#and its too late for him to do anything else. and its fascinating to me how much dean kind of really hates this life. i mean he does enjoy

[diorstarr]

[scriptumsempra]

Constellations

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC (no use of Y/N) Warnings: No major warnings. Just yearning, freckles, and a touch of denial. Summary: She counted steps to the stars. Until one day, she started counting freckles instead. A quiet night, a library glance, and a realisation that not all constellations live in the sky.

Six hundred fifty-five steps—give or take a breath or a stumble.

Fifty gone with the shortcut through the courtyard. Another eight, if her laces behaved and she didn’t have to circle back. She was headed to stargaze—naturally. The stars were the only thing she’d ever chased, but thank Merlin Arithmancy hadn’t been a total waste.

Six hundred seventy-four… six hundred seventy-five. Twenty more since she last counted— from the quiet of her bed to where the sky spun its silver thread. She was made of rituals. Same stones, same shortcuts, same breath held through the moving stair, same hundreds of steps. All for a bit of sky. The stars had always been her refuge. On quiet nights, she’d find herself counting her steps to Astronomy Tower, a borrowed telescope on one arm and ink-stained cuffs brushing the charts rolled under the other.

There was something infinite about the cosmos, something that made her feel small in the best possible way. She adored how the patterns connected across the night sky, drawing maps of stories and myths older than Hogwarts itself.

But lately—somewhere between Aries and Andromeda—her rituals began to shift. Her fascination towards constellations remained; if anything, it just took on a new shape : less chart, more chaos. It drifted from the heavens to something—or rather, someone—far closer. Less sky, more freckles. They were distracting. Not in an irritating way, but in a way that made her chest tighten every time he leaned in—no matter how close. They dusted his face like tiny stars—scattered across his cheeks and nose in patterns she itched to trace (if only her courage let her. But courage? That’s for Gryffindor). She noticed them once. Occasionally twice. His freckles were magnetic—subtle, quiet, yet utterly consuming. And perhaps worst of all: they looked too much like the stars she’d spent her days chasing. Those constellations on his face—She didn’t merely see them. She studied them. As though their arrangement might reveal something hidden. Sacred. Something no one else had thought to look for.

“You’re staring,” Sebastian said one afternoon in the library, his voice lazy, teasing, not even looking up from his parchment.

“I’m not,” she shot back—too fast, too unconvincing.

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward—too close, if you asked. “You are,” he insisted, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t tell me you’re finally falling for my devilish good looks.” She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush creeping into her cheeks. “You mean delusional.” But her retort lacked their usual edge, and Sebastian must have noticed because his grin tilted, then softened. Less mischief, more curiosity. “Alright, then,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “If you’re not staring, what are you doing?” She hesitated. Her gaze flicked—betraying her—to the dusting of freckles on his cheeks. “Nothing,” she muttered, far too quietly to be convincing. “Nothing,” he repeated, leaning closer still. His voice dropped, low and teasing.

A pause.

“Is this about my freckles?”

Her breath hitched. Fingers twitched. He caught her—red-handed. Say no. Laugh it off. Change the subject. But instead, the truth slipped through. “They look like constellations.”

Sebastian blinked, his playful smirk faltering. For once, he seemed genuinely taken aback. “Constellations?” he echoed, his tone softer. She nodded, her cheeks burning under his gaze. “Yeah,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “They remind me of the stars.” Beautiful. (Not that she’d ever say it out loud.) The silence that followed was deafening. She risked a glance, fully expecting him to laugh or make some witty remark. No laughter. No remark.

Instead, his expression softened in a way she rarely saw, his usual cheekiness giving way to something far more vulnerable. “Stars, huh?” he said at last, the corners of his lips tugging into the faintest of smiles—soft, hesitant. Uncertain. Her heart stumbled, her fingers clutching the edges of her parchment in a desperate attempt to ground herself. “Don’t let it get to your head, Sallow,” she mumbled, voice lacking its usual bite. His grin returned, warmer this time, more sincere. “Too late,” he said, leaning back slightly but still watching her as though her words had carved a small, permanent place somewhere inside him.

Later that night, as she sat under the vast expanse of the night sky, her telescope pointed toward Orion, her thoughts lingered on him. It felt absurd, comparing freckles to the stars. But as she traced the familiar lines of the constellations above, she couldn’t help but think of him—

Of the patterns she’d memorised on his face.

Of the way he’d looked at her in the library, as though she’d just handed him the universe. Another six hundred and seventy-five steps. Another night spent chasing more than stars.

Astronomy was her favourite subject. And Sebastian? He was her favourite constellation.

[storiesoflilies]

as we fall, time is broken

synopsis: from the sea you came to me, and to the sea you shall return, for you cannot hate the place you once called home. w.c: 6.3k.

pairing: vampire!toji fushiguro x vampire!f!reader

warnings: major character death, angst, toxic relationship, allusion to smut, blood consumption, language barrier, pirate vibes, religious themes. sfw but MDNI!

a/n: an extra special fic for the wonderful @bungalowbear this piece is also written as a tribute to ‘the odyssey’ by @lovenona <3

divider / ao3 / playlist / @ficsforgaza

she used to have it all once, and more.

and not so long ago, she even used to dream. maybe she still did sometimes, but it certainly never meant what it used to.

perhaps that is why she came back here all the time, to the place where it all began to try and relive it all again. to turn back time, attempt to break through a metaphysical barrier and maybe – just maybe – she could see him again.

it was a cathartic, toxic, addictive cycle.

this is what pain is. this is what love is.

the rain was coming down hard on the sand, little water angels falling down from heaven to try and comfort her.

(that was a place she could never go.

this was as close as she could get.)

she tipped her neck upwards to the blackness of the night, letting them pass through her like a blessing she could not accept. it was too late for her to be worrying about that now. life had already hurt her so, and she’d already paid her dues. still, she raised her arms above her head, imagining a halo of starlight and moonlight was there.

she was doomed to be here, you see, all alone and trying to make sense of how it all began. like the start of a book she had to keep re-reading over and over again to try and understand the past. she couldn’t give up now, no. no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t, not after all this time.

something was broken, she could feel it.

sighing, she flicked open the cover.

and the memories spilled out onto the weather worn pages again, incoherent inky letters slowly swirling into something legible.

this is the last time, she swore.

(even though,

that is what she said the last time.)

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

the sea was in her lungs, filling her with salt and death.

(no, not death.

that was already upon her.)

she was washed up on a beach, that much she knew. there was the smell of fresh seaweed and something fishy, and the waves were moving backwards and forwards in their dance. she stayed put, unable to move or do anything at all. the silver sky had its eyes on her, and it seemed to pity her.

no.

calling it silver made it beautiful, and it was not. it was like ashen skin kissed with coal dust, and she pitied it instead.

she tenderly rubbed the wet sand of the shore with her fingertips, feeling its somewhat smooth grainy texture run over her skin, and tried to loose herself in a tender fascination to escape how bone weary she felt. her throat burned ferociously, and her lips were cracked and sore from the salt grains embedded in every groove. she weakly looked up, and did not recognize where she was, or how she got here.

(there was a boat. the smell of oil and rum, and screams of bubbling blood.

she did know, she just did not want to remember.)

her back was to the sky. she could feel the heat of sun bearing down upon her with a vengeance she had never known it could possess. it kept her beaten and downed, unable to do anything at all as the waves rushed over her again and again. the sea was disgusted by her, she thought. and after spitting her out, it was trying with all its might to push her far away from it – a petulant child pushing away it’s dinner.

how very sad it all was.

she just wanted to lay there and dream.

the roaring and crashing of the waves was deafening. it hurt her ears and head more than the sun did, made her deaf to everything else around her.

a squelch on the sand, and hard boot pressed into the side of her cheek.

her salt crusted eyes cracked open.

it was a man.

(no, he wasn’t.

he was just like her.)

tall and built, his hair dark like smoke. she could tell he was strong, it poured from him like wine from an overflowing goblet. it was in his hands and in his eyes of emeralds and forests. there was a green fire in them that could burn her alive if he wanted it to. he looked down at her like she was scum, an ugly barnacle leaching off the bottom of his ship, and she wanted nothing more than to shrivel up into nothingness.

his mouth moved, saccharine words spilling out from between them like honey and lavender.

she thought he sounded like an angel.

but she couldn’t understand a thing.

a green flash of annoyance, and he repeated much more slowly what sounded like a question. the weight of his boot left her cheek, and she clicked her jaw painfully. he pursed his lips, and sighed in a way that let her clearly know she was already an inconvenience to him.

she wanted to cry.

(she could never,

there was no water left in her anymore.)

her voice tried to claw its way out of her dried throat, but nothing more than a pathetic, raspy wheeze came out. he raised a thick brow at her, and something sarcastic flew out of his mouth. what little interest he had in her was quickly waning.

she was to him like sand in an hourglass.

please don’t leave me here like this.

but he had already turned around. she saw the worn leather of his tanned boots walking further away from where she laid in her mausoleum of salt. she almost choked on the shoreline in fear, sputtering as a desperate strength seized her. her fists plunged into the wet sand as she pushed herself up ungracefully, falling almost immediately back in again.

she was a lamb learning to walk, and he was the wolf who had decided she wasn’t even worth his effort.

he stopped and turned, watching her stare up at him with a naive expression and sand plastered on her face.

clearly, he would not be helping her.

and so she got up sluggishly, stumbling through the sand dunes, her legs crisscrossing with every shaky step. every time she fell roughly straight on her chin, he did not budge an inch forward, did not seem to care at all.

and yet, he was still waiting for her.

her spent body was alight with renewed vigor, and the last few steps were easy, like her new body knew exactly what it was supposed to do now. she stood in front of him now, breathing in the scent of leather and his smoke.

was it disgust or pride that was making his lips curl?

his face was marble, beautiful and utterly unreadable. this was a man that did not want anybody breaking through into his soul. she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she slipped through a little crack.

(she was good at that.

after all, that was how she ended up like this.)

he roughly gripped her chin, calloused fingertips scratching her water wrinkled skin. his green eyes became slits that peered into her, trapping her in his spell. she gasped, a wet noisy thing, as she felt herself being pulled under into his depths. he was trying to dull her senses, to keep her dumb and overwhelm her in a dancing forest of kelp to drown her.

but the side of her that was logical and predatory knew that he was testing her. to see if she could resist him or not, to surmise if she could be of some use to him and his purposes after all.

but oh, this feeling.

she teetered dangerously on a knife edge between insanity and mortality, stuck in an infinite loop that was him and his green.

there was only this, them, here and now.

his gaze slid down and settled on her bare chest. she became hyper aware of her own nakedness. something ancient, a feminine violence, stirred her unfeeling heart. she slapped away his hand and bared her fangs of pearl at him.

it was a woeful display really.

she knew it, and he certainly did too.

still, something in it had made him smile.

he offered her his hand like salvation, his palm facing the heavens.

(the first woman from long ago screamed.

you will not survive this – him.)

but she was already dead, and he already seemed to know everything there was to know about her. she had already decided that she would follow him wherever he went.

she slid her palm into his.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

his name was toji.

he’d pointed a finger at himself, slowly repeating the two syllables between his blood-stained lips until she understood what he meant.

toji.

she swiped her tongue over her teeth, licked her lips, and said it back to him tepidly, like crystal water trickling from a jug. his name was sugar dusted over her cupids bow, the most precious and sweet thing to her. she said his name like a prayer, and he seemed pleased by it.

toji was by far the most interesting creature she had ever encountered. a prince of mysteries, shrouded in royal mist and smoke.

(but he could never be king.

for there was already one, and he did not share.)

even though she had seen much and more of the world, nothing compared to him. not the great glaciers of the poles, for all their silent sorrow and imposing grandeur. not the swarming godly manta rays, nor the iridescent palaces of rainbow coral. not even the green flashes of death when the sun was just beginning to sleep or rise for the day.

and yet, toji had been there in glimpses within all the world’s greatness.

she had just been blind to him.

below the deck of toji’s ship, they lay there on the dusted-covered wooden floor in absolute silence, waiting out their penance. the sun was the vengeful michael, its rays of light a sword of justice, ready to bear down on them. if they dared to even show a sliver of skin during the day, then they would boil and blister and pop until they returned to the refuge of darkness.

toji’s ship was anchored a little way from shore, but far enough that ordinary creatures could not get to it without a boat. it had once belonged to fishermen, she knew because their smell still clung faintly to the wood; of grease and sweat and their catch. the oversized clothes toji had scrounged for her amongst the forgotten treasures on the ship still reeked of them too. the lingering sweet smell of lobster and crab shells still clung to the worn threads, even though they had been disused and covered in dust for perhaps decades.

her body could do things like that now.

it was easy to marvel at her extraordinary changes during those times of silence. how her skin was made of diamonds and moonstone, stronger than it had ever been before. no matter how hard she tried to pierce it, whether with her own nails or sharp bits of metal lying around the ship, nothing could even scratch it. but when she had attempted to use a splintered plank of wood, toji had grappled her before she could blink. the suddenness of it sent her into a hissing, flailing mess, but his overwhelming strength and stern glare in his eyes had stilled her, even frightened her.

she knew then to never try that again.

between the cracks in the boards, she could see far out into the distance. could make out where the world curled, where the sea kissed the land, and the humans that gathered mussels between the rocks. she could even tell how dirty and grimy their clothes were, how soaked they became as the waves crashed into them, and their reddening skin glistening beneath the sun.

her hearing had sharpened too, and she knew that if not for the deafening roar of the sea filling her ears like white noise, she would be able to hear things moving from miles away.

but her favorite thing?

that was to run.

for hours, she would race beneath the ship, from one end to the other, touching the stained wood with her finger tips as she pushed off each wall. toji would sometimes watch her with one eye cracked open, completely unamused. she would not stop running until her throat burned with thirst, fierce and hot. only then then would she would stop, collapsing in a heap on the bare floors, blankly staring up at the decking.

it was then that their silence was all consuming, unbearable.

she couldn’t help but think she had traded her tomb of salt for one of wood. sleep was but a memory of life now, an escape neither of them could indulge in anymore. there was nothing she could do but be consumed by thought and time. she was surprised by just how much she could feel. her veins ran with pure emotion, from the most euphoric joy, to merciless, crushing sadness in the space of a few minutes.

what was her purpose now?

immortality surely had to mean more than being a slave to blood magic.

she imagined what toji thought about. he, perhaps wisely, never moved an inch when he settled beneath the ship, arms crossed behind his thick head of hair. she wondered if he was just as painfully thirsty as she was, and was just able to perfectly hide it. what little movements he made were never careless, because toji was far too calculating for that and hated anything unnecessary.

she knew better than to antagonize him.

but the restless part of her was just so incredibly bored.

one day, she couldn’t help herself. she wanted to see just how close toji would let her get. she crept towards him on her hands and knees, knowing full well that he could hear her skin scraping against the wood.

still, he didn’t move.

she was beside him now, gazing down at his face. toji looked serene like this, perfectly still. like death, wonderful and mysterious, not at all what she thought it would be like. he was not unfeeling and cold, there was something beneath his marble stone. she knew that toji was older than her, much older. there was something beautifully ancient about him. the sort of grace that was as timeless as the giant blue whales that used to sing to her of the histories.

but toji was her home in a way the seas had never been.

she reached out into the space between them, wanting – yearning – to feel his skin beneath her fingertips.

when she finally felt the cold touch of his death, toji opened his eyes, bathing her in molten emerald. she melted under his gaze, letting out the tiniest, pathetic whimper. her palm cupped the apple of his cheek, and she worshipped his ichor and perfection. she traced the scar on his lip, memorizing it smoothness, then trailed it along his lips. she smiled widely, childishly, at how freely toji was allowing her to do this.

his green fire spread to her undead heart, and she wetted her lips, throat burning ardently, as her hand settled over his neck.

what would his blood taste like?

would it be cold and sweet? she imagined its ruby redness trickling from between her lips, and–

toji gripped her wrist, a warning blaze setting her aflame as he snarled and flashed his fangs at her.

she stilled, crippling shame filling her.

for a moment, the universe watched with bated breath as the two creatures stared each other down. she submitted to him instantly, dragging herself with haste to the other end of the ship, groping for apologetic words that toji would never understand.

eventually, he grunted dismissively. he slowly pulled himself upright, and nudged his head toward the exit. she turned and stared out through the cracks in the boards behind her.

it was finally night.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

wherever they were in the world, it was the most unremarkable of places.

the humans here were stones hardened into the mould of this desolate place, with no hope of ever leaving. they all lived and died in their sad, grease-riddled town that made its living from the fish in the sea. she knew this because toji had taken her there one day to observe them all from a distance, when the storm clouds were heavy enough to shield them from the sun. their buildings were stained with guts and old blood, and the acrid smell of their oil lamps rose high into the air. the rhythmic sound of fish scales being scraped away was the beating heart of it all.

