#✘ ⠀ ⠀ ── ⠀ ⠀❛ queue ⠀ ⠀ » ⠀ ⠀you can’t start a fire without a spark .

[har-har-harvey]

it’s like what happened with fanfiction but worse, cause they didn’t even actually create any part of the work themselves

[truly-quirkless]

TAG DUMP 2 - Inbox n' Dash

[kyri45]

✨Spicynoodles Bio Parents AU Q&A! 20/07✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach/Spicynoodles Bio Parents AU! if your question is not here, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@boonalina ha chiesto: So I know you're changing the lore a bit to fit the Spicynoodles Bio Dad's au. Sooo how does Nyad the water spirit fit into it? Is there gonna be some twist that Nyad is actually from the Monkie Kid world? Cuz the show implied that Nyad is Nya's ancestor. So is Nya's biological "father" related to Nyad the water spirit?

no, to keep the Ninjago canon, Nyad is still Nya's "ancestor" in the way they are the biological ancestor of Maya, since Nyad is connected to the elemental element of water.

@mystic-croissant2 ha chiesto: The world needs to know! Is Lavashipping/Kai x Cole canon?

I aint the official Ninjago writer sorry to tell you

@hazlewolf-43 ha chiesto: I've always been interested in Lego Ninjago ever since I was a kid and then somewhere between 2020 and 2023 got into Lego monkie kid, so having my two favorite Lego shows combined like this makes me very excited! Also your art is phenomenal and your story telling for your comics is just out of this world!!!!

thank you!

@fancycat-thesilvertux ha chiesto: I love that Kai’s fire is starting to glitch into chaos from how it looks like! Reminded me of when MK used chaos energy - those were some really cool panels btw! Not that all your panels aren’t cool, but those specifically to me were tier in a way I can’t really explain but still ultimately love. Speaking of, which was your favorite comic panels to work on for your AU(s)?

I think the Spicynoodle kiss! it' s not my favourite panel, but it's the one I liked the most drawing

@baitao-daughter-of-monkey-king ha chiesto: Okay I gotta know…will we see Little Apricot in the SpicyNoodles Bio Parents AU? Maybe a cameo? Only curious that’s all lol

maybe

@asherfox ha chiesto: How does the goblin looks like? 😭 Does kai's horns going to keep growing? Or like, it finished its growth. Also I really love your art!! 😔❤

the goblin is a irl friend of mine that sometimes when I'm tired I ask him to answer some ask for me for fun (he doesn't know anything about LMK or Ninjago)

No Kai horns are mostly matured.

@elenaprime6 ha chiesto: Will we see the parents' p.o.v in the Spicynoodles Bio-Parents Au? And Will Mei be joining Red & MK when they arrive at the realm? Since Nya is her daughter...

yes we will see the Spicynoodles POV.

@92darkdragon ha chiesto: Question for the Spicy noodle bio AU: does Kai remember or would remember pigsy's cooking?

I think he would. Taste it's the one out of the 5 senses we remember the most. He probably wouldn't remember that it was Pigsy who made them at first but he would remember the flavour.

@anidiotkid ha chiesto: I love your comics so much and especially the continuation as of now with the bio-parents au! I haven't seen Ninjago since I was a kid- and I'm tempted to rewatch the show! (also you comics drop on the days that I have work, so it's like a nice little treat every time I clock out ^^)

Thanks! the comic updates are also one of those things that I look forward to every 2/3 days.

@kc-krazycat ha chiesto: Okay so, since you're focusing more on the spicynoodles au now, would it be okay if I explored little yuebei's story a bit more in comic form as long as I @ you?

yea sure

@l4yl6 ha chiesto: Hey kyri !!! How are you doing ?? I just wanted to ask a question for the Spicynoodle bio parents AU You know there's a lot of head cannons about the ninjas heigh. Like Cole or/and Zane are the tallest, Kai is after them, Nya and/or Jay are a tiny bit shorter than Kai but still are tall and Lloyd is either the shorter of the group or the tallest (because of his oni blood I think) Knowing that when in bull form (Let's call it that) Redson is taller and all, are you going to make Kai on a grow spurt too ?

Oh that's an interesting one! Yes he would, but rather than a spurt, is more like his extra height is hidden by the glamour, just like Red Son

@loseranddummy ha chiesto: how old is Kai in this au?

21/22

@lumayre ha chiesto: I wanted to ask There won't be any more lmk shadowpeach comics or about the little comet? Love the stuff you got going, I just wanted to make sure!

No I will draw more of Yuebei

@weirdestarrow ha chiesto: I adore how you draw the ninjago guys it’s peak I can’t describe it but it feels so right

thanks!

@copseiva ha chiesto: I am curious, if Spicynoodles Bio Parent AU going to have any ship, especially any ship with Kai is he gonna experience the whole demon courting thing??? Had he ever experienced wanting to court (*cough* kidnap *cough*) anyone before, but because there was no one to explain this to him, he just pushed this as weird intrusive thoughts 🤔

we probably wont have time for any ship unfortunately (apart from spicynoodles of course)

@pan-roses ha chiesto: Hi Kyri!! Been reading since the very beginning of ShadowPeach Bio comic. You have been keeping me going in these trying times (waiting for season 6). My question is; How long do you foresee SpicyNoddles bio kid au to be? You mentioned in a post you have future scenes that excite you and will keep you going for a few months (which is awesome, I'm so glad you are enjoying your amazing story!!)

I have 3 Acts planned, I don't know how much each arc will be long though

@lilith0908 ha chiesto: Hello!! Hope you're having a wonderful day just wondering, how's our favorite apricot doing in this new timeline? I bet she's practically like MK really :)

she is a little like MK, but she's also very much her own person, a little bit more similar to Macaque in term of personality.

@lotus-doodles-04 ha chiesto: Hello! Where in the ninjago series does you comic takes place in? I’ve been thinking of rewatching the series! I love your art!

Post Season 3 of Dragon Rising, I mean a endinf where they already defeated the main villain (S3 hasn't ended yet, but the setting is that)

@ourasriel ha chiesto: Have you seen the ninjago: monstrosity special? I think that it was very cool! Another question, does Kai and Nya have the elemental power or it come from their biological parents? If they don't, I guess that there must be a master of fire and water elsewhere in Ninjago, or Maya and Ray. Or maybe their arrival in the ninjago world made them the new statu quo for the fire and water powers. Anyways, I ABSOLUTLY love your works, you're amazing and do wathever you want :D!

Yes I saw Monstrousity. Most of their fire/water powers come from Ninjago elemental powers previous holders (maya and ray)

@nica0509 ha chiesto: Hello. Ask out of curiosity. Why is MK called Xiaotian? I've seen other artists or fanfic writers call it that, where did they get the name?

it's his name in the chinese dub

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: So in spicynoodles and Shadowpeach couples which one is the better ice skater in each.

Macaque and MK

@shadowlilly101 ha chiesto: Would Kai have both monkey and bull traits or just bull traits?

both

@lordtraco ha chiesto: Found you from LMK, tripped and fell into ISAT canyon from your comics, now peeking into a cave labeled "Ninjago! Has Mei child AND a spicynoodles child!" Soooo I gotta ask, on a scale of one to LMK Season 5, how much is this lego show going to make me cry? Because I like angst :3

while the ShadowPeach Bio Parents AU was more like 50% a slice of life story and 50% an Endgame 4 Arcs finale, this one will be structured more like a 3 acts movie. So like- i don't know honestly I haven't cried yet, I did thought jumped around the house with the energy of a super sayan from the excitement of some scenes

@kingofendlessdc ha chiesto: Do you know if there’s a way LMK could actually do a crossover with another Lego show? Since LMK is an adaptation. Because if I didn’t know any better I would say that ninjago and LMK are prepping for a crossover, both shows have cracks through the universe and chaos energy. Like what are the odds of that?

idk man i don't even know if there will be a S6 but there are 3 undiscovered realms in the Ninjago universe after the merge.

@jackwhitecat22 ha chiesto: Hey! First things first, i LOVE your art and your histories in this AU. You do such an amazing drawing. And now, my question is. In your Spicynoodles Au, Is MK also a shadowpeach bio child in this AU? If it is, does it mean that Kai could get any of Wukong or Macaque's powers?

Yes he is. Kai gets his powers mostly from the fire element and his parent though.

@someoneisherelol ha chiesto: Since Mei has the samadi fire (idk if I spelt that right) does that mean nya would inherit any of the samadi fire powers or even some of Mei's dragon powers along with nya already having her water powers?

no don't worry Nya doesn't has any samadi fire in her luckily.

@ejskelepun ha chiesto: 4 AM realization: The baby is an adult. Our little baby comet monkey would be an adult by the time of the SpicyNoodles AU. Oh fuck.

hehe yes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[mackk122]

Tittle: Aquatinted (part 2)

Part One

Pairing~Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 24.k

Warnings~ smut;)

Summary~ part 2. (Younger Sister to the twin Emperors.As you are forced to sit and watch the games, a certain gladiator catches your attention.) Everything changes when you finally meet one another.

Notes: I’ve seen this movie 3 times already- I might have a problem.☺️ Also if there’s any spelling mistakes- ummmm….

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

After the first games, you spent all night non-stop thinking of that gladiator Hanno.

“Ugh!” I huffed out.

I had to find a way to meet this man…

It was dangerous when the sun of Rome fell into the cool shades of the night. I covered my body in an old cloak, making sure to blend in when needed. I fast walked through the city until I reached the colosseum. Quickly and quietly I made my way into the building- determined. I dodged the guards searching for the cell he would be in, that’s when I heard a familiar voice speaking.

“Lucius..” A woman spoke.

As I turned the corner to hear more, I saw Lucilla inside the cell with Hanno… or who she believed to be her son Lucius. I was intrigued by this and continued to listen, he started yelling for her to leave and I took that as my queue as well.

‘This is interesting’ I thought to myself, following behind Lucilla.

She made her way back to her house, where I would make myself known.

“Lucilla!” I whispered. She turned around, her tear stained face looked scared now.

I walked out from behind the wall, hood still concealing my face.

“Lucilla… it’s me..” I spoke softy.

“Prin-“ she began to say.

“Shhh” I held my hand to my lips. A look of concern filled her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Lucilla softly demanded.

“Is that gladiator, Lucius? Is he your son?” I whispered.

Her eyes widened, terrified of what was to happen next. “And if he was?” Her voice shaking.

“I- no worries my lips are sealed. He…I need to meet with him… Lucilla if there’s any way..” I pleaded, a noise from in the house stirred and I quickly left.

Lucilla breathed into the cool musk of Rome. Wondering why the Princess of Rome would want anything to do with a gladiator.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

*The next games*

As the day went on, your thoughts ran rampant. This was your chance to finally meet Hanno… or Lucius, you didn’t even know what was true anymore.

Everyone was sat, awaiting the sounds of the horns. The arena was filled with water and sharks. It was incredibly terrifying to see.

“Why sister, would you care for a swim?” Caracalla laughed.

“Idiot- she can’t swim” Geta side eyed Caracalla, before chuckling with him.

“Broth- Emperors… I shall like very much to meet the glorious victor from yesterday’s game” I smiled brightly.

“And why is that?” Geta looked annoyed at the idea of me even speaking.

“I believe it to be more exciting to meet him… after all he is the champion” I said innocently.

“If he lives” Geta replied.

“Oh how fun to watch him die, and see your wish not come true. WAR!! GIVE ME DEATH!” Caracalla spoke crazily.

I sighed and turned back to see Lucilla staring at me, I gave a small smile and she nodded.

The trumpets sounded and the games had commenced. Fighting brutally the boats had crashed into one another, men thrown over board were shark food and the fires of the sail filled the air of thick smoke. He fought hard, and as the boats hit the side of the wall, an arrow flew right past Geta and landed into the side of my chair, I watched as the gladiator tried to kill what seemed to be the General. I stared at him, eyes locking again. The look of disappointment and regret filled his eyes. I was confused until I felt the pain from my arm kick in, the arrow had grazed me and the cut bled down, dripping onto the floor. They ushered us out and got the games under control.

“Princess!” Lucilla reached for my arm.

“I’m fine, truly tis a scratch” I smiled.

“Emperors I would like to speak to those gladiators- find out who did this” I said sternly. Geta looked around breathing heavily at what just happened.

“Sister, the arrow struck you- Punishments will be made! Trying to shoot Us!” Geta started to shout. Caracalla had that crazy look in his eyes. From around the corner Macrinus calmly stepped up and walked the emperors down the hall, looking behind at me with a sly smile.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The thought of the arrow almost killing the princess replayed in Lucius’s mind.

“Who shot that!” The angry guard spoke.

One by one the gladiators said it was them.

“If it was me with the arrow, it would have found its way to you” Lucius spoke to the guard, before walking away.

As Lucius made his way into his cell to rest, he could here heavy footsteps approaching, assuming it was either a guard or Macrinus, he didn’t bother looking up from where he lay.

“Gladiator!” I said loud and stern. Lucius sat up, and his eyes widened a bit, not expecting the princess to be down here in a place like this.

“Princess…” he spoke dull. The keys in my hand jingled as I unlocked his cell door. I could feel his eyes burning through me, I quickly walked into where he was sitting.

Closing the door behind me, “Am I so awful you try to kill me before we could even speak?” I joke trying to diffuse the awkward tension.The blood still down my arm.

“The General…” his said blunt staring at my arm.

“Ah- For a warrior your aim, ‘tis not very good” I chuckled slightly looking down at my arm. “At last-“ I began to speak.

“Why are you down here?” He said confused, now standing up and slowly walking towards me. And yet I don’t move away.

“What is your real name? Hmm? Are you Lucius son of Lucilla or are you Hanno a slave from Romes raging war?” I look up at him, his body was an arms reach away. His face hardened at my question.

“I know not who I am, but I know the general and his armies will pay, and then your brothers..” his voice was calm yet vicious.

“And yet you still have not answered me” I walked past him deeper into the cell. I looked around, still feeling that burning stare.

“Your mother is a great friend of mine” I sighed. “We both want freed from this nightmare that has plagued Rome and its people.” I turned to look at him now. I could see debate in the face he made, most likely deciding whether or not to try and trust me.

“Right” he spoke.

“Hmm” I hummed out.

“Well I best not keep you, as you need rest, and I shall need to bandage myself ” I smiled and began to walk past him.

“Wait-“ he lightly grasped my wrist, “ I’m truly sorry for that arrow hitting you” his eyes had a soft remorse within them.

“I know, I saw in the arena” I smiled. “Well I shall see you tomorrow then, after all I should get to know the man who shot me” I chuckled. Lucius smiled at the remark, He assumed all of Rome was evil but he was wrong.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The days would pass and the princess and Lucius would meet in secret. They shared their lives and their passions. And each time she was about to leave, the longing from both filled the cell with thick tension and yet no one acted on it…

The keys in my hand jingled slightly, trying to keep quiet. It was the night before the third game, and I was worried if Lucius was going to survive.

“Lucius?” I whispered through the door.

“Carissima” he spoke softy leaning against the cell, each arm hanging out, face close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“You flatter me” a slight blush on my cheeks. I smiled a his words ‘Dearest’ the nickname earned after the second night of our meetings.

“Well Lucius… hopefully we don’t get caught” I said with a sly smirk.

“Oh?” His eyes blazing.

“Come with me…” I looked up and slightly pushed the door, he took the hint and stepped back.

“Leave..? Are you trying to kill me now?” His eyes widened, and yet he chuckled.

“We just can’t get caught” I grabbed his hand and lead him to a dark corridor, I picked up speed and we were running through the moonlight of Rome. I came to a halt once we made it to the palace.

“This is how you get revenge for a scratch carissima?” His shoulder gently bumped mine.

“Shhh… and I figured a change of scenery would be good for you… unless you want to go back to a cold lonely cell?” I said looking around innocently.

“Lead the way” he spoke. I grabbed his hand and took him through hidden doors and eventually we made it to my room.

“This is where I stay” I let go of his hand, and turned to smile. I was surprisingly shy at the thought of a man in here let alone the man, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with. He walked over to my bed, feeling the soft fabrics and carvings of the bed frame.

“Fancy..” he jested sensing I was a bit nervous.

“Too fancy” I smiled back, making my way over. “Promise me you wont die tomorrow!” I blurted out. My eyes widened in embarrassment.

He took my hand, “I cannot… But I promise to fight for you.” He took a step closer, still holding my hand, he gave it a soft kiss.

“Lucius” I whispered looking up at his face. “I can’t loose you” I took a deep breath.

“I’m right here carissima” He bent his face down slightly, looking from my eyes to my lips. It felt like we were the only people on this world at the moment and i never wanted it to end.

“Lucius” I said again at a loss for words. My voice was breathy, and our bodies kept getting closer.

“Princess… I don’t think you know what you do to me… when you say my name like that” Lucius said with such raw lust. All I could do was look in his eyes, until he closed the gap between us.

The kiss was light, as our lips danced Lucius picked me up gently. He sat down on my bed and I straddled his lap.

“I need you” I said pulling away for air. The look in his eyes turned primal, and like a predator hunting his prey, the second kiss was harsh. He moved from my mouth down to my jaw and then paraded kisses down my neck. I’ve never felt so alive, my hips started moving back and forth longing for something more. His grip on me tightened, Lucius’s hands roaming my body as they made their way down to squeeze my hips. I could feel how hard he was as he pushed my hips down harder and a soft moan escaped my lips.

“I need you��� a breathy sigh came out from me.

“Not yet princess, you’re doing so good.” he smiled,continuing to kiss my neck and keep a steady pace with my hips.

“Please… Lucius I need you..” I breathed out, my hands found their way to his hair, lightly tugging on it- he moaned at the action. The sound he made, made my stomach fill with butterflies. I started to move faster, my body craving more and more. He took note and picked me up, laying me on my back. He crawled on top of me and basically tore my dress off. At the sight of my naked body laid before him he spoke “ you are perfect”.

My face flushed at his words and he slowly began to take his clothes off. Once we were both naked he lower his body down kissing me again.

“You look so good under me” he smiled, he lowered his hand, rubbing my clit. A jolt shot through my body and moans started escaping my lips.

“Lucius…” I moaned.

“Do you like that princess?” He said as he inserted his finger into my opening, still continuing to rub circles around me. He pumped in and out and then added another. I was a mess underneath him, and he enjoyed the slight of Royalty melting under his touch. My hips started bucking up wanting more but with his free hand he held me down.

“I need more” I cried. He smirked pulling his fingers out completely.

“Lucius- wha” I began to speak, that’s when he lifted my lower half with ease, lining himself up and inserting himself into me completely. He gave me a moment to adjust before rocking his hips back and forth. He let out moans and praises as he thrusted into me.

“Feels so good” I said.

He picked up the speed our bodies slamming into each other. It felt like a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up. I started to feel a knot in my stomach, and my moans grew louder. He knew I was reaching my high point and continued to thrust harder.

“Lucius-“ I moaned, as my release came out. He continued to rock through my orgasm and then let out his.

He pulled out of me, breathing heavily and our bodies sweaty, he smiled and put his forehead to mine. We spent some time laying beside each other before he had to return back. Our eyes locked for a moment and Lucius began to speak.

“Your body was sculpted from the heavens, and yet..put into the hands of me, I swear on what good is left in this life, if I survive tomorrow..” he spoke.

“I’m yours Lucius, now kiss me before you leave..” I said before he could finish, and we both smiled.

Part.3…..? Lemme know:)

Check out the playlist too 🫶🫶

[zorosbeau33]

Courting~ Natsu Dragneel Alpha Headcanon

❖ Fairy Tail, Natsu Dragneel x gender neutral reader

❖ Headcanon, Possible future series, fluff

❖ Tw: none~

❖ wc: 1045

❖ @tojiseviltwin @kimnamshiks ❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This is a alpha beta omega au~ Reader is assumed omega in this but you are free to decide for yourself~

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

To begin, to make this easy let us establish this Dragon Slayer is an alpha. If you did not know you might suspect he was a beta with how he is so careless and goofy. Not your stereotypical stern tough guy alpha.

Natsu doesn’t care if you see him as an alpha or not, and he doesn’t care if someone doesn’t believe he’s an alpha. His status as a dragon slayer and member of Fairy Tail is his pride not something decided by birth or gender. Gender, who cares about that, are you strong or funny or nice? Thus goes his priorities.

So needless to say he’s not really into the whole, he has to court you by rules xyz due to his secondary gender. He’s going to court you how he believes a dragon slayer and guild member (because you will be adopted into Fairy Tale if you're not in it already) should be treated.

It might have taken him a long while to realize he wants to court you though. At first he just knew he liked being around you, and isn’t that enough? Spending life going on adventures and laughing together are most important to him. 

Once or twice he feels like frowning or growling when he sees someone get really close to you. Not just proximity wise because he too is a skinship with all the friends kind of person. But seeing someone attempt to get close to you romantically or emotionally and nudge him aside and out of frame? He doesn’t understand why but it burns him up inside.

I hate to say it but he tries to train it off, or just cling onto you and insist on starting a job right now. No he hasn’t picked one and yes it might be midnight but it's the perfect time to start a quest! No really-

He may go and confide in Master or Mira Jane. He knows he may get teased for it but he can’t figure these emotions out, and it's imperative to him to know because it's becoming stronger. His anger (its jealousy), his thoughts about you, why your scent is smelling sweeter and sweeter to him, all of it.

