#yes i know what vague means have you considered: the bit

[the-official-account]

How I feel when none of my friends are listening to my shows versus when friends are listening to my shows @incorporealbagelbeing I am vague logging about you

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kusakabe, dear, you're too beautiful to be saying that kind of stuff

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One TwentySeven

Chrissy has her hands over her mouth. Her eyes are wide and suspiciously wet looking, and Steve cannot read her expression at all, “you let him eat your toes?” She mumbles through her fingers.

“Yeah,” and Steve’s geared up to...something. Defend himself maybe? Defend Eddie? He doesn’t know, but she cuts him off anyway.

“I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” she sighs.

“It...is?”

“Steve, you literally sacrificed a part of yourself to save your one true love,” Chrissy sighs again, one hand supporting her chin now as she stares at them, “Jason wouldn’t even miss a TV football game,” she frowns.

“Steaming turd,” Eddie say solemnly, and then they share a look, and both of them start laughing.

Steve looks between them, frowning, “yeah, well-”

“Oh! Is that why he won’t let me do anything with his hair?”

“I-” Steve starts, then stalls, “what?”

“Well, in school your hair was like...ninety percent of your personality-”

“What-?”

“And, genetically, this makes Eddie part you, right?”

Steve frowns, that thought had never actually occurred to him, “I...guess?”

“And he really doesn’t like being different-” Chrissy gestures vaguely.

“Not different,” Eddie scowls, “little different,” he then immediately concedes.

“I know, I don’t mean it in a bad way honey, you know that right? You’re really cool different, really good different,” Chrissy reassures Eddie immediately, “but in school, Steve’s one job was like...being king of fitting in. Fitting in and having good hair was like, all he had-”

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” she shrugs, “kind of true though. And now Eddie like, has a big thing about both of those things so do you think he like, inherited them from you?”

“No!” Steve crosses his arms, “no I do not think that at all.” Except, now that she’s said it, Steve’s kind of thinking it a little bit. “He just wants to fit in, that’s to be expected considering what he’s been through, don’t you think? Plus, when he came out of the pool all his hair was gone so it’s totally understandable-”

There’s a knocking on the front door, but Steve hears it open before he can get up and Joyce calls, “hello,” through the house. Hopper follows her into the lounge, “we thought better to bring my car than Hoppers truck in case someone is watching,” she shrugs, “don’t want to spook them if they think the laws involved,” she tells them in a conspiratorial whisper.

Hopper rolls his eyes, “she thinks she’s Jessica Fletcher. Kid, you got any beers?”

Steve says, “in the fridge,” at the same time as Eddie says, “no.”

Hopper goes and helps himself, and next to Steve, Eddie grumbles under his breath.

Steve nudges him, “Hopper’s helping us, and we can always get more beer. You only ever drink one at a time anyway.”

Eddie nods, but looks grumpy about it, making Chrissy giggle.

“So, new kid, you all caught up?” Hopper comes back in, bottle in hand.

“There’s an alternate dimension filled with monsters you can reach by opening gates, that’s where Will Byers went missing – that’s your son?” Joyce nods, “but he’s fine now?” Joyce nods again, “okay, good. And your daughter is from a secret government science experiment that was hidden in Hawkins, and she can move stuff with her mind. Eddie is from the upside down and used to be a mermaid.”

Hopper sighs, “close enough, now, what can you tell me about this guy?”

“Uhm...well, he was white. An older guy? Maybe in his sixties, so grey hair?”

“That really narrows it down for me kid.”

Joyce elbows him, “Hop.”

“Did he have an accent?” Steve asks, “like, a Russian accent?”

“Oh, oh no not at all. He was American.”

“Huh.”

“He...all the time wear a shirt, most time a tie and...sometimes…” Eddie mimes doing buttons up the front.

“A coat?”

“No, not coat. Make like Christmas sweater.”

“Oh, a cardigan.”

Eddie nods, “yes.”

Hopper sighs, “an old white guy in a cardigan. How hard could it be,” Joyce elbows him again, “woman!”

“Well...wouldn’t it be safer for Eddie to go away for a little bit?” Joyce suggests.

“No,” Eddie says, frowning and grabbing on to Steve’s elbow, “not the cabin.”

“Oh...oh no honey. I meant further than that, and with Steve. Like a...like a little holiday.”

“Yeah, I don’t want Steve coming back and forth to the cabin, this guy could easily be looking El too,” Hopper adds.

“So where do you-” the front door crashes open, interrupting Steve.

Robin stumbles into the lounge, pink, sweaty, and gasping for breath, “I got here. As fast. As I. Could.”

“Jesus Birdie, did you just ride your bike the whole way here?”

“Yeah,” she caves in, bending to rest her hands on her knees, chest heaving.

Eddie nods, eyeing the state of Robin, “bikes are dangerous,” he points out sagely.

Steve shakes his head, watching as Robin regains her composure enough to share a quick smile with Chrissy. They do an awkward little finger wave at each other across the four feet of lounge they’re separated by. Steve’s going to have to grill her at some point.

“How did you even know?” Steve asks her.

“Oh, well El was there when you called Hopper, and she walkied Max-”

“Right. Right. Never mind I get it,” Steve stops her before she relays the entire chain of events.

Robin slides onto the couch, a very proper foot of space between her and Chrissy. Steve raises an eyebrow. Well? Robin glares at him. Fuck off.

“How about Ray’s place?” Joyce asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hopper agrees, like he was already considering it, “I’ll go call him.”

Hopper shuffles into the hall, “fishing Buddy,” Joyce elaborates, “Hopper uses his cabin all the time, it’s right on a lake.”

“It is not ‘all the time’,” Hopper grumbles from out in the hall.

“Feels like it,” Joyce whispers.

“You going into hiding?” Robin asks, excited.

“Yeah...I mean...maybe?” Steve hedges.

“On holiday,” Eddie adds, before frowning, “Chrissy? Can I have holiday? From work?”

Chrissy snorts a laugh, but then very seriously adds, “I think under the circumstances I can excuse the short notice.”

“I could help!” Robin starts eagerly, before she dials down her excitement, “I mean. I could help out, with the flowers, as long as I’m not at Family Video. Oh! Maybe the guy will come in and-!”

“And you could nothing,” Steve tells her, “Robs, seriously, leave it to Hopper, please?”

“Fine,” Robin grumbles.

“I’ll be really glad of your help though,” Chrissy smiles at her, which seems to perk Robin right back up again.

“Oh shit.” Steve sighs, “Keith.”

“Well, you know that elderly aunt you’re really close to? She was super sick over Christmas and you had to help her out?”

“Sure..?” Steve answers vaguely.

“I think she finally just died,” Robin grins.

“Great.”

Eddie has his nose practically pressed to the window glass, “cows!”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, “yep. Real life cows.”

“Different colors?”

“Yeah, you get chocolate milk from the brown ones.”

Eddie’s head snaps round so fast Steve’s surprised he didn’t hear his neck crack, “really?? The cows in my book are black and white.”

“Yeap, black and white ones make regular milk,” and Steve almost, almost pulls it off, but Eddie starts to frown as he thinks about it, and Steve can’t hide his smile any more.

“Lie,” Eddie says, grinning happily before he goes back to looking out of the window, “funny lie Stevie.”

The town is pretty much exactly as Hopper described; a little touristy, a little kitschy. Bigger than Hawkins. There’s a good will and a record store, and Hopper said that there’s a library in town somewhere. They drive past a busy looking diner and a fair sized grocery store. The gas station is exactly where Hopper said it would be.

It’s busy enough, but clearly filled with a lot of visitors; there’s three outdoor supply stores pretty much on the same block, which figures considering what Hopper said about people passing through, visiting the lakes or going hiking. There’s one store that seems to cater exclusively to merchandise for tourists if the rack of hats and shirts outside is anything to go by.

Once out the far side of town, Steve figures then they’ve driven the mile and a half Hopper directed before finding the turning, and then another mile later finding the over grown, rutted drive that leads up to the cabin. It’s real quiet, the road clearly not used often, and there’s plenty of ‘Private Road – No Entry’ signs at the turning of the lane.

The cabin is nestled amongst the trees, a long, squat thing with a shingled roof and peeling white window frames. There’s a screen door set in the middle and not much else to look at on this side. Steve can already see the little lean too built on the end though, just poking out; it has it’s own vents and chimney and houses the generator. There’s another, open sided shelter next to that, stacked with firewood. Steve figures they won’t need to light the fire much, unless it gets chilly in the evenings. It might, he figures, this close to the water.

Eddie hops out immediately, heading to the cabin and opening the squeaky screen door before letting himself in with the key Hopper gave them.

‘Keep the cans for the generator topped up, if you use anything from the pantry replace it, and for the love of god take your own bedding and towels. Trust me. There’s a coffee can on top of the fridge, I usually shove a few dollars in there as a thank you, oh, and you'll have to go into town if you need to do laundry.’ They were pretty much the only other instructions Hopper had given, but so far everything seems to be exactly as Hopper said it would be.

Steve’s gathering things from the car when Eddie comes back out again to help, “hows the inside?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, “dusty.”

“Well...we can soon fix that.”

They get unpacked. Eddie dusts and packs things away while Steve tops off the generator and gets it started. He puts the now empty gas can in the trunk, ready for when they go into town. He goes inside the check the fridge is running, then raids the pantry. Some of the cans in there don’t even have labels on, a few even rusting a little, and Steve doesn’t really feel like pot luck or food poisoning for dinner, “want to get groceries?”

“Yeah. I can’t find the vacuum.”

“Oh…” Steve comes and looks, checking in all the likely places, before he finds a little rotary carpet sweeper, showing Eddie how to use it.

Eddie does the whole cabin in less than ten minutes, carefully knocking the dust outside after, “trash bags?” he asks on his way past, and Steve adds them to the grocery list.

The cabin is comfortable inside, if a little lived in. All the furniture looks, at the very least, older than Steve.

Some of it might give Hopper a run for his money.

But, yeah, it’s a tidy little space, and the couch in front of the fire is nice. “Listen later?” Eddie asks when he dusts off the record collection.

“Sure, ready to go now? The fridge should be cold enough by the time we get back.”

Eddie nods, retrieving his jar of cash and shoving some in his wallet, “ready.”

They squeeze into the phone box together; there’s no phone line at the cabin, and Hopper did warn them about that.

Eddie huddles close, Steve holding the receiver so they can both hear it ring, loose change in his pocket at the ready. Steve speaks to Robin’s mother very briefly, and then Robin and Chrissy are both on the line. Steve can imagine it in his head, cord stretched at it’s max to reach inside the door of Robins room, both of them standing close so they can hear, the same as Steve as Eddie are now.

“What’s it like?” Chrissy asks.

“Nice,” Eddie tells her, “I cleaned the dust.”

“Good job, and is the lake pretty?”

“Yeah. Lots of trees.”

“Steve,” Robin cuts across, “is it like, actually alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve reassures her, “it’s pretty good actually, the couch is comfy and the dock looks nice. Generator started up fine. We’ll be okay. Just gonna’ go get some groceries and settle in for the night. Eddie found a record player and there’s a bunch of movies.”

“Library?” Eddie asks.

“Sure, we can find that tomorrow maybe.”

The last thing they did as they were leaving Hawkins was to return Eddie’s books, he was worried they would overrun if they were gone too long.

They wrap up their short check in, the girls promising to let everyone else they arrived fine. Steve also makes Robin promise not to do anything stupid, which, she does promise, but Steve is absolutely certain she has her fingers crossed as she says it.

They carry a bag each into the cabin, Eddie immediately opening the fridge and declaring it cold inside. The groceries get unpacked, and Steve finishes unpacking and making up the bed while Eddie unpacks his pencils and notebooks.

With that done, Steve makes them both coffee, “come on, lets go and look at the lake.”

Hopper warned them there was no outdoor furniture and he always brings his own folding chair, but Steve and Eddie are content to sit on the planks of the short dock and watch the water, “the sun set is so pretty.” And it is, dusky oranges and pinks reflected on the water, the sky going dark at the edges.

It’s kind of romantic, sitting here. There’s just the very quiet lap of the water to listen to, the occasional soft sound of the breeze through the trees. It’s...quiet. Soothing. Steve lets go of the breath he’s been half holding since Chrissy and Eddie piled through the front door yesterday afternoon. There’s no mystery old dude here. Whoever is looking for Eddie, he won’t have a clue where they’ve gone.

Eddie’s safe again, right now. Steve’s fairly confident Hopper will find the guy, Hawkins isn’t that big, and if he’s brazen enough to outright be asking questions about Starcourt, surely he will be easy enough to turn up.

Steve hopes so, anyway.

They’ve finished their coffees, the sun slowly setting. The temperature has dropped a little, while they’ve been sitting watching the colors on the water, and Eddie snuggles into Steve’s side, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, absently dragging his nails lightly on the material of Steve’s jeans.

He’s always fiddling with something, Steve thinks vaguely. He wonders absently if it’s just because everything is still so new, Eddie always chasing sensations. Steve can't blame him for wanting to try things, for wanting to try everything.

“Dark here, at night?” Eddie asks, shaking Steve from his thoughts.

“Yeah. Really dark I think. No lights from other houses or street lights or anything.”

Eddie hums, “see the stars?”

“Oh...oh yeah, they’re going to be super bright here. You...I don’t suppose you ever saw them, in the Upside Down?”

“No...first time here,” Eddie lifts a hand, flashing his fingers open and closed at the sky, “many pretty.”

It’s not fair of Steve to deny Eddie anything, especially not because of his own hang ups. And he promised himself he would be better about all this.

And it is romantic, sitting here on the deck, the sun just a hint of light on the horizon now, mostly hidden by the forest.

Eddie hugs his mug to his chest, perking up when the breeze rustles the trees, louder now, “the trees are different.”

Steve looks around, “yeah, I guess. They’re...older than at home. Wild. Kind of.” They are closer together, and a lot bigger than the ones at home. It highlights that the trees at the bottom of the yard were probably carefully curated and deliberately planted at some point. Comparatively the trees here are...huge. Much more established.

A bird screeches, and Eddie startles, leaning more firmly into Steve’s side. Steve puts an arm around him. “Called?”

“Oh...it was just a bird. Probably different to the kind we get at home, that’s all. You want to go in and listen to a record?” Eddie nods, “and maybe...we could try me giving you a blowjob?”

Part TwentyNine

[bogkeep]

in which i tell you about medieval timekeeping methods

ok we gotta start with BABYLONIAN TIME and SUNDIALS because this is the Foundation. this is what they used for thousands of years. pretty much every structure we have for understanding and conceptualizing time is based on The Movements Of The Universe - years, months, days, this is how we understand Time to pass. the sun and stars were used for keeping time since Always!!!! there were also multiple ways of keeping time with the Shadows of the sun, not just sundials, but also tablets to measure the length of shadows. And Such

BABYLONIAN TIME is twelve hours daylight, twelve hours nighttime. this makes very good sense considering Sundials, you just split the indicators into twelve parts. don't know why Twelve specifically other than that the babylonians liked it, but it is a very nice, divisible number, and its been kept as the base for all the hour keeping systems i've read about so far.

but yes this does mean that a babylonian hour does not have a set, static length like a modern hour does...! it changes with the seasons and the place, so a babylonian winter hour is different from, say, a winter hour in northern norway. it probably helps to be closer to the equator and reliable sunny weather.

until the invention of mechanical escapement clocks, babylonian time was The main, foundational understanding of timekeeping, BUT...!!!!!! the church put a spin on it. what the monasteries needed to keep time for was Prayer Times, which they had seven of and were based on the passion of the christ. so they signaled the Seven Canonical Hours, starting at sunrise, ending at sunset. church bells is also how people kept time, because you could hear them out in the fields. timekeeping was a bit of a wibbly wobbly art but accuracy wasn't That important.

the various methods used to keep time in addition to sundials included: the cock's crow, candles, hymns, incense, and water clocks. not hour glasses, as they were invented around the same time as mechanical clocks. isn't that wild!!!!!!!