(she would have cried for them once,

but she did not belong to their world anymore.)

there was a port too, with sullen ships and even more sullen crew sailing them. pirates came and went with the wind, their unmarked sails pitifully flapping in the breeze. they stopped to indulge in whatever bars and brothels were there, always wiping their hands clean on their weather-stained pants when they were done, before hastily escaping back into the sea. perhaps they knew they would be doomed to remain here too if they stayed even a moment longer.

how toji ended up in a place like this, she did not know.

after swimming to shore from his ship, he would leave her on the beach. everytime she attempted to follow, toji would pin her down, shoving her arms deep into the sand and baring his alabaster fangs as a warning. she would pout her lips, petulantly crossing her arms like a child, and he would mumble what she knew were the blackest of curses before stalking off in the direction of the town.

she had no say in the matter.

all she could do was wait there for him to return, and such had been their routine for decades now.

even when her thirst was painful, she would still sprint along the beach, the adoring motherly moonlight kissing her skin. she would wade into the ocean and dive beneath the blackened waves, holding her breath between puffed out cheeks. the darting squid would watch her with their bulbous, intelligent eyes. they used to speak to her once, wrap their tentacles around her throat and tell her stories of creatures from the depths even she had dared not go to.

and now?

they spat their thick ink at her in disgust.

and then she would resurface, relishing in the loneliness of the world, and she would sing again.

to the ocean, and ode to its life and all its cruel misery.

she would sing to the moon, for its silver death and all its mystery.

(and to the king with red eyes.

for it was by his hand that the cards had dealt her a prince.)

her songs for toji came from someplace deep within her. something boundless like fire, or the mist hovering over the sea on the grayest of mornings. she would sing of how he curled over her skin like a storm rolling in from the distance. how he made her emotions rise and fall like the waves, and how she wanted to breath in the dust on his marble skin and keep him inside her forever.

her body would prickle with something unfamiliar.

she wanted to call it love.

but could creatures like them even feel such a thing?

they were predators, killers. they snuffed out love like it was nothing, fed on the ardor in the blood of their prey until the bodies shriveled and there was nothing left but dust.

thud!

she ceased her melody, and turned to face who she already knew was toji returning from the hunt.

there was a man sprawled on the sand reeking of piss and terror and rum. she watched as the moonlight mixed with the bead of sweat running down his temple, dripping down to mix with the crushed shells in the sand.

she tilted her head curiously.

in all these long years, toji had never once brought her a live human.

thump! thump! thump!

her pupils dilated, inky blackness invading the milky sea of her eyes at the sound of the man’s heartbeat.

she had not killed a living thing in so long.

(the red king had sat at the helm,

smiling at the bloody carnage spilled over the oak decking of his ship.)

toji’s eyes were green lanterns in the night, his worn leather boot pressing down hard on the man’s back. she wondered if this was a test – it had to be. toji never did anything without reason, even if she never knew exactly what went on in his mind. he was too cunning for mindless havoc, because then the resulting mess would be uncontrollable, unpredictable.

and toji did not like things to be messy.

the man looked at her, and she cooed at the fear etched into his features like scratchings on a rock. she opened her arms wide like a messiah, her body half-swallowed by the sea.

and started to sing again.

toji’s eyes widened a fraction, his fists tightening into boulders. he lifted his foot from the man’s back, stepping once, then twice backward, his mouth set in a thin line.

(he has heard you sing, and now he shall never let you go.

cried the first woman from long ago.)

she knew the magic was no longer imbued within her voice, because that had been a gift for the living. but death had not made it ugly. it was still a pretty voice, made from ice instead of salt. while she may not be able to drown the mighty ships of pirates any longer, it was still enough to captivate those who would kill for something more beautiful than the dirt they were born in.

the man stumbled forward, much like when she had first emerged from the sea. she smiled fondly as the wind carried her song over the sand dunes. still, the poor human crawled and crept towards her desperately like she was his salvation. the only rone who would soothe away all his troubles, and save him from the doom and demons in the shadows.

was this how toji had felt when she came to him? it was something more than power – godlike, perhaps.

she decided that she liked this feeling.

the man collapsed ungracefully into her arms, tears and snot streaming down both his cheeks like rain, babbling nonsense she could not understand. she cradled him to her chest, hushing him soothingly with a mother’s honeyed tongue. she met toji’s gaze, hoping that he could see just how deliriously grateful she was to him for this gift.

and with that, she fell backward into the sea, the man’s last sound a choking gasp of salt.

the squid darted frantically all around her, the only witnesses to the man’s fate in the darkness of the night sea. they had seen this dance a thousand and one times before; she killed in the death the same way she had in life.

when she had had her fill, she let the man’s body sink and hoped that at least the sharks would be somewhat thankful to her.

even if she would never be able to hear it.

she emerged from the sea, her clothes clinging to her skin like scales. to her surprise, toji was there to greet her, knee deep beneath the waves. he was a haunting vision of an angels grandeur, more than all that was considered beautiful in the world. breathlessly, she smiled at him, sinful blood coating her teeth and tongue.

he took a step toward her, and she to him.

toji moved his head to the side, his marble jaw flashing in the moon, and hummed. she could tell he was pleased by the tremble of his lips that threatened to curl upward, and the flare of his nostrils as he breathed her in.

his hand reached out to her, cupping her jaw, and quickly pushed his thumb between her parted lips. she gasped against his skin as he rubbed it over her teeth and the pearly points of her fangs, and removed it from her mouth with a provocative pop!

slowly, toji brought it to his own lips.

and sucked.

she watched him, utterly transfixed as the midnight moon, as he relished the taste of iron and salt.

in that moment, she decided to give toji her soul to him if she had one. she would submit herself to the justice of michael’s sun and fire to be with him forever, even if was just for a chance to be loved by him until the end of time on this miserable land in the vast world.

“do you want me to sing again?” she asked, hoping he understood.

toji only hummed in response, the faintest hint of a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

she did it anyway.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

to love toji was to love a storm.

its chilling anticipation, waiting for it to hit her so she could feel something. to be in its green eye, for the rain to carelessly slash her skin, and the waves to bash against her – and still love and endure it regardless. because to weather a storm was to be strong, to be worthy enough, and it would love her all the more for it.

(or perhaps,

see her as a challenge to break.)

and when the storm passed, it meant they would thrive together.

toji had continued to bring her one starved man after the other, sometimes even two at a time, all far too eager to take their chances with her rather than him. they were pirates, forgettable and disposable, and all met death in the sea that they claimed to love more than anything. toji had noticed quite quickly how easily they came to her, how willingly.

there was no struggle, no mess.

and so, that was how they hunted.

together.

something in her haunting song had cracked through toji’s wall. before dawn, satiated from the hunt, they were a tangled mess of limbs and panting breaths – dancing, wandering hands of liquid gold looking for a crevice to settle in. when they made love, toji never faced her, hissing if she tried to look at him, and a small part of her soul would wither into a burnt, blackened rose. still, she desperately drank in whatever he decided to give her, and that was decidedly good enough.

(you are nothing in the grand schemings of the green serpent in the garden,

sighed the first women from long ago.)

their days were still spent mostly in silence, though sometimes he allowed her to rest beside him. she did not understand toji, how his passion only seemed to awaken after his bloodlust had been quenched – after she had led the sailors to their deaths. the very moment the sun appeared, that part of him was locked away in a chest and thrown to the bottom of the sea, only to be dragged back to the surface when the moon returned.

she began to loathe the sun for entirely different reasons.

still, love for toji was where she found herself. if anything in this mortal world could make her undead heart beat once more, it was that love. so, she took all his faults and smothered them in sugar, and swallowed them down anyway. if toji did not love her, then he wouldn’t make her feel so alive when the moon came out to play. he would not have bothered with anything at all if he did not feel something, even if it was just a flicker of candlelight.

at least, that is how she rationalized it to herself.

they were both lying below deck, with her running through those very conflicting thoughts in her head when she heard it.

thump! thud, thud… thump!

she parted her lips and tasted the air on her tongue.

intruders.

on their ship, in broad daylight.

she sat up abruptly and whirled around to look at toji.

but he had already disappeared.

he was much faster than she, and was probably already tucked away somewhere in between the dusty maze of crates and chests. the footsteps grew louder as the stranger passed directly over her head, and she swallowed nervously. her mind raced, and throat burned viciously with thirst.

where could she hide?

rattle! clink, clink!

the metal latches on the doors were being disturbed.

there was nowhere to go, but she knew that when those doors opened, the holy sun of heaven would surely kill her. she spied a large chest, half-open and draped with worn sheets covering it, and dove toward it.

and not a moment too soon.

the doors swung open, and she winced as a dull beige light filtered through the sheet. there were three of them, their figures outlined as blurry browned shadows through the seams. one wore an ostentatious hat with a feather peeking out from the top, and something about his sword, sheathed in a black leather scabbard, set her teeth on edge.

something menacing.

something that could hurt her – toji.

her lips curled back over her gums, baring her fangs in a silent snarl.

they were moving deeper and deeper into the maze of crates, their backs gradually turned to her and their doom.

she pounced.

michael’s sword of light seared her exposed neck and arms, but it did not deter her from latching onto one of the smaller intruders and sinking her teeth into his neck. the man screamed, clawing desperately at her face as he slipped backwards in surprise. the other two whirled around, and the one with the hat unsheathed his sword to reveal gleaming, cruel silver.

together, the four of them danced around each other to the tune of blood and silver. for every weeping bite she left, the captain slashed her with his sword. she didn’t know it could be possible, but the pain from his strikes hurt her more than the sun did. it was a chaotic scuffle, born from instinct and the sheer will to survive.

but still, the humans could never hope to endure salt and ice.

with a final thrust, the captain twisted his sword into her shoulder, his life force fading violently as his essence poured down into her throat. she slumped down to the ground, holding the human close as she took in the aftermath of their fight.

the ship was a mess.

blood was splattered across the crates and boards, with the mangled bodies of the three men scattered and sinking down into every crack in the ship, spilling straight down to the sea beneath them. she clicked her locked jaw, and detached herself from her assailant, and hurried to tuck herself away into a half-open crate, whimpering from the pain of the burning sun blisters and stinging silver.

she was not healing.

there was a rustling of sheets somewhere, a great rush of wind, and the doors slammed shut with a loud bang!

she collapsed forward, her eyes bathed in cooling darkness, gasping and coughing as the wood uncomfortably scraped her open sores. she blinked, and saw toji’s crinkled boots in front of her.

her love was perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, looking down at her with his hands and face clean of both blood and worry. she whimpered pathetically at toji, begging and pleading with her eyes for him to do something, anything.

he sighed.

gently, toji turned her to face him, and tipped her chin back. he pushed the base of his thumb past her parted lips, settling it in between her teeth. he gave her an encouraging nod, soft clouds behind the green of his iris, and pressed his thumb a touch further into her mouth.

she froze.

her fangs grazed his marble skin, and a pearl of toji’s blood spread across her tongue.

what was that look in his eyes?

it was something almost like pride.

she took a deep breath in, and took a long slow drag from him.

she was then lost in a sea of tumbling emeralds. his blood had ignited something feral and dangerous in her, working her up into a wild state as her wounds sealed and smoothed out like nothing had happened. somehow, toji’s lips had found hers, and they kissed and bit each other’s lips in a frenzied madness.

was it all just for a taste?

she couldn’t tell if toji was life or death.

(she was too far gone in her sin and indulgence,

that she could not tell the difference anymore.)

there was something inherently intimate about blood sharing. she could not explain it, but it was more profound than when they fell into each others embrace every night. toji was gripping both sides of her face, her lips bloody and bruised as she tasted herself on his tongue. perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt toji’s soul running through her – raw and angry and full of smoke.

she wondered what he thought she tasted like.

and hoped that he enjoyed it.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

immortality was not truly immortal.

death still hovered over them with his scythe, a mere inch away from their waiting, vulnerable throats. nobody knew that he was there, always watching, never knowing exactly when he might urge his midnight stallion just a little closer.

she certainly hadn’t known it either.

not until it was upon her.

they were on a beach sometime during the summer, a thick storm cloud hanging over the sea and shore. it was a taunting, teasing thing, making her jump as the thunder rolled through her bones and made her marrow tremble.

toji was lounging beneath a lopsided palm tree, its trunk bent and twisted so that its leaves draped to the side and covered him. even when the clouds cover was as thick as it was now, he still opted to stay in the shade, squinting his eyes as if the sun was burning him. he would watch her play in the waves, grunting dismissively when she would teasingly curl her fingers at him, urging him to come closer.

when that didn’t work, she would sing for him.

and the creases and ripples in the marble of his forehead would soften and smooth – only then could toji relax in the sun.

she turned her back to him and the shore, spreading her arms to the heavens as she sang to the jealous sea, declaring how grand immortality and their love was.

but she should have remembered where she was in this unfeeling world.

so loud was the call of the birds on the summer breeze and the waves beating against the sand and her ears, that she did not hear them until it was too late.

those horrid, vicious humans.

they had grabbed her by the arms and legs, with what seemed like twenty men still struggling against her strength. she spat and cursed at them, hissing and snarling as they pressed their silver crosses and flaming torches to her skin, marring her forever.

she wanted to cry, but remembered she could not.

toji’s green flames were upon her, she was sure of it. she could feel his presence was near, and could still smell him and his leather boots through the sour stench of the rotten fish from the townsmen surrounding her.

he was watching.

and doing nothing.

would toji be proud of her in this moment, as he had been when she defended him all those years ago? when she took the lives of those that had threatened him and his peace. she felt the flames soften and knew that he was – he had to be. she was sparing him from the fire and silver, so eager to take his place and save him from haunting the seas.

it was better that toji had not said any sort of goodbye at all, that they had not shared any sort of special last moment together.

but still.

a part of her hoped that he would sweep in to save her. that the part of him that had perhaps loved her could not bear to be parted from her. that immortality was worthless without her love and song.

but she knew that was not in his nature.

he was a survivor, through and through.

(how could it have been love? you were just as blind as i was,

wailed the first woman from long ago.)

she wondered if he would come to her after she was gone, as a stake was driven into her chest, shattering and splintering her ribcage. would he pluck out her heart and suck it dry from all the love it had for him? even though toji had taken everything and more from her, she wondered if he had at least realized he had been selfishly incapable of putting her out of her misery.

“お許しください”

but the fragile, momentous realization she had was that if immortality was true, and she had to choose to relive all of this – toji – over and over again.

she would.

and she did.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

if anybody would like to pop into my inbox to discuss the fic and share their interpretations, please feel free to do so! <3

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[umikawa]

id

a/n: pure yap, I started this a month ago... finally got THE FIRST PART done lol... pray for me.

requiem for a dream; ch.1

xeno houston wingfield x gn!reader | 3.4k words (yap) warnings: alcohol consumption, psychology explained by a geology major, time doesn't apply to me, self-neglect kinda. pls note that this is when Xeno is roughly 20-ish (when he was mentoring senku)

♫ id / keshi

There was a psychological theory that Xeno had grown fond of– despite the true meanings and negative outliers—one of Freud’s theories. One of the first theories spewed from your mouth on a late night after a few too many drinks. 

A component located in the furthest levels of the brain, often being overlooked due to its lack of credibility. It was believed to be responsible for all basic needs and drives, to constantly satisfy every desire, though it was often dictated– being told it could not always get what it wanted. 

Xeno thinks this theorized component explained his dilemma quite well. 

He took you out to drink one night after his project, Helium-3, had been blatantly rejected. A cold drink to pass the negative thoughts clouding his brain was exactly what he needed. But if he was honest, what he wanted from this excursion was for you to spew more information about Freud’s theory of Id. 

He watches you down your fifth drink. He’s sure if this were a cartoon, you’d have bubbles and stars surrounding your head as it sways to the tune of whatever song is playing in the background. “I think you’ve had one too many, my dear.” He says. However, he makes no effort to stop you from ordering yet another glass. 

“Nonsense,” you say with a hiccup, covering your mouth in embarrassment when Xeno chuckles softly. “I’m usually knocked out after the seventh one.” The bartender slides the drink over the counter as if on command, tipping their hat to Xeno before stalking to the opposite end to cater to a rowdy batch of engineers. 

He hums at your slurred words, finger trailing along the rim of his glass. “Would you tell me more about Id?” 

