#that keeps going back to that final scene

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot) Part 2.

THIS IS A PART 2 - YOU CAN FIND PART 1 HERE Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages.

A/n: OKAY again, i wasn't expecting SO MUCH love to this One shot, i actually wasn't expecting anything tbh, I want to thank @eileenrry for giving me the last push to publish it, ily 🥹. Just a reminder, english is not my first language bare with me with grammar. and it's also my first One shot so be gentle 🥹. Andddd this isn’t the end there’s one more part coming. Anddd please let me know if I missed someone in the tag list, I’m trying to get used to tumblr again after a few years so everything it’s upside down for me.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Use of y/n, slow burn but things catch up quickly at the end, a small vulnerable moment. (idk if it counts as angst, please let me now if i should add another warning)

You froze, gripping your cup as if it could somehow tether you to reality. Your mind raced—what were you supposed to do now? Walk over and say hi? Pretend you didn’t see him? Was he expecting you to make the first move? Or maybe you were just desperately hoping to wake up from this fever dream.

Before you could decide, he pushed off the wall and started walking toward you. Shit. Shit. Shit. Your heart pounded in your chest. Every step he took felt deafening, like the slow-motion build-up to a climactic movie scene.

By the time he reached your table, you were caught between bolting for the door or sinking into your seat to avoid collapsing altogether. You knew him, of course—who didn’t? A few years ago, you even considered going to one of his concerts but didn’t manage to get tickets. It wasn’t something that crushed you; you weren’t the kind of fan to cry yourself to sleep over it. Instead, you shrugged it off with an “Okay, maybe next time.”

What you didn’t know was that “next time” would turn out to be a one-on-one meeting with him in a café, while he tried (and failed) to stay incognito.

“Hi,” he said, sliding off his sunglasses. That voice—his voice—sent a shiver down your spine. And then came that signature, disarming smile. “Is this seat taken?” he asked as he sat down without waiting for an answer. Of course, it wasn’t taken.

You stared at him, frozen, your mouth slightly parted. Every movement he made was deliberate yet casual, like he was completely at ease in this moment. Meanwhile, your brain was still scrambling to process whether this was real life or a fever dream. Somehow, you managed to breathe out a shaky, “Hi.”

For a moment, the space between you was thick with silence, though not uncomfortable—just charged. He gave you a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t entirely sure how to begin.

“I guess this is the part where the serial killer takes the victim,” he said, teasing to break the tension. “Lucky for you, I’m not one—as you can see.”

You blinked, finally finding your voice, though it was a little wobbly. “No, no, I clearly see you’re not a serial killer.” A nervous smile tugged at your lips, trying its best to outshine the chaos of emotions tumbling through you.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah. Guess fate wanted me to see if you’re as interesting in person as you are over text.”

Your face flushed, your mind racing to keep up. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment, disbelief, or something else entirely—a weird kind of thrill that you couldn’t quite place.

“Well,” you said, fighting to steady your voice, “I guess this is where I admit I didn’t think you were real—or at least, not this real.”

“How not ‘this real’?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as curiosity glinted in his eyes. “I mean, I’m way too real right now.”

“Like… I thought I was texting a random Harry,” you said, stumbling through your words, trying to explain yourself without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I’m still a random Harry,” he replied with a small shrug, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. To himself, he was just Harry—not the Harry. You sat there for a moment, considering his words. In some strange way, nothing about him being this Harry changed what you’d already come to know. It didn’t undo the weeks of shared thoughts, the genuine conversations, the effortless way you clicked.

You thought about the little quirks you’d picked up from his texts—the way he used emojis just enough to be endearing but not overkill, the offhanded pictures of random things he’d shared, the teasing yet thoughtful tone that felt so easy to respond to. Famous or not, none of that felt fake.

“You’re right,” you said finally, a small smile breaking through your nervousness. “You’re still just Harry. The same Harry who asked for help picking nail polish colors like it wasn’t a BIG decision for a BIG brand” His laugh came easily, soft but genuine. “Hey, it wasn’t that big, i told you i already had those colors in mind.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “But honestly, I’m glad it was you on the other side of those texts.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse still racing, but his words—and the way he said them—settled something in you. Maybe this wasn’t as surreal as it seemed. Maybe it was just two people who happened to find each other, one text at a time. “Why glad?” you asked, frowning slightly, not quite understanding what he meant. He leaned back a little, a soft smile playing on his lips as he considered his response.

“Because,” he said after a moment, “it’s rare these days to have a conversation that feels real, you know? No filters, no pretense. Just… people being themselves. And with you, it felt like that from the start.”

You blinked, his words hitting a little deeper than you expected.

“I mean, I didn’t know I was texting someone who I needed filters for to begin with,” you joked, trying to lighten the moment. He laughed, the sound warm and easy, a sound that felt like it reached across the table and wrapped around you. “That’s the point,” he said.

You paused, taking in his words. It felt big, weighty, yet oddly simple at the same time. Like he was trying to say something beyond the words themselves, but without complicating it. Instead of overthinking it, you just nodded, letting out a small, genuine smile.  “Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes, “I’m glad it was me, too.”

He didn’t have much time that day, just stopping for a coffee on his way to the studio. You secretly wished this was that rom-com moment because moments like this only existed in movies, right? After some light small talk about the coffee and an exchange of polite goodbyes, he stood up to leave. You stayed behind, frozen, letting it all sink in—this wasn’t a dream. You felt butterflies over a pop star. You’d been talking to him for more than a month without knowing. Suddenly, your boring, predictable life felt like it belonged to someone else. It didn’t even matter what would happen from now on—this was your story.

----

"Morning, Tulip 🌷. Today’s question: Favorite recent album of all time?"

You didn’t expect a text from him the morning after. You figured he’d need time to process the fact that you’d actually met in person. But no, there he was, texting you like nothing had changed, his chill demeanor so endearing it almost made your heart ache.

"Is this a trick question?" you replied, grinning at your phone. "Because I don’t want to hurt your feelings if I don’t say it’s one of your albums."

The thought was surreal—bantering and teasing Harry Styles over text? That was straight out of fanfic material. (A/n: Not me breaking the fourth wall in my first fic lol.)

"Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to say one of my albums," he replied. Of course, he wasn’t.

"‘You’ by Larry Lovestein," you texted back after a moment of thought.

"Love that," he responded quickly.

How was anyone supposed to concentrate on mundane daily tasks after meeting Harry Styles in a café the day before? And not only that, but he was texting you like you were the most interesting person in the world. And—AND—he had a nickname for you! A nickname.

"Y/N?" Gwen’s voice jolted you back to reality. You blinked twice, trying to refocus. "Yes?"

"Coffee?" she asked, smirking knowingly as she handed you a cup. "What’s up with you?" she said, sitting down next to you. 

"Nothing… just… clients, emails," you said quickly, trying to act like your insides weren’t throwing a full-blown party.

"Clients and emails, huh?" Gwen raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I’ve never seen you smile like that over clients and emails."

You swallowed hard, thankful she wasn’t too nosy. You didn’t want to risk sharing too much, not when you were casually texting with Harry Styles. That thought lingered—Why did he trust you? He could’ve easily stayed anonymous. He could’ve walked away from the café and pretended it never happened. Instead, he chose to tell you. It was terrifying to imagine how vulnerable that decision must’ve been for him. What if you were the wrong person? Someone who’d plaster it all over social media the next day? The weight of his trust settled over you, and for the first time, you realized just how fragile this connection was—and how much you wanted to protect it.

You weren’t rushing into anything; neither of you were. It was easy, light, and fun—like reconnecting with a long-lost friend, only this friend was Harry Styles. Over the next month, the “question game” continued, but it evolved. There were more pictures, videos, and now… voice notes. Yes, voice notes. You couldn’t help but replay them at the end of the day, savoring the sound of his voice as if it were a melody written just for you.

The intimacy deepened as more pieces of your lives were shared. Selfies of him at the studio, casual and effortless—selfies meant only for you. These weren’t circulating on Twitter or stashed in some secret Reddit thread. They were yours alone. And you shared back: snapshots of your day-to-day life—your desk cluttered with coffee cups, a corner of your office bathed in sunlight, and even a shy selfie taken at the café table where you’d first met him.

You didn’t know if you could call it a real friendship just yet, but it certainly felt like one. There was a comfortable rhythm between you now, a bond that felt genuine and unforced.

He clearly didn’t have much free time to casually meet again, though you hadn’t asked. The idea of seeing him in person again was both thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just his fame—it was the weight of the connection you were building. Trust was a fragile thing, and you both seemed to understand that. Brick by brick, you were quietly constructing something that felt worth protecting.

“How’s THIS cold today??” you texted, attaching a selfie where only your eyes peeked out from beneath two bulky jackets, a beanie, and a scarf. The icy weather was relentless, and staying home had been the original plan, but of course, the two important files you needed were on your office computer.

“How are you OUT in THIS cold? That’s the question” he replied almost immediately

“I need some files I left at the office. Forgot to upload them yesterday”

“Don’t freeze out then”

“I’ll try.”

You smiled at the screen, tucking your phone back into your pocket. It was so easy—he was so easy to talk to. You didn’t feel the need to answer immediately, and you didn’t panic when he didn’t either. It was a natural back-and-forth, effortless and grounding. The way he interacted with you made you feel like he wasn’t someone crazy famous, like he was just Harry—your Harry, in a way. And you hadn’t told anyone yet. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but you hesitated to share it. How would people react? Would they even believe you? For now, you were content to keep it to yourself. It felt special this way, untouched by the opinions or expectations of others. Just you and him, chatting like old friends.

In your mind, it was going to be a quick trip—drive downtown, grab the files, and rush back home under a cozy blanket. In your mind. But life had other plans, didn’t it? 

Sliding into your car after uploading the files and rubbing your hands for warmth, you turned the key in the ignition. A rusty, choking sound filled the air, followed by... nothing. “I’m sorry??” you exclaimed, staring at the dashboard as though sheer willpower would coax it to life. “No, no, no, you can break down TOMORROW! Not now!” Your fingers fumbled to turn the key again, and again, each attempt more pathetic than the last.

With a defeated sigh, you slumped back against the seat, a puff of breath visible in the freezing air. Accepting your fate, you pulled out your phone and opened your insurance app to report the issue. Unsurprisingly, the weather had caused delays, and it would be a while before they could send a tow truck. You quickly snapped a screenshot of the insurance chat and sent it to Harry. 

“I don’t know if I can keep my promise of not freezing out.”

His reply came almost instantly. “What?? Your car broke down??”

“Yep. They say it’s going to be a while because of the weather” you texted back.

“Where you at?”

“Parked in front of my office,” you replied, your stomach doing a small flip at how fast he was responding.

“No, I mean the address” he sent back.

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he serious? You immediately typed back

“Don’t even try it, I’m fineeee,” 

You lied, knowing full well you weren’t fine at all. But it wasn’t the cold or the broken-down car that had your stomach in knots. It was the thought of Harry coming to “save you” that sent a swarm of butterflies into overdrive. Because it wouldn’t just mean Harry coming to help. It meant seeing him again—really seeing him��since the big reveal. No screen between you, no casual texts to ease the nerves. Just him, in person, showing up for you in a way that made it harder to ignore what was happening between you two.

And as much as that idea thrilled you, it scared you just the same.

“Please?”

That was all it took. How can a girl resist a please from Harry Styles? Go ahead, i’ll be here waiting if you find someone. You sighed, caved, and typed the address, pressing send without overthinking. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to—you both knew what was about to happen. No confirmation was necessary.

Twenty-six minutes later, you were bundled in your car, trying to stay warm and still, counting down the seconds until the surreal became reality. The street was eerily quiet—only a few brave souls trudging through the cold. Who in their right mind would be out in this weather? That’s when you saw it—a black car pulling up right in front of yours. Your breath hitched as you recognized him in the rearview mirror, his eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. Then, your phone buzzed.

“Did you order an Uber?”

You let out a chuckle, a mix of nerves and amusement, and grabbed your purse. Stepping out into the biting cold. Sliding into the passenger seat, everything about this moment felt surreal. The warmth of the car, the subtle hum of the engine, and, most of all, him—Harry, sitting next to you like this was the most natural thing in the world. Your movements felt slower, deliberate, as though your body and mind were bracing themselves for what this meant. Sitting in the same car with Harry Styles wasn’t something you had ever imagined happening, not like this.

“Hi again” you said softly, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Hi” he replied, flashing that disarming smile. “Need a friendly lift? or should I just keep pretending I’m an Uber driver?” You laughed, the tension melting just a little. 

“Well, that depends…what’s your rating?”

“Solid five stars,” he said, easing the moment even further. And just like that, the butterflies in your stomach settled into something a little calmer, a little more certain.

“Sounds good then,” you replied, falling into a silence that was more reflective than awkward. Your mind was spinning with a million thoughts—what this meant, how this even happened, and whether you’d wake up any second now.

“So, where to?” he asked, breaking the silence with a soft smile.

“Oh! Right,” you snapped out of your daze, quickly explaining where you lived. It hit you how crazy this was—months ago, you’d been so cautious, terrified to even drop a vague hint about your location. And now? Now, Harry Styles was driving you to your apartment.

“You really didn’t have to,” you said, glancing at him.

“I know,” he replied, flashing a smile that made your heart stutter.

The drive was… nice. Surprisingly nice. The small talk flowed naturally—not forced, not the awkward kind you’d exchange in an elevator. It felt easy, even comforting. If you didn’t look at him for too long, you were almost able to suppress the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Almost.

“Weren’t you busy? It’s a Thursday,” you asked, realizing the absurdity of the situation.

“You really think I know what day it is?” he replied, his tone light and sincere, not smug or pretentious—just endearingly innocent. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What, no color-coded calendar?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nope. I’ve got the schedule of a 60-year-old retiree, not a nine-to-fiver. Days kind of blend together, you know?”

And there it was again—that disarming charm that made it all feel so normal. So easy. Like this wasn’t the most surreal thing that had ever happened to you.

“Yeah, I should’ve guessed,” you muttered with a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

The whole drive, your mind raced with scenarios. What would happen when you reached your apartment? Do you invite him in? Do you just thank him and say goodbye? And if—by some miracle—he did come in, did you even remember to pick up the clothes from the bathroom floor? But before you could spiral any further, his voice cut through your thoughts, casual and confident, like he already had the answers to all your questions.

“Can I invite myself over for a tea?” he asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of your building.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I was going to invite you,” you said quickly, defending yourself as you scrambled to regain composure.

“No, you weren’t,” he replied with a teasing grin, already stepping out of the car. And just like that, you knew the decision had been made for you. Butterflies? Gone. They’d evolved into full-blown fireworks. You shakily opened the door, praying the apartment was in some semblance of order. To your relief, aside from two glasses sitting on the kitchen counter, everything was in place.

“You can still blow me off if you’re busy,” he said, stepping inside and glancing around, taking in your space with quiet curiosity.

“It’s fine. Perks of being a freelancer,” you replied, heading to the kitchen and opening a cabinet to search for tea. “I don’t have many flavors, though,” you admitted, scanning the limited options.

“Well, it’s a good thing I like most,” he said with an easy grin. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Okay,” you said softly, smiling as you set the kettle on to boil. While waiting for the water to heat, you found yourself watching him. He wandered a bit, casually inspecting the books on the shelf, a framed photo on the wall, and the little details of your life.

It was surreal—a good surreal—watching Harry Styles in your apartment, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Like how? How was this happening? And why did it feel so oddly natural, like a longtime friend had stopped by for a chat?