WATER CLOCKS, also called clepsydra, are a diverse category of clocks ranging from a container with water dripping out of it at a steady pace, to complex hydraulic mechanisms with weights and stuff that i honestly have yet to grasp. the simple versions were used in classical greece + rome in the same way you'd use hourglasses, to keep track of speech time, watch time, et cetera. the islamic world + china were the ones to develop the complex water clocks. there's documentation of a water clock in gaza that had like, moving automata and stuff around year 500. there was a water driven astronomical clock in china around year 1000. water clocks made a comeback in europe around the 1100ds, and were getting more widespread use. like at least they work at night, unlike SOME dials

"mechanical clock" is a bit of a misnomer since water clocks were clearly also mechanical, and the exact time of invention of what we think of as mechanical clocks is Vague. the word "horologia" was used to refer to any kind of timekeeping device, including the noble rooster, so it's a bit of a semantic haze.

they had astrolabes, which Could be used to tell the time, but weren't used to do that in the daily life. scientists wanted to make an automated astrolabe for like, the Science, they just needed to invent the perpetuum mobile first and then combine them. obviously.

the missing piece for the MECHANICAL CLOCK was the escapement, the mechanism that regulates the time with which the gears turn. once they got this going, probably early 1300ds, they got the shows on the road. the shows being: the astronomical clock, and the public striking clock. these were considered different things, you see.

the astronomical clock is the Automated Astrolabe. it shows the movement of the sun and moon and stars and as a consequence, the Time. they had dials that people could read the time from, but they were generally considered objects of prestige and god's glory, kind of like cathedrals. they often had moving figures and such.

now, public clocks that mark the hours with sound, THAT'S a timekeeping device. they didn't even have clock faces at first, and it really is so interesting to think about how looking at a clock wasn't considered the main way to tell the time. these clocks seem to have originated in italian cities and spread from there, and this is where we get ITALIAN TIME.

to show babylonian time with a mechanical clock is impractical. the machinery is good at regular movement, to show babylonian hours you kind of need the astrolabe. so italian hours were static and unchanging in length. you had twenty four hours in a day, and the cut-off point was half an hour past sunset. that was the end of the twenty fourth hour, and a new calendar date begun.

of course, the time of the sunset keeps changing all the time As Well, so these clocks had to be adjusted for that Continuously. which was annoying but they still did it until the 17th century. this method was used in italy, bohemia, silesia and maybe poland? i'm unsure what they used outside these spaces at the time, if they stuck to the babylonian hours even with mechanical clocks and did complex maths about it.

at least the NUREMBERG CLOCK had its own take on it, even if it didn't spread beyond southern germany at all. they used babylonian hours, but instead of changing the length of an hour, they changed the amount. eight day hours and sixteen night hours in december, opposite in june. the tables needed for how many days with how many hours were very complex and annoying also.

the concept of starting a new calender day at midnight, and never needing to constantly adjust day hours or when the sunset begins, WAS known but only used for scientific and astronomical purposes. like that's such a weird way to split the day!!!!! twelve at MIDDAY?? WEIRD. some travellers noted that this was a very practical and elegant solution, though, but travel and far flung communication was still very slow, so mismatched timekeeping was more annoying than inconvenient. but anyway that's for the future to figure out

[tumbleweed-run]

Want

(18+, Explicit) Kinktober 2023 Day 7: virginity

“There you are, I was wondering if you’d changed your mind,” Gale tried to make sound light, a little joke between the two of you but you could hear the undercurrent of tension in his words. 

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly, letting your hand rest on his shoulder as you sat. “I got caught up asking Wyll something.”

That was a lie, and one you felt a little guilty telling him, but the real reason you were delayed was a bit more embarrassing. You’d been sitting by the fire going over conversations in your head. Or rather, how to have a very specific conversation. One you still weren’t exactly sure how to approach. 

The truth of the matter was, physically you were a virgin. Even though you’d had mind-blowing, life-changing, astral sex with Gale just before fighting Ketheric your body was still very much the virgin it had been before that night. 

Gale, of course, didn’t know that fact. It wasn’t something you advertised to potential suitors. 

It wasn’t that you were some prudish untouchable. You’d had your fair share of odd groping as a teen (and adult) and were intimately familiar with your own body. You’d just never had actual sex using your body. 

That was an odd distinction to have to make.

You weren’t ashamed of it, it was just something that didn’t happen. Some people never had the opportunity to try certain foods or go certain places, you’d never had the opportunity to have sex. Or rather, you had the chance a few times, but the partners were decidedly less than ideal. 

You realized that keeping this fact from Gale was becoming increasingly like keeping a secret. You needed to tell him, and you needed to do it before he decided to take advantage of the relative quiet of the journey from the Shadowlands to Baldur’s Gate. 

“You seem quiet,” Gale prodded, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

“A lot on my mind,” you admitted vaguely. You bumped your shoulder into his but stayed there, leaning into his warmth. 

Gale hummed in agreement. “It’s odd this calm before the proverbial storm.” 

You felt him press a kiss into your hair. 

“I need to tell you something, but you can’t make a big deal about it,” you said eventually after allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of the moment. 

You felt Gale’s body stiffen, no doubt anticipating the worst kind of confession. Though at this point you weren’t sure what Gale would consider the the worst.

“Alright, I’m intrigued,” He said very neutrally. 

You took a deep breath and sat up right, giving yourself the space for this. “Just to be clear, that night, our bodies weren’t actually… involved.” You were hopeful maybe you were wrong and you’d just missed all the awkwardness because you’re mind was literally somewhere else. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gale’s head cock to the side. “Ah no, they weren’t,” he agreed, unknowingly dashing your hopes, “it looks a bit strange to an outsider, I admit, but alas our corporeal selves were exactly where we left them.”

“Why?” He tacked on after a pause. 

“Well, that would mean that I’m still technically a virgin.” You made your admission rather quickly, words bumping into one another as you spat it out, hoping to get this odd conversation out of the way. 

Gale was unusually quiet and when you finally turned your head to look at him you saw about a thousand emotions cross his face. 

“You’re a…” he trailed off.

You waited.

“Virgin?” his voice had risen almost comically. 

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“But you’re-”

“Yes, I know how old I am,” you interrupted rolling your eyes at him. 

“You mean you’ve never…?” Another incomplete sentence from your usually verbose wizard. 

“That would be what that means, yes,” you confirmed… again. 

You sighed and turned your body so you could look at Gale easily. “It’s not that I’m some innocent. I’ve had the odd kissing session in a dark room, its just never gone any farther. Not to mention I’m concerningly familiar with my own hand and also that one odd pillow in my…”

You trailed off as you watched Gale’s eyes darken. He cleared his throat and shifted. Idly you wondered which of those revelations had affected him so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded almost hurt. 

“It never came up,” you admitted, “first, you were at risk of blowing us all up and then we ended up having sex astrally. I would have told you if we’d been… physically involved,” you assured him, fighting with yourself as to how exactly word things. 

Gale seemed to absorb this information with acceptance. “Well I guess that means my plans for tonight are off the table.”

“What? Why?” You sounded genuinely alarmed, surprising even yourself. 

Gale smiled a small, exasperated thing. “My love, I can’t have you bedded properly for the first time in some wood in the middle of nowhere.”

“You absolutely can,” you insisted.

He chuckled and took your hand. Normally you would have seen a similar move as patronizing but there was nothing but love and adoration shining from Gale’s eyes. “We can be together astrally, again.”

“No,” you huffed pulling your hand away, growing frustrated. This wasn’t why you’d told him. “I want you,” you insisted, “I want you, for real. Here.”

Gale shook his head again, “but you deserve-”

“Gale,” you moved up onto your knees so you could hold his face between your hands, “this is about what I want. And what I want is your actual physical cock inside of me, here in this clearing. Tonight, preferably.”

Whatever Gale had been expecting, that confession wasn’t it. His mouth dropped open. 

“Are you sure?” He asked eventually. 

You nodded, vigorously, “yes.”

“Then I will give you what you want.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. Gale gathered an arm around your waist and laid backward, pulling you with him. You laid across his chest, eagerly allowing yourself to get lost in kissing him. 

You shifted, slotting your body between his legs. Gale groaned when your thighs brushed against his cock, already half-hard. Taking advantage, you pressed your tongue between his lips. His hands slid down your back to your ass, cupping it he pulled you up and closer. 

“How many young lads did you lead into dark corners, only to leave them with their hopes dashed?” Gale teased when you two finally separated for air. 

You laughed. “I never said I left them unfulfilled.”

Gale shook his head with an amused smile. “I assure you every lad who left without bedding you was unfulfilled in some regard.”

“I think,” you smoothed a hand against his chest, “you think too highly of me.”

“Not possible,” Gale reassured. His expression changed as you watched, from playful to something more sincere. 

“What have you done with others?” He asked all of a sudden. 

Now, you felt you might be a little offended. “Gale, I wasn’t saying that-”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand cocks in your mouth. Confused, perhaps, but I want to know specifically what has been done to you that hasn’t come from your own hand… or pillow I suppose.”

“Oh,” you felt a little sheepish now.

With out warning his hands slid to your thighs and he lifted you, pulling your legs apart, forcing you to straddle him. You could feel his cock pressing against your core. You fought down the urge to grind against it. 

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth?” Gale asked then.

You shook your head, a warmth crawling down your neck at the thought. 

“Their fingers?” He continued. 

Again, you shook your head. “Twice I've had someone’s hand down my pants,” you admitted, “but it was awkward and they never really did much.”

“Maybe you’re lucky,” Gale mused, “boys tend not to think beyond their own needs.”

“And men are any different?” You challenged. 

Gale’s eyes darkened as he looked at you now. “Not all, but this one, yes. Your needs are mine.” He rolled his hips up then, grinding his cock against you. 

“Oh,” the sound felt like it was punched out of you. Happily, you rocked your hips back down against him. 

Gale’s hands went to your hips, holding you from doing anything further. You tried to roll them again and frowned when he wouldn’t let you. 

“I promise I will pay as much attention to your pretty cunt as you can stand,” he started, “but I need you to promise you’ll stop me if anything makes you uncomfortable.”

There was an edge to his final words, and you knew anything less than an agreement that he’d leave you untouched. 

“I promise,” you repeated. 

“Good girl,” He rewarded, his words shooting straight to your core. You absolutely did not look at him in an attempt to hide that knowledge from him. His chuckle let you know it had been unsuccessful. 

He released your hips and you ground down on him once more. 

In a testament to Gale’s self-control, or perhaps his determination, his hands moved to the ties of your trousers. When he’d finished opening them, he rolled you both so he was above you. He sat back on his legs and slid backward before working to shimmy your bottoms off before discarding them in a pile nearby.

He gently pushed your legs and you laid back, allowing him to bend your knees. He gently pushed at them so they dropped to the side. You shivered both from the complete exposure of the position he’d put you in and also from missing his warmth on you. 

“Fingers or mouth?” Gale asked, hands sliding down your thighs, ever closer to where you truly wanted them. 

“I believe I said cock,” you retorted. 

A light pinch was delivered to your thigh and you jumped, startled but not actually in pain. “Soon,” Gale promised, “for now, though, those are your options.”

“Mouth,” you answered with almost no hesitation.

Above you, Gale smiled, apparently pleased with your answer. “Do you want anything? A pillow,” he asked rather than doing what you’d asked for. 

“I want,” you answered a bit snappier than you’d meant, “for you to touch me.”

“Some day, I will have you without risk of interruption.” Gale wasn’t really talking to you it seemed. Still, you wondered what he meant by that. You hoped something wicked. 

All thoughts left your mind when you felt his fingers spread you open even further. You were about to remind him you’d said mouth, unable to resist the urge to push against whatever side of him you were seeing, when you felt his breath hot against you. That urge fled, just as quickly as your thoughts. 

You cried out when he swiped his tongue between your folds. Quickly you pulled your arm across your mouth, aware the camp wasn’t too far off. Gale didn’t seem at all concerned though as he began tracing maddening paths with the tip of his tongue. 

Somehow he was touching you where you wanted and yet seeming to avoid it all together. A growl ripped out of you in frustration and you tried to slide down closer to his mouth. An arm flew across your hips quickly, preventing you from moving anywhere. You were about to say something, beg even, when his tongue finally found your clit. You cried out, free hand threading itself in Gale’s hair. If you couldn’t move closer to him, you could at least pin him to you. He didn’t seem too bothered by this thought, tracing his tongue down you again, this time pressing it inside of you. 

“Shit,” you cursed hips ineffectively trying to grind down again. 

Gale, in some act of benevolence or maybe because he was enjoying your reactions, move his arm from across your hips. He instead pushed his hand under your ass forcing you to tilt your hips up towards him. He moved his attention back to your clit. You felt the walls of your pussy begin pulsing around nothing and you whimpered.

“Fingers,” you gasped, pulling your arm from your face. 

Gale either didn’t hear you or was ignoring you. A few more seconds of attention to your clit and then his teeth gently nipped against it. 

“Fuck,” you cried out as your orgasm hit, once again pulling Gale against you. You couldn’t help but shamelessly grind against his face as you came. 

He stayed there, tongue licking broad stripes up and down your center until you stilled. Only then did he gently disentangle your hands from his hair and sit up.

He knelt between your still-spread legs, a hand gently cupping your cunt. He was watching you closely, pleased with whatever he saw he gently began kneading against you. 

“Will you fuck me now?” You asked unable to help the way your hips chase up at the contact. 

He shook his head. Briefly, you were mesmerized by the way his beard, glistening with your wetness, reflected the light. 

“Why not?” You whined, which wasn’t exactly how you’d meant to say that. 

Gale chuckled before leaning over you to press a kiss on your lips. You could smell yourself on him, taste it even when he pulled away. Far from being turned off by that fact you found yourself wanting to kiss him again. 

“Fingers, first,” he said and demonstratively slipped a finger beneath your folds to press against your entrance. 

He easily pressed the finger into you, finding no resistance when he did. Gently he began pressing it in and out, every time he ground the heel of his palm against your clit until your hips were rolling with his movement. 

His eyes never left your face when he began pressing a second finger into you. You nodded, trying to pull them deeper but he only continued pressing the new digit into at a slow pace. 

“Gods,” you moaned when his fingers were pressed into you completely. 

“Not quite,” he answered with a wry smile. 

You were quickly distracted when you realized he was refusing to move his fingers in you. He was just grinding his hand to your clit, and while it felt amazing it wasn’t what you wanted. 

“Gale,” you whined rolling your hips in an effort to get some movement inside of you. 

That was his aim, apparently. Gale held his hand still and allowed you to fuck yourself on his fingers. You grew brazen, chasing after the grinding sensation as well with a roll of your hips. He watched you with a scrutiny that had your body flushing. Gradually you realized he had begun gently scissoring his fingers inside of you, pressing you open wider each time you pulled away from them. 

His fingers were thick and you felt yourself clench around them at the thought of what he’d (hopefully) be replacing them with. You realized, in a passing thought, that you’d struggle to watch his spell casting in a normal way ever again. 

You felt another orgasm building and with great effort stilled your own hips. 

“Please,” you groaned out, “I want you inside me. Please, I’m ready,” you were shamelessly begging. 

“Yes,” Gale agreed before finally thrust his fingers in and out of you a few times and then with drawing them entirely. 

He was quick about removing his own trousers. His cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach, in the moonlight you could make out a bead of precum on the tip.

Your mouth watered. 

Gale didn’t allow your thought to wander any further before settling between your legs. One hand hooked around the back of a thigh and hiked up your leg against him. 

“Tell me if this hurts, despite what you’ve heard it doesn’t have to,” he said leaning over you, bracing himself with his free arm. 

You would rather die, you realized as you nodded a lie to him. 

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, but he didn’t move any further. It appeared he’d also put you in a position where he could keep you from pushing down on it. You wondered if it was forethought or simply a coincidence. 

When he pressed inside your head collapsed fully against the ground. He was certainly bigger than anything that had been inside you before, his thick fingers included. Painstakingly Gale began pressing into you. His movements were slow and controlled, making sure to keep you immobile. The sensation was uncomfortable but not painful as he stretched you even further. 

You couldn’t help but be grateful, now, for his refusal to fuck you immediately.

When he bottomed out, hips pinned against yours, he groaned head dropping forward. You felt the muscle of his thigh tremble against yours. You were secretly pleased as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

You tried to wait him out, trust him as he had only thought of you so far, but your patience only extended so far. Experimentally you clenched around his cock. 

“Shit,” he groaned, hips stuttering as he restrained a thrust. 

“Please,” you whispered once again fluttering around him, “please.”

Gale pulled out only a little before slowly thrusting into you. It wasn’t much but your eyes rolled back. 

He kept it that way, small shallow thrusts until there was almost no resistance when he did. Then, he began working back further before thrusting into you. He was grunting with each thrust, head hanging low so his forehead was resting against your chest. 

“Gale,” you whined unable to take the coddling much longer. 

It seemed his restraint was hanging on by a thread because his hips snapped up against yours, much harder than any previous movement. 

“Yes,” you cried out in response. 

Gale began truly fucking you then. He was mumbling something against you but the sound of your skin slapping against one another was drowning him out. Your own hips were moving now, too, the hand on your thigh had loosed so he was not longer holding you still. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice strained, finally loud enough for you to hear. 

You were able to slide a hand between the two of you. Instead of touching yourself right away you pushed your finger further down enjoying the sensation of the slide of his cock in and out of you. 

Abruptly Gale pushed up so he was sitting back on his knees. Both hands sliding under your hips in order to tilt you up so he never slid fully from inside of you. 

“Now, please,” he groaned out and you realized he was holding back his own orgasm. 

Hurriedly you found your clit with your fingers, this new position making it easier. You rubbed quickly and efficiently in a way you’d long learned would bring you off. 

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” Gale babbled above you. “Come for me, I want to see your face this time.”

It was his words more than your fingers that pushed you over the edge. You whimpered and he began thrusting harder as you squeezed around him. 

Gale came with a shout, eyes screwing shut. He pinned your hips together once more as he spilled inside of you. He rode out his own orgasm like that, hips rolling slightly with each pulse. Once he was done, Gale gently lowered your hips back to the ground, allowing himself to slip out of you.

You extended your hand up to him and when he took it you pulled him down against your chest.

“Next time I think I want to ride you,” you told him after a moment of quiet. 

Gale laughed before tilting his head up to capture your lips in a kiss. 

[yourfavepookiebear]

Hii, can i make a request? Yandere and self aware twisted wonderland please?

So the characters could hear the player after some time, although it is very difficult unless you pay attention, they actually don't know the appearance of the player!

