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purplerose244 · 3 years

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It was always you

Hello everyone!! 😊

I’m a bit late but I really wanted to contribute to the @lukadrien-june event, I hope this is okay! Based on the third prompt, while throwing in some character study for sunshine boy! 💛

Enjoy!! 😙😙

Summary: Love was supposed to be easy, at least in his head. A pure perfect fairy tale... except it was not. Adrien takes probably more time to realize it than other people but he is getting there. Especially not alone.

Read it on the AO3 here

If there was one thing that Adrien wished he had known, before giving up homeschooling once and for all and finally starting to build a life, was that loving wasn’t nearly as simple and dreamlike as his extremely well-developed imagination had led him to believe. He truly wished that he could borrow Bunnix’ Miraculous sometimes, just to head back to that room where he used to spend his entire time on his own dreaming of himself and his soulmate and getting married at sight, and tell him that if living was hard outside, heart matters were even harder.

Love wasn’t that ideal, it wasn’t reductive.

It wasn’t nearly that basic either. It took him a while, but he had figured it out.

It had all started with Ladybug of course, most of his new experiences in the real world had started with her. He had fallen in love with her pretty much two days after meeting her… granted, being stuck into his own house for years thinking of himself as a poor prince in waiting of a savior rather than a knight out to get the princess, might had developed in him a bit of an eagerness for romance. She was smart, beautiful, courageous, resourceful and a hero, what was there not to love? Besides they were Chat Noir and Ladybug, they were meant to be… because… that was Ladybug. The moment he had realized how much he loved that image – if he used to fantasize before looked at him now –, and how he had started to slowly care less and less about knowing what was hiding behind it, that was the dealbreaker. He didn’t want to be in love with a figure, an icon for Paris, because it was what all people had always reduced him to. It would have not been a good way to start, and it would have not been fair for her either.

Getting over all those dreams about the marriage, the children and the hamster – oh the hamster, heart stay still – that he had wished for so intensely had been… easy? Not exactly, but smooth. A strong emptiness and pain that had slowly faded away with time. After all, Ladybug was never going to be far from him, and she cared about him a lot, he knew that much. He could love her, no matter what, no matter in what way.

After that singular and very one-sided experience, a spectacular sequence of disasters had made him slowly and steadily feel aware of how much messier the concept of relationships really was. One thing was dodging Chloe’s overly affectionate tendencies or his fans’ intense assaults over him; the other realizing that Kagami was ready to commit into something he wasn’t sure of, that Lila was still somehow convinced that he wanted something to do with her after all of her lies – for a fox this sly she sure was in denial… why did that sound hypocrite? –, and that Marinette had apparently harbored feelings for him almost as soon as they had met – oh yeah that was why. Life, a real, multifaced, worth living life was chaotic and confusing, it hurt, and it saddened, and he was behind everyone, struggling like mad to catch up.

Rejecting so many people he cared about had been awful. Some of his closest friends, all important parts of his life in different ways, and all because he wasn’t smart enough to understand feelings and his own clearly weren’t right. When Marinette had smiled at him with tears in her eyes, saying that it was okay and that she understood, Adrien had decided that it was enough. He wasn’t going to attempt anything else, if it always ended up with hurting someone he cared about.

He could deal with his feelings on his own, he always did, without paining anyone. There was no problem anyway, after Ladybug no one had ever shaken his heart.

No one, no one at all… and during that time, between slowly realizing that perhaps looking for wedding rings after two days sounded a little unreasonable and somehow managing to hate his face plastered all over Paris even more than before, the Music Festival had occurred, along with the awakening of Captain Hardrock. The famous tripping over the bridge had happened, a goofiness that had somehow gotten him into a band.

Him had happened. The charming, kind, intriguing guitarist of the Liberty, that had welcomed him the moment he had been there.

Luka Coffaine.

… Adrien was starting to hate his heart a little bit.

Luckily or unluckily, around that time he had found himself too caught up in his and other people’s messes to even realize how he had always unconsciously smiled at the boy whenever he was there, and how it had become normal for him to stay with him after band practice, without caring on how father could had reacted to his delay – just how dense was he about his feelings… never mind. It took Lila to finally focus on something other than plotting, Chloe to start paying attention to her own life instead of worsening others, and Marinette and Kagami to begin exchange sweet looks for him to finally find some normality to think – and develop an extremely intense fanboy soul.

Enough to realize that ever since Desperada, with the brilliant introduction of Viperion to the team, Adrien had found himself as Luka’s confidant, the only one besides Ladybug aware of his secret identity. Exciting stories, confessions, insecurities, all while the guitarist was making such an effort to communicate with words, because he trusted him enough not to judge his mind.

And Adrien was enjoying the confidence, the vicinity. A lot. Truly a lot.

… way too much for it to be normal.

It had woken him at night. He had teared up in his bed, curled on one side while Plagg had been purring next to his ear all night. It was the first time that being in love had felt this terrifying. He didn’t want to mess everything up, not again, not with Luka. The freedom he felt with being on the Liberty, the time spent with his friends in the band, the warming welcome he had always received from captain Anarka and Juleka – and by extension Rose, those two always came in pair –, and every single moment spent without having to care about who he was and what did he represent because Luka didn’t care about covers, he cared about the real music coming from people. Everything could disappear in a moment.

With that set of mind, he had spent some of the most tense moments of his life, constantly pondering about what to do next. What exactly was a person supposed to do if he liked another without making a mess? What was the alternative to confess his undying love and hope to plan a wedding at the end of his studies? Was there an alternative??

His anxious attitude had inevitably gotten the attention of his group of friends, that for some miracle hadn’t gotten tired of his denseness, especially Marinette. She hadn’t seemed to care much, especially not while distractively holding the amulet Kagami had made for her – somehow love life had made the fencer even deadlier during practice, like she was fighting was someone, impressive. It had taken them to bribe him with a new recipe of croissants from the Dupain-Cheng bakery to be forced to talk, a necessity that had exploded out of his lips the moment his friends had been gathered on Marinette’s bed to listen. The sweets had been amazing. Just a bit salty… but that was probably because he hadn’t been able to talk without tearing up all over the food.

At the end of the discussion, Marinette had squeaked so loudly his ears had started to ring.

“You have to confess and get together, you two would be a great couple!” To which he had responded that he didn’t want to risk it, especially since he didn’t know how it was going to end.

Alya had slammed her hands over her own knees – ouch –, standing up.

“You have to man up! Don’t think about what could happen, go for it and make him yours!” To which he had said that he didn’t want to be insensitive again in case it didn’t go well – also that that kind of wording was a little confusing, enough to turn him bright red.

Then Nino had looked up from his phone, looking a little baffled. He had changed too, considering that love matters used to make him all nervous.

“Why don’t you ask him out first and see how it goes from there? You don’t have to become boyfriends if it feels too soon.” The table had gone silent, all eyes were on the DJ, who simply arched an eyebrow. “… you do know you can go on a date with someone, realize that it’s not working without actually get together, right?” More silence had followed. Adrien was sure that he had felt a weird mixture of disappointment and relief, while Marinette had looked so very shocked.

In conclusion, Nino was amazing. Like that was new.

Starting from there the blonde had been practicing in front of the mirror every day, terrified of rejection but less tense over how things could go. Despite fans and admirers his past relationships, if those could be called, weren’t giving him much of a booster or a good feeling about how this chance was going to play. Somehow it hardly mattered. Luka was a very reasonable person, he was going to reject him very nicely. It had been almost uplifting the idea of the guitarist treating him with absolute kindness, even while shattering all of his dreams.

One day Luka had called him over for an improv session. It happened often, this artist was extremely instinctive when it came to music, and he had told him that having a more rational and accurate player like Adrien around grounded him to his usual style. It was flattering every time he was called for that same reason, it was an occasion that made the blonde ignore all about his current schedule – of course he was at fencing right now, Kagami could cover- uhm, confirm for him –, to finally focus on something that he really wanted to do. Luka was always waiting over the bed of his room, playing a few notes, stopping for minutes then going again. It was calming and endearing, like Adrien was allowed to hear the inside of his mind.

He had been standing there, legs crossed at the end of the bed while Luka was lying down with the instrument. There had been only sounds for all of this time, without additions or suggestions or anything. It was nice. Really nice. Adrien had wondered what else could he discover out of him just by stay close like this, and how much he wanted to. The need to let those words out had been steadily growing without him realizing it.

“Luka?” Until they were out. “Do you wanna go on a date with me?” Mirror practice had helped, it had come out almost mechanically. There was a spark into his stomach, the adrenaline pouring out. The melody in the air had stopped for a pretty terrifying second.

Then it had come back as a full, real song. It was timid, sweet, and sincere.

“I’d love to.” In his own giddiness, Adrien could admit of being wrong. Yet he was almost sure he had seen the calm and controlled guitarist blush the tiniest little bit.

A single date at the restaurant where Alya’s mother worked at without people in the way – he loved his friends so much – had followed another one walking hand in hand through Rue Montorgueil in disguise – at last he had achieved his long-lasting dream of looking like someone else without the mask –, that had followed another one at a secret party Chloe had organized at Le Grand Paris for her classmates – she had given him such a smirk at seeing his plus one, gossip was coming. It had nothing to do with the dates of his daydreams, the ones he had lived through his head for years: every single time his stomach was so tense it felt like it was burning, painfully, making him question if he really wanted this. Then, the moment they were there talking, engaging themselves into an interesting topic while letting time pleasantly leave them behind, the stress was gone and there were only the two of them.

They had gone like this for months. Some absolutely lovely months. At some point Alya, stopping him at school, had calmly stated that him and Luka combined with Marinette and Kagami were making her feel single, and she had a boyfriend, so it was probably time to make it official. He had agreed with her, of course he had. He liked Luka… yeah right, he loved him. Everything with him felt so real, so close and intense, like he was finally living.

His feelings weren’t the problem… Luka’s were.

Not that he doubted him. Not after all the little orange blossoms left over his keyboard before band practice – they meant eternal love, oh heart stay still once again –, the songs sung for him whenever he felt upset or angry at his father, or the hand kisses at the end of every single date, like he was being cherished every single time. One of the guitarist’s biggest qualities was his sincerity, Adrien was absolutely sure he could trust him and his heart. Just how he had never blamed anyone before, not Chloe, not Kagami, not Marinette, not even Lila, for their feelings towards him.

They had been real, like his own feelings for Ladybug used to be… but they were for Adrien only, the supermodel, Paris’ iconic pretty face and perfect boy. That perfection in him, one he had been forced to practice in order to please his father, that was attracted others, but it wasn’t in any way all that was in him.

What was all the rest? It was also there. But it came out only whenever he wore the mask.

With time, the image he had been forced to wear for the profit of his father had grown into an uncomfortable, old sweater that he hadn’t known it had felt unbelievably itchy until he got the possibility to take it off, to try something else. And that black-leather armor was his absolute favorite. Nothing felt like freedom as that, nothing felt like him as those moments, whenever he jumped into the sky holding hard onto his staff. Thanks to his Miraculous he had discovered himself. Thanks to that he had found out that he liked making jokes, he loved puns, he liked making a fool of himself for the sake to have fun. He liked risking, he liked dancing, he wasn’t too keen on closed places, and he absolutely loved how the moon reflected into the Seine at night after patrol. Everything was him, so vividly him it made him choke a little at the mere thought of it.

Adrien Agreste was another mask, one he was growing considerably tired to wear. He had been through some love experiences now, even though they did not end quite well: there was no point into pretending to be someone he wasn’t, there was no meaning into hiding himself when he truly wanted to establish a bond with someone. He had known this, he knew this.

But if everyone liked Adrien better… if Luka liked Adrien better, how was he supposed to do that?

The tension coming from those thoughts was there only when he wasn’t around his favorite guitarist, making him at least forget about the dilemma coming with. Even so, around those times he had found himself at least wondering exactly what kind of opinion his date had about Chat Noir. He wasn’t sure, they had never talked much in their superhero personas, because of the urge of the moment and because with his lady’s strategic mind and a power like Second Chance it was unfairly easy sometimes to solve the situation – Ladybug needed to start bringing Viperion more often and yes, maybe just a little bit to see more of Luka in sexy snake cosplay. He was fairly sure he didn’t mind him, he seemed to even smile at him sometimes – total heart eyes –, but he wanted to be sure.

It had been night at the Liberty, they had ordered pizza. Sugary drinks made Rose giggle like mad, so Juleka had brought her to her room to take a nap and probably cuddle, leaving the two of them alone. That wasn’t weird. Wondering if the guy Adrien was dating liked his cat counterpart, that was weird. At the end, looking at how relaxed the boy over the sofa was while distractively bending the last pizza crust, he hadn’t been able to do pose a potentially confusing question, asking instead what he thought about Ladybug – he had made a mental post-it to whine loudly into his pillow later.

Luka had brought up stuff he already knew, how she was a great leader, an inspiration, extremely smart and courageous. Despite the failure of questioning him Adrien had smiled, he was weirdly happy they thought the same about his partner.

“She has a huge responsibility and deals with it incredibly, that’s commendable… with that being said, my favorite is Chat Noir.” A boom inside. “He’s hot.” A second, bigger explosion had occurred into Adrien’s head – in a feeble spark of lucidity he had begged his brain not to produce smoke out of his ears. Luka had laughed, playing some more, without looking directly at him. “And he’s such a selfless, reliable person, you can tell from how he doesn’t hesitate to help others or support me or Ladybug. He’s incredibly loyal, and… really funny.”

It had taken perhaps a second too long, in which a thousand of tiny little Adrien running all over his brain had been screaming out loud hysterically about how this handsome guitarist was a Chat Noir fan, and it had been the best day ever. Then he had managed to talk, ask, his voice was a little raspy.

“You… you like his puns?” Luka had scooted closer to him, smirking a little.

“It’s our little secret.” With that he had put a hand around his shoulders, bringing him closer to him. The blonde had abandoned himself into the embrace, trying to hide the giddy smile in his chest.

It got easier to let himself go from that moment forward, knowing that at least some parts of Chat Noir Luka didn’t mind at all. Having Nino groaning like mad after they had all taken their matchmaker ice creams from Andre, with Adrien coming out with a “I scream for an ice cream”, had been worth it just to see the guitarist rolling his eyes with an endeared smile. It had felt good. He couldn’t fully let go, being a model and famous and all that baloney, but he could stop pretending for a moment and embrace a little bit more about himself.

It had hit him much later that perhaps, maybe, possibly, the matter of telling Luka about his superhero identity was meant to come up at some point. It hadn’t seemed an important matter before, he was not supposed to do reveal it anyway according to Ladybug. Then again, this wasn’t a relationship behind masks like that one, it was as open as it could be. Also Plagg wasn’t exactly the biggest fan or rules anyway, he had doubted he would have minded. Hearing Luka talking about his latest adventure with Viperion, basically summarizing everything Adrien already knew from his point of view, made him feel a bit guilty about not coming clean. Still, it was hard to recall that unpleasantness with Luka always ending the discussion making a comment about Chat Noir, probably catching up over the fact that Adrien was also a ‘fan’. Knowing that such a charming boy like Luka considered his pun machine alter ego attractive, stating that the only blondie with green eyes as handsome he knew was Adrien, was definitely a good way to end the day.

Then, that had happened. Apparently, Hawk Moth had thought that the idea of unleashing once again Gorizilla over the powerless city of Paris was a hilarious idea. It had taken them forever to calm him down, the bodyguard had been all agitated since there had been no sign of his protegee – at least for what he knew. Cataclysm, Lucky Charm, Miraculous Ladybug, the script was old and overused and after the most tired pound it ever Adrien had called it a day, sinking into his own bed as soon as he had been home.

The unconscious was a calming place, a pleasant one, just like Luka.

Just like Luka… Luka… the date.

Out of pure will and terror he had managed to get on his feet, realizing with horror that not only he hadn’t just fallen asleep, but he was also late. Two. Hours. Late. Dread didn’t describe properly the feeling that had taken over. Begging a very annoyed looking Plagg he had launched himself into the night sky, running on all four out of pure despair. When he had arrived at the restaurant, miserably closed, Luka was leaning over the wall of the entrance that was off, humming a very mellow, very melancholic melody. And he had dressed up, for once in his life wearing something classy, a white dress shirt and a black jacket without sleeves. His hair had grown a bit in those months, enough for him to pull a little ponytail.

What a waste, Adrien had thought. What a waste on someone like him, this beautiful person lightening up as soon as he was there, running to hug him, saying that he knew there had been an akuma today and he was happy to see he was okay. Except he wasn’t, this wasn’t, it was not okay. He was taking advantage of his position, the fact that there was stuff he was keeping for himself. It wasn’t fair for himself, most importantly it wasn’t fair for him.

“And you’re okay with this?” He didn’t know what he had been implying with those words, he had felt the need to get them out. To be heard. Because Luka always listened.

The guitarist had given him a weird, aware look, holding up his hands.

“I am if you are.” Unfair. Unfair. Unfair. Nothing but that feeling of guilt had filled his heart, and Adrien had rushed in, hugging him as closely as he could. Luka had embraced back, caressing his back slowly and gently as it was his way of being, telling him that they could postpone on a day with a less dangerous akuma terrorizing the city. Adrien had kept his eyes shut, choking silent sobs against his jacket. Thinking that maybe it was okay, maybe they could still keep going like this. H was scared, besides there was no need to change anything, or even better there was no need to say something that wasn’t needed. This was enough, this could be enough.

Adrien had then opened his eyes, only to feel them pinching. From the window of the restaurant, he could see the lonely white table with two dishes and two glasses, and all around… were candles and roses. Luke remembered. He had remembered the mention of the romantic gesture the blonde had done for a girl that hadn’t gone as planned. He had remembered how Adrien had always wished for something like that for himself. He knew how much of a hopeless romantic he was. Luka knew him.

At the same time, he didn’t. He didn’t know him. It was not okay.

It was not okay, and it was not enough.

Mirror sessions were back after that, more frantic than ever but less frequent than he would have liked – he was dense he could admit, not enough to proclaim to his father or Nathalie that he was Chat Noir while in the shower. He had wished it was like preparing for a shooting, or even imagining to be an actor like mom was. The tension was nothing like. The number of warnings coming from all directions was massive, starting from how once again his friends were getting worried about him – he wasn’t going to resist the bribe of chocolate chip cookies for long –, how Ladybug had expressively told him no one was supposed to know about their real identities, how there was no telling how Luka was going to react over the fact that his date was the cat boy with whom sometimes he fought crime with – man that was a weird line to say out loud. He had found it hard to sleep, too tense to get lost into his dreams, questioning his decision all night long.

One night, after a particularly harsh internal battle between him himself and he, he had rolled over a little too much forgetting about his poor little cheese-eating friend. He had been on his way to apologize to the squished kwami, but with a single firm gesture coming from his tiny arm Plagg had gotten him to shut up, eyes widened and extremely pissed.

“You’re telling him.” His eyelid had twitched a little. Right, he had kept him awake as well. “I don’t care what Ladybug says, I don’t care what Tikki says, you’re telling him.”

“Huh, okay?”

“It’s not a question Adrien, it’s an order. Do it or else you won’t find Atlantis that much of a natural disaster.” Wasn’t for experience he would have doubted that this tiny guy was able of much. Good thing he did have precedents, so Adrien had opted to nod and lay down once again. Following orders was still pretty normal for him anyway. “… besides…” Plagg had scooted closer to him, nudging against his shoulder while closing his eyes. “No secret is worth taking away your happiness, kid.” Adrien had found no problem sleeping from then on.

At last, after a bit more of self-convincing, it had all come down on the matter of when. Adrien wasn’t exactly sure if the news was particularly good or bad, consequentially he had no idea if the reveal had to be organized during a joyful or tense situation. Was a date a good idea? Or was it better to simply invite him over, or go to his house and talk? Luka was a great listener, but he didn’t always like to talk much, maybe he was going to feel pressured in the second case. He communicated better with songs… but writing a jingle about how he was a superhero in a leather suit with a ring that could pulverize the Tour Eiffel didn’t sound like a hit – maybe… or maybe it was, he had to ask Luka later if the matter was going to be solved. After so much time pondering, he had been left with nothing concrete, no ideas. He couldn’t ask his friends, nor Ladybug. Maybe this was a bad decision after all – never mind Plagg that was still glaring.

He had been trying to focus on his Chinese homework all afternoon, his mind running miles with him unable to make it stop. Then his phone had lightened up, a welcomed distraction that had blossomed into absolute delight at reading the sender’s name. Despite the migraine coming along with the situation, it was all worth it just for a chance to be with him.

Melody: Hey Sunshine

Melody: If I remember right you’re free tomorrow

Melody: Do you want to come over?

Me: Of course I do :)

Me: My schedule ends early afternoon

Me: Is the evening okay?

Melody: Perfect

Melody: Dress nice, it’s a date

Melody: A special one, for a special day

Me: Why? What’s tomorrow?

Melody: Wanna guess?

Me: …

Me: Thursday?

Melody: Ahah, well also

Melody: But also exactly one year since the Music Festival

Melody: It’s the day you and I met

Somehow while melting into an absolute puddle of tears and adoring whines, Adrien had realized that this guy was too wonderful. In his heart the last thing he wanted to do was ruining something good, especially a night Luka had prepared for him. But this wasn’t about himself anymore, this was about giving him what he deserved. Hopefully they were going to have a date still after this.

Hopefully. Adrien had tried to forget about that eventuality, at least enough to finish his homework. It had taken him a while to fall asleep that night – Plagg had simply whispered “thin ice” in a very grumpy tone.

The next day he had used all his experience as a model to look his best, raised two thumbs up at his mirror, and headed out. He had begged his bodyguard to leave him alone on this one and the big guy had actually agreed, somehow seeing his seriousness and commitment more than his father – granted that the bar was pretty low on that one. The path leading to the Liberty was not exactly short from his house, yet he had felt the absolute need to rethink everything. Perhaps to find it in himself the strength to blame himself for wanting to come clean only now. It had been a year, a year since he had met Luka. He had changed so much, his thoughts, his world, himself. He was there to make just another change and take control, it was terrifying and exciting…

…

… and there he was.

When he saw the Liberty, his stomach did that fluttering again. Pure tension and longing mixed together, because this was about him and it was making him grow terrified; but this was about him, and he loved everything that involved him. The sight of the ship covered in aromatic candles and roses with the table prepared on the bridge, the most romantic place once again, should had not surprised him after all. He still had to close his eyes for a moment to recollect himself.

Luka was waiting on the dock, smiling at him. It was such a lovely view, and when he extended his hand towards him it turned into the perfect view.

“You look amazing. You’re ready?”

He was. He finally was. Adrien sighed, shaking his head.

“I have to tell you something first.” Huh, something was wrong. The guitarist had changed expression, he looked so confused and hurt all of the su- wait. “Ah! No! Not that kind of ‘I have to tell you something’, an actual ‘I have to tell you something’!” He had practiced this moment for so long, how was it possible he had never noticed how off it sounded? Luka let out a nervous laugh. Ah, his hands were sweating already, where was Chat Noir’s confidence when he needed it? “I really need to get this out of my chest.”

“Oh, okay. I’m listening.”

“And if afterwards you have doubts about…” He didn’t like it, but he needed to state it as it was. “… all of this, I’ll understand.” He was in. He was doing it. No turning back. That most likely didn’t sit right with Luka, he wasn’t looking any less distressed.

He reached for him, grabbing one of his hand for comfort. Even though he didn’t understand, he was still doing his best to be there. Gosh, Adrien loved him, so much.

“Don’t jump to conclusions, tell me what it is and then we can talk about it.” He looked for communication in his relationships, he had told him from the start and even before, during the times they used to talk about anything and everything, waiting for the sun to set behind the bridge over the Seine. The blonde hoped they were going to talk too.

He closed his eyes again, took the deepest breath in his life, and nodded.

“It might sound crazy, but please listen to me and believe me.” Luka nodded immediately. “I…” He had composed a whole speech about how much these last months had been amazing, how he was sorry that he had kept quiet over something important for so long, and how he hoped that they could still try and be together for real. A convincing discussion slowly leading to the reveal. “… I’m Chat Noir, and I love you.” Out of all of that he had taken seven words max and blurted them out without a single thought in his head.

The cat was out of the bag, classic cat superhero style. If only that knowledge wasn’t making him feel worse. He was tense, sweating, completely still, waiting for his judgement. Every second was turning into a minute then an hour then it was getting lost into his own misty head.

It was warm outside, even at that hour.

Those long fingers clenched around his hand.

Adrien looked up. Luka was smiling tearfully at him, his blue eyes were mesmerizing. He laughed happily, then he reached for his cheek. Heartbeats echoed into the blonde’s head as he got closer, eyes narrowed but still open as to catch any kind of rejection. It hit him very very slowly that this was actually true, this out of world fantasy was not a fruit of his messed up imagination, and the moment the realization took over Adrien closed the distance between them. Wow. Luka kissed nothing like he would have expected. His hand on his cheek was careful and gentle like him, but his lips were caressing his with want and passion, like they had lost all the patience behind the moment they had met in electric need. Closeness was something Adrien had missed for such a long time and could never get enough of. Luka’s closeness was whole, real, his. He reached for his jacket, just to hold onto something and have another proof that this was happening.