Your posture straightens at his request. Xeno wonders if you’ve grown to sober up at the mention of your field of expertise. But the thought leaves his mind the second you lift your drink to your lips and spill. “Well, other than what I mentioned before, Id was known to be entirely selfish. It’s the part of you that makes you think, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want.’ It doesn’t care about the means of how you get things, just that you do.” 

“Some researchers who found Id fascinating recorded a finding that it had aided in providing the framework for understanding how the human mind resolves self-conflict.” You continued, ignoring the napkin that came to your neck and chest to rid your skin of the spilled liquor. “It was also said to be the leading factor of desire, whether a basic need or gratification.” 

“In a less elegant wording– sex.” He adds, tearing his hand away from your skin when you glance in his direction. “Of course, it’s within our nature to be compelled by distinct pheromones that are elevated during times of need.” 

A laugh escapes your throat as you stare at him, resting your chin in your palm. “What an elegant way to describe being horny.” 

He scowls at your words, “I’m not going to replace my scientific vocabulary with words such as that.” You roll your eyes, lifting your cup to your lips with your other hand. “Tell me more.” 

“When I say it’s entirely selfish, I mean it. When it comes to satisfying needs, it’s not concerned with anything else– let alone reality. The issue is that not everything we seek can be possible or realistic.” He nods. Your words are starting to get muddled together. “It can make us impulsive or throw us into a repetitive cycle trying to reach what we desire.”

“Eros and Thanatos seem to be tied in with this as well, to move on from that. Eros is the subfactor for all life-sustaining principles that Id provides. Eating, breathing. Sex– even.” You tap your finger against your head. Xeno classified it as a habit ages ago. You did it when you were trying to remember something. 

“Thanatos, otherwise called the death instinct, was the more aggressive side. Attacking whatever may get in the way of your satisfaction. It’s a destructive force we humans hold.”

With words on the tip of his tongue, Xeno waits patiently to see if you’ll continue. When you don’t, he turns in his chair, staring down at the melting ice in his glass.“I see.” He lifts his drink to his lips precariously, taking a sip before setting it down. “May I ask something else?” 

Selfish as he is, Xeno still cared about you, and if you weren’t up to answer his questions, he’d stop.

You wave a hand mindlessly, nodding your head. “Is it possible for Id to completely take over all other consciousness?” 

You blink at his question, resting your head in your palm. “I can’t say it’s impossible, but I’m unsure if it's possible either.” A sigh leaves your lips as your fingers rub your temple, gaze shifting to him. “The egos usually render the id powerless, seemingly squashing all its desires in one fell swoop. Despite how selfish one can be, morality comes into play when it matters most.”

He hums, lowering his head with a content sigh. “Have you sobered up yet?”

“Getting there.” You answer, gratefully taking the glass of water he slides to you. It was lukewarm at best; he’d been nursing it alongside the now watered-down brandy in his glass. “Why did you get me drunk? You could’ve asked this over dinner.” 

“Your vocabulary and sentence building is far more elegant when you’ve had alcohol in your system– which isn’t a good thing if I may add.” He explains bluntly, feeling his lips curve upward at your deadpan expression. “Besides, I’m sure no matter what I did to pull information from you, you’d prefer a few free drinks over one measly dinner.” 

“Don’t you know me so well?” You fawn. 

Your eyes drifted to him, letting the silence linger while you mustered up the courage to question his curiosity. While it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Xeno to have some inquiries about psychology, it was odd for him to focus on one sole principle out of many that were interconnected. 

“A scientist, one such as yourself, represents Id. Strives for change, evolution, progress, whatever it may be.” Xeno raises a brow. “Bureaucracy represents the egos, suppressing the idea of progression. That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?” 

Xeno hums happily, tossing the rest of his drink back. “Don’t you know me so well?” You keep your gaze on him as he stares at anything but you, watching his finger drag along the rim of the glass. “Another project of mine was rejected. I was told it was outlandish, a waste of resources, money, and time.” 

“Well, Xeno, you’re a very extravagant person. Some may even say ahead of our time.” You teased but drew back when his brows furrowed and a scowl formed on his lips. “I assume the project board recited those exact words to you?” 

“Precisely.” His hand reaches up to his head, rubbing his temples. “So much for the age of progression.” 

His tone was laced with frustration and spite, but that was obvious; he had no reason to hide it. Deep within, you can hear the exhaustion and dejection that he felt just as much. 

Xeno doesn’t add any further input, flagging the bartender down. Wordlessly paying the tab before rising from his seat. “Get home safe.” He murmurs, leaving his place by your side and exiting the bar without another word.

You couldn’t help but think that him leaving you alone in the bar was some kind of premonition.

——

The following day– after a quick call to your boss that you’d be running late due to an unforeseen circumstance (hangover) you finally made it to your office, tossing your things onto the chair in the corner before immediately leaving to find Xeno. Thank the heavens you don’t take morning appointments.

Pausing in the doorway, your eyes scanned the room, furrowing your brows at the empty desk in the corner. “Is Xeno here?” You’d called out, letting your eyes fall on the person closest to you. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear? He took the day off.” The person pushes a box up with their knee, tightening their grip so it won’t fall out of their grasp. “I figured you, of all people would know!” They laugh, bidding you goodbye before walking out of the room. 

He took the day off? 

The thoughts from the night before crossed your mind, trying to piece together what exactly happened, seeing as Xeno wasn’t the type to skip out on work for leisure. Pulling out your phone, you check for any messages from him, and when you see none, you go as far as to check if his closest friend has sent you anything. If he were off duty, he’d shoot you a text that he’d stolen Xeno for the time being– but again, nothing. 

You bring your cell to your ear after pressing Xeno’s number, listening to its ring, and your jaw slacks slightly when it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, Xeno, it’s me. Call me back when you can, yeah? I know it’s only been a day, but I’m worried. This isn’t like you.”

You call three more times, but you don’t leave any more messages after the first one. A frustrated sigh leaves your mouth before you push open your office door, shutting it loudly behind you. 

It was funny how you were freaking out so much about Xeno being radio silent for no less than twenty-four hours. Another sigh leaves your lips as you sink into your chair, leaning your elbows against your desk to rest your head on your palms. 

There had to be some reason for Xeno to ask about Id. His curiosity knew no bounds, but something was off about his piqued interest in the concept. 

Scientists represent the Id, and bureaucracy represents the superego, suppressing the id's every selfish desire. Xeno had his project rejected, one that would benefit humanity and the environment. 

But Xeno wasn’t thinking for himself when he presented Helium-3. He wanted better for the world, to open up new opportunities, and to progress further into the future. 

He’d shown no signs of a changing heart or mind other than the occasional slip of character whenever a colleague boasted merrily at the bar when their project got approved. 

Hope starts to fade the more you get rejected.

Another groan spills from your lips, your frustration growing as you think more and more about this situation. “Is it possible for Id to completely take over all other consciousness?” Picking your head up as you remember his words from last night, you slam your hands on your desk as you stand, chair rolling out from under you. 

“Xeno, I swear to god.” You whispered to yourself, rubbing your head to soothe the oncoming headache you’ve given yourself. 

There was always the possibility of a scientist or astronaut going mad– that was the entire point of your being there along with the other psychologists – to deter them from falling down that path of madness (as well as evaluate them.) But now that it’s been thrown in your face and the scientist is one of your closest friends— you didn’t even know if you could do your job properly because you knew Xeno personally.

You knew he was stubborn to no end. You knew that no matter how many times you sat him down in front of you, he wouldn’t falter or tell you the truth. He was too good of a liar, easing past your watchful eyes because you trusted him. 

The buzzer on your door ringing tears you away from your thoughts. Your eyes glance at the clock: 2:30. Right. You had evaluations today. But when did time pass by so quickly? Composing yourself, you brush off your clothes and fix any misaligned papers on your desk before walking to the door. 

“Heya, doc.” 

“Hello, Byakuya.” You greet, motioning for him to come inside. “Are you ready for your evaluation today?” 

He clasps his hands together with a nod, giving you a toothy grin. “You know it! But before we get into that, I wanted to ask something.” You nod, signaling for him to sit with you. “Words going ‘round that you’re going awol– uh, freaking out– I mean… everything going okay?” 

Like hell it was. 

You nod, sending him a soft smile. “I’m quite alright, Byakuya. There’s no need to worry about me.” 

“Oh, well–” he barks out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I guess not, but who’s gonna take care of our psychologists carrying all our problems, y’know?” 

“You’d be surprised by the chain of therapists and psychologists in the field.” You laugh, flicking through your files to grab the necessary documents. “We’re supposed to send self-evaluations to our assigned agents every day. Though– I’ve heard some people lie to them.” 

“Have you ever lied to one?” He asks carefully, wringing his hands together when you look at him. 

When you shake your head, Byakuya bites his tongue to keep himself from questioning your honesty. “I’ve thought about it some days, but it never felt right. I don’t like it when my clients lie to me. I can’t imagine doing it to another colleague.” A light chuckle comes out before you fold your hands on your desk, leaning slightly. “Now, shall we start?” 

Byakuya sighs, masking it with a nod of his head. He wanted you to talk to him. “Let’s get this show on the road.” 

After three painstakingly long hours (Byakuya liked to ramble,) you lift from your chair to walk him out, patting his back in reassurance while he drones on about his son. 

“Say– it’s about time for lunch, right? Why not join me and the others today?”

You think about his offer. Usually, you’d eat with Xeno, but given that he isn’t here, you have no other excuse not to go… 

“Sorry, Byakuya.” Just by your apology, the man’s lips formed a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve got some errands to run that I’d feel more comfortable doing in daylight rather than later.” 

He nods, taking a step out the door. “Maybe some other time?” 

“How about tomorrow?” 

Huh. Byakuya grins at your proposal, but it falters just the slightest. “Don’t ya usually eat with Xeno?” 

“I’m sure he’ll be there too.” You say, giving him a reassuring smile. “But regardless, what’s one more day not glued to his side?”

Byakuya thought that statement odd, but he tried not to show it. (You can read him like an open book.) “Well, alright then. See ya tomorrow, Doc!”

You bid him goodbye, watching him walk down the hall, waiting for him to turn the corner before shutting your door. Why did he react like that? Was it that odd for you not to be by Xeno’s side? You shake your head to rid yourself of the new thoughts, rubbing your face before clasping your hands together. 

Time for your “errands.”

———

You were getting nowhere. 

After skimming what felt like a few million words and countless inquiries with your colleagues (who you’re sure sent check-in messages to your agent), you came to a conclusion. 

Nothing. 

Nothing told you about Xeno's question of whether or not Id could take over and suppress the egos—did he mean he was throwing all morality away? 

Was he genuinely going mad?

You sigh heavily, leaning back in your chair to stare at the ceiling. If Xeno goes awol, he has the means to make weapons under the radar– if he stays at nasa whilst doing so. Who would he use them on? Would he ask his military friends to join him? 

Would he ask you? 

Would you say yes?

The thought of Xeno taking over the world plagued your mind. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he couldn’t do it, even if it was overzealous. He was smart enough but on the defensive side of things… Well, you suppose that’s where the marine friends come in handy. But again, the Xeno you knew, or at least thought you knew, wouldn’t cave in so quickly to the “dark side,” even if it beckoned him like a siren promising his most profound wishes. 

Ugh. This was the most thinking you’ve had to do since college. Even then, it definitely wasn’t as brutal as this. 

You looked at your computer again, narrowing your eyes at what felt like the one article you hadn’t read. You figured the ‘sponsored ad’ text floating under it might’ve been why you avoided it.

Your cursor hovers over the link, exhaustion creeping up your spine—was it even worth viewing? Hesitation creeps under your skin, yet your finger presses the mouse harshly anyway, tapping impatiently while it takes forever to load up. 

An individual with an overly dominant Id can become impulsive, uncontrollable, or criminal. Acting upon urges without concern if it’s appropriate, acceptable, or legal. 

Your hand mindlessly jots down summarized notes. You’re sure when you look at them later on, they’ll just be a bunch of scattered letters in a row, maybe even just illegible lines that couldn’t be read at all. 

It was too much. 

It was an overload of information for one measly question, but the only reason why you even bothered to research it was because it was for Xeno. Be it anyone else, you wonder if you’d delved into it as much as you had now. 

Two. Hours. You’ve spent two hours searching for any sort of answer, and you weren’t even remotely satisfied with what you got. But you couldn’t waste any more time on this one question— and once again, the buzzing on your door pulls you away from your work. 

“Evening, Connie.” She greets you, noticing your disheveled look but not commenting on it. A sigh leaves your lips as you shut the door, resting your head against it briefly before making your way toward your desk with a small, unconvincing smile. “Let’s begin, shall we?” She agrees hesitantly but doesn’t object otherwise. 

By the end of her appointment, you were praying for the other astronauts. 

It had only lasted under an hour, the others going a little over an hour but never more, while Byakuya talked your ear off for three. At least they’ll never be bored. 

You sigh as you clean up your desk. The sun went down in the middle of Lillian’s evaluation, prompting the singer to fawn about seeing the sunset from space—you had to admit you were a bit jealous. 

You’d always wondered what it’d be like to be up there, but the thought of everything going wrong in such a vulnerable place always diminished the daydream. 

A slow breath is released from your lips, and a hand rubs the back of your neck— exhaustion just hit you like a freight train. You glance around your office, murmuring about how you’d fix whatever was out of place in the morning before grabbing your bag and walking out the door. 

“Hey, doc.” 

You jolted at the voice, staring open-mouthed at Byakuya, who stood in front of you– smiling as if you hadn’t almost collided with him. “Hey, what’re you still doing here?” 

“Just got done with some swimming lessons, y’know my son built this whole contraption to–”

“Help you with the swim exam.” You finish, nodding as you recount the first of many times he’s told you. “It still baffles me that he built that as a fifth grader.” 

Byakuya rests his hands on his hips, nose tilted up to the air with pride. “Right! My son is brilliant!” A soft smile comes to your lips. Despite his blatant gloating, you have to admit talking to him after all that self-induced stress was refreshing—comforting, even. 

“Did ya get those errands done, doc?” 

You nod, feeling the tiniest bit of pressure in your chest. “I did.” 

Byakuya knew you didn’t have errands. He’s not an idiot. He was a professor and an astronaut in training for heaven's sake. He wasn’t a psychologist or therapist, not even close, but he was human. He could tell something was bothering you, but he couldn’t figure it out for his life. 

“That’s good. I’m glad you could get them done.” He hums happily, unaware of the panic he sparked within you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks away with a smile, whistling aimlessly down the hall– weird. 

With a shake of your head, you exit the building, throwing your things into the back of your car and practically speeding out of the lot and home. 

Hopefully, by tomorrow, everything will be back to normal, with only normal amounts of stress. Xeno will be back at work and not ignoring you, and Byakuya… well, you’d have to figure out his deal on your own. 

Hopefully. 

a/n: me when I make xeno refuse to say horny… anyways– series!!! Yay!!! Yay!?????

[hyunnie04]

puppy love

inspired by that one scene in skip and loafer where mitsumi pets shima's hair;; not my best but its cute jskfdh

kim seungmin x reader

genre: fluff, non-idol au

you have been staring at seungmin the entire day. not because of anything bad, it’s just that there's this one thing that has been bothering you lately. propping your fist against your chin, you let out a burdened sigh.

ever since he had dyed his hair this captivating caramel color at the start of senior year, which was only a few weeks ago, you can’t seem to get your eyes off him. 

the change was refreshing, like seeing him in a completely different light. it had suited him so well, the blondish gold complemented his features like it was supposed to be like that from the start.

whenever you would place your curious gaze on him, the gears in your mind start turning, unable to place your finger on what it reminded you of. it had definitely started to become sort of a routine for you.

you’re also pretty sure seungmin had figured out you have been burning holes at the back of his head during lectures or lunch. he would sometimes look back at you with a quirk of his lip and a questioning gaze, making you shift your focus to somewhere else, cheeks reddening like a child catching glimpses of their crush.

but now you are sure he looked like someone. but who? you’re trying to figure that out yourself.

you don’t know where this sudden fascination with his hair came from, was it because it made him look so handsome? or maybe the way it looked very cute whenever it flopped around when he moved? 

confused feelings for the caramel haired boy aside, you decide to let it go.

you were hanging out with the man himself and a bunch of other friends one afternoon and started scrolling through your phone. they wouldn’t mind, seeing as to how all of them were currently preoccupied with playing a board game.

“hey, you can’t just do that! you have to give me money!”