Bless this poor boy's soul because he really couldn’t figure out why he was “hungry” when he smelled your scent. He thought he needed to eat more food or fire because we don't eat friends. Thankfully they explained it's a physical and emotional longing to be closer with you.

This was not his first birds-and-bees talk but it was the one that made him realize he wanted you, and without them having to say more Natsu realized he wanted you as his mate.

Thankfully he does know from seeing others do it, although he thought it stupid at the time, the basics on how to court someone

His heart cannot take this he's so jittery and happy as he bounds up to you, if it's night time he may have broken in but that's okay! To hand you some hand picked flowers and a snack. He’s pretty forward about this, not subtle on starting the courting process. 

“Why? Because I want you to be my mate partner too of course!” Queue big happy grin

Lucy has helped him go shopping several times for you, blankets for your now shared nest. Food gifts galore.

No seriously everywhere you go, and you go to all places together now unless you ask for some space. He gets you food.

You looked away for two seconds and he disappeared. Don't worry he’ll be back in ten minutes with something scrumptious for you. 

If he has to go on a mission without you, or if you decide to take some time to yourself, expect a small little sweet or scone to be placed on your desk or in your hands. They are often a shade of pink, or dragon themed so you’d think of him.

Not huge on you wearing his clothes, with the exception of his scarf. He adores seeing you in it before he started courting you because he hadn’t realized yet, now he is obsessed wrapping it around you both as you cuddle. Or do anything for that matter.

Natsu did realize it's not practical while walking only after clotheslining you once…or twice…

He is super attentive to your needs, perhaps not romantically, but he knows you’re hungry before you do. 

Shivering? Not around him he knew to warm you before you knew you were chilled.

Tired, and he somehow has drafted you for a cuddle and nap session or has told the other guild members to go away so you can nest in a corner where he can keep an eye and make sure you are safe

Guild member pissed you off, he’s already squaring up to fight with you

You are feeling needy? He's right there giving you a hug

It all stems from his fighting experience funnily enough. He’s gotten really really good at reading body language because of it and he has yours down to an art form.

Natsu is strong and independent despite his love of skinship and kinship. However he will always be longing to be just a little bit closer to you and his gifts sometimes reflect as much.

Never in his life before would he have wanted to buy a massage, but here he is getting vouchers for couples massages. He heard about it from Elfman and it was a lightbulb moment.

Matching funny hats at the amusement park

Small little quirky dates to places to do things together, like making matching earrings. Or a food tour of a town together, quality time is his utmost number one gift and treasure. It's the best thing you can give him too, volunteer to spend time together and he is over the moon.

This goes without saying but Natsu is above all else, protective. You are strong or weak, it doesn't change this, he will fight god and anyone who looks down on you or tries to hurt you. Even if it's a guildmate in a pre ordained face off, someone will need to hold him back. You are too precious to him to risk losing, so please stay by his side forever.

[truly-quirkless]

Fin might've laughed if they'd known what the hedgehog was thinking. If there was one thing Fin was good at, it was construction work- at least, the organization half. Having a team full of Quirk-users also made work go by pretty fast. And,...they were rather accustomed to the generic assumptions that they were too young for a lot of things.- They could still remember the last time an adult had called them out for 'playing hooky'...it had been a few weeks before the battle in Kamino, if memory served.

"I can draw, but it's mostly mockups of structures...n' anime-esque people, but's not all that great." Their grin only grew at the response. A guitar, huh? "So y'could literally be a one-man band if y'tried!" Though it sounded like the guitar came from years of work, not innate talent. Of course- innate talent only got one so far in life. "There was a nice school festival a few weeks back- kinda wish y'coulda attended, I'm sure th' kids woulda gone wild." Well. They weren't entirely certain. At the very least, they knew a certain guitarist who'd have been enthused. "N' I hope y'don't mind me askin'- what brings you to Musutafu? Sight-seein'?"

{➹} – HE KNEW A LOT of planning, and so much more, went into building anything, but the thought of being able to wrap one's head around forming an entire building was still something the hero struggled with to that day. And he was nearly forty. He wasn't good at gauging human ages but the one before him didn't seem that old. Still a little too young to know so much about architecture in the hero's mind, nonetheless.

"An' I can't draw for anything. Talents are funny like that," he smiled, not at all bothered by the conversation at hand. Usually he wasn't one to talk about himself, but music was the exception. "Guitar, mostly. Though I sing and can play a few others given time for a warm up beforehand. Guitar's been the longest though, even since I was five or so."

[b3ach-bunn7]

27 DRESSES (2/6) ~ KEIGO TAKAMI

You try not to lose your mind while planning your sisters wedding to the man you're in love with. All the while, a certain blonde haired reporter can’t seem to leave you alone

You’ve been in a lot of horrible situations in your life.

That one wedding where the groom ran off at the last minute. Firing someone when Togata was too scared to do it. But this, being an awkward third wheel at your sister and bosses date, is definitely top three. 

The sun bears down hot and heavy on your head, the cap you’re wearing poorly shielding the rays from your eyes. Your skin smells like sun cream and it’s a beautiful day, no clouds and the soft feeling of summer all around you. You’re at Togata’s little brothers baseball game. It’s not actually his little brother, but a kid from the Boy Scouts program. You love Midoriya. He’s cute and all freckled from the sun, smile shining from all the way into the field.

It’s hard to be annoyed when the atmosphere is so lovely, but you’re sure you can manage. Tess is very touchy, you find out while waiting in the queue for food, unable to keep her hands off Togata for a single second. You push forward as soon as it’s your turn and start fishing out your wallet.

You lean forward on the edge of the stall. “Alright, I’ll have three diet cokes, three fries, and-“

You turn to Tess, who’s hand is now around Togata’s arm, “You want a chilli dog, right?”

Tess laughs and shoves your shoulder a little harder than you think is necessary. “Well, unless it’s a Tofu dog, then no, silly.”

You pause where you’d been digging out cash. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

It takes a lot of self control not to laugh in her face. Your eyes dart to Togata’s and the dots start to connect.

“Ah, I see. Funny thing, did you know Togata is a vegetarian, too?” You muse.

“Oh, you.” Tess grits out, her elbow knocking into your side. “Of course I know. He used to be a vegan.”

You roll your eyes. The chili dog is warm in your hand and you take an angry bite. Tess and Togata grab their own food and you all stalk your way back to your seats.

Tess sighs wistfully. “It’s hard, you know? I feel like the world isn’t made for us sometimes. I mean, I even have to make my own tofurky jerky whenever I go hiking.”

And that little line causes you to choke a little on your food. Tess? Tess who doesn’t even own any form of sports wear is now a hiker? Togata seems to share your disbelief, because he looks at her a little weirdly.

“You hike?”

Tess’s voice is all high-pitched and fake. “Yeah, duh! Like, you know, trails and everything.” Her face falls and she places a hand on her heart.

“Well. I haven't been much since our dog died. Right, Y/N?” She turns to you.

Your brows furrow in confusion. You swipe at the crumbs around your mouth. “What?”

“You remember Tory, right? God, we used to-  to hike. Together. I’ll miss him forever.” She squeezes Togata’s arm, who’s looking emotional besides her. 

You just can’t believe he’s actually falling for this shit. She’s a good liar, you’ll give her that. The dog in question was Tess’ worst nightmare. All she did was complain about the fur, and the smell, and the noise of barking. You’d like to add it was always you who took him on walks.

“How come you never mentioned Tory?” Togata asks you and you snort.

“Hm, maybe I just suppressed the memory of Toby. Wasn’t that his name, Tess?” You wonder.

Tess' face heats in a way that shines some joy on an awful day. “Right! I had that lisp, though.”

“A lisp that turns B’s to R’s?”

Togata nods. “You know, I had a stutter growing up. Maybe we’re more alike than I’d thought.”

You can’t win.

You and Tess sit down while Togata goes to pitch baseballs with Midoriya. The second he’s out of earshot, you turn to face Tess. You smack her shoulder and her face drops in shock.

“Hey!”

“Hiking? Tofurky? What the hell are you doing?” You snap.

Tess rubs at her arm. Her exposed arms, because she’s come to a baseball game in a little black dress. “I- What? I can change.”

You scoff. “Oh come on! You hate the outdoors-”

“I like beaches. And flowers.”

“How is that even slightly the same thing?” She huffs at your words, popping a fry in her mouth. 

“And Tory? You hated Toby. You wouldn’t ever go near him!” You remind her.

Tess sighs. “Does it matter?”

You watch as Midoriya hits a homerun. “You’re only doing this because Togata is attractive. Some people think.” You add quickly.

Tess licks the salt off her fingers. She turns to face you and turns your shoulder so you’re facing her.

“I could like tofurky. And dogs. So long as they don’t slobber on me, or anything. Don’t be such a buzzkill, big sister.” 

She speaks with the condescension that only spoiled little sisters can muster, and you bite your chilli dog so that you don’t bite her head off. Your little argument is cut short when Togata effortlessly scales the two benches in front of you to offer his hand to Tess. You think you’re looking too longingly so you dart your eyes away.

“You wanna go shag flies with me, Tess?”

“I- Sure! Yeah.”

You hope she trips in her strappy little sandals. 

Your sorry session is interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out, pressing it to your ear and take a sip of your coke. “Hello?”

“I was waiting for a call, you know. Left my number pretty big in your planner.” Keigo’s voice is smooth and cheery and you curse under your breath.

“I didn’t call you because you ripped a page out of my planner.”

He had, and it had really messed up your week. You’re busy enough that even one second of your life not being written down is enough to mess up everything. He’d replaced the week in question with a paper with his phone number on it that you’d quickly thrown away. He also penciled in his name on every single saturday night for the next three months.

“Just a little experiment. See how you do without every second of your life planned out.”

You just scoff, and fish out the last few fries in the bag. 

“What do you do, anyway? Besides going to everyone's weddings and work?” Keigo asks.

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He hums. “How do you even afford it? The dresses, the gift cards from those awful wine of the month clubs-”

You stop him with an indignant sound. “Hey, they are very good gifts. I’m a member, you know, and sometimes they throw in free bottle openers.” You argue, and he sighs.

“That’s sad. Really.”

“You sure know how to speak to a lady.”

Tess looks effortlessly perfect swinging that bat. Despite being really shit at it.

“Lemme make it up to you. How about a new datebook? Or just a date?”

You nod slowly. “Right. I can pencil you in. But hey, you already did for the next three months!”

He sounds awfully proud of himself on the other line. It’s annoying, but. It��s also a little cute. You hate to admit it.

“Can’t you just find someone else to be a creep with?”

“Fine, just- Anytime you wanna hang with someone who isn’t asking you to pick out a bouquet or call their mother-in-law, you give me a ring.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You won’t be calling him. Ever.

-

The next two months go by painstakingly slow. Tess is in your office and Togata is in your apartment and you severely regret letting her stay and your place while she’s here. Especially since she decided to extend her stay because of how incredible of a time she’s having with him. You seem them lounging on your couch, having dinner at your table. It’s weird. Seeing your sister experience the relationship you’ve wanted your whole career. You just try to keep your head down, and keep working. You know Tess. She’s not the type to hold down a man, because after a week she gets bored and throws him out for someone new. It’ll happen eventually, and you can go back to ogling Togata without feeling that immeasurable guilt.

And then, he proposes to her.

After two months. It’s soon. So very soon but you obviously don’t say that to him, not when he asks you for help to see it all up.

You walk into her favourite restaurant on the day, and you find that there are balloons and roses and a violin player. And a banner that says ‘Will you marry me?’ strung across the far wall. Small candles light the room and you wonder how long it took for them to all be lit.

Your heart drops. For one fleeting moment, when Togata turns around with that lovestruck look in his eyes, you feel like it’s for you. And then his face drops, and he waves off the violin player who’s started playing some symphony. 

“Wrong girl, everyone.” Togata waves them off.

Right. That doesn’t sting at all. 

You plaster on a smile, and clap your hands together. “Oh! Is this- Wow! It all looks great.”

Togata grins so big you think his face might split in half. “Well, yeah. It’s- It’s sudden, I know, but it feels right. You think she’ll like all this?” He gestures around him.

You nod and your hair flies around your face. “Oh, yeah. Of course, she’ll- The wine! That’s her favourite.” You laugh.

“Great, because- Oh! Tess!”

You turn, and she’s there. It’s shock and then happiness that melts her features and despite the part of you that hates this, it’s Tess. Your baby sister. You can't help but feel just as excited for her.

Togata steps forward, the bouquet of flowers in his hand big and pink.

“Tess. My parents, they met when they were five playing hopscotch, and they’ve been married for forty two years. And I’ve been waiting my whole life to find that kind of love.” 

He steps closer and Tess follows. She’s wearing a pretty red dress and the violin player crescendos.

“And when I saw you, I thought that I could have that. So, Tess. Will you marry me?”

She squeals, rushing forward and tackling him in a hug. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

You decide to celebrate the news by drinking in a bar.

Your apartment is busy, anyway. They’re probably consummating their proposal all over your guest bedroom. 

It’s loud tonight. Busy for a Wednesday night. You wonder how many people get proposed to on a Wednesday night. Not you, apparently.

Your drink is bitter and strong, and it burns a line down your throat with every sip you take. But it’s nice. Takes the edge off. Which you’ll need because you’d called Keigo ten minutes ago, and now he’s nursing his own drink right next to you.

His fingers tap awkwardly against his glass. “I’m a little confused.”

“Why’s that?”

Keigo shrugs. “Well, you finally asked me out, and you-”

“My sister’s getting married. Little sister.” You blurt out.

He nods knowingly. “Ah. Before you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no, I’m not- I’m not jealous. I’m not upset about that.”

“Then what?”

You breathe out quickly. You run a hand through your hair. “I- You don’t know Tess. She’s going to want me to be her maid of honour and she’s going to want me to do everything for her.” 

Keigo tilts his head, confused. “Well. Can’t you just say no?”

He sees the look on your face and he laughs. “You ever said that word before? ‘No’?” 

You scoff, but it’s half-hearted. “Yes. I have.” You pause. “Just never to a bride before.”

You take a sip of your drink. The music is loud so you inch a little closer to hear him better. He smells good, you note.

“Do you want to say no?” He asks.

You think for a moment. “Even if I wanted to, she’s my sister.”

“You can say no to your sister.”

You huff a laugh. “Right. So you’re an only child, then?”

Keigo nudges your arm, pushing you to face him. “Look. Let’s practise.” 

He looks you dead in the eyes. Keigo is pretty, you think. Boy pretty. Like someone out of a YA novel.

“You’re gonna say no to me. No matter what I say.” 

You nod.

“Y/N, give me fifty bucks.”

“No.” You say, a little unsure.

“Come on, it’s just fifty bucks.”

“No.” You say it a bit more determinedly this time.

“Y/N, I need you,” And he leans in then, and he pauses for an unnecessary amount of time, “to give me fifty bucks.”

You swallow. “No?”

He’s moving back just as quickly as he came close, nodding appreciatively. “Not bad.”

You shrug, a little flattered at the attention. 

He points to the table. “Hey, can I have you drink?”

“Sure.” 

You gasp. “Wait!”

“So close.” He laughs, downing it in one go.

—

Despite the impromptu lesson, when Tess inevitably asks you to be her bridesmaid, your immediate answer is yes. The prep is just as tiresome as it usually is, but a little worse considering the fact it’s Tess you’re preparing for.

The flowers are the wrong shade of pink, and the favours weren’t done right the first time. Togata takes a backseat throughout the whole thing, letting Tess take control, so you don’t even get to talk to him throughout this mind numbing process.

Today, the two of you are walking through the gardens where your parents got married. Tess licks at an ice cream cone and you adjust your purse onto your shoulder.

“So did you order the favours again?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“And did you finish the invitation mockups? So I can send them to that company.”

So you can send them to the company. You doubt Tess will lift a finger to help with that.

“Yes, Tess.”

She jumps a little in excitement. “Perfect! Oh, and I asked Kayama to be a bridesmaid.”

Kayama was a distant cousin that you guys barely saw. You think she models now, but you don’t keep in much contact. You nod, gesturing for Tess to give you her ice cream.

“What about Takeyama?” A cousin from your others side.

Tess frowns. “Oh, no. She’s really pregnant, you didn’t know? I can’t have her messing up my bridesmaid lineup.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s nice to say, Tess.”

She waves you off. “Oh, and I want you to ask your rude friend Rumi.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “My Rumi?”

Your Rumi who isn’t exactly the biggest fan of Tess. Or weddings, unless the groom’s friends are more atttactive than the average man.

Tess nods, taking back the ice cream. “Yeah, she’s really pretty, you know? She can pull off the strapless we had in mind.” 

You sigh, agreeing. “Alright, I’ll ask.”

“Perfect! I don’t really have that many girl friends of my own, you know?”

That’s a real shocker. You don’t say that out loud, though, just nod and smile. 

The day is nice. The weather has been nice recently, all sun and wind that melts away the heat. Tess rambles on besides you about the slideshow she wants you to make for the day. Pictures of her and Togata from their lives, all dolled up with a nice song playing in the back. You mentally add it to your never-ending to do list.

“Oh, and hey, guess what? You know that writer you love? Hawks? He said he wants to do a column on us. Can you believe it?”

Oh, how you can’t wait to cut and clip that article into your collection. “At this point, yeah. I can.”

You shouldn’t be miserable. This is exciting! You love weddings. Maybe you’ll even get a feature in the article.

“And I was thinking, you know about where the wedding should be.”

Tess looks slightly nervous, now. You know because she bites her bottom lip between her words, her most obvious tell. That, and it’s older sister duty to sense these things.

She also had already decided where the wedding was going to be. A pretty venue you’d been to a bunch of times. You’re sure you’d already called and booked. You tell her as much and she laughs a little nervously.

“Yes, but I was thinking that I might have it at the boathouse. You know, like mum and dad did. Especially because…”

You look at her expectantly. “Come on, Tess, spit it out.”

She passes you the ice cream. You think it’s a peace offering for whatever she’s about to spill.

“Well. Because dad gave me mum’s wedding dress to wear.”

Your heart jumps a little at her words. You both stop on the pathway, and the ice cream drips onto your fingers. Mum’s wedding dress that you’d been eyeing since you were old enough to realise what weddings really were. She always told you she’d pass it onto you two, showing pictures of her and your father on her special day. That dress was going to Tess.

Tess sees the stricken look on your face. “You can so totally use it after me! I-“

She looks anxious, and you feel bad. It’s not her fault you still didn’t have a husband. Or even a boyfriend. Maybe if you did the dress would be yours. And it was her mother, too.

You hold up your hands. “It’s okay, Tess. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s what mum would’ve wanted.” You smile.

She looks relieved and you feel bad that she’d been that scared to tell you. You link your arm with hers, and carry on walking. 

“I’ll see what I can do about the boathouse.” You say but she only grins.

“No need! I called them. Like, nine times. And there was a cancellation! So, I will be Mrs Togata in three weeks.”

Your mouth drops open. “Three weeks?”

“I know, I know it’s so soon, but if anyone can pull it off it’s you!”

-

“That selfish whore!”

You splutter a laugh, almost stumbling in the position you were trying to hold. Yoga wasn’t your favourite form of exercise, but Miruko loved it. She said it was for the quiet, peacefulness, but you think she likes showing off the fact she’s more flexible than you.

“Rumi-“ 

“I mean, I can’t believe it. I just can’t.” 

The yoga instructor in the front of the room sends Rumi a stern glance. She smiles at her apologetically.

You shrug. “It’s Tess. There is no man in this world that won’t fall for her.” You mumble. “They get hypnotized by her voodoo and lose their minds.”

Rumi snorts. The instructor bends into a tree pose and you stabilise yourself on Rumi’s shoulder.

“You can't plan your sister's wedding to the man you love,” She exclaims. “It’s sick!”

“To be fair, she didn’t know how I felt about him-“

“Feel.”

“And I shouldn’t, anyway. He’s my boss.” You remind her. 

Your foot slips off the soft material of your leggings and you sigh. This sport is really not for you. You glance at Rumi who’s been standing perfectly straight the whole time.

“I’m just going to have to get over it. I don’t have much of a choice.”

You suddenly remember something. “Oh, you don’t either. Guess who’s going to be a bridesmaid?” You sing.

“You’re shitting me.”

You snicker, taking a long sip of your water. Rumi crosses her arms, yoga pose forgotten. 

“No. I won’t do it. For you. This- it’s a no on principle.”

You shake your head almost immediately, latching onto her arm. “No, no, please don’t leave me alone on this.”

Rumi looks decidedly out of the window and away from your pleading face. 

“Please, my best friend please.”

Rumi rolls her eyes. “Fine. Fine, just because it’s you.”

You hug her quickly, well aware of the glares coming at your from every direction. Never come between women and their yoga, you guess. Rumi just stares back, mumbling some choice words under her breathe. You nudge her shoulder to shush her.

“We are talking pretty loudly.” You whisper.

“There’s no sign that says no talking!” 

-

Tess’s insistence at your ability to complete this wedding in three weeks is why you find yourself begging at Alejandro’s counter for a three tiered cake. He’s the best baker in New York, no competition, and Tess had asked for him personally. This was one task you didn’t mind as much, considering the fact that you’d be the one eating cake at the wedding. So if anything, this favour was for you.