They parted, and then got closer, kissing again and again, happily trapped into a bubble in which time and space couldn’t reach them. When they back away with trembling breaths, Adrien felt his lips getting immediately cold and couldn’t help himself as he reached for one last peck. Luka laughed into it, pressing back then leaning his forehead over his. There was an amount of sweetness into those eyes that it made the blonde want to look away, his sight getting all blurry.

“I love you too.” His hand was still over his face. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

The answer was the clearest of his life. It was screaming from the bottom of his stomach, it was highlighted in neon in the middle of his brain. He was almost tempted to tackle him to the ground and let his actions speak for himself – alright he needed to chill for a moment –, then confusion hit him. He… he said it, he had said it, right? He told him the truth about his identity. Then what was this lack of reaction? Where was the amazement, the fright, the confusion, even the anger? Adrien Agreste had just confessed he made a habit of running over the roofs of Paris in full cat cosplay and this was the reaction?

“I… you… what’s going on?” Luka giggled, probably still caught up with the latest nice mood. Maybe he didn’t believe the blonde, maybe he didn’t hear him at all. For a musician this talented it sounded farfetched to miss a sound, but you never knew. “I’m… I’m Chat Noir, Luka.”

The guitarist blinked, smile slowly decreasing but without disappearing.

“Yeah, I heard that.”

“As the superhero, Chat Noir.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Then why aren’t you saying anything about that?” A little shrug. The last thing he would have expected was this nonchalance. It was maddening. “I’m a superhero, I’m Chat Noir! Why aren’t you mad? You deserved to know! You should’ve known for a…” Suddenly the guitarist’s eyes were not as easy to find as before. Like they were hiding something. “… a… while…” Again, Adrien was extremely dense emotionally, and some things were harder to understand for him. But he wasn’t stupid, most important, he couldn’t ignore that little guilty grin of his taking over. “… you knew.” The pressure that had assaulted him for the last period disappeared completely, now there was only absolute shock. “You knew I was Chat Noir?!? What in the world, since when?!?”

The guitarist passed a hand over his neck, looking a little reluctant. It was a little weird of an emotion on him, on someone so on track with himself and proud of his persona. He took his hands, gently guiding him onto the bridge. That was one relief at least.

“To be honest, I was never completely sure. If you hadn’t told me I wouldn’t have known one hundred percent… but at some point I started to have my suspicions.” He led him near the rail, the moon was mirroring into the water of the Seine. His heart soared at the view. “It was the kind of thought you pay attention to only when something comes up, so I never actively tried to prove it was real.” He sounded relaxed. Perhaps he had made peace with it for a while.

Adrien nodded absently, feeling a weird limbo between relief that he wasn’t completely recognizable and that there were at least doubts in people’s minds.

“Okay, but there has to be a time when you started to think about it.”

“… there was a moment.” Once more Luka looked guilty, while smiling still. He looked at him, raising his hands. “Again, it was a doubt, not a certainty. I never actively knew for sure you were Chat Noir, okay?” The blonde frowned but nodded. “Well… remember the Desperada incident?”

He gaped, so strongly he almost chocked.

“You have a suspicion for months?!” Luka laughed a little, that managed to calm him down a little.

“An idea, a speculation, call it what you want. It got me and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He leaned against the rail, looking pensive. “We were hiding in the lockers, and while I was in there I heard you opening and closing a locker… then opening and closing a door.” Holy Miraculous he was an idiot. “When I found you with Ladybug in the sewer you left, and I got the snake Miraculous. Right after that Chat Noir was back.” He grinned, eyes lightening up. “From that moment the possibility has never really left my mind, and nothing has happened that made me think it couldn’t be real.” Of course not, Adrien was never around Chat Noir and Chat Noir was never around Adrien. It almost made sense – sure, ‘almost’.

Adrien took a few deep breaths, still recovering from that sudden reveal – a confession that did not go the way he would have expected. He looked at this guy who so calmly was taking everything in, a view that was calming like very few other things and, slowly, he smiled, joining him at admiring the Seine. He let his head fall onto his shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I was so worried about this.”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t know what to do. On one hand I didn’t want it to be true, because it made me feel anxious whenever I looked at the news and saw another dangerous akuma.” He wrapped his arm around him protectively. It felt so nice. “On the other, it was kind of an endearing thought, that the two gorgeous blondes I knew just happened to be the same person.” Gosh he was going to die, this person did not hold back with compliments with either of them.

Speaking of…

“Wait, if you were thinking about it since back then… were you teasing me on purpose whenever you talked about Chat Noir in front of me?” Whoa, he had to take in the fact that this very zen guitarist was able to make such a suggestive smile. I made his entire face burn. “Oh my gosh.”

“You were always blushing whenever I did it, I couldn’t help myself.”

“For real??”

“It was too adorable. At that point either you were really him or you found him attractive as well… which I would’ve understood.”

“Stooop!!” Adrien covered his eyes, his heart bursting out of his chest, laughing out what was left of his fear. “… you really don’t care? I’m the one who asked you out, not Chat Noir.” A bit a sadness made him step away just a little. “And people like me better when I’m not him…”

“If people aren’t into you when you’re a blonde superhero with a sexy catsuit, maybes there’s something wrong with them. I suggest blindness.” It got him to laugh. Luka brought him closer, arms around him. “Besides, there aren’t two people here. You are Adrien, and you are Chat Noir. Being a superhero is a part of you. And I love it, because it makes you… you.” Truly sincerity was his biggest quality. Adrien didn’t doubt a word that had come out of his mouth. He leaned his head into the crook of his shoulder.

“Are you sure?” Luka nodded, his hair tickling his cheek.

Then he pulled away. He put a finger under his chin, raising it up. Their eyes met. There was such a calm, comfortable world behind those blue globes. It made him want to never leave.

“You’re a rare symphony, Adrien Agreste, one that had been kept hidden for far too long. I wanna hear that song, your soul, finally free to be heard. I want to know its beauty, because the echo alone is astonishing.” He knew him. He knew all of him. “The kind and selfless to a fault, the professional and determinate model, the mischievous and enchanting superhero, these are all notes that play in your life, that make your life. And I wanna be part of that song, if you will let me.” He pressed another, shorter kiss on his lips, as to seal this moment forever into his body, forever into his heart.

There was no way Adrien would have been able to stop tears. Luka gulped. The blonde smiled, a horribly wide, unsophisticated curve that would have made all of his photographers shudder at the same time. Perhaps that was why it felt so immensely good.

“You… y-you’re not allowed to say you’re not good with words after this.”

The guitarist laughed, relieved, holding him closer.

“It’s a yes then, Sunshine?” Adrien smiled, reaching forward again, thinking that there was no imaginary world of his able to replicate this.

“It’s a yes, Melody.”

This was pure, unparalleled, wholesome reality.

#lukadrien #luka coffaine #adrien agreste #chat noir #viperion #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #lukadrien june 2021 #fanfiction #fic

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haikyuuwaifu · 4 years

Text

F.r.i.e.n.d.s

Genre: Angst, Drama

Warning: Swearing

Suna x F Reader

Masterlist

The News| The Reactionl| Seijoh| The Kageyama’s

Seijoh

Y/N laid on the floor of the Seijoh Gym. Kenma next to her, also sprawled out on the floor. Neither one of them had spoken since they entered the building. What could she say, besides the obvious. God how stupid did her parents think she was? It’s why Miwa deduced out and left Japan. It’s almost like they didn’t care about what they’re kids wanted and only what made them look “good.” Sighing Y/N turned as she heard the gym door creak open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suna was a little surprised when he punched in the address only for his GPS to tell him it would be a 2.5 hour drive, but he did it anyway. Driving towards Miyagi he had time to think about what he would say. How he could offer help. Sadly, he couldn’t come up with anything. He knew what it was like to be in the press, but not at the fault of your own parents. Driving the rest of the way in silence he hoped he could offer some small comfort.

Walking into the dark gym Suna saw two grown adults laying sprawled out on the floor. With a wave from one lump he made his way over. “I didn’t think the train ran this late.” Y/N mumbled staring up at the ceiling motioning for him to lay down with her and Kenma. Chuckling softly, Suna emptied his pockets before plopping down. “It doesn’t, I drove here.” he muttered softly. Turning Y/N’s eyes widened comically. “That’s a 2.5 hour drive, and it’s like 11 at night.” she declared smacking his arm. He let out a laugh that warmed her from the inside out. “It wasn’t a big deal, and you trusted me.” Smiling softly she spoke. “Besides you Kenma is the only person who knew I’d come here.” “You used to play then?” Suna asked. Beside him Kenma snorted, “Play is an understatement, she fucking destroyed.” Y/N smacked Kenma embarassed. “It’s not a big deal, I did play; but I got hurt my second year and had to stop playing. I became a manager though so I never lost the connection.” turning towards her Kenma spoke, “We need to talk about Ushijima.”

“Honestly, what is there to actually talk about? His parents and my parents have already spoken about it.” she murmured looking back up at the ceiling. “I’m going to get disowned because I refuse to marry that man.” she stated clenching her fist. Suna turned towards Y/N propping his head up on his hand. “What’s the story behind that anyway?” he asked eyes honing in on her pouty lips. “We grew up together, like your typical neighbors do. We were friends for a long time, and then he went to Shiratorizawa Prep and I went to Kitagawa. He wanted me to go to Shiratorizawa and so did my parents.” she stated. “I may have purposely failed the entrance exam, because I didn’t want to go. I felt like I’d suffocate there being watched all the time...that’s the problem with Ushijima. He’s had it in his head that I would be more than his friend for most our lives. He’s scared off any of the boyfriends I’ve had even now into adulthood.” rubbing her temples Y/N sighed. “It’s just stupidly annoying...my parents tried to meddle in my older sister Miwa’s life, and she left Japan with her now husband. She’s so happy and it’s amazing...and thanks to Kenma I can go see her and my new niece whenever I want...but I refuse to let Ushijima or my Parents run me out of Japan.” Noticing the tremble in Y/N’s hand, Suna gripped it tightly in his own. “If your parents end up disowning you, at least you won’t be alone...when all that shit happened to me, I didn’t have anyone. Not physically there with me, since most of my friends were in Tokyo.” he mumbled. “It was a really hard time for me, even when there was proof that I didn’t actually do all the things she said I did.” Turning towards Suna Y/N smiled, “don’t worry, I’m gonna beat her ass when she comes to Tokyo.” Next to her Kenma nodded his head. “The sad part is, she's one hundred percent serious about it.”

Stroking her hand softly, Suna asked. “When are you going to talk to your parents?” “I’ll be talking to them tomorrow, and I’d really appreciate it if the two of you were there with me.” nodding their assurance that they’d be there the three of them stood up and made their way out to Suna’s car. “We can stay at Oikawa’s place, his parents are gone for the weekend and have already been informed.” Y/N stated getting into the car. The rest of the evening was spent with the three of them eating, talking, and just helping Y/N de-stress for the inevitable meeting she’d have the following day. Hopefully, things would go well for Y/N.But parents hardly listen to the “whims” of their children do they...

-Seijoh is Y/N’s safe space and she was really touched that he drove 2.5 hours away to be with her and Kenma.

-The Oikawa’s took Y/N in literally all the time. They didn’t like the way the Kageyama’s treated their children, but there wasn’t much they could do except give her the love and care her parents didn’t. Let me tell you, Mrs. Oikawa is ready to fight the Kageyama’s when she gets back to Miyagi.

-Atsumu could not believe the betrayal Suna committed telling Y/N all his secrets; but as her #1 Stan he supports seeing his precious baby happy even if it’s at his own embarassment.

@dabilove27 @laughingismorefun @versatilewindow @mygreat-perhapes @amberisnotcrazy @bbymilkbread @pepper-elaine @sunflwrsandprettyskies @sempiternal-amour @exosehun-94 @bakuhoetoedoroki @elianetsantana @hidden-otaku-stuff @timeskipiwaizumi @iloveyouasmuchaspoohloveshoney @bumblebeesofspace @aquariarose

#suna x reader #suna rintaro smau #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro imagine #haikyuu suna #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu concepts #haikyuu smau #smau

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yan-twst · 4 years

Note

Hello. I hope you're having a good day. Would it be alright if you do the alphabet thing with Jade Leech please? It's fine if you don't want to though.

once again, long post so it goes under the cut! warnings for mentions of drowning in this one

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Jade plays his gentleman act quite carefully and meticulously. In public (before isolating his darling), he'd limit himself to kisses to the back of their hand or putting his arm around their shoulder. He likes to still tease with his "gentelmanly" act behind closed door, but the way he speaks doesn't match the voracity which he has when he kisses his darling.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He won't eliminate people unless it's strictly needed- if his darling's friends and family don't come poking their noses into his relationship, he won't feel the need to track them down. However, nosey people will mysteriously dissapear- it's not like people search underwater caves for bodies, you know?

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He would highly preffer his darling to give in to his advances and love already, but he does reckon half the fun of love is getting there. He'd only tease and be mean if his darling was snarky- it's probably infuriating for them to be chained down and unable to escape while Jade talks down on them with his usual calm smile.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

No way, he's a gentleman! ... well, he is one as long as people are looking, anyways. While he certainly wouldn't have his way with an unwilling darling, he doesn't see any problem with coersion or threats to make his darling more willing to accept his advances. Likewise, he won't ask for permission for things he considers "minor", like hugging, kisses to the neck, and such.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He won't entirely drop all his pretenses and suddenly lay bare for his darling- that's just not who he is. He will speak his mind from time to time, and if his darling is keen they might pick up on certain insecurities of his. He's absolutely not expecting his darling to care about his emotions- seeing as he's abducted them and has given them no choice but to love him- but if they did, it would certainly make him open up more often.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He'd think his darling is just being plain foolish. He's not Floyd, sure, but he does have his strenght, you know? Besides, his darling should know that he has Azul and his twin on his side: a single human couldn't do much against the trio. He'd scold them like if they were a child, and get irked whenever they continue trying. His darling should certainly stop stretching his parience!

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It is and it isn't at the same time. He does find some enjoyment from watching his darling struggle helplessly, and it is particularly delicious to see them exhaust themselves to the point they just simply give in to his affections- but at the same time, he does want to build a future one day. He'd very much love it if his darling mellowed down enough so he could go hiking with them without having to be looking out for escape attempts.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The most patient people snap in the ugliest ways, and he's no exception. If his darling tried to squash all his dreams for the future, or constantly talked about other people to try and purposely make him jealous, he'd drop all pretenses of being a civilized gentleman. He'd have no qualms holding his darling underwater until they're in the brink of drowning, then letting them back up- only to push them down again. It's torture, but he'll keep going until they either pass out, or he's satisfied with his work.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He can't decide if he wants to turn his darling into a mermaid and return to the coral sea, or find a little cottage in the mountains. Ideally, he'd like both- perhaps living the winters in land (since his darling wouldnt be used to the frigid underwater temperatures) and the summers in the ocean. He knows he and his darling cannot have biological children- after all, his body is just not built to mate with humans, regardless of if his darling can even bear children or not- but he would perhaps think of taking one in, just to complete his little family.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He does get jealous quite often, but he mostly just deals with it in silence. He knows it's inevitable people will talk about his darling or mention missing them, and that killing or maiming everyone who does this would be insane. Again, he'll only hurt people who stick their nose into his business- and people who express too much interest in his darling.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Most of what he knows of human courtships comes from books and legends, so he'll try very hard to be his darling's very own fairtytale lover. He doesn't see why his obsessive tendencies and the gentle love describes in most folk tales can't be combined- isn't it the greatest expression of love to keep his darling just for himself? He'll be very warm and caring as long as his darling behaves properly.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Again, all his knowledge on human courting comes from books and myths, so he begins his aproaches in a very fairytale like fashion. In the beginning, he's a picture perfect gentleman: bringing flowers, walking his darling home, candlelit dinners in the lounge- the works. It's not until his obsession starts growing that he becomes more and more possesive.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Some people definitely suspect his gentleman act is just a fake mask, but he does want to behave nicely from time to time. He definitely still acts like a gentleman some of the times with his darling- specifically when they're not being troublesome. He does however, have a bit of a darker side; he'll take some sick pleasure in watching his darling squirm and cry for help- but he does try to not show that too much.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He isn't big on hitting or casting painful spells- once the adrenaline wears down and he sees what he did, he always feels sick to his stomach. He preffers more classic, less direct methods: complete and utter isolation until his darling is begging for him, taking away all the entertainment his darling has, and more extreme methods like waterboarding.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

First of all, he doesn't want them going out. If it's absolutely necessary, he'll make sure they're dressed in baggy, inconspicuous clothing so nobody takes notice of them: and or course, he's there by their side the entire time. Second of all, he wants them to cut all communication with the outside world. It's better for them to forget their friends, after all- once they're taken to the Coral Sea, the chances of seeing them again are null.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

His darling is lucky he's such a patient man. He can take more tantrums, escape attempts, screams and tears than most- it's almost infuriating how calm he can remain most of the time.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

It's an easy question- he wouldn't recover. His darling is one of the few people he considered himself to be truly close with, and losing them would deal a huge blow to him. It'd get bad enough that even trying to act like his usual self would be impossible- but he'd also vehemently refuse to speak of his sadness with anyone.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No, and no. He thinks his darling should be flattered by how intense his love is; they just need to adapt. Logically he knows humans don't like being caged up, but he's willing to make his darling lose that liberty so he can properly take care of them and love them.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He has no clue why he's fallen in love so deeply and in such a dark way, it just happened. This isn't the first time he's taken a romantic interest in someone, but never before had he felt such an obsession with the object of his desires, nor had he felt so many twisted impulses towards them. He has no idea what brought on this change: perhaps this is how true love feels like?

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It's tiring and he claims he doesn't like it, but... Truthfully he does get some twisted pleasure from watching his darling go through these dark periods. Just knowing their struggle is so hopeless, and that no matter what he's the only one they have- especially since he knows once his darling is exhausted of crying, they won't even complain if he takes them into his arms.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Classic yanderes are known to act "unhinged" or show a dark and violent side to their darling- Jade tries not to. He wants to be a good lover and have his darling run to him for safety and care (even if those emotions are... Fake, to an extent), so he'll work hard to make his darling feel dependant on him.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

If his darling managed to fool him into thinking they'd settled down, accepted their fate and loved him, he would start letting down his guard just a bit. Not enough for them to escape right away; they'd need for Jade to decide they're calm and docile enough to take out on a hike or a date- and once out, there'll be a small chance his darling will be able to dash away and seek help. They better find someone strong or an authority as fast as they can once they run- otherwise the second Jade catches up, he'll tear apart whoever tried to help his darling.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

He desperately tries not to unless it's absolutely needed. He wants his darling to see him as a loving figure- but punishments are a necessity sometimes...

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

To him, his darling is the most beautiful person alive. He wants his darling to see themselves as he sees them; a beautiful, fragile and captivating person. He'll always make sure to remember them of all of these facts. If he gets his hands on a spell to turn his darling into a mermaid, he'd be quick to try and make them feel comfortable in their new form. He just loves his darling and wants to make sure they know!

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He lasts about a couple of months in love before confessing, then a good period of "normal" dating. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect- he didn't want to give in to his ugly impulses right away, but he knew he'd have to, eventually.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No, and he'd be careful not to. He loves his darling as they are- he just wants them to be more obedient to him and love him, not break them entirely. He would take great care to not end up crushing his darling's soul, trying his best to slowly acclimate them to their new life as his lover.

#twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #jade leech

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tosikoarts · 4 years

Text

SFW Alphabet | Tsurumi Tokushirou

Wow, this one seems to be the apogee of my writing. You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Finally, a man who knows what he is doing. Tsurumi is a sly devil but he also got a taste of love, and those two points combined made him a danger to anyone he puts an eye on. The entire 7th division holds their breath watching how skillfully First Lieutenant pulls the unsuspecting victim into his snares.

Understandably, his main weapon would be the art of word. Tsurumi knows how to keep dialogue entertaining; moreover, he is well versed in complimenting his favorite person. He murmurs sweet nothings into their ear in public and in private, under the sergeant's condemning gaze and right under the nose of the jealous Second Lieutenant. Tsurumi does it wisely though, avoiding Usami’s uncontrollable obsession.

Gallantry is his middle name. As soon as they appear on the horizon with a bag or a stack of heavy books, Tsurumi miraculously finds himself next to them taking all of their stuff in his hands. Always accompanies them on the way home, from time to time pleases them with a small bouquet of lavender, moves the chair away from the table so that they sit down. At the same time, his gestures and moves, all looks natural like Tsurumi has been born with it.

Oh, also, he likes to spoil his loved one, pamper them without any limits. If they want to take a picture together, he will hire a western artist to paint a portrait of them. If they want a bar of chocolate, he will order to find the best dessert chef in Hokkaido. This is not his constant behavior, but Tsurumi quite often goes over the board with his affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Let’s be honest, to be best friends with Tsurumi you have to be at least no stupider than him and, better, even a little bit smarter. Otherwise, he will treat the person like another pawn in the game. Mind is a measure of strength, and those who are weaker than him do not deserve more than condescending attitude.

His best friend has to be patient and steadfast as a tin soldier: the hole in the head and lack of a brain piece deprived the First Lieutenant of poise so he is prone to outbursts of unwarranted violence. He may jokingly threaten to bite off their nose. Likewise, he may introduce them to the general madness of his division in the face of Usami or Nikaidou. They just have to deal with the crazy without going bonkers themself.

In addition, they have to have a wide range of interests or be willing to learn new things. Tsurumi is the one to offer to go to horse race, win (or lose) some money, and, without delay, go to the nearest theater. His broad knowledge in various areas makes it possible to boast in every possible way on every possible topic and he expects his best friend to keep the conversation going. Of course, his favorite topic is war and weapons so they must be familiar with it.

The advantages of friendship with this remarkable individual are: respect in all circles he is in; initiation into his plans or most of them; life will seem a lot easier than before since obstacles become suspiciously fewer…

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He has a weird desire for them to look into his face while cuddling. To be mentioned, Tsurumi takes off his enamel head plate in private and it works like a magic: his expression transforms into one of person who has been gone for too long, who was yet to see the horrors of Russo-Japanese war. So, Tsurumi likes to keep them on his lap, hands placed on their thighs or waist, and talk, talk, talk. For some reason avoids spooning: if they try to spoon him, he will slip away from their hands, turn around, and plant a gentle kiss on their forehead.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

It’s complicated. Considering his past with Fina, the whole idea of settling down evokes the unconscious resistance in Tsurumi. Grand plans for hidden gold are the one thing that interests him at the moment, or this is what he convinced himself in. Even in the case of having the most suitable partner, Tsurumi will choose treasure hunt over binding relationship. Same goes for children. His henchmen are his kids, his hellhounds, his creations that he nurtured with distorted version of love and adoration. It is unlikely that he has even a little healthy parental affection left. Great at making desserts, mediocre at cooking overall, doesn’t care about cleaning and leaves it to the partner.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Break-up can go different ways.

In the best case scenario, Tsurumi acts like a gentleman until the very end. On the designated day, he invites a partner to a quiet place and makes sure nobody disturbs their conversation. Even if it happens in the barracks, all soldiers are strictly ordered to stay away from the First Lieutenant's office. There are two cups of a soothing herbal tea on his table as well as dessert associated with them. In calm steady voice Tsurumi explains why they have to break up and how it would be inevitable in the future if they choose to stay together for little longer. In the end of his speech, they feel almost like they initiated this break-up and Tsurumi just conducted their thoughts like his own. It is harmless and easy break-up with no hard feelings after all.

Other options aren’t that innocuous. He can easily make up a kidnapping scheme to remove them from the sight. It may or may not be violent, may or may not leave them traumatized. In the worst case, Tsurumi with heavy heart will give the order to eliminate them and hide all signs of their existence. It is a pity that one cannot erase the marks left on him and his life.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As mentioned in the previous paragraph, formalizing a relationship is far from the first thing on the Tsurumi’s To-Do list. His partner can try to hint at marriage but he will either completely ignore it or adroitly dissuade them from such stupid undertaking. In a relationship, he remains faithful despite the absence of some fictitiously important pieces of signed paper.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Well, even if he is gentle in any variation, this gentleness carries a sadistic undertone. Tsurumi’s physical affection borders on pain and it is impossible to tell if his vulnerable moments are a theatrical performance or not. He can laugh endlessly, kiss their fingertips and bare knuckles, purposely tickle their neck with his long eyelashes or handlebar moustache but the very next second a predatory grin distorts his face, sending thing in darker direction. Only God knows what is going on in his head, really.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

A truly romantic hug so often shown in films and described in books: his hand rests on their waist, pulling them closer, and other hand catches theirs as if in a slow dance. Each time the distance between him and his partner becomes less and less, but what remains constant, it is a subtle smile and piercing gaze of dark eyes. When in a cheery, exclusively friendly mood, Tsurumi likes to give the partner a tight bear hug or a short greetings-like hug with resting his chin either on their shoulder or on the top of their head.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes years for Tsurumi to say “I love you” out loud. About 3-4 to be exact. Either because he cannot call his feelings real love, or because he does not want to let them ease off. Confession imposes the stamp of some kind of completeness on the relationship and it isn’t fun at all. In his speech, the magic three words are replaced by softer analogues like “I really like you” or “Aren’t you my sunshine” so his partner does not put much thought to why Tsurumi avoids confession. Oh, one hundred percent the day he finally chooses to confess will be an anniversary date. Expect a day dedicated solely to satisfaction of his partner’s desires.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh no no no, please, we don’t have that much space in the cemetery. Flirting with Tsurumi’s partner is like playing Russian roulette with five bullets in cylinder – highly lethal game of chance. After spotting unlucky admirer, Tsurumi tries to identify them and dig up as much information as possible. Their fate depends on it. If it's some kind of midge, a cockroach, First Lieutenant forgets about this situation pretty fast. He doesn’t want to deal with such squalor anyway. If this is a more serious figure, Tsurumi may want to teach them a lesson how rude it is to encroach on someone else's love. Probably pulls a couple of strings to get them into some kind of trouble. Get them fired, discharged, robbed, assaulted, whatever. At the same time, he doesn’t even mention them while talking to the loved one.