“i can do whatever i want!”

you subconsciously block the noise coming from your rowdy friends, very much used to the chaotic nature. your thumb landed on a really adorable picture of your sweet little puppy back at home, already missing him. a thought instantly strikes you.    

you look up from your phone. and then to seungmin. and then back to your phone. 

it’s the exact same?!

you’ve finally cracked it. he looked exactly like your family dog. comparing him to an actual dog sounded mean, but you meant this genuinely as a compliment, you absolutely adored your golden retriever puppy- haru, more than your own family. the longer you thought about it, it’s sweet demeanor and honey colored coat resembled kim seungmin right in front of you.

after thinking about this revelation, you kept it to yourself, out of context it could sound mean. the last thing you wanted was to offend someone when you meant it in an endearing way.

so upon walking home one day, hurried footsteps trailed behind yours, prompting you to turn to see who it was. it was seungmin himself, his hair flopping in the wind, resembling the cutest pair of puppy ears.

he finally stopped, panting heavily after chasing you for a good while now. he straightened up, opening his adorable mouth to say something to you.

you couldn’t help yourself, the thought of wanting to feel his soft looking hair.

“haru-” you cover your mouth as soon as the words left it, extremely mortified to have said it out loud.

“haru? who’s that?” seungmin teases your increasingly flustered state. “are you mistaking me for someone else?” it was too late, you have to explain now.

“no...its...my…family’s dog…” you blurted out, embarrassed of saying it in front of him. you had fully expected him to get mad but he doesn’t. instead, seungmin lets out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling in what seems to be delight.

“well, my hair is really soft.” he watches your face morph into confusion as he tucks his hands coyly into his pockets. he wasn’t mad?

 “do you want to touch? you've been staring at it all week.”

seungmin wasn’t known for being touchy with his friends or anyone for that matter so you can imagine the shock on your face when he leans down to your level, silently allowing you to do so.

placing a hesitant touch on his honey hued locks with one hand, you slowly bring your other to ruffle his head, really going at it and much like you would do to haru. a grin graces your features as his strands get messed up, absolutely elated that you now know what his hair feels like.

once you were done, he straightens up and pats his messy hair back in its place as best as he can. seungmin quietly wraps an arm around your shoulder, as if nothing happened.

“got it out of your system?” you nod gleefully.

“good, now i can ask you out for a date.”

[cup1drul3z]

Sevika x Psychic reader

cw: mentions of age gap, fluff, awkward sevika, non specified reader

so apprently tarot cards are cannon in arcane so this super cute idea came into mind because chapter 8 of between the lines is taking forever

Sevika leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming idly on the table as she stared at the small trinket shop booth. Gambling had lost its thrill. Sure, it was fun to win, but lately, watching the poor fools cry and beg for their money back just felt pathetic. She needed something different—something interesting.

That’s how she ended up here, in this strange little booth tucked away in the darker corners of the undercity. The place was cluttered with oddities: tapestries depicting eerie murals, shelves lined with glinting trinkets, and an abundance of plants Sevika suspected weren’t real. Plants didn’t thrive in Zaun, not with the toxic air hanging thick and heavy. Still, the shop had a strange charm, though the dim light behind the curtain made it feel more like a stage than anything else.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the curtain rustled, and you stepped inside. Sevika raised an eyebrow as you smiled and took a seat across from her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—maybe someone mysterious, cloaked in shadow, with piercing eyes that could see right into her soul. But you? You were... expressive. Bright. A bit too cheerful for someone working in a place like this. Your jewelry jingled softly with every movement, catching the low candlelight.

“How are you today?” you asked, lighting a candle with a calm, practiced motion.

Sevika blinked, caught off guard by your friendly demeanor. “Uh... good,” she replied, her voice gruff as always.

You nodded, shuffling a deck of cards with smooth precision. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward for you, though Sevika felt the weight of it. She wasn’t used to situations like this—quiet and intimate. She usually thrived in chaos and noise, not... this.

You set the deck aside and held out your hand. “Give me your palm,” you said softly, your tone steady but inviting.

Sevika hesitated for a second. “Oh—” she began, almost offering her mechanical hand before catching herself. Embarrassed, she extended her flesh-and-blood hand instead. It was calloused and worn, a stark contrast to the softness of your fingers as they cradled it.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently, glancing up from her palm.

“Yeah... jus’ never done this before,” she muttered, shifting slightly in her seat.

You nodded knowingly. You already knew who she was—Silco’s right-hand woman. Her reputation preceded her. But as you examined her palm, you found yourself thinking about everything you knew about Silco and his influence over Zaun. You’d never liked him. You were just a kid when Vander died, but even then, you’d known Silco was bad news. His rise to power had only confirmed it, and every time you pulled cards for Zaun’s future, you seemed to draw the Nine of Swords—a card of despair and suffering.

Your fascination with fortune-telling had started when you were young, and though you’d built a career out of it, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Business was booming in dark times like these. People came to you desperate for guidance, hoping you could offer them protection or answers. But you couldn’t grant those wishes—that was up to the arcane forces that governed this world. Still, you saved up every coin you earned, dreaming of a day when you could leave Zaun behind.

As you studied Sevika’s palm, your fingers traced the lines on her hand. “Do you have a lot of lovers?” you asked, your tone light and teasing.

Sevika flushed, her gaze darting away. “I guess...”

You raised an eyebrow at her response, leaning forward slightly. “You think realistically, with your thoughts straightforward,” you said with a soft giggle. “This also says you’re cautious when it comes to serious relationships.”

You let go of her hand, and Sevika flexed her fingers slightly, the faint blush still lingering on her cheeks. “That’s... that’s fuckin’ creepy,” she chuckled, though there was a note of genuine surprise in her voice.

You smiled and pulled the deck of cards back out, spreading them in a fan-like display across the table. “Pick three,” you said simply.

Sevika nodded, her expression growing more serious. She pointed to three cards, sliding them across the table toward you.

You laid them out in front of her with deliberate care. “This is your past, your present, and your future,” you explained, flipping over the first card.

You flipped over the first card, placing it upright in front of Sevika. The artwork depicted a shadowed figure carrying a heavy bundle of swords.

“The Ten of Swords,” you said softly. “This represents your past—a time of betrayal, pain, and endings. You’ve had to endure things that most people wouldn’t survive. But the card also signifies resilience, Sevika. You’re still here, no matter what’s been thrown at you.”

Sevika’s lips tightened, her mechanical arm resting on the edge of the table as her flesh hand clenched into a fist. “Yeah, sounds about right,” she muttered.

You nodded, not pressing her for more. Instead, you moved to the second card and turned it over.

“The Knight of Pentacles,” you explained, tilting the card slightly so the candlelight caught its detailed image of a knight holding a golden pentacle. “This is your present. It speaks of hard work and determination, but also a sense of duty. You’re someone who gets the job done, no matter what. But...” You hesitated for a moment before continuing, “it also suggests you might be stuck in a routine, going through the motions without thinking about what you truly want.”

Sevika frowned, her expression darkening slightly. “Routine’s all I’ve got,” she said, her voice gruff.

You gave her a small smile, sensing there was more to her story than she let on. “Let’s see your future,” you said, your voice soft but steady. You flipped the final card.

The room seemed to grow quieter as you revealed the image of a towering spire struck by lightning.

“The Tower,” you said, your tone more serious now. “This card represents sudden change, upheaval, and destruction. It’s not an easy card to face, Sevika. It means that something in your life—something foundational—is going to come crashing down. But...” You glanced up, meeting her eyes. “It’s also a chance for rebirth. Sometimes, we have to lose everything to figure out who we really are.”

Sevika stared at the card, her jaw tightening. “So you’re tellin’ me everything’s about to go to shit?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm, but there was an edge of unease beneath it.

“Not necessarily,” you said gently. “The Tower isn’t just about destruction—it’s about clearing away what doesn’t serve you anymore. It’s painful, yes, but it’s also an opportunity to rebuild, to start over with something stronger.”

Sevika leaned back in her chair, her gaze lingering on the card. For the first time since she’d walked into the booth, she looked genuinely unsettled.

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s afraid of change,” you added, trying to ease the tension.

She smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Depends on the change,” she muttered.

You gathered the cards and shuffled them back into the deck. “The future isn’t set in stone,” you reminded her. “The cards show possibilities, not guarantees. What you do next is up to you.”

Sevika nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she stood up. “Thanks,” she said gruffly, slipping a few coins onto the table before turning to leave.

As she pushed through the curtain, you watched her go, wondering what choices she’d make in the days to come. You couldn’t shake the feeling that her Tower moment was approaching fast, and it wasn’t going to be an easy fall.

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

CW: Personal, Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health

This is a very strange post I’m sorry… I just needed to write it.

Ive spent a lot of time doing CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy)… in order to try and train my brain down a different path when I feel suicidal.

I’m not actively suicidal btw…I want to preface this outpour of information with that. As an ND individual, I feel very intense feelings sometimes in reactions to situations, and for many years of my life, my internal monologue when that happened (before I knew I was ND) was “I just want to die”.

I find the physical reaction I get when I feel that way to be incredibly fascinating— because I don’t actually want to die. I know that with the logical part of my brain.

When I start to feel so incredibly upset that the words “I just want to die” pop into my head, I start to cry. I didnt train myself to do that… my body did that on its own. A physiological reaction to let out the intense feelings in self preservation.

But it isnt enough when you feel intense guilt or overwhelming emotion because my brain likes to hyper fixate. It says, well you want to die because you’re a bad person, or you can never do anything right and then my brain likes to spiral on those paths.

But whenever my brain tells me “i want to die” I have tried to train myself to respond to it with “I dont want to die, I just dont want to be in this situation anymore”.

I still cry, and I still spiral, but having that as my baseline lets me shift my focus to what can be done… it takes away the guilt of constantly blaming myself for not being perfect in an imperfect world.

It lets me focus on what situation is bothering me, and how I react to it and if there’s a better way to react to it or if the situation itself can be improved.

It shifts focus from “this is something you should be ashamed of” to “youre upset for a reason, youre allowed to be upset, is your reaction too much? Or is it proportional to the situation? Or is the situation unreasonable and you need relief?”

It takes away some of the shame Ive felt my whole life for my intense emotions.

Ive been struggling lately with coping with the world around me, with the constant barrage of bad news and having to fight back against oppressors and still manage to get through the day… still manage to take care of my ND son, and protect him, still manage to check in once in a while with friends, and be somewhat productive at work… still manage to remember to take my anxiety medication and get my cat her insulin twice a day…

It really is too much, and I dont even experience the worst of what human beings experience on this planet…

Anyway… I say all that not because Im calling out for help… I just wanted to share it in case someone else was struggling the same way and needed a reminder that it’s okay to be hurting…you’re not alone.

Find a phrase that works for you. Practice it even when you’re not spiraling. Say the words out loud, it helps.

🫶you matter. Don’t give up, ok?

[ancient-qveen]

Bård Eithun in the late '90s

bonus Bård webzine interview (May 2002) below

I believe Bård was on a prison leave in those pictures but I can't remember exactly. And I found the interview here (originally in portuguese) he did while in prison less than a year from his release date.

Talking about Bård Eithun, the famous ex-drummer of Emperor, Faust, is talking directly about Norwegian black metal. Here he tells us a brief history about everything that happened in those frozen lands.

First of all, I would like to say that I am sure you do not know how important and influential you were and still are for what we today worldwide call Black Metal. Well, tell us how you started listening to and playing Black Metal…

My involvement with Black Metal is the result of a long process. I have always looked for extremism in music and in the late 80s it was in bands like Voivod, Celtic Frost, Sanctuary, Warfare, Napalm Death, Venom, Bathory, Hobbs Angel of Death etc. Some of them were considered Black Metal, others were not, but the essence is that extremism has always been part of my musical interest, no matter what.

Black Metal has grown a lot over the years, everything has changed drastically. Nowadays the style has many types of media available and many new fans. What is your opinion about the current Black Metal. Is there a comparison between the old and the new Black Metal?

Black Metal, especially Norwegian Black Metal is worn out and extremely clichéd, a terminology I never use. I saw the trend coming, and hopefully I can see it going too. But that doesn't worry me, I don't care. I'm not part of this new movement anyway.

Emperor has just finished its activities. What is your opinion about this Emperor at the end of its career? They have changed their style drastically and almost everyone thinks that their best phase was when you were part of the line-up. What do you think of Trym Torson (now ex-Emperor, ex-Enslaved and currently Zyklon) as a drummer?

This latest album was very well done by them. It encompasses a bit of every era of Emperor. I appreciate that people like the Emperor phase that I was part of, but the band has always been in progression, and it would be senseless for them not to progress. Trym is a great drummer and I remember being happy to hear that he was going to get my job.

A lot of people have said a thousand things about your personality type, so I would like you to talk about yourself. Are you the same person who was arrested in 93, or have you changed your personality?

The events happened 9-10 years ago and obviously I have changed during all those years in prison. I'm still fascinated by the dark and the obscure, but more as a balance to a nonconformist and continuous life than anything else.

Where is your current residence? You still live in Oslo prison in your Krestfengsel residence. Do you have any routine in your life?

Hehe, that Oslo prison is my address from 1993. I've been to a lot of prisons since then. Now I'm living in a kind of apartment with facilities in Oslo, which is supposedly the last step for someone who is about to be released. Yes, my routines are always present although now I am more free and open to choose what to do during the day than in previous years.

How is the progress of your process? Do you already know when you will be released from prison?

I will be released on December 28, 2002, in about 7 months.

Well I know this is a bit of a boring question to answer and not very creative at all, but actually Norway is really far from here and everyone would definitely like to know the truth about the costumes that happened to you (pretty much all of South America , I learned about these events through magazines and newspapers). Is it true that some guys cheated on you by talking a lot of shit back then? Could you explain it to us better? I heard it took the authorities more than a year to catch him. This is hilarious…

Well, the story is long and complicated. I was caught more than a year late, but because of many events. I've been asked about this story many times. You better check some website with the full story, please.

About the Norwegians after many stories we have heard. Who were the main leaders of the famous "Inner Circle", because many people claim that many fights and disputes happened internally. What were your main goals?

The Inner Circle was a vague term we came up with to label the people who frequented Euronymous's Helvete store. They were the people who were capable of committing criminal activities. It wasn't really organized at all.

You could, if you want of course, say what your opinions are about these people: Euronymous (RIP), Dead (RIP), Varg Vikernes, Satyr, Fenriz, Jorn, Ihsahn, Samoth, Tchort, Snorre, Mortiis and Hellhammer.

These are the people I know/knew. Samoth, Ihsahn and Mortiis are my former bandmates. Euronymous and Dead are my dead friends. Hellhammer is an old friend. Jorn? Which? I know several, like Jorn-Inge from Hades Almighty and Jorn from Ulver, but I think you're referring to Jorn from Mayhem?! Also an old friend. Fenriz and Satyr, other people I met years ago. Snorre and Varg committed shit, something they can never change.

Let's stop talking about the past. What are your plans for the future? I heard that you will be participating in the latest album by the Italian band Aborym, is that true?

I wrote 3 lyrics for Aborym, which will be on their third album. I joined a cult classic metal band, but that will be official only in the summer. I should start playing with Samoth again soon, in some project band. Besides that, I write lyrics for Zyklon. I just wrote some lyrics for their second album. I have also written lyrics for Sigh, Wurdulack and the aforementioned Aborym. I have also appeared as a guest on albums by Cadaver Inc, Ulver and Sirius.

You heard that some bands are planning to make a tribute album called "Tribute to Faust". What do you think about that?

No, absolutely nothing.

Have you recorded anything in prison, because Varg Vikernes has recored three albums while in prison.

No, I didn't record anything. Not because I didn't have the musical ability to form a one-man band.

Out of curiosity, do you know any Brazilian bands?

Many, like the classics Sarcófago, Holocausto, Vulcano, Sepultura and probably more.

Finally, tell us your playlist.

Difficult, because I prefer to talk about my favorite songs than my favorite albums, but good albums are:

"Darkness" - Poison Idea

"The Sham Mirrors" - Arcturus

"Man & Machine" - UDO

"Destroy the Opposition" - Dying Fetus

"Amongst the Catacombs of Nephren-Ra" - Nile

"Fire Walk With Us!" - Aborym

"Oceanmachine" - Devin Townsend and probably a few more.

Stay tuned for Bard Eithun's official website.

[reijisteacup]

Hello! I’m not 100% sure if your ask box is still closed, if it is, fee free to ignore this message!

