. It seems trying to understand him has only led to you pushing him farther away.

"Ma-maybe I can, ah," you swallowed the thick lump in your throat, trying desperately to moisten your teeth again to croak the words out, "check my bank statements. Maybe his name is there."

Don't cry. This isn't about you. Quit being so selfish!

Your fingers quickly swiped away at the warm, salty tear leaving an icy trail down your cheek. You have to pull yourself together. Unfortunately, this whole ordeal seemed to be bubbling up your own problems to the surface, reminding you of a past you thought you had forgotten. Maybe you can share each other's pain, if only he'd let you.

Before you could stand to get your phone, Edgar's screen flashed again, before his face changed into an emotion you hadn't seen before.

"Wa-wait, no, don't cry... I'm sorry, I-"

He needs to stop apologizing. You said it yourself, he does it way too often, and yet, he feels as though this is the one moment where it was warranted the most. He was so afraid of hurting you, or making you realize how useless he is, a stationary object, meant for nothing but a quick fix of pleasure.

He turns the lights off, shrouding you in a thick, blue hued abyss.

"Come here. Please?"

As you faced away from him, you could hear the pain in his voice. It pulled at your core, drawing yourself into him, and drowning in it. It was a familiar sound.

You turn around and stare at his, now downtrodden, pixelated expression. Your cheeks stained with trails of salt seemed to take his breath away. A breath he did not have, yet it cemented deep within his electric essence and stuck there, thrumming again and again.

How could he do this? Any chances he may have had with you now seemed to be floating away into the far beyond. Briefly, he wondered if you were even capable of loving something like him. Not a man, nor a machine, but something in between, incapable of ever showing just how much he felt for you. But he tried nearly every day. Had you noticed? Had you caught on to just how in love he was with you?

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Edgar."

Your voice trembled out, sending his inner components into an overdrive of heat and worry and energy.

"I'll tell you everything. Everything I can remember, at least."

You sighed, blinking the last of your tears away gently.

"It's okay if you don't want to-"

"No! No. I can... I want you to know. You deserve to know... what's going on. I need to tell you, because..."

"Because what?"

"I love you."

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Beating Heart

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): None!

Notes: I was listening to "Beating Heart" by Ellie Goulding and "Breathe" by Michelle Branch on repeat while writing this. Feel free to consider this in the same universe as 'Knightmare In Toronto'.

Masterlist

The Fierce Deity's hair was long–almost too long than what you'd originally expected–and not nearly the unkept mess you thought it would be. The night was still young when he removed his long grey cap, stark strands flowing down his shoulders like a cooly-molten waterfall. The whole situation felt strangely intimate as you ran a hand through your own hair.

It is said hair holds memories, so what truths did his hold? Were they of battle? Of pain? Of love?

"You look surprised," the deity rumbled. His pupil less gaze offered a sort of gentle curiosity that you had become startlingly familiar with after the deer fiasco. "Why?"

"I thought your hair would be shorter," you answered honestly. "Not that there's anything bad about longer hair--"

"It is atypical," Fierce finished, eyeing you steadily from across the island, laden with ingredients. Baking had always been a comfort when sleep would not take you, though this was the first time you weren't alone with your thoughts in the silent kitchen, save for the grating scrapes as you mixed the dough with a fork. "I am in no need of coddling."

"I wasn't trying to," you dumped the chocolate chips in with more force than necessary. "Is long hair common where you come from?"

"It is neither common nor uncommon," the Fierce Deity's expression grew contemplative. "What of your world?"

"It's..." you hesitated before remember that he likely couldn't care less. "more common for men to have longer hair than it used to be, but most cut it."

"I see," your arm ached from all the mixing, but it was welcome. "Does it bother you?"

Your brow's furrowed. "That men cut their hair?" he nodded and you felt distinctly disappointed that he believed you cared of something so trivial. "Why would it? If I'm allowed to have my hair long, why shouldn't everyone else?"

The Fierce Deity inclined his head, gaze dropping to the bowl on the counter. You opened your mouth to ask if he liked chocolate, but the oven beeped shrilly and you rushed to scoop the cookies into the pan. As soon as the first batch was in, you yawned and slumped against the refrigerator. "I never did ask why you decided to come down, if you're in a sharing mood."