Provoking Tsurumi to jealousy is just as dangerous. His actions are not as radical as in the first case but his partner will have to learn that this is not an acceptable behavior. It is hard to imagine how far he can go though, methods may vary from simple manipulation to straightforward psychological abuse. The latter is the last and the least appealing option, which Tsurumi won’t use unless he is forced to.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sometimes you just wonder where he learned all these tricks with his tongue. Tsurumi is a playful skilled kisser with excellent flair to where and when to apply fine knowledge of French... technique. Bites are not uncommon either. He has a habit of marking his loved one so everybody around knows who they belong to, and at least one hickey has to flaunt on their neck to keep him satisfied. Tsurumi prefers to kiss his partner wherever they want to be kissed, especially if they ask nicely, and to where to be kissed… a straight line from razor-sharp cheekbones to the notch between the collarbones is a great start.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Stranger’s kids are terrified of Tsurumi. Little ones burst into tears as they notice his wide smile, and those who are a little older stare at him with confusion. Teens try to stay away from this man since he fits the stranger danger statement very well. Thus to say, Tsurumi isn’t fond of being near children and prefers to pass the buck to the subordinates. If we are talking about his own (highly hypothetical) kids that is another story: they get the best of the best, they are spoiled rotten just like his partner. Of course, as kids grow up, Tsurumi switches to the carrot and stick approach spoiling them only as a reward for good behavior. Not that bad around children, really. It's not his fault that he fits the description of Boogeyman.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On rare days when Tsurumi decides to spend the day with a partner, he never rushes. Those mornings are complete opposite of his usual mornings: they are slow, lazy, maximally filled with intimacy. No one is in a hurry to get out from under the blanket and if his loved one tries to sneak out, Tsurumi deftly catches them by the waist and drags back. I think it is clear that he is immensely touchy in the morning hours. The rest of the time is spent in a kitchen over a cup of green tea, in lively conversation on a variety of topics. No, he is not going to leave the house until the late noon.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Get ready for experiments and new experiences. Have they ever tried horseback riding? No? Good, he will be their teacher. Calligraphy? He will help to put their hand on a brush correctly. Nyotaimori or nantaimori? He will ask either Koito or another twunk to serve as a model. Tsurumi presents every evening date as a surprise that will not leave one indifferent and still he somehow manages to not overstep the bounds of decency. When their mood doesn’t fit his own adventurous impulses, the choice falls on a more classic pastime like late night walk or dinner date but there is not much that can be said about it.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

His partner won’t hear a bit of personal information, a single bit, until Tsurumi is one hundred percent sure that they are here to stay. Until then, he will feed the partner common unremarkable phrases which cannot compromise him in any way. Even after this, a lot of uncertainties remain: Tsurumi seems to describe events only in positive or neutral light, avoiding situations that obviously carry a grim implications. For example, not a word will be said about Fina or Olga and even if partner witnesses him fiddling small bones in his fingers, Tsurumi will make some fable up. Revelations happen but it is not something they will have a chance to get used to.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Easily angered but pulls himself together in the blink of the eye. His malice usually spills out in a form of nervous thrill so it is rare to see Tsurumi screaming his lungs out or getting into a fight. In a relationship, he puts on a mask of an eternally patient partner so his loved one won’t even guess about his anger issues.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Liar is obligated to have a great memory, do you get where I’m coming from? Now only he remembers what his partner has to say but also somehow knows what they hide from him too. If the information seems to be of low priority, Tsurumi immediately forgets it. Like what is he supposed to do with the fact that theirs first dog was called Akira? Best of all he remembers theirs crucial ups and downs both to establish the emotional connection and have some control levers in the future.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Difficult question. Not any of “first experiences”, not anniversary. Probably, the first time he introduced them to the group of closer soldiers like Tsukishima and Co. For the first time Tsurumi decided to “show off” his partner in the headquarters just to establish a clear boundaries between himself and subordinates. Of course, he was well aware of the risks and consequences but chose to do it anyway. The reaction of some was quite expected: Koito's face expressed unpleasant surprise and qualm, he couldn’t switch back from Satsuma dialect and when it finally happened, there were more awkward pauses than comprehendible words; Usami screwed up his eyes as if he was evaluating a competitor simultaneously deciding on the best method to eliminate them. Nikaidou didn’t really cared. Kikuta did neither. Tsukishima’s reaction was the most adequate of all: he politely bowed, mumbled words of courtesy, and got back to his routine. However, on the way to the office he decided to warn them that lovely Tokushirou might differ from their expectations. At the end, Tsurumi was extremely pleased by the flaunting and gave them opportunity to choose how he will thank them for the shown patience.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Tell me, who in their right mind would want to provoke this man? Like, who? His very presence is enough to scare any foe away, not to mention how lethal his overprotectiveness can be. Tsurumi is great at managing resources to make sure his partner is okay: there is always an armed invisible observer in the city they are staying in, sometimes they are sent letters in which Tsurumi takes interest in how their days are going, etc. On the other hand, in moments of real danger, his subordinates are those who take care of his loved one: soldiers are obliged to protect them since Tsurumi usually holds a leading position rather than actively participates in the dirty work. Has no need to be protected, however, partner’s impulses to do it are always met with tender emotion and sincere drawling “aww”.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Tsurumi has an enviable ability of being seemingly the most caring and charming man in the world without even trying. He is natural in wooing, it feels like the whole world is on his side: if he forgets to buy a present for the anniversary (which never happens, may I assure you), a hurrying seller will be selling cute necklace at discount price. Whenever he decides to go to another city with his loved one, there will be a festival or celebration. To be fair, Tsurumi does put efforts in the relationship and keeping his partner happy. He just has it easier than most of your common men.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His own motives and desires will always be prioritized over his partner’s. It is reality that they just have to deal with. If his partner feels confident in enough, they can try to fight Tsurumi with his own weapon - flattery, ruse, and equivalent exchange, - but success still entirely depends on his mood.

Military career implies long partings with the risk of never seeing the partner again. For the person who cannot live without their loved one’s physical presence, relationship like this will feel like living hell.

To mention something more lighthearted, Tsurumi is constantly surrounded by subordinates that have questionable… adoration towards him. It asks for deep dive in military psychology, workplace psychology, and additional peek into sexual psychopathology but you get what I mean. Usami gets off talking about how First Lieutenant will be upset with him and, probably, will punish him, okay.

Tsurumi is shady man overall, damaged both physically and emotionally, he is missing a piece of the brain and it is already a long list of reason why one should think twice before getting in with him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Tsurumi actually cares for his looks. He takes his time to shave the moustache and goatee just the way he wants it to be, thoroughly washes the hair twice a week, keeps the head plate clean by wiping it with wet cloth and disinfecting with alcohol. The main reason of his concerns is desire to look presentable and influential, not a banal narcissism. Does the face scar bother him? When there’s nothing to occupy his mind – yes. Tsurumi understands how drastically it changed his overall look and sometimes regrets what happened but what is the point of overthinking unalterable? Right, there is none.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Break-up is a huge deal in the sense that Tsurumi's reaction could be anything. Unpredictable. Up to monstrous consequences. The safest option would be drop everything and run away since he won’t chase them to the end of the world. Yes, he would feel betrayed and fueled with anger but whatever, it is not the most important thing on the agenda. Sooner or later their paths will cross again and it will be the chance for Tsurumi to show his disinterest. You know, this “I am a bad bitch, you can’t hurt me” style. Direct confrontation leads to a passionate interrogation on why they decided to leave. Is there anything he can do to prevent them from such imprudent step? Does their relationship lack anything? This conversation quickly escalates into preparation of feelings during which Tsurumi scrutinizes all their ins and outs. If they successfully survive this psychological torture mixed with all kinds of manipulation – congrats! – they are allowed to leave. Now he has left his mark on them, on their heart and soul, so they have to carry it wherever they choose to go.

In the case of their death, Tsurumi grieves. How does a man like him grieve? Through sublimation, of course. To stop thinking about the time spent together, he pays more attention to treasure hunt. Tsukishima unobtrusively plays the role of a First Lieutenant’s personal therapist, listening to his pensive monologues, but it doesn’t make any difference. Just like his Sergeant, Tsurumi has difficulties with experiencing repeated loss, and second time feels even worse than the first one.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Remember this clear liquid oozing from under his head plate? It is actually сerebrospinal fluid that provides mechanical and immunological protection to the brain. Constant leaking of CSF leads to a condition known as orthostatic headache: this type of headache intensifies while person is standing and eases when lying down. Tsurumi has extreme headaches after his excited leaks that are usually weakened by general thrill. Once agitation excitation wears off, he becomes incredibly irritable and searches for a quiet place to lie down. The one person who knows about such side effect is Tsukishima. He has saved a dozen of lives already by preventing fellow soldiers from talking to resting First Lieutenant.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He has specific requirements for his environment and a list of traits its members have to lack.

For example, curiosity did kill the cat. People by his side should not pry into his personal business unless they want to get bitten. It is dangerous for them, for Tsurumi, and for plans he has built, so his partner has to either be incurious or keep themself in check when it comes to bunch of stuff.

Freedom-loving and willfulness are the worst enemies of manipulator, no wonder that First Lieutenant looks for someone submissive. Guess, for those achieving high ranks, powerplay is an integral part of social interaction.

Ah, but at the same time, lack of personality makes Tsurumi yawn. Such people do not provide the kind of entertainment he is looking for and it is natural for him to overlook them in the crowd.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Sleeps suspiciously well for a person who bites people’s fingers off. Brain injury left him dreamless for the rest of the life so as soon as Tsurumi’s head touches the pillow he immediately goes into a deep sleep. His sleeping schedule is nothing special too. Obeying the laws of army life, First Lieutenant wakes up early at the same time very day and goes to bed no later than 10 pm. Lies on the belly with arms straight up along the body. Without the head plate, obviously.

With the advent of a permanent partner in his life, Tsurumi’s sleep became more restless. Now he feels way too energetic, tosses and turns in bed, and cannot find a comfortable position in the bed. Since most of the time they still sleep apart (he has a reputation to maintain, blah-blah-blah), Tsurumi has to take a walk to blow off steam and get rid of swarming thoughts. Sometimes it does not help at all so he rushes to their house hoping to find peace in their arms. And so it happens. Tsukishima has almost come to terms with the frequent absence of the First Lieutenant in the mornings. However, Koito is not that happy about it and keeps bothering sergeant with questions to which he has no answer. Poor young man.

#golden kamuy #tsurumi tokushirou #golden kamuy headcanon #golden kamuy imagine #tosikoswrites

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iwillsithereandtrytocontribute · 4 years

Text

Lost in the Wrong Story

Uh-oh It's the Trash Man

Masterlist Last Next Ao3

~ A collaboration with @hitmewiththatfanart33 ~

Summary: Roman can’t run from his problems forever.

Roman hit the ground running. Surely if he ran with no particular direction they couldn’t find him, right? He dashed between trees and jumped over roots, taking some small comfort in the repetition of the sound of his boots hitting the ground. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, for he didn’t remember consciously making this world, and most of the Disney movies he grew up watching had trees in them. Though not many trees looked like this: all twisted and curled, ferns and other various jungle-looking flora littering the floor. No, these woods were far from something out of a Disney movie. They had an eerie feeling to them, and the chirps and calls of unfamiliar bugs and night creatures set him on edge.

“Why are you being so difficult?” a nasaly voice droned. Roman flinched, whipping around in a circle to find the source, and his heart only beat faster when some sort of wispy green fog menacingly circled him. It was so cold; colder than the already-freezing night-time air. However, that wasn’t why he trembled.

The fog curled and condensed right before his face to form the disembodied head of a large green cat-looking thing, smiling at him crookedly with large, sharp fangs… The Cheshire Cat from Tim Burton’s adaptation of Alice in Wonderland…

Remus.

He should’ve known from the second he stepped foot in this world that this wasn’t his creation like all the other places had been. “It’s none of your business,” he snarled, “Go away.” He tried to get around him so that he could leave, but the floating head only followed his movement.

“Oh, but it is.” A set of paws took shape, and Remus rested his chin on them with an aggravating look of amusement. “You’re in my world if you couldn’t tell. And I had one hell of a time creating it.” He tilted his head side to side with each word for emphasis. “Whatever happened to making room for new stuff by getting rid of the old?” Remus complained.

The last thing Roman needed right now was to play cat-and-mouse with his brother, so he turned around and began running, hoping to get enough momentum to hop worlds again, though it would be challenging considering this wasn’t his world and was thus less easy to manipulate. He barely got ten feet before a fully-formed cat was suddenly pouncing on him, pinning his back to the ground. “My world,” Remus repeated with a viscous hiss. “Meaning you’re going to listen.” He could feel Remus’ rancid breath against his face, and the terror that he would bite his head off at any given minute overwhelmed him.

Roman said nothing, too busy teetering on the verge of hyperventilation. “Now… What is your fucking problem?”

And in response to the exhaustion, the heartache, the stress, and the fear… Roman’s wide eyes welled up with stinging tears, and he began to cry. Remus looked incredibly uncomfortable. Great. Even his own brother didn’t know what to do with him. The new addition of Roman’s pitiful blubbering noises and the way he squeezed his eyes shut tight to make the world go away seemed to shake Remus out of his surprise, and the heavy weight on his chest suddenly felt less concentrated and more… human. “Hey, hey, hey… I’m sorry I scared you, I just thought you were going for a Disney theme, so I added my own twist to it… Good old Tim Burton, you know? It’s pretty much the only thing we can both sit through without killing each other.” Remus sounded like someone who had no experience with children trying to comfort a screaming baby.

Roman slowly blinked his eyes open. Remus was still sitting on his stomach, which wasn’t the most comfortable— cat or human— and he looked down at his face worriedly. “Get off me. I can hardly breathe,” he complained. Remus quickly complied, sitting back on his heels to the side of him, offering a hand to help him sit up.

Once he was upright, he stayed quiet a moment, resting his elbows on his knees. Then he spoke. “I’m a handful, okay? They don’t deserve to have to deal with that, so I just thought that maybe coming to the place where I’m in control and people will still love me even when I make a mistake was what was best for everyone. Nobody was supposed to come after me. None of this was supposed to happen.” He sniffled and angrily wiped at his tears.

“Everyone with a brain is a handful, you blood clot. They obviously love you anyways, or else they would’ve ditched you a long time ago,” Remus said, trying to cheer him up.

“They have,” Roman said quietly.

“What? No, I was just with them.”

“That’s not what I meant… Patton just disappeared for several months one time after Christmas. He didn’t even say goodbye, and I needed him. Then I almost caused Virgil to leave completely, Logan left when I was upset over that one breakup, and… Janus hasn’t left me yet. He hasn’t been around long, but I think I just gave him a pretty good reason to.” This felt cathartic. Like he’d been in an uneasy or heightened state for so long that he forgot what it felt like to just be empty.

Remus chewed on his lip, cocking his head, and his next words sounded forced, but he meant well. “They need you too…” Roman barely caught him muttering ‘those useless infants’ under his breath, and he almost snorted. “Did you ever try to go after Patton?”

“No,” he admitted, guilt stirring up in his stomach.

“Weren’t you also the reason Virgil came back? And isn’t Janus still looking for you somewhere in this jumbled mess of yours? Sounds to me like you’re just being an idiot,” Remus said with a shrug. Somehow his careless, goofy way of going about things calmed Roman down more than anything else could.

“I guess.”

“I’m really not the one you should be talking to. All I’m good for is butt jokes,” he said, not entirely incorrectly. Roman chuckled a little.

Remus sighed. “Virgil’s no stranger to running away to brood; he’d be way better at this than me.” Then he turned his head, eyes wide with sudden thought. “He needs a nickname for that specifically. Hmm…”

He snapped. “Got it: Forest Whump,” he announced proudly, “Contains running and angst.”

Then Roman was truly cracking up. It was pretty funny, and the thought of late night Tim Burton movie marathons and stealing each other’s clothes suddenly made Roman miss his stormcloud more than words could describe, so maybe Remus was right. “Yeah,” he said fondly. “I guess I really messed up.”

“Yep!” Remus trilled gleefully.

Roman nodded. “Thank you, brother.”

“No prob, Bob!” Remus faded away, leaving just his deranged, but somewhat well-meaning smile before even that disappeared.

When Roman hopped worlds he landed in yet another forest. Free from Remus’ influence, it felt a lot more familiar, like an old friend. He was fairly sure what fairytale he was in, (he had to be, he’d created the world after all), he just didn’t know where in it he was. He ran until he reached the cottage, exactly where he had instinctually known it would be. Then he walked upstairs, pushing two of the undersized beds together in the corner to form one large enough to sit comfortably on, wondering what to do while he waited on Virgil to inevitably show up. After all, the others seemed to find him no matter what he did. They practically fell into his lap.

So he waited.

And he waited…

The isolated silence began to weigh on his mental state.

Suddenly, where he had originally felt calmed by his conversation with Remus, all sorts of conflicted feelings began to arise. Roman knew Remus was trying to help, and for a while his words did make him feel better... until he started really thinking about what he’d said, that was. When Patton disappeared for months, he did nothing. When Logan felt ostracized during the courtroom trial, he had said nothing. Hell, he had been happy to have Virgil gone… at first.

Patton must still resent him for never coming for him. Is that why he never paid any mind to Roman’s absences? Was it payback? Did Logan still loathe him for abandoning their college diploma to be a YouTuber? What about Virgil? He couldn’t count how many times he’d been flat-out cruel to him. And with Janus, when he had first told them his name, he’d laughed at him just like he had with Virgil and treated him like a villain just because of his own conflicting emotions.

Now he’d left them who knows where in the Imagination.

“Roman, just come home with me.”

“I just missed you so much it hurt.”

“You need to come home.”

“Roman, this isn’t funny. Come out.”

“Where is Patton?”

“Roman!”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“Roman!”

“Now… What is your fucking problem?”

“Roman!”

He gasped brokenly, pressing a hand to his mouth as the tears began freely falling one after the other onto his lap, and it felt as if every atom making him up trembled. His prince uniform slowly phased into black sweatpants and his favorite red hoodie so that they could hold him together when he couldn’t. He curled into himself.

Would they even want him back given everything he’d done and continued to do? If they found him would they just try to let him down easy? This and more swirled around Roman’s head relentlessly, and no matter how many times he wiped his eyes, they were quickly replenished.

***

Virgil walked straight into a tree as he entered the Imagination. He stumbled back, expecting Janus to catch him, and instead fell to the ground. Right as he was about to shoot a teasing remark at Janus, Virgil realized he wasn’t there. Neither were Logan and Remus. He stood up and turned in a frantic circle. “Very funny guys. Come out Remus, you bitch.” No response other than the wind rustling through the leaves. Virgil laughed nervously. “You’ve had your fun. Come on.” Nothing.

He was in the middle of the woods with no way of knowing how to get out or find help, and they weren’t here with him.

He fumbled around to find his hoodie to calm his rapidly increasing panic and felt nothing. A glance down at himself had him on the verge of laughing hysterically, for he was wearing a rich purple dress that nearly reached the ground. He felt behind his back and found, to his relief, a hood, so at least Roman wasn’t completely cruel. Sure the tight laces were hell, as were the sleeves that reached down to his legs, but as long as he could smoother himself in fabric, he could calm down. He tried to remember the exercises Logan had taught him: 4-7-8 and counting with all of his senses. Eventually, his breathing slowed and he removed his hood.

The world seemed a little less scary now. He’d noticed birds chirping amongst the treetops, the sun filtered down nicely, and he was sure that whatever reason he had been brought here was important.

He was sitting on the ground, back pressed up against a tree, though he couldn’t quite remember doing that. He stood up, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. For one, he was in a forest— wow great job, Virgil. Figure that one out all by yourself?— and secondly… Well, he had nothing. Just trees. Looks like he was picking a direction and going with it in the hopes he’d find Roman… somehow.

He hadn’t been walking very long when he spotted a vaguely familiar cottage. It wasn’t big enough to be from Sleeping Beauty, so… Really? Snow White? Was this because I said I liked the Evil Queen’s aesthetic once? He shrugged and pushed the door open. That was when he heard someone upstairs, and for a moment he felt relieved to not have to be alone, but that quickly changed when he realized whoever it was was crying. His eyes went wide.

Roman.

Virgil dashed up the stairs as fast as his gown would let him, practically throwing open the door, and he nearly cried upon seeing the person he’d been looking for. “Roman!” Virgil called out. Roman looked up from where he was bunched up on the bed. Virgil moved over to the bed to try and hug him, but Roman shrugged him off. “Roman?”

This wasn’t like him. This was bad.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” Roman whimpered quietly, fresh tears running down his face. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Roman, what are you talking about?” Virgil sat next to him, but Roman scooted away and put his face back down to his knees.

“I get it!” Roman said loudly out of nowhere. “You’re all just the nicest people in the fucking world and you’re just trying to let me down easy. Just leave me alone!” The window next to them shattered.

“Roman. Roman, listen to me.” Virgil tried to keep his voice steady. As much as he wanted to hug Roman, he knew that when he was feeling this way he hated being touched, so he kept his distance. “This is all in your head. Trust me, as the literal personification of anxiety, I should know. You’re lying to yourself.”

Roman turned his back to him, facing the headboard that rested against the wall to the left of the window, his breath coming in heavier and more panicked.

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. I swear I do.” Virgil was crying now. Roman was scaring him, and everything in Virgil cried out to ease the insurmountable amount of pain he was in. The wind roared through the broken window, sending pillows and sheets flying. He longed to run and hide until this was all over, but that other, stronger part of him prevailed. He was essentially Thomas’ fight or flight instinct, and he was determined to fight for Roman.

“I… do.” Everything in the room became crystal clear to Virgil in that moment. His eyes settled on a single shiny red apple just past the bedpost, still among the spinning wreckage that threatened to cut his skin to ribbons. Not a thing touched him when he stood, walking a path to the fruit, and when he reached it there was no going back.

He had to have it.

As if in a trance, his lithe, pale fingers wrapped around its round form.

He pressed his mouth against it.

“Virgil?”

Then its sweet juice was filling his mouth.

***

Roman’s brow furrowed against his knees as he heard Virgil trail off then fall silent. He brought his head up with a soft, “Virgil?” and when there was no response he turned around on the bed out of curiosity, only to freeze in horror at what he saw. He swore all the breath left his lungs.

It was too late.

Virgil’s teeth were already sinking into it, and Roman felt helpless as he watched in shock, the bedding and glass crashing down around them.

The next thing to hit the ground was the apple, a sort of dull thud against the wooden floor, then Virgil came down with it, and with a sickening gasp, Roman lunged. Yet again, it was too late. The sound of Virgil’s head hitting the ground echoed throughout the cottage.

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Roman repeated that single word over and over again, dropping to his knees and scooping Virgil’s limp form up into his lap.

This was his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault. He was supposed to be the hero. But he wasn’t a hero. He was a coward, running away, always making the wrong choice and hurting the people he loved, and it wasn’t like Virgil was the first victim of his recklessness. How could they love someone like that?

The truth was… they couldn’t, but he had to try.

Hurriedly, he kissed Virgil, begging for that true love’s kiss he always believed in to break the curse that he’d unwittingly set in motion through his anger. Nothing happened. He tried again and again, but Virgil didn’t wake up. Didn’t breathe. “Virgil! Virgil please wake up!” Roman shook him, but his head only lolled. “Virgil, wake up. Please. Please.” Roman dissolved into tears, hugging Virgil close, rocking back and forth. He’d known all along that he wasn’t Virgil’s true love, but finding out by putting Virgil into a curse he couldn’t break was by far the worst way to have done so.

Minutes passed by with Roman desperately clinging to the one he loved.