The sharp whistle of the kettle broke your trance. You quickly poured the tea, handing him one of the steaming mugs.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it with a small nod. Then, as if sensing your disbelief, he gave you a sly smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, taking a sip of your tea to avoid answering further. Were you okay? Absolutely not.

He sat down on the couch, cradling the mug in his hands, and you followed, sitting on the armchair across from him. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, filled with the sound of the occasional sip of tea and the faint hum of the heater working overtime against the cold.

“Nice place,” he said, his eyes scanning the room again before settling on you. “Feels very...you.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What does ‘me’ feel like?”

He chuckled softly. “Warm, cozy. A little bit of chaos in the details.” He nodded toward the stack of papers on your desk.

You groaned and put your head in your hands. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t fully prepared for company.”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he said, grinning. “Makes it feel real.”

You smiled at that, the tension in your shoulders easing. “And your place? What’s it like?”

He leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Depends which one,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes dramatically. 

“Okay, fancy. You know what I mean. The one that feels most like home.”

His expression softened. “It’s quiet. Lots of books. A few random things I’ve collected over the years. Nothing too extravagant.”

“That’s not what I imagined,” you admitted honestly.

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you imagine?”

You hesitated, wondering if you should hold back or just say it. “I don’t know. Something...flashier? Like an MTV Cribs episode or something.” He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room.

“God, no. I’d hate living like that. Flashy isn’t my thing.”

The conversation flowed from there—effortless and natural. You talked about little things, like favorite movies and weird food combinations, and at some point, you stopped feeling like you had to pinch yourself. It just felt like two people enjoying tea on a cold day. Eventually, though, the tea mugs were empty, and the silence settled in again, this time heavier with unspoken thoughts.

“I should probably get going soon,” he said, breaking the stillness.

Your heart sank a little, but you nodded. “Right. Of course.”

He stood, stretching a bit, and you followed him to the door. He hesitated there, turning to look at you with a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said, lingering. “And...for letting me pick you up.”

“Anytime,” you said softly, and you meant it.

As he stepped out into the cold, he glanced back one last time. “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you said, watching him walk to his car, the promise of “soon” hanging in the air. You closed the door behind him, leaning against it as you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room felt emptier now, even though he’d only been there for a short time. You glanced at the two empty mugs on the table, a small smile tugging at your lips.

For a moment, you let yourself replay everything in your mind—the way he casually fit into your space, the warmth in his voice, the way he lingered just a little before leaving. But then, your phone buzzed.

“Thanks again. Made the cold much more bearable.”

----

“Are you dating someone?” Gwen asked, her smile widening as she caught you grinning at your phone.

 “What? No, I would’ve told you,” you replied quickly, placing your phone face down on the table. Normally, that would’ve been true—you’d tell her about a new guy or someone interesting in your life without hesitation. But this wasn’t a normal situation. This was different. And as much as you tried to keep it hidden, clearly your expression was giving something away.

“Would you, though?” she teased, leaning in slightly, her tone playful but probing.

“Yes, I promise,” you said, hoping to sound convincing. Deep down, you felt a twinge of guilt. You’d apologize later for lying to her—she’d understand. At least, you hoped she would.

“What’s something you’ve never told anyone before?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question lingering in the air. “Something I’ve never told anyone?” you said to yourself, stalling, your mind racing. “Okay… when I was younger, I used to think I wasn’t enough for the things I really wanted. Like, I’d convince myself it was better not to try because failing would just prove it. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before.”

You stared at the text, feeling vulnerable. Naked even. It wasn’t easy to admit things like that, not even to yourself. But somehow, with him, it didn’t feel as scary. The way he spoke, the way he made you feel like he’d never judge you, created a space that felt safe.

"I think wanting things, letting yourself want them, is the bravest part. Like… taking that first step, you know? Even if it’s scary. Besides, from what I can tell, you’re more than enough. Probably always have been. You just needed to catch up to it."

You read that, smiling softly at your screen. It was strange—how he could make you feel like all those nagging voices in your head didn’t stand a chance against his words. Like he had this way of dissolving your doubts faster than your therapist ever could. Maybe it was because you believed him so easily, the way he spoke like he knew something you didn’t, like he could see a future you hadn’t dared to imagine yet.

"Wow, how much you charge per therapy session?" you texted, hoping to lighten the moment without brushing it off. "Your turn," you added, nudging him back into the conversation.

The pause before his response wasn’t long, but it was enough to make you wonder what he might say next.

"Sometimes, I miss being no one. Just… Harry. Not Harry Styles. I love what I do, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a part of me that wishes I could walk into a room and not feel like I have to be something for everyone. It’s strange. How can you be surrounded by people all the time and still feel like no one really sees you?"

You read his words slowly, letting them settle in. And then it hit you—both of you knew the feeling. Both of you felt seen by each other in the way you both wanted to be seen. It didn’t need to be said out loud, but it was there, clear as water.

"I met you as Just Harry. And ‘Just Harry’ is pretty awesome to me 😉. I still see Just Harry"

His reply came almost instantly.

"Thanks, Tulip 🌷❤️."

You stared at the screen, your heart skipping a beat. The little red heart stood out in the conversation like a tiny, unspoken promise. It was the first one either of you had shared. And somehow, it felt like a beginning.

The day went on as usual, no more texts exchanged. Both of you were busy, focused on work, yet your mind kept wandering back to Harry. How everything between you was unfolding—it wasn’t painfully slow, but it wasn’t rushing either. It was just… perfect.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him. Sometimes you even laughed, scrolling through the gossip and pictures of him on Twitter. THIS is the man you knew? The same man who shared something he hadn’t told anyone else? It felt surreal.

Millions of people thought they knew him, adored him, and claimed a piece of him for themselves. But you—you really knew him. In a way that was different. Special. Personal. It was crazy to think about, but somehow, it felt right.

You were scrolling through many tweets in bed when it came. Another text.

"I’ve been around the world and back, and I still find myself wanting to talk to you about everything. What does that mean?"

--- Taglist: @jackiehollanderr @proudravenclawbird @hopeyoustaythenight @maryjahps @obsessiveenthusiast @liiit44 @loveheart-123 @harrystyleshotwife @harryscherries28 @addiemb8332 @cumuluscranium @gguksfilter @alemunson42069 @sarah22194 @summertime-pills @hescrush @cosmomento @harrys-wifeyy

[the-catmans-offical-2]

SHE WAS YOUR MAMA TOO AND YOU KILLED HER!!!

Fucking TAGAHAGA FROTHS

I think about this scene constantly. I sit there and stare, rewatch the scene because of Wrath's emotions. He's very emotional, he's been shown to get upset easily and to cry and to get angry - but this is genuine despair something that Edward fully understands.

Wrath just lost someone he deemed his mother, who he believed cared about him and was his mama.

And Ed killed her, he didn't veiw Sloth as his mother, as Trisha Elric, he viewed her as a burden to get rid of, to help ease his guilt.

But it didn't ease his guilt, it made him even more guilty - but not toward Sloth. Not nessicarily towards Al even though it was another situation that he called the shots on, against Al's wishes. His guilt is now toward Wrath. Because he starts to become frantic, he watched his desperation when he grabbed at Envy's leg and desperately pleaded with them to let them use Al to bring back Sloth (saying "you gotta to let me try, you have to!"); And this is basically what happened when Ed and Al first lost their mom. Ed became desperate but instead of begging and sobbing, he just stated that they were going to bring her back, that they had to.

And when Envy kicks Wrath and Ed catches him, only for Envy to walk off with Al, Ed is stopped by Wrath. And Wrath lashes out at him. But Ed doesn't stop him, sure he tries to duck and dodge, but he let's Wrath hit him. And then Wrath says "She was your mama too ans you killed her" He fucking freezes and Wrath lands a good punch and tackles him yo the ground, choking him and sobbing.

AND ED JUST TAKES IT. BECAUSE HE KNOWS HOW WRATH FEELS (Sure, Trisha originally wasn't murdered by someone in front of him, but he did watch her die right before his eyes just like Wrath did with Sloth - but unlike Wrath, Ed got to hold his mother's hand as she passed. He was allowed the warmth and comfort of her in her final moments while Wrath was rejected and had to keep a distance because she hurt him; Further implying that she didn't care about him, and the fucking "clean up after yourselves and take care of each other" directed at Ed and Al. SHE DIDNT SPARE WRATH EVEN A SINGLE GLANCE. And I bet that was heart breaking).

And then Izumi breaks it up and Wrath runs off but I also think about what Ed said after.

"He was.. Crying. While I can't even squeeze out a single tear, that poor kid's crying like a baby. Like he, like he was crying because I couldn't."

Wrath furthermore having been portraying the emotions Ed felt he couldn't express - as he had already mourned for Trisha, who was Sloth, and look where that got him? It made him loose his leg, loose his brother's body after he pushed Al into trying to bring her back - but the wasn't even focused on that now. He was more focused on Wrath, on his reaction, his outburst and sadness, his despair and desperation. All things he's felt before, and all he could do is watch as Wrath frantically ran off after Envy. After the chance to bring back the one he views as his mama - trying to attempt the same foolish deed that Ed had done!

I lost my fucking train of thought (´ﾍ｀；)

I dunno, I just think about this scene a lot and it makes me sob - their parallels and comparisons to each other's character... They're so alike yet so so different.

“She was your mama, too!”

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader shoot a music video

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

inspired by drew in HAIM’s new music video. warnings for steamy content (it’s from the mv lol) :)

When y/n got the DM from Danielle Haim asking if her and Drew would be interested in starring in the music video to their new single, “Relationships”, the two of them fangirled… hard. Like “jumping up and down and running around their house” hard. They’d expressed their love for the group in the past, so being able to be involved in a project with the sisters was exciting.

The concept for the video was pretty simple: y/n acted as the girl at the center of the song, Drew as her partner in titular relationship, and the Haim sisters acting as the sort of angels and devils on y/n’s shoulders, representing her questions and worries about her relationship. The video was shot over a couple of days in a beautiful, spacious house in downtown LA with a brief venture out to a studio for a couple of scenes.

“This is gonna be fun.” Drew murmured into y/n’s ear as the two of them prepared to change into their costumes for the first couple of scenes. Y/n wore multiple layers, including a blue string bikini top and a blue and red athletic top. Drew wore a white tank top and a red button down paired with a pair of jeans. The costumes were designed to change throughout the shoot as they took off each of the layers, representing the different sides of their relationship.

“Oh you look… good.” Y/n said, biting her bottom lip as she smoothed a hand down Drew’s broad chest.

“You’re lookin’ pretty hot yourself, baby.” Drew grinned, taking y/n’s hand as they ventured into the living room, where the majority of their shooting would take place.

As music played throughout the house, Drew and y/n danced and moved back and forth. Eventually, Drew helped y/n pull her top over her head, leaving her in her blue bikini top. Their faces floated mere inches from each other, the two of them keeping their lips from brushing with teasing touches and glances. Y/n eventually flopped to the ground before crawling across to shimmy Drew’s jeans down, leaving him in a pair of blue boxers. Drew joined her on the bright red carpet, the two of them laughing as they rolled around on the bright red carpet, their hands roaming each other's bodies as they cracked jokes. Y/n crawled on top of him, Drew’s fingers tugging at the hem of her bottoms as she smiled down at him, her hair falling around her face.

Soon enough, they changed locations to a different room of the house. Y/n switched her bikini top out for a patterned bra and tossed on a mesh miniskirt. Drew took off his shirt before laying down on the cool tile. He folded his arms behind his head, showing off his bicep and muscled torso. Y/n looked down at him with a quirk of her brow.

“Hmm?” Drew hummed, looking back up at her with a sly grin.

“You’re such a slut, Starkey.” Y/n teased as she joined him on the ground, tracing a fingertip along Drew’s nose as he let out a hearty chuckle. She moved to rest her head on his chest, the warmth of him familiar on the skin of her neck as they looked up at the camera that dangled above them.

After wrapping in the house, they moved to the studio to shoot the part y/n had been most excited for. The makeshift club of extras filled the studio, all dressed in sequins, mesh, and club outfits. Y/n had changed into an oversized, sequined jersey dress, the hem resting just above her knees, whereas Drew changed into a graphic tee that hugged his muscles perfectly. The last scenes they were shooting in the club were probably some of the most “intense” parts, the two of them instructed to finally go all out on the PDA in the flashing lights.

“Y’ready to get kissin?” Drew teased, squeezing y/n’s side lightly. Y/n scoffed, laughing lightly as the two of them wove through the crowd to their positions in front of the camera. As the music began to play throughout the studio, the crowd began to move, the house lights dimming as the club lights began to flash.

With her back pressed against Drew, y/n began to sway to the music. Drew’s hands snaked around her torso, his fingers splaying across her stomach as she lifted her arms to caress his face. She scratched the nape of his neck, grinning as Drew burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. The two of them danced back and forth, the music swelling around them as Drew raised one of his hands to meet y/n’s. Their fingers brushed for a moment before interlocking, y/n feeling the familiar coolness of Drew’s rings.

“Let’s get kissin’ then.” Y/n murmured before turning to face Drew. He smirked, his arms trailing to rest on the small of her back as y/n looped her arms around Drew’s neck. Y/n’s eyes flicked from Drew’s eyes to his lips, her breath fanning across his face for a moment before he finally lowered his lips to hers.

The two of them moved back and forth, the rhythm of the music synchronizing with their well practiced movements. Y/n moved her hands to cup Drew’s cheeks, pulling him in closer as he deepened the kiss. They breathed into each other's mouths, their faces and bodies so close it was impossible to determine where one of them ended and the other started.

“Cut!” The director said, the music suddenly stopping and the lights turning back on. Both y/n and Drew’s eyes fluttered open, their breathing slowing as they came back to earth.

“I forgot how good at this you are.” Drew murmured, a slight blush in his cheeks visible now under the light.

“Kissing?” Y/n asked with a quirk of her brow.

“Acting.” Drew teased, pressing a quick peck to y/n’s nose.

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - One Day

Requested: yes

Warnings: none

The sun was blazing over the Abu Dhabi paddock, casting long shadows and lending an air of anticipation as the F1 season’s final race weekend got underway. For Lando Norris, though, this weekend was special for more reasons than racing. Standing by his side was Y/n, his fiancée, and in his arms was their newborn son, Charlie—only a few weeks old and already stealing the show.

From the moment they’d arrived, Lando hadn’t let go of his son. As they strolled through the paddock, it was as if nothing else existed. He held Charlie close, gazing down at him every few steps and rocking him gently, careful to keep him comfortable. Lando felt a warmth he hadn’t known before, a sense of pride and love he could hardly describe. He’d missed so much of Charlie’s first few weeks, having to race across continents, and he wasn’t going to waste a second now.

“Look who’s here!” Came a familiar voice. Carlos Sainz strolled up with a wide grin, his eyes lighting up when he saw Charlie. “Ah, little Norris! Already looks like a future racer. I think he’d look quite good in red, don’t you think?” Carlos teased, gesturing to his Ferrari colors. Lando shot him a playful smirk, shaking his head. “Not a chance. Charlie’s a papaya man, through and through.” He looked down at his son, bouncing him slightly. “Right, buddy? McLaren all the way.”

Carlos chuckled, patting Lando’s shoulder before leaning in to say hi to Charlie. “We’ll see about that. They all end up in red eventually.” He gave Y/n a warm smile before wandering off, waving goodbye.