You clasp your hands together and shake them in front of Alejandro’s face.

“Please. It’s three weeks!”

“Three weeks is never enough time for one of my creations!” 

His accent is thick and heavy and coats all his words, and you have no clue where he’s from. Somewhere Eastern European, you think.

You stand up straight, hands slamming on the counter. “Look- Remember last year? I got you that couple that commissioned that six-tier red velvet with all the fancy decorations. Then the edible gifts for the Schumann wedding?” 

His face twitches slightly, and you know you’re close. 

“You can do it. You can do anything, we both know it.” You say with finality. “And you’re going to get me a cake in three weeks.”

He sighs heavily, shaking his head. He points a shaking finger at you. “Only because it’s you, Y/N.”

“Love you, Alejandro.” You grin, flashing him two thumbs up.

You turn around to where Tess and Togata are looking at different cake designs on display. They do look kinda cute together, if you’re being honest.

“Okay we have a cake!” You say, and your reply comes from the last person you’d expect it too.

Keigo.  

“Good job.” He grins, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What, you followed me here, too?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. He holds up a notepad and pen, and turns to your sister.

“Hi. Nice to meet you, I’m Hawks.” He holds out a hand to shake Tess’s and your jaw drops a little. “Congratulations to you both.”

“You’re- You’re not Hawks, you're Keigo.” You splutter.

“Thank you.” Togata smiles. His phone rings from his pocket and he pulls it out, cursing at the caller id.

“I gotta take this, babe. I’ll be outside, just give me five.” 

He kisses her on the cheek and you turn to Keigo. Who’s already looking at you. He turns back to Togata and Tess, something clicking in his head.

“Interesting.” He hums.

Tess steps forward as Togata walks out the shop, pointing at you.

“This is Y/N.” Tess smiles. “She is like, so obsessed with your articles. She keeps them all in a drawer at home, it’s so cute.”

Your face burns and Keigo grins. “Really?”

Tess nods. “Not in like a creepy way, or anything, though.”

“Of course not.” Keigo looks far too pleased with himself.

You rub at your eyes. “Wait, you told me your name was Keigo.” You say.

He nods. “It is. Hawks is a pen name, so I don’t get stalked by crazies. Like you, apparently.” He teases and you shoot him a look. 

Tess glances between the two of you, slightly confused.

“So, how did you meet Toagta?”

You cut him off quickly. “You’re an asshole.” You snap and Tess gasps.

“Y/N!”

You turn to her, indignant. “What? I’m sorry, he just- he told me his name was Keigo!”

Tess sighs. “Wait so- so do you guys know each other?” 

Keigo nods. “Yeah, we both work the wedding circuit.”

He speaks so casually that it sends a tinge of anger through you. 

“Please excuse us, Tess.”

You grab his wrist, dragging him to a quieter, more private corner of the bakery. He’s warm; the flowy, 

bright blue button up he has on doesn’t seem to cool him down very much. He looks giddy when you turn to face him, hand still closed around his wrist.

“So forward of you, Y/N. I’m blushing.” He drawls.

You drop his hand quickly. “Cut the crap. You lied to me.”

“No I didn’t. I told you I was a writer, and I am.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “But how can you write such lovely things?”

Keigo shrugs. “Beats writing the sports section.”

It sucks, a little. That your favourite section in the whole newspaper is written by such a cynic. You find it difficult to believe the near prose you’d read was written by the man standing in front of you.Keigo is looking at you very closely as you process all this information. His eyes catch on the sun glimmering on the long windows of the bakery, and they look a little golden. 

“Do you actually believe in all the beautiful things you write, or is it just- are you just a cynic who knows how to spin it for hopeless girls like me?”

You speak in one big breath, anger pushing your words out before you can even think about what you’re saying. He hums, leaning against the wall next to him.

“That was a lot. But the second one, I think. The spinning stuff one.” He nods.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “God. I feel like my favourite love song was written about a sandwich.” You mumble.

He grins. You think he’s about to start speaking, but Tess walks over. She looks between the two of you, the smile on her face straining.

“Sorry. Can I steal you away to tell you about Togata and me?” She’s asking but the way she sounds means she’s telling.

You look at Keigo. You think you see disappointment flit across his face for just one second, but he’s waving goodbye before you can linger on that thought.

“See you around, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever Hawks.”

exams r finally over!!!!!! EVERYONE CLAP SND CHEER! I finalllly got around to writing more for this fic.. and I really love it this is genuinely one of my favourite rom coms. So underrated..

Hawks will be coming up much more now that most of the world building is done, so look forward to that!

Hope u all enjoyed! To those interested this also gets posted on my ao3 if you’d like reading it there!

[aweebshitdrawings]

Okay so yall know how we keep turning Stan into animals and I already drew up a fox Stan and with the white hair he reminded me of a Kistune.

But what if after spending 5 years on the road he dies (let’s say from the car chewing) and get turned into a Kistune, (the god of yokai thinking Stan would make a good yokai) so he’s still roaming around and technically alive just not human

Plus he got the power to shapeshift

Mainly turn from Human to Fox but also change into a child or senior version of himself, plus he can change is form to male to female cause why not lol and he can possess people he just perfs not to.

Can control fire, and while he hides his tail and ears most of the time they do pop out sometimes when he is embarrassed or emotion are high

But his other transformation react to his emotions as well, like if he gets to sad he might turn to his child form without realizing it so he as to learn to keep his emotions in check so he can still look human and keep the whole yokai thing a secret.

While he dose interact with other yokai he can only go to the spirt world (yokai land) once a month sense he was made into a yokai and wasn’t “born” one as he was human once. But all the other yokai that were once human are pretty nice to him and he makes some good friends

Also he gets his name out there by being able to steal high value “human” goods and trades them for cool things he think ford might like

Now when dose he meet Ford come in you might ask…

Well ford goes through his normal route, except…no bill (sorry I couldn’t think how to beat him plus I’m not that good at writing lol, plus it’s hard to think of paranoid ford not trying to kill Stan sense Stan is technically a demon)

BUT there WILL be angst because Stan at this point has not been seen or heard in 8 years, and when Fiddleford finds out about Stan and how ford hasn’t talk to him you KNOW that southern family man gonna tell him he needs to see his twin and get his head out of his own ass.

So ford calls his mom but they haven’t heard from him in in 4 years (Stan called her year before he died) so ford dose the only thing he can think of…. Ask a magical all knowing mail box where his brother is but he doesn’t ask that exact he ask “how is Stan” and then on the same paper “where is he��, it responds “ dead and in a better place’ ( Stan was in yokai world when ford ask this)

Ford can’t believe it …..and he won’t, he the ask “where did Stan die, and how?” The mailbox showing the location of the car where Stan was trapped.

After some EMOTIONAL shit Ford travels to the location only to see the beat up car and there’s a person there….but why would someone be out here in the middle of the desert… unless….

The person turns his head to see the same face he looks at in the mirror except his hair is longer and he looks older and the other man opens his mouth to say “ Sixer…?”

Queue ford thinking Stan is a ghost and wondering how haunting a car is a “better place” and Stan having to not breakdown at the fact his brother showed up to his “grave” on the one day Stan goes to see it and that Ford might actually give a shit about him.

While Stan try’s to hide the facts he’s isn’t human anymore ford catches that on real quick that Stan is not human and the ever paranoid man thinks this is some dessert hallucination but Stan gets fed up and punches him straight in the jaw while saying “THIS FEEL REAL ASSHOLE”!!!

Then ford run into Stan with a fierce hug and starts to cry and Stan well Stan doesn’t know what to do, he’s been having to stunt his emotions for 3 years now and know his brother, his twin, his hugging him, crying and apologizing to him and….. it’s so much that he can’t handle it

While in the hug ford hear a “poof” and suddenly Stan is gone but a quick look down sees that…it’s still Stan but when his was 12 and …. He’s crying and ford without a second thought grabs Stan and holds him, holds him like if lets go he’ll be gone and they stay that way till Stan is done

After they’re done crying stan turns back to his normal self and explains what happened, while ford is horrified and feel guilty about the situation he also is glad to know that his brother is still here and of course offers him to stay with him in gravity falls

So you have Stan going on adventures with ford and protecting him also showing and telling ford about yokai and bringing him to the yokai world at one point, and for showing Stan some of the crazy things he’s seen and Fidds is there to and Emma May (they move to gravity falls with Ford)

Now

Feel free to change anything about this concept or story and use it to how ever you like, just make sure to tell me about it because I can’t write but I’d love for someone who can to write something with this

[klunkcat]

blackholes and other parables

read on ao3

Fandom: in stars and time

Relationships: loop & siffrin, everyone & siffrin, isabeau & siffrin (can be read as romantic also)

TW's: self-harm, canon typical violence, depersonalization and dissociation, blood and injury, this ones rated M for a lot of heavier suicidal topics as per yanno, canon., It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better,

Spoilers for two hats ending!

Summary: It starts with the stage, as it always does. A boulder, and a slapstick comedian missing his queue.

It gets much worse from there.

Word Count: 18k

___

Another day, that’s all this is. Another day, you remind yourself with hands gripping at countertops and dagger hilts: just one more. If it’s the same one, wrapped up in a myriad of lines and lists, it’s still here and yours. Just yours, no one else needs to know. And there will be another one after, even if it looks just like this, so you can try again.

You’re fine. You are, it’s just that your leg is just a leg attached to the mess of strings that make up your heart and its use in what it can do, never in what it already is. You know this, it’s why you grab the glass every time, why the prick on your finger vanishes like it was never there to begin with. You’re just the blank canvas, just the actor under the spotlight. You’re playing your part and you’re fine with it, you’re fine. 

You’re also careless. 

One would think, after fifty or so odd trips, of walking through the same exact room to follow the same exact steps, that you’d learn. But you’re useless, bad at your job, and there’s another day for you to try and not fuck up, so of course you don’t. 

That’s why you’re still. Here. 

You walk a little too far into the room because you’re thinking about finding books and reading more and what the King said last time, and— 

Loud noises, crashing. All the air compressed out of your lungs at once, then blissfully, nothing at all.

It’s dark. You think you must be dreaming again; eating a tear straight down to the center of yourself and floating off into the vague inbetweens the way you’re used to by now. 

The vague thoughts like slow syrup swim past you— a door in front of you; a lock; a key. Masks that are laughing and crying and you don’t know which one fits best, but you know you’re meant to have them. There is a hallway behind the door that stretches back and back and back and you know where it goes, where all the doors lead, but you can’t take a single step. You’re alone here, it’s dark, danger is coming but danger’s already here, inside you, twisting and warping away at everything you ever had. 

You had something, you lost it, you found something new, and it’s being taken away. It’s you, and it’s you, and that never means anything good at all. 

Then: you wake up.

You look up again to Isa’s face looming over yours. Did you have a nap? Did the loop change? It’s usually Mira, it’s always Mira, or you alone in the field, but there’s no sky over the bulk of his shoulders, it’s all just gray dark and dark and— 

You’re not sure what happened, actually. The trap was sprung, you didn’t find the switch, and the rock fell. You’re not in the field. The loops kick in when you die most often, and you always die when the rock falls. But you’re here still, and it hurts, still. 

Something twisted in you lights up with glee. It’s different, something different, you say to yourself, and you have to concentrate to not let the giggles bubble straight out into the open exposed air. Only, there’s no sun above you, just old dark stone, echoing breathing in circles following you everywhere you go. Oh, you’re in the House. You didn’t think about where to loop, maybe you need to— 

Sitting up makes the strings in your chest catch lightning, a wall of pain and a hot sticky fire so distant and all encompassing that it makes you nauseous. You can’t even really feel it, just this wet feeling of hurt poking through a wall at you. A knowing of what should be, maybe. 

You wished to take hits harder, this loop, didn’t you. Not faster, like usual. Huh. Noise, there’s so much noise around you your thoughts scramble straight up into nothing and land back down uselessly. You think it might be words.

“--frin! Just, lay down, okay? Hold still, ‘Dile and Belle went to find more stuff, but you’re not s’pposed to move!”

“Shh, hey– hey buddy, can you hear me? Can you do the breathing thing with me? I know— I know it hurts, I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, j–just breathe, okay? With me?”

You know this, it’s your thing. You breathe in, and out. The pain drifts somewhere farther away, enough that your words can rush back into your head behind the static. You force your eye open— that’s, oh Bonnie’s here too. They’re safe, they look worried but whole. 

You close your eye again, breathing as slow as you can manage. Your leg, you think. Not so fast now, are we.

“No going to sleep, Frin! Belle said so!” 

You’re not, you try to say. It comes out like wet paper, unfurling on the cold ground. Can’t sleep anymore, anyways. 

“... Yeah, you do look tired, I know, but we need you to stay awake just. Just until they get back, alright?”

You make a concerted effort to blink. Anything for Isa, really. 

“That’s good,” Isa smiles, it’s wobbly. “Good, yeah, eyes on me, okay? Stay with us here.” You frown, and lick your lips.

Your whole self feels funny, floating right off the page in front of you without you having any say in it at all; you don’t even really hurt, just a thought that you shouldn’t look at whatever’s become of your leg. No burnt sugar, though. You’re somewhere, you’re still here. You don’t know what loop this is. You’d been– The picnic  happened, it always happens now and you’d gone through the door— you don’t know this part. 

It’s rare to have new scripts. So rare, you’re almost greedy for it. You hope Bonnie isn’t looking at your leg either.

Isa looks devastated, that’s not allowed. You can do this. “...eye’ve… got nowhere. Left to. Be.” You huff. Isa blinks. 

You wait for the loud laughter. Isa is your most reliable scene partner, he laughs every time. 

“Sif, did you just—” Isa starts, eyes wide. And promptly bursts into tears. Oh, oh stars. You can’t. Move, to help. 

Bonnie leans closer, eyes watery and face red. “Not funny! You can’t— you’re so stupid! You scared us!” 

“S’rry.”

“No, no it’s— don’t apologize,” Isa wobbles. Something warm falling on your forehead distracts you for a moment. “ — just want you to stay here, right? You can make jokes, I love it when you make jokes.” 

Where are… “Mira?” You manage. Isa presses a thumb across your brow, smoothing gently as he sniffles. It feels nice, you don’t feel yourself enough to know if you flinch. 

“They— they just went to find a tonic. They’ll be back. They’re both fine, Sif, I promise.” Isa says, a nervous little nod to go with it. Isa doesn’t lie, so you have to believe him.

“Craft?” You ask. Words are always hard. This is more like a bag of marbles you’re struggling to sort through.

Bonnie’s fists clench on their lap, right there by your limp hand. There’s a lot of dark all over, you notice— on your clothes, on the floor. Smudges of it on Bonnie’s hands and right there on their cheek that they don’t seem to notice. “The death hallway! The big rock fell and— you were under it, only a little. I knew you were fast but it was like I blinked! You just moved, it was—”

Ah, you think. Stupid. Scared them  with how fast you side stepped. Not enough to get out of the way completely, but, you’d have to reset anyways if you had. Wouldn’t be like clumsy Siffrin to dodge an impossibly sudden trap like that, they’d be scared worse.

Your leg groans at you through the static of everything. What did it matter if you were faster than them anyways, you’d always been the fastest. Not fast enough to not get stuck under it, and look where that got you? Wasting time, Mira and Odile wandering off alone. Stars, but that’s a terrifying thought. You should loop back. You should loop back right now so you don’t have to be such a burden every single time, such a massive fuck up who can’t even remember the first way that you fucked up and you need to loop back, loop back– 

The tug doesn’t come. You, and the parts that stick to you stay planted on the cold dark floor. An amalgamation of shapes and noises pass through you. Figures.

“You got hurt pretty bad, buddy,” Isa says, thumb still petting at your face. You maybe lean into it, the vague press of warmth, you’re not sure of anything. “Mira healed you but—” He winces.

It makes sense, you’re still at the beginning; Mira’s healing isn’t strong enough, she doesn’t have those more useful skills. It makes her more tired like this, to heal, and she’d probably tried too much at once knowing how worried she gets. It’s sweet, you love her for it. You’re not sure if she knows that. It would probably be too much if she did anyways, you always love too much. 

“It’s okay though,” Bonnie chimes in. “Right? It’s okay, because. Dile is going to find a big tonic, and Belle will use her healing again when she rests up, and— and you’ll be okay.”

Isa keeps petting your head. He’s never touched you before, not in any of the loops. You can’t help the way you freeze when you realize. 

“Hey,” Isa coos, soft as anything. Big dark eyes peering down at you with so much worry it  makes you sick. “I— I know it hurts, I’m sorry. Just stay here with us, okay? You can hold my hand, squeeze as hard as you want. I’m strong enough to take it, okay? Breathe through it with me, Sif, I’m not going anywhere on you.”

You remember thinking Isa was the strongest person you’d ever met, once. How he made you want to be more of a person, just so he’d laugh. Now, it’s like you’re an oil spill on this open lake and you’re stretching out everywhere and everywhere but he can’t touch you. They never touch you, except for when you do everything right on purpose to make them all love you. When you’re dying, too. 

Well, that’s a thought. 

He puts his hand in yours, though, and you squeeze it. Pretend that the pain in your leg even registers beyond the ache in your stomach and the split of your head. 

“Maybe, um. Frin, would you wanna hear a joke?” 

“That’s— yeah, sure thing, Bonbon. They’d love one, right Sif?” 

Bonbon, the sweetest kid you’ve ever met in all the ways they’ve also been endlessly prickly, all the ways that you fucked up and made them hate you also. You’d said once that they’d been distant from you— had that still happened this loop? You manage a nod anyway. Anything for your kid. 

Bonnie looks nervous, there’s tears in their eyes as they lean closer, hands balled on their knees. You should smile, you try to smile. It feels far away. 

They bite their lip, glancing over at Isa and back. “Okay. Um. I could make a skeleton joke, but. I don’t think you’d find it very humber-oos.” 

You blink.

“That’s humorous, Bon,” Isa says. “I don’t uh–”

“Humorous,” Bonnie repeats, stone faced. “What. Wait. Was that a bad joke? Because his leg is—”

A laugh rips through you— it hurts it hurts it feels like nothing at all, but you’re smiling, you think you’re smiling. “S’okay, Isa. I can take it,” you manage through wheezing. “In stride.”

A pause. “You–” Isa stares at you. You wait. “That’s—” A wobbly smile cracks across his face, and a surprised burst of snickers. Success.

“No,” Bonnie pouts. “Hey. I made a joke, and you didn’t laugh, Za!” 

“Sorry, Bonbon, I’ll laugh next time, I promise.” 

This is so all outside of script, the words keep sticking to your skin and your lips. Or maybe you’re just transparent and fading, somewhere in between the lines out there, watching. You can see yourself almost; head cradled in Isa’s lap, his warm hand on your brow. Bonnie nervously leaning forward, careful not to look. 

They love you, now, like this, don’t they. They’re holding you, now and they never did before.

It didn’t work before, but maybe you hadn’t loved them back enough. Maybe Mira will make it back and heal you up, and somehow your blood on the stone will be a sacrifice big enough to let you out.

As soon as you let the thought coagulate in your mouth, there’s burnt sugar on your tongue. Hah. It always happens when you think love will matter, doesn’t it? Stupid of you.

Your eye flutters closed. 

“Hey, no Siffrin, you can’t— buddy, please, no, no. Sif keep your eyes open, hey? For me? Sif? Siffrin!”

Too late. End scene. 

There’s something wrong with you. Well, obviously there is. You run through a script on purpose every day of your friends bearing their deepest secrets and fears to you just so that they’ll care about you the way you care about them. You don’t think nice people do that. Probably only the rotting ones, the ones who’s rot is so big it can stretch all the way up into the world and fester like an open wound. 

Beyond that, though; there might be something else. 

Waking up in the field this go around, you feel… you think it might be called giddy, the name for the popping stars in your fingertips. You’d gotten half crushed by a boulder and bled out on the floor in your friend's arms while they begged you to stay, and you’re what. Happy about it? 

That’s probably not normal, realistically.

Loop looks uneasily at you under the dappled light of the tree. “So.” 

“So,” You echo. 

Their eyes shift away and back. 

You’re still giddy, you have to fight to look as tired as you normally do. You know Loop can see it vibrating in your core as easy as anything, as easy as they always see everything about you. The twitching yearning need, coiled and barbed right there under your fingernails. 

“Pretty silly of you to forget the switch again,” Loop lands on. It’s maybe supposed to be snarky, but falls just outside of it. 

You shrug. “I’ll do better next time.” 

“Sure you will.” 

The barest wind shuffles at the leaves and they rustle around you for a moment.

Loop sighs. “It would be good, I think, if you didn’t make me watch that again.” 

Then don’t watch, you think, viciously, and tuck it away again. 

“I did try to move out of the way, you know,” you sulk back. 

“Not fast enough!” They sing-song back at you.

They’re prodding at you, the way they always are for reasons you never understand, but you’re immune for this go around. The fizzing in your hands makes you want to end this as soon as possible. Whatever way will get them to ask less questions. “I’ll just remember the blinding switch next time. Or not move, whatever.” 

Loop frowns slightly. “Contrary to what you may think, I don’t actually enjoy seeing you in pain.” 