But yeah, yandere Heartslabyul with a player who's pretty expressive? Like whenever something frustrates them they'd almost always curse out loud, when something makes them happy and satisfied they'd yell out a "Yes! Oh my god bro", etc

Okay so basically a player like me (and many others), cool, got it. (Im panicking I suck at writing for heartslabyul) I fucked up at ace's part idk what to write for him

God the old hag is waking up

Rushed asf

Riddle Rosehearts

You're pretty easy to read, at least on the terms of mood and emotion, which could be considered a good thing for him ?

At first he didn't believe it, because how could the player be anything but perfect ?

But then he realized that you don't need to be emotionless to be perfect.

Now this vaguely depends on whether we're talking about before OB or after OB Riddle, but if it's after OB then he doesn't mind it much

In fact, he likes hearing you mumble in frustration whenever you lose or see something irritating, it makes him...melancholic, in a way. Because these are all the signs that you're pretty normal just like them, you feel. It reassures him sometimes, to know that.

It's pretty cute and funny to him, but he won't show it

Hates that you show that side of yourself to others, he wants to be the only one to see this, but alas..not much can be done.

At least, not within the rules.

Cater Diamond

A bit like Riddle, it's sorta funny for him. God he wishes he could tease you, but he can't because of the damn programming..

Will definitely sneakily film it or record it he can't pass up on such an opportunity !

Depending on his mood he may or may not post it as well, but most likely on his private account

Can't have anyone else seeing such a cute thing, can we ?

Trey Clover

Now this is a bit complicated (more so than the others)

He wouldn't show it on the outside ofc, but he finds it endearing. (everyone does.)

May or may not crack a little smile when he sees you jumping in joy (or banging your head on the wall in frustration)

Doesn't care what others think about it, he will listen to your little outbursts with all ears.

And if anyone dares to comment about it, they better get ready for hell.

Deuce Spade

Doesn't really know what to think about it,

Ofc like everyone else he loves to hear you jump in joy or excitement, but frowns when you whine or complain about something

You deserve the very best !! If he could, he'd do anything to make you happy, just to see your little smile

God he wishes he was with you, but he can't...except-

Right, maybe draconia could help him with this.

Ace (I forgot his last name)

Oh well.

Seeing how expressive you are, he would definitely sneak in a few teases in his dialogues.

You know that cheeky smile of his ? Yeah, that's the one he has

Unlike a few others, he doesn't care if you're jumping in joy or in sadness, all he cares about is hearing you, seeing you..

Don't worry, soon enough, you'll be right next to him. So if you one day wake up to find yourself locked up in a room, just know that he means no harm

He can't help but wonder what you look like...ah, no use thinking about that since you'll be here soon.

This sucks ass ngl, my writing is trash right now but whatever

I did better than I thought since it's been a few months since I last wrote anything

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[starseungs]

from the past, beyond the present, and into tomorrow. ksm. ( teaser )

kim seungmin x fem!reader — following the last wishes of her beloved grandmother, y/n finds herself moving back to her family's hometown. deep into the countryside and miles away from the bustling noise of the city, the change was supposed to be a new experience. that was, if only the mayor's son didn't bring along years of unknown familiarity with him.

GENRE/S — drama, slight angst, slight fluff, just sentimental, soulmates au, multiple lifetimes, high school au, a slowburn • teaser: 2.1k words (10k+ overall fic)

WARNING/S — y/n gets referred to with she/her pronouns, setting is heavily influenced by japanese environments (but still made vague enough for other preferences), main characters are aged eighteen, possibly more to be added upon release.

NOW PLAYING — tracing that dream by yoasobi

( ✒️ ) this is the product of seungmin covering one of my favorite songs ... now im gonna make him a shoujo anime love interest !!! and yes the teaser is long asf. i, too, am concerned about the total word count of this fic. (road to 20k wc i guess)

( 📌 ) STATUS: UNRELEASED • TAGLIST IS OPEN !

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

You had dreamt of a specific scene once when you were thirteen.

At least, you were the one who considered it a dream. It was something you had tried to bury in the depths of your mind—locked away in a tiny chest placed in the furthest corner and behind closed doors. If it were someone else, you knew that they would’ve already exhausted all means to figure out what the dream meant.

After all, it certainly wasn’t every day that you got to dream of something that felt so vividly real to the point you could’ve sworn it was a memory.

But it wasn’t. It could never be.

Why?

Because in no reality could an authentic memory be of a time that shouldn’t even exist yet.

“I won’t ask you to congratulate me,” the vessel you were seeing the world through spoke. In the scenario being played out, you could feel yourself smile warmly. You could only guess why the positive action was contrasted by such a somber tone of speaking. “Never once have your eyes lied in front of mine.”

The sound of joyous laughter that surrounded the area almost felt too jarring to compare to the mood present between what was supposed to be you and another male. He sat completely still, unmoving amidst the dim evening despite your earlier comment. Flickers of embers from the sizable-looking campfire reflected in his eyes, telling of the fact that the absence of a response was not because of a lack of focus but rather his inner thoughts getting swallowed up by the burning flames.

His looks would range him older than eleven. Yet, you didn’t seem phased by it—not even in the slightest. Perhaps this was something you should have expected. The voice that came out of you was notably not one of an eleven-year-old either. So you gave up on the matter.

Instead, you waited for an answer to what you had previously uttered. Even if it was just a simple hum that came out of his mouth.

He let the fire crackle a bit more.

“Does it make me a bad man to say that I envy you?”

The breath that you didn’t even know you were holding escaped your lips the second he spoke. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean,” was your reply.

The silence came back for a second. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem as heavy as the one you two had just broken. You watched his movements, almost mesmerized, as he took his eyes off the fire. The concentration only faltered when his sight came up to meet yours. “You’re off to go do greater things over in the big city,” he starts. “And yet, here I am, getting left behind in this quiet town. A place not a single soul even yearns for—where everyone starts off but never stays.”

It was odd. The way you felt your heart race at his words.

To be completely honest, you didn’t think much of what he had just said. You didn’t even know exactly what it meant—both for you and for him. Yet, the sudden spike of adrenaline in your veins told a different story. It was making you feel breathless while also making you tear up.

“You could always come with me.”

He shook his head. Did he just reject your offer? “It’s no use. My life’s responsibilities will still lie here. What would I even gain from leaving this place?”

Another beat. You could care less if it was of silence or your heart. In what seemed like a blink, the environment felt too overwhelming for you to function in. It was almost like you were sinking. Down deep to who knows where.

Though muddled, you tried your best to bring yourself back to the forefront by listening to the variety of other sounds outside the small bubble you two had created. Children running around screaming with laughter, adult men howling with amusement at whatever conversation they were in, and a female voice yelling to prepare the fireworks.

How fun. A celebration right next to a brewing storm. All under the same night sky.

“But,” you forced the words out. “You also have your own dreams.” His eyes softened at the mention. The way your heart shattered echoed a little too strongly throughout your body.

“That’s why I’m letting you go like this.” The young male smiled, making sure to let you know it was only directed at you. “So that at least one of us gets to achieve them.”

Your lips quivered. “Why do you speak as if I’m never going to come back for you?”

Silence again. You were beginning to develop an intense dislike for them.

“That’s just the way the world works,” was the response that came to soothe your growing anxiety. “It doesn’t revolve around a certain person. And it certainly doesn’t revolve around me. Go and live the life you want without any regrets. When the time comes that you’ve done everything you’ve wished for in life, come and find me again.”

A shake of a head.

“I could always just stay.”

A weak chuckle.

“Then, neither of us will be able to grow.”

A clench of a hand.

“What if I take too long?”

A minute passes by. You’ve come to really hate these momentary pauses.

He stands up. “There will be no such thing,” the young male assures you, moving closer only to stop at arm's length. You fought the urge to reach out and hold him. “Even if it takes multiple lifetimes, I’ll always be here. Waiting for you.”

“What if you forget about me?”

The world fell into one last hush. Your well-held tears finally started falling one-by-one, just like the first drops of rain. He sighs at your state, taking another step forward.

“I really don’t think I ever will.” He cups your face gently to look at him. “That’s why to you, who my heart will always choose in every lifetime—”

A loud bang. You watched as the fireworks bloomed into the sky through his glistening eyes.

“—Please live well until you come back to me.”

Hushed whispers filled the room.

You should’ve expected this. No matter the place, all high schoolers were bound to be the same, either one way or another. If you really had to make sense of it, your best guess would be that it was simply human for them to act this way. Universal traits are what makes a species. Perhaps you would’ve found it much more uncomfortable if the students in front of you didn’t find your situation interesting. After all, the genuine interest seeping out of those youthful eyes did make the atmosphere a lot lighter. At the end of the day, you could never actually fault them.

Still, enduring the poor attempts of adolescents trying to keep their curiosity hidden for more than a tick of a clock was harder than you thought. A part of you so badly wanted to believe that it was because this whole ordeal was tiring—bothersome, even. Unluckily for you, your brain knew a little bit too much for its own good.

Next to the classroom’s front door, one of your female classmates drops a pen accidentally. You watched it roll down two seats away, only to stop underneath the chair of a guy who was animatedly discussing something with another that was to his right. The latter enthusiastically reciprocated the conversation; his seemingly dominant hand spinning a blue-colored pen while doing so. You balled your hands, only to release them not even a beat later. They felt slightly damp.

You were nervous.

“Settle down now, class!” The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Cheon, ordered. Like well disciplined soldiers, the students quickly ceased all sound. Their undivided attention made you swallow heavily. “Starting today, we have a new addition to our class. Let’s all listen to her introduction.”

Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets at her order—only barely holding back from painting shock all over your face. This was not the plan you were made aware of. You wanted to protest. Throw a tantrum like a little child at the way she had just thrown you into a den filled with lions with no choice but to fend for yourself. Back in the faculty room, she had clearly stated that she was the one who was going to introduce you to the class. What was the point of asking you all the standard information about yourself if she wasn’t even going to use it?

Mrs. Cheon merely stood there, anticipating for you to start. Her neatly managed fingers were laced together behind her back, presenting the dark purple dress she was wearing in all of its glory. You kind of wished it was brighter; just so you could complain about her blinding you without seeming rude. Now you realized that you shouldn’t have trusted her words in their literal sense. It was foolish of you to believe that all you had to do for your formal introduction was to stand there until you were settled.

You took a discrete, heavy breath.

“Hello to you all. My name is Y/N,” you start off as cool as you could manage. “Eighteen. I just moved here from the city, so I am still in the process of getting familiar with the environment. Please take care of me.”

If you could give yourself a pat on the back at that moment, you would’ve. Unfortunately, you had yet to get a grasp on how things worked around here, so it was probably better not to do anything that would make you stand out more than you already did just by being new. And who even transfers schools two months into their last year of high school? Plus, with their stares so intently directed at you like they were studying a fascinating specimen, you couldn’t lift a single finger anyway. So you settled for pursing your lips instead.

A male student with puffed cheeks from the second row raised a brow at you. You bit your cheek lightly. Great.

“It seems like that’s all for Y/N’s introduction,” Mrs. Cheon says, clearing her throat. You internally glowered at the way she awkwardly moved on. You could only wonder how painful your introduction now seemed. “You’ll be seated next to Seungmin. Raise your hand, please.” She ordered.

To which not one soul followed.

If you had not enforced every single ounce of control you had, you were sure your jaw would’ve dropped to the ground. This was already proving to be one of the worst moments of your life, and yet life seemed way too eager to make it even more unforgettable. Your eyes snapped to the figure sitting on the slot in the back row, right next to the windows.

Granted, you already knew who this ‘Seungmin’ was. It was quite obvious, really. The only other desk free to use in this entire room was the one next to the guy you were currently burning a hole through with your gaze. He was staring out the window without a worry in the world, seemingly lost in his thoughts. His posture screamed relaxation, and anything more than that meant infusing into the wooden chair he was leaning back on.

While normally you would have found this guy relatable, right now you could just wish that he finally acknowledged Mrs. Cheon’s call so that you could now erase your presence for the rest of the day.

Luckily for you, it seemed like your homeroom teacher was also getting impatient.

“Kim Seungmin!”

The male with the same name as the one just yelled out leisurely broke off his staring contest with that one cloud in the sky to give you two at the front a glance. It was then that you finally got a good look at him.

His black hair was cut short, brushed down into bangs, but not enough to cover a notable undercut. Despite his clean appearance doubled by the meticulously ironed uniform that hung on his figure, his face was grim in a way that showed great dislike for the situation. You wanted to scoff at the frown decorating his lips, sending everyone the clear message that he had just been bothered. Fighting off the urge to twitch an eye at the slight scrunch of his nose was proving to be the most difficult challenge of the day.

“Oh?” He reacted monotonously before raising his hand as requested. That obviously meant he did hear Mrs. Cheon. “Yeah, here.”

You grit your teeth, already feeling an overwhelming sense of annoyance radiating out of you. From what it looked like, he felt it too—shifting his gaze from Mrs. Cheon to meet yours. Yet, your eyebrows furrowed as the feeling dissipated the moment your eyes locked.

Huh.

How come he seems awfully familiar?

FIC TAGLIST ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka @starlostastronaut @soobnny

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This, my greatest masterpiece (this, a curse unmatched)

Day 2 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 7.2k

genre: horror, fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: gargoyle bruce, vague religious imagery, pretentious artist but I write it with love, reader falls off of the tallest building in Gotham so I hope you're not afraid of heights

a/n: me ??? write a bruce wayne fic ??? ig finally

"You know they said," you murmur mostly to yourself, smoothing over the block of marble with your palm, "that you're to be my greatest masterpiece. What do you think, hm? Will you live up to it?" Your hand raises, hammer held tightly in your palm as your other hand presses a chisel against the solid stone.

And then you let your arm swing down. The chisel chips away fragments of marble in flying flashes. The project begins. 

It will be a gargoyle, one day, much like all of your other pieces. That is the name that you've carved for yourself in this city - that is the fame that you've sculpted. You're commissioned quite often to build these creatures, to twist them and warp them into something akin to art, having them placed on top of buildings like solitary statues of the night. Monsters twisted out of blocks of stone.

"You know," you continue on as you carve, your breath coming out in a heavy sigh as you sniff and tip your head back, your arms already beginning to feel the weight of the chisel in your hand. "The Mayor, when he asked me for this, I mean - he asked why I choose to do this." 

You readjust your grip, running a thumb over the work that you've done. You'd never carved out of marble before. Other stones, yes - limestone, mainly. It's cheaper and softer - easier to break, easier to bend to your will. But marble? Marble seems to take on a life of its own.

And you will have to break it, you know. You will have to bend nature to your impossible will.

"I told him," you continue, your voice echoing through your studio as you stare at the block of marble, at the creation to be. "But I don't think he listened. They never really do, do they?"

Gargoyles, you'd reminded the Mayor as he'd signed your cheque, are purveyors of evil, creatures that drip malice and violence onto the darkened city below. However, it has also been believed that gargoyles are protectors against evil, that they act as great guardians that watch over cities and towns to keep the evil away. It's been thought that they hold curses at bay.

It's always seemed to be a bit of a mystery, then, that Gotham has so many gargoyles dotted along its rooftops and lining its skyline. Because Gotham is where curses are born. It's where they fester and breed. 

"Sometimes," you continue on, stepping back to stare at one of your sketches and chewing on your lip in thought. "I think that you just… Well, it's that you sort of just catch all of the evil in this world. Someone has to shoulder it. Someone has to swallow it." You glance around, then, at the various sketches and designs and photographs of old pieces that are scattered around the studio. Every gargoyle, every face - they all have their mouths open, snarling and snapping. 

"That's why I make you," you say easily, raising the hammer again. "Someone has to be the villain. Someone has to take the fall."

But it's not quite fair, you think, for Gotham to swallow all of the evil in this world. It's not quite fair, you consider, for you to be the one cursed with creating that evil. It's not quite right, you feel, to create these creatures over and over as they swallow endlessly, a hunger living within them that cannot be satiated.

"You're going to be alone, though, you know," you point out, running your hand along the veins of the marble. "That makes you different, I suppose. City Hall only wants one." But maybe you get it, you think, as you stand back and stare. 

It's to be your greatest masterpiece, they told you. One creature, alone, looming on the rooftop and looking out onto the city.

It's to be your greatest masterpiece, they'd reminded you as you'd taken the cheque, folding it and tucking it into your pocket. It's to be the city's pride and joy. 

"May I ask?" you'd said at the time. "Why me? There are plenty of artists in this place who'd kill for something like this."

"I'm sure you know why," the Mayor had huffed. "And this is important, so don't blow it."

"That's why I'm asking," you'd pressed. "Why me, to create something so holy?" The Mayor rolls his eyes at the question, crossing his arms over his chest and grumbling, but he humours you nonetheless.

"People talk about your work," he explains, like the words are being pulled from him against his better judgement. "They love to say that… well, I'm sure you've heard it. People say that your statues come to life at night."

"It's just a figure of speech," you soothe, but your grin makes him scowl.

"Of course it is," he snaps. "They're not real, they're not alive. But… but…" he begins to search for the words, struggling as you laugh.

"It's the soul, of course," you murmur to the block of marble, brushing away stray debris and dust. "You have to carve a soul into things to make people feel for them. And I… want that. I need that." Your chisel chips away more of the stone and you grip onto it tighter. You need it, you think. You need to make people swear that your creatures stand and stretch their wings and come alive by the light of the moon.