I was wondering if you could do a oneshot or reaction to a classmate of Reiji’s asking for him to tutor them because they’re struggling with a subject? (You can choose any subject you like)

Thank you kindly in advance 😌

IT IS OPEN NOW POOKS <3 Of course this is super cutee and I think you know what subject it is going to be ;)

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

The click of Reiji’s polished shoes echoed through the nearly silent library as he returned another reference book to its shelf. Every movement of his was controlled, refined—a perfect reflection of the man himself. As he adjusted his glasses and glanced over the spine of a biochemistry text, he heard your footsteps hesitating behind him. You’d been following him for nearly five minutes, heart pounding in your throat, fingers fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. You weren’t known for being the bold type, especially not around Reiji. He was… well. Intimidating. Brilliant. Unnervingly attractive in a way that made your throat dry when he looked directly at you. Finally, you spoke. “Um—Reiji?” He turned his head slowly, sharp red eyes fixing on you with faint interest. “Yes? Is there something you require?” You swallowed. “I—I’ve been having trouble with… chemistry. The equations, the lab technique, it’s just—hard to keep up. I was wondering if you’d be willing to… tutor me?” There was a pause. Not one filled with awkwardness, but one of calculation. Then, the faintest curve of his lips. “Chemistry, you say? Hm.” He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its sharp intensity. “It is a precise science. Unforgiving. One wrong calculation, and you risk catastrophic failure. Much like dealing with people.” Your mouth went dry. “I—I guess that’s true…” “I assume you’re asking because I have the highest marks in the subject.” He adjusted his glasses with a soft click. “Not because of anything else.”

“Y-yeah,” you lied.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Very well. I do not usually squander my time on others, but I dislike incompetence more than inconvenience.” He stepped past you, his shoulder brushing yours in a slow, deliberate drag. “Meet me after class tomorrow in the science lab. Do not be late. Or sloppy.” The next day, he was already waiting for you—coat off, sleeves rolled, lab setup perfectly organized. He stood beside the lab table like he owned it. “You’re five minutes early. Impressive. I dislike tardiness.” He motioned for you to sit beside him. As he instructed you, you realized how terrifyingly efficient he was: no wasted words, no distractions, every motion exact. He corrected your hand placement when mixing the solution, fingers brushing your wrist in a touch so brief it made you question if it had happened at all. But when you looked up, his eyes were already on you—too focused. “You’re distracted,” he said calmly, though his voice had a dark lilt. “Or perhaps… you are too used to being coddled. I assure you, I don’t believe in soft praise.”

You flushed. “No, I’m really trying—”

“Then try harder. Science does not care for your intentions. Only your accuracy.” He leaned in slightly, just enough to crowd your senses. “Although… your reactions are quite fascinating to observe. Like a volatile compound under pressure.” The moment passed, and he straightened, expression cool once again. “We will continue this session tomorrow. I expect you to review what we covered. If you are capable of progress, perhaps I’ll make time for further instruction.” As he packed up the lab materials, he added one final note with a smirk just barely tugging at his mouth, “And do refrain from making mistakes simply to earn my attention. There are better ways to get it, if you’re bold enough.”

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

It was your third session with Reiji, and the dynamic had shifted in a subtle but significant way. At first, he had been all cold instruction and perfectly measured disdain. But today? Today he stood just a little closer. His voice was quieter—quieter enough to force you to lean in. His eyes didn’t only flick to your answers on the worksheet anymore… they lingered. “You’ve improved,” he said as you smoothly completed the chemical equation without hesitation. His tone was clipped, but not unkind. You smiled, sheepish and proud. “Guess I have a good teacher.”

A pause.

His eyes snapped to you, red and sharp behind his glasses. “Flattery is beneath you. Though… I suppose in this case, it is deserved.” You almost choked at the rare sliver of praise. But before you could even bask in it, Reiji leaned in behind you. His hand moved to rest lightly on your shoulder—too lightly for someone so strict. “Still… you should be careful.” Your throat tightened. “C-careful?” “With how well you’re doing. You might start to think you no longer need me.” His voice brushed your ear like a ribbon of silk, slow and deliberate. “And I don’t enjoy being made obsolete.” There was something dangerous in the way he said it—not threatening, but possessive. Like he’d spent time sharpening your mind just to claim it as his. “Of course not,” you said, flustered. “I mean—I’d still want to learn from you.” He hummed low in his throat, clearly satisfied. “Good.” You felt his breath ghost the back of your neck as he adjusted the paper in front of you, guiding your hand with his own. His gloves were off today—on purpose, maybe—and his bare fingers felt far too warm against yours. “You respond better to touch than I expected,” he murmured. Your heartbeat spiked.

“R-Reiji…”

He stilled, then slowly let go of your hand, allowing a respectful distance again—but that faint smirk lingered at the corner of his mouth. “Forgive me. I must have… overestimated your focus.” You turned your face away to hide how red you’d gone, only for Reiji to neatly flip your textbook open to the next chapter and say, voice perfectly calm. “Let’s move on to organic reactions. Unless, of course… you’d prefer to study something a little less academic with me later.” You blinked. “Wait, what?” He only chuckled, low and quiet.

“Don’t look so scandalized. I believe in rewarding excellence, after all… And you have been very, very impressive lately.”

[shortqueershakespeare]

My Merlin songfic is finally up! (Part 1 at least). it's a fic using Abstract (Psychopomp) by Hozier as a framework, I hope you enjoy! I'm not thrilled with the ending but I had to get it out into the world because it was driving me MAD. Fic under the cut and ao3 link

Sometimes it returns

Like rain that you slept through

That washed off the world

The streets looking brand new

I will not be great

But I'm grateful to get through

The feeling came late

I'm still glad I met you

 ***

Merlin’s earliest memories feature his mother. He knew he was loved the second he was born, even when he was little and the magic sprang from him like a dam unstopped. The first time he remembers consciously knowing his mother was a good person was when there was a sickness going around the village. The villagers exiled the sick, frightened of the illness sapping the life from them one by one. But Hunith could not stand by and do nothing. She had a son, but she had a beating heart and she could not watch the villagers die, cold and alone. She could give them love in their final hours, even if anything else was beyond her grasp.

She sent Merlin away to stay with Will until she could be sure the danger had passed. He did not want to go. He could not imagine leaving his lovely, selfless mother. But she told him that if he did not go the sick would die untouched and unloved and, well. Merlin inherited his bleeding heart from his mother. The first night he had to sleep through a storm without his mother, he cried inconsolably. He wept and begged to be allowed to go to the house, just to see through the window that Hunith was okay and he was doing the right thing to be away from her. Even at that age, his fear was always for others first. Will’s father walked him across the village and gave him strict instructions to stay where he was. He rapped his knuckles on the door and hurried back to Merlin’s side. Hunith answered, her face drawn and exhausted, worry and fear crossing her face at Caelen’s presence. When her eyes landed on Merlin, she broke out into a smile.

“Sorry Hunith, I know you’re busy, but he wouldn’t sleep until I brought him here to make sure you were safe in the storm.”

“I’m safe love, and you are too. Now be good, and go back with Caelen, alright?”

The sickness passed eventually, and Merlin returned home. The villagers, though cautious at first, were kind to Hunith and brought her what little food they could spare. Merlin kept that memory for the first nights of thunder in the castle, when he was scared and felt like a small child again.

 ***

The memory hurts

But does me no harm

Your hand in my pocket

To keep us both warm

The poor thing in the road

Its eye still glistening

The cold wet of your nose

The Earth from a distance

 ***

Hunith was always taking in strays. Merlin had grown up at his mother’s knee, often sharing a bed with a stranger or a pained animal. The first time she brought home a fawn, Merlin was terrified that his brilliant, kind mother meant to slay it for meat. Instead, she bathed the skittering beast, gently washing the blood from its leg. With soft instructions, Merlin helped her bandage the creature’s wounds and make it a nest from any soft things he could find. Hunith spent weeks forgoing meals to ensure the fawn could eat and return to health. When it began to stand again, Hunith wept in relief. They went to the edge of the forest where it had been found to release it, the adolescent deer still somewhat tentative on its feet, but growing in strength. Over the following year, when they went to collect wood, they would catch occasional glimpses of red fur in the distance and their hearts would lift a little at the small life they had managed to save.

*** 

See how it shines

See how it shines

See how it shines

See how it shines

 ***

Merlin was always fascinated by moonlight. Even as a child, Hunith would find him staying up past his bedtime, climbing up to the window to look at the light streaming in. Privately, she thought it reminded him of the brightness of his magic, just a little, and he loved that the moon was there, everpresent. And Hunith noticed the fascination, of course she did. So she began sewing little moons into Merlin’s clothes, a small reminder of her tacit approval and unconditional love for him. It took him years to notice. At first he was sure she must just do it to all of their clothes, like a little flourish to make them more personal. It was only when he started doing their chores by hand, after he lost the excuse of being too young to know better that he noticed the little embroidered moons. Painstakingly created, no two the same, always close to his heart or his hands. He understood then how much his mother loved him, no matter how much he risked, she would always love him.

*** 

Sometimes there's a thought

Like you choose what you're doing

But it comes to nought

When I look back through it

I remember the view

Street lights in the dark blue

The moment I knew

I'd no choice but to love you

 ***

Arthur is a brat. He’s loud and brash and he drives Merlin up the fucking wall. But it’s evident fairly quickly that there’s a soft heart behind the bravado and bluster. One day when Arthur is being particularly annoying, he’s running a tonic up to Morgana for Gaius and maybe being a little overdramatic over Arthur’s behaviour. Normally Morgana is the first to jump in and add her own annoyances at his behaviour, but there’s something soft in her eyes today. Merlin’s been complaining about Arthur’s habit of always leaving a little food left on his plate, it’s always such a faff having to take it down to the kitchens and it’s such a waste . Sure, Merlin himself could eat it, but he’s well-fed as it is and there’s a part of him he can’t shake that feels like everything will crumble in a second and he’ll be back to the constant gnawing hunger he grew used to in the rough winter harvests in Ealdor, when his mother wouldn’t let him use magic to stretch their food, so he insisted he’d eaten plenty just so he wouldn’t have to watch her face go gaunt. 

So it’s been a pet peeve of his as long as he’s been Arthur’s manservant, until Morgana gently tells him the reason Arthur does it. As a child he’d had a small appetite, and he’d seen so many with less than him, of course he’d wanted to help! But Uther was a bitter man, twisted with fury after the loss of Ygraine, so he’d told Arthur that it was bad for a prince to encourage overreliance of the citizens on the castle. The cook found Arthur sobbing in the kitchens one day, a broken plate in his hands from where Uther had thrown it across the room in his rage. Marion was lucky, working at the castle afforded her the privilege of plenty of food and she never wanted for sustenance. But she took pity on the bawling prince, defenseless at the sight of a crying child. She told him that she would see to it that any food returned to the kitchens on his plate would be distributed to the poor, free of charge, without the knowledge of the King. So Arthur grew used to overfilling his plate and receiving giant portions Merlin always grumbled over. Merlin was left speechless when Morgana told him. Fuck. If he wasn’t already halfway in love with the bastard, he certainly was now. 

 ***

The speed that you moved

The screech of the cars

The creature still moving

That slowed in your arms

The fear in its eyes

Gone out in an instant

Your tear caught the light

The Earth from a distance

*** 

If Arthur noticed Merlin’s behaviour softening toward him after a few months, he didn’t say anything. They were still trading barbs regularly, but there seemed to be less venom behind the words. He knew Merlin was loyal to a fault, but that didn’t mean Merlin had to like him. Merlin was preparing Arthur’s bathwater at short notice, as if he didn’t have enough to do. The bastard seemed to have been almost gleeful when he fell in the mud earlier, thrilled at increasing Merlin’s workload, no doubt. 

He’s understandably a little taken aback when Arthur comes sprinting into his chambers, tears streaming down his face and making some sort of distinctly inhuman wailing sound. He’s up and by Arthur’s side in an instant, checking him over for injuries when he notices a bedraggled and very vocally distraught kitten in Arthur’s arms. This man will be the absolute death of him.

He looks in Arthur’s eyes and he knows they can’t just do nothing. The ginger kitten is bleeding everywhere and what on earth is he meant to do, that thing is beyond saving, unless. Unless. Merlin breathes deep, slow and strong and terrified of what might happen, what they might do to him, But this has to be a sign, right? Arthur has a good heart and he is trying to save a creature far beyond saving. He has trusted Merlin with its life. He can’t let him down in the face of that.

He whispers the words and hopes against hope that his instincts haven’t led him to ruin.

*** 

See how it shines

See how it shines

See how it shines

See how it shines

 ***

All Arthur can see is the flash of Merlin’s eyes and the blood is gone, the wounds healed and the kitten back to mewling instead of wailing. Merlin meets his eyes and he doesn’t know what to think, so he turns and runs, runs until he’s out of the castle and his lungs are burning. He’s terrified that he’s made a mistake but he’s exhausted and falls asleep under the light of the moon, its embroidered counterpart on his tunic clutched between his thumb and forefinger, hoping he’ll be alright.

 ***

Darling, there's a part of me

I'm afraid will always be

Trapped within an abstract from a moment of my life

The weeds up through the concrete

The traffic picking up speed

All my love and terror

Balanced there between those eyes

 ***

He wakes the next morning and he’s still terrified, but he’s alive, so maybe, just maybe he might be okay. He takes his time returning to the castle, ready to take off running away from the patrol he’s still half convinced must be mere moments away from dragging him to the dungeons. He picks his way through the bracken, stopping to collect the odd ingredient, partly out of self-preservation, in case he really does have to run, partly as a way to buy himself back into Gaius’ good graces after yet another impromptu disappearance, no doubt with an irate prince to go along with it.

When he finally opens the doors to Gaius’s quarters, he’s bewildered to find the old man moving around the room at a much faster pace than his creaking joints should allow. He spots a blur of ginger fur and slams the door shut just in time to stop the creature escaping. He looks up at Gaius, braced for his ire and is surprised to see the man with a soft smile gracing his features. He raises his eyebrows in question until Gaius explains that Arthur was worried that the cat might still be nursing unseen injuries and had decided that Gaius was better placed to cope with the possibility.

Merlin is, at best, utterly baffled. Did Arthur not say anything to him about what he did? Has he already decided to turn Merlin into the king and doesn’t want to deal with the old man’s pleas for mercy? 

Gains can clearly see the panic written across his face and takes pity on him, handing him a note from Arthur. A note. From Arthur. What the fuck? 

Merlin, 

Please tell me you haven’t gone and done something stupid. I have the tournament coming up and I won’t have my servant slacking and making me look messy, especially since recent discoveries have made it clear to me that you are more lazy than incompetent. 

Make sure you help Gaius take care of the kitten, we’ve named him Ethelred.

Yours,

A very patient prince

Okay, Merlin thinks, that note did NOT make things any clearer. 

He doesn’t sound angry though, he sounds like his normal prat of a prince. Did something go wrong with a spell somehow, has Arthur lost his memory and that’s why he’s so calm? No, that can’t be it, or he wouldn’t have mentioned recent discoveries. 

Well, Arthur mentioned the tournament, so Merlin goes to his chambers to collect any necessary items, entering far more quietly than his usual slammin gof doors, hoping to avoid the prince’s gaze. No such luck.

Arthur is there, and his eyes are soft when they meet Merlin’s. His heart is in his mouth as Arthur crosses the room to him and he barely has the chance to catch his breath before Arthur’s lips meet his. 

 Arthur pulls away, resting his forehead against Merlin’s and murmuring reassurances. Merlin can’t believe his luck. He really is going to be alright. 

***

See how it shines

See how it shines  

 ***

Many years later, Arthur is more than used to the flash of gold when Merlin casts a spell. At first furtive and only in emergencies when Arthur’s life was in danger, now something that happens thousands of times a day because really why would he bother moving from his bed to fetch more water when magic can do that for him?

 When they are married, Arthur insists the ceremony take place on a specific date, at an unorthodox time. Merlin thinks he’s just being difficult until the night in question, when he sees the full moon shine above their heads, the light reflecting off the rings they exchange. Arthur asks for a simple spell and Merlin’s eyes flash gold once more, the rings lighting up in time, binding their souls together beneath the stars.

[reverieparacosm]

Bro, I've never made any requests/asks before, but my Bondrewd brain rot has me in a chokehold, so here I am. I'm honestly so shocked at how little attention he has. You're like the only person who writes anything about him.