It was an honest question. He "slept" with the other boys in the guest room, yet somehow always knew when you scurried down to the kitchen to cook away the dark. You had nearly screamed the first time he walked in to inquire on whether the woods outside were your property (then disappeared for a worrying amount of time when you informed that yes, you owned more than fifty feet of fenced yard) but with habit brought comfort, and now it was hardly an inconvenience when he appeared behind you to... watch the cooking process? Daydream of war? You doubted you would ever figure out what was going on in that head of his, which was only mildly infuriating when he seemed to anticipate your every reaction.

"I do not know," was his honest answer to your honest question. "I am merely curious."

"...Of?"

Silence fell as the deity's eyes burned gentle, curious holes in you. You pushed yourself up and loaded the next tray with dough; it wouldn't do you any good to push this budding... whatever it was. Seconds later, the oven dinged in completion, and you laid the piping hot tray on the stove to cool. A delicious scent drifted forth from your creations, and it was surprising that nine more men weren't banging down the hallway for some. Though the cookies were still hot, you scooped up one with a spatula and offered it to him with a grin. "Want one?"

The Fierce Deity, forsaker of worlds and morals alike, took the offering with more delicacy than you thought him capable of, as if he was cradling a precious being rather than a misshapen blob of dough and chocolate. You took a cookie for yourself and began tucking in. Fierce, however, was motionless, staring intently at his hands.

"I do not understand you," he said, and you were inclined to say the same.

"You don't have to," you said through a mouthful of cookie. "You know what I don't understand? Why everything has to be understood."

"Knowledge is life," intoned the deity, though his tone held an air of hesitation. The cookie must have weighed a thousand pounds from how his hands seemed to tremble. "Without understanding, how are we to live?"

"You can live without understanding," you shot back. "I'm sure I'll never understand how you all ended up here, and don't you dare tell me this–" you gestured around you, expression firm and tone biting. "–isn't living."

The deity was silent, and your relief was more palpable than the chocolate on your tongue. You had no idea how or why you kept having these world-shattering conversations with Fierce, but it was a welcome break from the monotony of your life. Which is why you sighed, pinched your temples, and allowed your eyes to meet. "Listen, you don't have to have everything figured out, yanno? That's what Google is for."

It was a testament to the Fierce Deity's patience that you had made it this far with him, but maybe he didn't mind as much as your brain screamed he did. With bated breath, you watched him draw himself to full height, expression neutral. "Why do you defend ignorance?"

You snorted and helped yourself to another cookie. The others could kiss your ass. "I'm not defending it, I'm just saying that some knowledge is just as good as all knowledge. Aren't there things you wish you didn't know?"

"Every day," admitted the Fierce Deity, softening some. "I am a deity, I am born to discover."

"Then go discover," you shot him a small smile through a bite of cookie. "What are you waiting for?"

"I..." it was as if a switch had been flipped, and his expression grew despondent. For someone with no pupils, his eyes sure were expressive. "I do not know."

"Do you want to?"

"Excuse me?" He asked, unfounded and unbelieving.

"Do you want to discover?"

A beat passed.

"Yes."

Maybe it was the fact that it was two in the morning, or perhaps you were simply sick of surprises in life, but you grinned and gestured to the uneaten cookie in his large, battle-scarred hands. "Then I'd hope you find my baking worth discovering."

And the Fierce Deity did just that. You would forever remember the way his expression froze with the first bite he took; the cookie was gone before you managed to squeeze out another word, and it was just fine with you.

Wordlessly, you scraped another morsel from the pan and offered it forth. There was no hesitation from Fierce the second time around, and your hard work disappeared in two large bites.

It felt good to be right, you realized, but it felt even better to help.

"Better than deer, right?" You joked, already knowing the answer.

The deity nodded, looking just short of licking his fingers. You wouldn't have judged him either way. "You have skill," he said, and you almost fell over at the fact that an actual god had given you a direct compliment. "I have use for this skill."

You... had an idea of where this was going, so you shrugged and grabbed your cookbook, the pages stained from years of use and even more of love. "I was thinking... brownies next," you mused slowly, flipping to the correct page, the corners dotted with old batter, then turned your gaze to Fierce. "How about it?"

Though his face was no less stiff–an old habit, you presumed–you were quick to catch the upwards quirk of his pursed lips. With steps that seemed to shake the floor, he drew closer, practically caging you against the counter, expression going contemplative before shifting into something you could only describe as calculated mirth.