You’re not sure you even were in pain though, or that it existed beyond your thoughts. You’re not sure at all why Loop cares.

“Oh, Stardust! I can’t stay mad at you. Look at you, naive and stupid, bumbling around. Missing switches you already know about. It’s so endearing, really!” Their laugh twinkles through them, sharp and high pitched. You sink into your coat. 

“I just forgot.” 

“My little darling clown. We should get you a collar, face paint. Slapstick really seems to be your specialty.” 

Annoyed, you’re annoyed. Your brain unhelpfully spins off to play books you’ve read, laughing masks and all. Bumbling foot archetype, yeah, fine, you fit the bill. It seems like someone must enjoy a good comedy, anyways. 

“It’s not on purpose,” you grouse, for the sake of having said it. 

Loop giggles. “And doesn’t that just make it all the sweeter. Stardust, I do think it would be in your best interest to loop forward next time! Just forget the whole business with the hallway, no?”

“Yeah,” you agree, because it’s easier than arguing. Why do you even want to argue, anyways? Because it was new, you think. You’re desperate for something new. Maybe you want to run it all from the first act curtain opening to the closing, just to know if something else would be new, too. 

This part wouldn’t be new again, though, would it. You’d know the lines already, so: no boulder, that’s fine. More room for improvising. 

Is it good that you’re thinking of ways to break your bones again? Just to see what else might be new? You think it must not be at all, because you want it, and most things you want are already gone and you forgot them anyways. You pause, sitting on your usual branch with the bark biting into the backs of your legs. Maybe… Loop would know. Maybe they’d be able to explain this, whatever went wrong inside you. 

You open your mouth.

Loop claps their hands together loudly. “Well! I think you have quite a bit of reading still to do, no? Best get back to it!” 

Well. Maybe next time. You nod, and hop off the tree. Maybe the wrong in you won’t stick at all, or you can bleed it out horrifically somewhere until it’s right again. Normal things. 

“Stardust?” They call, tone hesitant. Strange. Loop stares at you, a flicker of something in their eyes you don’t recognize. Or maybe you know it too well. 

“If there’s an end to this, you’ll find it. You know that, don’t you?” 

You don’t know that, but you have to believe it anyway. “There’s gotta be something to that wish craft thing he mentioned,” You agree. “I’ll find it.” 

You try to remember to force yourself to stumble at least once as you stalk through the halls, playing the part the way you’re supposed to. Poor laughing clown, less a pierrot more a harlequin. You remember not to comment on the Universe, to avoid the stack of checked out books in the hidden library. You’ll get this one right, and something will change. 

You will mold yourself into a loveable shape, and they’ll reach out and love you like they did when you were bleeding. Won’t they? 

Nothing happens. It’s the same. It’s always, blindingly, infuriatingly, the same. 

You enter the room with the broken vials, and— the fizz takes over, maybe. Or you move without thinking. Some part of your mind is lost in the dark, dark, covering your clothes and the floor and that far away floating feeling of warmth. You stab your hand a little too hard, rather than just brushing the edge, and there’s blood. Too much blood. Shit. 

“Siffrin!” Odile admonishes, immediately scooping your hand in hers. “For goodness sake, let's not go around playing with glass, shall we?” 

She’s touching you. Your brain skips. 

Odile fusses with your hand, ripping a piece of her shirt apart to clot tightly at your palm where your pale skin shines through your glove. Bonnie doesn’t have to sneak the glass from your pocket this time, because Odile stomps on it where it falls from your hand. New, you think. New, new again. This is all new. 

“Sif,” Isa pouts, crouching closer, too. “That looks pretty deep.” 

“I can heal it!” Mira offers, “Or, we have tonics, too right?” 

Bonnie nods, pulling out a vial from their pockets and dumping it all over your palm eagerly.

They hold your pinky as they do, angling your hand more towards their eye level. Isa pats your back as a strange wheeze leaves your lips. He’s touching you. Odile’s touching you. 

You’re warm, you hadn’t realized you’d felt cold at all. 

They all seem to realize at the same moment, though, and back away with embarrassed looks. 

“Are you okay, Siffrin?” Mirabelle’s wide eyes meet yours, brows pinched together and serious. 

No, you think, strangely untethered. No, I’m not. 

“Of course, sorry. Clumsy,” You offer, thinking of masks and plays, and you wait for them to all relax when they remember your role. 

Slapstick comedy. You’re always laughing. 

The usual lines take too long. Yes, Mirabelle I know what the papers are. Yes, Bonnie, I do pay attention to you. Of course I know where to find the family tale, Odile. Maybe you’ve stopped caring about the words they’re saying at all, maybe it’s all rote and it’s a shame because to them it’s their very first time sharing but you’ve. Heard it all. Before. 

You want to talk to Isa again.

Something changed, that last loop. Again, it changed again. He’d touched you, even though he always stops. Maybe this will change too. 

“Isa,” you say, brighter than you can remember speaking in a while.

“Sif, hey!” He smiles at you, crosses his arms. The most northern point in your universe, keeping himself carefully away from you.

You say the joke perfectly, you always say the joke. You need him to laugh the way he does with you, or something in you really will snap apart entirely. You think of words, big floating ones you knew once because someone taught you but the how and why goes somewhere else.  Aphelion, the part of orbit farthest from the sun. 

He laughs, the world carries onward, and you watch.

As. His hand. 

Reaches out. 

Please, you think, shooting stars and fizzing bubbles and endless, deep, painful aching, wanting. Wanting. 

Wanting. 

“Oh, hey, Sif, you okay?” 

You blink. His face has shifted, worry more than mirth, and he’s looking at your hands, which are balled up so tight you’re biting right into the meat of your palms in perfect dark crescent jagged tears. Isa’s hand is hovering just there, in the air between you. 

Shit. Stars. You forgot.

Isa’s staring. “You looked really—” He cuts himself off, you watch his hand as he visibly thinks about grabbing yours and stops himself. That’s. That’s more than you’ve gotten, he shifted closer this time. 

He won’t touch you, he never does, you wait and wait and it doesn’t happen, it might never happen, but he’d thought about it. Does that count? 

“Sif, you’re… uh. Kinda worrying me here? Having a quiet day, or?” 

Right; the lines. Your mask. “Sorry,” you smile at him, ashamed and sheepish at yourself. Fit the bill and the play carries on. “Did you need help with anything?” 

Isa’s frown smoothes out, you relax your hands. The sting of it sends something to your brain that you don’t think about. 

Nobody touches you for the rest of that loop. 

You beat the king, you don’t ask any questions about wishes even though you’re supposed to, even though you should. Another thought has slid neatly in between, like a glass in a telescope. A lens to sharpen impossibly far away thoughts, pull them right into the space before your eye. 

You’re… curious, is the kinder way to phrase it. The itch in your palms, in your skin, is loud. You feel real when they’re touching you, when he is. You feel like you can stay. 

Is it okay to want? It can’t be, because you want it in the wrong ways. 

You’re distracted, stupid. Useless, fucking stupid idiot, blindingly bad at their job constantly and yet constantly in the front, the role of the clown etched into your blinding hands: 

A sadness gets too close. Mira’s healing is on cooldown and you're out of tonics. Slapstick, right?

The slide of its attack right against your rib cage knocks your breath from you, rolling silently out into the open. The floor jumps up to cradle you, and the battle slides somewhere sideways around you. It sounds like someone is calling your name. 

Isa’s face blurs in front of yours, pale and terrified, and instantly pulling you into his arms. You’re smiling, you shouldn’t be smiling. You can’t make yourself stop. 

“---Sif, are you— M’dame! It’s—” 

“We got it, it’s done. Quick, pull them into this room over here.” 

Something shifts, your midsection howls with some distant memory.

You’re still. Smiling. 

You must have made a noise, Isa’s face crumples. “Sorry, sorry, Sif, I — hang on, okay? Here.” He lifts you up. Holding you in his arms, your head tilting to press just there against the rabbit quick thrum of his heart. Isa’s holding you, cradling you carefully and bundling all the aching parts of you close. You feel so warm, so. 

Warm.

Mira appears in your field of vision. “Hang in there, Siffrin! I’m so sorry, I should be able to heal again in a minute, oh… I should have paced it out better!” She slides her hand into yours, giving you a reassuring, wobbly squeeze. You make yourself squeeze back and see the flicker of surprise and joy pass through under her worry.

You’re stealing these moments from them all, even now, aren’t you?

Does it have to be like this? With you, broken on the outside as much as you are on the inside, before Isa’ll be brave enough to reach out first, before Mira will believe you over her own brain? You’d do it, you think sickly. Dark as night. You’d break all your bones a thousand times again and suck all the joy right out of this moment too, if it means you can have it now. Because you’re greed and you’re envy and you’d dig your greasy claws into all of them and take every good thing they can give you– you’re already cataloging it, aren’t you? How to get this ending again? How to say your parts right? 

Sick. Disgusting. 

Freak. 

“Hush, hey? Eyes on me, Sif. We’re just gunna— can you clear the— yeah, thanks Mira. Okay, shh. Okay, just putting you down here.” No, you think with all your twisted sick parts, let me stay right here. If I loop, it’ll be warm, at least. I’ll die right here like this, and it’ll be the warmest I’ve felt in years. Wouldn’t that be nice?

There’s no burnt sugar on your lips yet, no tug in your stomach, though. You can have this, for more greedy vile seconds, and you’ll take them all. 

Odile swims into focus. “Siffrin, I need you to listen, alright? This is going to hurt, but we need to apply pressure. Can you nod?” 

You think you do. Odile seems content enough. 

“On the count of three then. One, two—” 

A fire blooms in swirling constellations at your side, fiery comets and collapsing stars all in one. It doesn’t feel like anything, but why would it? Silly, really. You’re not a star, you’re a blackhole. You’re what’s left behind when the star gets too tired to burn. 

“ — I know, oh, sweetheart, I know. Okay, yeah, you can squeeze my hand here, okay? As much as you need to. Crab, I’m so sorry, Sif.” Isa’s hand is in yours, he called you— you’re still warm. The pain feels like it’s siphoning itself away into a dark tunnel, a thousand miles away. 

“I should have blocked it, oh… why didn’t I think to block it?” 

“Let’s not play the blaming game, shall we?”

“Yeah! Frin’s hurt, and—and he’s crying a lot, so. We have to be nice, right? That’s what Nille did when I was sick, said you have to be quiet and nice.” 

“Oh, Bonnie, don’t look, okay? Can we—”

“Boniface, let's give them room here, just give me one second.” 

You’re… crying? You can’t feel your cheeks at all, just the hand in yours. Just the sparking lightning, stars in your ribs. Oh, you think you’re still smiling. 

Bonnie puts their hand on your ankle, you can see them peeking up at you over the lip of the table they’ve placed you on. Frowning and worried, thumb brushing back and forth across your leg in some practiced, unthinking movement. Odile is staring intently at your side, but has a gentle palm on your stomach like a balm. Mira’s brushing your hair from your face, and Isa—

They’re all touching you. You fit this once inside the confines of your own outlines, and it doesn’t hurt at all. 

The hands leave, Bonnie and Odile floating out of sight. Isa’s squeezes at your shoulder, knuckle brushing at your cheek. 

“Mira…” he says, he sounds grave. Heavier and lower than you know him as. 

Her hands shake as they move to your stomach, there’s a horrible noise around you like the time before you’d met them, you’d found an animal caught in a trap. Left out in the winter. You’d forgotten that, somehow. 

“I— I know, I know… I’m.” Mira sniffs, watery and shattering apart in a hundred ways. “I don’t… I don’t know if we have enough, why don’t we have enough?” 

Because you didn’t stop by the room on the first floor, probably. Because you lead and they follow and you hadn’t cared about tonics at all. 

“M’bad,” you say. Think about saying, it’s the same. She doesn’t seem to notice. 

The hand on your shoulder tightens more, and Isa bends closer. “Hey, hey… it’s okay, it’s— I’m here, okay? We’re here, Mira’s here. I— why’d you take that hit, Sif? I could have handled it.”

I’m the comedian, you think. I take the falls. You promised you’d never do it again, sit in the tree tops and be left behind; it’s okay if you go, though. Someone has to go first, right?

“Don’t go at all,” Isa says, a hard whisper that sounds like it hurts. He presses his forehead into yours, eyes squeezed shut and upside down. “Don’t go, Sif. Please, don’t go.” 

You think about telling him that it doesn’t hurt, that you’re warm. That you feel here, and held, and staying for once. You can’t feel your lips to tell if you speak. 

You want to cry, stars stuck right in your throat like boulders. You already know it won’t feel as warm the second time around.

There’s something wrong with you; slapstick, laughing, you’re smiling and hollow behind it all. You touch a tear to get back to Dormont faster and your dreams slide sideways and rancid on your tongue. Rotting fissures of disgust that are shapeless, nameless. And you, floating out into the Universe. Cold, empty. Eating the stars up for the warmth they hold inside. 

You dream that you’re on a stage, and you’re watching the play, and you know your parts in all the ways you don’t know what line is next at all. You dream that there’s another version of you, standing across in the hot lights. 

Isa walks out in costume, shadows heavy on him in capes and harsh angles; he has a mask with a long nose that just barely hides the dimples when he smiles. He puts his hand on the other Siffrin’s shoulder. 

You don’t feel it, it’s not yours. You’re overwhelmed with envy and greed and rage and wake before your hand can meet your own doppelgangers face.

And, the sickness at the center of you grows. 

You’re already thinking of it before your eye even opens in the field: how to get them to worry, to get them to hold you, how to make it slower, last longer. You could misthrow the bomb, but, no. There’s too much risk. Everyone stands too close for you to allow it, it might do too much at once, you’d loop before anyone could pull your rubble out from your skin. Getting frozen just means dreams, it just means Mira unsticking you. The blindingly infuriating option in town happens before anyone can see you. 

You catch yourself fantasizing about rivers of dark sticky nothing, pouring out of your side like the night sky itself. 

Normal people don’t do this, do they? Think of ways to manipulate their friends to pretend to care for them. Calculate how slow they can die, how much worry they can swallow up and hold inside themselves. Your insides are nothing, poison-noxious-empty-nothing, maybe they always have been.

You start thinking of caskets, of open funerals. The grass under your hands feels like maggots. 

“I couldn’t find it,” you say to Loop, because it at least looked like an accident this time. They’re still giving you a sideways glance but, it’s nothing neither of you can comment on out loud. “Do you know where I should be looking?” 

“Hm,” Loop says, flexing out their hands like they’re inspecting their nails. You have a sudden pang of intense envy for the way their skin pulses under their outlines, like magma under stone. At least they’re warm, you think vaguely, but— no. They’re stuck here too. Any warmth is just what’s left, right? That’s why you’re stardust, you’re what’s left. 

They tilt their head at you. “If I was a book on a subject no one had thought of in who knows how long, I probably wouldn’t be sitting out in the open.” 

True, and there are all those ones you can’t read. Where can you learn more about the patterns and the stars? 

If you tore yourself open. You shake your head. 

“I should ask the King, right?” You sigh. You make sure to make it look like you care about this, still. Like you’re trying and you’re tired, and that’s why you messed up. You’re not sure how Loop knows you so well, but you’re fairly certain they can’t read your mind at least.

“...Yes,” Loop says, squinting. 

You stare back, thinking nothing. 

“Hm. Well, it must get tiring having to walk back to all those tears to restart, no?” 

Are they… trying to get on your nerves? Slapstick, right? They want you to find something creative, surely. 

“No,” they wave a hand, “not antagonizing you on purpose of course!” 

Hm. Mind reading is back on the table. 

They snort. “No tricks required, silly. I just know you so well!”

“It. Is annoying to walk back,” You agree, squinting back. You’re not sure what Loop would be implying, unless– they called you the director once, maybe they know this play, too. Less the harlequin more the leading role.  “Well, I do have a dagger.” 

Loop giggles. “That’s true, you—” Suddenly, the mirth drops from their shoulders, a blank wide eyed stare takes over instead. “What do you mean you have a dagger.”

You shrug,  you know what the play demands. Separated lovers, hamartia, the you across the stage that gets everything he wants. Surely, they’ve seen you leaning in and taking more, right? Surely that’s damned you already, hasn’t it? Your fatal flaw, greed and indecision, like the brightest touch of sunlight streaming across a windowsill.

“Stardust, you can’t be serious! Stabbing yourself isn’t like a tear, you know! It’ll hurt! A lot!” 

Yes, you think. You know. And it’ll pour out of you somewhere else behind the warmth, and you’ll feel real. You’ll feel like you exist. 

“I’ve died multiple times already, Loop,” you roll your eye, playing at nonchalance just like every other mask you wear. “I know. It wouldn’t be any different.” 

Loop just. Stares. 

“It wouldn’t be any—” their voice cuts off, splinters. They don’t blink. “I don’t want you to!” 

Their light flares, fractals spinning off into the swaying trees. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them react like this. “Since when are you in charge of me?” 

“Since I chose to be here to help you, obviously!” 

You scoff, tucking your face further into your cloak. “You said you didn’t choose me. You said that. So why does it matter? It’s faster, I’m dying all the time.” You think, you pick open the scab wound of the dark oil slick inside yourself and say: “I’ll just use the glass, then. It’ll be messier, won’t it?”

Dark ultimatums and threats behind painted lips, is that what you are now?

Loop’s glaring now, fists balled up at their sides. “You’re an idiot. You’re— I don’t want you to, because it should hurt, because you should care. Because you are the only thing you get to keep across all these blinding restarts, don’t you understand tha—”

Something happens. 

The air goes still, clicks. Resets, fizzes out. Burnt sugar, but you don’t feel a tug. 

Loop stares back at you, eyes white and unseeing. “You can use your dagger whenever you want. It’ll end the loop if you choose. Whenever you want.” 

“Um,” you say.

“You can use the dagger. It will end the loop.” they say, voice stretched out and blank.

You don’t move. The sugar taste goes acrid around the edges. 

Loop blinks back with another fizz before you can manage to think further. They won’t look at you.

“You should probably leave,” Loop says, tone flat in a way that reminds you of harp strings tightening. “I don’t want to see your face again, this loop.” 

You run. 

You’re scissors type, you know what that means: Cold, calculating. Unfeeling. Callous, sometimes. You’ve tried to live the opposite, ever since you— since you woke up. Since you met Isa, really, and decided to make yourself the one who jokes and leads and checks for traps. 

You’re starting to think of other words, now. Void, maybe. Trapped, is another one. Harlequin, pierrot. 

“Hey, Sif? You feeling okay?” Isa asks, in the safe room, you forget which floor you’re on. You haven’t touched your madelines at all, and you need to, or Bonnie will get upset. You know this, you just— you spaced out for a moment is all. Your thumb is on your dagger unthinkingly, inside your pocket where nobody can see at all.

It feels like you’re on a cliffside, waiting for someone to care enough to call you back from the ledge. Waiting for the wind to blow either direction and make a decision for you.

You give him a thumbs up, and cram the whole fistful of food into your mouth at once. 

He blinks, snorts. “Hungry as ever, huh? Don’t choke on it!” 

Yeah. Hungry. That’s another word you’d use. Gnawing. Constantly ravenously hungry and greedy for everything and nothing at all. 

You wear gloves most of the time, just because it’s easier. Because it means less splinters and road rash when you trip and less likely to nick yourself when you were training before. They have a pointed tip, just a little from when your nails grew out longer. 

You see your hands and you see claws. Something to dig in, to hold in place. Something to bleed. 

For the first time in a long time, the thought scares you.

You think about running back Dormont and to Loop and begging. About throwing your dagger across the room, about fighting with your fists and claws. Loop, you think, please. I don’t want to be the leading role, or the director anymore. Don’t let me have this, say no. Take it back. 

Take it back. 

You can’t keep the doll or the bell or the four leafed plant, but you can keep your hands, and those can stay yours, can’t they? If you’re good, if you play the clown right? They’re your hands and your mask isn’t your face yet, it isn’t, and you could find the way out Loop is so sure exists, and you could keep all of you right here and yours, couldn’t you?

Except.

The skin of your hands is smooth. No scar to remember the last time they touched you at all. 

The pain didn’t even matter to you then, either. It should, Loop said. It should hurt. Like the hurt is a benediction, an earned punishment. Or maybe a reward. Maybe Loop was too late already. Maybe if you cut yourself apart, there’d be absolutely nothing at all inside to fall out. 

You can’t trust yourself with anything anymore. 

Isa watches you funny, as you eat all the food Bonnie will give you. You find yourself smiling without meaning to.

You play with your dagger at the picnic with the stars lighting up the curve of your blade. 

The King won again, you were distracted. Fighting him isn’t even hard now, usually, but you didn’t tell Mirabelle to prepare the shield at the right time again, and you didn’t ask him anything about wishes at all. Stupid mistakes, forgetful ones, and everyone died. Loop would laugh at you, probably, if you’d been brave enough to see them. 

The dagger sits at home in your hands, light and quick as always. Flipping it up, around. A flourish between your fingers. You’re not sure if someone taught you this, long before like guided lessons or well worn family tradition. Maybe your mother taught you, or your father, and all that’s left of either of them is just muscle memory. Maybe you should feel guilt for your hunger, for what you want as some kind of sullying or a defacing of this last memento.