In those eternal minutes, Virgil didn’t move, and where Roman had once been able to warm him up, his skin stayed as cold as porcelain. The only thing that kept Roman from giving up entirely was the fact that there was still a steady pulse to be felt in his neck beneath the cold, lifeless guise the curse blanketed him in. He gave him one last squeeze and firmly pressed their foreheads together.

Roman carefully lifted Virgil onto the bed, only now noticing how breathtaking he would have been in the long, draping fabric and rich purple were he still awake, and he crossed his arms before wiping the tears from his face. He even conjured a bouquet of white poppies to place in Virgil’s clasped hands. The simple conjuring took every ounce of his willpower and energy, and he sobbed his heart out all the while. Then he pressed one final kiss to Virgil’s forehead with a vain hope that this kiss would somehow work.

“I’ll make this right. I swear.”

He had to find Janus.

Fun fact! White poppies symbolize eternal sleep, oblivion, imagination, consolation, dreams, and peace. Yes, I did in fact spend 10 minutes looking up the meanings of various plants.

@cuter-on-the-inside @abbyisconfused @n4o5r7a9 @omni-hamiltrash @fandomsofrandom @t0astyt0es @withspaces @anyelram841 @yep-another-fander @strangecreatureyoucantidentify @fandom-trash-304 @chelsvans @nomejodasb @iampengwing @neonb-fly @analogical-mess @midnight-tragedyy @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @athenashipsthings @thgjclw @littleladynightshade @casuallyimpossibledream @hekking-happy-nonsense @comicsimpson @slutforketchup @sandersidess @i-need-you-buddy @witchyvirgil @ghosttb0y @pixelatedrose @emilightniing @csi-baker-street-babes @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute @spooky-scary-virgil @justanothernerdyfandomblog @phantomfantasize @panicattheeveywhere @hedgiehoggles @i-really-like-dragons @youre-lazy-and-youre-gay0-0 @crabsncrabs @gattonero17 @dragonleesupporter @lokiamorstuffs @emo--nightmaree @anotherbisexualbooklover @7-slights-at-virgil @romanvirgil @croftersjam15 @underthesea73

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silviartemis · 4 years

Text

Mental Health Headcanons

This made me sweat blood

Will I do the other half of the kids? Yup. Someday.

TW: this is not graphic or unnecessarily heavy but is still about mental health struggles so if it’s a Bad day take care of yourself. (mentions of: depression, anxiety, ptsd, self destructive tendencies, manic episodes, abuse, dissociation, mentions of death, implied ableism.)

These are headcanons, some is based on canon, some is based on ideas floating around the fandom, I straight up invented other stuff and would love to know what you think and your own headcanons about this topic!

Everything under the cut <3 Also, Canon Era

Katherine had to deal with her mother's depression, which made her emotionally and often physically unavailable most of her life. Thankfully other people (Hannah we love you) stepped in to fill that void somewhat so she didn't suffer as much as she could have but naturally she didn't come out of it completely fine. She has a hard time recognizing and taking care of her own emotional needs and has a very unstable self esteem, sometimes leading to anxious episodes and burn out cause she works herself ragged trying to be "seen" by other people. Has a very strong will though and has learned over time to stop, take a breath, and analyze what she’s feeling.

The Jacobs household is a loving, caring space and that is so important for psychological well being. It’s not very big on communication or feelings though so the Jacob children learned to express themselves mostly through logic and reason, or through their bodies.

· When David was little he showed the first signs of anxiety by having horrible stomach aches whenever he had to leave home to go to school or temple and it’s still one of the main symptoms he gets whenever he struggles with it. Now he still has a difficult time in new social contexts but he more prominently worries about his role and responsibilities in the family, or the future. It can be intense at times but when he was younger his mom helped him learn how to handle it. Since he’s very methodical he has set specific strategies to cope with different stressors (and he’ll gladly teach them to whoever needs it).He still has crisis when the situation is particularly dire but with a little grounding from a friend or his sister he can calm down before he really starts spiraling.

· Sarah is mostly fine. She has stress and responsibilities and frustrations like everyone but seldom gests overwhelmed. When she does, and straight up gets a fever, it's because she refused to acknowledge the emotional or physical toll something had on her, insisted on analyzing and acting following only logic and pragmatism, and ended up ignoring the signs of struggle her mind or her body were showing. She is fine with some rest and care from her parents and siblings.

· Les is a child. A lucky one, because he's surrounded by people that love him and take care of him. He's a very smart kid, like his sister he tends to focus more on the pragmatic side of things. He's less naïve now than he was when he first met the newsies but that only gave him more conscience of the world and more compassion. Will he struggle in his life? Of course, who doesn't. But he has one of the best support systems ever so he'll be alright.

Jack has been self-sufficient most of his life, even when he had his father around. After that, still little more than a child, he had to provide for other kids too. That affected his emotional development: he neutralizes his negative emotions by creating an escape from reality, an image to reach for to keep from succumbing to anxiety and depression. While this is functional to survival, it leaves him even more vulnerable when those emotions inevitably blow up. His multiple stays at the Refuge scarred him more than he’ll ever admit and left him struggling with some PTSD symptoms he carefully hides. His newsies family (the oldest at least) notice anyway and subtly help him calm down. Their love, shown through little gestures and kind touches (he’s very tactile), keeps him grounded. He has a very strong sense of self that helps him get through even the worst times without losing his core. Will put his own needs on hold to care for his family but is not self-destructive, he knows his limits and how far he can push himself before he’s no longer helping.

Crutchie struggles with self worth and self efficacy, tries to mask it by being as independent as possible, even refusing help he actually needs. His family died during the polio epidemic he got sick in but he was very young and he almost doesn't remember them (removal of traumatic memories). Uses his sunny personality to hide his struggles and the fears and discouragement that come with them. He spent many years in an orphanage where he was treated like his being alive was terribly inconvenient so when he feels overwhelmed he seeks isolation because he doesn’t want to be a burden. His experience at the Refuge, albeit horrible, was thankfully very brief so it didn't scar him too much, he has nightmares sometimes but can be comforted easily by his found family.

Race has what we'd now call adhd, he’s actually quite good ad handling it and channeling his erratic energy in making his and other kids lives easier. Except when he keeps purposefully distracting himself from taking care of his needs and pushes himself to the edge of physical collapse either to provide for the younger kids or to fulfill the self destructive tendencies that pop up in his worse days. He may appear very easygoing but has trust issues bigger than the Brooklyn Bridge, cause after only a few months in America his mother left him on the steps of the church and walked away. Incredibly loyal to the ones that eventually gain his trust. Puts on a shield of humor to protect the more vulnerable parts of himself. He has had one of the roughest stays at the refuge (along with Jack) that left him with some post traumatic stress symptoms like nightmares and flashbacks. Very tactile, the feeling of warmth from a hug will calm him down in his worst moments. One of his biggest strengths is his resilience, he will bend but won’t break.

Albert is a victim of abuse. Many other kids are, in one way or another, but usually they come from a very bad situation that they had to flee as soon as they could. Albert's abuse built up over a very long time, keeping him trapped in a home that he felt guilty leaving and slowly numbed him to his own pain. He went from a loving family, through a terrible loss, to neglect, to physical and psychological violence. Struggles with emotion regulation and anger outbursts, has some PTSD symptoms such as flinching away from touch and light dissociation, if triggered. Both craves and is averse to touch, tends to feel over-stimulated when he’s tired or stressed so he copes by holing up with Race on the rooftop. One of the healthiest ways he has to express his emotions is his fierce protectiveness of the people he loves.

Spot fled an abusive neglectful household when he was young, but not before he was completely sure he could fend for himself against the whole world. One of his siblings died while in their parents care and that loss and anger caused him to put up walls so high and thick no older Brooklyn newsie ever really gained his trust, but immediately became very protective of the younger kids, in time earning his position as the borough leader without even noticing. He translates all his emotions into action, often leading to manic episodes that, once they’re over, leave him exhausted both physically and emotionally. While he’s feared by many outside of Brooklyn, his newsies love and respect him and know when to step in and let him retreat for a couple of hours to rest.

#Newsies #katherine pulitzer #davey jacobs #sarah jacobs #les jacobs #Jack Kelly #crutchie morris #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #ehiIwrotethis

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arlingtonpark · 4 years

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SNK 129 Review

Attack on Titan is a very violent series. People get torn, crushed, cut, shot, and bludgeoned basically every other chapter. Loved ones are lost tragically. Mangled corpses feature regularly. The main character is one of the most ruthless people in the world.

What makes SNK so interesting is how it depicts violence. People have described the series’ depiction of violence as “unvarnished” and “real” and I’d say that’s true, but there so much more to it than that.

It’s not just that the series depicts violence viscerally. That’s been done before.

It’s not even that the series depicts violence as a fact of life.

What sets SNK apart is that it treats violence as endemic.

In Attack on Titan, violence is not only real and unfortunate, not just a fact of life we have to deal with, it’s ever present.

Yeah, this is a story about people who have to fight giants, and then the whole world, to survive. Violence would be an inevitable part of the plot no matter what.

But Attack on Titan goes above and beyond that.

It’s about the emphasis. Some stories would argue that violence should be avoided at all costs. The hero and villain are at odds with each other, but they manage to broker some kind of deal.

Or a story could acknowledge that violence is sometimes necessary. It could be an action movie that kicks off after the conflict has already spiraled into violence. In that case, the question of why people start shooting at each other isn’t necessarily important.

Or the story could show how the conflict came to violence, but emphasize the undesirability of resorting to war.

What makes Attack on Titan unique is that it focuses very much on the origins of violence, but doesn’t emphasize the undesirability of it.

Every conflict in this story is resolved using violence. If this were just a mindless action show, that’d be fine, but this is a series that invites the reader to dwell on whether violence was appropriate.

Unlike most stories Attack on Titan concludes, after all its philosophizing, that non-violent alternatives are a waste of time!

Paradis’ attempts to broker peace with the world are presented as flailing and unsuccessful. Every attempt by Armin to negotiate with the enemy fails.

King Fritz is depicted as a coward, a control freak, and a fool because of his ideology. His ideology of non-violence.

Attack on Titan seems to mock people who don’t want to have to kill. Because of that, the series almost seems to revel in its bloodshed, even as that bloodshed is depicted as gruesome and ugly.

SNK isn’t like Gundam.

Gundam has always had the theme that war is bad. SNK’s theme seems to be that war is unfortunate but necessary.

The difference between those two themes is huge but subtle.

Another important pillar of this series is freedom.

The Survey Corps rides out into the outside world constantly. Every one of them knows they’ll be trampled and torn apart at some point; they do it anyway because they believe in their cause.

That cause is to fight for freedom.

Freedom in Attack on Titan means being able to decide your own fate. If you want to explore the outside world, you can do that. If you want to found a family, you can do that. If you want to virtue signal by adopting the same dream as your friend, you can do that.

But people don’t have to literally be a slave to be unfree.

In Attack on Titan, you can be unfree just by being a slave to other people’s expectations.

People expected that Eren would be humanity’s savior. He was sold to the public as a trump card against the titans: a human who had their power. He was the advantage humanity needed to win. After 100 years, humanity catches a big break, and his name was Eren Jeager.

But it never panned out that way.

The expectation was always unrealistic. Eren was still one (not particularly bright) person, and he was never going to destroy all the titans himself.

Come the end of the Uprising arc, and Eren has not really contributed anything, and he starts to give himself grief.

When it’s revealed his existence seems to have impeded humanity’s survival, Eren begs for death. The weight of everyone’s expectations had crushed him.

Eren had been a slave to the Rogue Titan hype machine.

After Historia’s ahem “pep talk” and some post-cavern ruminations, Eren starts to let go of that way of thinking, and he’s better off for it.

He still works hard, but he doesn’t think he has to carry the world on his back, and thanks to Historia and the military overshadowing him in Uprising, people in general expect less of him, too.

Eren had been liberated from people’s expectations.

Freedom also means freedom from the past.

The Eldians are dogged by their history. Every major villain so far has thought Eldians deserved to die for the sins of their ancestors.

Reiner, Bertolt, and Annie were brainwashed to believe Eldians were devil children.

The Marleyans hammer at that point to this day.

Zeke is convinced Eldians are a curse partly because of the animosity caused by the Empire’s history.

We haven’t seen King Fritz yet, but he’s probably the craziest one of them all. He is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo convinced that Eldians carry an irredeemable stain because of their ancestor’s actions that he’ll let their enemies slaughter them.

So it’s not just what people do in the present that can make you unfree. Attack on Titan is also about not being held back by the past.

There’s one more aspect of freedom in SNK to bring up, and I think it’s one of the more underappreciated ones: the importance of posterity.

Isayama loves children.

Soldiers in SNK are asked to devote their hearts for the sake of humanity. “Humanity” means not just people alive today, but their progeny.

People join the Survey Corps despite the high death rate because even if they die, they feel they’re contributing to a future their children can enjoy.

Erwin’s soldiers know they’ll die when they charge Zeke. Erwin sells them on it with talk of paving a way forward for future soldiers.

Parents who abandon their children are presented as bad or weak people. People like Grisha, Rod Reiss, Reiner’s mother.

Gabi is spared by Mr. Blouse because she’s just a child.

Zeke thinks being born is a curse and wants to sterilize a whole race.

Oh, and there was also that hilarious non-sequitur speech Onyankopon gave about children.

The heroes fight because they’re working to a free future for future generations. For their posterity.

Attack on Titan implores people to fight for our own freedom, but also for the freedom of our descendants.

So Attack on Titan has two major components to its message: violence is necessary, and freedom for yourself and your offspring is worth bloodying your hands for.

But fighting for freedom has its limits.

…aaand because I need to tie this post in to the actual chapter I’m supposed to be reviewing, I’m going to use Floch and Gabi to illustrate this point.

In this chapter an ice cream swirl takes flight, ready to fulfil his dreams. They are mercilessly shot down by a kid with a gun. How did we get here?

Floch and Gabi were two wild fanatics starting out.

Gabi was born into a family that had a warrior in it, and it’s clear she aspired to follow in his footsteps. She and Reiner were close, and she wanted to carry his legacy.

Floch joined the Survey Corps because he heard a call and decided to answer. He idolizes Eren, and sees him as an example to follow. Eren is vicious when he fights, and Floch thinks that makes him a good leader.

Both of them wanted to free their respective peoples. Paradis is stuck on an island and feared by everyone around them. The mainland Eldians are stuck in a ghetto and feared by everyone around them.

Gabi believed the mainland Eldians would prove their worth by destroying Paradis, thus displaying their virtuousness to the world.

But Gabi was also a bit self-serving, too. She also wanted to prove that she herself was a good Eldian. She was showered with praise because of how good a fighter she was; she was driven to become that good to prove her own value.

Gabi was raised to believe her self-worth came from how well she fought for Marley. Sources of self-esteem are external for her. They come from the gratification of others.

Floch’s self-esteem is also external. He derives all of his self-worth from his identity as an Eldian. He pounds his chest about the glory of the Empire because if Eldia is glorious, then he, as an Eldian, will be glorious.

He wants to bask in the warm, glowing light of world domination. Of the knowledge that his race is the most powerful group of people in all the world.

I don’t know if Floch believes that Eldians are superior to other races, but that’s not the point. In his mind, the power of Eldia and his own power are inextricably tied together.

The big difference between the two is that Gabi isn’t an idiot.

Say what you will about her, but Gabi is actually talented. She’s smart, strong, a good shot, a good fighter, and a dutiful soldier.

Floch’s only talent is his absolute shamelessness.

He has no moral compass, so he’s willing to do things that his enemies won’t. He’s also stupidly audacious, so he’ll do crazy stuff most won’t consider.

This allowed him to get the upper hand at first. People didn’t expect him to leak information about Eren’s imprisonment to the public or that they’d work with Eren directly.

But now that our heroes are going against him in basically a fair fight, he’s losing badly. The only strategy Floch’s puny brain can muster is to keep spamming our heroes with redshirts.

Compare Floch’s shamelessness to Gabi.

Gabi…is a good person.

She wants to prove her self-worth like Floch does, but she’s not fucking pathetic about it. All she wants is for herself and her people to be recognized as equal to everyone else.

She does not, in the end, want to revenge kill Marleyans just to feel big and strong.

She only wanted to wipe out Paradis because she was indoctrinated to think that way. Once she realized that Eldians on Paradis weren’t devilish, and that the Marleyan system was crap…she stopped hating Paradis and didn’t hate the Marleyans for it.

Floch, on the other hand, nurses a massive victimhood complex that he uses to justify genocide.

This is where the series draws a line between justified violence and unjustified violence.

Floch does not give a shit about human life. He kills people wantonly, and the lives of his own troops doesn’t seem to be a factor in his strategy this chapter.

Floch, very expressly, fights to oppress others and take away their freedom. His big talking point is about Eldian freedom, but in reality his actions go beyond that into cruelty.

Gabi, even when she was a brainwashed fanatic, was never sadistic and hasn’t done anything egregious that I can remember.

In this chapter, Gabi shot a killed people with her rifle. The Yeagerists…didn’t actually kill anyone this chapter, but they tried.

But Gabi is with the good guys because she’s right on principle and isn’t motivated by sadism, or personal insecurity, or a desire for revenge.

The same is true for all of the Cringevengers.

They’re all fighting to oppose global genocide.

The Yeagerists, including Floch, are fighting because they think global genocide is justified if it saves their country.

That is inherently selfish.

Those are the themes of the series in a nutshell.

This is where things start to get questionable.

First off, I object to how pervasive war and violence are shown to be. War is an institution, meaning it is the product of human behavior. That means human behavior can be changed to make war less violent and less common.

And war has, in fact, become less violent and less common.

Attack on Titan has paid lip service to that fact, (see: Gabi, above) but it remains that we are 95% into the story and there is still zero hope for a peaceful resolution.

There is almost zero chance the Cringevengers stop Eren. Even if they do, the world will be whipped into a fury at the destruction he caused, and not only would Paradis be wiped out, the mainland ghettos would conceivably be overrun by angry mobs and Eldians would be killed in the streets.

By the way, I think this would happen even if Magath had lived. I do not understand why people thought just one person’s word would have mattered at all.

Obviously it’s not a peaceful resolution of Eren destroys the world.

Secondly, while the series makes a point that excessive violence is bad, remember that the series also makes the point that appropriate violence is often bloodier than we’d like.

The issue, as I just said, is that Attack on Titan overestimates how often situations calling for violence come up, so functionally the series seems to lean in favor of violence as a general rule.

The series flat out conflates pacifism with defeatism.

King Fritz is a defeatist. He chooses to let his subjects die rather than work towards undoing the caste system that he ruled over.

Instead of making Marleyans equal to Eldians, he let the Marleyans do as they pleased while hiding out on Paradis.

And if the Marleyans came knocking, he was going to let them kill everyone.

He hoped to create a utopian world in the time that he could. This world was built on brainwashing and dictatorship.

But King Fritz’s ideology isn’t identified as defeatist in the story.

He’s identified as a pacifist.

This is why I always thought it was ridiculous that people said Attack on Titan was anti-war. As if a series that implores people to fight could be anti-war.

This chapter was good on its own. I didn’t even mind the violence since it’s a battle and the never ending bloodshed was conveyed really well.

Then the wider context of this fight came to mind…

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk 129 #snk chapter 129

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findingniamho · 4 years

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New Fic!!

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a good day! Here is a wedding fic I wrote (and what better day to post it than Simon’s birthday?). You can read it on AO3 here or below the cut. Hope you enjoy it! :)🐟

BAZ We’re going to be late. I keep checking my watch and each time I do, time seems to have jumped forwards at an unnatural rate. I half wonder whether something has somehow managed to sneak into the watch and is now pulling the hands around just to mess with me. Except that the car radio says the same thing. I check again.

“Basilton, if you check that damn watch one more time, I’m throwing it out of the window.” Fiona. She can always be relied upon to treat a situation calmly and delicately. I turn to face the driver’s seat, where she’s sitting in her black dress. She always insisted that she would wear black at my wedding. “To mourn the loss of having you all to myself to annoy. Besides, you’re going to be wearing black, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t argue with that. I’m wearing a black suit with a matching waistcoat and bowtie (as Simon would say, bowties are cool. I prefer the term sophisticated, but there you go). There’s a rose on my lapel (an actual one, the suit itself is plain this time) and, of course, the ring that Simon slipped on my finger a few months ago. The ring that made me believe that all of this was possible again.

It was inevitable, really. All through America, when we were on opposite sides the car or diner tables or motel floors, both of us were silently reaching for the other. It was a relief when we finally got there. When his hand and his gaze could find mine and we could fall in love all over again. I smile down at my hands.

I’m getting married, I say to myself.

I’m getting married to Simon Snow.

SIMON

This is perfect. We’re breezing along in Penny’s car. It’s a hot day so the window’s open and there’s a warm breeze floating though, ruffling my hair. If I close my eyes, I’m transported back to America and we’re cruising along the highway with nothing but blue skies, endless fields and an old radio to keep us company. Penny’s humming Here Comes the Bride and I’m leaning back in my seat, picturing the day ahead. We’ll arrive first and get into the chapel. It’s the same one that Baz’s parents got married in. All the Pitches have gotten married there. That’s gonna be me soon. A Pitch. Simon Grimm-Pitch. I never thought I’d see the day. I’m going to have a name with something attached to it. Sure, the things attached might be villainy and dark magic, but it’s also attached to a family. I’m going to officially be part of a family. Of course, Penny, Shepard and even Agatha feel like family to me but now I’m going to know what it’s like to have a mother and a father. Sitting around a dinner table at Christmas, small squabbles that are forgotten soon after, family jokes that no one else quite gets. All of that is just at the end of this car ride, along with Baz.

Baz, who saved me from the mage.

Baz, who saved me from myself.

Baz, with his grey eyes and sarcastic smile and not-quite-right nose. Who loves me, all of me.

I sit further back, putting my arms behind my head. My wings and tail are spelled away for now, but we’re bringing them back for the ceremony. Baz said that if he was marrying me, he wanted to marry all of me. That’s also another reason why Baz will be the one walking down the aisle towards me; I don’t want anyone unconscious at my wedding.

Here Comes the Bride stops abruptly and Penny exclaims: “Simon! You’ll crease your suit!”

“Argh! Sorry, Pen.”

“That’s okay, Simon.”

A sit back up and she glances at me for a moment before turning to face the road again. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time. I think she’s more excited than me about all this, really. She and I spent hours making her car clean enough so that I could sit in it in my suit. She’s wearing a yellow dress, similar to the one that Baz nicked for her when we were running out of money and time. She worried about me a lot, before. She and Baz both did. I try not to think about those times too much. I’ll take the time to unpack and deal with those memories one day, but for now, I’m content to just sit here and natter with Penny.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

Penny’s eyes keep firmly fixed on the road.

“I don’t know, maybe.” She’s paying extra-close attention to her mirrors as we change lanes.

“What about Shep?”

“You’re wondering if I think that Shep would get married?”

“No! Well, yes. To you.”

A pause. Then, “Don’t be absurd! We’ve only known each other a few months. And he probably wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”

She shakes her head as I’ve seen her shake it many times before, like she’s trying to throw an idea out of her brain. I smirk at her.

“You hesitated.”

“Because I was thinking it through!”

I raise an eyebrow, Baz style. “So, it was worth thinking about?”

She’s going red. Interesting. “You know well enough that it’s important to consider every eventuality, Simon. Anyway, this is your wedding day, not mine.”

“I would point out that you’re changing the subject, but you’re right.” I turn to look out at the window again, my thoughts turning back to the day ahead and I smile. “It is.”

AGATHA

This is probably the most exercise that I’ve done since I was at school, where I spent most of my time running with Simon from whatever happened to be chasing him that day. All day, Shepard and I have been loading things from his truck into the hall opposite the chapel and then putting them out: streamers, tablecloths that complement the napkins, speakers for the band, glasses, champagne to go in the glasses, cutlery (which Shepard kept putting out wrong), centrepieces, balloons and loads of other wedding stuff. We’ve been here all morning and we’re still nowhere near done. It makes me wish that I hadn’t left my wand at home.

I plonk yet another box of plates on the table closest to the door and survey the room. It does look pretty good, I have to admit. I reckon even mother will approve. Everything is white and gold, and the place settings look spectacular. Streamers are hanging from the ceiling and the sunlight that streams through the window glints off the glasses, making them sparkle. I smile as I look over to the table to where Simon and Baz will sit later today as a married couple, next to Penny – who’s been made “best woman” – and Baz’s parents. I expect a part of me to be sad that Simon will be sitting there next to someone who isn’t me. But instead, there’s a calm in me, a peace I haven’t felt since, well, ever. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m truly where I belong. Not at Watford, pretending to care about being a good Mage. Not in California, pretending to care about levelling up and changing the world. But in between, actually caring about these people who now surround me.

I think deep down, I’ve known for a long time that this is how all this would end. And Merlin, aren’t I glad.

“Agatha!” calls Shepard.

“Coming!” I yell back. I take one last look at the empty, quiet room before stepping back out into the sun.

***

We’re nearly ready now. I’m changed into my bridesmaid’s dress (Baz’s siblings and I will all wear matching pale pink) and I’m standing outside the chapel, putting together confetti baskets for the children. Shepard comes around the corner to help, phone in hand. He’s changed, too. It’s a strange sight, Shepard in a suit. He holds up the phone.