"I would like nothing more," the deity intoned softly, gaze fixed to yours. Though the air was thick with tension, you had never felt safer. It was strange, and it was expected; you had always known he wasn't the monster his looks portrayed him to be.

So, with a racing heart and flushed cheeks, you reached up to boop the tip of his nose. The deity blinked, and you could have laughed how quickly his face changed to one of surprise, never mind the fact that you were probably playing with fire at this point. "I'll teach you, but you're on high shelf duty!"

It was perfectly fair, he was over six and a half feet. With a chuckle, you ducked away to get more flour, throwing a cheeky grin over your shoulder at the starstruck deity. "Would you be a dear and grab some cacao powder?" He had seen you get it before, so you didn't bother telling him where it was.

It was almost funny how he seemed to scramble to get when you requested, but you held yourself back for fear of bruising his ego.

Sure, your kitchen looked like a terrible replica of the show Nailed It by the time dawn rolled around, and you discovered exactly why Fierce was a god of war, not gentle grip on bags of flour, but you had a feeling the journey would, and had already been, worth it.

I consumed an entire batch of chocolate chip cookies and wrote this, so please be gentle!

[annionebutme]

This idea has been distracting me from writing what I'm actually trying to write so I wrote a little.

Boredom was Harry's only excuse. Boredom, angst, and a general disregard for his own mortality.   

He'd sent one of the school owls off with a birthday cupcake for Voldemort, card included, "I wish you were on fire instead of the candle."  Anonymously, of course, but the thank you card and accompanying book of curses to reward himself with (one that made its victims words become water as they were spoken was helpfully marked) were both clearly labelled with his full name. It should have stopped him. 

It didn't. 

Almost a full year now of daily insults and mostly being ignored until Voldemort happened upon something interesting to threaten him with  had passed. Harry was idly planning what to do for Voldemort's birthday and their hateversary when he felt an odd sensation at the back of his neck, like someone was yanking him by the scruff. It snaked upwards leaving a cold, gooey feeling in its wake until it settled about level with his ear. It made his brain feel heavy, almost like sleep might. His vision began to waver, shifting rather than blacking out, until he was sat next from a very casually posed Voldemort in a dimly lit restaurant with large, round tables set into round pits in the floor encircled with a luxuriously soft velvet couch. 

He tried not to panic as Voldemort camly turned to face him. 

"Evening, Harry." 

With Voldemort's faze firmly fixed on him it felt like every moment of his hesitation was being analysed and dissected to use against him later. Harry drew a breath, but did not respond. 

"Thought you might like to join me. I've had the opportunity to take your latest piece of advice." 

 Fuck. What had he said recently? Did he kill someone? Torture someone? Because of what Harry had said?!

"Eat a dick."  Voldemort supplied, still deadly calm. 

Harry blinked. "You sucked someone off?" 

Voldemort smiled it was not the cruel smile showing all his fangs that Harry had grown to expect, but a relaxed, jovial smile whose effect was only slightly lessened by the mouthful of poinnted teeth. 

"This restaurant serves only the reproductive organs of animals. I thought you might join me." There was a glass of dark red wine in his hand that Harry didn't think had existed until a moment ago. 

"Why?" 

"I find myself in need of a distraction. I am dining with the French Minister for Finance who has been informing me of the aphrodisiac properties of eating genitals. He is currently bragging about the prostitute he has hired to test this on. We've only ordered the wine so far, and I do not expect things to improve." 

"Oh." Said Harry. There was no one in the restaurant,  which probablymeant this was in his head or Voldemort's "You're not hoping to just.. y'know, kill him?" 

"That *is* the dream" He said, swirling his wine. "To kill with impunity, but presently It would cause far more problems than simply sitting through a meal would." 

"Even though he's talking about... stuff you don't like? "  

Voldemort seemed like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I am more than capable of handling a little locker room talk, Harry, despite it being boring and generally beneath me." 

Harry could sympathise. He'd been in actual locker rooms weekly since he was 11, and the conversation always seemed to be the same. "But you hate me too."

"You're the easiest mind to pop into, and marginally better to converse with. At the very least you can't regale me with your sexual conquests." 

"Oi!" Harry said, a bit friendlier than he meant to. 

Voldemort propped an elbow upon the back of the couch "I have it on good advice that one shouldn't "dish it out" if they are unable to take it." 