The rest of the drivers and team members passing by couldn’t help but stop, some cooing at the tiny baby, others congratulating Lando and Y/n on their new addition. Every time someone made a comment or admired Charlie, Lando’s chest swelled with pride. He felt like the luckiest man in the world, and he didn’t mind showing it.

When the time came for Practice 1, Lando knew he’d have to hand Charlie back to Y/n. He was reluctant, giving his son one last cuddle before reluctantly passing him over. But just before he turned to leave, an idea sparked. “Y/n!” He called, looking at her with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about we get a picture of Charlie in the car with me? Just for the mantlepiece?” Y/n’s face lit up as she laughed, charmed by the idea. “You sure? Won’t he steal all the attention?”

“Let him. It’s only fair.” Lando chuckled, carefully guiding her and Charlie over to the car. He slid into the cockpit, taking Charlie back and cradling him against his chest, all while looking down at his son with pure adoration. He looked up at Y/n, his eyes soft and full of love.

Y/n pulled out her phone and snapped the photo, capturing the image of father and son, both in papaya colors, sharing a quiet, intimate moment before the chaos of practice. She took a few shots, but it was hard to tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her—Lando looking at Charlie like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Perfect.” She murmured, tucking her phone away and smiling softly as she took it all in. Lando gently kissed Charlie’s forehead, whispering, “One day, buddy, you’ll be in a car like this. But until then, I’ll race for the both of us.”

As he finally handed Charlie back and turned toward the track, he couldn’t help but glance back at his fiancée and his son, waving before stepping forward. Knowing they were there gave him an extra push, a reminder that while the race was important, his heart belonged to them.

[obsidian-pages777]

How are you Winning in life and career in the Future? [Doechii themed reading]

Top Left to Right= 1->2, Bottom Left to Right= 3->4

Know how you are winning in your life and career in the upcoming future through this reading.

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Reading 1: The Powerhouse Success 🚀💰

You’re building an empire, whether it’s in business, media, or another high-achieving field. Your ambition is unmatched, and you’re seeing the rewards—financial abundance, industry recognition, and a reputation as someone who gets things done. You’ve mastered the art of networking, and people respect you for your strategic thinking and ability to turn ideas into reality. The competition is fierce, but you thrive under pressure. Your lifestyle reflects your success, whether that means luxury, freedom, or the ability to fund passion projects.

How You’re Winning: You're at the top of your game, setting trends and influencing others. Your Secret Weapon: A relentless work ethic combined with sharp intuition—you're always ten steps ahead. Potential Challenge: Burnout or losing personal fulfillment in the pursuit of success. Advice: Balance ambition with self-care to ensure long-term success and happiness.

================================================

Reading 2: The Low-Key Winner 🌿🔮

You’re winning in life not because of money or fame, but because you’ve found peace. Your career may be unconventional or even slow-growing, but it’s exactly what you need. Maybe you’ve created a passive income stream, work remotely, or live a minimalist lifestyle. Success for you isn’t about external validation—it’s about personal fulfillment, doing work that aligns with your soul, and avoiding unnecessary stress. You might be deeply involved in creative or spiritual work, or simply living a life that allows you to wake up without dread.

How You’re Winning: You have inner peace, freedom, and a stress-free life that others envy. Your Secret Weapon: Prioritizing your well-being over societal expectations. Potential Challenge: Some people might not understand your choices or see them as "successful." Advice: Trust your path—you're building a life many dream of but never dare to pursue.

================================================

Reading 3: The Resilient Hustler 🏆📈

Your success didn’t come easy by the time this win manifests. You’ve faced setbacks, challenges, and maybe even failures, but you’ve always found a way to bounce back. Your career path might be nonlinear—full of pivots, learning experiences, and moments where you had to reinvent yourself. But every challenge made you stronger, and now you’re finally reaping the rewards. You’ve developed resilience, problem-solving skills, and an unshakable belief in yourself. While others may have doubted you, you’ve proven that persistence pays off.

How You’re Winning: You turned struggles into stepping stones and are now thriving. Your Secret Weapon: An ability to adapt and never give up, no matter what. Potential Challenge: Staying patient when success is a slow build. Advice: Keep going—you’re closer than you think to reaching your biggest goals.

===============================================

Reading 4: The Hidden Genius 🧠🎭

You’re winning in life in the upcoming times because you’re brilliant at what you do, even if the world doesn’t fully recognize it yet. You might be in a niche field, working behind the scenes, or simply not interested in the spotlight. People who matter know your value—whether that’s a small but loyal audience, a company that relies on your expertise, or a creative work that will gain recognition long after its release. You’re playing the long game, and your impact might not be immediately obvious, but it will be lasting.

How You’re Winning: You have mastery in your field and are making a quiet but powerful impact. Your Secret Weapon: Depth of knowledge, originality, and the ability to think differently. Potential Challenge: Feeling overlooked or underappreciated at times. Advice: Keep honing your craft—your legacy will be undeniable in the long run.

[tojisteddy]

reader! who’s stuck in a rom com x male lead John Price cw: meet cute, sfw

reader! who’s stuck as a back up character with one single line in rom com and keeps getting transported to different movies. And they’ve tried to get out of whatever simulation or timeline they’re in. Trust me, your favorite narrator, you’ve tried. From going against the script by interrupting the main cast when they’re about to say their line, or showing up drunk or just plain not showing up to the important scenes multiple times but nothing ever workers.

Reader decides to just play their role in every movie theyre thrown into, praying to whatever higher power is out there to save them. But their true personality pops out as soon as theyre alone. All is fine and well with the world until the main male lead, John Price, starts noticing readers little quirks.

Reader mouthing everything the the other characters are about to say, rolling their eyes at the female leads choices she makes even when the friend group they’re apart of is supposed to be supporting her, or the funny way they say their one, singular line and John can’t help but laugh on the inside because, what the fuck is going on with them? Why are they acting like that?

Was he missing something?

And one day he decides to ask the reader about it. And maybe it’s your 10th time running through John’s movie, so you’re completely zoned out to what’s actually happening around you because you know it like the back of your heart— some party scene, the female lead has dragged you to again and John is supposed to be arguing/flirting with her at the bar for the soon to be montage of them proving each other wrong. Blah, blah, blah. Instead, he comes next to you on the lounge seat you’re sitting on; whiskey in hand, the big, muscular, handsome bear sits next to you and you barely notice him.

You still keeping your eyes on the bar, anticipating the interaction you’ve seen plenty of times, peering through the dancing randoms who are never important. Nursing your second glass of wine because you had to have something in your system to go through any of this agin. You feel a tap on the shoulder, your eyes meeting the prettiest ocean blue eyes.

“Who are you looking for?” His voice is so utterly perfect, rustic and deep, just like it is when he’s talking to the female lead. But your head snaps from him to the bar and back to him. Then back to the bar and back to him. The most confused look forming on your face. You can’t even make up an answer to maybe get him back to the script because you’ve never been actually acknowledged by the male lead in any movie.

“That’s not apart of the script.” You say, words haughty as ever.

And oh— John Price likes that. In fact, he adores your voice and the way your tight outfit clings to your frame and that you gave the most arbitrary answer to his very simple question.

Congratulations reader! The director is finally changing its cast members— time for you to be the main character.

a/n: idk if anyone will like this but it was on my mind cause I thought I had writers block. This was a good break. Reader! I’m gonna get you outta those movies!! Idk how yet, but I’m gonna try!!

last post masterlist

[afraid-of-the-deep-sea]

when thinking about twst my mind always eventually bounces back to thinking about the little first year gang, because they're such a disaster group.

like arguably, none of them on their own are grade a troublemakers (except Grim). If we're going by chaos energy on their own, characters such as floyd, kalim, jade, lilia, ect. probably wreak more havoc. hell most of the dorm leaders, as intelligent as they are, are so arrogant that they cant seem to stop pissing others off.

but the first years have the terrible curse that their brain seems to fall out of their asses the moment another first year is nearby.

ace is the best example, we know from chapter 7 that he has a good head on his shoulders, but the moment an opportunity to mess with deuce/prefect/grim arises he throws all caution out the window. despite the voice inside his head screaming danger he can't ignore the siren's call of starting shit.

deuce, on the other hand, is a character that literally can't seem to avoid bullshit. He's trying so hard to be better and YET he keeps getting wrapped up in these looney toons ass situations. he's the unluckiest first year, and is also easy to anger and even easier to fool.

Epel is a good enough student when he's surrounded by the rest of pomefiore (who are arguably more insane than him) but he also can't ignore the allure of chaos. imo he's the enabler, with a personal philosophy of "you can solve every problem if you hit it hard enough"

jack tries really REALLY hard to not get involved, but he's also too emotionally constipated for his own good sometimes. remember that scene in stitch's event where he tries to help riddle and azul with carrying heavy items, then to cover up for his display of kindness he tries to be all like "psh yea you guys don't look that strong" and riddle prompty obliterates him for saying that. yea that. keeps shooting himself in the foot

ortho seems like he'd have a good head on his shoulders, but he has the same amount of social tact as idia. i mean he's really nice right up until the situation gets dire, and then he starts calling his friends idiots. he's absolutely correct btw, but ortho don't say that out loud

and finally sebek, who tries really hard to not be associated with the rest of these hooligans, but is argueably the worst person here. yells at everyone, insults everyone, sebek is the friend you cannot take out to eat because he doesn't know what an inside voice is and doesnt understand why he has to wait so long for his food despite the fact you're with a group of 7 during the busiest time of the evening.

Grim is like. the final piece to this puzzel. all the first years need a bit of chaos to get truly started, and grim cannot stop causing problems

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Since you've discussed your favorite parts of ep. 7, I'd like to know your biggest criticisms of it & how you would've addressed them.

[Referencing this post!]

*raises finger* (my lawyer pulls me away)

Here’s how I would change the ending (while still staying within the Disney + mobile gacha game restraints and sticking with the themes + patterns established by other OBs):

Rework all the dreams. Every single last one. I can’t count the number of issues I have with them. Between the inconsistent pacing (4-35 parts per boy), the lack of urgency, extra fat (irrelevant convos), frequent contradictory explanations of the dreams, and the on-the-nose announcements of how each boy has changed, these are horribly inefficient vehicles for storytelling and need to be significantly tightened.

Between each dorm’s dreams, cut back to Malleus and Lilia so they at least STAY relevant for a book that is supposedly about Diasomnia. Let us know what Malleus’s current state of mind is, have Lilia reflect on what it’s like to see Malleus twisted into… this. Something, anything.

Make the explanation for the dreams consistent. Instead of changing the explanation or slapping on new details every other update, just claim right from the get-go that dreams tend to pull from a dreamer’s wishes/desires but it’s unknown how the dream worlds will actually be interpreted or how they’ll interact with Malleus’s magic since each person is so different. You can still have the dreams with deeper hidden meanings, but avoid overcomplicating the logic governing dreams in the first place.

Have Lilia join up with us in the dream world. Maybe a scene where Ortho or Idia connects the dots on his identity and contacts Lilia using his Muscle Red gaming ID tag in the dream world. Lilia receives his invite that way and joins us for the battle maps + help Silver and Sebek train with their new equipment. You can also potentially use this section to have Silver and Lilia reconcile over Lilia keeping secrets from him.

Like how Sebek had moments with the first years in their dreams, give Silver moments in which he can reflect on his relationship with + thoughts on the Dawn Knight. It feels a little strange to me that we went from emotional breakdown learning about his lineage to… thanking the Dawn Knight for not taking Lilia away at the end??? Like it feels like we missed the middle part of that development. We never got to hear his inner thoughts about the ordeal or how he comes to terms with it. For something so heavy, you’d think there would be more screen time dedicated to that??

The sword strikes Malleus, which brings him back to his senses but doesn’t break the horn. (This is just a personal dislike thing; it’s uncomfortable for me because it inevitably reminds me of poor injured animals and that’s not exactly… fun 💦)

Lilia still gets in the way of Malleus and Silver’s final stand-off, but rather than dying, he’s in critical condition and is in very real danger of dying.

Have Malleus willingly sacrifice a significant chunk of his magic (since he has all that excess from the senators blessing him + Malleus even canonically says he’ll give up his wings, his lifespan, etc.) to bring back Lilia from the brink. This would serve multiple purposes: 1) permanently power cap Malleus, 2) show him that his previous actions actually hurt Lilia but he also has the power to do good too (so he’s not filled with complete despair at the end), 3) rids him of the excess power he didn’t ask for, so now he’s more “approachable” to people, 4) doesn’t bring up potential issues with reviving the dead, since this could be categorized as ultra powerful healing magic, and 5) parallels the self-sacrifice Lilia had for him, that Silver had for Lilia, etc.

Honestly, I think Lilia should move away to the Land of Crimson Long to retire instead of regaining his magic and returning to NRC as a student. That way, Malleus isn’t the “special” OB boy that doesn’t have to still deal with the thing he OB’d over. Have it end on a hopeful note though, like have Idia or Lilia showing Malleus how to text (which is now more feasible die to Malleus’s reduced power) so he can always reach out to Lilia at a moment’s notice. This also fits in with the theme of keeping connected.

Alternative scenario to the previous point: have Lilia be taken away to urgent care and/or in a coma for a while. Let Malleus stew with the weight of what he did. Then maybe he + Diasomnia are called in when Lilia’s unstable and this might be good-bye 💦 Idk, at least then Lilia wouldn’t be dead for all of 5 seconds and Malleus would actually have a period where he’s forced to sit and reflect on what he did. Worrying and praying that Lilia will be saved, promising to the stars that he’ll never act out again if they just save Lilia. (You can still have your power of love saves him moment here!)

Following the OB, give a more balanced view of the repercussions of Malleus’s OB. Tell us how other nations are reacting, show us that some people are suspicious of him + need extra help recovering after the fact (in addition to people who love his UM and want to stay in there longer), etc. The current version works overtime to reassure us that there are zero negative (or even dubious) consequences when, logically, there would be at least some. This includes the main cast. Realistically speaking, they’d at least have some reservations or complicated feelings revolving around what happened in their dreams and how they feel seeing Malleus return. Ultimately, they’d welcome him back but some of them would still snark a bit while others are more forgiving (depends on the character; not all of them would react the same way).

We can still have the party + knighting ceremony at the end, but include some kind of magical broadcast or something where Malleus apologizes to all of Twisted Wonderland and lets them know what steps he intends to take to make amends moving forward. In the original, he only apologized to NRC, which I feel doesn’t cover the scope of the lives he could have affected. And if you’re going to have the other OB boys recite their flaws + how pathetic they were wallowing in darkness + how they’ve changed/are better than that now, grant Malleus that same opportunity here. It would also be great if he could go around and acknowledge the important people in his life, including classmates, to show us that he truly recognizes the value in these connections. I do, however, want to caution: the speech shouldn’t sound like Malleus speedran a character arc and is now without flaws. Malleus should also have some lines where he admits he’s imperfect and may falter, and if that’s the case, then he trusts us to admonish him and set him on the right path. This would show us that he’s willing to give up control to others and that he’s being more receptive to criticism.

Add a nod to Raverne at the end??? Like maybe Malleus wonders where his father is and we get some explanation as to why he didn’t show up in the Castle Wildrose memories but his mom did.

I don't think I actually made many changes here; most of the plot points remain, just change the execution and what the focus is on.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

Hello again! I have an idea for part two, if you like it.

What if y/n doesn’t take care of the wound (they’ve got a lot going on after all) and they start to get sick from it. Maybe they collapse/get really sick somewhere public. The Pogues don’t know what’s happening but Rafe does so he runs over and tries to help. Then all the Pogues are like ‘what the hell, how does he know?!’