The days begin to feel endless after that, and the work continues on and on and on. There are much smaller carvings, busts and faces and hands - little elements of practice and failure scattered around countless tables that sit in your studio. But the floor has a large spot cleared in the centre, now, for the huge, looming block of marble to sit.  

The work is hard. It makes your arms ache and your muscles burn as you spend neverending days chipping away at the stone. It takes much longer than it had for any of your other carvings for this one to begin to finally become something. It feels like time stretches endlessly before the figure of a man is finally apparent, rough and undetailed and jagged, with two shapes that will soon be huge wings sprouting from his back. 

But that's how you leave him, one night, a white sheet thrown over him. You pause on your way out of the studio, one of your hands rubbing at your shoulder as it aches under the constant work. The calluses on your palms have begun to throb, the skin ripping and bleeding in places. Your head pounds, as well, the tension in your arms and shoulders twisting and clenching your muscles until the pain radiates through you.

He'll be worth it, you tell yourself. He'll be your greatest masterpiece.

You find yourself more than slightly unprepared, however, for your return to your studio in the morning. You find yourself more than a bit taken aback by the sight that awaits you. You're just pushing open the door, rubbing at your forehead and grumbling about your poor night's sleep to yourself when you step on something just inside the doorway of the great room.

When you lift your foot, you realize that it's a small piece of stone, broken and jagged and crumbling.

Something, you think immediately, is wrong. Your skin pricks in alarm as your heartbeat hammers in your ears and you look to your sides, finally seeing the state that your studio is in. 

The entire room has been turned in on itself. Faces and busts have been smashed and the pieces are strewn across the floor. Sketches that you'd made painstakingly in preparation and had pinned up are torn and shredded. A table by the window has been knocked over and crumpled pieces of stone are strewn around. 

And then there's the marble. In the barest shape of a man, he's not in the crouching position that he'd been in when you'd left him. He's not in the shape that you'd designed him to be. He's caught, instead, lunging toward the door of your studio with the white sheet that had been draped over him now tangled around his torso and legs. There's a desperation in his unmoving form, as if he was trying to escape, to flee this place that's brought him into creation. The breath leaves your lungs in one freezing gasp at the sight, and your eyes widen as your hands tremble and your mind begins to spin.

There's a crumpled piece of paper clenched in his closed fist, you realize, as you take the smallest step forward. Your legs are beginning to feel numb, waves of shock rolling over you in painful rhythms as you take in the sight before you. It takes a fair bit of slow stepping and trembling before you finally pry the scrunched-up paper from his stiff marble hand and unravel it, smoothing it out so that you can see what it is.

It's him. It's the finalized sketch that you'd done of the piece. It's the face that you're going to give him, snarling and violent and cruel, fangs bared like a bat while he spreads his wings out behind him. Your thumb smooths over the writing at the bottom of the page and you breathe out a heavy sigh.

You always name them, of course. Every gargoyle that you've carved, you've given a name. You've breathed life into them in that way. In this finalized sketch, you have his name written across the bottom of the design in scrawling, messy writing.

Bruce.

But he shouldn't be alive, you think desperately as you shove the sketch into your pocket and begin to circle the statue, tapping your knuckles against the solid marble. He's not, you think. He's not, he's not, he's not. He's unmoving, unbreathing, unwaking. He's not alive. He's not alive. He's not alive.

But he was, you suppose, breathing deeply as an eerie sort of calm begins to wash over you. Morning's light begins to stream in through the tall, narrow windows of your studio. The rays of the early sun shine down in beams to shimmer against the cold stone and dance across the rough, half-finished surface.

This is to be your greatest creation, they'd told you. This is to be a curse unmatched. 

The Mayor comes to visit eventually, curious to see how it's taking shape - curious to see how the city's money is being spent. Your studio is in disarray, although if it's again or still, you're not quite sure at this point. You'd cleaned and tidied it at first, putting everything back in its rightful place and sweeping up the debris. 

But when you'd come in the next morning, the space had been destroyed again. Bruce, the gargoyle, had been twisted into a new position once more. You'd cleaned up again, admittedly less so than the first time, and then moved along.

The next day, when you flicked the lights on and were greeted by shredded paper and smashed limestone once more, you'd mostly given up on trying to wrangle it into anything other than the mess that it has now become.

The Mayor steps over small piles of rubble, eyeing you and the way that you roll your shoulders and wince. By now, Bruce has moved again, of course. He's turned his back to the door and is reaching endlessly up toward the light streaming in from the windows, the white sheet clutched tightly in his other hand as if he's ripped it off of himself.

It's like he doesn't know, you think, that gargoyles cannot live in the light of day. It's like he's trying desperately to become something that he is not.

"I'm not sure this is quite what we had discussed," the Mayor grumbles, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the figure. You peek your head around the marble torso to look at him, shrugging in an unbothered sort of way.

"It's art, Mr. Mayor," you say slowly, like you're explaining it for the first time. "It takes on a life of its own. That's sort of the whole idea."

"Don't get smug," he snaps back. "If you were only half as talented as this, you wouldn't be getting away with speaking to any of us in this way." You laugh at his words, leaning closer to the gargoyle to work on his face and neck, carving the veins and tendons into his smooth, stone skin. 

One of his massive hands is curled near your waist as you work, his claws brushing against you as you step closer. It's a coincidence, of course, the way that his fingers are nearly wrapped around your waist. It's serendipitous fate, the way that it seems like he's pulling you closer. He's not alive, after all.

"You never know," you say easily, glancing at the Mayor past Bruce's cold, defined bicep. "Maybe it will turn into something completely different again before the end."

"I don't want that," he says shortly. You pout a bit mockingly and put your hand on the gargoyle's chest as you lean up to examine the work that you'd just done on his neck. "I want what I paid for."

"You paid for me," you snap back, a wild sort of grin flashing across your face. "This is exactly that." The Mayor shuffles on his feet, muttering and grumbling as he stares up at the towering figure of marble and the stepladders that you've left scattered around as you've begun to need the height to reach his face.

"What's his name?" he asks eventually.

"Hm?"

"I know you always name them," the Mayor says stiffly. "What's his name?"

"…Bruce," you say eventually, and as you step back one of his claws catches on the fabric of your shirt, momentarily making you stumble as if he's tugged you closer to him.

"Why name him a thing like that?" the Mayor huffs. You roll your eyes and untangle your shirt from the gargoyle's grip, patting his bicep as you step away from him fully to face the Mayor.

"The name Bruce," you explain with a laborious sigh, "is connected to the willow tree."

"So?"

"So," you continue, exasperation seeping into your tone, "the willow tree symbolizes life. New life, rebirth, morphing into something different."

"It's just a statue," the Mayor says dully. "There's no need to act like it's anything more."

"If he's just a statue," you challenge, and when you stand in front of Bruce, his wings spread out behind you like some kind of omen, "then why do you want him so badly?"

There's no response to that, you suppose, as the Mayor just huffs and grumbles and says something about upcoming meetings as he makes a hasty departure. Not that you care much, too preoccupied with staring up at the gargoyle's face and watching him take shape. 

It's to be your greatest masterpiece, right? You may as well make it something grand then, right?

It takes months for the creation to be completed enough for it to be transferred to the rooftop of City Hall. The weather has begun to turn by now, your breath coming out in foggy clouds and your fingers freezing in your pockets as you watch the movers gently adjust the giant sculpture into his new home.

It's here that you're supposed to do the final touches on him, smooth him out and polish him and perfect him. It's here that your art is meant to come to life. As the movers are bickering back and forth about the weight of the thing and how to make sure that it's placed safely, you begin to ignore them and choose to look out toward the city, instead. From here, you can see glimpses of everything - every statue, every carving. You can see every part of Gotham that you've left your mark on, every crack and crevice where you've carved yourself into the lifeblood of the city.

When you look beside you once more, your newest creation stands tall and proud, his marble glimmering under the sun and shining through the everlasting fog of the frantic city. He's to be your greatest masterpiece, you remember as you pull off your gloves and smooth your hand over him. He's to be the protector that bears the weight of the entire city on his shoulders. 

What a burden, you think, as you're handed your kit and you begin to dig around for your tools. What a burden to be built as such a thing.

What a burden, you think, to be the thing that always builds this.

But it is on this day, nonetheless, that he's finished. With a chisel and a hammer, you carve life into marble. You mould and sculpt, like something holy creating something damned. The day wears on until the sun begins to dip below the horizon once more and the two of you are bathed in hues of pink and violet and deep, deep blue. 

It's when the sun finally drops low enough that darkness reigns that you finally drop your chisel, your hands throbbing and your head pounding and your face frozen from the cold. You wonder, as you stare up at the gargoyle's looming form and feel a panic start to fester within you, what on earth you're supposed to do, now that you've fulfilled your only purpose.

That hollowness, you find, sort of sticks with you, clinging to your soul and wrapping around you as you make your way home in the depths of the night. The buildings of Gotham tower around you, your own statues leering down at you from rooftops with vicious snarls, as if they're mocking you for your own hubris… as if they're cackling at the sick karma of it all.

Like Icarus falling from the sun, you wander through the twisting, winding streets and back roads, the darkness blanketing over you and crushing you under the weight of it all, under the curse of this city. 

A shadow flickers overhead and you keep your eyes trained on the ground, almost afraid to look up. It's as if you've become afraid of your own creations, terrified of them outgrowing you and leaving you behind.

You can't even bring yourself to return home, you realize, turning instead to head to your studio and sit in the silence of the now-empty room. There's a large, empty patch of floor in the middle where Bruce had stood for so long, and as you walk through the space, crumbled stone and torn-up paper crunch under your shoes and you feel something hollow eating at you from the inside out.

That was to be your greatest masterpiece, you think. And now he's gone.

When you wake the next morning, it's on the floor of your studio, your jacket rolled up under your head as a makeshift sort of pillow and light streaming in from the windows. The notifications on your phone, though, as you grumble and rub at your sore neck and check the news, have you shooting upright to a stumbling stand. 

News has broken out all over the city of destruction, some kind of vandalism having taken place overnight. Gargoyles all across the city have been destroyed, smashed and battered and knocked from their posts.

You scroll through the news feeds frantically, something akin to dread curling in your gut as you sift through photographs of your creations, crumbled and attacked and lying in pieces across rooftops. 

There are rumours spreading across the news outlets of people having seen a dark, flying shape swooping over the city. Some, mainly a few of the rather less reputable news sources, claim that it was the Mothman.

But you just shake your head and scoff at that. People will believe anything these days, you think.  No one knows who could've done it. No one knows how it really could've happened.

But as you stare at the wall of your studio, finished photographs of Bruce on the night before he was transported out of this space hang on the wall and mock you. You stare at them and something settles deep in your gut, a knowing sort of pain stabbing into you there. 

You know what happened. You're sure of it.

It doesn't take long to weasel your way into getting roof access at City Hall - something about needing to make final touches on the gargoyle and how you're sure the Mayor wouldn't be happy if you weren't allowed to work. You just claim that you need to see the carving again - you need to fix something, need to put your hands on it one more time.

Sure enough, when you get up there you're faced with the evidence of it all. There are chips and gouges in Bruce's fingers, his claws dulled and broken - like he had spent the night clawing and breaking and destroying across the city. 

He looks… like a protector, you suppose, with his scars and his dents and his looming wings spread wide. And you… you are his creator, after all. So you sit in front of him, trying to rub the cold from your fingers before taking his huge, freezing hands in yours so that you can polish and smooth and repair the damage that he's done to himself and you. 

You're trying to rub the feeling back into your fingers, your hands trembling from the cold and the pressure of your work, when the sun finally begins to dip below the horizon. You'd finished your fixing and your polishing hours ago, leaving Bruce to, instead, sit by the edge of the roof and simply wait. You sit with your back to him, staring out toward the endless, cursed city and you wonder if this is what it's like to be one of your creations - if this is what it's like to wait for something holy to happen.

When the sun finally does disappear beyond the skyline, the impossible wall of fog hazing the colours of dusk, you begin to hear him behind you. It's a creaking sort of noise, marble grinding and crunching against itself as he begins to move, as he begins to breathe life into himself.

So it's true, you think weakly, standing ever so slowly and keeping your back to him. He's alive, he's alive, he's alive.

Still, knowing it in theory and seeing it with your waking eyes are two different things, and when you turn to face him it's like all of the air has been punched out of your lungs. Bruce stands in front of you now, huge and powerful and terrifying, with razor-sharp claws that gleam in the darkness and wings that spread so far that they black out the horizon behind him and around you.

You stand frozen and you watch him and you wonder in a dizzying, endless sort of way what sort of a thing you are for creating a creature like him. It's a bit like staring god in the face, you think nauseously, when he stares down at you with his towering, imposing gaze. 

And you can't really help it - it just makes you wonder… are you anything like a god for making him? Or is it all… him? Can you claim responsibility for bringing something like this to life?

You're beginning to spiral, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest that if you had a bit of rational thinking left, perhaps you'd be concerned about it bursting from you. But then Bruce reaches for you, wrapping one giant, clawed hand around your waist and lifting you up as you shriek and he spreads his wings to bring the two of you into the sky.

He soars up and up and up, keeping you in a firm grip with one hand and pressing your back against his chest to keep you steady. Not that that comforts you much as you cling onto his bicep and forearm, digging your nails impossibly into the marble as the tangled, twisting streets of Gotham flash by underneath the two of you. 

He brings you to the clock tower eventually, dropping you ever so gently and letting you steady yourself with gasping breaths and shaking knees. It's the tallest building in the city, and your head spins as you look out and can see the whole of Gotham sprawling out at your feet. 

"Oh my god…" you murmur as you stare out with wide eyes, able to see, from this vantage point, all of the destruction that he'd caused the night before. "Bruce… what have you done?"

"What have you done?" he says in response, his voice rumbling from behind you in a deep bass. "You are what made me, after all."

"No!" you shout as you whirl on him, glaring up at him with panicked eyes. "I didn't make you into this. I didn't make you do this."

"You created a monster," he responds calmly, reaching for you. You let him, your breath held as you tremble. But he's gentle, brushing a stone knuckle across your cheek and wiping away a tear that you hadn't realized had fallen. "You cannot be upset when monstrous things follow."

"You were… you were supposed to protect the city," you respond quietly, your brows furrowing as you look up at him. "That's what you were made for. I… I gave you life, perhaps, yes. But - why use it for this?"

"You are my creator," Bruce responds simply, and his massive hand trails down to wrap around your throat with a delicate, barely-there touch. "I am made of you. My weight is on your shoulders."

"No!" you shout again, pulling away from him and stepping back. "I have made you, yes, but I've… I've released you out into the world. You've taken on a life of your own, have you not? You are made of yourself now, aren't you? You… you brought yourself to life… didn't you?"

"Did I?" he muses, but there's an uncertainty in the stone rumble of his voice. "I'd always thought that it was you. You drew me, after all. Carved me from a block of stone."

"You… I - what?" you ask desperately. "Bruce, I… you remember all of that?"

"Of course," he says simply, and when you clutch your chest and make a panicked sort of noise, he steps toward you. "I was there when you built me. I was there when you carved me out of nothing and turned me into this. And I have to wonder…" He steps further, still, until you have to crane your head back to look up at him, at his stormy eyes and furrowed brows and snarling face. "I wonder… if you made me, why… why turn me into something evil?"

"I didn't," you say weakly, stepping away from him and glancing back as the edge of the roof gets precariously close. "I didn't… who brought you to life, really, Bruce? Are you sure it was me? Are you sure it wasn't you?"

"Are you saying that you didn't?" he questions, stepping toward you for every step that you take back.

"I'm saying that I don't know," you answer desperately, an edge to your voice. "I'm saying that maybe - it's… it doesn't matter, Bruce."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter who built you. Can you not just belong to yourself now? You belong to yourself, don't you?" He frowns at your words, stepping closer still. When you step back this time, your heel catches the edge of the roof and your heart lurches painfully in terror at the drop behind you. 

"You made me," he says, pressing further.

"You belong to yourself," you repeat. "Learn… learn to live for yourself, Bruce. You are not mine anymore. You belong to yourself." He snarls a bit more at that, taking another step forward. This time, though, you have nowhere left to go, and when you step back there's only open air and the crisp fog of night to catch you.

So you fall… from the impossible height of the clock tower and toward the city that writhes with malice, you fall. And you think, as you feel the air rush past your ears, that perhaps this is the only way that it should be - death by your own creation, by your greatest masterpiece, thrown off of the highest point in a city that you helped to build. Perhaps this is how it feels to really, truly take a fall.

But it's not the ground that meets you. It's the feeling of cold, solid marble, instead, that wraps around you and hauls you up and up and up again. It's Bruce, with his arms keeping you pressed against his chest until he has you safely back on the top of the clock tower, this time with him standing between you and the edge of the roof. 

"You… saved me," you say slowly, your words coming out in halting gasps as your teeth chatter from the cold and the shock of it all. 

"How could I not?" he responds easily, and he reaches forward to smooth a large palm over your cheek gently. "How could I not come for you? How could I not follow wherever you go?"

"You don't have to," you say quietly.