“You’re good with your dagger,” Odile speaks up, soft in the night ambience. “Practicing this late, are we?”

Performance is practice, you think someone once said. “Want to be ready for tomorrow.”

Odile leans back on her hands, Mirabelle and Isa are swinging Bonnie around between their linked arms in the field— giggles pouring up into the open air as easy as anything. Fireflies chase along with them, like stars pulled straight from the sky. 

“I think you’ll do just fine, Siffrin,” Odile says without looking at you. She sighs. “Though I appreciate your focus on preparedness. I can’t say I’m not nervous myself.” 

Odile? Nervous? You’d never have guessed. Her mask is better than yours, even. She must read it in your face as she glances over, she chuckles to herself as she pushes up her glasses. “Oh come now, it can’t be so surprising that I have nerves. We are facing the end all be all subject of our quest, are we not?”

You think about all the times you’ve won, the times you haven’t even come close. You think of a massive fist, tightening, someone calling for help— of being in the trees and thinking: they made it there without you. You swallow. “We are.” 

You flip your blade around your fingers again; this is new in itself, having a quiet side conversation with Odile isn’t in the usual script. Normally, you sit in silence, smiling at the antics of everyone else until the stars are fully out and bright and no one knows the name for them except for you, but it’s time for bed. 

You would be excited, usually. Differences are so hard to come by anymore, you should be excited. You’re somewhere beside yourself, watching from across the stage though, mask in place and empty as always.

You remember to smile at her though, and give a tiny shrug. “He’s also facing us, too.” 

Odile snickers. “You know, somehow I hadn’t quite thought of it like that.” 

You don’t know what her point is, or why she’s even speaking to you; it feels like you’re lying in a thousand directions all at once. You flip the blade, and balance the tip on your finger until your tremors shake it to the ground. Odile raises an eyebrow. 

“Is… something the matter, Siffrin?” 

Stars. You don’t even have it in you to be afraid either. Your smile is bland and stretched thin, a veneer of paint, a shitty thin nothing of cheap fabric. “Nervous, too. I guess.” 

She breathes out. Bonnie shrieks with giggles a few feet away, sending another spark of fire flies bursting into the sky. “Well, never let it be said that I’m one for emotions, but. I have faith in you completely. If there’s a way through, we’ll follow.” 

“Yeah,” you say, because you lie more than you breathe these days.

Blackholes and sinking ships, you realize you’ll just drown them all with you.

To give yourself credit, you try to make it all the way to the King. You commit yourself to trying to read the books and look for an answer, the way through that Loop promised, you even pretend you believe it. There’s something wild in your chest that sounds like a clock ticking even as you skim pages, a counting down of hands— the clock tower, six o’clock, dinner and food and your friends laughing around a meal that fills absolutely nothing at all in you, it’s all irrelevant. It shouldn’t be, though. 

It should be the only thing that matters, shouldn’t it?

If you can break out, this loop, this time, then— you won’t think about it anymore, you tell yourself. If this is it, you’ll stop. You’ll leave your dagger and glass shards and sharp edges alone. You’ll find warmth somewhere else. 

If you let me out, I’ll stop, you think, pacing alongside the stage. 

Please, you think, aimlessly. 

The Universe stays silent. 

You linger, at the end after winning once more, saving the world like it’s the first time and it’s real. You spend too much time talking to everyone as many times as you can even though Bonnie calls you stupid and Mira gives you a nervous smile and Odile pretends to read while watching you. There’s a biting tearing thing in your heart that wants out, that’s caged behind the teeth in your throat: notice, it says. Pay attention. Stop me. Keep me here. 

“It’ll hurt,” Loop had said, and you know this. You know. Your heart already hurts. 

“Siffrin?” Odile’s voice rings through the static in your head. You’re standing in front of the Head Housemaiden, and she’s looking at you with a strange half-smile, full of concern and confusion. She hasn’t started speaking yet. 

Move, you tell yourself. You’re not sure what your face is doing at all, frozen in time right before the plunge. 

Isa perks up. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

The Head Housemaiden tilts her head at you, hands clasped together. Her mouth opens and— no, you think, please. I’ll be good. I’ll stop thinking about black holes. Promise me my insides are good. Tell me there’s something at all inside, it’s not just empty, I’ll believe you this time. I swear.

“Frin?” Bonnie steps forward, frowning. You can’t. Turn your head. Watching the slow parting of her lips, the death sentence waiting beyond it. 

I didn’t even kill myself this time.

Isa reaches for you, face alarmed and serious like it rarely is. He looks sheet white, concerned beyond measure. Terrified for you, even as the world turns sickly sweet and burnt around you.

“-- You’ll be going back,” she says, of course she says. Fat droplets of tears pouring from her face like she’s sorry. She won’t even try to listen, she’s wearing a mask, too. 

“Siffrin!” 

He’s reaching for you. You can’t reach back, you don’t try to. 

It’s not like he’d touch you anyways, you’re not even bleeding. 

There’s a dream waiting for you. It might be a memory, the way it shifts and grows like paint on a page, but you don’t remember. You never remember any of the things that you want to. 

“Hey Sif?” Isa says, because you’re sitting together on a bench in another city, far before you had all the orbs to unlock the first door, before you’d lost your eye. The stars are twice as bright but you don’t think about them, that hasn’t happened yet.

Adventure was fresh on your lips, then, wasn’t it? It still felt like a page being written. This thing that existed in the in betweens of Isa’s words wasn’t so thick and cloistering, you hadn’t seen it at all yet. 

You tilt your head towards him, kicking your feet. You don’t remember where Mira and Odile had taken Bonnie— maybe some supplies shop, or for ingredients. Maybe they’d forgotten you entirely, you wouldn’t know. 

He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at the grooves in the cobblestone road below you. “I was just thinking. Not to be morbid, but… what if. What if we don’t win?” 

You’d smiled at him before. You’re not sure if you’re smiling here, if the mask is already part of you before you walked into the play. “We will,” you say, because that’s what the wish wants, or thinks it wants, and you wouldn’t leave where you were without it. 

He gives you a tiny lopsided smile back. “Right, love the confidence, really. I shouldn’t be talking about this, I just. Do you think he’d—” He swallows, glances around. “We’re really the last hope, is all, huh.” 

The last hope, the only one. The combined fueled up image of hope at all, and it’s all stuck in the fading crumpled up photograph that is you, faking a grin. Sorry, everyone. Show’s lost its sparkle. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. 

You pretend to contemplate this. “I think that means something,” you say, not knowing that it’s because of the Universe yet, because you’re following and it’s leading, yet. Because you don’t remember who told you the bedtime stories or your own language, or all the words that don’t stick because you learned them differently. 

Isa looks at you, absorbing every word like it’s scripture. You shrug. “Doesn’t it? If it’s just us here, then. That means it’s supposed to be us.”

“Huh,” Isa says. You forget the next part. The dream fades between two planes of glass, Isa’s voice melting and pulling itself across dimensions in front of you. 

“I guess it has to be you then, too.” 

Spotlight. On. 

You… wake up, in the field. You think you wake up. It’s hard to believe there’s differences between when you sleep and when you’re on stage. It’s all motions, even your dreams are repeating. 

There’s the static in your hands again, tiny electric jumping stars trying to burst straight out through your skin, making them shake and tremble. It itches. You can barely think about anything else— enter Mira, say the method, find the book for Odile, check the blinding change god statue, talk to Isa and waitwaitwait. You let Bonnie hug you and try to hug them back as tightly as you can.

They’ll hug you when you’re seemingly fine, they’re the only one that will. Is that enough?

Of course it isn’t. You’re made of greed and gnawing hungry things, nothing is ever enough.

It should hurt, you think. And: It will.

The giddy feeling is back, distant and layered but it’s enough to make your grins come easier and spread wider. Some of your usual monotone affect is missing, you’re not sure if that’s the version they’d remember anymore. Did you talk more often? Were you happy? You think you’re happy now, knowing that you can bend everything again to your needs. That you can play the part right, that you can only follow and make them join you the ways that make you warm.

Sick, disgusting. Manipulative. You’re too full of thick lightning bolts and storm clouds to mean it the usual way. 

You get past the trap easily, forgetting to seem surprised at all with this constant thrum of go, move, next, pushing at your outlines, but no one questions you at least. Not that you’d have the ability to play it off, really. Maybe you’d just stab yourself the moment they asked, rewrite the whole scene mid word, wouldn’t that be funny. 

Odile gives you a strange long look as you navigate around a corner easily. Your hand hovers over the hilt of your dagger, is it now? 

Should it be now?

The moment passes, no one speaks. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror. You close your eyes and smile as big as you can and look everywhere except for yourself when Odile hands it to you. You ignore the way she stares at the photo slightly too long, also. 

Whatever she’s seeing, you already know.

And then: there’s wishes, made by everyone at the Favor Tree. Involving you somehow, you’re sure of it. And you need to— logic says you need to ask them, to figure out what the wishes were specifically, how it’s keeping you here. Logic says: this is the next step. 

You have to go back to the start, walking to a tear would take too long. Isn’t that annoying?

“Oh, I should have asked everyone in Dormont,” you say out loud, not for your family because they’re just characters on a page, they’re the Il Dottore and the Franceschina and Il Capitano and you’re erasing them even as you speak, but for Loop. To keep up appearances on a thing they shouldn’t be watching anyways. Here, Loop, an offering. A reason for what I’m doing, isn’t that nice? You can look away, now. We don’t have to talk about it, you don’t have to watch. There’s a purpose to it, it’s efficiency, isn’t it? Scissors type means efficient. 

“Ask them what?” Mirabelle says, with a head tilt. You’re in the secret side library and it’s cramped in here with old paper smells and mildew and the not-real sense of should-be warmth. Her voice echoes off the stone walls, wrapped in the candlelight Odile had kindly set. 

“What they wished for,” you say. “Maybe if enough people wished it, even though the steps were wrong, it could do something.” Even though there was nothing to hold it, maybe you would have. You’re a blank canvas, and you could fold right around anyone's wishes just to steal the warmth, you’d eat straight through the stars themselves.

Bonnie perks up. “Like beating the King?” 

Isa glances between the kid and you, a small divot forming on his face. “I guess so, but we can just find out when we beat him, no?”

You smile. You smile and you smile. “Sure, yeah. Let’s go then.” And you make your way towards the door. 

Isa doesn’t move, hands on his hips and staring at you funny. 

“Sif? You look weird.” 

Do you? Your face is somewhere far below the swimming static, you wouldn’t know what you’re doing with it. You’re just. Moving. Fingers dancing across the hilt in your pockets, feeling cramped even though there’s a perfect bubble of distance around you and everyone. Oil and water, they’d kill themselves to get away from you. The thought makes a bubble of laughter crack at your teeth. 

“Tired,” you say. Think you say. Isa nods, slowly, crossing his arms warily. 

“Well. You didn’t get a nap today.” 

Bonnie gasps. “Cranky Frin!” 

“Perhaps we can make it to the next floor quickly, then. Stop for a breather?” Odile suggests. 

Bonnie throws a hand up. “I’ll get him snacks!” 

You hate when they talk around you like this, more distance, more separation. Talking behind your back, making eyes, side conversations they can’t have with you. Their roles are to deceive, are they not? To doublespeak to be the Pantalone and Dottore and all the other masks. It’s all just space and space and cold empty nothing. Your hand is on the hilt now. 

“Right,” you say. “Let’s leave then.” 

Isa stares at you for another long second. Do it, you think viciously. Cold, calculating. Manipulative. You’re a coward. You won’t push it, you won’t touch me. You won’t say it. Do it. 

He breathes out, he lets you pass. 

You step out into the hallway first, they can’t see the way your palms bite into the grooves of your dagger’s hilt, or the way your eyes close. They can’t see the hitch to your breath as you think. This will hurt. Then: it should hurt. 

You hold the blade out, dark and smooth like a stone in the river before you. This is thy sheath.

It’s surprisingly not hard at all to push, like butter really. You try to give them time to notice, because you’re a sick wanting thing. You treat your blood like an offering. See? See, it’s dark inside, it’s nothing. Does that scare you? Do you want it?

“Siffrin, what are you— shit! Stop that, Isa, grab him!” 

“What— oh, fuck, Sif, why—” 

It does hurt, worse than almost anything, but you’ve died slower. Isa knocks your dagger out of your hand, you hear Mira’s ragged gunshot of a gasp as she pulls Bonnie close and tucks their face into her side as they fight to know what’s happening. Isa’s grip on your wrist is hard, it hurts, too; the good hurt, the kind that sinks all the way into your bone, swims farther and worms into your heart like a confirmation.

“Sif, why would you—” Isa chokes, face crumbling blearily above you and— oh, you’re on your back again. He’s holding you upright with an arm behind you, you can feel the heat of him through your shirt because— your cloak is in a pile across from you. Dark, dark stains like ink blots across the front.

Fire burning like dry kindling runs through you. Your eye crosses, fades out and back in. Odile is pressing her shirt against your side and speaking quickly to Mirabelle in a tone you haven’t heard from her before. She could heal you, you realize with some amount of dread. Then you’d have to— you’d have to explain. 

That can’t happen, they wouldn’t want you at all. You bite your tongue, waiting for the taste of sugar. 

It’s funny, really. You want to drag out the seconds long enough to know, not enough to be known. Greedy, selfish. You can’t have it all. 

You trip over into the sweet empty warmth anyways before you can be dragged farther back into the night, and feel relieved. 

Avoiding Loop is normal, it’s fine. You’re fine. You crave warmth and dream of rivers of nothing at all, cascading ink spills of night sky, of eating a star whole and burning through the paper of your skin. But you’re fine. You feel nothing, so that’s fine. 

They said it should hurt, and it did. You did it right. You can do it again, if you need to. 

Want and need are funny words aren’t they. Words that crawl up into each other and rust and break apart into nothing when you pull at the seams. Your needs are like that: a hangnail that bleeds and bleeds, a word that’s lost all its meaning and can’t be spoken. 

(You try to speak it anyways, once. Twice, alone in the field. The tinge of copper in your mouth that rips you open isn’t even anything special anyways, like you’ve grabbed hold of the singularity and pulled the gravity back outwards. Just means the blackhole is you.) 

Acting doesn’t require feeling, at least. It requires knowing lines. No one asks, no one says anything. No one touches you. 

You wake up in the middle of the night holding your dagger, the tip pressed against your chin, and you think: this, too, is a play. These are my lines: the next scene beyond the intermission. Maybe that’s what this is all for. 

But then you’d be sitting here, all the blood in you lined up against your spine and the backs of your legs, pooling and still. And you’d still be cold. 

You put the dagger down, it stabs your finger and for a moment it barely feels like anything. 

There’s something to what Loop said. The broken doll will never see the end, you’re not sure if you’re the mask or the actor. You pour and you pour everything out that lives in you and it goes nowhere. Just you and the space and no sound reaching through. 

Stabbing yourself isn’t even hard the second time. You mess it up and do it too fast though, so all you can see is the rounding of Isa’s scared eyes before you’re yanked to the stage. The third time, there’s not even anyone around to see. 

A long time ago, someone told you a story.

Look up at the night sky, all the way up to the moon, they said. Do you see how brightly it shines? That is made of love, you know. The sun is long past its time for rest, and the world went dark, and she rose to give us light to walk by. 

You’re walking on a rock hewn path, you’re jumping from stone to stone carefully. Someone waits patiently, holding your hand as you contemplate how to jump and how to land. You don’t know where this is, but it doesn’t matter because a hand is in yours and the moon shines bright because it is love. 

The sun's light made her vanish, so they could never meet. The moon asked for love as a messenger, just for her, so the sun could hear her in the day. The messenger went up to the clouds and pressed them together, and made time slow. You see the sun, just there?

The sky is something, another shade. Not light or dark. A vibrant thing that pours out of the inbetweens of night, the way your eyes have forgotten how to see. 

That’s for them. The dawn, so they could meet. So they can say ‘I love you’, and know they are loved too. Them, reaching across time to hold each other for a moment every new day. When you meet, you can see the love, because it looks like yours in the shape of their eyes and their lips and their smile pouring the sun right back into you. Do you know this, Siffrin? 

When you think of this, you imagine a smile and creased eyes and dimples and the sun, pouring love into you, too. You don’t think of it. The world has never let you think of it. 

You carry touch and love in you like an illness. Yours is not a love that looks like anyones. It pins down everything in its path like butterfly wings under glass, and keeps the dawn stretching out and out forever. And you are made wrong for it. 

“Hi Frin,” Bonnie waves their hand at you, making a show of slowly inching towards you until they poke you lightly in the stomach. “You saw that, right? You didn’t even flinch that time! Good kid, good kid!” 

You didn’t flinch because you didn’t feel it. All of this for a touch you don’t feel anyways. Your arm is just an arm attached to the messy strings that make up your center; it’s not yours anyways. You don’t exist there. 

Bonnie squints at you and tilts their head, hands on their hips with a pout. “You didn’t eat your food, you know. Did you not like it? I have other food.” 

The samosa is in your hands, or— no. It’s not a samosa. It’s plantain chips. You think of rocks and bleeding to death and cracking your head open so hard all of you runs out onto the grass like egg yolks. You think of Bonnie, skipping along and finding the empty shell of you and saying silly stupid Frin, napping out here all day long, and propping you up and taking you along inside the castle anyways. It would be the same, wouldn’t it? They’d made it to the King without you. 

Dead weight, and sinking ships. 

Bonnie pokes you again. “Frin? Are you even listening? Are you doing something stupid like sleeping with your eye open? Your back will get all crunched up like that, you know, Dile said so.” 

Are you sleeping? The maschere would know. Your palm is splitting itself open and sewing itself up over and over again and never leaving a mark. Do you know this, Siffrin? It should hurt. 

The maschere blinks at you. “Um. Frin? I know we— I mean. I was angry at you, and I didn’t talk to you and stuff, but you know I… I was just worried, right? Za said I should say it to you when I asked so, in case you didn’t know somehow. I didn’t mean it, Frin, and— and this is pretty serious in here and we’re gonna get Nille back, but. I don’t want you to go away, not really.” 

The actor playing you isn’t moving. Puppet strings cut, limp and still on the stage floor. There’s an exit line they should say, it’s the same one for every show because it’s repeatable and inoffensive. He should say it now, you think, if he’s done. He can’t leave the stage without saying it. 

“Frin? …. Is it a quiet day? You— normally you nod or something, I— are you ignoring me?” 

Maybe he can pull the strings from inside himself right out, through their fingertips or their mouth. String themselves back up the right way, the kind that has a smile. 

“Frin, you’re scaring me. It’s not. It’s not funny, stupid! Your face is scary!” 

Say goodnight, leave the stage. If you’re tired of shining, let the moon burn instead, come on. Say the line. Leave the stage. 

“Dile! I think… I think something’s wrong with Frin! Belle? Za!! Can anyone—” 

“It’s fine,” the actor says. “It should hurt.” 

“It should– what?” 

There’s no dawn here. No weights to hold you inside yourself. The actor flourishes his blade with gusto, and the crowd ooh’s and ahh’s with the quick flash of steel. He can find the strings, if he looks. Look, maschere, love will win out in the end, we just have to keep the play moving! You could help string them up, too, you know. Il Dottore would know how to make it neat.

I can show you my strings, you think, and this maschere’s mask is changing right before your eyes. You wait for it to match yours, but you’re already pouring your love out all over the stage floor and it’s not light at all, is it? Lightless, as black as the night; taking all the stars and spitting them up, used and dark, too. 

You think you see other masks, rounded eyes and stiff mouths, and theirs aren’t like yours either. Maybe if you. Dig in. Deeper. 

Visceral— something bright but not darkless. A great big splash of it. There we go, the actor laughs. There is something inside after all.

“Siffrin!” 

Well, that one had been an accident, you think. Your brain had tripped and fallen outside the lines, and you hadn’t caught it in time, easy mistake really. You don’t even know if anyone had held you, if you bled out too quickly onto the stone. Why Bonnie had been left alone with you at all, it’s just blurs and noise.

You’re glad Bonnie won’t remember your last burden at least.

(Some maggot filled corpse in your mind wonders if they’d get the joke of it, the slapstick at the center. If they’d look in and see you laughing. Didn’t get hurt for you, Bonbon! That was for me! Selfish selfish Siffrin, good kid good kid.)

It’s almost funny, really, how little of your sanity you have left. Do you even know what loop it is, anymore? Do you remember all the times you killed yourself? Maybe you forgot. You don’t remember anything anymore beyond this field and the dagger and this hunger in you gnawing at every thought. 

You look at your palm being smooth and whole and want to tear it wide open. You do, with the sharp points and your nails to dig in wider, and you reset because no one would find you here in the grass because you sent Mira away and your skin is smooth again. Over and over again, smooth glassy palms like nothing ever happened. 

Giant gaping messy holes digging down into the center of everything. Perfect, smooth black leather and pale skin. Someone once said you had a long love line. You slice right down along it just to be sure your love can’t hurt anyone else. 

Maybe it hasn’t, right? If you find a way out and through, you’ll be the only one left to hold all these shredded versions of yourself. You’ll have bit and chewed your way through a hellish cocoon and emerged as some fucked up mirrored version of everything you hate, and they’ll all say you’re the same. 