“That was Simon. They’re nearly here.”

My stomach flutters nervously. “Are we ready?”

“All set! Nice job, Agatha.”

“Thanks. You too.”

We sit in silence for a moment. Shep’s restless, he keeps fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit nervous I guess.”

I look up at him, where he’s squinting into the late May sun, still not staying still.

“Why? You realize you’re not getting married, right?” He goes a bit red at that. Honestly, I’m surrounded by fools. First Simon and Baz, now Shepard and Penelope. It almost makes me wished that I’d stayed in California, just to avoid all these will-they-won't-they shenanigans. Almost.

“Well, I guess that I don’t really feel like I fit in here. I’m going to be the only Talker, the only Normal, at this wedding.”

That’s true, I guess. Some of Baz’s family were a bit funny about letting him come. Some things never change, I guess. But he has saved their lives several times, in suppose. In America, and after.

“Baz and Simon wanted you here, Shepard. They care for you, very much. As do I. And Penelope. Once you’ve survived a crisis at Watford, you’re bonded for life, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath, then smiles quietly down at me. “Yeah, you are.”

He looks back up the road, to where we parked the truck this morning, along with some of the things for the wedding. The planners have packed up and gone now, so it’s just sitting there by itself. Shepard points a thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, so there’s one more box in the back. Feeling strong?”

I flex my non-existent biceps. “Of course.”

I stand up and together we walk back to the truck.

SIMON

As we pull up to the chapel, I can sense that something’s wrong. The air is jumpy and static, and there’s a funny smell coming from somewhere. It’s too sweet, like that time that I stuffed 20 marshmallows into my mouth (Baz dared me, so it was justified). Next to me, Penny starts sneezing.

“Pen?”

When she turns to me, I see that her eyes are streaming. “Simon! It’s – achoo – it’s-.” But then she’s cut off my several more sneezes before she can speak. Her voice is hoarse, like the words are trapped in her throat. “Pixie dust.”

“Pixie dust?”

“I’d know that smell anywhere,” she wheezes, before sneezing several more times. There must be loads of it to make her react like this. Outside, I notice that several of our guests are here: some of Baz’s family, the Bunces and Agatha’s parents are all gathered outside the chapel. And all of them are sneezing.

“Stay here.” I slide out of the car to investigate. As I approach the crowd, Shepard and Agatha emerge from it. Both of them are changed for the ceremony and Agatha’s dress ripples out behind her as she runs urgently towards me.

“Simon!” Agatha exclaims.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between Agatha, who seems to be holding back tears and Shepard, whose face is drawn and worried.

“We were setting up,” Agatha starts, voice shaking, “when we realized that there was one more box to unpack, so we went to the truck to get it. We figured that it was for the chapel, not the hall because everything had already been set up in there. But when we opened it up, it… it…”

“It blew up,” Shepard finishes for her.

“It blew up?”

“Kaboom.” He gestures with his hands. “I think it was an invisible box that an ogre that I met in the Andes planted on me because I accidentally used his toothbrush.”

“That’s gross,” Agatha mutters. He ignores her. “They’re tricky things, come in and out of sight as they please. I thought it was just another box of wedding things.”

“So now there’s tonnes of pixie dust everywhere. It’s fine in smaller quantities but this-.” She sneezes. “It’s not good, Simon.”

Shepard puts an arm out to the sneezing guests. “We told them to wait outside. We don’t want them to get any closer but there’s nowhere else for miles where we could go to get help.”

“Is Baz here yet?”

“No, he said that he and his aunt are running late. He was super stressed out.”

Okay, at least Baz is safe. Typical him, getting so caught up about punctuality though. I would laugh about it if my wedding wasn’t on the verge of being ruined. I look around at our guests. Baz’s relatives stand in small, scattered circles. Penny’s mum has one protective arm around a girl (Priya, I think) and is sneezing into the elbow of the other. In fact, everyone is sneezing uncontrollably. Everyone, except...

I turn to Shep. “How come you’re ok?”

He shrugs. “Guess it only affects magickal folk.”

That explains me, then. I turn towards Agatha. “Get the guests into the reception hall, me and Shep will go into the chapel to try to clear up. Right?”

Shepard nods. “Right.”

Agatha sneezes again, setting off into the crowd. But then she stops and turns. “You’ll get your wedding, Simon. I promise. You’ve given so much to the world; it’s time you got something in return.”

“Thanks, Agatha.” I nod, unable to say anything more around the lump that’s just come to my throat. She smiles with quiet understanding before starting to herd the guests across the road. That’s when I notice how bad the stench is again. I cover my nose with my arm to try to block it out.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” I say to Shepard. My voice comes out muffled through the fabric. “We’ll see if Penny can do anything about this.” I flap my other arm around, trying to waft the sickly-sweet scent away. “Then we’ll try to clean up.”

“You got it, boss.”

Then we head towards Penny’s car where she is (still) sneezing.

BAZ

I knew it. We’re late. As Fiona turns down the road that leads to the chapel, I squint to look ahead to the entrance, where there are only a couple of people hanging back outside. Everyone else must already be inside, waiting for me. Brilliant. As we get closer, I see that it’s Simon and Shepard, standing by Bunce’s car.

That’s odd.

Fiona parks at the opposite side of the road, remaining silent. Fiona’s never silent. I think that she can sense that something’s wrong, too. There’s a strange smell in the air. She lets me get out by myself to see what’s going on. As I approach Bunce’s car, Simon and Shepard turn to me. They’re both dressed ready for the ceremony, Simon in a suit that complements mine. When I look at him, his eyes light up and he smiles.

“Baz!”

It’s still strange, sometimes. To hear Simon say my name with anything other than contempt or anger. To hear it with a kind of soft, private joy that warms my heart each time I hear it. All that time at Watford, I always dreamed of this day. Not my wedding day, specifically (although that daydream did sometimes sneak up on me when I wasn’t paying attention), but the day when Simon said my name and it meant something different. The day that those unremarkable blue eyes looked into mine with affection, not violence. The day that his hands unclenched from their fists and reached out to hold mine. And to see him, now, here, knowing that later that same mouth that used to yell and scream at me would be saying “I do” and kissing me? I remember when all of this was just a dream from the other side of the room. But now we’re here.

I smile back at him.

“Hello, love.”

SIMON

He looks good. He always looks good, the tosser. His hair flows freely down to his shoulders and his deep-water grey eyes are shining as his lips quirk up to smile at me. That smile’s going to be gone pretty soon. I brace myself.

“Baz, we’ve got a problem.”

As I explain the situation to him, I watch his face fall and it breaks my heart. But his eyes remain steeled with a fierce determination. I’ve seen that expression before. He’ll stop at nothing to save this.

“So Shep and I are going to go into the chapel-.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, Baz! It’s too dangerous.”

“This is my wedding too, so we’re going to save it together, okay?” He folds his arms and sets his mouth in a firm line. “I’m not changing my mind. It’ll be much quicker with the three of us.” I roll my eyes. “Okay fine. Penny?”

Penny holds out her wand. “Quickly, before I start sneezing again. Okay. You’ve gone... nose blind!”

Baz wrinkles his nose. “Febreze, Bunce?”

“The Normals quote it,” she shrugs, then sneezes again.

“How come you seem to have it worse than everyone else?” I ask.

Penny somehow manages to glare and sneeze at the same time while grounding out one word: “Trixie.”

Ah, that explains it. Penny’s roommate used to spread it all over their room. It must make her less tolerant of it than everyone else. It was never as much as this, though. Penny stops sneezing long enough to fix all three of us with a fierce look.

“Now, you three had better sort this out and have the best wedding day ever, okay?” She says it like a threat, but she means well.

“Thanks, Pen.”

“You’ll look after them, won’t you Shep?”

He grins and gives her a weird kind of salute. They look at each other for a moment, and something passes between them. Then Shepard leans on the car door. I think he’s trying to look casual, but it just looks like he’s forgotten how to stand up properly. Merlin, is that what I look like when I think I look cool? Crowley.

“Shepard,” Penny says.

“Yes?”

“Stop leaning against my car.”

“Sorry.” He straightens up, arms flapping. I can see Baz and Penny both trying desperately not to roll their eyes. “Well, we should go.”

“I’ll be waiting in the hall,” says Penny. “Good luck, and be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Pen. We’ve got this.”

We wave her off, then head towards the doors to the chapel.

“Right,” I say. “Let’s see how much of a disaster we’re dealing with this time.”

Shepard looks up at the chapel, squinting in the sun. “Here we go again.”

Baz takes my hand and squeezes it. He leads me towards the chapel. “Here we go.”

BAZ

Shepard and Wellbelove weren’t exaggerating. It’s everywhere. The smell’s worse in here, and despite it being dampened slightly by Bunce’s Febreze spell, it still makes me want to gag. Plus, there’s the sight of it, which makes my eyes water. Why does everything to do with pixies have to be so sparkly and bright? It looks a lot like tastelessly pink glitter. Shepard emerges from the alcove off the entrance with two brooms and a dustpan and brush. Simon claps his hands together, then winces like he realises how idiotic that looks. I shake my head, rolling my eyes. Honestly, I must have truly lost my marbles to still want to marry him of all people. But here we are. Maybe I’m the idiot.

“Right.” Simon clears his throat. “Shepard, if you take over there,” he gestures towards the alter, “and Baz and I start this end, then we’ll work across. You take the middle and we’ll do the sides.”

“Cool.” Shepard hands one of the brooms to Simon and the dustpan and brush to me. He starts walking down the aisle, whistling like he’s just going out to mow the lawn, not sweep up the remains of a magickally explosive box and its overly sparkly contents.

“Thanks,” I whisper to Simon. I don’t think either of us wants to walk down the aisle until the time comes. He nods in silent understanding, which is his way of saying you’re welcome. I kneel on the ground, rolling up my sleeves and wincing. This is going to ruin my very nice, very expensive suit. But my priority right now is to save our wedding.

I look up at Simon. “Let’s get to work.”

SIMON

We work in comfortable silence, me sweeping and Baz brushing dust into his dustpan and occasionally getting up to empty it into the bin. We’re both filthy, but I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s a lump in my throat as I continue to sweep the dust into a pile. I look at the aisle Baz should be walking up; at the alter we should be standing at; at the doors we should be walking out of hand in hand, as husbands. I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. It just feels like this always happens when I’m around. Like I’m the one causing it, with my streak of bad luck that follows me around like a shadow. I should’ve somehow known that this would happen, I should’ve warned everyone, should’ve-.

“Simon?”

I look down at where I’ve been very aggressively sweeping pixie dust in no particular direction, causing it to fly up and float around everywhere, including all over Baz. Great.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Baz but don’t move.

He stands. “Simon, what’s wrong?”

His voice is soft, like how he used to speak to me when I would spend my days on the sofa, feeling like nothing was worth getting up for. I shake my head, feeling on the verge of tears. But I have to stay strong. This is supposed to be the happiest day of our lives. The thought makes me start stammering.

“I-it’s just. I can’t. I. It’s that...”

Baz’s face tells me to take my time. He knows that words are still a bit tricky for me.

I take a shaky breath. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go. It’s all ruined.”

I start crying proper then. “And I can’t help feeling like this is all my fault, like it is every bloody time.”

He walks slowly over to me and places both his hands lightly on my shoulders.

“Simon, did you plant an invisible box in the truck that’s been magickally rigged to explode?”

“Well, no, but-.”

“Did you then fill the said box with sickly-sweet scented pixie dust that causes a bout of sneezing fits for any mage that comes near?”

“I guess not.”

“Simon, I know that you think that you somehow caused this, but listen to me when I say that this is not your fault. Growing up, I know you were told that everything was your responsibility but the weight of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You weren’t even there when the box blew up, for Crowley’s sake! This is your wedding day, Simon. When everyone’s supposed to fuss around you and help you because you are special and loved, and I’m not just talking about me.”

“But it’s your day too! We were supposed to say “I do,” and cut the cake, and have our first dance. But instead-.”

“Simon,” he says. One of his hands slides from my shoulder down my arm to take my hand. He holds our clasped hands up and steps closer to me so I have no choice but to look into his eyes. We start turning slowly on the spot, Baz humming a made-up tune as we sway in each other’s arms. Our shoes leave quiet footprints in the dust. The light streaming in from the stained-glass window splashes colour onto us as we step in and out of the darkness and the light. As it lights up half of his face, and half of mine, I remember what today is really about.

It’s his coarse, rough, fire-holder’s hand holding mine and me holding his back.

It’s his soft grey eyes looking into mine and me looking back.

And, as we slow to a stop, his lips kissing mine.

And me, with all the love I have for him, with all that I am, kissing him back.

We’ve been through it all, but we came out the other side together. We can still have perfect moments with each other, even when everything’s gone to shit. This is the beginning of a lifetime of perfect moments.

“Thank you,” I whisper, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Anytime, Simon,” he murmurs into my hair. “Anytime.”

BAZ

For a moment, there’s peace. There’s just me and Simon, and the only sound is our breathing as we hold each other and stay so, so still. Then there’s a clattering and banging from the other end of the chapel and a call of “I’m OK!” from Shepard. I step back, smiling fondly down at Simon.

“We’d better get back to work,” I say.

“Yeah,” he replies, meeting my smile with a stunning one of his own.

I kneel back down and start sweeping more dust into the dustpan. I’m glad when I look up and see Simon sweeping the dust into (much calmer, much more orderly) piles. We’re moving a lot more efficiently now; we can start doing the rest of the chapel soon.

When I next stand up to empty the dustpan, I gasp and yell “Look out!”

Simon turns sharply, startled.

Right into the lit candle behind him. It topples over and the holder cracks in two. The candle rolls across the floor, igniting the dust that still coats the edges of the room. That’s when I learn that there’s one thing that vampires and pixie dust have in common: they’re both extremely flammable.

The flame snakes its way up the walls and curls around the wooden beams in the ceiling. Ash begins to rain down and I cough as the smoke enters my lungs. I can hear a creaking above me and look up just in time to see a beam collapse and begin to hurtle its way down towards where I’m standing. I brace myself for the impact. Great, I think. I’m going to die on my wedding day. I suppose that means my corpse will be well-dressed, at least.

An arm comes around me and I’m tackled to the ground just before the flaming beam hits me. My head smacks into stone as I’m shoved against a wall. A trail of warm, sticky blood trickles from my temple down the side of my face. I don’t dare to open my eyes as I hear the destruction around me roar in my ears, the smell of burning intensifying with the heat. It’s only when I hear eerie silence, like someone’s put a blanket over me, that I open my eyes. I’m met with the sight of Simon’s face scrunched up and inches from mine and his wings spread out behind him, their edges burnt from shielding us from the flame and rubble that rained down upon us.

SIMON

“Simon, love. Open your eyes.”

Baz’s voice is soothing as I slowly blink myself back to here and now. Baz is sitting in front of me. One side of his face covered in blood. He’s sitting in my shadow, which I can see is winged. I try to move my wings but wince in pain. Burnt. I don’t remember the spell wearing off, or saving Baz. I just remember needing to move and then opening my eyes down here. I look behind me at the remains of the chapel. There are bits of rubble and shattered glass everywhere, just like there was in the White Chapel. I did it again.

I start crying, then sobbing, then howling. This is what always happens. This is how this always ends. Magic or not, I always manage to make everything explode around me and take out anyone in my path, including Baz. He’s going to want to leave, I know it. Because I’m a fuckup, as I’ve shown again and again. Because I can’t leave who I was behind. Because-.

This time, it’s Baz’s arm that comes around me to save me. To save me from myself, as he always does.

“I’m here,” is all he says.

I cry even harder into his shoulder.

BAZ

Once we’ve extracted ourselves from the wreckage and established that Shepard’s okay (he is – he heard us from the other end of the chapel and escaped through the other door), Simon and I stand side by side, looking at the burnt remains of the chapel. It’s still smoking slightly, but luckily some of our guests have managed to use It’s raining cats and dogs to put out the rest of the fire and Clear the air to get rid of most of the smoke. It’ll take a little while to repair the damage to the chapel, but it’s nothing that can’t be handled with the combined magic of everyone here.

While everyone sets to work to try to save this wreck of a day, I try to console Simon. He grew up thinking that he was nothing, then the Mage told him that he was everything. He still is everything, to me. It just makes him feel like anything that happens is his fault, like he still has the power to fight whatever gets thrown his way. Over the past few months, he was slowly coming around to the idea that he isn’t responsible for every disaster that he comes across. He was finally starting to realise that his mistakes don’t make him a disaster – they make him human. I put my arm around his shoulder and he leans his head on mine. He stopped crying a few minutes ago but still hasn’t said anything. He breathes quietly next to me and a gentle breeze comes to ruffle his hair.

“What are we gonna do now?”

His voice is tentative, like he’s afraid of the answer. I survey the wreckage again, with the groups of our friends and family gathered around it holding wands, rings and staffs aloft. The air is heavy with magic, and with shouting; the Bunces are running a tight ship. They’re working quickly, but I’m not sure if it’ll be enough. We’ll probably be done by tomorrow, but the chapel and hall are only ours for today.

There’s no way I’m postponing. I know that no matter what, I want to be married by the end of today. Crowley knows we’ve had to wait long enough.

I take Simon’s hand and squeeze it.

“I have an idea.”

SIMON

I have no idea where we’re going. I’ve already asked Baz at least 10 times, and every time he’s just raised an eyebrow and said: “You’ll see.”

He’s lucky I love him because it’s gotten more infuriating each time.

All I know is that he and his aunt went off somewhere and when they came back they were both grinning like maniacs. Then his aunt tossed him her car keys, told him not to wreck the car and we both got in and started driving. We’re going along the main road now, Baz’s eyes bright as we drive along. We’re both filthy: our clothes are ripped and bloodstained, and there are holes in the back of my suit from my wings and tail (which have been spelled away again). There’s still a trail of blood down the side of Baz’s face. I reach out to touch it and his hand gently takes mine and moves it away. He doesn’t let go, though. We stay like that until he has to change gears and he slows down to a stop in front of a gate.

And that’s when I realise where we’re getting married.

In the place where we met as enemies.

In the place where we fell in love.

In the place where I asked Baz to marry me.

Watford.

BAZ

Simon’s smile is one that I’ll never forget. As he gazes up at the gates to Watford, his lips turn up and his eyes shine. The late afternoon sun makes his hair seem to glow, as well as the constellations of freckles on his face, which has blown open into wild, unmistakable joy. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, then turns it towards mine. His cheek catches against the seat, squishing half of his face and rearranging the freckles. It’s adorable.

I mentally capture this moment of him and me, sharing this space alone before we’re going to be surrounded by people again. I capture his smile and his eyes and the feeling of his fingers intertwined with mine as he catches my hand again and the way it feels when the rings on them clink together. Unfamiliar, yet so right at the same time. As if they were always meant to be there. I capture the filth in his fair, and the dots of blood that pepper his cheeks. All of my imperfectly perfect Simon Snow.

I capture his voice as he leans in to whisper to me.

“Come on Baz.” Then he kisses me fleetingly, just once. But Crowley, if it isn’t one of the best of my life. He tugs at my hand.

“Let’s get married.”

SIMON

We walk up to the White Chapel hand in hand. Baz explains that everyone else will be on their way. Apparently, his aunt has a few people who owe her favours who can clean up the chapel. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just called some people and scared them into helping by threatening to turn them into nine-toed trolls. But the thought’s nice.

As we walk, we talk about our memories of this place: the yew tree where he sent me to wait for Agatha all night, the football pitch where I used to watch him play, the spot where he tried to steal my voice. All of these memories, painful or not, seem so far away now. We were children then, and now we’ve grown up. We’ve changed and grown and laughed and cried alongside each other.

Whether we were fighting or learning or figuring ourselves out, it was always with each other. And now we stand with each other at the door to the White Chapel where everything changed for us. We fall silent when we reach the doors. I squeeze Baz’s hand and he squeezes back.

“I love you,” I say quietly.

“I love you too, Snow.”

Then we don’t say anything else as we sit with our backs against the wall and wait for the world to catch up with us.

BAZ

I stand outside the chapel doors with Father, waiting for everyone else to settle down inside. Wellbelove’s fussing over my siblings a few metres behind us. I can hear Mordelia kicking up a tantrum over having to wear pink. As quiet overtakes the other side of the door, Father turns to me.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

And I mean it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Father goes to open the doors.

It was difficult, in the beginning. I knew that he always suspected that I was queer, but we’d never had a frank conversation about it. It was one of the topics that we simply had an unspoken rule to never discuss. It was that, my mother’s death and my vampirism. After returning from America, I realised that if I wanted to fix things with Simon, I needed to find peace with myself first. That involved going to therapy (I agreed that I’d go if Simon did) and telling my family, plain and simple, that I was gay. And that I was dating Simon Snow. At first, Father didn’t say much about it. He spent long hours in the library, looking over family photos and staring out of the window. Eventually, he showed me a photo of my mother.

“This is the last picture that was taken of her before she died,” he said, holding it up. Then he started talking about how much he missed her and still does, how he wished that he had been with her when it happened. How hard it was to look at me sometimes because of how much I looked like her. Then I told him about how Simon had caught me in her office looking at a picture of myself that she’d kept with her. How that had been the start of something. I told him about that Christmas and America and all that Lamb had told me about my kind. I told him how it made me unsure about many things but the only thing I was still sure about was how I felt about Simon. Little by little, day by day, Father began to come around to the idea of Simon and I being together. Sure, it took a lot of work. There were good days and bad days. But now here he is, about to walk me down the aisle towards a boy, not a girl as he probably envisioned for me one day. But there’s genuine love in his eyes as he says: “I’m proud of you, Basilton. And your mother would be too.”

“Thank you.” I’m too choked up to say anything else.

He swings open the doors and leads me down the aisle.

SIMON

It’s work not to turn around when I hear Baz approaching. I smile, knowing that I only have to be without him for a few moments more. (Also I can’t turn around for fear of knocking someone over with my wings). Baz steps up beside me glances sideways, grinning.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I smile back.

We turn to face Penny’s mum, who agreed to officiate. As the ceremony starts, I look around at us. At our wedding. It’s not exactly how I pictured it: Baz and I are both still pretty filthy and the location is different but it’s almost better. This place holds painful memories, yes, but this chapel is where things changed for both of us. And we’re both still here, despite it all, agreeing to spend the rest of our lives together.

“Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, take Simon Snow to be your husband?” Baz takes both of his hands in mine. “I do.”

“And do you, Simon Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be your husband?”

And I’ve never been surer of anything than when I say: “I do.” Baz slips a ring onto my finger and I put one onto his. It’s strange how the feeling of his cold hands in mine is so familiar, yet what we’re doing is so unfamiliar at the same time. I guess everything we do now is going to be unfamiliar because it’ll be the first time that we do it as a married couple. Or maybe nothing will feel different at all. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We always do.

Penny’s mum spreads her arms wide. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

In the moment before Baz and I kiss, something makes me cast a glance towards the back of the chapel. Three women are standing there: Ebb, Baz’s mum and a woman with blonde curly hair that I vaguely recognise as the girl in a photo that Agatha showed me once.

My mother.

Baz follows my gaze and I have no words for the expression on his face when he sees his mum for the first time since her death. Then I blink and they’re gone.

Baz and I kiss, the first of many kisses that we’ll have: that day as we celebrate with our family and friends, as we walk (just the two of us) by the lake after the party, tomorrow when we wake up next to each other at the beginning of our life together. And each and every day after that.

When we break apart to face our congregation, I think I see the ends of a pair of glittering green wings leaving the chapel. And a voice that follows them. A voice that sounds almost exactly like chiming bells...

I silently thank Liliana, granter of wishes, for letting those who care about us see us one more time.

Then I take Baz’s arm and we leave the chapel, smiling and waving at everyone. Penny tackles us in a tear-soaked hug, then Agatha joins, and Shep. I hear Baz’s aunt whoop and see his dad give us both a smile. It’s the start of a spectacular celebration.

A few hours later, I take Baz into my arms and flap my wings.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

My husband responds by kissing me.

And away we fly.

#happy birthday simon snow #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #penny bunce #agatha wellbelove #shepard from omaha #my fic

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zhanenaomi · 4 years

Text

It must be exhausting to be so weird all the time

Earlier, I saw a clip on the BBC Facebook page of Original Flava (a British-Caribbean duo creating recipes), making some bbq jerk burgers. As is my bad habit, I checked the comments for the inevitable racist comment about the BBC trying to be “woke” for showing people that black people exist in the UK. There I found a random account, posting a youtube clip of the late Dame Vera Lynn singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. This comment was obviously in reference to the fact that the BBC recently announced that ‘Rule Britannia’ and ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ would be performed without words at the Proms (only for this year). This, again obviously, is the fault of all black people (including Original Flava) and absolutely NOTHING to do with the fact that we are in a global pandemic of a virus that is easily spread by loud singing. The thing that disturbs me most about these comments is less the blanket assumption that all black people just sit around foaming at the mouth at the sheer idea of colonial lyricism, and more that this random person had clearly just copied the link to this video to post on any video they saw with a black person in it. Whether that video was about black people barbecuing, black people singing, black people talking about the economy, they were ready to own us with a youtube video of a song literally none of us will click on and listen to. It just made me think, surely it is exhausting to be so weird all the time?