"But I will," he responds in that sturdy, solid way of his. You lean against the solid wall of the large clock face and sigh, your knees buckling slightly at the weight of it all as you look up at him with anguish.

"Is that what it was all about?" you whisper. "The… the studio, the… the things you did there?" You think back to it all, to the destruction of your space, to the ripping up of the sketches and the smashing of the practice busts. You think back to him, frozen mid-movement, always clawing at himself, trying to rip himself from your grasp. 

A tear rolls down your cheek and your bottom lip trembles. Bruce just shushes you gently, brushing his clawed thumb against the frozen, bluish tint of your lip and stroking your cheek.

"You created me," he says lowly. "So why did you turn me into something evil?"

"I didn't…" you say, your voice catching and warbling. "I didn't know. I didn't know I could create anything that wasn't that. I didn't know that my hands could shape anything other than malice."

"How foolish," Bruce murmurs gently, cupping your face in both of his hands now so that he can wipe away the tears that have started streaming down your cheeks, "to think such a thing when you made me with this love. How foolish to think… when you made me love you like this." His face is close to yours now, so close that your noses brush together and his eyes bore into yours.

"Can you?" you say quietly. "Can you really love someone like me? Can you fall in love with the thing that made you?"

"That depends," he responds simply, so close to you now that your lips brush against his. "Can you ever really love me back?" The way he kisses you, then, probably proves that you both can. He presses you against the clock face, hard marble leaning against you and keeping you steady as your head spins and you grab onto his biceps. Around you, the city rages on, swirling and moving and tangling in on itself as night blankets the two of you and he wraps his wings around you, shielding you from the outside world.

"Bruce," you say quietly, parting from him just enough to speak. "Why did you destroy all of the others? They aren't - they weren't even alive. Not like you. You're… you're the only one like this. Why did you do it?"

"Because," he offers honestly, trailing his lips across your cheek and down the side of your neck. "I didn't want you to ever love them more than you love me."

"How foolish," you quip back, but its effect is dimmed by the breathless quality of your voice as Bruce presses further against you and tightens his grip on your waist, "to think that I could ever love anything more than I love my greatest masterpiece." Bruce laughs at that, an action so carefree that it feels almost holy as he throws his head back and lets his wings spread wide.

You look past him as he moves, staring back out towards the endless, mangled streets of Gotham and the curses that fester within them. Bruce smoothes a hand over your back and sobers as you look out with furrowed brows, glancing over the rooftops and the crumbled remains of your work. The past spirals endlessly before you and behind you and a need takes hold, a burning drive to move forward, to reach further.

"Have I…" you begin quietly, still looking past him. "Have I been protecting it? Or have I just been… feeding it?" You look up at Bruce again, then, something desperate and imploring in your gaze. "You belong to yourself, now, Bruce. You have to move forward. I - we both do."

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks somberly. "What am I supposed to do with a life that I did not choose?"

"Anything," you answer simply, spreading your arms wide with the city at your back now. "You own the night, Bruce. You own Gotham City. You can do anything."

"But," he begins, frowning. You just shake your head and continue, the freezing night air making your breath fog between the two of you.

"It doesn't matter, Bruce… It doesn't matter how you were created. It doesn't matter what you were made to be. It only matters what you choose." 

"What…" he begins slowly. "What am I to choose?"

"Anything," you stress. "The night belongs to you, Bruce. Choose what you want to do with it." He blinks, then, rolling his shoulders back and he stares past you and out toward the shining city. 

"It's beautiful, you know," he says, his voice a smooth, pleasant rumble.

"What?" you respond, a bit distracted as you try to rub warmth back into your fingers. He looks down at you rather fondly, then, before he gestures to you with one of his massive hands. And that's all that it takes, really, to have you closing the distance between the two of you. He wraps his giant arm around you, tucking you into the safety of his side as he wraps a wing around you, blocking the frigid wind and letting you shiver. 

"Gotham," he clarifies, and you look up at him while he looks out, his eyes shining with something that looks suspiciously close to love as he stares at the city. "It's beautiful."

"You know," you muse, letting one of your hands rest against his chest as the other searches for his own hand so that you can curl your fingers around his, "I'd never really… I don't know. I guess I've just never really looked at it that way."

"How could you not?" he questions, but there's no bite to his voice and when you look up with your nose wrinkled, he laughs once more.

"It's easy, I think," you explain with a shrug. "It's easy to just… get lost in it. All these years I spent being paid to build this city into something more, I… I guess I never really stopped to look at it." Bruce hums in confirmation, rubbing his hand up and down your arm as he continues to shield you from the cold.

"You know," you continue thoughtfully. "Someone really does need to look out for the city."

"What?"

"Gotham… Gotham needs a protector. I'm - I'm not saying you have to. It's… it's your life, Bruce, it's your choice. But I just - I don't know, you…"

"Go on," Bruce says gently, tearing his eyes away from the city to look down at you just as fondly. "Say it."

"I… I made you," you say slowly, a heaviness to your words. "I breathed life into you - I didn't know that I was doing it at the time but - I did. And I can't take that back. You were built to be Gotham's protector, to keep it safe and watch over it through the night. I want you to do that - if you want to. I think… I think you're good at what you're made to be. I think that, maybe, we both are." Bruce sighs at your words, a contented sort of thing as he reaches to smooth a thumb between your furrowed, anxious brows. 

"So I was right," he says easily. "We really are just the things that we were made to be, at the end of it all."

"Maybe it's just… not so bad?" you offer waveringly. He smiles down at you, a monster making peace with the malice that drips from his bared teeth, and something feels like it sort of just… settles into place.

"It doesn't have to be bad at all, I don't think," he offers gently. You sigh and let your forehead thump forward against the cool marble of his chest.

"Where would I be without you?" you murmur. A laugh rumbles through him, jostling you as you lean against him. 

"Victim of the Mayor's wrath, no doubt," he jokes. You lift your head to glare up at him, flicking his solid marble chest. 

"The Mayor loves me," you say haughtily.

"He does not," Bruce responds easily, but when you begin to splutter out protests he's quick to silence you with another kiss, bringing you closer to him with a tight grip.

"What will you do now?" he whispers against your lips. Something in you lurches painfully, a panic stirring.

"Oh," you say hollowly. "Right. I…" But then you look out toward the city, toward the ruin and the failure. Your greatest masterpiece having already outgrown you, you can feel yourself begin to spiral endlessly, your hands itching to bring life to something, to do something that makes you worth it. 

But then your fingers twitch, the calluses on your palms burning from the cold air, and you feel a sort of calmness overtake you as you look out toward the crumbling statues with new light. 

"I think," you say carefully, "that I have some things to rebuild. I think I have a new life to make for myself." Bruce hums in understanding, a hand stroking over the back of your head. "But," you continue, tipping your head back to look up at him with big, round eyes. "I certainly wouldn't mind working more often at night now. What do you say?"

"How could I say anything but yes," he rumbles back, "to my creator?"

"You're an awful distraction," you murmur as you work, chisel in hand as you feel a razor-sharp claw trace delicately up the length of your spine underneath your shirt. You're on the rooftop of the Bank of Gotham, night wrapping around you and Bruce as you work at recarving and smoothing out the mistakes of the past, buffing them out with new stone and new hope. If only there wasn't a slinking, skulking gargoyle who doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. 

"I'm not sure what you mean," Bruce muses as he curls around you, his wings churning the night air. It's warmer these days, the cold front having passed months ago to make way for hotter, stickier nights. 

"Yes you do," you quip back, but your smile gives away your lack of real annoyance. He's an awful distraction, yes, but it's so worth it to be intertwined with him, you think. The artist and the muse, tangled endlessly just like the city that created them.

"I'm helping," Bruce murmurs stubbornly, burying his head in your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. 

"You've already helped plenty," you say slyly, but the way that he hums in confirmation and presses closer has heat rising to your cheeks.

"I could always help again -"

"No," you splutter out. "Bruce, the sun is going to come up soon. You need to be back at City Hall before the night is over."

"I'll make it in time," he says distractedly, training his lips over your neck and slipping his massive, clawed hands under your shirt.

"You will," you laugh at him as you squirm away from him, standing and teetering on the edge of the rooftop. Bruce frowns and reaches for you, wrapping a secure arm around your waist to keep you steady. "You will," you repeat calmly, "because you're going to leave now. I'll come up and sit with you in the morning if you'd like. I have some sketches to work on."

"It's not the same," he says, a frown still tugging at his lips.

"I know," you soothe. "But it's only during the day."

"Promise me something, then," he whispers as he draws you in to wrap around you one last time before daybreak.

"Anything," you respond honestly.

"Come back for me," he says lowly, pressing a final kiss to your lips. "Come back to put your hands on me again when night falls. Come back to turn me into something good."

"You've already done most of that for yourself, you know," you murmur back, your lips brushing against his. "But… always. I'll always come back for you." And you mean it, of course, as you reach for him one last time before he has to flee. You'll always stand next to him while he moulds himself into something new, day after day after day. Just as he will always do the same for you.

Morning really has begun by the time you're making your way out of the bank, trying yet again to roll the everlasting tension out of your shoulders as you walk outside. The sun is cresting over the city, making the buildings shimmer as the newer gargoyles shine with flecked limestone on top of the towering rooftops. 

But there's still only one of them that's made of marble, and he stands, now, on top of City Hall. You stop outside of the bank to look up at Bruce, staring at the way that his wings splay out as he snarls. The sun is rising up from behind him and it begins to bathe the gargoyle in a holy, glowing halo of endless golden light that fights through the constant fog of Gotham.

He looks sort of like an angel, you think as you giggle to yourself, the calluses on your palms burning with the memory of carving him. He looks like something holy. 

But really, you know… you know that you did not tell him to stand like that - that you did not carve him in that pose. You know that you did not lift the sun to shine down onto him. He did that for himself. 

As the sun crests even further, shining past him and onto your face, breaking through the murky, polluted air just enough to breathe warmth onto your skin, you know that you've done it for yourself, too.

[corroded-hellfire]

Okay. I absolute love ASW serie. And i have a request about the boy’s holiday concert and knowing what Eddie thinking when she arrived. 🥰

I love see you in my notifications. You’re the best 🫶

Ooh I’ve been so excited for this one! Been chomping at the bit for it to be Christmas time so @munson-blurbs and I could write it lol. Eddie’s mentioned before how pivotal of a moment this was in regards to how he feels about reader, so I’m very glad and thankful you requested this. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Words: 4.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

4:56. In four minutes, Eddie is supposed to take Ryan to school. The concert doesn’t start until 6, but kids have to be there early to warm up. He’s not quite sure how much a vocal warm-up will help second graders harmonize, but he’s not about to be the parent whose kid shows up late. 

His wife apparently does not share that same concern. 

4:57. 

Brittany was supposed to be home to watch Luke; Eddie knows better than to drag him along any earlier than he has to. Ryan is nervous enough about his solo, and he certainly doesn’t need his little brother incessantly asking questions that will only fuel his anxiety. 

4:58. 

“Daddy?” Ryan comes down the hall with you following close behind. “Can you tie my tie?”

Eddie nods, tongue poking from between his lips as he kneels down and fixes his son’s tie. It’s still a bit crooked—there are minimal opportunities for him to wear one as a mechanic, and even fewer now that he and Brittany rarely go on dates—but it will have to suffice. 

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at Ryan’s outfit, the red tie completing his white button-down, black slacks, and shiny shoes. “You’re so grown up!”

4:59. 

You catch Eddie glancing worriedly at the clock. He’s changed out of his coveralls and wears a maroon button-down shirt, cuffed at the elbows, and pants that match Ryan’s. He’s absolutely delicious; the thought of being the one to unbutton him has sweat prickling under your arms. 

“Ry, why don’t you go and get your brother?” Eddie says as gently as he can. Vaguely aware of the tension growing within his father, Ryan nods and heads off to do as he’s told.

As soon as the boy is out of earshot, Eddie mumbles, “shit” under his breath, and rubs his hand across his forehead. 

“He has to be there by—” you start to ask but are cut off by Eddie’s exasperated sigh.

“Yes, we need to leave. Now.” Eddie takes a deep breath and his eyes trail over to you. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” you assure him with a shake of your head. “I completely get it. Brittany’s late, you need to get going, it’s stressful.”

“Yeah, Brittany’s late,” he murmurs more to himself before addressing you. “There’s no reason for me to take anything out on you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.” His words send a pleasant tingle down your spine. As he takes a step closer, you look up at him beneath your eyelashes. “I’m sorry I snapped, sweetheart.”

“Really, Eddie, it’s okay.” Your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, trying to emphasize your point. All it does though is leave both of you on pins and needles at the touch. “Why don’t you go ahead and take Ryan?” you offer, reluctantly bringing your hand down. “I’ll bring Luke by for the start of the show. This way you don’t have to try to wrangle the little monkey while you’re getting Ryan where he needs to be.”

Eddie’s brow furrows together and he eyes you warily. “A-Are you sure? Because I don’t have a problem taking on both of them. I’ll use a spare tie as a leash for Luke if I have to.”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image that conjures. Luke would manage to get a foot or so away and Eddie would reel him back in like a catfish. 

“I don’t mind. Really. Cross my heart and all.”

Eddie takes another moment to consider it and concedes as he nods his head. “That would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say with a dismissive wave. “I enjoy the talks Luke and I have when we hang out. I always end up learning something new.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a breathy chuckle. “Has he told you that one milliliter of ocean water can contain about 10 million viruses? I got that one at dinner the other night.”

“He has,” you say with a soft giggle. “And yet, he still says going to the beach is what he always wishes for when he throws a coin in the fountain at the mall.”

“Are we going?” Luke’s booming voice precedes both boys as they come into the room. The younger Munson brother looks more annoyed than anything. He probably knows he’ll have to stand around and do nothing before he is forced to sit in an uncomfortable seat and made to listen to his schoolmates unwittingly butcher Christmas Carols. 

“Nope, you’re coming with me,” you tell Luke, poking him on the top of his head as he walks by. “Daddy’s taking Ryan to school now and I’m gonna take you for the show.”

“Oh, good,” Luke says with a sigh of relief. Even Ryan looks a bit relieved; he knows it’s hard to corral his little brother. 

Eddie’s also noticeably calmer as he prepares himself to leave the house. He pats his pockets, and the jingling of keys lets him know he’s got them. Another pat to his back pocket confirms he’s got his wallet as well.

“All right,” he says, looking to Ryan. “You got everything? We ready to go?”

“Uh, I think so,” Ryan says. He looks down at the secured tie around his neck and can’t come up with anything else he might need. 

“Then let’s hit the road. We’ll see you guys later,” Eddie says, nodding at you and Luke.

“Bye, Daddy! Remember, don’t drive on black ice!”

Luke’s warning makes you giggle to yourself as you wave Eddie and Ryan out the door. Once the sound of Eddie’s truck has faded out of the driveway and down the road, Luke turns to you and places his hands on his little hips.

“What’re we gonna do?” he asks. 

“Hmm.” You pretend to ponder over his question as you walk to the other side of the room and pick up your purse. “What about, we go up and get your nice clothes for the concert and put them in your Scooby Doo backpack.”

“Why?” Luke asks, wrinkling up his nose. The small boy has a lot of adorable quirks, but you’re pretty sure that one’s your favorite.

“Well, I was thinking,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing goes better with a Christmas concert than some cookies and hot cocoa. I thought you and I could go grab some at the cafe near my apartment. And I know you, you’ll end up wearing half the snack, so it’s better we don’t get you into those nicer clothes until you have to.”

Luke’s big blue eyes light up at the idea of the sugary confections. His head nods so quickly that, with his small shoulders, he looks like a Munson Bobblehead. 

“Good idea!” he calls behind him as he races towards his room, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I’m okay!”

The auditorium buzzes with excitement as you and Luke make your way down the aisle. Eddie sits in the front row, easily spotted by the mess of curls tucked into a low ponytail. His brown eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees you. 

“Oh, wow—I mean, you made it!” Eddie can’t help but gaze at the way your green velvet dress hugs you in all the right places. It’s flattering without even teetering on inappropriate for an elementary school concert. He recovers awkwardly but quickly, reflexively pulling at his collar to give himself more room to breathe. “Here, um, you guys take a seat…”

Luke bounds over to his dad, plopping into the chair between the two of you. Better off, Eddie thinks wryly, before I do something I really shouldn’t. He glances over at the handmade Naughty and Nice list propped up on the stage; if anyone could read his thoughts right now, he knows exactly where his name would be written. 

“Daddy, I had hot cocoa and cookies! And the cookies had chocolate chunks in them. Not chips—chunks,” Luke clarifies, underscoring the importance of differentiating between the two. 

You shrug guiltily. “Sorry, I needed a way to get him out of the house on time,” you explain. 

Eddie laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair before turning to you. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to negotiate with terrorists?” But above Luke’s line of vision, he mouths thank you, the inaudible movement of his lips sending sparks to your lower belly. 

Someone slides into the seat next to Eddie; you expect him to say that it’s taken, but he barely notices. Neither does Luke, and that’s what breaks your heart. Both he and Ryan are so accustomed to their mom missing important events that they no longer bat an eye. 

The lights in the auditorium dim and the audience breaks into polite applause as the spotlights click on and teachers usher their small students to where they’re supposed to stand. You have no doubt this is part of what they practiced with the children being here so early, but there’s a handful of kids who still don’t seem to have a clue of what they’re doing. 