Loop won’t though. Loop will know, Loop always knows. 

You don’t know how long you sit there. 

“Siffrin! Are you napp–” 

Oh. 

You tilt your head back. You’re sitting in the middle of the field, trees swaying with blank audience faces around. Cheering and clapping in the breeze. 

Act Five

Scene Nine

Harlequin is sat in the open field, tossing about their favorite dagger. The field is empty as it always is. Harlequin has been having some fun to himself. The grass is dewy and dark beneath him.

Franceschina enters. Stage left. 

Franceschina: [Siffrin] what— (immediately, stunned into silence)

She is coming to fetch the Harlequin from a nap in the fields. They are gathering all the maschere for a feast! Their big day begins tomorrow, and she freezes mid stride, taking in the scene before her.

Franceschina: Is that. (faltering) Oh my— 

Her hands come to cover her mouth. Her mask remains beautiful and pristine, her skirts sway. 

Harlequin: (loud laughter) My nap went too long again.

Franceschina: (struggling to speak, hand over mouth) I’ll… I’ll get someone, or. No, I— you’re bleeding, [Siffrin], what— What happened! 

She shuffles forward, pausing. Hands outstretched as if to assist, but too afraid to dare to come close to the Harlequin. They must never touch of course.  

Harlequin: (through laughter) I’m just napping. Just a nap, silly. I might nap some more. 

The Harlequin flourishes his blade, smiling wide.

Franceschina: (lurching forward) W–wait! I– what if we just talk? Can we talk, please?

Harlequin pauses. 

Harlequin: (perplexed) What is there to say?

Franceschina: You— (visibly gathering herself) you’re hurt.

Harlequin: It doesn’t hurt.

Franceschina pales.

Franceschina: It— 

Harlequin: (tilting their head, thoughtful) It should though, shouldn’t it? Maybe there’s nothing left to hurt.

Harlequin flips the blade, grips it hard by the handle. Pointed in at themselves, smiling.

Franceschina: (lunging forward) Wait! 

And pushes it. Directly into. 

His heart. 

Scene end.

The pages are blank, they’re blank they’re blank and you grab at your handle but it won’t stick. You wake up and your hand slips right through the back of it, right through into the dirt itself and nothing at all can keep you here. 

I need it, you think, maybe you say. Mirabelle might stare, the Franceschina can never touch the Zinna here, she might leave instead with the knowing of it. Doesn’t matter, the script restarts. But it can’t restart because you can’t find your props. 

You practically run to the tree, blurting out some rote shit to Il Capitano Isa that won’t blindingly matter just to make him leave. If he says anything, if he looks at you with that concerned mask, you have teeth and you can tear, what does it matter. Isn’t that funny, Loop? You said they wouldn’t be mine anymore, and you were right! Stage props, a puppet you were given to play your part better. Any part is reattachable! 

Loop can find your props, the benefactor knows. They’ll set your strings right. 

“I thought I might just stay out of it, far be it from me to judge how you handle being trapped after all, but this is getting too pathetic even for me,” Loop is saying. Loop isn’t a mask, they have no expression at all and the mask is the maschere. It’s what the play demands, Loop isn’t playing the right part. 

“No, Stardust,” Loop frowns. It’s funny that they don’t have a nose or lips— maybe they are a mask, just a blank one. A nothing emotion, not laughing or crying. The thought makes some forgotten panic shift around in your throat. 

“Siffrin. Stay here, listen to me. Just— feel the bark under your hands? The wind? That’s all real, you know it is. You’re real. Don’t go down that road.” 

Your mouth moves, you don’t hear any of your own words. Puppets can’t speak. You think about wanting to stay, that it’s what you’ve always wanted, but now you’ve lost everything else but the staying and it’s leaving you too. Time is fluttering right past you without you being part of it at all, that doesn’t seem fair. 

“It’s not. It’s not fair, you’re right, and you can be mad all you want, Stardust. Be mad at me, if you must. Or— or the stars, or the Universe for leading you here. But feel something, at least, it’s better that way. It is.” 

It should hurt, you remember. But it didn’t, it didn’t even hurt that first time. You can’t remember the last time it hurt at all. 

“Your friends! You did this for them, didn’t you? That matters. Are they even people to you anymore? Stars, you spent all that blindingly useless time running through their problems because of what. Because the only thing you think you’re worth is keeping them safe. It’ll hurt if you stop seeing them! It’ll hurt more than anything.” 

That’s. Specific. You think that might be true, you miss them. The masks taking up their face and their names aren't the same, and they don’t touch you and you don’t feel it anyways. Pierrot, the sad clown; somewhere an audience is laughing as your misfortune catches you sideways over and over because you’re meant for this. 

“For stars sake, it is adorable really, how completely inept to anything in The Universe—” 

Leads. You can only— 

“ — Follow? My voice, at least? I know, Stardust. You can’t— this isn’t what I came back here to witness either, you know!” 

You bite your tongue, it pulls the focus back in. Planets, stars. You’re here in these hands and this skin, for now. For now. 

“How blindingly stupid can you– oh! You’re back. Well, that was painful. Let’s never make me watch that again, hm? Have your existential meltdowns somewhere else, yes?” 

You… blink, feel around the backs of your teeth. Stretch your claws hands and relax. Okay. Okay. 

“... sorry,” you manage, it scratches at your throat. 

Loop stares at you, brows pressed tight and firm together, like a current on a blank sea. 

You breathe in. And out. “I’m back. I think.”

“You think?” 

“It’s not like I meant to–” 

“No,” Loop stands up abruptly. You realize that they’re as tall as you, it seems funny. You’d thought they’d stretch up taller, like their shooting star parts would brush against the bottom of the leaves, but they stay at your eye height instead. “You didn’t mean to, but you did. You took the dagger, and you used it more times than you should have, and you’ve gone all… desperately pathetic and charmingly stupid with the remainder. Like I said you would.” 

“It would have happened anyways.” 

“I guess we won’t know that now, will we! So desperate to throw yourself into a gorey tragedy, hm?”

Not a tragedy. There’s too much laughing. 

“Oh no, I know you know your play structures, Stardust. We call this pile of dead bodies a tragic waste, don’t we? Can’t have the catharsis without the death of the villain, and you seem awfully primed to just let him win up there.” 

Him? Oh, the King. You’d forgotten he existed, isn’t that funny? He’d be furious to know. You’ve forgotten your land and where you were born and you’ve forgotten the only other person who has the shape of it somewhere in them. Maybe that’s what you need. They’d held you when you’d tried to say it, hadn’t they? Like biting clean through your own tongue. 

Loop glares. “Now, Stardust, I know you’re not thinking about that directly in front of me. I know you wouldn’t do that to me.” 

You would, you are. You shouldn’t, but you are. 

There’s a flicker of something in their face, an unreadable other. You think about when they went blank, the strained monotone like the palest shade of grey to their voice. There’s no sugar though. 

“I’m here to help, remember that. Regardless of what you believe, I asked for that much. You make it rather hard, you know.” 

It’s fine, you think. It’s me. It’s how I was made. 

“I should go,” you say. You want to remember the name, bleed out through your eyes and nose but having known that you held it for a second at all. Maybe it would be warm then, too. To remember anyone at all like that, maybe it would matter. 

“And do what?” Loop sounds angry.

You shrug. “There’s… I have to ask everyone about what they wished.” 

“You did that already, did you forget?”

You. Did?

Loop stares at you, hands balled on their knees. “Yes. You asked everyone, and then you went through the House and you found the list in the Head Housemaiden’s quarters, and honestly Stardust, do you think this act is fooling anyone?”

What act, what at all. The mask is the character, they are the same. If there’s no curtain call the play never ends. 

“The act where you pretend you care about any of this.” 

You blink. “I…” 

Loop crosses their arms impatiently. “You’re not trying to get out, to follow the clues. That desperate thread of hope you adorably keep clinging to is just hanging there all sad in the middle of nothing while you prance around in the background trying to control how everyone cares for you.” 

“I’m not controlling them,” you frown. You are, and you aren’t. You’re following the lines, you didn’t make the masks. 

“Pfft.” Loop giggles that sharp pointed way. “Sure, you’re only controlling how you hurt yourself in front of them to make them react how you need.” 

Selfish. Disgusting, you know this, you’ve heard all of this before from yourself. 

You’re not angry, you’re nothing at all. But your palms itch and Loop won’t let you tear them open here. “I don’t have to sit here,” you remind them. You avoided them for however many loops, if they want that again. 

“You don’t,” Loop agrees. “But you’re the most yourself right now than you have been. And I’m tired of watching this stupid exercise.” 

“Then don’t watch!” You think, but your mouth moves and with it, the whole cage you bar the worst parts of yourself with. It bursts out of you, the worms, the maggots, all of it. Dead on the floor. 

Your chest heaves. “Just. Look away, then. I’m fucked up, manipulative; you think I can’t see the blinding shitty reality of me? I know, alright? It doesn’t— I don’t feel it! Nothing. Not this, right now. Not you. It’s just. A big black hole, right there.” Your hand is on your chest, the pit that yawns. “Pulling every fucking thing with it. Doesn’t matter.” When it’s on the outside, it’s warm. It exists. Loop can’t take that from you, they can’t. 

You won’t let them. 

They stare. It’s not shock on their face. “I said I wouldn’t tell you how to deal with your prison, but I am here to help you. You wouldn’t believe how annoying it is to know those aren’t the same.” 

You feel… something shift. A small rewind, like sugar cubes melting in a cup of tea. No. You reach inside your cloak, hand on your dagger. Everything in your mind says ‘it’s not the time for that’, like it’s locked up tight in its sheath somehow, no matter how hard you pull. Your hand slips right through. Your prop is— 

Your hands scrabble at the hilt, clawing at it, the belt, the leather. Nothing shifts. You stare up at Loop, sitting impassively. That small furrow in their brows. 

“You can’t— what did you do?” 

Loop has the audacity to shrug, inspecting their nails instead of you. Legs crossed and poised as ever, like the missing control over anything going on with you means so little. Maybe you are angry, maybe the gravity well will let you keep this. 

“I’ll just bite myself apart then,” you snarl, leaping to your feet. The world sways around you, spinning in orbit around the star in front of you. “I’ll leave and I’ll find the. The glass shard and, my teeth.” Fangs, they’re fangs and claws on the outside, you’ll make it all outside. Loop wants to see a tragic waste? Okay. Fine. Gauntlet set. “I did it before. I’ll just do it again. I’ll loop right now.” 

“Do it,” Loop meets them, evenly. “I’ll keep pulling it from you any time you try. If you so desperately need the child safety lock, I’ll give you it.” 

You stalk away, and back. Caged in a bigger prison. A stage within a stage. “What’s the point? You said it was faster. Anything to make a loop faster, you said.” 

“I said I might make the same choice, not that I wanted you to,” Loop matches. That strange expression is still annoyingly floating in front of you. You hate it, you hate seeing it. 

“So let me make my choice!” 

Loop stands, slow and slinking as always. “I did, Stardust. You were stupid with it. Contrary to your charming and adorably stupid self destructive desires, this is for your best interest.”

You— their face is the only thing in focus, that unaffected heavy stare. You’re pinned under it, a bug under a magnifying glass. Slowly being heated by the sun, burning apart from the inside. You’re neither the moon nor the sun at all, are you, just some insignificant creature trying to pretend to be big enough to be part of it. But— 

It matches, you realize. Their eyes, their frowning steady brows. Standing there across from you, they’re matching everything that you’re pouring out, just like you were told. 

You can’t look at them. 

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you bite out, and force yourself to move as fast as possible out of the clearing before anything else reflects back at you, too. 

You find the open field. You dig right into the heavy meat of your hand and wait for the pain to hit.

Breathe in, breathe out. Copper on your tongue and on your teeth. Metallic and sharp. Dark greys shifting on the lighter grass below, seeping right into the ground like it’s drinking you down all the same. 

It’s not. Helping. 

The field is empty, the birds in the trees across the stage don’t care to join you. There’s no audience. There’s just you. 

“I don’t want this,” you confess. Your palms still itch underneath, all the way down to the bone. 

Nothing speaks. The Universe shifts on without you. 

After a while, you shove your gloves back on the wounded gaping holes of you. Black and fingerless, leather and thick enough to hide all of it away. Your nail beds are cracked through with dark, dark nothing.  

Somehow, you make it to the third floor again, just by walking. No loops, no bleeding out. Just the shakey, weary, empty husk of you. You know Odile is whispering to Isa when you charge out ahead, you know Mira is keeping Bonnie close and away from the amalgamating horror behind your eyes. You know none of them know, but they feel it anyways, and you can’t bring yourself to try any harder. 

Your friends, Loop had said, you did this for them. Did you? Did you do this somehow? Did you look at yourself and see the infestation of rot and the dead star burning out and decide you had to be quarantined from everything else?

There’s a thought buried inside you haven’t let yourself have before. You hate the taste of it, you stop digging. 

The King is on the next floor. And then more of the same. Maybe you’ll let him kill you again, it feels deserved. Loop’s only ever tried to help you and you yelled at them, and you scared Bonnie, and you did something unforgivable over and over again because you could. And now you’re mad that you can’t. 

And your palms itch. 

“Well, time for one more snack break?” Odile says, surveying the last safe room. Mirabelle is quiet— did you talk to her before you set out? You don’t remember. It’s fine anyways, you always say the CARROT method by autopilot, you don’t have to think. 

The itch on your hands grows, now on your wrist. You pull at your gloves distractedly, under your cape. 

“I have some snacks! Not a lot left, though,” Bonnie bites their cheek, rustling over to their bag and fussing with it. Burnt samosas, you think. “The leftover samosas! These are the burnt ones, though.” 

“Hold on just a second, Bonbon,” Isa interrupts. You— you blink. That’s. Not the script. 

He’s looking at you with a twist to his mouth. “Siffrin and I are gunna take a walk, okay? We won’t go far. We’ll eat when we get back.” 

Odile raises a brow, but nods and holds back Bonnie as they pout. Mira looks surprised, then curious but nods cheerfully enough. So, not something they’d talked about then. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing. 

“Sif?” Isa asks, gesturing with their chin towards the empty corridor you’d come from. You follow wordlessly. 

He never says what his secret is, he never will you’re sure. You know what it is anyways, but it isn’t real if it’s not spoken, and you don’t have to worry about why it shouldn’t be real so long as he doesn’t say it. He’s never done this before, though. You don’t know what this means, you’re not sure you have anything in you to care what it means at all. 

The hallway is dark, flickering candles still pin pricking the walls in a long winding stretch. When you dream about being here you’re always alone and it’s always longer than it should be. 

“So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Isa’s voice startles you. You look up at him, mouth opening. Closing. 

What?

Isa snorts, more a sharp exhale than anything. And gestures at your side. “I covered for you by taking you out of there, but. Buddy, I— you gotta know that doesn’t look good.” 

You glance down. There’s the rug, it’s dark grey plump like the fruits outside, and— oh. A small spattering like ink right there, and another.

“You’re bleeding, Sif.” 

You pull your hand free from your cape. There’s dark, trailing out the top of your glove, it feels sticky and peels on your skin, the leather has gone stiff in patches with blood. 

Isa kneels down, gesturing for you to hold your hand out. Cradling it carefully in his big palms. See, you think, tired and as weighted as the thing in your chest. He’ll touch you now. You’re bleeding again.

He peels the glove off, it pulls and makes more rivulets of dark spill out and you see him wincing. You see him glancing up at you, too, but you don’t bother making your face move. What’s the point to this at all, really. Let me bleed out in this room and be done with it. 

You forget that the marks won’t look like an ill dodged attack or accident until Isa’s choking off his own breath. You haven’t looked at it, just felt the itch and wanted to widen it more than you’d be allowed to without resetting. Some part of you had wanted it to stay, the wound and the warm all on the outside for as long as you were allowed to, just once. Look where that got you.

“Sif, this is—” He glances up at you again, eyes shining in the candlelight. Back at your hand, and sets his jaw firmly before squeezing your fingers. “They were right, weren’t they.” 

“Who was,” you manage, almost a whisper. 

“Your… friend. They came running out of the woods so fast I wasn’t sure if they were just… I don’t know, telling me a tall tale to scare me but—” Isa closes his eyes, brings your hand to his forehead. Your knuckles press against his skin. He runs warm, he told you so but you feel. 

Nothing. 

Hah, you think. Lost its sparkle already, too. 

“Sif, did you. Did you do this to yourself?” 

His voice shakes, warbles completely. A fat tear rolls down his cheek and you think: rotting, something’s wrong, it’s rotting, you’ll be going back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, one day I hope you’ll forgive—

You pull your hand back. Hold it close to your chest. Your breaths are heaving, are they heaving? “Why would I do that,” you think you say. There’s an edge to it, a hysterical note that cracks through the air embarrassingly. “That would be—”

Isa stands, you don’t know the look in his eyes. You don’t know it, because it looks like pity and you can’t possibly— 

“You did, didn’t you.”

“No. No! I—”

“Siffrin, those are teeth marks.” 

You know, you know because you find yourself licking your gums like you can bite again harder and keep the taste of it longer. Keep the warmth longer. Because there’s something rotten in you, but it was supposed to be yours and not his. Never any of theirs. 

“They’re not,” you try. “It’s— I cut my hand on a rock, I didn’t notice.”

Your voice is too loud, Odile’s going to hear and then. And then you don’t know, you don’t know any of this. You don’t feel warm at all, even though his hand was on yours. Isa’s face twists in front of you, smoothing out with the blank nothing of a mask in its place. 

Loop was right, this was never a comedy. You were never the leading role. You’re the ghost haunting a story that should have moved on without you, and you’re making this a tragedy. 

Sugar. A pull in your stomach. 

You’re running for the Favor Tree before you can think. 

“You told him!” You’re yelling, that’s your voice. Your thoughts won’t connect, there’s metal in your teeth and copper on your tongue, and dying rotting citrus fruits you’ve never tasted. Loop dangles in your grasp, hands held up palm side, because your hands are fisted in the strange give of their center. 

“Stardust—” 

“No!” You shake harder. “You told. You said— you took it from me! Why are you taking them, too?” 

You didn’t even feel anything, you were bleeding and it didn’t do anything. Loop did something, didn’t they? They pulled that right out, too. They were never here to help, only to trap you more, judge you for the thing under your skin. Give and take away. 

“I’m not.” They spit back. “You’re doing that just fine on your own.” 

“I need this,” your voice sounds like broken glass. It’s not yours, it’s across the field and mirrored backwards. Some other Siffrin with sharp, frightening edges and bags so deep under their eye they can’t even see. 

“No, you don’t. You and I both know that’s an excuse.” 

You shake your head wildly, a laugh punching through your chest like a cannonball. Exploding behind your lips and into your brain with just, sound. Noise. 

“Fine! It’s not real, none of this is real. It’s an excuse, or it’s a need. A want, whatever you’re trying to get at. Fine. You wanted this, didn’t you? Maybe— maybe you’re the audience, not the benefactor at all. Right? Watching me— How’s your little show? Having fun yet?” 

Loop watches you. “...no,” they say, quietly. “No, I don’t think this is fun at all.” They place one hand carefully on your fisted ones without blinking. “I guess I was simply. Waiting for the dawn, too.” 

You. Blink. “No,” you hiss. “No, that’s not...” Rage spinning out and away and cresting with some other feral wild thing. You’re floating right out into the thick nothing of space and the Universe isn’t leading anywhere you can see, at all here, you don’t know— you need— 

Another hand lands on your shoulder. “Siffrin? Who— who’s this?” 

Isa. Right, you’d. You ran past him, you hadn’t asked him to leave. He saw the whole thing. Stars, how stupid can you possibly be.

“It’s okay, buddy. Easy,” Isa says, squeezing lightly. Your hands go limp immediately, call and response. You always end up shaping yourself in the ways that make Isa the happiest, don’t you?

Isa’s voice continues on, over your shoulder. It’s not at you, you don’t have to listen, you can think about the fact your nothing is pushing all the way out to your skin and your nails and he can probably see it already. You can try with every failing thing in you to lock it back up under your strings and your mask and be what he likes, the way you always want to. 

You’re. Fine. You need your dagger, the hilt, the bite in your palm, anything at all.

Your hand is— your holding his hand. Isa nods at you, his smile a watery and timid thing and squeezes back. “Good, hey, that’s good. Breathe in and out, like you always do, right?” 

You… try. Your lungs feel far away, your breaths escaping faster than you can find them. He demonstrates nice and slow, and his hand is on your shoulder. You’re not— you’re whole, now, and his hand is on your shoulder, your hand is in his. It’s enough to push you back to the ground and into your skin. 

Isa’s smile widens, eyes on yours and earnest, even as they flicker over your shoulder and back. His other hand pushes against yours, uncurling your nails and sliding your fingers together. You bend. 

“I don’t. Know what’s happening, but. Can you look at me? You were saying something, just now. Can you say it again? I couldn’t hear it.”

Your lips are forming soundless words. You can’t give them air, you can’t speak them.

“Okay, that’s okay, um,” He blows out a long shaky breath, hand still in yours. “Can you, um. Can we drop the dagger?” The– oh. You’re not supposed to have that. Loop made it so you couldn’t have that, but. You let go and there it is. Blade shining up at you in the sway of the longer grass.