My request would be headcannons with a gender neutral reader who is also a scientist. The reader is like a major major workaholic who literally has no social life, and they end up having to work with (or for) Bondrewd for whatever reason. The two have completely differing hypotheses on the thing they're working on, as well as conflicting personalities due to readers' complete lack of willingness to work with someone else. The two would be kinda like work enemies to tolerating each other to friends/lovers

Thanks for considering to do this, have a good day/night :)

Headcanons: Bondrewd (Made in Abyss) x GN!Reader

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, no detailed violence

Note: It's really a shame that Bondrewd doesn't get more attention, right? He's such a fascinating character. That's why I decided to write about him, and I'm so glad you requested this! I hope you enjoy the headcanons. I'm happy to have the chance to explore his character again. ♡

You are a young scientist who has devoted your entire life to your research on the Abyss. Due to your extreme focus on work, you have no social skills or relationships outside of your studies

Bondrewd hears of your promising theories on understanding the nature of the Curse and invites you to join his research team at the 6th layer. You begrudgingly accept, wanting access to his vast resources

Upon meeting Bondrewd, you are immediately put off by his bizarre experiments and his casual brutality. However, you admire his intellect and the impressive results he's achieved

Where you see potential harm, Bondrewd sees opportunity

The two of you clash constantly in meetings as you question Bondrewd's unethical methods and hypotheses. He finds your rigid views on ethics naïve and annoying. Your coworkers are exasperated by your arguments

He starts testing your boundaries to get a rise out of you, partly to move things along and partly because he finds your reactions amusing

Early collaboration is disastrous as you and Bondrewd talk over each other, both convinced your methods are superior. You regularly storm away from meetings in frustration

He sees you as too emotional and stuck in conventional thinking. You see him as a madman who will stop at nothing, even sacrificing lives, for answers

Over time, you start to understand Bondrewd's perspectives better. While still disgusted by his actions, you realize he shares your passion and drive for discovery, even if he takes it to darker places

"Do not look at me with such disdain, my dear. Our methods may differ but our goals are the same - to pierce the veil of this enigma before us."

You are completely devoted to your research to the point where you often forget to sleep or eat. Bondrewd finds your single-minded focus amusing at first but it starts to frustrate him how you never take breaks

Bondrewd is intrigued by your fiery defiance of him. No one ever challenges him, and he sees potential in you as a researcher if you can think more creatively

The two of you are assigned to a dangerous expedition together deep in the 6th layer. Trapped in a cave-in, you have no choice but to cooperate with Bondrewd's leadership to survive

Working side by side in a life or death situation, you gain a grudging respect for each other's talents and start to see parts of yourselves in the other - two people willing to push all boundaries for knowledge

Back at the camp, you feel confused by the unfamiliar feelings welling up inside you for Bondrewd. This dangerous, cruel man should not be eliciting anything positive in you

"Do you feel it too, this connection between us? I think the Abyss works in mysterious ways, bringing souls like ours together in its depths."

One night, as you are working late in your lab, a sudden chill runs down your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you can feel the presence of another in the room. Turning slowly, you find yourself face to face with the imposing figure of Bondrewd

"Forgive my intrusion, my dear," he says in a low, velvet tone. "I couldn't help but be drawn to your fascinating work." He takes a step closer, and you instinctively take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest

Bondrewd raises a hand, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face. "You fascinate me, you know," he murmurs. "In the same way the Abyss does. I want to... study you more closely."

In that moment, you realize you've fallen for this monster of a man completely. Frightened but exhilarated, you surrender fully to your twisted love for Bondrewd and whatever the future may hold

In secret, a heated physical affair begins between you and the Lord of Dawn. You tell yourself it's just relief from stress, but your heart is becoming tangled

"Your mind is a thing of beauty, always questioning, analyzing, seeking the answers just out of reach. I find I cherish our debates almost as much as our other... encounters."

On expeditions, you and Bondrewd move seamlessly as a team, anticipating each other's needs and pushing your limits ever further. His praise and growing care for you is intoxicating

However, doubt haunts you - can you truly accept this man and all he's done? Your co-workers would be horrified. And what future is there when he views people as disposable?

"My methods may seem cruel, but it is all in aid of lifting the veil on this place. One day you may understand, as I strive to make you understand me."

[whimsicalpolitical]

if ur comfortable (ofc it’s okay if not) could you write one where reader self harms and matty helps her to take care of it and comfort her <3

bandage- Matty Healy

content warning: self harm, blood, sharp objects, mention of heroin, comfort

You think he’s gone for hours when you go into the bathroom.

Your wrist trembles, the razor blade clutched in your hand, its cold, unforgiving edge resting against your skin. The sting is sharp at first, like the bite of a winter wind, but then a warm trickle follows, a red ribbon unfurling down your arm. Each cut is a release, a distraction from the numbness that envelops your heart. You watch the blood with a detached fascination, feeling the pain blur into a strange, sick relief.

It's not the first time, and you doubt it will be the last. You can't pinpoint exactly when it started, only that the ache inside became too much to bear without a physical outlet. The irony of using pain to drown out other pain isn't lost on you. Ironic, perhaps, but effective. The physical pain is a distraction from the mental torment, a way to exert some control when everything else feels so chaotically out of reach.

The sound of the front door creaking open barely registers at first. You’re lost in the rhythm, the methodical slicing that offers a temporary escape. The routine of it almost calms you, but then reality crashes in. Matty is supposed to be gone. Hours at the studio, a late-night session, anything to keep him out of the house and away from you. You were safe in your solitude, at least for a while.

“We finished early tonight, love,” his voice rings out, casual, unaware. Panic surges through you, hot and immediate. The bathroom door swings open with a creak that echoes in your ears, and there he is, a silhouette against the light of the hallway.

“Fucking Christ!” Matty’s eyes widen, horror mixing with confusion as he takes in the scene: the blood, the razor, the mess of tissues. He rushes forward, his movements frantic, and the door slams shut behind him, cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Why- what the fuck are you doing baby?” His voice cracks, and you can see the tears welling up in his eyes, the disbelief etched into his features. He kneels beside you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching. He’s always so careful, so afraid of making things worse.

“I didn’t know you were coming back,” you manage to choke out, your voice breaking. It’s a weak explanation, as if the timing is the issue, as if it changes anything.

“Shh, s’arlight,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. He grabs a towel, pressing it gently against your arm, and you flinch at the contact, the pain now mingling with a shame so deep it feels like drowning. His hands are shaking, and you can see the fear in his eyes, the desperation.

“Why, love? Why would you do this to yourself?” His voice is a whisper, a plea for understanding that you can’t give. You don’t know how to explain the darkness that wraps around your mind, the weight that makes every day a struggle.

“It... it helps,” you mutter, the words feeling hollow, inadequate. “It makes me feel something.”

“You don’t have to hurt yourself to feel something. There’s so much more to life, so much more to feel. I love you, okay? Please, just let me help.”

Matty’s eyes soften with a look of understanding, a look that tells you he’s been where you are now. You know his story, the scars he carries on his own skin, a reminder of battles fought in the quiet corners of his mind. He’s talked about it before, in hushed tones and late-night conversations, how he once turned to self-harm to cope, to find some semblance of control.

“Here, let me clean this up.”

He fetches the first-aid kit from under the sink, carefully tending to your wounds. His touch is tender, his hands working with the precision of someone who’s done this too many times before, both for himself and for others.

As he wraps your arm in a clean bandage, his fingers linger on your skin, a silent promise that he’s here for you, that you’re not alone.

“C’mere, love.” He sits beside you on the cold tile floor, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You bury your face in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself cry. His hand strokes your hair, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear, telling you that it’s okay, that you’ll get through this together. “Please don’t do this again, alright? You have to tell me when you think about doing this.”

He pulls your head back and wipes your tears with his thumb, keeping them on your cheek. “I love you so much, d’you know that?”

You nod in his hands, your lip still trembling.

“Hey, we’ll figure this out,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “You don’t have to do this on your own. We’ll get through it. One step at a time.” His words are a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge. For a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to face this alone.

He holds you close, your tears soaking into his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He’s been here before, in this place of darkness, and he knows what it means to be pulled out, to feel a lifeline tethered to something real.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. “We can talk more there. It’s warmer and, you know, less like a crime scene.”

You nod against his chest, your strength ebbing away, leaving you exhausted. He lifts you with surprising ease, his arms firm and secure around you. It’s not just about the physical support; it’s about the trust, the belief that he won’t let you fall, not now, not ever.

“Alright, s’go,” Matty gives you a small, reassuring smile before shifting to scoop you up into his arms. He lifts you effortlessly, his strength a comfort as he carries you out of the bathroom and down the hallway to your bedroom.

He lays you gently on the bed, the softness of the mattress a stark contrast to the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom floor. He pulls the covers up around you, tucking you in with a care that makes your heart swell. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on your arm, his touch warm and steady.

“Do you need anything, love?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Anything at all? Just say the word.”

You shake your head, a small, tired smile playing on your lips. “No, I’m alright. Just... stay with me, please.”

“F’course, I’m not going anywhere,” he replies, his voice gentle but firm. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering long after he pulls away. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

He moves to lie beside you, pulling you close so that your head rests against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a sense of calm. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, as if he can protect you from the darkness that threatens to consume you.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmurs, “one day at a time yeah? And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

You nod against his chest, your eyes growing heavy with sleep trying to pull you in. “I’m sorry Matty.”

“Hey no, s’not your fault.” His voice breaks and if you were a little more tired you might’ve missed it. “You don’t ever have to apologize, never, s’normal to struggle with life. I get it, I mean I fucking did heroin, not any better.” He says.

“What I’m trying to say s’ that everyone tries to cope differently, we just have to look f’ another way to cope, yeah?”

You nod, “how did you find another way?”

“I did horse therapy, shit was crazy, but it did help. I had my guys, fans but most of all I had you.” You don’t notice how his hands find its way over your bandage on your arms.

You hum, “I love you, Matty, I promise I’ll try.”

“S’ my girl,” he kisses your nose, “and even if you can’t, you always need to tell me.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “can you tell me about horse therapy?”

Matty chuckles, knowing that you just want him to talk you to sleep.

“Well,” he starts, “for the first three or four days it was me stood in a field rolling my eyes next to a horse.”

You smile to yourself, falling deeper against him and his soothingly rubs never stop as he goes on.

“There was a guy and he was literally telling me to ‘talk to the horse’ and I was like ‘ah alright’ because it’s obviously ridiculous.”

“So he leaves me alone and I’m like ‘hello’,” and the horse obviously didn’t say anything.”

You appreciate when Matty opens up and talks to you about his past because he had his struggles as well.

“So I was talking to it for a bit and I was getting frustrated and then he put me in a round pen…”

you don’t know when you feel asleep and Matty knows you’re going say you’re sorry because he was talking to you, but he doesn’t mind. He wants you to rest.

“Ah, I hope you dream f’ me and the horse,” he whispers, kissing your lips softly before closing his eyes as well.

[delusionaldeadgirl]

Venomous

Chapter 2- Blurred Lines

Elias Voit x Reader

Summary: Elias blurs the lines between him and you

part 1

Every time you thought of your last interaction, your body reacted before your mind could catch up. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t threaten. But something in his voice lit your nerves on fire.

It was power— not the kind that comes from his violence. It was the kind like he was scheming. He knew something you didn’t know.

“He’s working you” Rossi said one night, catching you in the bullpen late at night. “I’ve seen it before. Charm doesn’t always wear a smile”. You nodded, but your mind was already racing.

You were up next to see Elias. To analyze him.

“You’re the the one who sees it, aren’t you?” he whispered. “The pattern. The why. You’re not like them. You could understand me if you let yourself”.

“What makes you think I’d want to understand you?”

He smile was slow. Intimate.

“Because part of you already does.”

And that was the moment you found out something dangerous. You weren’t afraid of Elias Voit.

You were afraid of what you might become, if you let him in.

You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Not Pity. Not fascination. You were supposed to be there to ask him about Benjamin Reeves.

“You’re soft today, (Y/N)” he said as you sat down. “I dreamed of you last night. Did you dream of me too?”. You didn’t respond.

You stiffened. ”Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirked, unbothered. “It’s not flattery. You blush when I say your name.”

You flipped through the folder in front of you. Picture after picture of bite marks that are strangely monstrous.

“You want to know the thing that separates you from your coworkers?” he asked.

You shouldn’t have responded, but you did. “What?”

“You want to be different from your peers. You want to be seen as someone other than just a women who works for the BAU” he stated.

Your heart stuttered. Just for a second.

“I am different than my peers. I don’t actually work for the BAU. I’m a body language analysis specialist. They brought me in specifically for this case” you responded harshly.

He leaned forward, slow, like he could smell your mixed emotions. “Is that so?” he asked. You didn’t want to give him the time of day.

Yet, your body betrayed you. You took a slow breath as your thighs pressed together subtly under the table.

His eyes flicked down. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

His expression didn’t change. “I’m not going to give you what you desire, (Y/N),” he said quietly and razor sharp. “But I like that you want it”.

You rolled your eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn’t go back for three days.

You told Emily it was burnout. You told yourself it was your boundaries. But the fourth day you were back in that cold interrogation room. Voit’s eyes followed you as you moved around.

“You missed me” he said, simply.

You scoffed, sitting down. “Whatever helps you sleep at night”.

He tilted his head, scanning your face.

He knew. You knew your unprofessional, mortifying thoughts. And worse, you knew he was starting to feel the same.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing”. You said, your voice tighter than you meant it to be. “But I’m not the one stuck behind bars.”

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Oh sweetheart…you keep coming back here. that’s a cage of its own”.

You looked away. “I’m doing my job. I have to keep coming back here”.

His tone shifted—softer now, laced with something almost close to affection. “You ever wonder why I talk to you and no one else?”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ve met so many women in my life” he started. You interjected, “Most of which you’ve killed I’m sure”. He didn’t acknowledge your comment. “You…” he leaned in closer, eyes scanning your face. “You want to understand me. You’re not afraid of what you’ll find, even if it scares you”.

You rolled your eyes once more.

He smiled, and this time it wasn’t cruel. It was..fascinated. Possessive. Like he’d found something rare.

“I don’t fuck with the feds” he leaned back in his chair. “But I might make an exception”.

Your knees went weak under the table. You hated him. You hated what he did to you.

And you’d never wanted anyone more

A/N: yay chapter 2!!! chapter 3 will be even more steamy lol

[pennyluna]

Misunderstandings Part 4

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader 18+

Wordcount: 2172

Genre: Working together au. - Cold Player Au - Future something au.

Warning: This story contains strong language and Spicy/sexual scenes. Be aware before reading.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

I freeze. My body starts moving trying to figure out my next move, should I change? nah is too late. Should I justㅡ  Maybe I should just open the door. I make my way to the door and exhale when I notice is just the delivery guy with my food. After closing the door I made my way to the kitchen but to steps in its direction i hear another knock sending a chill down my spine. 

I place the food on the kitchen counter and walk to the door somehow this time I am more relaxed, looking out of the peephole I see Yoongi and suddenly the possible consequences of someone in my building seeing him outside my door at this time of night rushes through my head so my body rushes to open the door grab his hand and bring him inside the house shutting the door behind him in a spam of seconds.

"Missed me much?" he says with a fascinated smirk on his face.

"Huh?" I said confused. Finally looking down to where he was looking I take my hand back fast. Turns out my hand was still on the spot on his shirt where I grabbed him to pull him inside the house and I was still holding him against the wall.  

"What are you doing here Yoongi? How do you even know my address?" I say starting to come back to my senses. He continues to look at me seemingly amused and grabs my hand again interlacing our fingers. I am getting annoyed at his lack of response so I pull my hand away and walk towards my kitchen.  I open a bottle of red wine and pour two glasses silently handing one of them towards Yoongi. 

"I will call your driver and we can get you back to your hotel before anyone notices." I state.

"You want me to leave?" he stares at me then proceeds to rest sip on his wine "Oh.. Is Nate coming over?" he laughs mockingly.

"Stop it. I don't want to continue playing this game with you." I am evidently annoyed. I don't understand him first he ignores me and now he is jealous and showing up at my house. What the hell!!!!!!!!

He scoffs and places his glass on the kitchen island then walking towards where I am standing. He is walking slowly or maybe that is just my silly brain looking at him in slow-motion. He places his hands on my hips "You are cute when you are mad, you know that?"  

My confused expression is gone once his lips reach mine, his hands roaming around my hips pulling me into him.

 "I care. You are mine and the idea of another man touching you is scarier than anything else in my life right now". I don't know if he means that but his tone seems sincere and I cant do nothing but give up into his touch. I start kissing him and push him out of the kitchen and into my couch, we start taking our clothes off in a rush, I needed to touch him I needed him inside of me even if this was the last time we would do this. He seemed to be in the same rush as me and the lust in his eyes was fueling my need, we plop into the couch, making out and touching each others bodies. The room filled with our heavy breathing and moans. I get on top of him and rub his member to my entrance before sliding it in and riding him, his hands are on my boobs and then on my neck pulling me down to kiss him.  Everything is so intense and feels just so good. He tries to move me around and we end up rolling off the couch to my fluffy rug on the floor, not stopping but to laugh a little about the incident before continuing our activities. Having him on top of me with my legs wrapped around him and while he is fucking me and looking at me like I belong to him is making my legs shake and I cant no longer control my building orgasm and  end up exploding around his member in a symphony of moans, him following right after me.