If you like it, if not it’s totally fine! ❤️

an; oh my goodness, lovie (hopefully you see this plus the ones who requested a second part to my maybank!reader oneshot which you can find here!) i’m so so sorry that i had not replied to this sooner than i should’ve. there had been a lot going on along with a major writers block. i’m using this request to be sure i answer you and to thank you for being THIS patient. i will probably kind of change this request up a bit, but ill try to keep some of it in the writing! — just wanna also note im still only on season two of OBX !! so if anything is ooc, that is definitely why and i apologize! w; this honestly is longer than i wanted it to be but hey, what can you do? mentions of an injury, for this im still imagining s1 rafe (ignore s2 gif </333 thats the only one i could vibe with for this at the moment), mentions of drug and drug usage, abuse though i never directly speak of how anything happens, follows the show only slightly but not completely, a little something, something with john b though not quite disclosed (i added a scene just for this — hopefully that’s okay with everyone!)

the boneyard is somewhere nice to come when you need to think and pull away from reality for a bit. you were right — you would apologize to jj and help him with whatever john b and he needed help with.

you’d also told jj about what had happened after he had saw the bloody gauze in the bathroom trash.

you left out the part where rafe cameron had helped clean it up a bit better.

that was only three days ago. somewhere in between those short days, jj had landed himself in jail for sinking toppers boat.

to say luke was angry was a complete understatement.

the hundred dollar bill had floated down to your feet when he had called you out of hiding. you bent down to pick it up.

“you know what i want.”

getting the thing you know he wanted meant seeing rafe cameron storming out of the house and down the rickety old porch that squeaks under any weight.

he’s reaching for his helmet when he finally sees you, pausing when he notices the look on your face. you don’t looked surprised, or happy, to see him.

just disappointment.

pinching his brows together, he slips the helmet over his head without saying a word and giving you another glance. the dirt picks up behind him, leaving you in dust. he doesn’t want to dissect what that look you had given him made him feel.

the exchange is quick, with some banter barry throws your way. something about how good you look today and you know you don’t have to pay.

slipping the hundred dollar bill into your pocket this time, you pat his cheek and grab the baggie from his hand. with a quick ‘thanks, barry’, you’re gone.

apparently you’d taken too long this time for luke’s liking. after the screaming match and, quite frankly, your side bleeding again, you’d found yourself sitting on the course sand.

the back of your hand wipes angrily at your tears that continue to fall. your head is pounding and your side is throbbing from being practically ripped open once again over the already healing wound.

the back of your thighs itch and you feel queasy. the heels of your palms dig into your eye sockets, a strained yell leaving behind clenched teeth.

“we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” jj’s voice startles you and has your head quickly whipping around to watch as the small group heads your way. pope is saying something you can’t quite understand, kiara is trying to get him to slow down and speak normally for a second.

john b has a slight look on your face. your not quite sure if it’s a smitten look or a disgusted look. he’s carrying a six pack under his left arm and his backpack is slung over his right shoulder.

jj’s hands come and clamp onto your shoulder, jostling you slightly. you hope none of them notice the far off look on your face and how pale you suddenly feel.

you know, soon, everyone is about to join at the boneyard. it’s inevitable and happens on almost friday, strangely enough. you were hoping to beat the crowd before it actually started.

he sits next to you while pope, kie, and john b starts up a fire. “what’s going on?”

you look over at him. “hm? what do you mean?”

a frown tugs at his mouth and he sits up straighter. “what’s wrong? did something happen at—”

“j. i’m fine,” you nod. it’s a lie and jj knows it’s a lie. but you don’t want him to worry about you. “seriously. i’m okay. it’s nothing we haven’t been through before.”

jj stares at you sadly. you’re right, though, you shouldn’t be right. this shouldn’t be something you both are used to and something that’s come to be the ‘norm’ at home. if you could even call it a home.

he’s protective over you, the way you are of him. he remembers taking up for you and taking the fall for things just so you could catch a break every so often from the lashings of luke.

yet, you’d do the exact same for jj.

‘go hide in our spot, jj! cover your ears and hum a song, okay?’ he remembers watching with wide eyes as luke had dragged you by your arm into the other room. once the door slammed and he heard your crying, he’d crawl out from under the dinning room table and run outside towards the woods.

he would hum ‘piano man’ by billy joel. it was a strange song to hum, but you both would always sing it together when it came on the radio, dancing around on the small blanket that would lay on the grass with three half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. john b included — of course.

“but i always worry. im supposed to be there for you.” jj shakes his head.

“you take on to much, j,” your hand lands on his back, patting softly. “i could take this one.” the corner of your mouth quirks slightly upwards as you shrug, the tears beginning to well in your eyes again.

jj notices, but says nothing. he only nods slightly before looking out towards the waves. you hear the trucks and rowdy teens begin to pile in, sighing as you pull your arm away from jj and stand to dust your pants off.

—

you’re still feeling queasy, the crowd — separated, but yet still crowded — makes you feel even more uncomfortable and uneasy.

you stand near kiara and pope, listening to him talk about the interview he has for the scholarship, though you don’t truly know what he’s saying.

sweat beads around your hairline, a panicked feeling settling into your chest when you hear someone shout from behind you. you quickly turn your head, only to hear it quickly dissolve into laughter no longer than a second later.

you still search for some type of danger.

kiara’s eyes look at you, a worried expression etched onto her face. pope’s words slowly stall when he notices the look on her face, his own eyes moving to stare at you this time.

“are you okay?” her hand lands on your arm and you jump from the sudden touch.

you look over at her when she drops her hand, the worry on her face only grows. “i…yeah,” you look over to pope this time and nod. “i’m fine…i just…” you motion towards the ocean, your feet moving before you could even finish your sentence.

your mouth fills with saliva suddenly and the thought of vomiting in front of a bunch of people has you dizzy and even more panicked than before.

you can hear someone say something from behind you, but you’re too busy focusing on your breathing. a hand lands on your back and you glance over to the side.

the figure looks familiar. blinking a couple of times, you make out who it is.

“rafe?”

your voice is small, quivering and it looks like you’d been stuck in a hot trailer with the windows boarded down from how much you’re sweating.

“jesus.” he mutters. he watches as you try to stand straight, stumbling over your own feet. he’s quick to grab you before you could hit the ground, cradling your head and gripping your side as he lowers you more slowly.

“hey!” his jaw clenches when he notices who’s yelling at him. john b was the closest to where you two were standing. he knew you could stand your own ground, but he stayed close just in case.

and it looks like now would be a good time to intervene. “what did you do?!” he’s gaining attention from the others. topper being the second one to make his way over.

“nothing,” rafe snaps back. “she just passed out.”

“you expect me to really believe that she passed out as soon as you walked over?” john b kneels next to your other side, tilting your head over, cradling your jaw.

rafe watches the way his thumb drags across your cheek bone, gently shaking your head. his jaw clenches. “you expect me to really believe you care that she passed out when you could’ve came over here as soon as you seen me walking over?” his eyes quickly leave your face and stare at john b who says nothing.

“make yourself useful and go get a water bottle.” rafe grabs the hem of your hoodie, silently thankful that you had a tank top underneath. john b stands and watches quietly before running off towards the cooler.

“what happened?” topper finally speaks up when rafe slips the hoodie off. “rafe?”

“nothing happened, topper! i didn’t do anything!” rafe looks over at him with anger.

“rafe! get away from her!” jj stumbles across the sand as he makes his way over. he’s drunk, but he’s trying to collect himself the best he could. “i mean it!” he yells when he notices rafe sticking in the same spot.

jj yanks the water bottle from john b’s hand, kneeling next to him. he pushes rafe away and topper grabs rafe’s arm’s before he could successfully throw the punch he wanted too.

sarah stands to the side next to john b, and suddenly, he notices the crowd. his chest heaves and lands on you once again.

“is her side bleeding again?”

jj pauses and looks down at your side before slowly turning his head to stare at rafe. “how did you know about her side?”

rafe’s mouth parts, yet no words seem to come to mind. jj’s jaw clenches as he stares at him.

“i swear, cameron, i will—” he’s cut off by a deep inhale of breath, quickly looking over as you sit up the best you could, coughing. john b is quick to kneel down by you, a hand cradling the back of your neck to push you up.

your hands dig into the sand as your eyes look around frantically, chest heaving with heavy breaths, landing on rafe.

his body slowly grows less tense when he notices. jj sticks out the water bottle. “drink this,” he stands when you grab it. “how do you know about the cut on her side, rafe?”

before rafe could even come up with a snarky reply, you answer for him. “he helped.”

jj looks at you. “what?”

“he helped me during midsummers clean it up.”

jj stares at you for a moment longer before looking back at rafe. clenching his jaw, he shakes his head. “don’t come near her again, got it?” his brows lift slightly.

“that’s not up to you.” rafe shakes his head.

john b helps you from the ground. you thank him silently before making your way over. your hand lands on jj’s shoulder.

“let’s go, j.”

jj stays silent, but his threatening stare remains on rafe for a moment longer before he turns and makes his way up to where they had parked.

rafe watches him silently, but quickly glances down when your hand brushes against his. his eyes quickly jump up to your face.

“thank you.” you mouth.

he’s still for a moment but he eventually nods.

you give him a small, weak smile as you turn and walk away from him.

[negrowhat]

It's not just the volume or the enthusiasm of the sounds - though top marks in both - it's the variety of sounds that come forth from BossNoeul. Some BLs we're lucky to get anything audible (esp from the tops). But we aren't just getting general moaning with these two. We've got overwhelmed sighs, we've got point of entry inhales, we've got shuttering climaxes. Cheers boys, kudos on the commitment to authentically representing intimacy.

*Said with humor but sincerity. I do actually think it's lovely how they view these scenes are a reflection of love and intimacy and want to reflect that.

Anon I think BossNoeul being so vocal during their love scenes is really what keeps me coming back. They really put a lot of effort into making their intimate scenes feel real. Boss is going to be in my Top 10 as long as he makes his characters moan because we NEVER get loud tops...LIKE EVER! The most we'll get is panting and like idk 'OH' faces but to make his characters MOANERS????????????? 10/10!

Also the way I have completely come around to CirPhu's final love scene because of all the levels of moaning we get from Noeul????? He really made that scene for me...also something about Boss's silhouette in that dark hallway really pleases me.

Like BossNoeul are spectacular at their physical chemistry, but to throw on moaning???? They're a treat for the eyes and ears. Their loves scenes truly show how in sync they are as partners and how they know exactly how to perform.

And I wanted to point out that sometimes those boys get so into it that they have to be told to stop by the staff.

[illuminatedquill]

SPOILERS FOR 2x09!!!

-

-

-

So that’s it. The endgame is set.

Dylan G is gone. Miss Huang is gone. Irving is gone. Milchick snapped (a little) but hasn’t been completely radicalized.

Every other storyline has seemingly been wrapped up . . . except for the big one.

The Mark/Helly/Gemma dilemma.

Helly is the only one left fighting for her friends and the truth at Lumon now. Everyone else she has depended on to back her up has left. They’re gone.

The appearance of her father on the severed floor is catastrophically bad news. “You tricked me, my Helly���, bro what the fuck does that mean. Why did he call her that. It’s a level of familiarity that suggests something sinister and I realize there’s a whole new angle on that messed up relationship that we’re just being shown.

Helly is in big trouble. No doubt about it. Curious to see what punishment awaits her.

And Gemma, my GOD. Seeing her hunched in that chair, somehow even more beaten down and quiet than how she was in 2x07. But she’s still alive! I am taking this win, god damn it! Hang in there, Mark is coming (please for the love of God, LOCK IN MARK).

Mark, Devon, and Cobel should prove to be a match made in hell. Mark’s not wrong to be distrustful of her but Devon, as always, is right: they need to do as Cobel says because this is for Gemma. So glad she’s here to keep Mark in line and remind him who’s at stake.

So - innie Mark and outie Mark are finally going to talk. This conversation is going to be an intense one, I expect with both Marks going to bat about the agonizing decisions before them. Innie Mark is surely not going to be happy about the whole reintegration choice and Cobel, as I theorized before, probably has her own designs for Helly.

This will probably lead to a conflict for both Marks. Outie Mark is solely focused on getting Gemma out, whereas innie Mark does not want to do it at the expense of Helly’s life (at least that’s my theory).

(I suspect the fandom is going to be extremely normal about this conversation and be impartial.) But, from what I’ve heard, both Marks argue with great passion and there’s no clear winner - as it should be.

It’s my belief that Devon will be the deciding vote in whatever plan they come up with. Again, I’m so glad she’s there. Mark needs someone to watch his back and remind him that all of this is for Gemma. Innie Mark has every right to be pissed, though.

Decisions, decisions. Men plan; fate laughs.

All bets are off from here on out. I find it laughably hilarious that, yes, the show isn’t about shipping yet here we are: a man, caught between two great loves, forced to make a decision on which to save. Oh, we have to laugh otherwise we’d go mad.

At this point, I need the following to happen in the finale:

1. Gemma lives and escapes Lumon.

2. Dr. Mauer dies (preferably by Gemma’s hand).

3. Outie Mark and Gemma reunion scene. We need this. Has to happen. Non-negotiable.

4. Devon and Gemma reunion scene. Those women are sisters. They both deserve it.

So many more thoughts but I’m sure smarter people here will articulate it better on their own posts. I’m just gonna enjoy this break before the finale.

And don’t forget. First day of spring next week. Same day as the season finale. Take that as you will.

[randomfoggytiger]

Did Skinner get killed in the finale of the revival? Didn't CSM also finally get killed? Isn't that essentially the end? When I saw that, I thought that was ending the Xfiles.

How can they bring it back without Skinner had CC wanted another season?

Gillian acknowledged that the ending of the revival was not good. She was not just an actress on the show but a fan and part of the audience with us. Did CC and David ever acknowledge the crap that was offered to the horrified lifelong fans? It's not completely David's fault because he was an actor but as someone who had Carter's ear and had influence in the original run, did he acknowledge that the work was not original XFiles quality? Or, did David just give up and did a job for the paycheck.

I will give it to Gillian for walking away because it would have been easy money for her to come back and do more work. Being able to say no to money because maybe they respect the work, their time, and the final product is not easy especially for an aging actress who may not get a lot of leading roles offered to them anymore. Although I do like the episode with the twins who play hangman (I like it not for the storyline or quality of the episode but soley for the actresses' acting and ability to play both roles. She is also one of my favorite aspect of the mother under the bed in Home), I cannot express how much I loathe the scene where Scully is targeted for her age, dried up eggs (or something like that) and just an attack on her purely by age and fertility. To me, that tells me what the writers thought and how they see women in society. It's not just a storyline but a way they think you can hurt a woman. Some of us think that aging is a gift and some of us are done with the baby phase and are done with the baby desire. Yeah, I used to ovulate and desire for more kids at just the smell of a baby and would want to cuddle every kid I saw. Now, I'm like- nope. Never want anymore. Been there, done that, and I enjoy sleeping through the night. And, I am younger than Scully in the revival episodes.

It's been a few days, sorry about that.

This gets long, so, tldr: Skinner's in a coma (if CC doesn't change his mind); DD and GA had different perspectives for the Revival (he had no expectations while she kept hers high); and Chris Carter still hates domesticity and still feels like the fans are forcing him to focus on an aspect of his work he doesn't care for (and his thought does and doesn't have merit.)