Ryan is easy to pick out of the crowd. He’s one of the taller boys in his class so he stands up on the back rafter, a spotlight hitting his hair just so to make it look like a honey brown waterfall. Quickly, he catches sight of you as well and waves to you, his father, and brother as the rest of the kids are reaching their intended destinations on stage. Both you and Eddie acknowledge Ryan with small waves, but Luke whips his arm up in the air and waves it back and forth like he’s trying to signal a helicopter where to land. 

Feedback crackles over the microphone on center stage as a teacher steps up to it. She clears her throat and shields her bespectacled eyes from the bright lights aimed her way. She taps once, twice on the microphone before she leans in to speak, short blonde curls falling in her face.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us this evening for Hawkins Elementary School’s Festive Fun Holiday Concert.” There’s a small smattering of applause before she continues. “I am Mrs. Pierce. My class, along with the classes of Mrs. Lopez and Mr. Abrams, have been practicing very hard to bring you all a Christmas treat this evening.”

Luke has already tuned out the talking, his head on a swivel to take in all aspects of the small auditorium. He looks from the speakers to the light fixtures adorned with green garland, back to the kids on stage, then down the rows of the audience to see who all is there. You gently take his littler hand in yours and give it a soft squeeze. Just to ground him back in this moment from wherever his mind wandered off to. He smiles when you shoot him a wink and, now that the teachers are done talking, finds it easier to zone back into the show. 

Tinny music begins to play over the speakers stationed around the space and it takes you a moment to place the song as Let it Snow. The initial singing by the children is jarring, but not nearly as off-key as you were expecting. Some of the songs are a bit rough, but some are surprisingly pleasant as well. 

As the music transitions to the next song, you see Ryan take a step down from his rafter and make his way towards the front of the stage. He goes to one of the two microphones low enough for the children to access and waits. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer starts with all the children, but by the look of how nervous Ryan is, you’d wager that he has a solo coming up. His small fingers twist against one another as he does his best not to look out into the crowd. Though he’s naturally a shy boy, you can tell there’s some stage fright in there as well. It’s evident that his part is fast approaching when you see his little chest swell with breath, then release it slowly. Grinning from ear to ear, you watch as Ryan takes half a step closer to the microphone and opens his mouth.

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

‘Rudolph with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

A look of relief washes over Ryan’s face, but you can also see a bit of pride in the way that he smiles. And he should be proud! His small solo was excellent, and you can’t wait to dote on him over it later. 

You glance over at Eddie; his grin stretches across his face so widely that you wouldn’t be shocked if his cheeks hurt. He catches you looking and turns his head slightly, one eye winking as if to say, thanks for being here for my kid. Thanks for being here with me. 

And maybe it’s the way you giggle, or the way you make sure Luke is comfortable before easing back into your seat, or the way you cheer for Ryan like you’re at a stadium concert, but something shifts within Eddie. He’s always found you beautiful; tonight, you were downright stunning in that dress. It was the oldest cliché in the book: dad crushing on the hot, young babysitter. That’s how he’d managed to brush it off all this time. He was a man with needs, you were an attractive woman. Simple biology. 

What he’s feeling now is anything but straightforward. He doesn’t just want to sleep with you; no, he wants you by his side at every school function, every birthday party, every moment of his life, big or small. And not as the babysitter; as his girl. 

No, this is not a crush, and it’s not a cliché. It’s love. 

After the concert, both you and Eddie are excited to greet Ryan and gush over how well he did. The unspoken fear that you both have though, is that the seven-year-old will be heartbroken when he finds out that his mother didn’t attend the performance. While Luke fidgets where you wait outside of the auditorium for his brother, you and Eddie trade nervous glances as the kids start coming out.

“Where is he?” Luke bemoans after the third student comes out and it isn’t the one he wants. 

Ryan comes barreling out of the red double doors, laughing with a group of his friends. The moment he spots you and his family, he waves goodbye to the other kids and dashes over to you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie holding his breath, waiting on pins and needles to hear what the first thing out of his oldest son’s mouth will be.

“I did it!” Ryan cheers.

Eddie sags in relief and even you feel unburdened of a weight you weren’t aware you were holding. The smile on Ryan’s face is pure glee and he’s practically jumping up and down on the spot.

“I’m so proud of you!” Eddie tells him, throwing one arm around the boy’s shoulders and ruffling his hair with the other. “You were the best one up there.”

Ryan’s cheeks turn pink at his father’s praise. Of course, you just pile on top of it, relishing in the way he gets embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time. 

“My little George Michael!” you say as you pull Ryan in for a hug. His nose wrinkles up at your comparison but the smile on his face only grows.

Luke looks up at his big brother. “Y’know, I always thought it was froggy Christmas Eve.”

Despite his better judgment, Eddie asks, “bud…why would Christmas Eve be froggy?”

“I dunno,” Luke shrugs, “maybe Santa was delivering a lot of frogs. Or the reindeer got tired, so he had frogs pull his sleigh. Or—”

Eddie puts his hands on Luke’s shoulders and laughs. “All right, Frog Boy. What do you say we get home and celebrate Ryan’s rockstar moment?”

Everyone agrees to that, the four of you walking through the double doors and into the parking lot. Ryan takes Eddie’s hand, and Luke takes yours. 

“Where’d you park?” Eddie asks you, and you realize he wants to escort you to your car. Heat creeps up your neck at his small act of chivalry. Part of you suspects that if you shivered, he’d offer his jacket. 

Maybe if you were more courageous, you’d test that theory. 

“Oh, um, over there.” You point towards your car, leading the way. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you; protectiveness with a hint of possession. It’s lust with something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You dig your keys out of your bag, smiling triumphantly when you find them quickly. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow?” You laugh kindly, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, Ry. You’re brave and talented.”

A blush settles into Ryan’s cheeks. “Thanks. Um, I’m glad you got to hear me sing. You’re the best.”

“Me, too,” Eddie chimes in, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you got to hear him sing, too. Not that I think you’re the best. Not that you’re not the best, because the kids love you, and you, um—”

“Hey, look what I found!” 

Eddie has never been more grateful for one of Luke’s interruptions. “What is it?”

“Mistletoe!” The little boy holds something that is certainly not mistletoe above his head. “See?”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s a leaf.”

“And a very dead one at that,” Eddie muses, plucking the stem from Luke’s fingers. 

A pout puckers Luke’s lips. “You gotta use your imagination!” he insists, taking the pseudo-mistletoe and jumping up and down between you and Eddie. “Now…you…gotta…kiss!”

“No, we don’t,” you and Eddie blurt out in unison. 

“Yes, you do,” Luke indignantly sighs. “It’s the law.”

Before he can wimp out, Eddie swoops in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingles where his lips brushed against it, and you’re left speechless. 

Luke, however, remains unimpressed. “That wasn’t a real kiss!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not real mistletoe,” Eddie retorts, trying to compose himself. “C’mon, let’s get home. It’s past your bedtime.”

Eddie was hoping that the ride home would help lull the boys to sleep like it used to when they were babies. Ryan still has adrenaline going through him from the concert though, and Luke is feeding off of that energy.

They’re both talking a mile a minute and neither one of them quiet, but Eddie doesn’t hear a word they say because his mind is so focused on you. You offering to bring Luke to the school later when he had to bring Ryan. You in that curve-hugging dress. You showing up for Ryan when his own mother didn’t. You, with the softest skin when his lips brushed your cheek. 

Realizing that he’s in love with you should make Eddie feel worse than it does. The guilt that’s gnawing at his stomach is somewhat abated by the fact that Brittany’s been screwing a litany of men for years. Does it make it worse or better that she probably had no feelings for any of those men? He’s not sure it’s possible for her to truly love anyone besides herself.

Eddie can’t help the smile on his face as he thinks about his feelings for you, though. The way you make him happy is something that he hasn’t experienced in years—if Brittany ever truly made him this happy at all. Everything about you brings joy to Eddie. Well, other than when he thinks of how much younger you are and how you’re surrounded by college age guys who must be tripping over themselves to go out with you. That provides him with a sickening feeling that leaves him dizzy. It’s much easier to focus on the fantasy of being with you, not the reality of where or who you might be headed home to tonight. 

When Eddie pulls into the driveway, the boys are decidedly less quiet, though they’re still chatting away. Brittany’s car is parked there as well, sitting idly next to where Eddie’s truck now is. Eddie wordlessly gets out of the car and lets the boys keep talking about whatever it is they’re talking about as he walks with them up to the front door, the light dusting of snow floating down kissing their cheeks and noses. 

“It’s late, I want you boys to head to your rooms and put your pajamas on, okay?” Eddie says as he unlocks the door. Both boys agree—begrudgingly, on Luke’s part. 

Brittany isn’t in sight when they first step into the house, which has Eddie breathing a sigh of relief. He really shouldn’t be feeling that way about seeing his own wife, should he? Oh well, that ship sailed a long time ago.

The boys head down the hall and as Ryan passes the kitchen, he skids to a halt and does a double take. 

“Hi, Mom!” he says with an enthusiastic wave. Eddie’s prepared for his oldest to launch into the story of how great the concert was and how much fun he had, but he just continues down the hall towards his room. Luke didn’t even stop to greet his mother. 

Eddie drops his keys in the bowl by the door and shrugs out of his leather jacket. It’s slightly wet to the touch from the flurries that landed on him between the truck and the house.

If Brittany had just missed an event of his, Eddie wouldn’t give two shits or make a big deal of it. But this was Ryan’s big night, something that she should have wanted to and made sure to attend. Now Eddie feels the need to make a stink about it.

He wanders into the kitchen and slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. As soon as he steps inside, he sees Brittany leaning against the counter with a glass of water in her hand, absolutely glaring at him. The look takes him aback. Why in the hell is he getting that look? She’s the one who has to explain herself. 

“I can’t believe you,” Brittany says, further shocking her husband. 

“I…what?” Eddie asks. He almost feels too dumbfounded to speak. It quickly crosses his mind that maybe she somehow figured out the epiphany he had about his feelings for you tonight, but if Brittany could read minds things would have gone downhill a lot sooner in their marriage than this. 

“You left without me. You couldn’t even wait until I got home?” Brittany slams the glass of water down on the counter and takes a step towards him. 

Eddie quickly checks to make sure the boys haven’t stepped in behind him before he raises his eyebrows and lowers his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I did wait, Britt. I waited until the last goddamn minute. But Ryan had to get to the school, and I wasn’t about to make him late just because you couldn’t be bothered to be home on time.”

The sneer Brittany gives him could curdle milk. 

“So now my son is going to think that I don’t care because I didn’t go tonight,” she seethes.

Eddie toys with the idea of telling her that he didn’t seem to care one iota that she wasn’t there, but he doesn’t want Ryan to catch even a smidgen of her wrath. 

“You have a car. You know where the damn school is. Why didn’t you get your ass over there when you got home?”

“That isn’t the point!” she snaps. Eddie now knows that this argument has moved from rational and logic, to whatever bullshit straws Brittany can grasp at. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, knowing full well he’s already fighting a losing battle. “What is the point?” He crosses his arms over his chest and Brittany mirrors the action, as if annoyed she didn’t think of taking up the offended posture first. 

“That you didn’t wait for me. Your wife. I had to come home probably five minutes after you left!”

“And I told you why we left when we did. I also provided you with what you could have alternatively done, but that would mean admitting that you’re wrong and God forbid you do that.” Brittany opens her mouth, but Eddie shakes his head and cuts her off before she can say anything. “Fucking forget it. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Eddie goes to turn down the hallway towards the master bedroom when he realizes he never took off his boots. He stalks back to the front door and kicks them off, using the wall for balance. When his eyes flit back up from his feet, they catch sight of his jacket—and Brittany’s next to it. He narrows his eyes as he looks at them side by side. His is still wet from the melted snow coating it, but Brittany’s is wet as well. It’s not just the side where his jacket is brushing up against it, either. Eddie reaches for the arm of the jacket on the opposite side and feels that it’s just as wet as his own. If Brittany had really come home just after they’d left, there’s no way it would still be wet.

Dropping the jacket sleeve and letting out a huff of unamused laughter, Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Brittany is no stranger to lying. She probably got home about five minutes before they did, but in typical Brittany fashion, had to spin everything so she’s the victim even when she’s the one in the wrong. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles to himself. He rubs at his eyes as he walks back down the hallway. He’s way too tired to deal with any of this bullshit. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. I’ll just get ready for bed and then I can lay down and think about the woman who actually shows up for me and my boys—and try to imagine she doesn’t do it purely out of the goodness of her heart, and that she enjoys spending time with me as much as I do her.

He can hear Brittany talking on the kitchen phone, prattling on to her friend about how her awful husband cruelly abandoned her at their son’s holiday concert. Looking over at the empty half of the bed, he pictures you sleeping there. His arms would wrap around you as you whisper about how proud you are of Ryan or relay a funny tidbit from Luke. Eddie would kiss your forehead as you drift off to sleep, reveling in your beauty even as you slumber.  His own eyelids soon grow heavy with the day’s physical and emotional exhaustion. Before he falls asleep, he manages to eke out a wish to dream of you tonight. 

[dunmeshi-darlings]

"you cant ship izutsumi with anyone in the cast she is a child!!"

or

"you cant ship izutsumi with anyone she is canon aro/ace!"

Firstly, Its fiction and people can do whatever they want in fiction it does not matter.

But also, this just isnt correct? izutsumi is considered an adult in the dungeon meshi world with multiple sources proving this.

Here We have the Race bio for teh tall-men race, here it lists ever bit of information about tall men from where they are most common, to hieghts, notable tall-men characters including our favorite cat girl izutsumi.

Here we see that the age of maturity is specifically listed as 16 years of age. That at 16 years old in dungeon meshi, Tall-men are considered adults. Maybe this isnt good enough proof for you, well thats fine the words "age of maturity" are a bit vague. However we have this bit of dialogue between Laios, Chilchuck, And Marcille

Laios Specifically uses the word "adult" Because thats what it is, At 16 the Tall-Men are Adults. Adults who can Do adult things like Join the army, Go out and live on their own, Look for Love and Romance and sexual relationships. Want more proof of that? i can do that

Here we see that Chilchucks daughters Plan to try and seduce and romance Laios, Wanting to engage in a relationship with this new king. As for the ages? Chilchucks daughters are all between 14-16

Puckpatti is the youngest at 14

Flertom is the middle child at 16

And finally meijack who is also 16, however she must be older than flertom as she is referred to as "big sis".

As for laios? We know he is 26 years old.

So here we have two half foots who are 14 and 16 wanting to try and seduce King laios, who is 26 years old. A full 10+ year age gap between them, but it doesnt matter because as Flertom herself says

"But wont it embaras you, dad? To have three ADULT daughters who are unmarried?"

She literally says adult, because thats what chilchucks daughters are, they are adults because they fall into the age of maturity for half foots. (which is stated here)

So because they are at least 14, they are considered an adult and can try and romance king laios, a man who is 26 years old and chilchuck isnt upset at that because they are adult women (just upset that its laios of all people)

So if Chilchucks daughters at ages 14-16 are called adults, The half foot age of maturity is listed as 14, and they call THEMSELVES adults, and are shown showing romantic interest with a 26 year old man. Its safe to say that they are adults in every sense of the word, meaning that age of maturity is when the individual of that race is considered an adult, as for izutsumi?

She is listed as 17 years old, a full year past the age of maturity for Tall-men. Aka, a full year past when a tall-man is considered an adult, therefore by all the rules of the dungeon meshi world she is an adult.

As for the Aro/ace part? there is no specific wording for it besides these parts in the succubus arc

Here we see her say "i dont have a type or anything that im attracted to, so ill be fine."

Here we see the succubus take the form of izutsumis mother (or her supposed idea of her)

As somebody who is asexual (yes little lore drop about yours truly, i am actually ace myself) this doesnt strike me as her being asexual. That isnt to say you cant headcanon her as ace, thats your right and i fully support that especially being ace myself. But that doesnt make it canon though.

I personally headcanon her as demisexual, but i know that also isnt canon. and i dont want to try and claim it is.

[bitethedevil]

What do you like about the character of Raphael ?

A Feral Love Letter to the Devil We Know

Oh boy. Here’s my list of why Raphael is like catnip to me (it’s not short and it is possibly a bit extra deranged because I am currently sick).

Purely physical things that convince me that this man was made for me in a lab:

Brown eyes and dark hair has always been my type

The slight stubble and those cheekbones (generally just his whole facial structure is beautiful)

The fucking n o s e <3 <3

Those thick thighs (perfectly sittable and bitable). He is just perfectly shaped.

Those hands he waves in your face all the time and those long fingers (does things to me)

His clothes. Yes, even in cambion form and even the silly clown boots, I love them. It is just all too extra, and I live for it

Everything about his cambion form

I have this crazy theory. There has been made these studies that depending on hormone levels, women are attracted to different kinds of men. At one end of their cycle, they prefer more ‘feminine’ looking men, and on the other end they prefer more traditionally ‘masculine’ looking men. If I get tired of his human form, I get more attracted to his cambion form and the cycle repeats. I think that is why I just do not get tired of staring at this stupid man every day. I know I’m not crazy. It’s science (and we all know I’m a trusted scientist).