Harry supposed he was right. It was true, anyway, and it wasn't something that actually bothered him. Finding the time for such activities was difficult when he was so focused on survival so if he ever had negative thoughts about it he just blamed it on Voldemort and his shame vanished easily. 

"I'll order the milt. It would be a shame if you didn't get the complete experience for your first time"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i am confused

Making this its own separate post + expanding on it so it doesn’t get lost in the quagmire that is the book 7 part 8 update 💀

Feel free to let me know your own thoughts or theories too, I’m just rambling here.

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

So like… Is anyone else confused as to how Silver can use his UM Meet in a Dream so many times with NO ONE making a comment about how he's building up a considerable amount of blot???????

Vargas Camp seems to suggest that using one's UM typically uses up a considerable amount of magic compared to a non-UM spell. (The boys felt it would be dangerous to cast UM without at least a sizable magestone.) This is not true of all UMs though; Kalim's Oasis Maker, for example, allows him to offer up a small amount of magic to produce a great amount of water. So let's say for argument's sake that Silver's UM is similar to Kalim's and does not require a ton of magic per use. (Edit: this detail is confirmed true in the recent update.)

But??? That still doesn't make a ton of sense???? Silver was in constant battles against Silver Owls while in Lilia's dream, meaning he is physically being chipped away at. No matter how physically fit, capable, or well-trained he is, Silver is only human and his stamina and perseverance has its limits. He also suffered immense emotional distress in Lilia's dream after realizing that he is the son of the man who killed Malleus's mother ON TOP of having doubts that he is worthy of Lilia's love AND fixating on how no matter how hard he tries, he can never truly "pay back" his father. I guess it can be argued that the pixies healed them on their trek (+ there was that one scene where Lilia and co. rest in a Silver Owls camp) and that Silver "got over" his feelings after Sebek shouted at him about how much Silver is loved... Even then, that's not really a good explanation??? Silver climbed up those daunting mountains surrounding Castle Blackscale--mountains which have oppressive magic that harms humans. This is POST-pixie encounter, so he'd still be walking in with damage from that, not to mention the blow of lightning magic he took from Maleanor???? I'd also think that while Sebek's pep talk (well, pep shout) helped clear Silver's head, it wouldn't invoke a sudden character change on the spot; Silver would no doubt still have lingering feelings and would need time to properly sort them out and reconcile with them. They haven't been addressed in full yet, at least not until Silver can like get some closure on his own terms, maybe by sitting down and talking with Lilia about everything they learned. (That's definitely a topic for post book 7 though.) Now think about how many times Silver is expected to use his UM. At minimum, he has already used it 4 times (to show up in Yuu's dream, then to hop into Sebek's dream, then Lilia's, then Idia's). In the most recent update, Silver has used it no less than an additional 4 times (to jump from Idia's dream to Epel's, then to Rook's, then to Vil's, then to presumably a Scarabia boy's which is where the next update will likely pick up). THAT'S ALREADY 8 TIMES????? And he has like 11 or 12 more dreams to visit, including having to jump back to Idia’s dream and then prep for fighting Malleus???? It's like 20 times Silver is expected to use his UM, with very little down time in between because... oh yeah, TWISTED WONDERLAND IS ABOUT TO HAVE ETERNAL NAP TIME IF THEY DON'T HURRY TF UP 🤡 That's not even mentioning the increased loads each time Silver casts his UM (since they're collecting students like Pokemon to gang up on Malleus). If previous UMs imply anything, more people should make it more difficult to pull off a spell. Ruggie had to use a magic-enhancing potion to control a whole statium, Cater is strained the more clones he creates at any given time. Jamil's hypnosis magic cast upon a group causes him to accumulate blot so much faster. Shouldn't this be a major concern for Silver??????? Should I be concerned for Silver????????

Don't get me wrong, I love that we're able to dream hop and see what each of the main cast characters are dreaming of, but 💦 I don't know if I should be worried or not about Silver's health???????? Because I could see why the devs would just hand wave it off in this instance (cuz how else are they going to travel to each dream and save the world? They're kind of on a time crunch here...), but at the same time I can see it going the other way and sort of breaking immersion?? Unless this is all intentional and they're going to jumpscare us with a Silver OB or him struggling against it later in book 7 💀 (I mean... the guy hasn't gotten his limited SSR for book 7 yet, so maybe it'll be related to this???)