He rolls over and lays next to me,  kissing my shoulder and then pulling the blanket off the couch and covering our bodies with it. I start myself falling asleep and I hear a  whispers "You are mine. I am yours". his words like a promise and the last thing I hear before falling asleep.

.................. The morning after ..................

I rub my eyes waking up, the only signs that what seems like a sleepy dream actually happened is my naked body covered by a blanket in the middle of my living room floor  Looking towards my windows I can see the cloudy rainy day is reflecting my feelings once I notice Yoongi is no longer next to me. I love rainy days but the idea of him leaving without saying goodbye after we spent the night together just rubs me the wrong way but I understand, he probably left very early to avoid being seen. 

I get up wrapping the blanket around my body, move the empty wine glasses to the kitchen and head to my room it takes me a couple of seconds to notice the noise coming from my bathroom and the light coming through the slightly open door. I walk towards it slowly and realize that the noise I was hearing was coming from my shower, when I push the door open a bit only to see Yoongi standing under the steamy shower. I rub my eyes again silently thanking God when I open my eyes again and Yoongi is still there.

"Good morning... Join me?" his words sounded like a question but I know it was more an order.

he stands staring at me with his hand pushing his hair back from his face, this man is a vision, his gorgeous forehead in sight, his body, his slightly erected member, all of him on plane view and surrounded by the steam made it a bit harder for me to be convinced this wasn't a dream.  I drop the blanket from my body and his member jerks up a bit, his eyes scanning my body as I walk into the shower. His hands welcome me under the warm water and his mouth follows planting a soft kiss to my lips before tracing other small kisses around my collar bone, then my boobs and then around my belly button kneeling in front of me and moving my leg over his shoulder. Our eyes connect for a second and I am starting to believe he really is here but when His tongue connects with my clit and he starts working around it with that powerful mouth of his, I am one hundred percent certain he is. I hold onto his wet hair while a powerful orgasm starts to build inside of me and it comes to a satisfying releasing a second after he introduces his fingers inside of me. I don't have time to recover from it because I am now slammed against the wet tiles with his hard member being pushed inside of me with one powerful move, his hand pulling my hair and head backwards so he can kiss my exposed neck while he continues to go in and out of my core. The intensity of all his moves seem to be getting to both of us, because soon we are both panting and I'm begging him to let me come as he is going into me faster and deeper until we both get to an incredible orgasm, His soft grunts in my ear adding to my pleasure and sending shivers through my body.

After washing ourselves and resting in the bedroom for a bit, I watched him put his pants on while I put on a large t-shirt and some shorts, I knew he was going lo leave soon so in my mind I was trying to get used to the idea and bringing back my serious and sometimes bitchy side of my personality out again.

"Do you like brunch?"  he asks casually. His words pulling me out of my thoughts and the idea that he might be wanting to start some chitchat to cover the silence while he waits for his car bother me a bit.

"Yes. Doesn't everyone?" I don't wait for him to answer before I ask another question "Is your driver on the way? I need to check that no one is around before you leave. Tell him to go at the back entrance of the building, that will probably be more discreet." I continue talking about options for him to safely leave my apartment with minor risk of being seen but after a while of talking and not having an answer from him,  I stop to look at him only to find him staring at me, shirtless and phone in hand. He opens his mouth to say something but he stops. "What?" I ask again.

"Are you kicking me out?"

"No. But you should get back to your hotel before people figure out you are not there. This is the responsible thing to do." I say in my formal tone that now has a hint of annoyance in my voice after a couple of seconds of silence. 

He looks at me, silently scanning my face and then suddenly something changes in his eyes. I open my mouth ready to speak again but he put his hand up to stop me from doing so. He drops his phone on the bed and then speaks. 

"Were are not doing this." I look at him confused. "We have one day off work. I asked about brunch because I want us to eat something together. I want to spend the day with you. I want to feed you so you get some strength in you before we spend the rest of the day fucking and talking about anything and everything." he steps closer to me and holds my chin up. "I don't know what this is exactly and I cant promise you anything but I know is more than just sex to me.  So, if you want me to leave say it. Otherwise, I need you to drop the attitude and allow us to enjoy today."

His voice is firm but filled with honesty and his eyes continue to scan me, I can see he is waiting for an answer so I nod in agreement activating a smirk in his face as  he pulls me in for a deep kiss.

After our conversation we spent the rest of the day doing just that. We ate brunch sitting at the kitchen island. Watched a movie and argued about the stupid logic of the girl that hears a noise coming from her dark basement and then goes to check it. Yoongi said he could take whatever it was that was hiding in there while i laughed at him showing me how he would throw punches, then I said I would run so fast that there would be a hole in the wall shaped like me. We had sex in different parts of my apartment, the kitchen, on my bed and on the floor of my bedroom, against the little table where I set my keys and again in the shower talking and taking naps in between each session. We almost never checked our phones because Yoongi had talked to his manager about wanting to not be disturb because he was going to be resting in his room but now his alarm started ringing, waking us up from our nap in the couch after the latest sex session.  He stops his alarm and then starts giving me soft kisses on the neck. 

"I have to go." he says softly against my mouth. I moan a little when we kiss. We get up from the couch and he pulls a t-shirt over my head before putting his clothes on. His phone rings again and we know this time is his driver, we had agreed he would go out alone, since it would be less suspicious. Stopping in front of my door we silently hug and he kisses my forehead before heading outside.

I lock my door and look around my living room noticing every sign of his now missing presence here, the empty box of the pizza we had for dinner, the empty beer cans, a random movie playing on the tv, my blanket on the floor in front of the couch, the small pillows that usually sit on the couch are on the floor and I wrap my hand around my body trying to avoid the sadness and the uncertainty of what could happen tomorrow when we are back at work. I head to my bedroom, closing the door behind me and curling myself up in my bed, smelling his sent in my pillows, then falling asleep. 

.................................................................................

A.N: I hope you guys like part 4. Please feel free to leave any feedback. I would be really thankful if you could leave a like/repost this :)

[deltaruminations]

I’m super interested to hear your thoughts on Gaster and the Eggman with the information we have now, but i want to double check on what you’ve exactly have done thus far so i don’t accidentally spoil you on anything

Hey! Thanks for checking! I've seen the egg stuff in both chapters and gaster's post-credits dialogue and his commentary on trying to rematch the knight without the mantle, which I believe is pretty much all of it? to be honest i'm still trying to make sense of a lot of it, but here are some of my general thoughts right now. if there are other specific things you're curious about, feel free to ask :)

Tree Man confirmed valentine writer of course kicks ass. weirdly enough i feel like ch3 also kind of soft-"confirmed" (at least heavily suggested) that tree man is A Gaster, since he used almost the same phrasing of "deltarune is waiting" that gaster did after the ch4 credits. i'm both excited by this and also extremely confused

i loved the tree man dialogue and found it very charming and cute. one of these days i might make a post just appreciating that scene and maybe try to do some character analysis on it

It's funny, i feel like Tree Man is becoming more obviously sympathetic as The Voice is getting way more unsettling and it's left me pretty confused about what this guy's overall deal is or what to expect of him lol. the gaster posts this time around are, to put it bluntly, psychosexually bizarre, and also "MY DELTARUNE"??? just... deeply weird energy from this guy lately. it's almost like toby saw too many people sympathizing with "gaster"/The Voice and was like "okay i really need to dial up his creep factor." at the same time Tree Man is becoming far less unnerving and more comforting, like the egg rooms honestly felt like oases. so i'm not really sure where we're at

i guess maybe the impression i'm getting is that Tree Man and The Voice could almost be a parallel dynamic to UNUSED and the Roaring Knight, where dess and gaster both have a repressed/discarded personality that retains their humanity, while their dominant personalities are just like twisted and insane from whatever this situation is that they've been in. like the Roaring Knight is willing to manipulate and torment her friends and family for whatever ends while The Voice has some kind of weird quasi-romantic obsession with his own game. meanwhile their "truer" selves are just lonely and confused and desperate to be seen/heard at all

Tree confirmed as a Repression Thing is really interesting. i'm not really sure what Kris's relationship to it might be. the "Lost where the forest would grow, the children followed the pointed tail" line is certainly suggestive of something but at the same time it seems strange that kris's memory of a child-abducting Satan figure would manifest as this guy given that he seems to be pretty sincerely harmless and well-meaning so. idk lol. I've been wondering for a while if there might be some other, higher-order devilry afoot, something beyond gaster. it's possible that "pointed tail" could be referring to something else (FRIEND?). idk i don't want to jump to conclusions just yet

"And so wept the fallen star, making rivers with its tears. Then, slowly from the bitter water, something grew. It looked like glass. I wonder, did it sputter?" is fascinating and could easily apply to dess OR gaster. "fallen star" could be alluding to dess as a kind of rockstar. in Dess's case it kind of reads like her creating the Knight. at the same time, "fallen star" is kind of lucifer coded language, and the proximity to the egg room + the continued weeping imagery kind of suggest gaster. in which case, what the fuck does this mean lol. It almost seems like it could be a continuation of the "lost where the forest would grow" line, in which case it's like, what, did gaster see something bad happen to the kids and got so sad he accidentally made the knight about it. Like, in wishing to help dess, he manifested this nightmarish version of her who was strong enough to defy her fate. idk. there IS the whole thing about shadow crystals being formed through emotional investment and the knight almost seems to be one huge shadow crystal. no idea lol

oh tenna-gaster parallels also, mostly in this idea of modifying an existing game and "whitewashing" it or plastering over darker or more vulnerable/revealing parts of it (see again, Tree?) to make them less distressing and more peaceful, which is obviously exaggerated to the point of corniness in tenna's games, but you can argue that there are shades of this in gaster's DELTARUNE and its heavy incentivizing of merciful play, the inability to meaningfully harm anyone (outside the exploits of the Weird Route), ralsei's pressuring of himself to stay cheerful and keep spirits high, etc. there might very well be some kind of philosophical conflict here between gaster's desire to repress pain and smile & hope & dream problems away (ultimately just letting them fester until they become even worse), and the knight's fervent desire to break through that facade and make her pain known at any cost, punishing the whole world for it and dragging everyone down with her. of course by the end of chapter 3 we see tenna have a psychological breakdown when he realizes he can't just fix all of his problems by making people play games. so i'm sure that bodes well for gaster in the future

[pixel7777]

The First Worshipper: Ch. 14

The naughty version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

If you want to read from the beginning, searching my blog for #myfic will bring up all my fanfic posts. Link for Chapter 1. Link for art discussion post.

Read this chapter below the break here or on AO3!

256 years AB

I shuffled the cards in my hands, pretending to continue studying the wedding service notes while every nerve in my body screamed at the familiar energy I felt filling the room. One hundred and fifty years, give or take a decade. That's how long it had been since I'd felt that particular divine presence—the unmistakable sensation of Gale manifesting nearby.

My fingers tightened on the papers. The urge to spin around and throw myself into his arms warred with the equally strong desire to punch him square in his perfect, stupid face.

How dare he?

How dare he show up now, after leaving me alone for over a century? After missing every funeral, every milestone, every moment when I needed my best friend? After never answering a prayer when I needed my god?

The cards crumpled slightly in my grip. I forced my hands to relax, smoothing the expensive paper with careful movements. Inside, I was screaming every curse I'd learned in five centuries of immortality. Outside, I made sure my expression remained perfectly composed, almost bored.

"Well, well." I didn't look up immediately. Let him wait. "I suppose gods can be fashionably late to RSVP." I lifted my gaze, arching one eyebrow. "The service starts in three hours, but I'm sure we can squeeze you into the second row. Of your own cathedral."

My voice came out exactly as I'd intended—light, amused, with just the right edge of mockery. As though his presence meant nothing more to me than any other wedding guest's. As though my dead heart wasn't trying to claw its way out of my chest at the sight of him. As though I didn't dare to blink and risk him not being there when my eyes opened.

Every detail of him burned into my vision—the familiar sweep of his dark hair, the way divine light seemed to pool in the hollows of his collarbones, that insufferably earnest expression. Gods, I'd forgotten how his presence filled a room. How dare he still look exactly the same when everything else had changed?

"May I sit?" Gale gestured to the chair across from me. "I should explain."

"Oh, should you?" I dropped my eyes and reordered the cards with exaggerated care, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. (Don't look at him don't look at him don't—) "Well, far be it from me to deny an audience to my patron deity. Though really, what's there to explain? You chose godhood. Quite understandable. Who wouldn't pick divine power and the worship of millions over..." I waved a hand vaguely, encompassing myself. "All this nonsense."

My voice came out perfectly light, perfectly controlled. (As though my chest wasn't aching with the weight of a century's worth of unspoken words.)

"Though I suppose," I continued, finally meeting his gaze with my most practiced smile, "a note would have been nice. 'Dear Astarion, terribly sorry, but apparently running an entire divine domain leaves one simply too busy for friendship or whatever else it was we were considering. Best wishes among the rabble.' Something like that."

Gale's face did that thing it always used to do when he was trying not to show how much my words had hit their mark—a slight tightening around the eyes, a barely perceptible flinch. (I hadn't forgotten that either. I hadn't forgotten anything about him, damn him.)

"It wasn't like that," he said softly.

"No?" I raised an eyebrow. "Do enlighten me then. I'm sure it's a fascinating tale of cosmic proportions." (Tell me everything. Tell me where you've been. Tell me why you left me alone for so long.)

And so, Gale did.

I sat perfectly still as Gale explained, my fingers white-knuckled around the cards with my speech notes on them. Ao had confined him? Forced him into isolation from the mortal plane? A laugh bubbled up in my throat—half relief, half hysteria. All this time I'd thought... but no. He hadn't chosen to abandon me. He'd been trapped.

My amusement grew as Gale detailed his fifty-year campaign of subtle manipulation and divine blackmail. Of course he had. That was my Gale—always finding the clever way around rules meant to contain him. (And wasn't that just like him, to turn even godhood into an elaborate academic exercise in outwitting his peers?)

Then he mentioned Mystra.

"That sanctimonious harpy?" I spat the words before I could stop myself. "What could she possibly have to say that's worth hearing?"

But as Gale recounted their conversation, I felt my satisfaction curdle into something uncomfortably like understanding. Mystra had called him out on his isolation, his refusal to engage with divine governance, his... oh damn her, she was right. He'd been sulking in his divine domain like a child who didn't get his way.

"So now you're taking her advice?" I tried to inject venom into the words, but they came out more bewildered than bitter. "Playing nice with the other gods?"

"I did," Gale admitted. "I remedied my ignorance. And discovered I still fundamentally disagree with most of them. But at least now I understand why I disagree and what that means."

I blinked. Wait.

"Let me get this straight." I leaned forward, cards forgotten. "You've spent fifty years learning to talk to gods. So, the first fifty years, you were trapped, but the second fifty you were... what, again? You could have been talking to me and you didn't?" My voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word. "You just... chose not to?"

The look on his face told me everything I needed to know.

I slumped back in my chair, the fight draining out of me. Gods, I sounded like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. When had I become so... messy? Half a millennium of carefully crafted poise, shattered by his mere presence.

But before I could muster some witty deflection, Gale spoke.

"I'm sorry, Astarion." His voice carried that particular resonance of truth. "I failed you. Not just as a god, but as a friend. I was so caught up in understanding what I'd become that I forgot who I was. Who we were."

The raw honesty in his words caught me off guard. I'd prepared for excuses, for divine proclamations, for anything but... this.

"I spent fifty years learning to talk to gods," he said. "And I learned something crucial—they aren't who I want to be. But in doing so, I failed the one person who already understood me. I failed you, Astarion. The only person who never wanted anything from me except..." He gestured between us, encompassing whatever this was. "This. Just us. Being honest."

"Well." I cleared my throat, cursing the tremor in my voice. "I wouldn't say never. I did want that absolutely divine wine you conjured that one time."

Gale's laugh held an echo of our old friendship. "And now? I find myself at a crossroads, old friend. I've learned what it means to be a god, but I'm not certain what comes next. And I find myself in need of counsel." His eyes met mine, warm with affection. "From my first worshipper. My high priest. My best friend. If he's willing to forgive an absolutely atrocious display of negligence."

"Hmm." I made a show of considering it, though we both knew I'd already forgiven him. "I suppose I could be persuaded. Though you realize this means you're attending the wedding?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

I bit back a smile, thinking of Wyll's... special arrangements for the ceremony. Some things were better left as surprises, even for gods. That wasn't petty revenge, surely. Just... maintaining the entertainment value of the occasion.