Now, comments like this are admittedly pretty harmless, especially given the fact that they present that the person commenting is much more hurt than anyone else in this situation. However, by far the most disturbing thing I saw in the BBC comments that day, was on a Children in Need post. BBC Children in Need announced that they would specifically be donating £10 million to black children (a thing that is reasonably necessary given that 46% of BAME children live in poverty) (also this will be going over the course of 10 years, not a one time payment). By all intents and purposes, it is highly likely that vast amounts of Children in Need money were already going to black communities, given they go to… British children that are in need. The post in question was clarifying on false reports that they were giving money directly to the Black Lives Matter organisation, and in response many people said that since the BBC were now giving money to black children, they would no longer give money to the BBC. This, despite the fact that Children in Need fundraises year-round, and raised almost £50 million during their official appeal night last year and has raised more than £1 billion since 1980, and so £10 million over ten years is likely a drop in the ocean for this organisation. Way to throw your toys out of the pram, right guys? “If disadvantaged black kids are getting my money, then no disadvantaged kids are getting my money”! What a bizarre world view to have! It must take up a lot of time and energy to not only decide that giving money to disadvantaged children of colour in a country where they’re more likely to be disadvantaged than white children is racist for some reason, but then also to camp out in random Facebook comment sections talking about how you hate this alleged racism so much that you will be boycotting a charity because of it. Remarkably wild. Amazingly wild. Incredibly wild.

The last Facebook comment section weirdness I want to talk about is the reaction to news involving arrests, crime, and police brutality, most specifically the “If you do nothing wrong, the police will leave you alone” argument. First of all, tell that to yer man Harry Maguire. Second of all, there is police data stating that between March and May, you know, those months when we were knee deep in the throes of a global pandemic that is disproportionately killing black people, 21,950 stops and searches on young black men were carried out in the capital, approximately 80% of which lead to no further action. So if we’re keeping score, not only is the most expensive defender in the world not exempt from being harassed by police when his account suggests no wrongdoing on his part, but around 18,000 young black men were put directly in harms way by being searched by police without masks (and obviously without social distancing) in the midst of a pandemic, for no crime other than being black and maybe having a nice car. The reason I bring up Harry Maguire is because I would assume that most British people believe and support Harry Maguire over the Greek police, and none of them would ever use the “no crime, no police intervention” argument towards a news story about him. You know, like they did when George Floyd died. The point here is that people in these comments like to pretend that they are indiscriminate. They like to say “I don’t care if you’re rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight (insert identity here), if you’re getting arrested you must have done something wrong” which is simply just not true, and the fact that you don’t say these things when a white British footballer is brutally arrested is very telling. It shows who you assume to have being “doing crime” when they were apprehended versus who you assume to be innocent until proven guilty. Because the fact of the matter is that you DO care whether someone is black or white or poor or rich and the like, you obviously do. And its weird to lie about it to save face in Facebook comments. Ain’t you tired, Miss Hilly? (I’m assuming you all understand that reference given the unnecessarily large amounts of people who rushed to watch The Help after the BLM protests began earlier this year).

These things are all interconnected, because I’m sure that these keyboard warriors had some similarly angry takes when Stormzy offered scholarships to black students aiming to go to Cambridge University, and love to talk about “black on black crime” when black people are invited onto news outlets to talk about institutional racism in the police force. What this comes down to, is a clear lack of critical thinking and a clear racial bias. We know that crimes like theft and drug dealing tend to be crimes of necessity. No one steals bread and milk for the “thrill of the chase”. Poverty and crime are intrinsically linked. So why are you so hellbent on preventing black people from receiving assistance to escape poverty? If you want crime to reduce, then you should also want poverty to reduce, this is just the truth. If you don’t see how crime in black communities links to socioeconomic status in these black communities, then you probably (consciously or unconsciously) believe that nothing can be done to help black people; we are just inherently bad, born with a criminal gene. Suffice to say, this is a racist thought to have. Even when black people do manage to “pull ourselves up by our bootstraps” this also does not mean we’ll be treated favourably by the general public. The nation’s favourite punching bag is a black woman who was born into a low income household, attended Cambridge University, worked in the Civil Service and became the first black female MP in this country; this is of course Diane Abbott, who unfortunately receives half of all the abuse sent to female MPs overall.

Although I started out joking about how these people are just weird, the more I write, the more uncomfortable I feel. Is there a way out? Is there anyway we can win? Is our destiny to win the bet, just to be shot in the face by our loan sharks and have our proverbial jewellery shop ransacked (metaphor working on the assumption of your knowledge of the film Uncut Gems)? Its one thing to say weird things in video comments, it’s another to actually truly believe them. In the wake of the recent shooting of Jacob Blake, I’ve witnessed a spate of comments making statements about the case that are simply not true – things that have never been reported by the police or any credible news outlets. What do you gain from lying about these things? I guess you gain more public distrust in the black community and more animosity towards BLM protesters. I assume that’s what these people are aiming for, since I can see no personal benefit to lying about a case (unless you are the actual police officers involved in the shooting?). I actively try and stop myself from hopping into comment sections now because honestly and truly, it’s one of the most exhausting things to see hundreds of people talk about how bored they are of black people appearing on their screens. I’m sorry that my presence tires you out, guys. I’ve been staying off of Twitter because it’s good for my mental health to not be dialled into the ~discourse~ 24/7. It’s sad the way that these things often make black people feel that they are the ones who need to pull away in order to protect themselves. Dawn Butler has tweeted about how many young black women tell her they can’t see themselves pursuing a career in politics because of the sheer amount of hate they see black MPs receive. I want black children to receive financial support without fear that the rest of the world hates them for it. I want black people to get uni places and jobs without hearing others say that they got it because of their skin, rather than their merit and potential. I want black people to be present in the public eye without having to report racial abuse against them to the police on a weekly basis. The way that Britain works is that Britain has been and always will be, a multicultural nation. This is the result of the British Empire that we’re all oh so proud of. Therefore, (and this is not controversial to say), British people descended from individuals born in Empire nations deserve to live in Britain without constant apology for our existence, our actions, and our criticism of our government. Yeah, I bet its exhausting to act in such a bizarre way on social media. But imagine how tired we are.

References:

Children in Need is not donating £10 million to Black Lives Matter - https://fullfact.org/online/children-in-need-blm/?fbclid=IwAR0RfWtsHKxeFGv8PBrY64J-QoqpiEWb3Td1nPE9WvYvZXTuksIB3ZOET9k

BBC Children in Need’s 2019 Appeal raises an incredible £47.8 million - https://www.bbc.co.uk/mediacentre/latestnews/2019/cin-total

Child poverty facts and figures - https://cpag.org.uk/child-poverty/child-poverty-facts-and-figures

Met carried out 22,000 searches on young black men during lockdown - https://www.theguardian.com/law/2020/jul/08/one-in-10-of-londons-young-black-males-stopped-by-police-in-may

Diane Abbott more abused than any other female MP during election - https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2017/sep/05/diane-abbott-more-abused-than-any-other-mps-during-election

#long post #politics #uk politics #british politics #blacklivesmatter #blm #blm uk #racism #antiblackness #police

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wincore · 5 years

Text

heaven, fallen | kim dongyoung

pairing: demon!doyoung x angel!reader

words: 12.3k

genre: angels + demons au, royalty + bodyguard au, some fluff n angst

warnings: mentions of certain...unholy acts (aka mentions of sex)

a/n: wooh this is a sort of experimental fic?? demons and angels are slightly noticeably different from their traditional concepts

A flash of movement below the stone balcony alerts you and you take a step back. It’s not every day something alive pops up so close to you. The sky is a clear blue with streaks of gold and pink and the air faintly smells of orange blossom honey—it’s not a good day for an intruder to put a damper on your peace. Of course, Doyoung’s standing behind you in warned stance, a frown etched across his face. He soundlessly moves to stand in front you, and you peek out from behind his back, curious. The air is still for a few moments.

You jump when a black cat leaps out. Doyoung, however, relaxes and turns to you.

“A guest for Your Highness?” he says, a ghost of a smile on his face.

The dark coat of the cat stands out against the white marble, and it mewls several times in your direction before carefully making its way over. It’s a tiny thing, the cat, but it does have a loud voice and a lot of things to say.

You smile wide at Doyoung then look at the cat. “I hope so.”

The cat takes quite a while to warm up to you. It does not, however, find it inappropriate to shove its butt against Doyoung’s face, much to his distaste. You huff at him in jealousy several times. It is your castle after all, and the cat should be greeting its host, not the bodyguard. But no matter how hard Doyoung tries to fling the cat off his body, it ends up obstinately stuck to him.

“Maybe it’s your guest, Doyoung,” you sigh dramatically. The cat only gives you attention when you wave about food in front of its face.

“I’m ready to throw it out but I don’t think you’d like that.” His reply is blatant, an annoyed frown on his face.

“You were ready to throw me out half a year ago,” you state, enjoying the irritation flushing across Doyoung’s cheeks. “Didn’t you say I was the most annoying angel you’ve met?”

“Well,” he trains his eyes to the cat, “My soul wasn’t bound half a year ago.”

“So you’re saying you would definitely throw me out of my own palace if not for the contract.”

Doyoung looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Of course not.”

You should’ve expected a lopsided reply from a demon. He has the looks and airs of a prince yet his tongue is sharp, and it only gets sharper with every use. You should’ve suspected his identity when he first walked in so subtle through the castle doors on celebration’s eve, steel gaze and refined manners. It made you revaluate all the stereotypes of little red demons with horns and a tail and a short temper. To be fair, Doyoung is the first demon you’ve ever met. And he’s only partly like what you had expected.

Royalty is never as bad anywhere as it is with angels. Too sheltered, too ignorant. Protect your purity, they always say, your innocence has a price on it.

Apparently, that price attracts demons and the like.

An angel heart is a dear thing. It can be carved out in a myriad of ways—demons would kill for it, especially yours. It can be eaten, sold or even kept as display in a rich demon household to provide for their existence. There’s something about it that makes the most dignified of demons turn into wild, uncouth creatures. Most have been trained to control themselves for widespread fear of the Gods, but even so, angels must be wary.

Demons live off hearts like yours, regardless of what say they have in the matter. The New Gods have tried rectifying it, but even if they can create worlds, they cannot change what is and has always been nature. The fear rooted deep in your blood took a while to come to terms with.

Nevertheless, you’ve whispered countless prayers to never come across a demon.

The first time you saw Doyoung, he was behind bars the colour of gold, made by angels to withhold demons. He didn’t look too displeased, with the way he was sitting lax, almost bored on the chair. The rings he wore indicated status and the glare he sent your way was most certainly demon.

“Ah, you’ve come.” That was all he greeted you with.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” you snapped quickly. These were creatures from nightmares, creatures who made nightmares. They’re just as powerful as you, if not more.

He didn’t smile much either. “Since I’m completely under your discretion, how about we strike up a deal?”

You scoffed. “Why would I bother with a deal?”

Doyoung leaned forward in his chair. Even through bars, you felt a strong sense of danger. There was no way he could escape his prison; the lightest of touches against angel-forged metal would burn him irreparably and your prison guards are much more skilled in combat than they appear to be. The demon was trapped and you were his only way out—everything was perfectly clear. And yet, it couldn’t be. There had to be more; details beyond your observation and facts you weren’t accounting for. After all, a demon behind bars could never be so calm without a trick up his sleeve.

“I heard I’m not the only…perpetrator,” he said. “There’s been quite a few breaches to the safety of…Your Highness.”

You grimaced at his tone, not in sync with his uncaring face. So he did know of all the times demons have tried to worm their way into the palace and steal what doesn’t belong to them. After all, it did surprise the hell out of your guards (pun not intended) when a demon in a tux quite literally waltzed in through the palace doors, his fangs noticeable by the time midnight came.

“You see,” he spoke again, voice clear as night, “I’m not like those other demons. I don’t want silly gold trinkets or angel feathers.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Right now, I’d like to be free.” There was a polite smile on his face that you knew was forced. You’ve never expected captured demons to be this straightforward. “Second, I’d like to make a deal with you.”

“A soul contract?!” You took a step back, startled. That really wasn’t very like demons; to put themselves out in the open like that. What’s the point of clever tricks and a silver tongue then? You can’t expect a demon to wager his life.

“My soul, not yours,” Doyoung clarified, speaking as though he’s over at an old friend’s. He still had his eyes trained on you, making you swallow before you speak.

“Just why would you do that, demon?” You’re unsure of this whole ordeal. On one hand, a demon bodyguard has its own advantages. Naturally skilled with strong reflexes and physical superiority, you’d have nothing to worry about. Angels have always had to rely on weaker substitutes; weapons and prayers.

But on the other hand, there are enough stories about striking a deal with the devil that have terrible endings.

“I would know what best to do with my soul,” he snapped. Demons are easy victims of impatience.

“Alright,” you said. There were multiple pairs of eyes on you as soon as you said it. You were going against millennia of advice and yet, you found nothing wrong with it. It was a change if nothing else. And angels do get bored easily.

Even Doyoung seemed taken aback. “Alright…then,” he repeated. “I look forward to working with you… Your Highness.”

Doyoung finally manages to pull the cat apart from him and sets it on the table. You have yet to discover the cause of its extreme affections towards the demon.

“I have no idea what to do with it,” Doyoung huffs.

Right then, the door clicks open and Jaehyun walks in and greets the two of you with a bow. He’s quite the charmer for a butler, polite and stubbornly obedient. As graceful as ever, he turns to you with a smile.

“Prince Taeyong has sent another message, Your Highness, and he’s expecting a reply,” he says, “Thought I’d let you know.”

“Did you have a choice?” you scoff with a smile. You’ll be honest, it should be strange to be away from Taeyong for so long when you had spent every waking moment together as children. Even angels drift apart with time, sadly. No wonder time is a God in itself.

Here you are, in Gods’ own lands but it’s still not paradise.

You wonder if the New Gods care anymore, care for creations that are not their own. Heaven and Hell are fragile things to bored inventors. You are creatures of old, your code programmed to be either good or evil, black or white with subtle quirks. To the New Gods, it’s inevitably obsolete.

You notice Doyoung’s scowl as soon as Jaehyun leaves. He isn’t paying attention to the little cat kneading at his pants, a little lost in thought. You could say Doyoung’s last meeting with Taeyong…didn’t go very well. Dark and light contrast quite a bit in the same room.

“What’s with that Taeyong guy? No angel’s ever had a reputation so large in Hell before,” he muses, the annoyance clear in his voice. “It’s like he’s immune to anger. And he’s too good-looking to exist anyway. What a mistake the Gods made.”

“I can’t tell if you’re jealous or attracted.”

Doyoung twists his mouth and finally turns to the cat at his feet. He picks it up and sets it on the table once more. You laugh to yourself; a demon and a cat make quite the pair.

“You lot are weird,” he says with distaste. “Especially the two of you. ”

You hum. “We’re treated like royalty for a reason. Even if we wish we weren’t.”

Doyoung crinkles his nose. “You’re a rarity among purebloods. You should know you smell different too. Disgustingly pure.”

You’re about to select a book from the shelf when Doyoung speaks up again. “I’ll be leaving.”

You nod. He gives you a short bow and disappears. It’s always like this. You might have part of his soul at your disposal but he’s only around if necessary (that is, in case you face danger). Terribly work-oriented demons are.

The cat finally comes around to you, curious eyes scanning you as you turn a page in your book. The room is just enough to be cosy, the sunlight not too menacing and the shadows pale and resting at the base of walls. The bay windows give you a colourful view—of flowered hills and higher snow-covered mountains. The orange hues of the sunlight play with the two of them as a mediator and the rest of the cloudless sky looks on in amusement. It’s always a perfect day here.

“I wonder how you climbed all the way up,” you hum to the cat, who’s hyper-fixated on a string dangling out of one of the books on the shelf. It’s not long before you return your focus to the book, just to get pulled in.

Ah, it’s a history book, you think to yourself. It’s not surprising; most of the novels in the palace are historical after all, and you’ve finished most of them. You drag your thumb along the side of an illustration before scanning the title. The Trade. The devil sits in a black velvet suit, a slow, smiling air about him like always and a gaze fixed upon the mother angel in white cotton. He swirls the blood wine, dark gloves covering his hands, while the mother angel has her arms out above her head to pull off her halo. The sun shines only on her, the devil’s face imperceptible in the shadows. One trade to mix chaos and law.

The Fallen. The angel no longer looks angelic, but his skin is paled to a greyish hue, lips dry and chapped. There’s a scar on his cheek; you know the burns are from the renunciation of status. He chose humans over his own kind. No wings, no home. Angels break rules but they do not avoid punishment. You felt sorry for him when you first saw the worn out strokes of ink that completed his figure in the book. He was the first to fall to earth, infamous throughout the history of your race. Sometimes angels don’t want to be on either side. He gave up an angel’s tranquillity just for a group of little orphans. Even in breaking rules, it was noble. To be able to face punishment is noble.

You turn to the next segment, annoyed. The Choice. The demon is laughing, dancing a dangerous waltz with the masked human; the angel simply weeps in defeat, clutching her heart. This isn’t just history—it’s quite common in the earth realm, or so you’ve heard. Angels fall in love with humans just as often as humans find themselves attracted to demons. Humans are creatures subject to temptation and an angel’s love is perhaps too…pure to be understood. It’s pitiful, but you don’t blame anyone.

You wish there’d be more books from the world of mortals. They’re all such tender beings, always the favourite of the Gods.

Ever since the emergence of the New Gods, access to the human world has been restricted. You can’t just pop in and out wherever you want—unless you face the consequences. Stripped of feathers and a halo, what is an angel but a mortal? You’ll be ordinary under the sun and moon, no longer glowing with nature. But of course, your kind has never cared for power or hunger; the heart is kindest when it’s full. Hope defines you, optimism encourages you. It’s why the demons find you so silly, so naive. Such children.

How unremarkable of you to want to break rules.

“Another book about humans?” Doyoung’s voice behind you makes you jump. “You angels always loved them far too much. It’s why there’s so less of you now. You do know they’re not quite as nice as you folk, right? It was quite an experience for me while I was there.”

You take a deep breath, composing yourself. You watch Doyoung smile before his lips drop to a serious frown again.

“So you’ve taken to sneaking up on people,” you scowl. “And forgotten your formalities again.”

“Don’t glare at me,” Doyoung says, “It’s not my fault you have awful reflexes, Your Highness. And- you’re not too fond of your title, are you?”

Doyoung knows the answer and you close your mouth, relaxing into your seat. You know he only keeps up the formalities out of innate courtesy (that, and the disapproving looks the palace workers send his way). Maybe it’s not a lie that demons are strict in their habits. He’s surprisingly well-behaved for a demon surrounded by angels.

“So did you have a valid reason to suddenly appear here or did you just want to scare the daylights out of me?”

“As per my job, I need to make sure you’re safe. You get into all sorts of trouble when you’re alone.”

“You talk as though the trouble doesn’t come from your kind.”

“Perhaps if you had better reflexes, you’d be able to avoid them.”

Doyoung takes a seat opposite to you and takes notice of the cat’s absence rather gleefully. He wears nothing other than his dark formal suit, sometimes without the coat, and he contrasts deeply with all the gold and white and amber of your palace. But his face is not out of place, save the exaggerated frowns and glares perhaps; and if Doyoung weren’t a demon, he certainly wouldn’t be an ordinary mortal either.

“Why do you lot hate the humans?” you spill the question.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “We don’t hate them…but we don’t exactly want to…fraternize with them.”

You blush at the word. Angels are known for falling in love with humans quite frequently. That’s why you end up with a lot of half-bloods or ex-angels in the human realm. Jaehyun, for example, had an angel mother. And you, you’re one of the last pureblood lines; as is Taeyong. It brings forth a sort of responsibility you’d otherwise be grateful to be rid of. You’ve known nothing outside this city, outside of your people—humans are a distant dream to you. You wonder if it’s just the angels’ habits of mingling with humans that keeps you chained here.

Ironically, demons are purer when it comes to blood.

“Why do you love them so much, Your Highness?” Doyoung asks, sounding just as curious as you.

“We don’t consider love to have boundaries…I think,” you answer.

“You’re not sure?”

“I’ve never fallen in love to be sure,” you sigh. “Just like you’ve never tried breaking the devil’s laws out of fear.”

Angels cherish freedom but demons obey fear.

“Are you saying you’re not afraid of losing the comfort of paradise?” Doyoung’s eyes are round and inquisitive even if his mouth is pressed into a thin line.

“Have angels ever cared for their own demise?”

“You should.” Doyoung sounds like a stern teacher.

After a confused pause, you laugh. Doyoung leans back in his chair with an exasperated sigh.

“Is it a characteristic of angels to take things so lightly? What, is dying an art to you?”

“Perhaps,” you say, and laugh to further aggravate him.

Doyoung looks as though he’s holding back certain words, something like ‘you are so fucking annoying’, but you don’t comment further (especially with the glare he sends your way).

You don’t necessarily mean what you say. You’ve never experienced a choice between destroying yourself and love, whatever that might be—you’ve been stuck in a palace high in the Heavens your entire life. But you are aware that angels are known to betray themselves. No matter what rules the Gods—New and Old—set for your kind; it is always broken once, at least. Rules are but fragile things when angels are wounded. (And angels only cry when they hurt others.)

Demons, in contrast, are very practical creatures. They’re rather proud of themselves but they understand cause and consequence quite well; punishment is severe in the depths of hell. They can, however, be quite cheeky. Bend the rules, never break them—that’s an often repeated phrase in the book of demons. Some demons, additionally, abhor doing things not true to their own nature. But even their honesty comes off as acerbic, words dripping with the poison of raw truth.

You stand up, placing your book back in the shelf. Just how far could reading get you in this realm anyway? It’s better to look around your palace and your kingdom, this city of angels. You’re supposed to look after them, even if you’re not sure what you’re doing. You drag your finger along the spine of the book one last time.

“Say, Doyoung, do you not want to steal what the angels guard so dearly?”

“You?”

“Not me, exactly. You know. The sacred whatever. Do you not want to taste an angel heart?”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at you. “Are you trying to provoke me, Your Highness?”

You frown, voice wavering under his gaze. “It’s not like you can do anything.”

It’s sudden, the movement.

Doyoung shifts, his figure rather intimidating when it’s right in front of you, so close. He places one palm against the bookshelf, and you find yourself trapped, unable to look anywhere except at him. It’s not just that though—his eyes gleam the dark red of demons, no whites left, almost as if they’re bleeding, and lashes over them long as ever. It’s a precise shade; textbooks could never recreate it. Not bright, yet not completely fallen into darkness. The dark lines drag across his cheeks vertically from under his eyes. A demon must never be allowed to achieve their true form completely. That form angels fear isn’t a caricature with horns and a tail—it’s something resonant with deepened horror, the fright you feel when you’re no longer in control of your mind. This semi-form only gives you an idea.

“Tell me, are you afraid of me now?”

After a sharp intake of breath, you find yourself unable to respond. Demons get either ruthless or playful when they have a hold of you. You can’t, however, recall any knowledge to help you at this moment. Your eyes widen and you shrink into yourself. Fear. The awful emotion blossoms in your chest like a weed that can’t be pulled out.

“Look at me.” There’s a low growl in his voice, distinctly melodic making sure the fright doesn’t fade. This melody belongs only to demons.

Demons know fear. They know what it feels like, the extreme of it, and they know how to use it against the helpless. He’s just trying to scare you like all demons do when their pride is on the line. You know that and yet, it’s working.

“Don’t- Don’t come any- Come any closer and—”

“And what, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that.” Your breathing gets quicker. It’s difficult to think straight.

“Would you rather I call you by your name then, angel?”

The slow roll of your name on his tongue sets forth an unknown feeling in you. It burns as though you’ve never felt burning, like your castle is of ice.

You decide to shake it off with as much will as you can muster.

“Stop.” Your command comes out a little weak but steady.

Doyoung immediately takes a step back with a scoff, demeanour only softened so much. “See, Your Highness? It’s best not to feel too safe around a demon.”

Ah, Doyoung loves to remind you of angels and demons and the differences; that demons are cruel. Be afraid, he wants to tell you. You breathe in and out. “That’s a little ironic. Considering you’re my bodyguard.”

Doyoung chuckles and looks away, and you find yourself in awe of him. A demon smiling—no, Doyoung smiling is as sweet as it is rare. You were starting to think you were some sort of cruel prison guard with how miserable he looks sometimes. (It could just be the way demons look but you can’t be sure.) But of course, only angels have sympathy for demons.

“Yes, and since I’m only your bodyguard, I would appreciate you not calling me in the middle of the night to fetch you things.” Doyoung crosses his arms.

You let out a bout of laughter. Doyoung, on the other hand, furrows his brows with annoyance.