Non-physical things that intrigue me:

How expressive he is. I love how his face changes constantly and dramatically with each sentence he speaks. It’s mostly an act but he is so charismatic. He has ‘rizz’ like the kids would say.

I can’t fix him. I don’t want to. His mind games intrigue me. I want to study him like a bug and play mind games with him too (I’m not delusional enough to think I’d win). Let it be toxic as fuck on both parts.

This man is just chucking stones from his glass house like there is no tomorrow. He plays such a big bad devil, but he is really just a little wet cat with a god complex and daddy issues. Not to mention his little hissy fits if any of his perceived weaknesses are pointed out. I find it endearing (unfortunately).

His voice and his eloquence. I love it. Even his shitty poetry. I could listen to it for eternity.

He is so smart. I have been shouting it from the roof tops: he is not stupid. He is always ten steps ahead.

He’s honest. He doesn’t lie and you know where you’ve got him (if you know how to keep up with him).

Genuinely everyone thinks he sucks, both devils and mortals, and yet he thinks he is the shit, either genuinely or as a coping mechanism.

He just such a nuances character if you really dig into it.

Things I relate to:

The scheming and overthinking. Everything is meticulously thought out to the point of obsession. He is playing 4D chess but doesn’t even consider that the other players might just eat the pieces to win. He strikes me as someone who completely overcomplicates things for no reason, and I felt that.

His idea of order is very different from what’s actually orderly. It just has to make sense to him, like ‘what do you mean it’s not orderly to have dead people lying around, trash everywhere, and debtors running around aimlessly in my house? Completely intentional. What’s not clicking?”. I felt that too. There is order to my chaos, and you don’t have to understand it. I get it.

He’s a cringy theater kid with a love for poetry too.

I too find it annoying when other people don’t follow the script I had in mind for the conversation.

Just human enough to understand how human interactions works, but either doesn’t give a shit or genuinely thinks that just spouting vaguely threatening poetry to strangers is a completely normal thing to do.

The obsession and ambition that just completely makes him lose the plot of everything else.

He is just so obsessed with everything being perfect to a point where it almost seems silly.

Acts like he doesn’t care, but actually cares A LOT about how other people perceive him.

I could honestly keep going but you get the picture.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[flightyalrighty]

Crazy to me that people follow you for a horror comic then get upset with you when it’s a horror comic.

Killing children in horror is a well regarded theme in horror. It’s not “wow it’s so cool when kids die” but the fact that the story addresses vulnerability and the narrative purpose that serves. Like I can vaguely understand why people would be so shocked to see a well beloved character die, but y’all signed up for that when reading a HORROR comic.

Anyways as someone who is just starting to get into making horror comics I deeply deeply admire your work here. You’ve been doing an amazing job at building suspense especially with traditional webcomic style of page-by-page release. Keep it up, I hope you are having as much fun making this story as it’s been to read :D

Thanks so much for this ask, and for reading Infested! I'm wishing you, as well, absolute best of luck and much glee in the creation of your own horror comics! It's one heckavuh ride, making comics, that's for sure, but even if not every part of the process appeals to you, the end result will always be worth it. Longer stuff ahead.

As one person in the Infested Discord pointed out, I can't understand people (there have been three so far) griping about Tails being killed for the narrative when Maria, who is also very much a child who was murdered for the narrative, exists in a game that isn't labeled "horror."

Do these same people have a problem with that? Do they angrily write to Sonic Team about it, claiming the E10+ rating for "mild cartoon violence" was not enough of a warning? Or do they let that slide because Maria's death is integral to the story of Sonic Adventure 2, and to Shadow's character arc. As if Tails's death doesn't fill a similarly important role in Infested.

I seem to not be allowed a bit of trust that I know what I'm doing by killing Tails. It's treated like a mistake. That last person called it a "plot hole" (???), sharing a similar sentiment with someone else on Twitter that felt that Tails was simply too smart to die. Whatever that means. Never once do these folks consider that it is IMMENSELY important for this story that Tails dies, and does so in the way that he does. I can't simply change who dies, because who dies is deeply important to the soul of Infested. To the point of it. It, and it's sequel.

Yes, Tails's death is just as important to the sequel.

The story isn't over yet, and the means in which that event played out haven't been revealed. As many obnoxious people have already said many times before me; Patience is a virtue.

[yooglefics]

Intentions don’t mean much.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!partner Wordcount: 670 words Genre: Angst. Hurt / comfort. Established relationship. Song drabble. Summary: Yoongi is having some bad days and, in the end, deciding to keep it to himself to not worry his partner is not the best idea. More info under read more.

Includes: Mentions of bad mental health, implied depression. Nothing too dark but Yoongi overthinks a lot. Lack of communication. Author's note: A little drabble inspired by The Craving ( Jenna's version ) because I just had to write something after listening to it. Is pretty short but I kind of like it as is, because it can be read with the song in the background uwu. Hope you like it! If you do please remember to leave a reblog, like, follow, comment or send an ask, donate on ko-fi and what not. As always, thank you for reading <3

He is scared of putting too much weight on her shoulders, of driving her crazy because of his thoughts, and fears; the problems in his head, the ones that don't even have anything to do with her.

On bad days he tries to be reassuring. Holding her hand while sharing a cup of coffee and cuddling with her on the couch. Yes, it’s a bit selfish because it does good to him too, knowing she is with him even when his psyche reminds him of the possibility that they, too, are part of something temporary. That it could end sooner than expected, which is not much to say since he doesn't want it to end at all.

Is not that he doesn't believe she loves him, of course not. He believes everything she says, even the little conspiracy theories she rambles about at night in their bedroom. But, his brain tells him, life is unpredictable and the world goes around and around and around and…

When it gets too bad he spends most hours of the day in his studio. Even sleeps (or at least tries to) there. She brings him lunch and he kisses her cheek or forehead, sweetly and full of love. An attempt to not worry her.

Some nights, as he lays on the leather couch, he hopes she will knock on the door, looking for him and asking him to come to bed. He would say yes, even if that meant just playing with her hair as she fell asleep on his chest while he lays with his eyes open and his mind never shooting down.

But it doesn’t happen. 

Is still dark outside when he hears her socket steps against the wooden floors, the beeps and trumps of the coffee machine following close behind, and he decides to join. 

“Isn't it too early for coffee?” he asks, leaning in the doorway.

“Is six, just one hour early.”

“Oh.” 

“How did you sleep?”

He keeps quiet, a bit confused with himself as to how he didn't realize so much time passed.

“Did you sleep?” She asks instead, tone different this time and he doesn't like something in it.

“Don't worry about it.” He tries to dismiss, coming closer and wrapping his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder while they wait for the melancholy sounds announcing their beverage is ready.

But a sniff comes instead.

It takes a second for his tired brain to register it, yet is quick to react when she tries to move away, hugging her firmly against his chest. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Is silly.” she murmurs back.

“Tell me anyway?”

“Is just… after so long, I don’t know a lot about you still. And I wish I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry about it. I don’t know what just—” 

“Hey,” he softly calls out, turning her around as he looks for her gaze, “don’t apologize for it. Is on me, I’m going through some shit but I’m okay.”

She worries her lip between her teeth before asking, “Have you slept at all in the last few days?”

“A little bit.” Pretty vague, not wanting to bring concern around his insomia. But her eyes get glossy again and his open in surprise. In realization that doing that is what is upsetting her. He hates that. “I slept a couple hours yesterday after lunch, maybe that’s why I’m still awake.”

“You aren't tired then?”

A different kind, he thinks. And considers answering that while she fixes his hair, but he still isn't sure. “Maybe you just need to do that for a while so I don't wake up until tomorrow.”

That makes her smile and her eyes fall to his again. But is hard to ignore the bags under them and the bigger issues. “I'm going to the store later, I'll bring you that tea we saw the other day. We can drink that before going to bed and see if it helps. Deal?”

“Deal.”

♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @sexytholland , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @itsmina29 , @nariee02 , @ktownshizzle .

➪ Masterlist | ➪ Pinned | ➪ Ko-fi | ➪ tell me what you think! ♡ Tag list. | ➪ General updates | ➪ Requests

[sgiandubh]

Thank you for the detailed explanation of the financial and administrative situation and the investors' shares, Caitriona.

But is it normal for the role of her personal assistant to extend to her commercial investments?

Outlander is over, what is the explanation for Tony joining a new company in October?

Do you have a deeper vision for this madness that has been going on since the appearance of the so-called Tony in Caitriona and Sam's lives?

Dear Detailed Explanation Anon,

I am sorry, honey, but I am certainly not C, nor (to be honest) would I ever want to be. I am perfectly happy with my own life and adventures. I will answer your questions in order, rather quickly.

Yes, it is perfectly normal and legal, once you know and understand some easy UK company law ropes I discussed in my answer to @bat-cat-reader's Director Anon, yesterday evening. As long as C remains the sole PSC in that company, he has no legal means to pretend to anything she owns in her own right. One more time, his position can be easily revoked anytime and I do think that the only reason he is present there, in that capacity, is because he needs to have a modicum of dignity/status, in the process. Please note that 'Director' seems to be the favorite 'occupation' he likes to mention in almost all of his business/company documents (and I even think on that Marriage Certificate, too, if I am not mistaken). This is what he wants to look like, this is his jam. What do I think about it? I think it is a bit childish, it's a bit like putting 'Expert' on my own business card (expert in what exactly? climate change? mixology? late Mycenean pottery?), which of course I don't. If anything, Anon, it is harmless enough and vague enough. Count your blessings and remember that before thinking marriage or relationship, the first thing that comes to mind is perhaps 'arrangement', when it comes to these people. A mutually profitable (and also very lucrative for one of them) one, at that. Mark me. I am ready to die on that hill.

T joining a new company in October? You should have your eyes checked, Anon. Byron Benirras is anything but new, in my book. It's been around for ever and it is her dedicated, visible and traceable money stash. Her credit score, her taxes, her revenue are based on its accounts. Why is he there now? I already answered that part in my 'Two Questions Anon' and nope, sorry my dear, I will not budge. Use your critical thinking skills - I think you might know why, you just need validation. Consider it done, darling.

Do I have a deeper vision? The answer is the same as ever, Anon and sorry if it displeases you. In fact, I do have a deeper, wider vision. Will I further discuss it here? Nope. Not for all the tea in China. Why? Because this is not my call. I am not 12 and I am not a fool.

[sarafangirlart]

Andromeda’s race/ethnicity and why it’s not inaccurate to interpret her as black/African

Now you’ve seen how I draw my babygirl as Afro Palestinian Egyptian so you know where I personally stand on the subject. However, my interpretation isn’t the only one, ancient authors, from mythographers to historians to poets to playwrights, have proposed various different locations for Andromeda’s homeland, often times contradicting each other, what I’m trying to do here is correct some misinformation as well as argue that even if Andromeda isn’t black/ethiopian, she still wouldn’t be considered white or ethnically European.

I would like to reiterate like I did with my Hephaestus/Aphrodite post that I’m not a mythology or history expert, I just read a lot. So do your own research and come up with your own conclusions.

Let’s go.

The etymology of “Aethiopia”

Aethiopia means "of burned face" which yes is pretty racist be modern standards but basically means that its inhabitants are dark skinned, so even if you go by sources that it isn’t in Africa, the inhabitants still wouldn’t be white or Greek.

Location of the Kingdom

You’d hear the statement that the Aethiopia in mythology is not the same as Ethiopia the modern country, which is true. You’d also hear that it’s a completely fictitious location, that’s only partially true, while Aethiopia existed mainly as a mythological location (mentioned as early as the Iliad) that didn’t stop ancient historians, mythographers and poets from placing it in real locations or calling pre-existing nations Aethiopia. It’s hard to pick which one is more “accurate” bc they all contradict each other, not only that, but these writers didn’t actually visit these locations and ancient ppl weren’t as well versed in geography as we are today so they’d be weirdly vague or confusing about these locations, I mean just look at an ancient map and you’d see what I mean.

So personally, I think you can go with any version you personally prefer, the options are quite limitless, she could be from the Arab peninsula, the Levant, North Africa, Persia, hell maybe even India if you are like Ovid.

Andromeda’s genealogy

(I just realized that these are the Waterson kids color palette while writing this lmaooooooooo)

Yes Andromeda is descended from Zeus (no family tree can escape that man lol) and she’s also the great granddaughter of Poseidon, which adds a whole new layer to the fact he tried to kill her.

Now for a bit of history: The Trojan war (which didn’t happen irl obviously) was dated as taking place in the 12th or 13th century BCE by some ancient writers, that war happens a few generations after Perseus’s story, which means that Egypt was in the New Kingdom era, also called the Egyptian Empire, when Nubians (who would be considered black by today’s standards) were a very important part of society, even becoming Pharaohs. Ancient Egypt was a lot more diverse than modern ppl give it credit for, there were multiple ethnic groups living there. Not to mention that you can’t get more Egyptian than being descended from the god of the Nile River lol

Libya is (obviously) the personification of the region of Libya, not the modern country Libya, but the general area in North Africa west of Egypt. The name Libya comes from the Libu, a berber tribe. So once again, even if Andromeda wasn’t black, even if you interpreted that her kingdom is placed in Asia, she’d still be of African decent.

Cassiopeia is a tricky one, her origins are obscure, she’s called a nymph by Nonnus, while Stephanus of Byzantium (a very late source) states she’s from Ioppa and that the city takes its name from her. However, Ioppa/Jaffa was identified as Andromeda’s home much earlier in Periplus attributed to Scylax, which was composed in the late fourth century bc.

Conclusion

You can make Andromeda black it’s ok. Ancient writers couldn’t agree on her country’s location but we can still speculate. Anyways ummm… I think that’s it? Maybe I’ll add to this if I find or remember more interesting information.

Have a great day.

[kurishiri]

20 . . . alfons main story

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: written depiction of blood, near death experience (= suicide attempt), maybe vague misogyny? angst.

The next morning, I woke up to a familiar sense of unease.

(Wait, huh...?)

I was the only one on the bed.

To be fair, that was a given, as this was my room, but also for a reason beyond me, I couldn’t help but feel something was severely off.

(...I... I’m pretty sure I slept with someone yesterday... or that’s how it feels...)

(.........But, just who was that someone...?)

I racked my brain, but nobody came to mind — it was as though some haze was blocking the way.

Even as I looked at my body and around the bed, there was not even a single trace of anyone having been here in sight, with the bed so neat and clean.

But——

(This smell... what was it again...?)

The moment I started to move, a sweet fragrance wafted up my nose in passing.

(Just what is this... when I’m taking in this scent...)

[1] my heart feels painful.

[2] my body starts to throb.

[3] a flame lights in the depths of my heart. (+4 / +4)

(I really feel as though... a flame has lit itself in the depths of my heart.)

(I don’t even know what this is, and yet...)

It was a fragrance that resembled a flower soaked in the dew of night, one that could clear the mind and calm the heart——

...And I wanted that scent to wrap me in its gentle embrace, never to let me go.

—— Scene change; dining room ——

Kate: Good morning.

Roger: Hey, morning.

Roger was the only one sitting in the dining room.

Kate: Is everyone else out?

Roger: Yeah, Jude and Ellis got their usual jobs going on. And Liam and Harrison went to the cake shop together.

R: As for Victor and Will, they’re at the palace, and Elbie... well, he might be out cold somewhere around here, maybe.

Roger gave a general overview of everyone’s whereabouts as he bit into his bread.

Kate: Oh, and thank you for yesterday.

Roger: No need, I was also able to make some good progress with my research too. It’s like a give and take situation, yeah?

R: Besides that, are you doing okay? You were looking pretty pale yesterday.

Roger pushed a silver stand with toast on it, silently telling me to eat.

Kate: Yes, I feel better now, thank you...

(Wait a minute... just why did I feel so down in the first place though?)

I came to the realization that the events of yesterday seemed faint and vague.

(I remember I went with Roger yesterday afternoon to meet the family of someone who had held a bearer of the ‘Curse of the Mirror’ dear.)

(And then...)

Kate: Wait, just why was I so pale again...?

Roger: Huh? It was because the results of the investigation came up empty. I thought you knew?

R: Well, empty aside from the fact that a memento alone is not enough to be able to escape from the tragic fate of those with the ‘Curse of the Mirror,’ so that’s why.

Kate: ...Well, yes, but why was I so bent on finding a way to escape from the Mirror’s fate specifically——

Just then, my heart thumped loudly in my chest.

(Just what... is this feeling...?)

It was like my body was being burnt from the inside as an intense urgency rushed through me.

(I have to remember.)

(I have to——)

(Because it was surely something that I should not... or absolutely could not afford to forget.)

——...You truly are a fool, in every sense of the word, aren’t you.

There, I heard the voice of someone who had rooted himself in my mind.

——Alright, fine, I understand now. I admit my loss.

Whose voice was this?

——Let us put an end to this now.

And just who are you?

——“I have always loved you” — in my own way.

Kate: ...——!

K: It was Alfons...

Roger: Alfons? Who in the world is...

After a moment of silence, those eyes widened sharply.

Roger: ——Tch, blast it, he got us...!

Kate: You mean, he used his ability to...?

Roger: I imagine. He probably said something like, ‘When you wake up, you will forget everything about me.’

R: I was taking a nap down in the lab then. Damn... so he went and used his ability at that time, I bet.