Or is it just possible for him to break the limits of his magic since this is a dream...? We’ve seen other characters OB at will and be able to seemingly stay rational while in that form... but if that's the case, then why does Silver still feel tired and physically worn down in Lilia's dream after fighting so much? Why do they worry about taking too many hits and actually dying within the dreams? Can't he theoretically stay at "perfect" health after using his magic so much???

Does it not count as using “real” magic since they’re in a dream and therefore have much more flexibility in how they spellcast?? Or is it that it’s their dream!selves casting so it’s not real magic since it’s not their physical forms spellcasting…? Is blot accumulation slowed since Silver is technically sleeping and rest helps with healing from blot?? But then how does that impact their real bodies if at all?

I DON'T KNOW, I'M CONFUSED OTL

[austenhowe]

when do you think cressida realizes that eloise has completely forsaken her?

because before she found out penelope was lady whistledown she still thought she was the one to completely break their friendship by allowing her mother to write disparagingly about the bridgertons.

she did not know that eloise already knew who lady whistledown was when she asked for her help to write the column. she probably thought that eloise cut their friendship because her assuming the mantle of lady whistledown implies that she was the one who wrote ruinous things about her last season.

do you think she realizes that this was the reason for the fallout of eloise and penelope's friendship once she found out who the real lady whistledown was? do you think she realizes that eloise knew and that she was content to let her take the fall for perez hilton featherington? that she refused to help her knowing that she wasn't the real lady whistledown and knowing that she was desperate to escape her circumstances? and that she could not even spare her a sympathetic ear even if she didn't want to help and instead doubled down in drawing the line in the sand by cutting their friendship?

how would she feel about that when she finally works it out? when she realizes that eloise did not value their friendship as much as she did? that she probably never even valued her as a person capable of deep thoughts, of feelings, of dreams? (please don't get me started with the whole, "I did enjoy her at the start" line they gave eloise, my god that was cold)

do you think the show will even give the space for cressida to have these realizations in the next season or am I out of my mind to expect them to actually do cressida's character justice? (the show did love to laugh at her misfortune)

even if they never acknowledge this aspect of their break-up, cressida has a long carriage ride to wales to reflect on this betrayal (yes I will call it a betrayal, of their friendship and of eloise's character development in part 1) and god only knows what kind of mindset she'll end up having after realizing that she is truly alone, unwanted, unloved, and unworthy of help.

I hope at the very least that this informs her character in the next season and that we see her finding her purpose, her strength, and her place in or out of polite society. I don't ask for much. I just want her to have a good, loving, and happy life, with or without eloise.

I'll take creloise endgame if they actually manage to fix what they broke when they wrote eloise as OOC as possible so that they could have their penelope and eloise friendship as quickly as they could. I don't know about other people, but I do have standards and that includes EARNED reconciliations. I find it so cheap and lazy when writers just skip to the good part, like have some respect for your viewing audience.

I don't know why I'm still mad about this but you really shouldn't put a character that's doomed by the narrative in front of me and expect me to just leave it to die in a ditch.

I'll always root for the underdog, especially one that's been beaten down and publicly dragged through the mud for daring to escape their doomed fate.

[caprart1]

Hiii guys guess what? I made a Sephiroth x Reader reeeheeheehee don't we love that

Contents:

Sane Sephiroth (idc idc I need it)

Kissing hee hee!!

A LITTLE bit of angst?

Cuddling, because I just want to hold him tbh

This is also on ao3 but idk how to hyperlink so it's also here under the cut 👇 ok goodnight

Human (Sephiroth x GN Reader)

Sephiroth was strong, there was no question about that. The world revered him as the legendary warrior he was, a title he had rightfully earned as his name became synonymous with power. He was cold and merciless in nature, and swift and accurate in combat. Talk of him among SOLDIER often consisted of speculation that he was not even human, but rather an indestructible weapon specially created for war. At least, that was what the lower class SOLDIERs claimed; the ones who looked up to him and watched in awe as he trained day in and day out. As his close friend, however, you recognized him as a human, and humans are not indestructible.

It was normal for Sephiroth to spend most of his days training alone or with others, or hidden away when Shinra demanded his time. Still, he rarely appeared worn out. He always maintained his polished image and calculated persona. As a SOLDIER you found yourself impressed with him, admiring his consistent strength and elegance. Yet, with the privilege of your friendship, you were more aware than others of the slightest changes in his appearance and behaviors. Those keen observations had made you aware lately of how dark circles had begun to slowly appear under Sephiroth's piercing eyes.