Isa smiles, that’s what you want, isn’t it. You’d do anything to keep that. “Good, that’s good,” he says. He kicks it further with his foot and keeps your eyes on his. “Sif? What… was…” He stops, licks his lips. 

He looks pale and shaky, behind the smile. He glances over behind you again. “Um, who’s this?” 

You can’t possibly speak, there’s no air in you anywhere at all. Soundless, shapeless, nothing. There’s a rustle behind you.

“I’m a friend,” Loop says. “We were. Having a disagreement.” 

Isa frowns, glancing back at you. You don’t react. “Okay. It looked like Sif was pretty mad at you though, mind explaining that super quick for me?” 

Loop hums. It’s not as twinkly as you’re used to. “I could try, but I think he’d be more mad if I did.” 

Isa’s face twists further. “Normally, I’d be all for keeping my friends' secrets their own and not prying, but.” He pauses, looks at you apologetically. There’s nothing here, yet. Your palms still itch, but there’s nothing— “I just had to pry a dagger out of his skin. I think we’re passed that.” 

Silence. You think very quietly about shooting stars, burning up on entry. The air displacement at the front that makes them glow. You think once you had another name for that, the glow. You think it used to be more than just white. 

There’s a laugh, a tragic sort of thing. “We may just be. It’s true, Stardust here was less than thrilled that I caught them, I suppose.” 

Your words return, shaky and weak. “That’s not—” 

Isa’s face is hard, blank. The light in his eyes is luminous, though. He grits his teeth, the bolt of his jaw harsh and steady for a long pause of nothing, not looking at you but at Loop. Harsher and more serious than you’ve ever seen him. The moment passes, and you know he’s understood. 

You freeze. That wasn’t— you don’t— 

Isa’s eyes are on yours, he’s leaning down again. His hand slips out of yours, but he’s right there, radiating sun out at you from all directions. The harshness falls entirely away leaving only soft, worried, tender edges the way you know him. 

“Is that. Is that true, Sif?” 

You can’t. There’s nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His expression falls. A horrific crest of heartbreak washing over him that makes you panic, makes your hands reach up to— to what. To nothing! You can’t stop this, he knows. He knows. And Loop is, what? Just going to keep ruining this? Keep telling him? 

But this is you, it was all you here. You forgot again, like the trap and the tears and the shields. You’re the one ruining this last thing, this time.

Isa looks down at his hands, they’re trembling. “If… if your friend here is concerned, I… maybe that means I missed something, and I’m sorry, is all. I’m really, really sorry.” 

No, no, it’s never been Isa’s fault. You didn’t want him to know. He wasn’t supposed to ever know, you don’t know what to do with him knowing.

“You wouldn’t—” he tries, helplessly and lost. 

“I think it’s less a matter of if they would,” Loop adds in, sourly. “And rather more if they should continue.” 

Isa looks punched clean through, off kilter. Your heart is snapping in half and plunging into the cold dark center of yourself and freezing over all at once. Loop back, you think. Loop back. 

Loop gives you a sideways look, like they know. Stars, but they’ll just tell him again, won’t they. There’s nowhere to run.

Isa sighs again, shaky and wet. “If you um. If you felt you couldn’t talk to me about it, that’s on me. I will do whatever I need to do, to make sure you trust me next time.” His eyes shoot up to yours, pinning you all the way through and then some with the weight. “But I’m here, okay? And I don’t want you to be upset or hurting and not tell me. I want you here with us, the way M’dame and Bonbon and Mira all do, too. There’s no one I’d trust more at the end of the world, you got that? There’s no world to save without you in it.”

There’s no possible way this is happening, you think you must be dreaming but all of your dreams have gone sour, too. 

“Isa,” you try. 

You’re not spinning off, you’re heavy and layered and stuck tight right under all the hurt but it’s surrounding you all at once with noise. You feel weak under it all. Impossibly pressed by gravity beyond yourself, like the black hole has left you and moved right into the open air between you both. 

Touch me, you think. Because his hand has left yours and he’s keeping his distance, and you’ve never actually thought to ask before, but your words keep getting pulled right along with the stars into the pit beside you. 

You shake your head helplessly. You’ll be lost again, pulled right back under with the waves, if he doesn’t— 

A hand circles your wrist gingerly. Your lungs expand, contract.

Oh, you breathe. 

Loop stands beside you, looking away angrily. Hand perfectly looped around your wrist. This is real, then, because. Someone is here with you. Someone’s always been here with you. 

“Yeah, it’s real, Sif. Okay? It’s real. You’re with me, and your friend here. And we’ve got you, right? You don’t have to hurt on your own, I promise. We can take it from you, bud.” 

It should hurt, you think. But then— Isa isn’t touching you. And you still feel so warm. And the warm is loud, and it’s heavy and overwhelming and it does hurt, but it’s. Yours. Your palms don’t itch, the masks fade. 

Loop isn’t looking at you, their hand doesn’t move. A perfect circle, right there, around the rapid thrum of your heart beat. Nowhere to run at all, only to go forward through it. 

It hurts, but you think you might be tired of it hurting for once. 

“I think.” You swallow. Roughly. “I think I need some help.” 

EPILOGUE

You stare at your hand. Curling your fingers in until you make a fist, until the light of your bones shows through your pale skin, and: release. Faint imprints like dark moons, a neat row of dark where your nails pressed in. 

Long lifeline, someone once told you. You no longer remember their face. 

There’s a scar, just there. A faint sliver of something across the thick of your thumb. You’d gotten that somewhere lost in the House apparently, although you’re not sure when. Things had gotten a little… fuzzy, for a while. You think you must have grabbed for the glass again, more instinct than anything, when you stopped being able to tell where your hands and teeth were. 

It’s been a while since everything happened. You’re managed to furl your edges back inside yourself at least, after laying everything out in the most painful and agonizing series of conversations you’ve ever been forced to sit through. There’d been a lot of crying, hugging, reassuring careful touches, but— you made it through. Defeated the King, broke the loops, came out of it with more instead of less. 

Mira had been especially helpful at the end. Her hands gently in yours and her lips pressed flat and nervous across from you, just as stressed about the concept of being honest as you were. “Feelings are. Hard to say, or. Know? I don’t know mine very well. We can practice together, okay?” 

In the face of everyone else’s gungho forward words heavy approach, maybe it was good to know you weren’t the only one with a clawing wild need to be seen and not known. Maybe it’s helpful to find out that someone as kind and lovely as Mira doesn’t see the stars in her own words either. 

Isa had also been a rock in ways you always knew he was. Picking up on all the meaning between your words, carefully assessing and listening. Sometimes when he looks at you, you feel the names and places of forgotten homes springing up out of the dark in your heart like they’re waiting to be shared. You’re not sure what it means yet, but he tells you that you have time. 

“Sif!” 

You look up. Sunlight bounces off the water in front of you, a dark roll of ripples and fluttering light that makes you squint. You lift a hand to cover your eyes, the other one still buried in the dirt beneath you.

Isa bounds over, grinning wildly and hair in disarray, holding a squirming Bonnie under one arm. “Sif, Bonnie has something to say to you.”

Bonnie stops squirming, falls limp and flat in Isa’s hold. “Sorry I filled your hat with beans because I was mad at your pun.” 

“And?”

Bonnie scrunches up their face. “And. I’ll make you fritters as much as you want for a week.” 

Isa looks at you hopefully. You hum for a second playfully, hovering your hand in the air before tilting it into a thumbs up. Isa plops Bonnie upright on the ground between you both and pats their head. “See! Nice words, good job BonBon.” 

They cross their arms, kicking at a tuft of grass. You lean over conspiratorially, stage whispering. “It was pretty un-bean-lievable.” 

“No!” Bonnie yells, outraged, lurching forward and stopping. Even in the pits of rage, they’re the sweetest, always checking. You give them a slow nod. 

Bonnie tackles you, all rocket no finesse. “No, no no! No more words from you! You use them for evil!” 

Your vision is entirely flailing limbs for a moment until you can scoop your hands under Bonnie’s armpits and tickle them back. Which involves more flailing and screaming. 

“Jeeze, you guys,” Isa laughs. 

“Is siblicide being considered?” You hear Odile ask dryly. 

“On my watch, M’dame? You wound me!” 

“You are quite literally just standing here, watching, Isabeau.” 

“Got me there.”

Neither of them move in to save Bonnie at all, and Bonbon shrieks with rage at the betrayal. Or would, if you were not poking them repeatedly in the sides and turning their outrage into a round of giggling. 

“No!” Bonnie squeaks, slapping at you ineffectively. You decide to let them up, purely out of the kindness of your heart rather than because they’ve earned their freedom. You pat them on the head. Bonnie scrambles up to their feet instantly, leaning down with their hands on their feet and a pout on their face. Something in their eyes still looks vaguely worried, though, which isn’t allowed. 

You wink at them. “Fritters sound great, Bonbon.” 

They huff, and poke you once in the chest. “Good! I’ll make so much you’ll barf!” 

“Okay!” Mira calls, “The picnic is ready everyone!” 

Isa reaches his hand out towards you, smiling widely. The sun streams across the side of his face, making his eyes twinkle at you— stars, it’s all stars. For once, thinking of them doesn’t make you yearn for anything more than being right here. 

You take his hand, and let him pull you to your feet.

“Do you think they got those cheeses again?” Isa asks.

You shrug. Odile pauses the book she’s reading to hum thoughtfully. “Well, our dear Mirabelle did say she was ‘pulling out all the stops’ for the venue, whatever that entails. Something about giving Petronile and our new friends a full welcome to the party celebration?” 

“Not without me!” Bonnie gasps. “I’m the snack leader, no snacks without me!” 

Isa pats them on the shoulder, looping his other arm lightly around your shoulders. “I’m sure they only bought the ingredients expecting you to make something super cool, Bonbon.” 

Bonnie huffs, and breaks off into a run ahead. “I’ll just make sure!” 

You laugh, and lean ever so slightly into Isa’s warmth at your side. It’s. Nice, really. To be full of enough warmth on your own, that this can just be that: nice. 

“Should I warn them?” You ponder, looking up at Isa. He’s blushing slightly, surprisingly, and takes a second to register your question. 

“Oh, that Loop’s got that thing about cheese?” He hums dramatically, looking up at the clear sky. “Nah. It’s not like they’ll actually tell them.” 

It’s true. If there’s one thing you know about this strange new dynamic you’re stumbling into, is that Bonbon has Loop wrapped entirely around their finger. You’re not sure how that happened— it was a long, difficult few months of convincing and arguing, and one memorable ‘fight to the death turned crying session’ to even convince Loop to talk to any of them. The moment Bonnie had grabbed Loop’s hand though and very loudly shouted ‘thank you for making sure Frin was okay’, you saw it shift. The flicker of their light, the re-orbit. 

They’d always understood you, after all. You wish you could have told them that they were always warm on their own, too. 

Silly, really. That Loop had ever thought they wouldn’t fit in right here with everyone as easy as anything else. 

Your palm itches— you pull at Isa’s arm until he drops it to his side, and slide your hand into his. Locking your fingers together, you breathe. In and out. 

You’re out, the stage is gone. It’s just you and the people that loved you loud enough to pull you through with them. A home to make somewhere new, and somewhere you bring with you.

“Here’s to tomorrow, hm?” You say. You think you mean it. Isn’t that a funny thought?

[honeeysagee]

the art of unraveling - sambucky college au

summary: Sam is just doing his usual college radio shift when a familiar name pops up—icarus, the mysterious listener who only ever sends flirty messages. Joaquin convinces him to hit a campus party after his shift, and that’s where Sam meets James “Bucky” Barnes, the tattooed art major with a reputation. Different worlds, same pull. Maybe icarus isn’t such a mystery after all.

Over 2.7k words

The soft glow of the 'ON AIR' sign drenched the tiny room in the perfect red. Sam Wilson leaned back in his chair, headphones on, fingers drumming lightly against the desk as he queued up the next track. A request from some engineer major trying to make it through the first week of midterms.

His voice, warm and smooth, filled the airwaves.

"And that was 'Electric Feel' for Naomi over at Hale Hall. Keep those requests coming, y'all - let's make it through another long night of midterms together."

He clicked over to the station’s request page, half-expecting the usual: song dedications he never quite made it through, stressed-out rants, or the occasional inside joke that only his most dedicated listeners would understand.

And there is was, right at the top of the queue.

you sound tired tonight. should be getting some sleep. don't let them run you ragged, sunshine. - icarus

Sam, huffing a quiet laugh, reread the message four times before he unfolded the song request. It's always the usual: 'I'm On Fire' by Bruce Springsteen.

"Before I call it a night, I have one more request," Sam smiled. "We have one more request from from a dear old friend of mine. Stay out of the sun, Icarus."

Sam leaned back in his chair as the opening chords vibrated through the small room. He wondered who Icarus really was. From this tiny booth, they were just another name on a screen—flirting from behind a keyboard, allowing Sam to be himself without the big smiles or polished answers expected of him.

Sam let the music fill the silence, feeling a strange comfort in the distance between him and Icarus—the freedom to drop the act, even if just for a little while. But the screen’s glow couldn’t replace real life, and as the last notes faded, reality crept back in.

The booth door creaked open and Joaquin popped his head inside, grinning wide. “We're done. Unless you want to go for another two hours?” he teased.

Sam and Joaquin started the campus radio station—WGHR, Wilson Golden Hour Radio—freshman year as a side project, and it quickly became their favorite late-night escape from classes and the chaos of college life. They both grew in popularity, but it was Joaquin who took to the social scene. Sam stayed the voice—the steady presence behind the mic that students tuned in to hear when everything else felt overwhelming. The contrast between them was clear: Joaquin chasing parties, connections, and late-night chaos, while Sam held the calm center, the familiar voice that grounded the campus through its highs and lows.

“WGHR can’t run itself, man.” Sam yawned, the Louisiana drawl slipping into his speech as the minutes ticked by.

Joaquin laughed, shaking his head. “Man, you sound like you need a break from all this. Come on, there’s a party at Sigma tonight. You should come.”

The lie in Sam's mind was forming quickly, but his wingman was even quicker. "No, Sammy," He wrapped his arm around Sam's neck, "If you stay in this room any longer, you're gonna turn red from the neon signs."

Sam groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I got class tomorrow."

Not a lie.

Joaquin smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “All the more reason to loosen up tonight. One night won’t kill you. Besides, you’ve been cooped up in that booth for hours, running everyone else’s lives through a mic but never living your own.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, the weight of textbooks and assignments pressing down on him. The thought of stepping out into the chaos of a crowded party made his chest tighten—but Joaquin’s words stirred something else beneath the surface.

A flicker of rebellion. A whisper that maybe, just maybe, he deserved a night away from the pressure.

“Fine,” he said finally. “One night.”

Joaquin’s grin widened. “Hay un Dios.”

Joaquin had already disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sam with a plastic cup sweating in his hand and a rapidly beating heart. The music thumped around him, bass reverberating through the floor, and the flashing lights made it hard to focus.

He tried to imagine how his sister, Sarah, would react—how she’d laugh louder, dance without hesitation, and make friends in every corner. She was so much more at ease in these moments, the spark in her eyes always brighter than his own.

Sam took a slow breath, reminding himself he didn’t have to be like her. He just had to be here—present, open, willing.

But his chest tightened, a knot of nerves and anticipation twisting inside him. It was one thing to show up, another entirely to let himself be seen.

He scanned the room again, feeling the weight of the noise pressing in, when his eyes landed on someone leaning casually against the kitchen counter—tattoos trailing down one arm, dark hair tousled just right, and a smirk that seemed to challenge the chaos around him.

James “Bucky” Barnes sat only miles—or maybe inches—from Sam. He couldn’t tell. Their worlds had always seemed far apart. Sam, the golden boy, and Bucky, the… everything else.

Sam didn’t despise him. Didn’t like him either. The opinion he’d formed of Bucky from the one time they’d met was just… bland.

They first crossed paths during freshman orientation week, at the campus coffee shop that doubled as a popular hangout.

Sam was hunched over a mountain of textbooks, headphones in, trying to drown out the noise and focus on his reading. Bucky burst in late, drenched from a sudden rainstorm, shaking off water droplets and muttering under his breath.

In his rush, Bucky accidentally bumped into Sam’s table, sending a half-full coffee cup teetering dangerously close to Sam’s open notebook. Without missing a beat, Sam reached out and steadied the cup, saving his notes.

Now, Sam stared at the mess that was Bucky at the party.

Same careless charm. Same presence that drew attention without trying. But this time, he wasn’t soaked in rain—just the soft glow of party lights, leaning into the noise like he belonged there.

Bucky glanced up from his spot at the counter, catching Sam’s stare. That same smirk curved his lips, a silent acknowledgment.

Sam’s chest tightened again. Maybe bland hadn’t been the right word. Maybe he’d just wanted it to be.

He took a sip of his drink—immediately regretting it. Too sweet, too strong, too everything. With a sharp inhale, he forced it down, the burn lingering in his throat.

And before he could think twice, his brain overrode his body. His legs moved on their own, carrying him toward the back door, out of the crush of voices and heat.

The cool air hit him like a reset button.

Sam was a sophomore in college. Straight‑A student. Reliable. Predictable. The kind of guy professors trusted and classmates turned to when they needed notes. He was the golden boy everyone expected him to be.

A picture of his parents sat on his dorm room desk, a constant reminder of everything he was proving himself for. They wanted him to be better than them, to rise higher, go further—but they never gave him the instructions on how.

On his senior night of high school, he’d broken down in tears at the thought. How do you become better than the people you already put on a pedestal? How do you carry that weight without it breaking you?

He exhaled sharply, the party noise muffled behind him. For a fleeting moment, he let himself breathe, unshaped by expectation.

And then—

"Got a light?"

Sam turned, and there was Bucky, stepping into the night with that same easy smirk he always seemed to carry. A cigarette hung from his lips in the most careless manner possible, like it was just another accessory to his effortless cool.

Sam felt a flicker of jealousy—of how Bucky moved through the world like it belonged to him, no weight, no hesitation.

“I don’t smoke,” Sam whispered softly.

Bucky shrugged, pulling the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers. “Didn’t ask if you did. Just figured you might have a light.”

Sam shook his head. “Sorry. No.”

Bucky tilted his head backwards, then dipped it forward again, patting down his pockets in search of a lighter. When he came up short, he slipped the cigarette back into its box with an easy motion and leaned against the railing beside Sam.

The quiet felt eerily comforting compared to the music that vibrated the deck beneath their feet. For a moment, they just stood there, two very different worlds sharing the same pause.

Bucky glanced sideways, his smirk softening just slightly. “You don’t look like you wanna be here.”

Sam let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “What gave it away?”

“The way you’re holding that cup like it’s a shield,” Bucky said, nodding toward Sam’s hand. “And the fact that you’re out here instead of in there.”

Sam looked down at the cup, realizing he was gripping it too tight. “Yeah, well… parties aren’t really my thing.”

"Mine neither."

Sam turned to study him, surprised by the hint of honesty in Bucky’s tone.

“I know you,” Bucky said after a beat. “You’re the voice on WGHR, right? The one who plays Springsteen for that Icarus guy.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard. “You listen to the station?”

Bucky looked genuinely offended, his brows pulling together. “Who doesn’t?”

Sam blinked, a small laugh slipping out despite himself. “Didn’t exactly have you pegged as a late-night radio guy.”

Bucky tilted his head, smirk softening just a little. “Guess you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think I knew you at all.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, glancing back toward the party before returning his gaze to Sam. “But yeah, I listen. Your voice makes the night feel… quieter. Easier.”

That admission sat between them for a beat, heavier than the casual tone Bucky tried to carry.

"You sure you don't have a light?" Bucky asked again.

"Still no."

Bucky shrugged and flicked his cigarette back inside his mouth with a casual flick of his wrist. “Then I better head back to the party. Don’t want to miss all the fun.”

He started to turn away, but then paused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto Sam’s with a sharp, deliberate gaze.

“By the way,” he said, voice low enough to pull Sam closer despite the space between them, “I’m Bucky.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment. The name hit him like a quiet thunder—unexpected, electric. Without thinking, Sam blurted out, “I know.”

Immediately, regret flickered across his face. Why’d he say it so plainly? Was he overstepping?

But Bucky’s smile didn’t waver. Instead, it softened, warmth flooding his gaze. There was something genuine there—an unspoken understanding that made the air between them pulse with possibility.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Bucky said, stepping just a fraction closer. His voice was smooth, confident, but carried a softness that unsettled and intrigued all at once. Sam’s heart hammered, a strange mix of nervous excitement and something deeper stirring in his chest.

He never said his name on the radio. No one cared to ask—it was just the soft voice behind the speakers. So to hear Bucky say it aloud made Sam’s chest tighten, as if it held the weight of every secret he’d never spoken.

That’s completely normal, right?

Bucky turned and melted back into the chaotic glow of the party, but the weight of his words lingered—wrapping around Sam like both a promise and a question.

“And that was ‘Iris’ by The Goo Goo Dolls,” Sam said, playing a hand-clapping sound effect. He adjusted the microphone with such ease you’d never guess he was shaking from anticipation.

Sam took a deep breath, the familiar buzz of the station calming his nerves just enough. Tonight was different, though. The memory of Bucky’s smirk lingered in his mind, making the usual late-night routine feel charged with possibility.