“Or water your plants for you. Or serve as an alarm clock. Or get you more unhealthy snacks. Frankly, I feel abused. And do you have any idea how awful those snacks are? What sort of angel makes something like that?”

It’s easy to listen to Doyoung, even if he’s just complaining, and you smile. Maybe you’ve started to enjoy his presence. Angels are what they are—lively and kind, but also ever-changing. Doyoung’s a steady you probably never expected to have. It’s comforting, if not anything else.

But you’ve discovered that both angels and demons are true to their heart—whether it’s the flighty heart of an angel or the unflinching one of a demon.

You wake up in the middle of the night thrice in a row. Breathe, you try to tell yourself but it gets difficult with each second dripping away agonizingly slow. All you can see are a gleaming pair of red eyes and hands burning into your neck. Angels are not spared from nightmares.

“Your Highness?”

You take a sharp intake of breath, jerking to the side only for your shoulder to hit the headboard. Your heart has leaped to your throat, blocking any air that might come through.

“You should take to using doors. They’re quite easy, really.”

“I thought something might have happened.” Doyoung looks well blended with the darkness of the night. Who’s pulled the curtains? Neither the moon nor the stars have been welcomed to your room. The golden vines curling around your bed dimly reflect the candlelight that Doyoung holds, the veins and fine lines of his hands and the numerous rings, perfectly illuminated.

“I’m fine,” you croak. Your cringe at how awful your voice sounds and clear your throat. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

Doyoung steps forward, his lips pulled into a frown yet again. It’s not like you’ll tell him that he has, in fact, managed to worm his way into your nightmares. The first time since he’s arrived, he’s terrified you and that too with a childish tactic. Demons like to play, get to your head. He observes you quietly, making you more conscious than usual.

“You don’t have to stay here,” you tell Doyoung.

Yet another sigh leaves Doyoung’s lips. “You angels might not have any regard for rules, but they’re very important to my kind.”

“You’re really nice for a demon,” you consider. Your lips curl into a small smile.

“Giving your bread to the poor is nice,” he snaps. “Fulfilling the terms of a contract isn’t.”

The two of you maintain an empty silence for a couple of heartbeats before you allow Doyoung to sit in the armchair by the bed. He says nothing more (is it possible for a demon to be exhausted?) and rests his head on his palm. His lips are soft and relaxed, eyes the shape of almonds, daringly lovable—it should be sin for him to look like a heavenly creature when he’s committed such dark crimes. Of course, saints and sinners are a concept for humans to judge. You’re from different realms, opposites; there’s no choice in what you are. The sympathy you feel is not out of the ordinary.

“If I released your soul fragment—terminate the contract, would you be happy? You could go home.”

Doyoung hesitates.

“I don’t have a home,” he responds before falling silent. “You can’t terminate a soul contract. The Gods bore witness to the signing.”

You hum in displeasure but ponder nonetheless. “What happens if you breach a soul contract?”

Doyoung tilts his head, a short sign of struggle across his pursed lips. You never get answers to questions like these. The darker sorts of acts and abilities aren’t exactly explained in detail in angels’ libraries. There are only names you must avoid. You clutch the pale golden blankets to drag them off your body. The temperature seems to have shot up. You move closer to the edge of the bed.

“Gruesome details spared, I’d turn to cosmic ash.” Doyoung stares at his hands, no particular expression on his face. If you dared though, you’d say he looks uncomfortable.

You keep quiet for a few seconds. Terms and conditions can be sneaky with their words.

“Why did you suggest the contract?” you ask, some abandoned dread flickering in you. It’s not unlikely that you’re just a means to an end.

Doyoung keeps his silence, electing to rest his gaze anywhere but at you. There’s a faltering sense of emotion in him, you can’t quite tell. After all, demons are the hardest to read. A little drop of fear trickles down your throat.

“Why did you want the contract?” you ask again, louder. The seconds drip slowly.

Doyoung stands up with a scowl at your repetition, the candle blowing out. Great, he’s angry again. Demons are quite childish, considering how they accuse you of the same.

“Don’t ask me questions, angel.”

You freeze as you notice the demon’s red spread in his eyes. You are aware that angels have a habit of harping on about things till it drives people a little crazy; the mercy on his face has waned. You might have hit a nerve. Is this going to be your nightmare again? Are you going to feel the blood in your throat, feel your chest bleed onto your bed sheets? Is he going to wrap his long fingers around your throat, rip out your heart like you expect him to—like you expect creatures like him to? Demons are toxic beings, they’re meant to be evil. You might have been unwise to lower your guard.

“I could kill you right now,” Doyoung says, no humour in his tone. “I could claw out your heart and take it back with me as yet another trophy to mark my status.”

Angels are warm in touch but demons burn. When Doyoung presses his fingers—claws—against your neck, although lightly, you feel the searing touch of embers and instinctively hold your breath. He might leave some blisters for good. There’s a sense of lost time in him, something that burns slow, but even. Did he want you to beg for him to stop, bow to him as a demon? Dignity means more to angels than he might think.

The few silent moments sear the air in your lungs.

“Isn’t that a breach of contract?” you choke out the words, reason making its way back to you.

Doyoung frowns and he resumes his normal form. “Yes. Thankfully.”

Demons are loyal creatures. It’d be of no surprise if he’s still tied to the devil, to the dwellings of evil and misery—whatever the books said. Yet if you look closer, these are only the habits of a demon who no longer quite remembers the horrors of Hell.

“You don’t want to go back?” you whisper, bracing yourself for another outburst.

“No. I don’t.”

Honesty.

Doyoung retreats his hand. He keeps up a strange front, as though he didn’t just threaten to take your life.

“So you broke the rules? As a demon?” You sit up straighter, a bit more confident than earlier. At the very least you trust in a demon’s sense of self-preservation. He won’t harm you as long as the contract exists.

“Not quite,” Doyoung hums. He’s almost smiling to himself, an unclear satisfaction in his voice.

Your eyes widen as you realize. “The soul contract!”

“Yes,” he sighs, sounding uninterested in your suddenly acquired awareness. “Far more sacred than demons’ code.”

You shift on the bed for your back to press against the headboard and bring your knees to your chest. You don’t press further with the questions.

It must be difficult for a demon to betray routine. The core of demons lies in rules and routine—they have fear fuelling their survival. You wonder what it must like be for him to live without most of those.

Angels find torment in those exact same things; they value freedom and cause. Although, that doesn’t mean they play by the rules to honour those. Guardian angels fall in love with the ones they’re protecting, higher angels bare their teeth at thieving demons despite the code of conduct and even the purest of your kind shed their feathers to protect someone they love. They can’t work by rules, even those that are made for them. How unremarkable of you to want to break rules.

“Do you hate me? For what I am?” you ask Doyoung. It sounds painfully innocent, even you are aware, but the question pries out of your mouth. You change your question, your voice coming out in a softer tone. “Do you think we could be friends?”

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows. “You ask too many questions.”

You could be employer and employee, a strange definition of friends or even just two people stringed together by some holy contract—it doesn’t really matter. In the end, angels are angels and demons are demons.

Two nights later, you cough up blood. It’s not the red of demon eyes but a far more alarming tint of the exact same. Angels’ blood is rich in colour, a shade of red almost blinding to those caught unaware and the specks of gold only add to the unnecessary shine. Doyoung looks almost as pale as you when he finds you on the floor of your bedchamber, the shade of life and death erratically sprayed across your hands and bedtable. After all, he says, he’s supposed to protect you, he was supposed to come earlier, he should have sensed something. (‘It’s okay,’ you reassure him. ‘It’s not like that. This is not how rules work,’ he responds with a hard stare.)

It’s a strange infection for the likes of angels but not unheard of. When you think you’re almost glad you’re sick, you feel a sliver of guilt for the first time in your life. Perhaps an infection would rid you of this curse of purity. You voice it to Doyoung when the thought gets too heavy to keep to yourself; and he reassures you that it’s the disease talking, that you’re fine. What a strange thing for a demon to do.

You’ve never thought these emotions to be strong enough before. Fear. It’s a very concerning emotion. Angels aren’t supposed to be afraid.

“You talk as though you’ve suffered a great tragedy,” Doyoung scoffs.

“Haven’t I? I got a nosebleed and I must say I’m quite fond of my nose,” you state with an exaggerated wave of your hand.

“How awful, truly.” Doyoung shakes his head.

It takes you a day and a half to be back on your feet.

You’ve also taken to afternoon walks in the whisks of some inevitable urge. You prefer casting aside your obnoxious label of royalty; to truly enjoy, you must leave your burdens elsewhere. Doyoung isn’t too happy about it.

“Do you have to?” Doyoung chides, “Demons might not be fooling about in a city of angels, but there aren’t any marble walls here to keep them away either.”

You take a smiling lead into the dainty shops and exhibitions. “Maybe the marble walls will distract them.”

“They’re not stupid, you know?” Doyoung ducks to avoid a glowing garland. “They can smell you. Your purity or sanctity—whatever the hell you reek of. Higher demons know the difference between the old, halves and royalty.”

Doyoung stands outside, stubbornly refusing step in. You can barely hear him over the sound of ocean blossoms, rare flowers said to cure homesickness that are always singing. The Gods give the best of their creations to angels for safekeeping. There’s star syrup for existential dread, cloud extract for dehydration, Child’s Smile for momentary happiness—there’s so much around. You wonder if this is what would make humans happy—a cure for everything.

You turn your head to find Doyoung staring at a bottle with lips pursed. The bottle itself is the colour of plum, the contents hidden. You take a step closer to read the label.

Deep Space. Peace for a brief stretch of time.

“Are you tired?” you ask Doyoung, hesitantly. He turns to you with a start.

“Of you. Sometimes,” Doyoung responds without missing a beat, “All the time, actually.”

You laugh at the shake of his head, the sound as loud as the ocean blossoms. The shopkeeper walks in just then, skin dark as night and a smile as comforting as the moon. You’ve always loved coming to her shop. Despite all genres of medicine, the atmosphere is dominated by harmony. (There’s a strange irony in the words, you realize.)

“Oh my! How have you been, darling?” she greets you. “Would you like to taste fire nectar? The New Gods made it a while ago as a cure for lethargy.”

“I think we should save them lest the guardians run into a shortage,” you shake your head.

She nods in agreement. She was once a guardian angel too, keeping her human away from darkness with all sorts of cures. Never in excess, though, for it ruins the human balance—that’s what she told you on being good at her job, not that you’d ever get it. Angels like you are only a target—hearts too vulnerable and unreliable. You’re meant to kept peace in Gods’ lands for you know nothing outside of it.

“Is that a new friend…or a palace worker maybe…?” She turns to Doyoung, who stiffens under her gaze.

It’s an unfair disadvantage for angels to never be able to tell apart a demon. Perhaps, it’s to ensure equal treatment for all or whatever else the Old Gods had in mind. For an angel, anything with two eyes and a beating heart deserves sympathy.

“Both, hopefully,” you smile with your response.

It doesn’t take you long to reach the end of the city paths after exiting the shop. The flowered hills are much larger than before, the mountains only offering a shallow glimpse at their snow-tops. The trees sport all the hues of the rainbow, forming a lovely forest barrier between the place you stand in and the sleeping hills. It is quite lovely in paradise, if you so call it.

Doyoung sulks beside you, careful enough to not kick a rock out of frustration. “You are a real pain in the—”

“Hey,” you warn. “You don’t like the view here?”

“I’d rather be sleeping.”

You press on, getting up to stand on a nearby stone bench. “But weren’t you curious as to what a city of angels looks like?”

“I’ve seen enough,” he responds, voice low.

You realize the dreadful possibility that he might have had a hand in murdering other angels of pure or royal blood.

Even the sky is ever-changing in the land of angels. It brings about a nice wind but you prefer warmth. The scenery is perfect, all the colours in place and light resting where it belongs. But there’s still something missing, something key to your moments with Doyoung. The silence is deafening.

“We’re not really angels, are we?” you muse aloud. “We do whatever our heart pleases. What has that to do with kindness? Or peace?”

“You do whatever your heart pleases, yes,” he nods in uncaring agreement. “But your heart wants kindness and peace. I’ve told you, you lot are strange.”

“We aren’t always saints. Are we?” You’ve always wondered if all angels do the right thing.

“The Gods made sure to make you perfect,” Doyoung‘s voice is slow and reassuring. “Your instincts are built to cater to goodness. You’ve heard all of this before. And you’re asking a demon whether angels make mistakes?”

“Wasn’t the Devil an angel once?” It’s a famous story here, in fact. You shift closer, eager to know its origin.

“Gods’ creation, yes. Not sure about the angel part.” Doyoung purses his lips. You must be some sort of child in his eyes—constant questions and a need for reassurance. Easy to destroy.

“I think you’re good enough, angel,” he adds quietly.

The breeze caresses Doyoung’s cheeks, turning them a rosy hue and plays with his hair, tussling it in occasional gusts. He looks almost peaceful; for a demon, you wonder what it’s like to be free of Hell. His jaw isn’t clenched and neither is he furrowing his brows to glare at something in the distance. You decide you like this look on him as you turn to gaze at the city ahead.

When you look at him again, he’s smiling at you. It’s only your duty as an angel to reciprocate it.

There are things that hurt and things that only carry the echo of pain.

Your back bleeds onto the floor, a searing pain where your wings should be. It’s the first time Doyoung sees them, albeit covered in blood. You’re almost ashamed of them, now damp with flawless red, feathers plucked off on the floor. The purest white yet helpless, useless in danger. They’re only ever for show, just the way a demon’s horns and tail stand for jokes.

Doyoung carries you to the medic’s chambers and sits beside you, absentmindedly chewing on his finger till you stop writhing in pain. Now, this is concerning.

“Shall I inform Prince Taeyong?” Jaehyun asks. You can see that he’s afraid. After all, the human in him is easier to read.

“No,” you answer, making sure you get across the importance of your decision. Notifying Taeyong would be a terrible decision; he’d worry himself sick and one sick angel is better than two.

It’s quite often that you find yourself alone with Doyoung, especially after being advised to rest. Sometimes you forget he’s your demon bodyguard and not a housemaid with the way he keeps idly organizing things around you. He’s quite careless, untidy even when it comes to his own bedchamber and belongings. You wonder if he ever does anything but sleep in there.

Doyoung seems to be dozing off in his chair, head resting on his hand. You’ve never seen him sleep before; he always disappears with an irritated poof! when he gets tired. You feel sorry for him—maybe if he hadn’t signed the soul contract… You shake your head. He’s a demon after all, pureblooded and not any less wise than you are. You think you should start seeing him as an honest equal.

“You’re awake?” Doyoung asks, capturing your attention. His hair is messy and his face is splotched with red on one side.

You nod. The air smells wonderfully of chamomile, light and wispy. You think you’ll be getting better today.

“Doyoung,” you call, “Can you sing?”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “You heard me.”

You turn your head to grin at him. “Not to stroke your ego, but it was nice. Soothing for a patient. Tell me, do your eyebrows always move like that?”

Doyoung sinks back into the chair with a huff even though he’s smiling. “Do you have to be like this?”

He smiles quite a lot more than in the beginning. You can see the side of his jaw and his Adam’s apple as he turns his head. Pink lips and a dark mop of hair; you think it’s a good combination. His smile stands out to you, wide and sweet with laugh lines you want to trace. He’s quite nicely made, you think, and his features are handsome. You shake yourself again. These aren’t thoughts appropriate of royalty, of angels. And you experience dread too, in being something you are not.

You look away, trying to distract yourself from the crawling warmth across your cheeks.

Of course, you do recover well even if your wings are left a little sore. Still the same blinding shade of white, Doyoung stares in awe when you spread them. This form is a little exhausting but profound in the effect it has on others. Almost as if gazing at an angel could cure your vices.

You’re as warm as ever but the kingdom seems to have grown cold. Everyone goes about their business merrily yet you find yourself shivering every morning. Either the New Gods are brewing trouble for you or you really are sick. It makes you uneasy either way.

Your city is lovely and to appreciate its grandeur from a distance is much different from admiring it from the inside. You sit at the pavilion atop the hill overlooking the city and opposite to the palace, with Doyoung looking around with curious eyes. He hasn’t been here before, you realize.

This structure isn’t as grand but it is cosy with short pillars and a canopy top. You look ahead. Your palace is iridescent in the afternoon, the tops kissing the skies and caressing cotton clouds. You look up to see the highest tower, yours, peeking through a wave of clouds. The trees curl their branches around the base, almost protective. The little white and pastel houses of the city look docile, small places for the descendants of your kind, and they give you a sense of comfort. You sigh, frowning.

There are ruins atop the adjacent hill, the bricks fallen apart in a pretty pile. The red and yellow trees embrace the old brick structure all around it, the grass refreshingly colourful. Even destruction pretends to be art here, to be made something of. You remember the confusion and panic when the old archway had crumbled apart, just as the New Gods had expanded the city. You were only an adolescent yet you had found words to explain, to help your people. You’ve been told you’re good at controlling your emotions to help others. You’ve been told you’re good.

Doyoung sets your skin ablaze with just a lingering touch on the shoulder.

“Let’s go, Your Highness,” he says, unaware of the sudden reactions he’s set in you. The longing in you is so wrong.

Certain fruits are forbidden in the land of angels.

This third sickness is of an entirely different kind, you think. You stare at Doyoung’s lips too long and too frequent. You sigh in his absence and his touches burn hot. You can’t even try to deny how attractive he is, how calming yet provocative his words are. Every time he looks at you, each gaze might as well have him with his hands around your throat. How you’d love to brush your mouth against those pretty lips of his, how you’d love to wrap your arms around his waist and run them against his back. It’s not natural, not right—but you’re wanting and waiting for something that can’t happen. This infection, it’s the most dangerous one.

“Taeyong!” you greet happily. His hair is as pale as moonlight and his smile hasn’t changed since you were children.

You wrap your arms around Taeyong, his scent still of strawberries. Ah, you’ve missed the warmth of familiarity that clings to Taeyong. There are hues of amber in his eyes, his skin glowing under the natural light. As two of the last pureblood angels, it brought you closer and only the responsibility of your kingdoms kept you separated. It’s a shame you’ve been so busy in your own cities, trying to make sense of the New Gods, a change of nature, everything. Maybe the Gods want to play, but you’d never know.

“It’s good to be here again,” Taeyong says and you smile back, but your eyes trail to Doyoung at the corner of the room. His eyes are focused elsewhere but you can see that his arms are crossed and his lips are shut tight.

Taeyong turns to look and you immediately grab his face before he sees Doyoung. The sudden embarrassment climbs up and you’re willing to do anything to avoid getting caught.

“Let’s go to the garden!” you suggest a little too enthusiastically. “You’re going to love the new puppies!”

Taeyong furrows his eyebrows, clearly suspicious but follows suit. You hope you aren’t being too obvious—this isn’t a childish crush you’re afraid of exposing; there are consequences when an angel falls in love with a demon.

Doyoung sits down beside you on the garden bench. It’s underwhelming to call it a garden, really, when you should be calling it an arboretum or anything of the grander scale. It’s beautiful—the flowers bloom as a performance and the trees whisper nurturing words. The water in the fountains is deep blue with ribbons of sunlight floating in them, the birds and fishes enjoying it in their own ways. You might as well get lost in a lovely dream along these paths, walking with no end for as long as you’d like. Taeyong crouches down at the side of the path, laughing as one of the pups of the royal dogs tries to bite his nose off.

“I’m telling you,” Doyoung leans to make himself audible. “He’s going to be apologizing to the pups if one of them bites his finger off.”

You laugh. “Maybe he’s more angelic than all of us.”

“He is. I can smell it,” Doyoung sneers. “You come a close second, though.”

There’s a moment’s pause before Doyoung flinches, and you look down to spot a small rabbit on his lap. Animals have a strange liking for demons, you think with jealous disappointment. Or maybe it’s just Doyoung. After all, you can’t say you’re not a little more than fond of him too.

“I don’t know what to do with this thing,” Doyoung informs you, eyebrows furrowed into a nervous look.

“What- you don’t have demon rabbits or something in Hell?” you scoff.

“No.”

“Are you serious?” Your face turns to incredulity. “You don’t have rabbits in Hell?”

“We don’t have any animals in hell. Except the, uh, hellhounds.”

“Sounds miserable. Are you aware that this bunny is your long lost twin brother, sir?”

Doyoung makes a sound of disapproval, carefully picking the rabbit up and placing it on the ground. You laugh at more jokes you make yourself and Doyoung pretends he can’t hear you.

Dinner with Taeyong on your right and Doyoung on your left is nothing short of awkward. To put it blatantly, one is your loving childhood friend who happens to be one of the purest angels and one is a demon who has successfully managed to steal your heart—and the rest of the members of the palace are there to bear witness to your every slip-up. There’s not a lot of talking, only the soft thrums of the oblivious musicians’ instruments. The lights enclosed in a thousand dazzling crystals don’t do much to lighten up your mood even if the room is brimming with a warm, amber light. There’s plenty of food but never in excess, and the windows lining the sides invite onlooking stars. The splendour of an angel’s palace is of no meaning without its residents.

Taeyong’s attempts at a conversation somehow blooms for the better as the palace members join in. Soon, everyone seems to be over the initial awkwardness, filling the room with reminiscent laughter and stories. The sound most precious of all.

Doyoung, however, is surprisingly quiet. He’d usually start the dinner with his provoking demon tongue or talk of old songs and books on the better days. But he’s far too quiet, and it drives you over the edge. You nudge him with your knee.

“Are you alright?” you whisper.

Doyoung furrows his brows. “Perfectly alright. Why?”

You press your lips together. He is most certainly not alright, but you’re a little out of words to continue. Unsurprisingly, Doyoung vanishes into thin air, excusing himself politely as soon as he can. Your appetite was barely enough, to begin with, but now it’s completely lost.

Dinner is over after an excruciating hour and a half. It’s difficult to avoid chatty angels, and you suddenly realize why Doyoung hates hanging around for too long. You make your way to your balcony trying not to be too obvious and are relieved yet afraid to find Doyoung there. Your room emits the barest of warm candlelight through the glass windows, and it dims the closer you get to his stagnant figure. The night sky is clear, stars blinking lazily as they gaze down upon your realm.

You pause before you ask again this night, “Are you alright?”

Doyoung responds with silence, leaning against the balcony railings. He’s wearing a loose black shirt for a change, and the parting of his hair has been mussed up by the wind. His fingers are long and elegant and the way they rest against the railing is nothing short of beautiful. Demons can be deceitful, but there’s no treachery to him tonight.

The night breeze caresses your form and you shiver again. You find yourself a little hypnotized when you look at Doyoung’s face under the moonlight. There’s not a single flaw you can point out in the demon and it’s quite frightening.

“Doyoung?” you call again, your voice meek.

Your heart hammers in your chest when you find Doyoung’s mouth twisted into a grim frown, his silence heavy. His eyes are on the verge of red and he exudes some sort of dark energy you can’t quite fathom.

“Are you really not afraid of me, angel? Of a demon?” he asks, his voice quiet but heavy.

Doyoung cages you against the balcony railing. Heat claws at your throat and you wonder what—why he’s doing this. The other times have been a reminder of who he is—but now, he looks closer to a demon than ever, almost genuine and you’re having a hard time coming up with the right words.

“Doyoung. Now’s not the time for games. I—”

“My soul is in your hands. This is not a game. And neither am I.”

Doyoung gingerly presses his hand against your face as if he’s holding a paper crane. Even in this half form, he’s unbearably handsome, his jaw stiff as he stares at you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “Please tell me to stop.”

He starts to move his hand away but you softly take hold of it, pressing it back against your cheek. If this is your undoing, you might as well relax into it.

“You angels really are unafraid, aren’t you?” Doyoung muses. He’s quite right. You have a demon gleaming, almost upset in front of you, caressing you with hands that might have blood, your blood, on them.

It’s alright, though. The confusion inside you calms the closer you are to Doyoung, your frostbite fading. There’s a soothing to his fingertips.

Doyoung’s voice is harsh, the usual reminder coming up again. “I could hurt you, claw the purity out of your heart, I could flay your wings till you were as godless as I am—would you still be unafraid? Would you still believe in me? Don’t tell me you’re this gullible, angel.”

You’ve heard of demons tricking angels to pull out their hearts before. There’s quite a price on the purest of hearts.

Even so, Doyoung doesn’t scare you. His words are just that—words, threats to provoke fear, never meant to be carried out. For even in the demon, there’s something pure and unheard of. He likes to scare you because he’s afraid too. Your observation was sudden in the beginning, but now you have feelings inappropriate for an angel to have towards a demon.

“Is that why you came here? To rip out my heart? Rise up the ranks?”

“Initially, I might have. If I didn’t have other things to worry about.” Doyoung’s gaze is intense and unwavering. “I couldn’t hurt you now. Not ever.”

“The contract?”

“No.”

Doyoung cups your face as he leans in. He smells vaguely of dark chocolate and wine, although you’re sure he doesn’t care for angels’ desserts.

“You’ve done a strange thing to me, angel.”