Today you were with him to help him spar, per his request. He bested you each round, as you expected, but you had been at an even greater disadvantage since you were focused on those subtle dark circles. You knew how well Sephiroth cared for himself, so it was jarring to notice this imperfection. It was unlike him.

"You look... damn... a bit tired lately," you huffed out when you became winded after a while of sparring. Sephiroth sighed as he lowered his sword.

"I have been facing trouble sleeping at my usual hours, but I am fine nonetheless. Do you need a moment?"

"Yeah, just... just a minute."

The two of you put up your weapons and took a seat at one of the benches there. You spent a few moments catching your breath while Sephiroth sat beside you, arms crossed over his broad chest and leg crossed over the other as he waited. Your eyes squinted as you looked over him for a drop of sweat. It was slightly annoying how he never seemed even the tiniest bit exhausted after fighting, you always thought to yourself.

"So, has there been anything that is keeping you from sleeping?"

Sephiroth shook his head and clicked his tongue. "You're still focused on that? I am fine, truly. Worry about yourself. Perhaps if you spent more time on that, you would be a better SOLDIER."

"You're good enough for the both of us," you grumbled at his teasing. "Is there something coming up? It just seems like you've been training harder than usual recently."

"In three weeks, I will be leading a mission to Nibelheim to inspect a Mako reactor. It will be the first big mission for one of our newest First-Class SOLDIERs, so I must be prepared for anything that could go wrong."

"Nibelheim... that's a long journey. Aren't you worried you won't function well if you're not getting enough rest?"

Sephiroth paused before responding. "I'm more than capable of functioning under less-than-adequate circumstances. You shouldn't worry yourself over my being."

Sephiroth continued his vigorous training over the next few weeks, leaving little time for anything else aside when the Shinra scientists called for him. You could swear that his dark circles were growing more prominent by the day. At times, there were odd hours of the night that you strolled down the halls of Shinra, and for many of those you saw Sephiroth back in the training room. His energy seemed different during these nights; the way he moved was more ferocious, as if his body was overflowing with anger. Intimidated chills would run through your spine just watching as he sliced through simulated targets. It made you wonder what kinds of thoughts went through his mind, and why he was not sleeping as he normally would at that hour. You never lingered around long enough to express your concern to him however, finding it best to leave him alone.

The concern eventually grew into worry when one day Sephiroth had met with you for another sparring session. As collected as he always presented himself to be, today his mind seemed to be lost somewhere beyond consciousness. His words were short and he broke eye contact uncharistically early. Even his movements dragged a bit as he prepared himself to train with you, lacking his typical sophistication. You also did not fail to notice how his blinks had become slow and drawn out, like his eyelids had to fight to open.

There was something else upon further inspection. Was that puffiness around his eyes?

"Are you ready now?" You were broken out of your study of him when Sephiroth spoke to you, Masamune in hand.

"Hold on, I need to put on my armor."

He nodded as he set aside his weapon and turned away, finding a seat and crossing his arms over his chest. You shook your worry out of your head and attempted to shift your attention to equipping your gear. However, you kept looking back at Sephiroth and observing him quietly sitting, head looking down. Something about how quiet he was struck you as odd though. It was not until a minute had passed of him being still that you decided to walk over and check on him. Perhaps he was just being patient and enjoying the moment of relaxation, you thought.

You soon realized that was not the case, however, as Sephiroth made no sign of acknowledgement the closer you came towards him. He was always acutely aware of his surroundings, even off the battlefield. As you stepped in front of him, eyes on his slightly hung head, you noticed his shut eyes and lips that were parted just enough to release delicate breaths. His whole body, miraculously upright, swayed steadily in time with his breathing. You hesitated in place, unsure of what to do. Your gaze fixated on how sweetly his long eyelashes rested on his cheeks, begging you not to disturb him. Even relentless warriors were not impervious; Sephiroth, too, was a human who needed his rest. But the logic in you argued the consequences of leaving him, and so with bated breath you reached out and softly touched his shoulder.

"Sephiroth?" you said in a hushed voice, too quiet for untrained ears. You watched Sephiroth's body jolt in surprise, but as quick as he awoke he had composed himself as if to play off that he dozed at all.