It had been two days. Yet, the affect stayed on him. He hated it. Enjoyed it. Wanted to understand why he couldn't get that damn smile out of his brain.

“Before I start the next track up, I want to go ahead and read some of you guys’ notes.”

Sam’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, then slowly began scrolling through the messages.

“Bob from Willmore Hall says consider joining the Thunderbolts—a small but mighty soccer team. They just need one more player.”

He chuckled, voice softening. “With a small p.s. saying, ‘please, we’re desperate.’”

Another message popped up: “From Steve R. on the debate team — hear it for our hometown heroes, the Avengers! Last night’s football game was our best yet.”

Sam winced, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, Steve, we’re still 1-4. But hey, there’s always room for a comeback.”

The chat lit up with jokes and encouragement, but Sam’s mind wandered, the buzz of the station mixing with a persistent thought of Bucky’s smirk.

Then, a small alert that seem to light up the whole room.

Sam read it out loud -

how was your party? - icarus

A genuine smile spread across Sam’s face. He’d mentioned earlier that he’d been to a party, but he’d never expected anyone to actually care. For a moment, the distance between the mystery of Icarus and the real world felt a little smaller—like maybe someone was paying attention.

Sam hesitated, then smiled softly. “Party was… chaotic,” he said into the mic, voice quieter than usual. “Not really my scene, but I survived.”

He glanced around the empty booth, the silence feeling less heavy somehow.

Almost immediately, his screen lit up with a new message:

don't tell me you nursed your drink all night - icarus

Sam chuckled quietly, the warmth in his voice coming through the mic.

“Guilty,” he admitted. “It was mostly me holding onto that cup like a lifeline.”

Almost instantly, the screen lit up with a new message from Icarus:

funny. I don't think I know you well enough to assume you were just standing on the balcony clutching your drink - icarus

Sam smirked, shaking his head. “Maybe not,” he said softly, voice steady. “But you’ve been around since the beginning of the show. You know me more than I know you.”

He let the moment hang there, brushing off the flirty undertone. Another message didn't come through.

Sam queued up another song.

Sam clicked play on the next track, the soft notes filling the booth as he leaned back in his chair. The silence from the chat felt heavier now, the usual stream of messages paused, leaving a quiet space that made his thoughts louder.

His eyes flicked to the glowing screen, half expecting another message from Icarus, but none came. Instead, he found himself tracing the faint outline of a smile lingering in his mind—the one Bucky had worn that night.

He laid his head againts the computer desk, not worrying about whatever played next. He had selected the perfect nighttime playlist. He slowly drifted off until a well-deserved sleep.

On the screen, just above his head and out of sight, another message popped up.

still don't have a light huh? - icarus

Then, just as fast as it was made, the message was deleted.

masterlist!

[truly-quirkless]

"You don't have to do that, Fatgum." Toshinori exhaled quietly. Truly, he missed the power he wielded as All Might- it often felt like there was so little he could do...he'd been walking one of his old patrols that day- hadn't even really realized it- when he'd spotted a villain,...and old habits died hard. "Besides, the help was more than appreciated. If anything, I should be the one buying you a meal."

Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't been approached about getting Might Tower torn down...though he was far less want to traverse it, anymore- it used to be easy...nowadays, he got looks- more than he used to. He wasn't just 'All Might's personal assistant' anymore- he was All Might, to those people...the shell of the former No. 1.

"I'll show you my favorite place,...but I'm the one paying, alright?"

⟬ @truly-quirkless / s.c ⟭

"Been a while since I was last in the area for longer than a few hours. And now that I'm thinkin' about it, I'm starvin'!" He patted at his empty stomach, the motion prompting a monstrous growl to rumble against his palm. "Hey, here's an idea. Show me your favorite place, and I can treat us both! It's the least I can do for droppin' in last minute like that."

[kpop-reactions-povs]

TXT reaction to your hardships in life ? I’ve struggled in the past with mental health and addiction and was curious how the guys would support you or if it would make them uncomfortable at all, I’m just looking for some hopecore really but I understand if this is an uncomfortable request , I love your work and don’t want to overstep any boundaries 🫶

Thank you so much for your kind words — and please know, you’re not overstepping at all 🫶 This is a deeply human, hopeful question, and I promise to treat it with care and sincerity. What you’ve been through takes immense strength, and asking how someone might respond to that pain with love and support is not only valid — it’s incredibly brave. I also hope that you’re doing better now ❤️ sending all the love

TXT- When their S/O opens up about their hardships in life

Soobin

Soobin wouldn’t be uncomfortable — not for a second. The moment you trusted him enough to open up, he’d listen with his whole heart, his whole soul. He might not say anything right away, just gently pull you into his arms, holding you like you were fragile glass. You’d feel his heartbeat against yours as he whispered,

“Thank you for telling me. That must’ve been so hard to carry by yourself… but you don’t have to anymore.”

He wouldn’t try to fix you — he’d just stay. On the nights when it felt like it was all too much, Soobin would quietly bring you tea, queue up your favorite movie, and sit beside you until your heart slowed down. He’d never pity you — only admire you for surviving. And in his quiet, steady love, you’d find safety.

🐿️ Yeonjun

Yeonjun’s first reaction would be heartbreak — but not because he was scared. Because he felt your pain. His eyes would go soft and shiny the moment you started talking, and he’d reach for your hands, holding them like they were the most precious thing in the world.

“You’ve been through so much… and you’re still standing? That’s not weakness. That’s strength I can’t even imagine.”

He wouldn’t be perfect with his words — he might fumble, get emotional — but he’d make damn sure you never felt judged. Yeonjun would become your biggest defender, the loudest voice in your corner. He’d check in with you constantly, gently, and celebrate every tiny step forward like it was a gold medal. He’d love you louder because of what you’ve been through, not in spite of it.

Beomgyu

At first, Beomgyu might go quiet — not out of discomfort, but because he’s feeling so much he doesn’t know how to say it. He’d probably reach for you in instinct, his hand cradling the back of your head, your foreheads touching.

“I wish I could go back in time and take that pain away. But since I can’t… I’ll stay here, now, and make sure you never go through it alone again.”

He’d want to make you laugh, even on your darkest days — not to distract you, but to remind you there’s still light. He’d research ways to support your mental health, show up at therapy with you if you ever asked, even write you music when the words in your own head feel too heavy. His love would be a warm fire — fierce, comforting, endlessly protective.

Taehyun

Taehyun would listen intensely. No interruptions, no judgment — just quiet, profound presence. He’d want to understand every corner of your experience, not to analyze you, but to see you fully.

“It doesn’t scare me,” he’d say gently. “It makes me want to hold you tighter. You’re not broken — you’re healing. That’s the bravest thing anyone can do.”

He’s practical, so he’d help you build coping tools and healthy routines — but he’d also be deeply emotional when it mattered. On hard nights, he’d sit with you in silence, maybe holding your hand while you both stared at the stars. Taehyun would never see you as a burden. He’d see you as someone remarkable who fought like hell to stay. And he’d love you in a way that always made room for that truth.

Huening Kai

Huening Kai might cry. Not because he’s overwhelmed, but because he cares so much. The idea of you ever being in pain would break his heart — and the moment you opened up to him, he’d gently cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You didn’t deserve any of that. But you’re here. You’re still here. And I’m so proud of you, I could scream it.”

He’d be endlessly gentle, like your heart was a flower he was learning how to hold without bruising. Kai would bring you hope on the days you couldn’t find it — with silly voices, bad puns, spontaneous serenades — anything to make you smile again. And when the shadows came back, he wouldn’t be afraid. He’d hold your hand, look them in the eye, and say,

“You’re not fighting this alone anymore.”

[toiletbulges]

Doorless toilet at school!

Eli ran like he was being chased by fire.

His stomach clenched tighter with each step — the cursed chicken wrap had activated. He rounded the corner into the boys’ toilet, sweat already beading on his forehead.

Inside, the scene was tragic: no stall doors, thanks to the school’s absurd “Open Honesty Facilities Policy.” The place looked like an art installation called “Embarrassment in Echo.”

Malik and Jordan were already seated in stalls 1 and 2 — both gripping their knees, red-faced, letting out the occasional:

“BLRRRT!” “SPLOORCH!”

Eli didn’t hesitate. He took stall 3, dropped his trousers, and—

“PPPPPRRRRRRRBBT!”

Relief. Regret. Shame. All at once.

Then the fourth stall was taken.

Jayden.

The worst person imaginable in this situation. Year 8's prank king. Usually the one filming these moments, not living them.

“Bro…” he gasped, holding his stomach like a man shot in battle. “I was gonna film you—but I—I can’t—”

“GRRRBLLLLLCHHH!!”

He barely sat before he exploded.

“BRRRRRAAAAAAATTTT!!”

Now all four stalls were full. Four open toilets. Four boys. Four active disasters.

Outside, the queue stretched down the hallway. Tommy, Hassan, Lewis, and half the year group were shifting nervously, each clutching their stomachs, eyes darting at the bathroom door.

And that’s when things got even worse.

Enter: Mr. Harrow. The heavy thud of shoes echoed.

The door creaked open.

A deep voice: “What in God’s name is that SMELL?”

Everyone froze.

Mr. Harrow, science teacher and rugby coach, marched into the bathroom like it owed him money. He carried a clipboard. And a cup of coffee.

He stopped. Sniffed. Gagged.

“Sweet mother of methane—”

And then, instead of leaving… he started walking down the stalls.

He saw everything.

One by one, he passed: Malik, Jordan, Eli, Jayden — each boy locked in shame, mid-squat, with pants around their ankles.

“Malik. Jordan. Eli. Jayden,” he said as he walked by. “I feel like I’m meeting the Four Horsemen of Flatulence.”

He reached the fourth stall. Saw Jayden.

Jayden looked up at him in horror. “Sir, PLEASE just go!”

Mr. Harrow sipped his coffee.

Paused.

“Tempting. But I, too, had the wrap.”

He walked calmly to the empty urinal… then stopped.

Turned.

Walked into stall five.

Pulled his trousers down.

And joined them.

Then came the crushing realization.

He reached for the toilet paper roll.

Empty.

Mr. Harrow frowned, pulled out his phone, and dialed.

“Mrs. Peters?” he whispered into the receiver. “Emergency. Bring reinforcements… and some toilet paper. This is war.”

The queue outside shifted impatiently, whispers and groans growing louder.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Peters arrived with a fresh roll and a look of steely determination.

The bathroom was a warzone. Silence fell. Everyone was out of ammo.

“Sir?” Malik croaked.

Mr. Harrow replied from behind the stall wall, voice solemn.

“Boys… this is why you never trust poultry on a Friday.”

Jayden whimpered, “Can we just forget this happened?”

Eli chuckled, surprisingly calm. “I mean… we’re all in it now.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Girl On Fire 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, neglect, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: neglected, you find comfort in another home.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Loki

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself

You don’t know why you’re trying. Why you’ve marked the day on the calendar. Loki’s coming home but nothing’s going to change. Still, there’s a glimmer of hope inside of you that wants him to prove you wrong. 

So it is that you wake up early with a list of to-dos and to-gets. You have a plan. That makes the days a bit easier. When you have something to do, you don’t have time to think. 

You think maybe if your husband comes home to a nice dinner and a tidy home, he might have some epiphany. He might realise he likes it better there then on the road. He might just see what’s been right in front of this the whole time. He might even remember the vows he spoke a decade ago. 

What happened? When did he forget? When did you become an afterthought? 

No, you won’t be. Not forever. He’s just overworked. He’s busy. He has a lot going on. He can’t pay for your lifestyle sitting at home. Get over it. Get over yourself. 

You grab your purse and head out. You have a list. You’re going to make his favourite dish; sesame crusted salmon. You’re no Michelan start chef but you know a few tricks. It feels good to have a purpose, to have something ahead of you. And it will be nice to eat more than the microwave noodle bowls you’ve been living off of. 

You ignore the dirt littered across your walk as you clutch the reusable bags in your fist. You’ll fix that before he gets back. He won’t know the difference. Hell, if you dug up the whole strip, he might not even notice. 

You try not to fixate on it. That’s your problem. You latch onto things and they just build and build until they boil over. You’re a mess. It’s like he always said, you hold onto stuff. You just can’t let anything go. 

The grocery store is busy. The cramped aisles add to your impatience as you search out each ingredient. Why does that woman need to have her cart right there? Why does that man keep inching closer as you’re searching the spice shelf? Back off! 

You join the queue to check out, feeling worse for having made the trip. All the people have you amped up and anxious. People are always so stressful. Why is that customer bitching at the cashier about an expired coupon? They don’t care, they make minimum wage. 

You make sure to offer a smile to the overworked staff. You were once one of them. Loki likes to remind you of that when he remembers you exist. Nope, don’t do that. This isn’t about the past. You’re going to have a lovely dinner and talk and laugh and... try. 

Yeah, you thought the same thing last month. And the month before. 

Your optimism is waning as you come out with your bags over overpriced ingredients. Every time you go shopping, you swear it’s more expensive than the last. You tuck the bags behind the seat and brace yourself for the drive home. The clogged parking lot gives you little hope for a smooth ride. 

The traffic mellows as you reach the suburbs and you slow down and take each speed bump with caution. Children run after each other or walk with parents. You don’t know if you want any but Loki’s not really offering up the chance. His fleeting touches don’t offer much more than his own satisfaction. 

You turn into your drive and rub your lower back as you lift the bags out of the car. You push the door shut with your hip and turn, stutter stepping in place. Something’s different. Your flowers! 

The white and pink tulips are still lost to the squirrel’s mischief but in their place are new stems. Blue petals standing tall. You glance across the street then back again. You’ll have to go over and thank Jonathan. He really didn’t have to do that. 

You’re almost teary-eyed as you get inside. It’s just something small. It’s not that big but it feels like the world. He thought of you. Someone thought of you. 

Were you that pathetic? To go to that effort just to replace some flowers, you must’ve made quite the tragic scene. Suddenly, you’re not so eager to show your gratitude. 

You put everything away and make your way through your list. You check the clock between chores. Scrub the stove, clean the dishes, mop the floors; do everything you neglected in your husband’s absence for your bouts of tears and lazy nights of reading romance novels until you pass out. 

As the hours pass, you feel your stomach fluttering. You’re almost excited to see him. Loki’s coming home and you’re going to make it special for him. And you’re going to ask him that big question. Do you think you could stay home for a bit? 

It’s fear as much as it is excitement. It’s not like you haven’t thought to ask it before. The answer is clear. Each time he leaves, it’s for a little longer. He always tells you the same thing; he has to pay his dues, he has to show that he can do the job. 

Not this time. If he’s not going to change, then you have to. If he won’t stay home, then you’re going to start looking for a job so he can. If you bring in money, then he can’t hold his wallet over your head. Worse comes to worse, it’s a way out. 

Makeup done, hair too, your best dress on, the food is cooking, the house is fragrant with savoury aromas, and you’ve timed it all perfect. It’s almost five. His flight was supposed to get in half and hour ago. 

Your phone vibrates.  You grab your cell from the table by the front door where you left it to charge. It’s him! 

A text. Not a call, just a text. You tap the screen and read it eagerly. Your shoulders drop and you drop your phone. 

‘Won’t be home til ten. Business dinner in town. Big client.’ 

Worse than the disappointment is what he doesn’t say. No ‘love you’, no heart emoji, not even an apology. Just the facts. Just another excuse. 

You don’t respond. What’s the point? You don’t even know why he messaged. You should be flattered that he even bothered. 

You shake your head and drop the phone on the screen. You should’ve expected this. Maybe you did. Maybe you get some sort of thrill out of the rejection. 

The oven beeps. Just in time. You go and take the pan out, silencing the alarm with your thumb. You toss the fish onto the stove and spin away. You want to scream but you just don’t have the energy. You march back to the doorway and stop yourself. 

You take a deep breath and push it all down. The rice is done. You turn it off and the veggies are glistening perfectly. You might not be a professional but damn it looks good. 

You take a glass container from the cupboard and carefully begin to transfer the portions. You make up two full meals. You were precise in your measurements, sure not waste a morsel. You seal the lids and the walls fog up. You stack them and carry them down the hall. 

You steel yourself as you pass through the front door and keep your chin high. The tulips sway gently in the early evening breeze. You get to the curb and muster a smile. You cross and march up to Hattie’s house. The old woman has been reclusive of late but by her nephew’s report, you can assume why. 

You go to the front door and ring the bell. Your stomach is churning again, in a much different way. You wait, doubt rising with each second. You’re about to turn away when Jonathan answers the door. He’s just as you remember; strangely familiar but refreshingly not. 

You swallow and stamp your smile in place, “I just wanted to say thanks for the flowers. They’re lovely.” 

You hold out the containers and his brows rise, “oh, you didn’t need to do all this.” He takes them, his warm fingers brushing against yours, “that’s so nice. And it wasn’t any trouble. It was getting crowded in the garden.” 

“The least I can do,” you insist. 

“Don’t you look wonderful? Special occasion?” He looks you up and down. When’s the last time a man did that? 

“Oh, uh, no... not anymore,” you look away, “anyway, I hope you enjoy. Salmon, jasmine rice, and some roasted veg. Nothing very special.” 

“Ah, but it is,” he says, “unfortunately, my aunt’s already abed and she has a very strict diet,” he intones, “so... would you like to join me? I’m afraid it’s all too much for just me.” 

He raises the containers and examines them. You’re too embarrassed to admit what’s happened. It would also be insulting to admit the food isn’t even meant for him. 

“I’ve some wine that would pair nicely with fish,” he continues, “and good company.” 

You consider his offer as you peek over your shoulder. Your house looks ominous like a horror movie. Empty and dark. There's nothing for you there. You face him again. 

“I’d love to.” 

[crazykitsch]

Heyyy can you please write Hector x Reader were reader is a team mates little sister and her and Hector hate each other but then he gets a little hurt (like in the match against athletic club. He doesn’t get injured just a little hurt.) and then she’s all worried about him and then they confess their feelings to each other??

Hector Fort: playing with fire

pairing: hector fort x reader

warnings: none

❝My mom told me everyday to be careful of men. Because love is like playing with fire, it can get you hurt. My mom might be right, because when I see you my heart burns.❞

I’m sitting here alone and bored while my brother Joao Felix is training with the rest of the team. I’m assuming they’re done now since I see Joao, Lamine, Hector and Marc walk over. ‘Hi y/n.’ my brother says and I smile at him. I see Hector standing next to me and my smile fades.

‘No need for you to be so bratty about it.’ He says and I roll my eyes. He’s.. quite attractive- but then again so annoying. I don’t get how one person can always get on my nerves.

‘Roll your eyes further, hope they get stuck.’ He says and Marc says ‘If you want to see her roll her eyes you might need to do it in a less public place.’ Before I can even say anything I hear Joao say ‘Okay, this is our queue to go.. let’s go Y/n.’ and he walks away so I follow him.

We arrived at our families house and I sit on the couch. ‘You two would be cute together, you know.’ Joao jokingly says. I roll my eyes and say ‘You would look very cute in a casket, you know.’ and I can hear him laugh.

‘Are you still coming to the match tonight?’ Joao asks me and I nod yes. Whenever they have a home game I come with him to support him. We really like to annoy eachother but we’re also very supportive of eachother.

big time skip

It’s now saturday night, match time. The match started 1 minute ago and Guruzeta scored..

About 25 minutes later Lewandowski luckily scored and 10 minutes later Lamine scored!

Just when i’m having faith in today’s match I see Sancet scoring in the 49th minute making it 2-2.

5 minutes later I see Hector with the ball and Williams running towards him. Williams lightly tackels Hector but I can still see he’s a bit hurt. I feel a sense of worry grow inside of me. I know i’m supposed to hate him.. but I can’t help but like him.

Now its the end of the match, Barcelona lost 4-2.

I finally see Joao and the rest but I can’t help but walk towards Hector as I see he’s still a little hurt. ‘Are you okay? Did it hurt a lot? Are you still hurt?’ I say worriedly. He looks at me, smiles and says ‘Are you worried about me?’. I roll my eyes and say ‘Just answer my question.’

‘Im fine, don’t worry about it. Why do you care though?’ He says. I don’t know what to say so as usual, I just decide to roll my eyes. After we did that I accidentally make eye contact. I expected him to look away yet he didn’t.

We kept holding eye contact and there grew a certain tension. ‘Y/n? Why were you worried.’ he asks me and I can feel myself getting stressed. ‘I… ehm. Well I guess I sort of- maybe- have like.. well I think you are a tiny bit sweet and attractive.’ I accidentally say. I need to learn how to think before I act.

He smiles and says ‘Think? Or know? Because if you know then I might have to say something to you.’ i’m a bit confused now, so I say ‘Then tell me what it is.’ He replies ‘I think you are sweet and attractive too.’ Okay now im reaally confused.. but also a bit happy I guess? I can’t help but smile at his words and then I hear him say ‘Would you like to maybe go on a date with me?’ okay now my smile grew a bit bigger and I say ‘Yes.’ to him!

I can see Joao walking over to us and he says ‘What happened? Thought you two hated eachother.’ Now me and Hector look at eachother and smile.

A/n: William Shakespeare would be so upset if he read this..