According to Perihelion (which I take with a massive grain of salt... and so does CC: "It's in keeping with the canon.... It's a different medium and take on the show and the characters"), Skinner is still alive but in a coma. ...I'm not mad; but I"m also not invested in latter canon, so.

Here's the thing: I don't believe Gillian's a "fan", per say. She believes in the legacy of The Scully Effect, she enjoys teasing with the chemistry between her and David's characters, and she (doubtless) enjoys the phenomenon of the show now that she's had some distance. But her protective protest was over scripts-- work-- and the direction they were taking her role and her character. She doesn't remember most of The X-Files, its major plot points, or its mythos (in general); and she doesn't devote a large portion of her attention to the fans, the Comic Cons, or the media around it. And that's perfectly fine: it was a job that became a vehicle for something greater; and, as far as I'm aware, she respects it and her contribution to it as such.

When David and Gillian were approached for the Revival, both stated their preferences up front: Gillian would only come back if the seasons were shorter, and only committed to Season 10. She later changed her mind for Season 11, and it seems like there was miscommunication of some sort because she planned to bounce while the cast and crew thought there'd be room for another go-around. (It's a messy situation there, etc.) David only said that he was happier with a shorter season, but because it was so short he wouldn't be contributing to the show: in his mind, the writers had a tighter, more succinct script to work off of; and any of his contributions would only bloat the end goal. (How wrong he was....) I think DD and GA just approached the project with different perspectives (as they discussed in the Fail Better podcast episode): to him, Mulder and Scully are CC's barbies-- because, really they are-- while to her Scully was a connection to Gillian's growth and legacy as an actress-- because, really, she is. And because they can both respect each other's perspective, no one's feelings were hurt (funny that, Christopher Carl Carter.)

CC maintains to this day that he hates domesticity in his work ("I'm reluctant to ever domesticate the show, as I put it, the idea that Mulder and Scully are in a house together, cooking, cleaning. That is a different show. Those things... that pushes my buttons.") Over time, that will-they-won't-they created a two-way resentment (Which, by the by: David Duchovny partially clocked-- "If you tease the audience too long they get frustrated"-- though he didn't factor in Carter's mounting frustration at the time.) Further, I think Chris Carter often felt he was constantly compromising his vision to cater to shipper fans. On the one hand, I get it: how frustrating would it be if we devoted hours to our projects only for a large portion of the audience to focus on (what we would consider to be) an inconsequential portion? But on the other: he courted that audience-- the chemistry simmer was part of his original vision, after all-- and therefore it's unfair to resent the fans while you still cater to and string them along, at the same time.

I disagree with the dried-up eggs comment. That's an insult women Scully's age are lobbed every day; and the purpose of that scene-- as poorly written and executed as it was-- was solely to set up Scully's rash of insecurity so that Mulder would assure her she's still got "scoot in her boot." Horrible thing happens to reveal Scully's deep-down insecurity; Mulder sees it and validates her with the truth. In short, it was a subversion of the usual "she's old and a hag and bitter about it" trope. But, again, it was so badly written that the scene accomplished nothing other than confusion (the writers were too busy patting each other on the back to check each other's homework.)

I'm not a Revival lover by any stretch of the imagination: it means well, I'm sure; but those moments are buried far, far under layers of laziness. I don't think CC was wrong for not wanting to focus on MSR (platonic or romantic) just as I don't think DD's and GA's approaches towards the show were wrong. I do think CC is wrong to resent the fans while still fueling his ego by toying with them; and I do think David's acting was unnecessarily sloppy here or there because he wasn't as invested in the character arcs as Gillian was.

In conclusion: they're welcome to their perspectives as long as they don't moralize to me over mine (ahem ahem, Crust Carter.)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

(I'm allegory anon) thank you for your response. I will say, I'm kinda confused by what the writers mean by the kwamis being "industrialized" because I'm not sure if that's the right word for it? Like Gabriel wasn't really trying to turn the kwamis into some manufactured product, right?

(Allegory post for the curious)

I'm assuming you're referring to this statement about the season five final:

In the next scene, we can see Marinette taking the miraculous that have been standardized and industrialized by Gabriel and putting them back in shape. The writers specify that this is a parable about craftsmanship vs industrial production. The miraculous will now be adapted to every person, but we can’t see what they look like just yet! In this new world, the powers are all shared, among people who they trust and know will work for the common good. They joke that the "Avengers" shot at the end with all the heroes is something they’d been dreaming of.

The general idea here is that they redesigned the miraculous for season six to better suit each character to show the difference between Marinette and Gabriel. Marinette personalizes things while Gabriel went for sterile mass production with the rings.

This is an incredibly surface level idea that doesn't really work the way they want it to because the shape a miraculous takes doesn't matter to the story. The truly unique thing about each miraculous is the power it gives and the Kwami you get to be friends with. Those things never changed and will never change no matter what form a miraculous takes. They could have all stayed rings and been fine which completely undermines the idea of this being a parable because parables are all about teaching simple moral lessons. It's hard to see how a magical accessory being a little more personalized is teaching some kind of lesson when it's just an ascetic thing.

This is extra true because, as far as I'm aware, the show hasn't made a big deal about the redesigns. From the few stills I've seen, it doesn't even sound like the designs were changed all that much from what they were pre-rings. Because of all these issues, this statement from the writers just comes across as pretentious. They're trying to claim depth for the narrative without actually putting that depth in the narrative.

For this idea to work, the Kwamis being rings would have needed to have some sort of negative repercussion. At the very least, they could have shown various akumas struggling to use the powers they'd been granted, implying that the powers had to be given to people who are uniquely suited to them. But we didn't get that. The powers feel incredibly generic and - outside of Adrien - no one has ever struggled to use the ability they've been given. We don't even see Marinette asking each member of the team what item they want which is not how personalization works.

I keep thinking of that My Little Pony episode where all the ponies cutie marks got messed up (that's the thing that tells a pony what their special talent is). The ponies had to fix their cutie marks by doing what they were actually good at to show how their talents were so integral to who they were, cutie mark or no. That's a similar concept to this and shows how this kind of thing is supposed to work. Correcting the marks was mainly done in a 3 minute long song, so here you go in case you're curious and haven't seen this before:

This is how you quickly show why each character is unique and why their seemingly surface level thing (cutie mark) matters on a deeper level. My Little Pony actually sets up and resolves this conflict in a single episode, playing off of themes established in the series, but keeping the specific conflict contained to 20 minutes. Gold star to those writers. It was very well done.

Of course, Miraculous could never do this level of depth because Marinette had to redesign sixteen miraculous which would eat up a lot of time, but they could have at least make a token effort to show her and Alya talking about it or something. Maybe the first episode of season six will do this and I'm being too harsh, but I really doubt it.

[altocat]

I may not be able to create fanart, but I can (and will!) find other ways to show my appreciation for beautiful gems in this world <333

~

Thank you for bringing this masterpiece of a fic into existence!

Thank you for making my nights so special w/uploads, for giving me something to look forward each day during such a tumultuous time!!

Thank you for crafting such breathtaking scenes, gut-wrenching emotions, and incredible characterizations of the entire CC gang!!

Thank you for being such a legend to me <333

Always wanted to give something back for all the joy (and delicious PAIN) fic brought me, and it finally struck me today how I could do that <3333 Thank you once again for all your masterful work, friendo!!! This fandom is blessed to have an author like you!!!

Much love,

a lil’ Pichu 💖⚡️🐁

OMG PICHUUUUU I LOVE THIS SO MUCH ASEDRFGHNGFDS THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU

I'm gonna put this in the fic. I'll figure out a place for it. You were the very first reader and reviewer for AMT and I think that should be known. And it was your unfailing kindness and support that convinced me to keep going, and to eventually join this community. Thanks so much for that. And thanks so much for being you.

[howdeepthegrave]

Agathario AU where Agatha's friends drag her out to a bar for her birthday. She hasn't dated or even had a hookup since things ended with Wanda three years before, and she's not in much mood to get back into the dating scene, being far too busy running the family business and raising Nicky. Still, Lilia and Alice and Jen convince her to leave Nicky with a babysitter for one night and do something for herself.

At the bar, while the others get pleasantly soused, Agatha is just counting the minutes until she can reasonably call the whole evening done and head home. But then she takes note of the live band performing that night, particularly of the good-looking drummer who, between sets, comes over and eases past her to grab a round of drinks.

"Sorry," the drummer says, brushing past Agatha.

"Oh, no trouble," Agatha says, being polite.

"Oh no," the drummer says, "I assure you, I can be trouble."

And then this gorgeous, sexy drummer winks at her and Agatha feels quite suddenly overheated and a little faint. She chalks it up to a couple of drinks and the crowded conditions at the bar and begs off, telling everyone she has to head home because Nicky's sitter texted and said there's a problem.

The next day, Alice texts her an image of one thing: a napkin from the bar with a phone number and the name 'Rio' scrawled on it.

"That hot drummer wants you to call her."

Agatha brushes it off, that's so lame, so crazy, she would never...

That night, once Nicky is asleep, Agatha calls the number. It turns out Rio wanted to apologize, because she got the sense she came on too strong to Agatha and she hopes she didn't ruin her evening or anything.

"I tried to find you later to apologize in person, but your friends said you'd left in a hurry and that it was your birthday and... And I really hope I didn't screw up your birthday celebration."

"No, no way. I really didn't want to be out at a bar anyway. Really, I would have left soon anyway and... And anyway, no need to apologize."

They leave it at that, and Agatha goes to bed and of course that night is a torment of dreams about this person she's met once and spoken to twice. She talks to Lilia the next day and makes the mistake of bringing everything up.

"Sounds like what you need, my dear, is some release. A little one-on-one session with..."

"Oh my God, Lilia! Are you telling me to go have some random, nigh-anonymous hookup with someone I hardly know?"

"You said it, not me."

And Agatha goes on for weeks thinking about this random drummer, Rio Vidal, and she keeps having these dreams, and she can't handle it until one afternoon, she takes Nicky to the local library for toddler story time and who should be that day's reader but Rio Vidal! Of course, Rio looks a bit less rock band drummer that day, having traded in ripped jeans, tank top, and leather vest for a white button down and dark green slacks. Agatha tries not to stare as she stands at the back with the other parents, but something about Rio today is so warm, such a calming presence. The kids all seem to love her, and Agatha notes that Nicky keeps scooting closer to the reader's chair.

When story time is over, Agatha swoops in to collect Nicky, but he slips away and goes to hug Rio's leg.

"Hey, little guy," Rio says, and she leans down to pat Nicky's hair.

Agatha is flustered as hell, apologizing for Nicky, trying to coax him away. Rio finally crouches down and talks to Nicky a moment, then lifts him up and puts him in Agatha's arms.

"Three-year-olds, huh?" is all Rio says.

"I'm sorry if we're holding you up..."

"Not at all. This is my day off. Can I walk you to your car?"

"Oh, no, we... We walked here. We live close by."

"Ah. Well, can I walk you somewhere else close by? I know a place that makes great hot chocolate."

And Agatha, who has never made a truly impulsive decision in the three years since her ex left her two weeks before Nicky was born, decides to hell with it. She and Nicky will go and have hot chocolate with this person who is basically a stranger. What's the worst that could happen? Of course, then her brain is going through all the worst case scenarios, and she freezes up and only comes out of it when she feels Rio's hand on her arm.

"I... You don't have to go anywhere with me. Sorry."

And Rio starts to walk away, but Agatha realizes she does want to go somewhere with this person, just to talk, just to have some conversation with another adult who isn't a coworker or neighbor or friend she's known since college.

"Nicky does love hot chocolate," Agatha says, and Nicky absolutely agrees, almost squirming himself out of his mother's arms because WHERE IS THIS HOT CHOCOLATE YOU SPEAK OF AND DOES IT COME WITH WHIPPED CREAM?

So they go to this little café near the library, a place Agatha knows she's walked and driven past a thousand times but never stopped at. It's a really nice place, cozy, all dark wood interior and so. Many. Plants. Rio leads the way to the counter and offers advice on the best drink options, and Agatha notices a level of deference from the staff and figures Rio is probably a regular here, which means Rio is in the neighborhood a lot, which means Rio is near her house a lot, which means...

"So, I guess you come here often?" Agatha asks once they're seated.

"You could say that. I mean, I own the place."

"You... But I thought you were..."

"The drumming is an occasional gig, filling in with my old college roommate's band."

They sit there and talk about just everything, and Rio is charming, a touch self-effacing, and so very sweet and gentle toward Nicky. When they leave the café, Agatha asks if, since Rio's free, she'd like to walk them home. She agrees, and walks them to their door.

"I'd really like to see you again sometime, Agatha. Maybe just you and me? Dinner?"

"I'd like that."

They make a date for the following week, and Agatha is nervous as hell when the day arrives, but she gets Nicky settled with his sitter and then Rio turns up, gorgeous and kind, and they go out and have a marvelous time together. This in turn leads to months of dating, sometimes going out, sometimes hanging out at Agatha's place with Nicky. They spend Christmas Eve together, and then New Year's Eve. Rio kisses Agatha at the stroke of midnight and asks if they can make whatever they are a little more official. Agatha is terrified of the commitment, of what it will do to her and to Nicky if this ends, but Rio is so warm and kind and funny, and she seems to really care about Nicky, and Agatha wants this. She wants this even if somehow it might seem selfish.

In the new year, when they've made it official, things only seem better and brighter. There's a bit of a wobble in April when Wanda turns up back in town, seemingly wanting a second chance with Agatha and wanting to get to know Nicky. A part of Agatha almost wants to allow it; after all, she and Wanda were involved when Nicky was conceived. He was supposed to be their son, until Wanda bailed at almost literally the last moment. She discusses the matter with Rio, who instantly agrees to step back, if that's what's needed.

"But just know, Agatha, I'm here for you. For Nicky. If you need anything, want anything, I will always be here."

Agatha knows then that all she needs and wants is Rio and the life they've started to build together. Nicky is so attached to Rio, almost as attached as he's always been to Agatha, and Agatha can see it would break Rio's heart to not be as present in their lives. She talks things out with Wanda, who understands and agrees that she made a mistake and they're over with for good. When she gets back from meeting with Wanda, she finds Rio asleep on the couch, and Nicky asleep on Rio's chest, and she knows that this is the forever they all deserve.

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 8

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey

TW: Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Guns, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dissociation, Trauma, Blood, Cursing

Chapter Summary: The more fierce the action, a more extreme reaction. He had long abandoned his scales but he would gladly become a monster to ward off trespassers that would enter your forest. When dawn arrives, would you see your dragon in the horizon?

Author's Note: This went through so much revisions and I had to talk to my beta reader many times about how certain scenes should go. (I just have ridiculously high standards.) Many parts in this chapter had transformed from what I have in mind, mostly for cohesion but I am quite satisfied because I still managed to retain the canon events I set.

To everyone, thank you for reading. Your comments make me smile and while I do write for myself, I never regret the day I shared this to the world.

Tagging: @phisen @wrimaira

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8

8: My Dearest, Enduring

A population of less than 50.

Louis knows the little community of prey hybrids residing here in this corner of the N109 zone basically know each other and everyone, to his surprise, is very cordial with the predator hybrids who come by to shop and buy artisan goods.

Good.

The residents here are good people.

He doesn’t really know there is a community here after becoming the head of this organization composed of lion hybrids and since then, he had made up his mind that protecting the residents here should be a top priority.

A hypocrite, Louis knows he is one having been raised in one of the more fortunate prey hybrids who taught him how to play with the rules the humans had set and it is only because he is rebelling against his father that he realized not all hybrids are as lucky as he is.