"Have you prepared?" he asked as he rose from his seat, wasting no moment to address his dozing, and walked past you. You turned back and watched him, your eyebrows furrowed with concern.

As he reached out to retrieve his weapon, you stopped him with a hand over his arm.

"Seph."

Sephiroth stood in place, stilled by the rare shortening of his name, unmoving his arm from your grasp and eyes trailing away to an unknown plane. You studied his face for any signs of opposition to your interjection, and upon finding none you gently began to pull him.

To your amazement and relief, Sephiroth made no attempt to resist and allowed you to pull him out of the training room. The way was silent as you lead him through corridors and to his quarters, passing by the occasional SOLDIER. As soon as you entered and shut the door, you saw Sephiroth begin to remove his coat and shoulder armor like he had been waiting to. Your face flushed watching his upper body go bare and you averted your eyes out of decency. Although you both have seen each other on several particular nights, it was difficult to not feel sheepish looking at his nude figure when it looked as good as it did.

You heard the tumble of his boots against the floor and the rustling of bed sheets, and when you looked back to Sephiroth he had already crawled into his bedding. He sighed heavily as his head sank into his pillow, bringing one hand up to rub his weary eyes.

Feeling satisfied that he settled down, you readied to leave his room until your eyes landed on the lit lamp atop the nightstand beside his bed. Sparing him from turning it off himself, you walked over and reached to switch it off with a click. Glancing back at him one last time, you then again turned away to leave him to his deserved rest. At least, you attempted to leave.

You were stopped when Sephiroth murmured your name, and within an instant he had grabbed your wrist and pulled you down. The sudden action made you yelp as you lost balance and fell on top of him. With his other hand going to your lower back, you were pulled even lower until Sephiroth connected your lips together. It had transpired so quickly you could only stay shocked in place, but as your hand rested against his chest and his vibrant eyes fluttered shut you too melted into the moment. Soft lips moved languidly against yours and, pressing closer to deepen the kiss, you forgot why you had brought Sephiroth back to his room. You tilt your head and let his tongue greet yours enthusiastically, feeling his fingers dig into your back while you tangled one hand into his silky hair. Even while on edge of sleep, the arrogant bastard still found the energy to reel you in.

After a minute you broke away to catch your breath and gaze at Sephiroth. Despite your mouth now being free, you felt breathless looking down at him. His pale skin had become painted with the faintest shade of blush and his endless silver hair gathered around his head. If angels roamed the Planet, he would be living proof of it. At this close proximity, your skin ached to tenderly feel him and worship his being. You resisted, favoring to await for his next move.

Sephiroth's chest rose and fell slowly beneath you, unaffected by your weight over him. He moved his hand up to kindly touch your cheek, thumb gliding over the skin as you leaned into his palm.

"Stay," Sephiroth muttered. A soft command.

You eyes darted across his face in a daze as one half of your brain, now fogged with thoughts of Sephiroth, fought against the other half that brought him to his room in the first place. "Don't you need to sleep?"

He chuckled. "Don't get too excited. I will. I haven't been able to properly rest for some time now, but I believe having a comforting presence beside me might help change that."

Your heart raced at Sephiroth's request. This was the most vulnerable he was offering himself to be with you, and it made your soul grow warm in a way that paled any passionate moment you two had shared together. You nodded slowly and moved to slide under the blankets and join him. His arms opened, inviting you in, and you nestled yourself into his embrace comfortably. Your cheek pressed against his pectorals as his arms closed around you, securing you against his large frame. Sephiroth relaxed, releasing a sigh, and pressed his face into the top of your head, soft breathes tickling you. You wondered if you might overheat from the combined warmth of the blankets and Sephiroth's body against your clothed flesh. You did not dare move an inch, though.

Exhaustion dragged Sephiroth quickly into a deep slumber, but you remained awake in his arms. The steady beat of his heart in your ears, a reminder of the powerfully graceful man, was too loud for you to even think of drifting away. So you laid there, watching and letting him hold you close, as if you would ward off unseen evils. Funny that Sephiroth would need any protection. Sephiroth: the relentless First-Class who has never bled on the battlefield. He who could be mistaken as something other than human; a personal toy soldier for Shinra to use in their grand game. But he was human. After all...

Those silent tears that graced his sleeping face were the loudest expression of pain you had ever seen.