"Then yes," I said. "I forgive you. Though I reserve the right to be absolutely insufferable about it for at least another century."

“So long as we can speak again, after the ceremony, you can punish me for as long as you want,” Gale said, his tone half-teasing, half-pleading.

My grin faltered, and before I could stop myself, I leaned forward, catching his hand in mine. His fingers were warmer than I remembered, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

“You’re not disappearing again,” I said, my voice quiet but firm.

His grip tightened, just enough to reassure me. “I’m not.”

I stared at our joined hands, willing my voice to remain steady. Damn him. Damn his warmth, his presence, his ability to make me feel like this after so long. My carefully constructed walls were crumbling, and I could feel the telltale sting behind my eyes.

"Promise me."

"I'm not disappearing, not ever again, I promise," Gale repeated, softer this time. His thumb traced small circles on my hand—a gesture so achingly familiar it made my chest hurt. "Astarion, look at me."

I shook my head, keeping my gaze fixed on our hands. If I looked up now, I'd—no. No, I refused to fall apart. Not now. Not over this.

"Every prayer," Gale said, his voice carrying that special warmth of his that made everything feel more real, more raw. "Every word. I swear I'll answer. Even if it's just to tell you your choice in wine is atrocious."

A laugh escaped me, wet and broken. Damn him. He saw right through me—saw the tears I was fighting back, saw how close I was to shattering. His other hand started to reach for my face, and panic seized me.

"Don't you dare." I jerked back, smoothing my hair with trembling fingers. "Do you have any idea how long it took to get this perfect? I will not have you ruining my styling before the ceremony."

We both knew it wasn't about the hair. Just like we both knew I wasn't ready for him to wipe away tears I refused to acknowledge. Gods, I needed to stop letting this man make a mess of me. (I wouldn't stop.)

His hand dropped, but his eyes found and held mine with unbearable understanding. "Of course. Can't have the high priest looking anything less than immaculate at our Wyll's wedding."

"Obviously." My voice was light, but the weight of his gaze lingered.

He didn’t disappear. He stayed. For now, that was enough.

* * *

Gale stood on the dais of the cathedral (not in the second row, as Astarion had threatened). Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows and cast rainbow patterns across the marble floor. The late afternoon light caught the silver and blue decorations adorning every surface, from delicate flower arrangements to shimmering fabric draped between pillars.

The bride, Gloria, was stunning in an elegant gown of deep crimson silk that complemented her dark skin and matched the traditional colors of Waterdeep's nobility. Her black hair was intricately braided with golden threads, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and mirth. As a respected member of the Watchful Order of Magists, she carried herself with natural poise that rivaled any noble-born lady.

Wyll stood tall in what had to be Astarion's finest work yet - a perfectly tailored suit in midnight blue with gold accents that made his devil-touched features appear more striking than fiendish. The fabric caught the light as he moved, revealing subtle patterns woven into the material that reminded Gale of constellations. Halsin towered beside him as best man, looking somewhat uncomfortable in formal wear but beaming with pride.

Astarion's speech drew both tears and laughter from the gathered crowd as he recounted tales of Wyll's heroics, his dedication to helping others, how he sacrificed his humanity to save Karlach, and how Gloria had captured the hero's heart by out-drinking him at the Elfsong Tavern. The vampire's delivery was perfectly timed, each pause allowing the audience to react before moving to the next carefully crafted line.

"And now," Astarion concluded, his voice taking on a more formal tone, "these two shall speak their vows of love and commitment before friends, family, and the gods themselves." He turned slightly, catching Gale's eye with a quick wink.

That subtle gesture sent a chill down Gale's spine. He knew that look - it was the same one Astarion had worn before "accidentally" setting loose a nest of mimics during a Flaming Fist inspection, or when he'd replaced all the holy water in the temple with vodka just before a visiting archbishop's blessing ceremony. Gale fought to maintain his composure as his mind raced through all the possible ways Astarion might have modified the traditional wedding ceremony.

Gale's divine senses prickled as arcane energy surged through the cathedral. The familiar taste of infernal magic filled the air as Wyll's voice rang out in perfect Infernal: "Sorores surge. Testis esto pacti mei."

Two figures materialized beside the altar in swirls of sulfurous smoke. The cambions stood mirror-like in their symmetry - one with ash-white skin and obsidian hair, the other ebony-skinned with platinum locks. Both wore matching robes of deepest crimson, adorned with contracts written in golden script that seemed to shift and change as they moved. Their wings, leathery like bats, flicked out gracefully before settling to frame their commanding stances.

"Come, sisters, be my testament," Wyll commanded. "Notum sit in Baator."

"Notum sit in Baator," the Sisters echoed in perfect harmony, their voices carrying the weight of infernal law.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Gale felt his divine essence recoil at their presence - these were no minor devils, but ancient arbiters of hellish contracts. He caught Astarion's eye again, but the vampire's expression held only genuine delight at Gale's shock.

"Be at peace," Wyll addressed the stunned audience. "This will be my first and only diabolic contract. You are all safe - the Sisters of Justice are here merely as witnesses."

Wyll turned to face Gloria, who stood unflinching before the cambions. "I offer my eternal life as a devil in exchange for one mortal lifetime with you. A life for a life - the cost must be paid."

Gale's mind reeled. Wyll was trading immortality itself for love. Mizora had told Wyll there was no way to undo the fiendish transformation she had inflicted on him as a punishment for failing to meet the terms of his contract, but it seemed Wyll had found a loophole.  If he was a devil, he could bargain, like a devil. And the contract would have the power to enforce itself. It was brilliant.  Diabolical, even.

It was precisely the kind of ambitious choice that should have delighted him as the God of Ambition, yet all he felt was stunned silence as he watched his friend prepare to sign away eternity. A bold choice that made his own indecision feel…embarrassing, and small.

Astarion's barely contained glee at Gale's shock only made it worse. The vampire caught his eye again and mouthed what looked suspiciously like "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

Gale watched in stunned silence as Wyll faced the cambion sisters. Their voices rang out in perfect harmony, the infernal words echoing through the cathedral's vaulted ceiling. "Infernus contractus te vocamus," they chanted three times, and reality itself seemed to bend around them.

The contract materialized between them, hovering in mid-air. Its parchment glowed with an inner light, the script shifting and writhing like living things. Gale's divine sight pierced through the magical veil, revealing the true nature of the document - unbreakable, fueled by powers as old as the gods themselves.

Wyll and Gloria bent their heads together over the contract, their faces illuminated by its otherworldly glow. Gale could see Gloria's lips moving as she read each clause carefully, her scholarly training evident in her methodical approach. When she finished, she looked up at Wyll with a smile that held absolute certainty.

"I accept these terms," Gloria declared in Common, her voice clear and strong.

Wyll's response came in perfect Infernal: "Fiat ita."

The cambion sisters raised their hands in unison. "Fiat ita. Anima ad Baator."

Light exploded through the cathedral. Gale watched as hellfire consumed Wyll's devil form, burning away centuries of infernal corruption. When the flames died, Wyll stood transformed - human again, exactly as he'd been before Mizora's curse. His face radiated pure joy as he gazed at his restored hands.

The cathedral erupted in cheers and applause. Through the cacophony, Gale heard Astarion's familiar drawl beside him.

"Our Blade always did love performing for an audience." Astarion's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And look how they love him for it. Almost makes me wish I'd thought of it first. But I suppose if there's ever a time it's acceptable to upstage me, it's at one's own wedding."

Gale watched the Sisters of Justice fade back into sulfurous smoke, their duty complete. The infernal contract hung suspended for a moment longer, its script burning bright before dissolving into ash that scattered across the marble floor.

The crowd's attention shifted back to the ceremony proper, but Gale could barely focus on the traditional vows being exchanged. His divine mind reeled at what he'd just witnessed. Wyll had found a way to trade immortality itself - not for power or knowledge or any of the countless treasures devils typically bargained for, but for a single mortal lifetime with the woman he loved.

The audience erupted in cheers as Gloria and Wyll sealed their vows with a kiss. Wyll's face radiated pure joy, his newly restored human features creased with laugh lines that would now deepen naturally with age. He held Gloria close, both of them glowing with the kind of happiness that made even a god's heart ache.

Gale felt the weight of divinity pressing down on him as he watched. Here was a man who'd had the chance at forever and he'd given it up without hesitation. Not only given it up, but done so with a smile that suggested he'd gotten the better end of the deal.

The crowd's enthusiasm swelled with each traditional moment - the exchange of rings, the blessing of their union by Astarion (on Gale's behalf, no less), the first steps together as husband and wife. But Gale barely registered the noise, lost in contemplation of choice and sacrifice. As a god, he understood eternity intimately now. The idea of willingly trading it away for something as fleeting as mortal love should have seemed foolish to his divine perspective.

Yet watching Wyll's face as he gazed at his new wife, Gale couldn't find a trace of regret in his friend's expression. Only certainty, joy, and love so profound it seemed to light him from within more brightly than any hellfire ever could.

* * *

Gale had barely registered the shift from ceremony to celebration, his mind still caught on the image of that contract burning away. He'd watched countless weddings across the centuries, but this one...

"You look like you could use this." Astarion appeared at his side, brandishing their favorite vintage and two glasses. "Come on. I know just the spot."

They settled into a shadowed alcove away from the dancing and music, falling into their old pattern as naturally as breathing. Astarion poured with his usual flourish.

"So." Astarion handed him a glass. "That was quite the ceremony."

"You knew." Gale took a long drink. "About the contract."

"Of course I knew. Who do you think helped him arrange for the Sisters?" Astarion's grin widened. "Your face was worth every moment of planning."

"And you didn't think to warn me?"

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Gale shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. "What do you make of it? Trading immortality for... this?"

"Ah." Astarion swirled his wine. "That's what's eating at you. The great God of Ambition, confronted with someone who wanted less power rather than more?"

"It's not that simple."

"No?" Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Then enlighten me."

Gale watched the dancers through the archway, focusing on Wyll and Gloria's figures moving in perfect sync. "He seems happy."

"But?"

"But in fifty years? When he starts to age? When his years grow short, knowing he chose this?"

"That's rather the point, isn't it?" Astarion's voice softened. "He chose. After centuries of having choices taken from him - by Mizora, by circumstance, by his own guilt - he finally got to make this one for himself."

Gale considered this, letting the wine warm his divine senses. "I suppose you're right."

"I usually am." Astarion refilled their glasses.

Gale traced the rim of his wine glass, watching the liquid catch the light. Astarion's words struck deeper than he'd expected.

"You should have seen him these past few decades." Astarion leaned back, crossing his legs. "Every time he'd get himself killed on some heroic crusade, his devil form would manifest in Avernus. And every time he hesitated longer and longer before calling for help."

The wine turned bitter on Gale's tongue. He'd known about Wyll's deaths, of course - had marked each one from his divine realm. But he hadn't considered what those moments meant.

"At first I thought he was being reckless, chasing glory," Astarion continued. "But it wasn't that at all. The uncertainty was eating at him. No clear end, no final chapter. Just an endless string of heroic acts that meant less and less. Knowing his dance partners would have to leave the dance before him every time. I suspect our Wyll has been flirting with ending it for quite some time."

Gale's chest tightened. How many times had he felt that same hollowness in his divine halls? That creeping sense that eternal existence might be its own kind of prison?

"And now look at him." Astarion gestured toward the dance floor. "He's got maybe sixty years left. Seventy if he's lucky. But every single one of those years will mean something because he knows they're finite. And that he and his lady love are living those years on equal footing. Or that's how he sees it. Mortality isn't for everyone, darling."

Wyll spun Gloria in a perfect arc, both of them laughing. Their joy radiated across the room, pure and unrestrained.

"Plus," Astarion smirked, "our Wyll was always a hopeless romantic, and you have to admit, trading immortality for love? Even I'm a bit jealous of that level of romance. But. you had something else on your mind before Wyll blew it to pieces.  Counsel, you said.  Well, your counselor awaits."

Gale savored the wine, letting its familiar taste ground him in this moment. The candlelight caught his friend's profile just so, and for a heartbeat Gale's thoughts strayed to dangerous territory - to bargains and choices and...

Gale set his wine glass down and lifted his hand. Divine energy rippled outward, wrapping their alcove in layers of protection. The first shield dampened sound, the second bent light, and the third - this one far more complex - scattered divine attention like water off oiled cloth. Any immortal trying to peek would find their gaze sliding away, drawn to more interesting events at the wedding.

He'd learned this trick from Oghma, though he'd modified it considerably. The God of Knowledge had a particular talent for privacy, even among deities.

Astarion's eyes widened as the magic settled around them. The vampire ran his fingers through the air, testing the barrier's edge. "Well, well. Someone's been studying. I can barely sense the wedding guests anymore." He cocked his head and his playful smile faded. He set his own glass beside Gale's and straightened his posture. "That serious, then?"

Gale nodded, watching understanding dawn in his friend's expression. The vampire might play at frivolity, but centuries of survival had honed his instincts. Astarion recognized the weight of true secrecy.

"Very well." Astarion settled back, his red eyes sharp and focused. "What's troubling the God of Ambition enough to warrant such elaborate precautions?"

Gale cleared his throat. "The divine realms are stagnant. Centuries pass, and nothing changes. The gods sit in their perfect domains, dispensing the same wisdom they always have, while mortals evolve and grow beyond them."

"And you want to shake things up?" Astarion's eyes gleamed. "How very you."

"It's more than that." Gale set down his glass. "The other gods fear change because they've forgotten what it means to grow. They see ambition as a threat rather than a gift. And perhaps they're right - true change would mean war. Divine war." He rubbed his temples. "The cost in mortal lives alone..."

"But walking away isn't simple either."

"No." Gale's voice dropped. "I have worshippers now. People who believe in what I represent. If I step down, what happens to them? To the idea that we can be more than what we are?" He gestured at the celebration beyond their alcove. "Look at what mortals achieve in their brief lives. They reinvent themselves constantly. Meanwhile, the gods remain frozen in amber, claiming it's for the greater good."

"And you're caught between burning it all down or letting it go on unchanged and unsatisfying." Astarion topped off their glasses. "Quite the dilemma."

"I thought I knew what godhood meant. That I could change things from within. But the system doesn't bend - it breaks. And I'm not sure I can bear the weight of either choice."

Astarion leaned forward, a familiar glint in his eye. "Shall I raise for you an army then? Or are we running away together and hang the lot of them?"

Gale's chest tightened at the casual offer. "That's exactly the problem. I don't know."

"Ah." Astarion's smile faltered. He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. "You know, I've built something here. This church of yours - our church. Started as a joke, really. A way to needle you. But these people..." He gestured toward the wedding beyond their alcove, his voice turning bitter. "They actually believe in it. In you. In what ambition could mean. And I've found that I, of all people, have come to believe in it.  And you. It has given meaning to my life.  It seems the joke was always on me."

The weight of Astarion's words settled between them. Gale recognized the conflict in his friend's expression - the same war between desire and duty that had haunted his own divine reflections.

"I'd hoped you might have some outlandish solution," Gale admitted. "Some clever scheme to cut through it all."

"That's not fair, is it?" Astarion's smile turned sharp. "Asking me to choose between having you and preserving what we've built?"

Gale closed his eyes. "I need more time. To find another way, or..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

When he looked up, Astarion's expression had hardened into something between understanding and resignation. The vampire knocked back his wine in one swift motion, then set the glass down with deliberate care.

"More time," Astarion echoed, the words falling like stones between them. "Of course you do."

"This isn't like before," Gale leaned forward, his divine senses picking up the subtle shift in Astarion's posture. "I'm not retreating to my realm to puzzle it out alone."

"No?"

"No. Whatever comes next, we face it together." Gale's hand found Astarion's wrist. "You've built this church, shaped what ambition means to these people. Any choice I make affects you too. And I won't make it without you."

Astarion's eyes widened slightly, that carefully constructed mask slipping for just a moment. "Together? That's quite the proposal, darling."

"I mean it." Gale tightened his grip. "No more centuries of silence. No more divine isolation. Whatever we decide - war or withdrawal or something else entirely - we decide as one."

"Well." Astarion turned his hand to catch Gale's fingers, his usual smirk returning. "Speaking of proposals and decisions made together..." He glanced meaningfully toward the dance floor. "It is traditional, you know, for wedding guests to make terribly ill-advised choices. Usually involving dark corners and minimal clothing."

Gale felt warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with wine. "Gosh. Is that so?"

"Absolutely." Astarion's thumb traced patterns on Gale's palm. "And who are we to argue with tradition?"

"When you put it that way..." Gale pulled Astarion closer. "It would be practically sacrilegious to refuse."

So he didn't.