Kate: I think it was the same for me... but that leaves the question of why he would...

(——Hold on. Could it be...)

‘Let us put an end to this now.’

(N-no, that can’t be true.)

The moment a certain possibility bubbled up in my mind, I shut it down.

After all, how would he even think of doing that for someone he didn’t even love? Snow would fall in summer first.

(But...——)

Elbert: ...Kate, Roger.

Kate: Lord Elbert...

Seeing Lord Elbert enter the dining room, I instinctively found myself walking toward him, pressing for an answer.

Kate: Do you remember Alfons...!?

Elbert: ...I do.

E: It seems that... Al’s ability has never lasted very long when he used it on me.

E: So that was why I was able to remember, the moment I saw the note he left behind.

(He left a note...?)

He handed me a slip of paper——and on it, the only words written were ‘Have a lovely rest of your life.’

Kate: ...No way...

That very message, ‘have a lovely rest of your life,’ rang with an air of a farewell for life.

Roger: Forget about a note, that sounds like an entire last will.

Kate: ...gh.

That possibility that I had shot down just before resurrected in my mind.

Elbert: ...There was a time I had asked Al what he would do were you to not give up on him.

(Give up... on him...)

—— Flashback ——

Alfons: Of course, to see whether you have given up on me.

—— End flashback ——

Elbert: And at the time, the only answer he gave me was that he would ‘cross that bridge when he got to it.’

E: But, when it comes to Al... I thought then that there was only one choice he would make.

Kate: And... what choice is that?

(Please.)

(I beg of you——please don’t say what I’m imagining.)

I stared at Lord Elbert, as if pleading with him.

Elbert: That before you get involved with Al further with your heart and body, pouring your time into him, and falling deeper in love with him...

E: ...he would disappear himself.

That one word — ‘disappear’ — was more than enough to freeze any thoughts in my mind, which had been in turmoil, breaking it down to shambles, just before.

(That’s right... from what I’ve seen, Alfons——was most definitely someone who would do that kind of thing.)

—— Flashback ——

Kate: And... are you telling me you would throw away your life just like that for a mere ‘plaything’?

Alfons: Exactly.

A: My own life holds about as much worth as a little tin soldier anyhow.

—— End flashback ——

Kate: ...We have to find him.

K: I can hardly bear for this love... to be what drives him this much to a corner...

Elbert: ...I had an inkling you would say that.

E: And I, too... normally, I would not chase after Al. But this time, I will make an exception.

E: ——After all, I would never let him disappear on his own like that.

(Is... is Lord Elbert angry...?)

I would expect anger from anyone other than him.

But, nonetheless, I still understood very well where he was coming from.

Truly, Alfons undermined the feelings of those around him.

Roger: But even so, someone who can slip by Victor’s eye doesn’t come around every day. It won’t be a walk in the park finding him.

William: ——If you are searching for Alfons, I’ve just received a report from Liam.

Kate: William!?

(I thought he went to the palace, so why... and besides...)

Kate: Wait, I thought Liam... didn’t he go to a cake shop?

William: As per the suggestion of the Privy Council, the purification club had set their sights on Alfons.

W: So that is why Liam and Harrison had been tailing him since yesterday.

Kate: I-is that so...?

William: That said, our goal was to follow the trail of those who were aiming for Alfons,

W: so that we could locate a central figure in the purification club and where he lived...

W: But this morning, Alfons didn’t bother to evade them. In fact, he allegedly even let them take him away.

(No way...)

William: And so I plan to go to the place he was taken to in order to pass judgment on the members of the purification club...

W: But as for you guys——

William’s eyes then meaningfully narrowed at us.

William: It seems there would be little point in asking what you guys want to do, am I right?

—— Alfons’ POV: a dilapidated mansion ——

Just wandering around the alleyways was enough for the purification club to take the bait,

as they took me to a room within a mansion that had clearly seen better years, where paintings with faded colors decorated the walls.

Dust could be seen everywhere, and I was sure if it were a lover they were taking to bed, such a room would be in sorely bad taste.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: I thought you would resist more.

Alfons: Then I’ll have you know that I do happen to be the type to simply be whisked away wherever any voice may call.

A: Oh, or was such information not disclosed to you when some certain higher-up handed you documents on us?

We were in a mansion that more so resembled ruins that people would rarely step foot in.

I sat down on a chair in the middle of the room, and several men surrounded me, all armed with a gun.

——I couldn’t ask for a more ideal situation.

Alfons: Would Lord Goa happen to be in attendance?

A: Well, I suppose not. Dirtying his hands from an evil syndicate would be sorely beneath him, I would imagine.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: I loathe that you call us as such. In fact, I should be calling you guys an ‘evil syndicate,’ no?

Parliamentary member with round glasses: After all, here you are, not bothering to even try to hide that suspicious power of yours, and even showing it off. That will only make you an enemy.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Your name came up as soon as we told a certain personage about the features of the intruder who had broken into the hotel.

Alfons: Ahha! Now my curiosity on who that may be does tickle me. Were that I could spend a night with such a fan of mine, you see.

The man’s hackles seemed to raise when I responded with words to egg him on.

(Well, it’s a relief to know he is a simple-minded person.)

It seemed as though half a taunt would be enough to make that thread of patience break.

Alfons: ...Would you happen to be familiar with the story of Snow White, perchance?

A: I’m curious to know who you believe to be the most cowardly of the cast? What about the most cruel?

Parliamentary member with round glasses: I did not take you here to listen to you ramble about your childish riddles.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: You will be telling us about the organization you work for, and its members. If you do, I will at least let you go alive.

Alfons: Hehe... I take it this is your first time interrogating someone?

A: Because dare I say, you could learn a thing — or perhaps ten — from a professional.

A: Interrogation 101 is first researching every nook and cranny about the person you’re going to question, so you know how to threaten them into giving answers, you know, or you will only be making a vain attempt.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: ...And dare I say, that’s some advice from someone who simply let himself be taken here.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Very well then. Allow me to answer your childish riddles.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: The most cowardly one is you, and the most cruel one is none other than me.

Alfons: Oopsie, I’m sorry to say you’re sorely wrong.

A: The correct answer would be the Mirror. For both questions, at that.

A: After all, it spoke a truth that nobody needed, and invited such a tragedy... and yet, by the end of the story would you not agree the Mirror has gotten away with it all?

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Tch, just what are you getting at!? Do you not value your own life at all!?

Alfons: Goodness gracious, you cannot even find it in your heart to entertain my fun word play? I implore you, do read in between the lines, will you?

A: I’m saying that I despise tragedies.

A: So, do you see now? You can kill me right at this very moment, and I will go out without so much as uttering a complaint.

A: Go on now, everything shall go as you wish. I could hardly care less about when or where I kick the bucket.

Perhaps unable to understand my words, the man with the round glasses humphed.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: You are a valuable source of information. Thus, until you spit out information regarding this ‘Crown’ and its members, I won’t grant you death.

Alfons: ...Oh, you poor soul. It seems reading between the lines was just too much to expect from the likes of you, so allow me the honor of clearly enlightening you.

I stood from my seat before approaching the parliamentary member.

Seeing me, who had not shown any signs of resistance until now, the guards who were originally relaxed, raised their guns in a single motion.

(Yes, that’s it, now there’s a good boy.)

Alfons: Speaking the truth and whatnot is positively beyond me. Do what you wish with me, but you’ve chosen the wrong person for true information.

—— Kate’s POV: city streets ——

On the way to the mansion where Alfons was taken, we crossed paths with Harrison and Liam.

After all, Roger had noticed there were guards lurking at the perimeter of the mansion, keeping watch.

Roger: I would bet they’re trying to get information on the people coming to rescue Alfons — that is, the members of Crown.

(If we’re too reckless, Crown would be put in danger.)

(...But——)

When I thought about the possibility that my memory of him would be lost for eternity,

I felt an urge so intense I could hardly bear it to just jump in the fray then and there.

Elbert: Roger... could you ensure not a single guard can escape?

Roger: Based on their positions and the number of people, I’d say four people are needed for that.

Elbert: ...If that’s so, may I leave that to you?

E: Kate and I will go inside.

Kate: Lord Elbert...

I was not the only one with widened eyes: the others also looked at Elbert with a slightly surprised expression.

Harrison: Well would you look at that, it’s not every day Elbie takes initiative.

Liam: I’m all for it. I’ll make sure there’s not a single witness around.

William: ——You are free to do as you like.

W: After we take care of those lurking around here, we’ll follow after you.

—— Alfons’ POV ——

Alfons: Speaking the truth and whatnot is positively beyond me. Do what you wish with me, but you’ve chosen the wrong person for true information.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: You wretched——

Alfons: Come on now, won’t you shoot me? Or are those guns of yours simply for display in light of all your cowardice?

As I drew closer to the guns, step by step, I unsheathed my saber with a smooth motion, and I heard the sound of guns being readied.

But lackeys needed an excuse to kill a valuable prisoner.

(For example, they got so agitated at having been egged on, they couldn’t put a cap on their emotions.)

(Or perhaps they felt their own lives endangered by retaliation, and so they acted out of self-defense.)

And if it was a mix of both, then all the better for them.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Don’t shoot yet!

Alfons: Ahh! Is it that, despite the fact you find no problem in massacring people in the slums left and right like their naught but garbage, you feel disinclined to point a gun at a ‘noble’?

A: Golly, how much trouble I must have caused you.

A: But allow me to be the first to reassure you that, though I may act and talk like a noble... I actually do come from the slums you so loathe and despise.

(Just one more push.)

I only needed to make these foolish underlings, who didn’t bother to take away my saber just because I didn’t show resistance, think ‘I was dangerous.’

Alfons: So, how about it? Does it seem more doable now?

A: Oh, but if you still can’t find it in you to shoot, then perhaps I will take one of your arms first?

Just as I pointed my saber at him, fully intending to land a killing blow, though...

Kate: ...Alfons!!

Alfons: .........? [surprised]

——Resonating through the room was a voice I should have never heard again.

Upon hearing that voice, for a moment I had forgotten the smile I had worn to egg them on.

If this were a play, I would imagine such a scene would elicit a load of heckling.

And when I turned back, there I saw her, running toward me.

(——Why...)

I knew Liam and Harrison were tailing me.

And so, I led them here, and before they actually arrived on the scene, I would die by the hands of the purification club.

Afterward, Crown would interrogate them like the experts they were before condemning the leader of the purification club, and that would be the end of that.

I was sure they would only question ‘come to think of it, who was this again?’ over my dead body before being disposed of along with the rest of the guards.

——Or, that was how it was supposed to be.

Alfons: Ahh... good lord.

A: This reality can dig itself in a ditch for all I care.

A: Now look at what you guys have done. Thanks to your hemming and hawing, yet more trouble has found its way here.

Guard: Is that woman one of his friends——!?

Parliamentary member with round glasses: I’m not sure, as there was nothing in the report. Well, I’m sure this woman is one of many he picked up.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: ——It doesn’t matter anyhow. Just kill her.

The guns then all took aim at her.

(Ahh, jeez——)

Truly, what an absurd thing it was. [1]

—— Kate’s POV ——

Kate: ...Alfons...?

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

The guns that had originally been pointing at Alfons shifted to me.

But right as I thought that, Alfons’ back blocked them.

It was only after his body slowly reeled——

That the flow of time seemed to return to its normal state as his body crumpled to the floor.

Kate: Alfons...!!

Parliamentary member with round glasses: What in the world have you done! Blast it all! How can I face Lord Goa if he dies...

Guard who shot: I-I apologize!

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Forget it! You useless goons! Don’t move another finger until I order it!

While I heard the scolding from a distance, I ran to Alfons.

And I set his head atop my knees, somehow managing to lift his torso.

Kate: Alfons! Hey, Alfons!? Can you hear me!?

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Tch, you damn woman, you’re in the way, so move it!

A loud voice called out to me, causing me to raise my head.

(This person is——)

The man glaring at me was the parliamentary member with round glasses who was talking to Lord Goa in the purification club hotel.

The muzzle of the guns, which resembled a black hole, were pointed at the two of us.

Parliamentary member with round glasses: Stay away from that man. I’m sure if we torture him even on the brink of death, we can wring some in...for——

Man with round glasses: gh, ughh!? What is this...!? M-my head——

(Lord Elbert...!)

At some point, Lord Elbert was standing behind him.

Elbert: …I could say the same for you guys.

E: Could I ask you… to not get in the way?

Due to Lord Elbert’s ability, the parliamentary member with the round glasses was now clutching at his head, crouching on the floor while crying.

(I have utterly no clue what’s going on… but anyhow, we’re saved.)

The befuddled guards stood where they were, stupefied at the strange scene unfolding before them.

Alfons: Pfft, hehe, ahahaha!

Kate: …!?

All of a sudden, I heard laughter from within my arms, bringing my attention back.

Kate: Alfons!? Oh, thank goodness, you’re awake... wait, no! Why are you laughing!?

Alfons: Ahah— sorry, that’s my bad, it’s just... utterly funny to me— pfft, ahaha!

With every word he spoke, the crimson of the blood gradually stained the black of his clothes.

Kate: The blood...! Don’t laugh any more! It’s only going to make the bleeding worse!

K: Right now, the wound——I need to stop the bleeding!

Blood was flowing out from around his shoulders.

Seeming to overflow ceaselessly, I pushed down a handkerchief on the wound.

And it only took a moment for the white handkerchief to be stained in red.

Alfons: haa... hehe, haa... I really am sorry. I know myself that I’m a bloody mess right now.

A: But, goodness, how could I not laugh at this... pfft, ahaha!

(But... there’s so much blood...)

Kate: Gosh, I don’t understand, just what in the world’s so funny to you!? Because I sure don’t see anything worth laughing at...!

Beyond my control, tears started to prick at the corners of my eyes, overflowing.

They threatened to fall and scatter to the ground, but before they could, I felt his black gloved fingers wipe them, his touch ever so gentle.

Alfons: ...Hehe, seeing you so worked up... what a fool you are...

A: To think you would remember me so quickly, and chase me all the way to a place like this...

Feeling the warmth that seeped through his gloves made my chest tighten, and once again, I couldn’t do anything to stop my tears.

Alfons: As I thought, things never seem to work out with you, truly.

A: In fact, it went so awry, I found myself laughing.

Kate: Alright, fine, I understand now, so please, just don’t speak anymore...

Elbert: Kate, let’s tie this over the handkerchief.

Lord Elbert ran to us, a long white cloth in his hand.

It seemed he had cut off a part of his outer clothes from its seams.

And when I looked around him, I saw that the bodyguards, too, were crouching on the floor, as was the man with round glasses.

Kate: Thank you...

Alfons: Hah... were you always this efficient, Elbert... or did I miss something along the way?

Elbert: You were the one who taught me to use what is around at times like these... a long time ago.

Alfons: ...Well, look at you, so awfully earnest.

Once Lord Elbert wrapped the cloth thoroughly around the wound, he left the room to call Roger.

Alfons: ...I cannot help but wonder, though, how did you wake up so quickly?

Alfons looked positively bewildered as he asked.

Kate: I don’t know... how could I?

Alfons: Were it that you could stay beguiled for a tad bit longer...

A: ...you wouldn’t have to go through the person you love dying before your eyes like this...

A: ...and by the time the illusion wears off on its own, you would have forgotten about me already... if only.

Kate: D-don’t... don’t you dare say things like you’re going to die...

K: I would hate that... for you to die...

K: My love, all of my feelings for you...

K: Don’t you even dare... think of turning them into an illusion ever again...

I hugged Alfons’ body tightly — that was the only thing I could think to do now.

Otherwise, the shadow of death that slowly crept toward him would take him away.

Or, much like a mirage, his very existence would fade away from my memories.

Alfons: haa...

From within my arms, Alfons started to move.

And realizing that he was trying to lift himself up, I went into a panic.

Kate: No, you can’t get up! You’re still bleeding...

Alfons: By God, from the bottom of my heart, this was the last thing I ever wished to happen.

Just then, I felt a warmth brush against my lips.

(A kiss...)

The touch of his lips on mine was as light as a feather...

...and yet, out of all the kisses we had shared, this very one was the most fleeting, just as it carved itself into the deepest place in my heart.

Alfons: ...It would seem that... I love you quite a bit myself, as it were.

Kate: ——?

Alfons: At least, to the point where I want to confess like this at death’s door, and leave a trace of myself in your life... one that would never fade away.

A: Would you not agree that life... is quite a fickle thing?

He let out a laugh before his head started to spin.

(No...)

(Please... I beg of you, don’t...)

Kate: ...you...

K: Well, you haven’t left enough of a trace behind...! So I won’t ever, by God, let you die in a place like this...!

Even though he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he still slowly looked up at me.

Alfons: ...Then... how about we make a bet... the two of us?

Kate: ...? A bet...?

Alfons: If I die, then I win. I bid you adieu, and have a lovely rest of your life.

A: But, if I happen to survive this ordeal... then you win.

A: And, just as you so wish, I will love you back to the fullest——

A: And tear your life to bits and pieces.

to be continued…

“ love me madly or love me blindly. ”

← prev mad love blind love

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

NOTES:

[1] I find it a bit unclear what the subject is here; he could be referring to reality, or it could be directed at Kate. Or maybe both.

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment, send an ask off anon, or dm to be added or removed!