Perhaps he is even more of a hypocrite every time he reminds each resident here to be wary of the predator hybrids they welcome in their homes like friends because he had grown to respect the rowdy group of lion hybrids that followed his every command.

Even then, his worries are heard and the older prey hybrids understand his concerns except for the younger ones and one of them is you.

You were so polite.

Polite on telling him off and you weren’t even sarcastic, you are just so blatantly honest.

“Thank you, Mister Louis but Skye likes his food cooked so I am sure the rumor isn’t true.”

It was amusing, hilarious even how you brushed off his warning just like that but even then, Louis had already made up his mind to watch over you and this community no matter how stubborn some of you can be.

“The tailor shop owner is on the line.”

“The old deer?”

“Yeah, he is asking if we can drop by and check on his daughter,” the older lion hybrid holding the phone answered, covering the receiver to keep the conversation between them, his eyes flicking at the clock nearby.

It would be a miracle if your father can catch the last train back and any taxi drivers charge anyone who wants to go at the N109 zone with exorbitant prices.

“Can’t he just ask his son-in-law for that?”

“I don’t think they have any relatives- Wait, you mean Sylus ?”

“Who else? That dragon is coming there almost everyday that the miss and him might as well be married.”

The older lion hybrid laughed at the young deer’s remark but relented, answering your father that Sylus would be the better alternative but his smile turned into a frown as he continued to listen to the other line.

“What’s wrong?”, Louis asked, his brows furrowed and the lion hybrid put down the phone after telling your father they would come check.

“He said Sylus isn’t answering.”

“Must be out there smuggling god knows what.”

“Are you sure? Because he said he called the shop again just now and his daughter didn’t answer.”

The curtains of the open window billowed against the cold breeze, a silence settling inside the office.

“And then I thought that son of a bitch is down bad-”, Louis mumbled, grabbing his coat hanging on the nearby armchair and the older lion hybrid did the same, their footsteps thudding against the hardwood floor.

Did Sylus manage to deceive everyone here? 

No.

No, Louis saw how that man held you before you two went out yesterday. Both of you were the talk of the community, no, the entire N109 zone. The little display of affection where Sylus spun you around like both of you were newly-weds had turned everyone’s heads and people are convinced that you were able to do the impossible.

The unthinkable.

In your hand, Sylus had willingly placed his leash for you to hold and Louis doubts that you even know it.

As Louis took his place in the passenger seat in front, he silently prayed that your father was simply an overprotective parent tonight.

But, when he gazed at his reflection in the side mirror, a quiet thought passed in his head-

-Something even more dangerous is lurking in a place already crawling with beasts and oddly enough, a small voice is telling him it isn’t Sylus.

────────────────────

The little baseball team always loves watching the evening cartoon reruns on the old television your father placed on the receiving area of your old shop.

They were such tall hybrid children for their age and oddly enough, they all managed to huddle together in front of the small screen, their attention towards the little pink dog hybrid and his adoptive human grandmother.

A small gasp, sometimes a burst of laughter, and then they will be quiet again as the show goes on.

It was one hour after your old shop closed when he came by and you found it odd that the people who follow him around are not here with him. He first greeted the children who just murmured a polite ‘Hello’ and ‘Good evening’ but their eyes had always remained guarded before going back to their show.

His attention never always linger longer at anyone else.

It was always at you.

Every little step you take away from him, he tries to close the distance even further and his distorted voice is becoming angrier by the second until his grip around your wrist was too much to handle, your eyes blurry because of the pain.

“I’ll watch over you until you die. Why can’t you understand that?”

Even to this day, you never understood why he was fascinated by you.

The reel of that old and distant memory ended with your cry for help, small, so small followed by your favorite little baseball players shouting in anger and then the tape ended abruptly, a film with no conclusive ending. You have left that tape with everything including the ashes and the scent of fire together with the concrete pillars of your old shop that remained standing.

In the old cinema hidden in the deep recesses of your mind, you have returned as the sole audience of the only film showing and the main actress is no other than-

The defenseless deer hybrid wearing your face with tear stained cheeks.

Why did she (you) scream? To try to warn her (your) dear crow friend to not try to go near the mass of black threads or else it will never fly again but it did not listen.

Why are there tears on her (your) face? Because his hold on her (your) wrist hurts, the gun she (you) hastily tried to hold is now lying on the floor.

Why is she (are you) praying? Because there must be a way out of this hell, for heaven to not punish him anymore if that is what it takes to just to let her (you) go.

“Did you think you are like them now just because you know how to shoot, branches?”

You always play hard to get.

At least, that’s what he thinks. The more you stay away, the more he gets annoyed.

Shy. Skittish. Wary.

You little deer hybrid. 

Common. 

So relatively common and there are so many of you but he just can’t help being attracted to you even when you always keep your damn eyes on your shoes.

He and his group kept you safe so why can’t you stay put? Why did you have to scream like he is the monster here?

He came prepared this time, making sure you are alone. Just outside your shop are other humans armed to the teeth, capable, and one ridiculously strong predator hybrid such as that brute you just kissed goodbye a few hours ago can only handle so much.

How is it you chose Sylus of all people, a hideous beast, over a human?

“Stop crying.”

His command echoed across the old theater together with your cries of trying to run towards the only exit but no matter how hard you push your legs, you stay on the same spot, the distance between you and the exit unchanging and you wonder if it is a crime to say no that the heavens decided to grant a cruel punishment on you, forever trapped in a loop.

“I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

A low warning and the human holding you down froze for a moment, the cold barrel of the gun on the back of his head but the hand holding the weapon trembled just slightly and he smirked as he slowly raised his hands, letting you go.

“I wouldn’t even count that as an option.”

“But I do.”

“What is it with you prey hybrids thinking you are all capable of holding a weapon?”

“I am surprised myself,” Louis replied, watching the man slowly turned around to face him, letting you go in the process and in the corner of his eyes, he can see you slowly walking away, reduced to a shambling fawn and cradling the crow with the broken wing, your only source of warmth and even then, wounded little beings can only offer each other comfort and nothing more.

When they arrived a block away from your shop, Louis was bracing himself for the inevitable, to see one of Sylus’ expensive cars parked right in front with the lights of your shop all out, the crack of bones and blood but they were all welcomed with an unexpected surprise.

The car plates.

Bullet proof vests and rifles.

Humans.

It was luck alone that Louis managed to sneak in through the back door of your shop with the rest of his companions making small talk with the friends the human brought along.

“You should be grateful we are the first one to come over,” Louis added, his eyes trained at the human’s hands, “Sylus does not bargain when it is her on the line.”

“Then he will learn.”

“He is already wanted for several crimes. Do you really think he would give a shit if a new line is added to the list?”

“He will if the crime wasn’t his.”

The male deer hybrid’s brows furrowed, confused and his eyes wandered briefly on where you were standing earlier.

The gun he gifted you on the floor.

The feathers of that crow who uses your antlers as a perch.

The cuts around the human’s eyes, bleeding.

“Do you see it now? I hope his pretty little deer knows what happens when abominations like you lays a finger on someone like me,” the human grinned and it only grew further while he watched the look of realization dawn on the deer hybrid’s face.

If he can’t have you, then no one can. Even fucking Sylus.

“Sylus will negotiate, or he would have to say goodbye to the little miss seamstress over here. Do you understand, brat?”, the human continued, stepping closer until the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead.

Everyone knows Sylus can pay every high ranking official in the government.

He can pay the police to turn a blind eye on this.

He can pay the judge to rule down this accusation.

He can pay the jury almost composed of all humans to vote for your favor.

But he can never pay the overzealous humans who just need one reason to burn down your homes, your businesses, to throw rocks at your windows-

To take every part that makes you a hybrid.

They would come here. Oh they would, and you will be the first one whose head will be in the silver platter.

But all of that will only be possible if the human manages to leave the N109 zone alive.

The paper the human slipped on his breast pocket is heavy, heavier than the gun he kept pointing at where the human was standing even when he already left, the chimes of your doors announcing his departure.

────────────────────

Luke and Kieran always set a portion of their allowance for candy and anything sweet much to Sylus’ disapproval.

Not that they have an addiction, it was mostly because the scent brings a sense of comfort, of a childhood lost then slowly regained, and they recently found out that the treats always taste sweeter when shared.

One of the benefits of having your noses tinkered by humans is that you don’t have to pull out your phone anymore to check where the nearest bakery or candy shop is.

They just have to take a deep breath, shift through the many scents that permeate where they are standing and follow the distinct smell of freshly baked pastries or caramelized sugar. 

A yellow brick road and the two wolf cubs weave past the crowd of hybrids and humans who cast them odd looks, mistaking their excitement for manic obsession for something else.

Their favorite sheep hybrid once told them predator hybrids off their rockers wear the same expression when they caught the scent of a terrified prey hybrid’s papercut.

Those hybrids, the worst of the worst, are locked up far, far away from humans and hybrids always say the same thing.

They even taste better when they are scared.

Luke always played it off but it is a thought that lingers in Kieran’s mind, the memory of that stained handkerchief lives almost rent free and comes back during the early mornings while waiting for sleep.

“Let me in.”

It wasn’t a request, a command coming out of the boss’ mouth when the oldest lion hybrid stood between him and the door of your shop.

Kieran knows everyone can smell it. 

Every predator hybrid outside your shop practically covered their noses at this point and he and his brother not only covered theirs but their mouths too because-

-They were drooling.

His brother holds onto the railings of your shop and if they weren’t in the company of other people and Sylus, he is sure Luke is going to vomit out his dinner.

“Do I need to repeat myself or do I have to move you out of my way?”

“You, of all people, should know what happens if a predator hybrid like yourself comes near a terrified hybrid such as her.”

“I am well-aware,” Sylus answered, his resolve firm and his eyes trained directly at the lion hybrid, “Now step aside and do not take my words as suggestions.”

There was a pause, the old hybrid blocking his way to you scrutinizing him for any telltale signs of a predator ready to hunt and even with the scent of fear settling in the cold night air, inviting anyone with sharp teeth to this forbidden supper, and he noticed one thing.

Sylus’ pupils were not even dilated like the rest right now.

A dragon hybrid’s senses are far more superior than a lion but here is Sylus, not even slightly bothered and it is only because of his age that he is able to pick up a subtle hint of worry on the dragon hybrid’s eyes.

The older lion hybrid took his word this time and opened the door for him which granted him a nod of approval from Sylus.

“Luke, Kieran.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Open the windows. That human stink is everywhere.”

The twins looked at each and then pulled the neck scarves you have sewn for them over their noses before wearing their masks back, following their boss inside.

The human is lucky he arrived a minute later because Sylus would not hesitate to show how serious he is when it comes to your well-being.

It was an affront, a clear disrespect to his precious deer and even until now, that human stink is trying to blend with the scent of cotton and wildflowers. 

No, blend is a kinder term.

It is trying to force itself onto it.

It all concentrated at your front desk and he stood there, his mind reconstructing what took place as he bent down to pick up the gun he assumed you dropped, his eyes lingering on the droplets of blood.

It isn’t yours.

It’s from that insolent human.

“That crow of yours tried to pick out his eyes.”

It was a quiet voice but it resounded through the entire room and Sylus turned around to see that male deer hybrid standing next to the stairs leading to the second floor of your house.

“And did it manage to blind him?”

Sylus initially thought this upstart’s words are empty, flowery phrases to earn the trust of the other prey hybrids but he had proved him wrong.

“If your bird’s wing weren’t broken, the human would be carrying his own eyes on his way out.”

Louis watched Sylus took measured strides to approach him but this time, the subtle animosity between them from before is set aside in favor of you. 

The stairs ahead of them looms, the path that used to be warm and inviting when Sylus made his way of your little game of hide and seek earlier is now an entrance to a dark forest even the sunlight refuses to penetrate, your home shielding you from the prying eyes and if it can, it will keep you forever, away from the hunters and their dogs.

“The human had already placed a price for his silence,” Louis began, pulling out the folded paper on his breast pocket and passing it to Sylus, “He is open to negotiate but we both know he wants full compliance.”

“I do not concede against the demands of a trespasser especially right now.”

“That trespasser may not see eye to eye with his fellow humans but they will hear him out if he points his finger at her.”

“What’s your proposal? Give everything he wants free of charge, pat him on the back and let him be on his way?”

“No, I am just passing his words to you,” Louis answered, then glanced at Sylus who briefly scanned the paper he had handed before passing it to one of the twins, “If you want my opinion-” 

There was a pause.

“-I would say stories don’t hold much weight if there is no one to tell it.”

It would be an unfair trial if you stand against the court of law mostly run by humans.

How many friends did the human bring along? Too many based on their scent that still lingered. Too many people that would bend the truth until it is unrecognizable, reversing the roles of the actual victim and the criminal.

Even then, they don’t need to do that. People had already passed judgment without hearing you out.

It would be your words against an insolent human.

Your silence would be taken as acceptance for your crimes, your cries would be treated as crocodile tears.

“The abandoned warehouse will meet with an unfortunate accident later tonight,” Sylus answered, slowly making his way up to you and then he turned to look down at Louis, “Those who are inside were not able to call for help in time.”

Only humans negotiate. Monsters like him don’t.

A silent agreement passed between them, a plan, and Louis watched Sylus skipped the fifth step of your stairs.

Sylus would gladly wield the needle on your behalf, to sew together a tapestry of lies so carefully knitted that he will use it to cover you, to shield you from those who would take you from here, from your new home.

────────────────────

“You’ll always be alone.”

It was before the sun broke from the horizon when an older dragon spoke to Sylus before, watching their reflections against the gentle flow of the stream.

Sylus had snapped both of his horns, his tail was short back then, easy to hide behind the thick coat and he practiced his laughs and smiles enough for his lips not to reveal the unusually sharp canines.

All those efforts, just so he can play with those human and prey hybrid children he always sees beyond the treeline where their group is staying-

No, hiding.

He was angry at the older dragon back then. 

What’s wrong with wanting friends? He wanted the same thing those humans and lucky hybrids have. 

His room always became a theater during the evening, the memories are old films that persist despite the dust that settled, and he is the lone audience.

That memory always stood out before.

You’ll always be alone.

The older dragon wasn’t mocking him.

The older dragon wasn’t even talking to him.

The older dragon was talking to his own reflection.

What did his kind do to merit such treatment? Must there always be a price for everything he cherished with his heart? Why would his nightmares refuse to stay in the realm of the unconscious?

“Sweetie?”

His voice was soft through the wooden door of your room, his hand on the handle. The sweet scent of cotton and wildflowers was almost comforting if not for the undercurrent of terror, fear, and most of all-

-Sadness.

Your answer is only a quiet sob, so soft as if making sure no one would hear even the tears that touch the hardwood floor of your room.

Sylus was hesitant at first but he slowly turned the handle of your door and through the small gap, the trail of Mephisto’s feathers led inside your cabinet.

“I am sorry I am only good at sewing.”

Mephisto’s beeps were distorted, even with its damaged voice box, Sylus knows it is still trying to comfort you, telling you it suffered worse.

You have always found Daisy an odd little crow. Too smart, too observant and its exposed wirings finally revealed why but it is still your friend, badly hurt and your needle and thread won’t be able to fix it.

Your crow friend rested its head on your chest, cawing softly and it is only when your blurry eyes landed on the silhouette standing just outside the cabinet both you and Daisy were inside that you trembled violently.

“Daisy didn’t mean to,” you pleaded, “Daisy’s a good bird-”

No, begged.

You begged through the wooden panels of your cabinet thinking he is the human who welcomed himself in your own home.

Is Sylus angry?

No, there is a better word to describe the wrath that is simmering under the surface of his collected self, close to breaking loose and it was simply because he doesn’t want to terrify you with acts of aggression reserved only for those who are deserving that he held himself together.

“I know, sweetie.”

There was a pause, your sobs coming to a sudden halt and weakly, you called out his name, the sound so fragile but he would always recognize your voice even among the crowd.

It was enough of a reason for him to slowly open the door of your cabinet, crouching down and bracing himself for the inevitable heartbreak, suffering. Suddenly he is the most powerless man alive, the only comfort he can provide is to hold you close and even then, it will never be enough to lighten each drop of your tears, each single tear heavier than the weight of this wide and uncaring world.

Suffering is never a foreign concept in his life, bullets wounds and cuts were painful more so are insults, and when he thought something finally beautiful had taken root in his life, the storm looms on the horizon, threatening to pull it from the soil.

“Skye,” you repeated, your face buried against his chest until you slowly looked up to him.

“Daisy’s-”, you stuttered and you slowly revealed to him his companion that is worse for wear, “Daisy’s broken, Skye. I don’t know how-”

“I’ll put our friend back together, little doe.”

“I tried to warn Daisy, Skye, I tried to do what you taught me-”

“You were the bravest girl, sweetheart. The bravest I have ever known.”

“I am not-”, you shook your head sadly, looking down at his fingers grazing at the exposed wirings of your beloved crow and to your wrist still red, “Brave girls are strong. Brave girls don’t let other men touch them like that-”

You didn’t even land a scratch on that human. 

“His hands were-” you continued, your next words incomprehensible as you clutched his shirt, “I didn’t like it but he said I was lying.”

Sylus didn’t say anything but he understood each word as he listened to you pour out all of your grievances, all the heartache and he rubbed one of his horns against one of your antlers, a gesture you found soothing as he waited for your heart to slowly return to its steady rhythm, the scent of fear slowly dissipating. 

He wanted to kiss your tears away yet he knew he had lost that right when he came here a minute later.

But he will earn it back.

Each drop of tear he tallied, each apology that isn’t supposed to come from you he counted, and in the darkness of your room only lit by the distant moon, this little corner of paradise mourns with you. 

It was when you quieted down that he carefully gathered you in his arms and every step he made while he made his way back to his car parked at the entrance of the shop together with the twins, his resolve only grew stronger.

Sylus eats his enemies alive.

Sylus doesn’t leave any survivors.

Sylus is a man that takes without remorse.

Each rumors echo in his mind and oh, they are baseless claims, false accusations he did not bother to deny. Insignificant but it served his reputation well.

It doesn’t matter, he would normally tell himself.

Until now.

Tonight, he wouldn’t be the man of many rumors.

Tonight, he would make those whispers grow into terrified screams.

Tonight, he would live up to each and every one of them.

The dawn will break tomorrow and Sylus will make sure only ashes would remain by then and it would end with his triumph.

Very soon, sorrows will plague you no more.

────────────────────

“We’re alone because we look hideous.”

Sylus is not the most well-mannered boy when he was young and he will never forget how the frown of the older dragon reflected in the surface of the running stream at his answer.

Pointed horns. Sharp canines. Tail.

All they are missing are hooves for feet to complete the look of a demon he sees in pictures of old fairytale books. 

No matter how many stories the older dragon hybrids told over the small campfire of the days where they used to soar the sky without fearing of being shot down, those who lost the feud had already lost their right to say their side of the story.

The only benefit of being given the role of villain by default is you have no one to please but yourself.

He knows every choice he makes will culminate to a bad ending anyways, a sad note. 

The last dragon, alone on top of his treasures, will draw his last breath and then finally, maybe he will understand why that older dragon is looking at the reflection of the sky in the stream.

It has been a self-fulfilling prophecy, one that he prayed fervently for it to change during the long nights and in the crossroads of his long journey, he had finally received a response and the answer is-

You leaned against him, holding on to the sleeve of the coat hanging on his shoulders, your gaze at his hands deftly repairing your crow friend in his lap.

The abandoned warehouse a few meters ahead from where the car is parked looms, lit by a few sodium lights with rotten shipping containers piled up on each other. The lightbulb of the small guardhouse flickered accompanied with the radio announcer’s voice, the night shift guard leaving in a haste after Sylus gestured him to leave through the open window of the car earlier.

“Sweetie, you and the twins will have to go somewhere for me.”

“Why can’t you come with us then?”

“I am going to have a talk with that human, miss seamstress, and I want you to be far away from here as soon as possible when I do.”

“That man?”

“Yes, that man,” Sylus answered and he watched Mephisto stand up, stretching its wings and flying out the window for a test flight. It was a quick fix but Sylus knows he had to a more extensive repair after this.

“Can I go with you?”

It was a silent question, and your ears drooped when he didn’t say anything, silently assessing your peculiar request.

“Sweetheart, I am afraid I won’t be able to indulge you on your request this time,” he answered, shaking his head and he removed the coat hanging from his shoulders, draping it over your petite frame.

“Just for tonight, little doe. Count this as me owing you a favor.”

“I don’t want you to owe me anything.”

“Then consider this as my duty as your protector. Something that I must do alone,” he replied, watching you lean against his hand when he traced the shape of your ear drooping. “Your dragon will fly back to you before the sun rises.”

Did those dragons in the paintings you saw with him also made the same promises to the people they love? Is that why they were called liars? That the word did not come from a place of disgust but anguish of a vow that met an abrupt end?

In this crossroad, is there why you have to say your goodbyes?

What can you do that this story will not end with a long, long, sigh? You can barely even use a firearm and if anything, you’re only good at sewing and cleaning.

Sylus smiled gently when he noticed your furrowed eyebrows, smoothing them out with his fingers and your eyes drifted on his sharp canines.

“My protector is too kind,” you finally answered and then you reached out to fix the good luck ribbon around his horn, “If he doesn’t mind, can I ask for another request?”

“Then what is it that my bravest little doe wants?”

His breath hitched when you undo the first two buttons of your blouse, pulling the cloth just enough to expose your skin, his eyes tracing the slope of your neck.

A vial of prey hybrid’s blood can sell for so much in the black market. An option you almost considered when you lost your shop in the fire back at Bloomshore District.

Every predator hybrid has one, at least that’s what the rumors said. 

A small indulgence but mostly because it enhances their physical abilities, and even when you believe he doesn’t need one, this is the only solution you know that would greatly benefit him especially when ahead of him are humans you are sure would harm him just like how they culled his kind.

Just like how they hurt you.

“Don’t let a single drop go to waste, alright?”

“Are you sure about what you are offering-”

You silenced him with a gentle press of your fingers against his lips, a gentle smile on your face.

There is no room for doubt, that he is sure, and you are not going to take a no for an answer this time when you pull him closer to you, tilting your head up for him.

Of course, Sylus had always dreamt of sinking his teeth on your neck but certainly not hard enough that his sharp fangs would break the skin and certainly not in this situation.

Yet, you are always one who is clear with your wishes.

“I want to be with you.”

“Then be with me.”

Breathe. He inhaled sharply before holding you closer and the scent of cotton and wildflowers almost clouded his senses, his tongue darting out to lick the supple skin while looking for a suitable spot to nip.

(You wanted to bolt but you won’t allow your deer side to take precedence.)

Bite. His canines sank on your skin and his heart raced in a rapid staccato, a dizzying concerto as he groaned in satisfaction against your trembling body, your hands holding his shirt tightly and a quiet sob escaped your lips.

(He wanted to take a piece of your flesh but he won’t allow his dragon side to overcome him.)

Taste. He had always considered the prey hybrid black market barbaric but every predator hybrid who tried the blood of a prey hybrid says it tastes like vintage wine, the finest among the collection but yours is different, completely unique.

(An exchange, a mutual understanding, and blood of the sacred deer is the offering of this long-awaited union.)

If pure love has a flavor then it would be-

White rabbit milk candy.

You will be the first and last, the only hybrid he would partake in, and even then, the gods must be laughing at the sheer absurdity of a carnivore not pouncing on a prey’s throat but Sylus is going to make sure he will return to your side.

Not all meetings have beautiful endings but your story and his has always been one of a kind.

His tongue swiped over the bite mark and then he pulled away, making sure to button your blouse for you and even with his head slightly bowed down, you can see his pupils dilated and his attempts on making his breath steady.

“You’re a good dragon,” you said quietly and he smiled when you kissed his cheek.

“Good dragons don’t burn down cities for their sweethearts, darling deer,” he answered and he pushed the gun he picked up from your shop earlier to your hands.

Just a safety precaution as you and twins make your way to the safehouse he directed them to bring you to and he let out a quiet sigh when he heard the twins tap through the tinted windows of the car.

“It’s time for me to leave, Miss Deer.”

You reach out to fix the collar of his shirt, adjusting the silver accessory to stay in its proper place.

“Take care, Mister Dragon.”

The ribbon you have tied on his horn swayed against the night breeze after he stepped out of the car, the door closing behind him and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick the remaining blood on the corner of his lips.

With your blood running in his veins, the world will be yours and more.

────────────────────

“Did anyone tell you that you are too overconfident for someone who is the last of his kind?”

Sylus approached the human sitting at the center of the warehouse, not slightly bothered by his insult and his tail swishing lazily while his eyes roamed around his surroundings, mentally counting each human equipped with an assortment of firearms.

Perhaps negotiation is a more recent term to describe a trap.

As always, the two wolf cubs did not disappoint, the numbers they provided were always on the mark.

A small army.

“I do not see the need to bring anyone with me tonight.”

He answered, taking a seat across the human and then crossing his legs. His eyes narrowed slightly when he caught the remnants of your scent that clung to the human’s clothes.

The human studied him before speaking, taking note that the coat that always hangs on Sylus’ shoulders is missing. His hair is slightly disheveled and there is a little detail that made his smirk grow back.

Sylus came here unarmed.

“In a rush, Sylus? Did my gift catch you off-guard?”

“Gift? Is that what you call packages such as those these days?”

“I prefer to call it a reminder. Your precious seamstress wouldn’t be hiding in this dump you call your empire with her father if she didn’t play hard-to-get.”

“Or if you learned to take no at its face value,” Sylus answered, watching the human’s face soured and his eyes flickered at the human tapping his finger on the armchair.

The more he looks at this beast, the more he detests Sylus further.

He was supposed to be in the advantage here. Didn’t Sylus knows he holds your fate in his hands? How is it then that he walked here as if this is just one of his business meetings?

“I came here all the way as you requested,” Sylus continued, his voice betraying nothing, “So tell me your price yourself.”

Greed. This human stink of greed and desire out of everyone inside this room and it only grew when he asked his question.

“Oh, I am very easy to please,” the human grinned, and his finger tapped faster on the armchair, “A monthly deposit of a ten million in local currency, a monthly shipment of firearms and ammunition, and-”

The human let his words hang in the air and Sylus had to resist the urge of rolling his eyes, his tail twitching in annoyance.

This one has a flare of dramatics, doesn't he? It is almost hilarious as if he is watching one of those stage comedies held by those students at one of the universities he is a sponsor to.

“-Her antlers.”

And people call him a monster.

“Is that all of your demands?”

The human nodded, practically drooling just at the thought of those majestic branches that grow from your head that you shed every winter. You and your father kept them hidden at the back of your old shop, a tradition the deer hybrids uphold, and before they started the fire, he made sure to secure yours first.

Oh, they were just so pretty and they still smell like you if he puts his nose close enough even after all these years.

Sylus didn’t answer, smiling coldly and he scanned his surroundings for one last time, deciding he had heard enough.

This sick bastard.

Then, Sylus laughed.

He laughed carelessly, even when the human in front of him and his men were taken back and he continued to laugh until his voice filled the wide expanse of the warehouse

“You trespassed my empire even if I sent you and your people on your way last time and now you are demanding a share of my fortune and my firearms,” Sylus said, his laughter slowly coming into a halt, “And you thought I would willingly give my sweetheart’s antlers she loves so much to you? To you of all people?”

He slowly rose from his seat and all guns were immediately pointed towards him, his tail flicking in anticipation.

“Stay where you are-”

“You are not in the position of giving me orders.”

“You’re outnumbered, you’re unarmed-”

“You should have listened more to those little fairy tales you humans made yourselves.”

There was a roar, enough to shake the earth, and among the small army of mercenaries and loyal bodyguards that the human had brought with him, his face was the palest as their eyes slowly looked up from where Sylus is standing to what is now standing in his place.

Wings so wide, it will blacken the sun- An omen.

Claws so sharp, it can tear through the thickest metals- A catastrophe.

Maw so large, everything that will go inside of it will disappear- An apocalypse.

The pain did not register in the human’s head when the dragon bit almost half of his arm off his body and it was only through the adrenaline that the human managed to roll to the floor in time because the beast was aiming for his head next.

“Fuck!”, the human screamed in pain and pointed at the dark abomination before them, “Shoot him! Aim for his eyes.”

Sylus had long abandoned this form, even back then as a child. The few remaining older dragons who raised him had always looked up, their hands reaching for the heavens once again but never did.

Times have changed. When your kind is culled, you would do anything to survive.

Horns, tail, claws, teeth, wings, scales.

They have no place in this modern world.

These features were traded for firearms and his bare fists and they just became an accessory, a reminder to anyone his kind is still here but barely.

For you, he will wear this atrocious form.

His roars were earthquakes, bullets barely penetrating his scales and the closest wound they could ever inflict on him is when they managed to shoot one of his horns, shattering it.

When did the animosity between the humans and dragon hybrids started?

The embers of this feud still remained, flickering and even when Sylus had tried to search for answers, he never discovered what sin so unforgivable his kind did that everything in this world had conspired for his happiness to be fleeting and every word shouts and screams of horror made him greedy for more, the fire around him growing larger.

Here he is, the product of all desires and hate the dragons had harbored for all years of being hunted and your tears is what broke his self-imposed curse of hiding this form.

No nice and friendly dragon would do this.

He is a wicked dragon, corrupt by all means, but he is yours. 

Your blood coursing through his veins is his fuel together with every memory of you and even if the blood from the wound of his shattered horn is making his vision blurry, he refuses to stop even if he is tasting iron from the limbs and heads he had torn off.

“We are losing people here!”

“Throw more grenades at him!”

“Fuck, we are going to die here!”

The distant glow of the roaring flare reached the N109 zone and even the outskirts of every district nearby together with the smell of burnt meat and the shaking of the earth.

Let this be a final warning to anyone who would dare trespass in your home.

Sylus does not bargain when it comes to you.

────────────────────

You were a crybaby back then.

Your antlers were shorter before and the thin, warm glow of the light downstairs was  a yellow thread, your guide towards your father who used to stay up all night making clothes.

Unable to sleep, you were his little assistant back then, and he smiled when he saw your ears poking just above the table you could barely reach.

Your first task was to put a thread through the eye of the needle. It was difficult and you pouted when you kept failing several times.

“Now, twig, if you cry too much, you won’t be able to see the eye of the needle now.”

It was only after several tries after blinking out the tears of frustration that you were able to finally manage to get it right and you handed the needle to him that you realize that if there is a thread connecting you and your father, it would be a warm color and ever since then, you always try to imagine what color is the thread that connects you to another person.

Yellow. The color connecting between you and your father, the same color as the tulips he always brings to you for your birthday.

Pink. That is the color you see for Luke and Kieran. The same color as the strawberry macarons they always bring to you and the three of you share while they let you examine the latest plushies they made.

Green. You even put a color for Daisy’s and while it brought you various colorful gems and flowers, you will never forget the time it brought you a four-leaf clover.

Then, finally-

You gazed through the tinted windows of the car, watching Skye talk with the twins and in a few moments, the distance between you and him will grow as he makes his way inside the warehouse.

Red. The same color as his eyes, the first bouquet of roses Mr. Sylus sent over, and the red wildflowers painted in the fields of your music box.

The red thread you are afraid will be snipped off because you aren’t good enough to fight.

Why did you want to go with Skye when the sheer presence of that human alone is enough for you to cower in a corner?

Because you want another chance and this time, you will not be the deer caught in the headlights.

No, you have to come close.

The closest you can to that human.

And when you do, you will cut the black thread that ties you to him.

Your footsteps barely make a sound at the smooth pavement, your hand sweeping at the cold metal of the shipping containers while you make your way closer to the warehouse. Every now and then, an occasional light will flicker in this labyrinth of towering metal.

From a distance, you can hear the twins’ calling out your name, their tone becoming more worried and you shiver against the cold breeze, pulling the coat hanging on your shoulders tight against you.

It was almost similar to your dragon’s warm embrace.

Even when he isn’t here, the scent that clung on his coat seemed to say otherwise and a sense of security almost washed over you until you were reminded of your farewells earlier.

If you were born as a predator hybrid, would you be fighting alongside him right now?

If you were born a fighter, would your old shop still be standing today?

If you pulled the trigger just on time, would your tears stop spilling?

Your knees buckled down and you leaned against the shipping container, the gun in your hand is cold and heavy yet you wrap your fingers around the handle firmly, the muzzle touching your forehead.

Holding the gun like this is like praying.

Would a part of you that you let Skye take be enough? You prayed it would be but prayers will always be just dandelion seeds carried by the wind, wisps of fragile dreams.

A familiar weight pushed on your shoulder and you smiled, putting down the gun and glancing at your crow friend. The shadows are enough to cover the exposed metal and wiring on its wing and it gives you a soft beep.

We should leave.

It tried to pull the small braid on the side of your face gently and when it didn’t work, it went for your skirt this time, any parts of your clothes, gesturing you to go back from where you came but you only shook your head.

“I don’t want to run anymore, Daisy.”

Not running.

Mephisto’s caws are lost to you, trying to reason with you but your ears unable to understand its words and it is growing frustrated at every tug but you refuse to move, your eyes trained at the boarded up windows of the warehouse further up ahead. It is awfully quiet, the only sound you heard was the warehouse door closing a few minutes ago.

Seeing that it is taking so much to convince you, Mephisto gives you one last look before flying to where the twins are, a few shipping containers behind, both jumping from one container to another, looking for you from above.

“I can’t smell her.”

Luke complained and Kieran nodded, their eyes taking in the dark surroundings searching for your familiar form. One heart beating too fast was already nerve wracking but being able to sense his twin’s as well? Kieran doesn’t know how they are both alive with how much they are worried right now.

Hell froze over when they opened the car only to find you were not there after watching the boss go to the warehouse and they had suspicion you most likely ran off to follow the boss but the question is-

Why?

Is it innate for every prey hybrid to flee when they are backed against the corner? To blindly run until you believe you are no longer in danger?

“What, bird?”, Kieran asked, watching Mephisto perched on his shoulder and it let out a beep.

It found you.

There you are, a few meters ahead of them, the boss’ coat hanging on your shoulders and they finally understood why they can’t pick up your scent.

The boss’ scent interlaced with yours, a perfect harmony and a cover. Any predator hybrid who would want to look for you will be thrown off your tracks.

Even if the boss is not by your side, he took all the measures he could to protect you.

They both landed in front of you, their tails wagging slightly when you looked up to smile at them.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be running away like that.”

“Yeah, not a good time for pranking, you know?”

“I am sorry,” you answered, and your gaze moved to one of the doors of the warehouse. The only entrance and exit because the rest was also boarded up. “I just want to-”

What do you want to do?

See your dragon step out of the warehouse without any scratch?

Sever the thread connecting you and the human who had given himself the title of hero of this story?

End this nightmare?

“Hey, it’s okay, miss,” Kieran started, sensing you are about to cry again, reaching out to embrace you and his brother did the same, their tails wagging, “Didn’t we tell you? You already have us and the boss looking after you.”

There was a caw.

“And the bird too,” Luke added, looking up to see Mephisto perch on your antlers, “It says it cares for you so much.”

Even if you lost everything in the fire of long ago, life still continued its symphony and something beautiful has taken root in the ashes of despair, something you want to see grow until it covers the landscape.

“Can’t we wait for him?”

“The boss? No, we really need to leave, miss.”

“It’s cold, you know, he doesn’t want you to get sick especially after you have been through,” Luke added to Kieran’s statement but you shook your head and the two looked at each other.

The boss had specifically asked them to bring you far from here and that they will even when you are oddly adamant on staying on this place they are sure the boss would raze to the ground.

Kieran was about to carry you when a roar cut through the silent night, enough for the shipping containers to shake.

“What was that?”, you asked, alarmed.

“Shit, we need to move her away here,” Luke muttered, shielding you together with his brother as the surroundings continue to shake and you can hear gunfire and roars from inside the warehouse.

Roars so furious they broke all the windows of the warehouse.

Roars so loud they herald the inferno that followed after.

Roars so violent they overpowered the screams inside.

“Don’t look.”

Luke covered your eyes with his hand and Kieran covered your ears but even their attempts to shield and comfort you is not enough, your eyes widening through the gap and your ears twitching against their hold.

The roaring flare intensifies, it eats anything on its path of rampage and it will only stop once dawn arrives, once black snow falls.

“He’s still in there-”

“Boss’ fine,” Kieran replied quietly, his gaze at the flames that continue to pick up. “But the humans? Not really.”

Beneath the frenzied roars was a thin layer of anguish and despair. Whoever is making them, they are in pain.

“The boss,” Luke added slowly, “He’s still just like you and me.”

He has been called a monster many times but his true heartbreak would be if the word comes from your mouth.

“I want to wait a little longer,” you murmured softly and they slowly let go of you, listening, “He must be tired. He might take a while if he has to fly back to us.”

Underneath their masks, a sigh of relief and a smile.

You really have spent too much time with them that the fearsome faces of predator hybrids don’t bother you so much.

Kieran was about to answer when his ears perked up, his nose picking up a distinct scent over the smell of burnt meat and ash.

That human stink.

It is the same human who welcomed himself inside your home.

Their gazes immediately move to the human who staggered outside the warehouse, the flames trying to reach him but barely.

“He won’t be alive for much longer,” Kieran commented, watching the trail of blood behind the human who is trying to stop his wound.

“He left his people inside? That’s quite pathetic, don’t you think?”, Luke added and he had to stifle a chuckle when he noticed Mephisto puffing up while perched on your antlers, as if wanting to square up with the human again.

The twins kept hurling insults upon insults, observing the human in amusement who is trying to shout for help in an empty field, trying to open the nearby cars he and his men most likely brought to get here.

There is no hope for him.

You should stay put.

Yet, you are afraid that if you move your eyes away from him, he will arrive at your doorstep tomorrow morning, alive and well.

Ambush is a certain dance.

Rule number one.

Conceal.

Luke and Kieran thrived on the art of surprising their opponents but that only works if you blend yourself against the shadows.

“I want to make sure he doesn’t visit me again.”

They were taken aback when you told them your request but your conviction said otherwise and here begins your first lesson and likely the last.

You weave through the winding shipping containers, your eyes trained at that mess of black thread walking aimlessly, yelling at anyone to come to his aid. Your steps were almost quiet, the sounds you made muffled by the dark and heavy coat hanging on your shoulders.

Rule number two.

Know your enemy.

A predator can be anyone, a loose term for people who had an intent to kill but what do you call yourself now if you are now the hunter and the man who had pursued you through the winding path of your forest is now the hunted?

His dominant hand is missing, his other hand trembling as he tries to hold the gun while he makes his way to the telephone nearby, lit by a lone fluorescent light.

Rule number three.

Exploit your advantage.

“Oh, need a hand?”, Kieran asked and the human recoiled in fear, dropping the phone and immediately pulling out the gun he hastily tucked on his back.

“Y-you-”,

“Me?”, Luke and Kieran both answered and the human trembled, stepping back to put more distance between the twins who were leaning lazily at both sides of the telephone booth, the dial tone missing, tilting their heads in amusement.

He thought he had planned everything out, that Sylus would cower knowing the weight of a human’s words is heavier than the rest of the hybrids combined but they were right, that dragon hybrid is not afraid to commit atrocities.

A faint rustle and he almost blacked out when he saw a silhouette standing just outside the light of the lamp post.

That coat.

Two horns protruding from the head.

And that damn fucking bird-

He was aiming for the head but his hold was lousy and the bullet hit the other horn, shattering it immediately and instead of a deep groan of pain, he heard something else.

A soft whimper.

“What the hell-”, the human muttered and you stepped inside the light, blood pouring to the side of your face and this time, you aren’t looking down on your shoes.

Your eyes are gazing back at him.

“You really do think you are like the rest of them, huh?!”, he shouted, and he was about to take another shot when the crow flew too fast, knocking the gun out of his hand.

“I am like the rest of them,” you answered quietly and you raised the gun, aiming at him.

Breathe for me.

Your dragon’s words were louder than ever, and the weight of his coat almost close to having his presence nearby and you blinked your tears away, never removing your eyes at the mess of black threads that threatened to engulf you.

May this bullet forgive him for what your heart cannot.

God, please.

A merciless shooting star, speeding fast, and for once, the heaven had finally turned an eye and ear to your prayers, the surface of the tangled black threads erupted like the waves of a dark and deep lake.

The black thread connecting you and him had been finally severed.

────────────────────

Opening a door for Sylus meant bracing himself for impact.

Opening a door meant surprises, most of them bad ones and he was fortunate to be gifted a set of senses that can detect danger ahead.

Not all business meetings are actual talks, most are disguised as attempts to take his life and the merchandise he had brought alongside with him.

It is an irrational fear but in his line of work, it doesn’t hurt to be too vigilant.

Sylus only ceased his rampage when the fire had slowly died down, the sun slowly breaking out from the horizon and he knew he had to return soon.

Return to you.

Hearing your gentle voice through the other side of the door made him too eager to turn the handle and listen to your warm greetings.

“Welcome back, Skye.”

“Good afternoon, Skye. Have you eaten yet?”

“Hello, Skye. Slow day?”

He had always looked forward to hearing those phrases with his real name and there is a certain sentence he has yet to hear but has been praying for that day to come soon. 

In this hideous form where everyone would certainly flee when they see him open the door, he was met with an unexpected surprise.

Through the gap of the warehouse doors barely held together by its hinges was no other than-

You.

Disagreement is not a foreign thing, even if you are twins who know each other’s thoughts and emotions.

They had debated over leaving after you took out the trash, after they left the body under the flickering light of the lamp post, and helping clean up your wound, their worries overriding their instincts. 

Kieran had insisted to still follow the boss’ orders but Luke was the stubborn one this time, pointing out to might as well wait considering you aren’t budging ever since you put yourself near the warehouse doors, waiting patiently.

The screams had died down then, the gunshots gone, and all was left was the soft crackle of fire slowly dying down.

Here they are, standing near you as you sit on the ground with your beloved crow perched on your remaining antler, the good luck ribbon swaying against the wind.

“Didn’t I tell you I will fly back to you before the sun rises?”

A deep voice, familiar, coming out from inside the dark warehouse, black snow falling around you and your ears drooped.

“Then we still have time,” you smiled and with outstretched hands you continued, “Fly to me then.”

He should be angry.

He should be angry that you chose to be stubborn at this time.

He should be angry that the twins listened to you.

Yet, he can’t find the heart to do so, not right now, when the ash is slowly settling and all he wants is to indeed, return to your side.

He was about to step out and it will just take him five more strides to get to you but he hesitated when he get a glimpse of what he looked like right now through the metallic door.

He really does look hideous.

Will you still look at him the same if he wears this shape?

“The sun is rising,” you gently said, coaxing him.

His sweetheart, so naive.

“Close your eyes for me,” he answered and you did as you were told.

Earnest.

Sweet.

Precious.

He rested his snout on your hands and he watched your reaction, your fingers mapping out the scales, occasionally grazing the exposed teeth.

“When did you become so rough, Mister Dragon?”

“All so I can defend myself, Miss Deer.”

You hummed, pulling him close with your face leaning against his snout. 

“When did you become so warm, Mister Dragon?”

“All so I can hold you closer, Miss Deer.”

He laughed softly, pushing his forehead against yours, and oddly enough, he found himself purring in delight that you have always managed to surprise him.

“When did you become so large, Mister Dragon?”

“All so I can protect you, Miss Deer.”

You never opened your eyes once, and slowly the scales you were touching were replaced by warm skin, his forehead against yours and he leaned down to rub his remaining horn against your sole antler.

Both of you, a mirror image of each other but not quite.

“Of all the creatures I have held, you are the warmest.”

“And you are the kindest.”

This time, he leaned down and kissed both of your eyelids and he wanted to keep his eyes at you longer, to see the morning light on your face but his eyes are becoming heavier.

How long was it since he slept on a hard surface? To sleep unguarded?

Exhaustion never crept in so fast before but here he is, already making himself comfortable on your lap and you didn’t stop him, your hand trying to look for his hair and he gently held your wrist to guide you.

“You know, boss, you have a bed back at the base.”

“Never thought I would see you sleeping in a place like this.”

You chuckled softly and Sylus did too, barely audible, a small huff, as he leaned further against your touch and with sleep finally creeping in, the night slowly becoming day, the radio left on in the guardhouse played from a distance and a brief smile cross his face, recognizing the last lines of the song. It was, afterall, the famous aria played in the opera where he first laid eyes on you for the first time.

Who would have thought using that form would tire him out?

Maybe you did the right call staying within the edges of this already burnt warehouse because he might fall asleep on his way back and he knows you wouldn’t be too happy if he come in a little later.

You and your adorable pout and drooping deer ears.

He would really hate to disappoint you.

“Let sleeping dragons lie.”

It was a quiet answer, your fingers on your lips and the twins laughed with his mechanical crow letting out a small beep. His eyes are closing, watching the morning rays overwhelm the brilliant stars and the skies have never felt nearer with him on lying on your lap.

Night is coming to an end, the fateful day that you will finally say his real name, he hopes, has arrived and one by one, each of your voice faded in the background until the last thing he heard was the last line of the song, and he mumbled along with it, a faint smile on his lips.

"All'alba, vincerò!

Vincerò! Vincerò!"

.

.

.

Victory tastes like white rabbit milk candy.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I think I used a lot of symbolism and references in this part but my favorite is the white rabbit milk candy and (the last lines from the opera Turandot). I got that after listening to Mili's Iron Lotus (Yes, I had second hand suffering watching people's playthrough getting their asses burn by Xiao from Library of Ruina). I think I would have finished writing this earlier but I live in a place where public spaces like libraries is a foreign concept and walking around is like Subway Surfers here.

I might make a playlist of all songs I made references to in the future after I am done with this. This chapter mentally exhausted me tbh I think I need to rewatch Delicious in Dungeon for the nth time again this weekend.

Four more chapters (Already including the epilogue)! See you next update!