Doyoung’s breath is scorching over your lips but you don’t regret letting him press his mouth against yours. It starts off innocent enough, the shyness of your first kiss leading till Doyoung clutches your waist to pull you closer and you lose hold of yourself. He parts your lips with utmost piety and the sweet sensation brought by his tongue spreads throughout. He intends to be slow, making you feel every swipe of his tongue and every press of his fingers. In this moment, you can’t deny his nature and yours—a demon and an angel under a sky made by careless Gods. And yet, nothing exists apart from you and him.

Doyoung pulls you inside, his mouth still on yours and a new feeling shooting through your nerves. The shuddering of breath that comes from him makes your heart flutter and you tug at his shirt, pulling him closer. You move your fingertips to his neck and eventually wound them in his hair, the taste of stars stuck on your mouth. He looks partly dazed, partly euphoric when he pulls away and a short laugh passes through him before he kisses you again, deeper and deeper with each passing moment. His voice is hoarse by the time he speaks again.

“You know there are consequences to this, right?”

“Do you?”

His forehead lowers to press against yours. “I can’t really give a fuck.”

He presses a swift kiss to your lips and you smile against it. He can be absurdly gentle for a demon. But then you remember the searing touch of his mouth and his fingers against your skin, and your face blossoms with red again.

Doyoung kisses your jaw before moving to your neck, leaving a slightly wet trail; demons have quite a tendency to leave marks, possessive warnings. You’ve never felt love so burning and raw; every time he pushes against you so sweet, his mouth nearly innocent with the words he uses for you. He takes his time to make you feel good and you can taste the honey liquor of Heavens with each passing moment, every move of his. Desire is such a base thing and yet you feel waves of it, the blush across your skin glowing. Angels really do betray themselves easily.

“I love you,” Doyoung promises against your mouth before the line between right and wrong fades to a blur.

You wake up with a start. Was that a dream? You try moving and stretching but there’s an aching throughout your body you can’t account for. The morning drizzle outside your window can only do so much to soothe your discomfort. You’re sleepy despite the first rays of the sun already gracing your presence through the mild rain. Your head’s a little haywire from the detailed pictures and sounds in your head. You blush. Did you really dream something so outrageous?

“You’re awake.”

You jump at Doyoung’s voice, at a loss for words to greet him. There’s an unusual sprinkle of pink across his cheeks, and you realize with bittersweet certainty that last night wasn’t a dream. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first and when he does, he’s almost shy with halting hand gestures. You’ve gone and made a demon flustered. You giggle when he tries to get to what he’s saying.

“I think,” he begins, voice rather quiet, “I think perhaps we…we should talk some things out.”

Doyoung sits beside you, looking at his hands. You want to place yours in them, remembering the warmth. He stares at you unblinking when his eyes trail to your neck and he turns away with a cough.

“Habits don’t go away easy, I suppose,” he mutters.

You brush your fingertips against your neck to feel the uneven skin that’s been marked. Demons have special bites for their lovers. Your cheeks grow so hot, you’re afraid you’ll need to get to the balcony to take a cool breath.

“I…I’m sorry if I…if I… Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head. “No- just a bit- I think it was a little- quite sudden. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen last night- Gods, that sounds strange. Not like that. What I mean is—”

Doyoung laughs. “You’re an idiot, angel.”

Demons are hard to read, but Doyoung doesn’t have to tell you what he’s feeling these days.

“I’m afraid,” he says after a long pause. “I’m afraid of hurting you. I can be careless with my words…my lips and hands—”

You blush.

“—and I don’t know which rules I’m breaking, but…I want to forget about angels and demons for a while.”

You nod and move closer. Doyoung’s warmth is inviting and you place your head against his shoulder without any second thought. He straightens, startled by your sudden movement but he relaxes soon, his arms wrapping around you. You tilt your head to see him smiling at you, his eyes shining with light akin to the Heavens. Perhaps you’ve loved him since before the realization buried you under its weight.

This is wrong.

You gulp down the voice in your head. A wave of panic rushes through you and your smile wavers. For the first time in your life, you don’t know the difference between good and bad.

The question from Doyoung comes in almost expected.

“What’s wrong?”

He’s too good at reading you, even without the contract. If only you could answer honestly, as an angel should.

Your eyes meet Doyoung’s and you lean in. Soon enough, there’s a comforting press of his lips against yours and although short, it lessens the loud beating of your heart. Doyoung looks you up and down, brows knit together and mouth pressed into a thin line.

“If there’s an emotion I know best,” Doyoung begins, “Then it’s fear.”

You don’t respond. You can’t quite think straight at the moment.

“You’re afraid this is wrong.”

“This isn’t wrong,” you respond quickly.

“They’ll take away your wings,” Doyoung reminds you. “They’ll hurt you.”

“They’ll hurt you too and yet you’re here. I’m not the one afraid of losing my wings.”

Doyoung smiles, amused. “Did you know I was the highest-ranking demon in my state? Perhaps one of the highest of our kind, too.”

“I didn’t,” you answer. “I’m- I’m not sure if you’re showing off.”

“I can show off if I want to—I earned it,” Doyoung huffs. “That wasn’t the point. The point is—you should do whatever the hell you want if I’m doing whatever the hell I want as a god-fearing demon.”

You give him a small smile. The way he’s so comforting isn’t what you’d expect of a demon—it’s kind. How unremarkable of you to want to break rules. But how willing you are to do so.

“Can’t a high ranking demon have everything he wants?”

“No. The rulebook just keeps getting longer.”

Doyoung sighs. There’s weariness across his features. “I hate rules. I hate routine. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize.”

You giggle. “I might have misjudged you. You seemed so strict. Like a grumbling soldier.”

Doyoung huffs. “You’re a poor judge of character for an angel.”

He reaches out to comb through your hair, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. You wish he’d come closer.

“Can I tell you something? Just between you and me,” you whisper as you lean in.

Doyoung leans in at your hand gesture, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. You place a sudden kiss against his cheek, pulling away just in time to see the red rush into his ears. He slips into rather flustered laughter soon enough.

“Flirting with a demon now?”

“I’ve been doing that for a long time now—just wish you’d noticed earlier.”

That earns another bout of laughter from Doyoung, making your chest swell with unspeakable love. He looks at you with love, something you’re sure demons aren’t allowed a peek at. Don’t the Gods dare take this away from you; it’s precious. You’re tired of this game of choices, rules that exist only to insinuate guilt and fear. This realm won’t die without you, neither will you be able to do anything truly dutiful in your castle of glass.

Doyoung puts his hands on either side of the bed by your waist to engulf you in another warm kiss, smiling against your lips.

“I want to keep doing this,” he murmurs, “Even if we have to hide from the Gods themselves.”

This is wrong.

The voice in your head warns and you press down your guilt. If only for a little while, you could keep this up.

Demon blood isn’t red, you come to know.

Your heart can only struggle in the chaos set by Doyoung’s resting figure in front of you. The black liquid staining Doyoung’s only white shirt is his blood, you realize with a weak noise. You’ve never seen a colour so dark. He breathes slowly, eyes closed in what seems a peaceful slumber.

Taeyong beside you is frantic. “We were talking, and then- and then he just- he just collapsed! And I don’t- I don’t understand how to save him- I don’t understand why he’s bleeding when no one hurt him.” He takes a breath to calm down.

There are repercussions when an angel and a demon fall in love. The two change for the other, a change nature can’t permit. (She is also a child of the Gods and she’s almost more firm in her laws than them.)

Demons don’t fall sick easily. You’re there when Doyoung opens his eyes and he jolts up as though he wasn’t hurt in the first place. You can see the clawing of good and evil him, his eyes a little wild before they settle back to the calm. Nature isn’t supposed to bend like this.

“Ah,” he realizes as he looks at the two of you. “I passed out.”

An unknown emotion passes through his irises momentarily as he looks at you. He returns his focus to declaring he’s fine. You purse your lips and almost let your emotions explode, containing it only till you can convince Taeyong to leave.

“You’re hurt because of me,” you choke out.

The room is quiet, Doyoung’s unwillingness to meet your gaze making it worse.

“Now, we don’t know that, Your Highness,” he responds, voice distant.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap.

“I wouldn’t want to make a habit of calling you love,” he reasons.

“We’re in private—it doesn’t matter.” You try to keep your breathing steady. The panic that rushed in with Doyoung’s invisible injury is doing a tremendous job of driving you mad.

“You’re hurt because of me and I won’t allow you to get hurt anymore,” you say, your voice solid.

Doyoung scoffs. “You’re an angel, not a God.”

You purse your lips. “This isn’t a joke.”

“You sound like me,” he says, slightly raising his eyebrows. “You know I said the exact same thing when you were fooling around in your illnesses.”

“Congratulations, you’ve turned me into a no-fun demon.”

Doyoung sighs loudly. “You’re right, though. I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

He sighs again as soon as he says the words. “I really am a disgrace when it comes to being a demon.”

You laugh softly. Out of all the flaws demons cage within themselves, you couldn’t possibly expect one of them to be an absence of true demon nature. Doyoung is one of a kind.

“How did you…how did you know that you were- were different?” You don’t know a nicer bundle of words to use for your question.

Doyoung hesitates, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I hated doing my tasks more than I was afraid of the rules. That was odd.”

You breathe sharply as his eyes linger on your form, the old frown on his face. A demon’s gaze is still that of a hunter—nature shaped you into predator and prey and she did not like you forgetting it.

“Don’t be afraid of me.”

You jump at his voice, Doyoung’s form sitting straighter and he leans forward. Your heart is still unsteady every time your breaths diffuse, when he’s close like this. He bites his lip before he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the warm sensation spreading all the way to your fingertips. There’s a comfortable silence before Doyoung takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know what you did to me but I changed. I noticed it when the stupid animals starting warming up to me, when I felt sick for the first time in centuries after I saw your blood.”

He pauses.

“You know it too. The pains of going against nature.”

“That long?” you ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

You sigh. You’ve never been loved this way, and it’s already as warm as anything you’ve known. It’s not difficult to love him.

“Don’t worry about me, angel. It’s not what you should feel for a demon.”

Doyoung disappears within seconds and you’re left with mixed emotions, muddled up thoughts and the pending answer to your question of identity. If angels are meant to do the right thing—how would they ever know? It falls into a habit to hear that you’re good every waking moment of your life, but when it actually comes to choices, none of them spell out good for you. You don’t know what choice to make. Doing things in the name of Gods or love does not make you good.

Angels are not heroes, you realize.

And yet they still choose to be in a strange design that never fails, even if it means breaking rules that are millions upon millions of years old, set in stones unyielding.

It’s almost like a test. You don’t think you’ve prepared for it.

You take to endless pacing and anxious walks and somehow, you end up by the main balconies. The breeze isn’t as strong and you spot a familiar figure by the bench. You take a seat beside Taeyong, your mind still muddled up. He greets you with a surprised smile and you share a moment of peace before you interrupt it.

“Taeyong, do you think we’re good?”

Taeyong turns his head to you, his shoulders hunched as he rests his forearms on his thighs. There’s no particular expression on his face, perhaps a bit of confusion.

“I don’t think we’re any better than everyone else. We just try to be good.”

“Isn’t that human?”

Taeyong laughs. “Humans have always been the Gods’ favourite creation. It’s why we look so similar.”

The wind fills up the silence with a tune pulled from nature.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down. “I don’t know why I got so worked up—it’s not normal. We haven’t talked in so long and I just bring you doubts and questions.”

“I think it’s perfectly alright,” Taeyong responds, “You still choose to be good.”

You breathe deeply. Angels are always helpful—it’s not strange for Taeyong to use kind words with the devil himself, much less you. He’s always been this way since you were children, since you showed each other what you gathered of the world around you. You told him things and he listened, a comforting exchange of words.

“Say, (name),” Taeyong interjects your thoughts, “you’re in love with the demon, aren’t you?”

You freeze, a lump forming in your throat. Taeyong nods towards your neck and you hastily pull up your collar. The demon bites haven’t faded since the night you…well, professed your love. You’ve been wearing high collars more frequently—you don’t want your neck exposed for the entire palace to see when there’s only one possible conclusion to the marks.

“And you’ve…uh…you know, physically...amorous too, then? As in—”

Your cheeks get warm.

“Yes. I get it. Whatever you mean. If you want to say I’m a disappointment, you can. I’m failing myself.”

Your eyes flicker down, the guilt bubbling up in your chest again.

“If it’s love, I think it’s quite wonderful.”

You look up, confused. You’d expected some chiding at least, in Taeyong’s soft, stern words. Like those he used as children for your all too eager self, who used to love getting lost in the woods and jumping over fences into lost lands.

“You’re saying this is okay? I’m not following any of the rules we’ve grown up with.”

“Oh, we both know angels aren’t like. We never follow rules. The Gods might as well be playing with us now. You’ll still know to do good.”

You’ve always known the universe to be at the mercy of Gods. New or Old, everything has their time. The universe was born of fire and it will end in ice—that’s the future written in the stones. You sigh. It’s time to make a choice, even if choices belong to humans.

You have a purpose, and you sure as hell will follow it.

“You’re a good motivator, Taeyong.”

“I am?”

“No. I just realized something.”

“You’re welcome either way,” Taeyong says with a goofy smile.

You punch his shoulder, falling into laughter. It’s good to laugh like this, with friends. At least there’s one more person to share the truth with, till one by one, it’s the entire universe. Things could be worse for angels.

Doyoung’s eyes widen ever so slightly when he finds you sitting by the window, enjoying the drizzle outside. It’s soothing in a strange way, how he fits into your peace so easily. He sits beside you, the barest of sunlight through the clouds highlighting the honey in his eyes.

“You look pensive,” he notes.

“Well, because I’m thinking.”

The soft tapping of the rain against the marble tiles fills your ears. Doyoung draws nearer, his head still high with the dignity of demons.

“I can tell when you’re distressed, you stupid angel. What’s wrong?”

You turn your head to the scenery outside the window, the sunlight thriving despite the rain. There are many different endings to a story; most would hope for it to be right here, in Gods’ land.

There’s still hope for an epilogue.

“I love you,” you irritably blurt out. “But you’re so complicated. Everything’s so complicated.”

“Angel’s finally facing reality,” he hums. “It’s not making a lot of sense, is it?”

“No,” you grumble, slouching over with your elbows on your legs.

Doyoung draws his fingertips on the small of your back. You’ve never seen him as peaceful, not just pretending, as you have these past few months.

“Do you ever just not want to be on any side?” you ask.

“After what you’ve done to me, angel, I just want to be on any side with you- Gods, I can’t believe I said that.”

You laugh. “You’re cheesy, demon.”

Doyoung’s cheeks break into pink but he maintains his face nonetheless.

“No wonder they don’t let us keep you alive for long,” he sighs. “Not just because you’re annoying, but because you’re stronger.”

“Stronger?” you scoff. “What, that’s some internal demon joke?”

“Angel, you changed me. You must understand what that means.”

You stay quiet. So the books were right? Good triumphs over evil—words almost treated as law in the old days. If only guilt wasn’t a horrible side effect.

You reach out to push the hair out of his eyes, enjoying the look of peace on him. Doyoung closes his eyes and sighs. The devil is a gentleman; you’ve seen what the humans find so attractive about demons. But beneath that is the unknown, darkness you can choose to waltz with or soak into. There’s no peace about demons, not in their laws, their homes, their own bodies. But heaven looks a little different to you now.

“It’s going hurt, you know?” you whisper. “Neither of us are accustomed to changing ourselves.”

“The damage is done,” Doyoung responds. “I’d make you a promise if I could.”

“What promise?”

“I’ll always protect you.”

Doyoung hesitantly leans in and seals his promise with a kiss, long enough to make you believe it. Nature can’t hurt what isn’t hers anymore. She isn’t infinite. On the other hand, even time can’t break a soul contract, or you’d have outlived it into oblivion (of course, that’s for as long as time lets you). The contract binds you, protects you but it cannot predict the end.

There are some rules angels can’t break and there are some consequences demons can ignore.

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janiedean · 5 years

Note

For the halloween thing Nancy/Steve/Jonathan carving a pumpkin?

hi anon here you go! sorry it’s cracky but XD also, SOMETIME POST.S3 obv hopper didn’t die ;) ;)

“Whose idea was this, again?”

Nancy’s question is met with utter silence and a couple of shrugs, not that she expected anything less.

Admittedly, she should have figured that leaving those two in charge of pumpkin carving was a bad idea but they did volunteer and she had work while Steve was off shift and Jonathan still hasn’t found something new since he came back to Hawkins, so they did have the time.

Except that the pumpkin in question, right now, looks more like Swiss cheese — at least one of them had the sense to save the pulp for consumption, she supposes.

“Uhm,” Jonathan says, “technically it was my idea to say we should do something less obvious than the usual creepy smile thing, but it was his idea to carve a demogorgon’s head.”

“What?”

“Excuse me if I didn’t exactly remember the shape,” Steve mutters, turning the knife over in his hands.

“Admittedly, I remembered it wrong,” Jonathan shrugs.

“And you two couldn’t, like, draw it separately and check while carving?”

They look at each other. “Didn’t think about it,” Steve admits sheepishly. Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but she figures it would have been the exact same answer.

She looks at her wristwatch. “So,” she says, “it’s six PM, this place is going to get swamped with kids including my brother, your brother and your adoptive children, pretty much —”

“Hey, I didn’t adopt —”

“Steve, can it. All of them, plus half of the neighborhood, and I suppose we don’t even have candy to give them. Or do we?”

“I bought some before,” Jonathan says, “that shouldn’t be the problem. No way we can find a new one now, can’t we?”

“Negative,” Nancy shakes her head, “there won’t be any left.”

“We could go to the pumpkin patch,” Steve proposes, and Nancy just flat-out glares at him.

“Yes, and Merrill has our heads.”

“He has a point, though,” Jonathan says, and Nancy can’t believe he’s down with that.

“What,” she says.

“Well, you drive us there, we rush out of the car, grab one, you drive us out. Can’t be too complicated.”

“See,” Steve says, grinning, “even he sees it!”

Nancy, who had been looking forward to relaxing a bit before the inevitable trick or treating started, sighs and glares at the both of them.

“Fine,” she says, “but I’m not washing the dishes for the next two weeks.”

“Deal,” those two answer at the same damned time.

Living together really has put those two on the same wavelength, hasn’t it.

Nancy sighs and takes her keys out of her pocket.

She really hopes Merrill is out with his nephews tonight, or something.

—

“Run,” Steve screams as both he and Jonathan about throw themselves in the backseat of the car with a medium-sized pumpkin in between them.

Nancy immediately presses on the accelerator and speeds out of the road as she hears Merrill freaking shooting behind them, thankfully he’s too far and he’s just doing it out of warning or something, but for fuck’s sake —

“Couldn’t you have stuck to the sides of the damned field?”

“All the pumpkins on the sides were half-rotten,” Steve says, as if that is a valid justification for almost getting himself shot.

“Jesus,” she groans, “we’re not fourteen anymore or have you forgotten it?”

“Well,” Jonathan says, catching his breath, his hand moving over Steve’s wrist, “that wasn’t so bad. I mean, I didn’t do that when I was fourteen.”

“It’s not the kind of teenage experience you couldn’t have done without!” Nancy tries to protest as she speeds out into the highway back to Hawkins, feeling very thankful that both Joyce and Hopper disappeared at his cabin and they won’t be there to ask them where the hell they found another pumpkin at five PM on October 31st.

“I don’t know,” Steve grins back, “it seemed like he was having fun. I mean, it was definitely more fun than going under that patch, anyway.”

“When we’re back,” Nancy says, “I am carving the thing, you two make soup for the next two weeks with all of the pulp we’ll have left and I sure as hell hope it’s good.”

“Hey, I could cook when I was fourteen, thank you very much,” Jonathan says, letting his head fall against the backseat.

“I’ll cut you the vegetables,” Steve groans, catching his breath, an arm still half around the pumpkin.

“Deal,” Jonathan says, and Nancy can see that their hands are clasped together.

She half-smiles.

She’ll make sure they thoroughly apologize for almost getting them all arrested later.

For now, she’ll just make sure neither of them gets even close to the damned pumpkin, and next year she’s not letting them near it either.

End.

#stoncy #THAT WAS THE TAG I GUESS??#my fic #the halloween 2k19 prompts thing #Anonymous #ask post

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oleanderblume · 4 years

Text

Unrelated but OMYGOD. My clown series reached 1k reads on wattpad.

Which isn't super awesome because its only due to the sheer quantity of chapters I have but I need to rave and spoil it cause I'm super excited about what I'm planning and no one i care to tell gives a shit so I'm dumping it into the void that is tumblr.

So. Im writing a book series called Caring For Your Clown. Its about this trans kid named Oliver and he is sort of an asshole.

Well not sort of, he is an asshole. But a RELATABLE asshole.

The story sort of drops you in 6 months after the mysterious and tragic (and traumatic) death of his mother Marie, who was a scientist alongside her husband and Oliver's step father Jon at a lab that specializes in physics mainly.

They were working on a machine with an unstable particle that caused a..tear so to speak, in the fabric of dimensional space and she got torn into tiny little bits. :3

But apparently before this occurred, Marie was in contact with an alien race called clowns 🤡 (really they are interdimensional traveling amoebas that take the shape of humanoid clowns lol)

One of which pops up in Oliver's life completely unexpectedly for no foreseeable reason and her name is Dindet and she is absolutely precious.

Basically its a saga and each book ranges in about 30k to 50k words. The first book centers around Oliver learning about this weird alien houseguest and also the immediate fallout of the death of his mom because surprise surprise! His biological dad who is a terrible abusive fucktard rolls back into his life with the intent to take custody of Oliver and that is no good!

The entire arch Oliver's goes through is literally the title of the series. Basically learning to be caring and compassionate while ALSO dealing with grief and interdimensional shenanigans.

One of the things I found really fun (it was unintentionally done but now I like it so its intentional now.) Is that each book roughly represents the 5 stages of grief.

As the first one is anger. Oliver is mostly passed the fuck off that this dumb alien clown sauntered into his life and thought it would be neat to CARE about him like he was a PERSON with FEELINGS. Irrationally angry, because he blames her for the loss of his mom (i mean so does his dad who goes through the stages of grief slightly slower than Oliver does) and uses her as a personal emotional punching bag until he realizes that SHE got his bio dad to concede his appeal for custody via literally stalking him and making him so paranoid that he was deemed an unfit parent >:3

All the while too, as the main focus is on the two characters of Oliver and Dindet, there is a background plot leading up to the second, third, and fourth (possibly up to 6 books) of the clown authorities looking for Dindet. And also the checkovs gun that is his neighbor.

The second book is mostly erring in the bargaining side of the coin for Oliver while Jon goes through his stage of anger. Oliver learns more about Dindet but doesn't quite trust her as she is clearly hiding information and KNOWS his mom. But she won't talk. Meanwhile, his neighbor working on a completely different project gets his hands on some clown matter and goes apeshit with it to build his energy machine.

We also learned more about the type of person Dindet is, which is naive and caring but also incredibly self destructive and reckless. By far a major people pleaser with huge self love issues. While Oliver is more of a "i don't give a shit what you think" though its more a facade he puts on to protect himself from rejection :/ he is far more comfortable in his own skin but external factors can make him freak out a little and he is terrible at talking to people.

It culminates when the project Jon solicited Dindet's assistance in is wreck by her own hands and Oliver's growth completely backtracks to the point that he finally manages to get our clown to leave (only for her to be clownknapped by his whole ass fucking neighbor to be used as the conduit to his energy machine)

And yeh, Ols almost immediately regrets his actions (though at first its more denial that she actually left) especially when he catches his neighbor using her as fuel for his machine to the point that all her fucking matter is completely burned away via electrical current! >:3

THEN Oliver gets to the depression arch >:3 (i haven't written this part yet so its up in the air atm)

Basically, with his mom dead and now the only person who could reasonably be considered his friend ALSO Basically dead, Ols falls into this really bad streak of just walking backward in his grief. Anger, denial, bargaining, the whole shebang. But THIS time the lab and the government AND the secret clown police are all in cahoots to cover up what happened at the lab and to do that they need to get rid of Ols and his dad to allow their plot to work. (Will be revealed later)

So throughout the first two books I've been alluding to the leader of the clowns via Dindet's ostensible paranoia and their name is Smile. They have underlings though and one is named Poppy. So the clowns get into the lab and convince Jon to send his son to a treatment facility for therapy under the thin veil that it will protect them from the repercussions of the machine. Oliver is not to upset about this though because he has been to therapy before from his past with his bio dad.

Except obviously the clowns don't want to actually help anyone. Their goal is to wear my boy down until he ready to die because- did I mention this was middle grade??

Anyways. This particular book I want to develop my potential romance between Douglass (Oliver's kid neighbor) and Ols and also deconstruct Oliver's personality via flashbacks that parallel the events in the story so we understand why he reacts the way he does to things and also i think it would be neat that the clowns technically succeed in their plan to draw out Dindet the wanted criminal by using the person she cares most about against her. By making him want to die!!

Then! For the next book, I'm planning on having more clown infiltration, more bonding between my children and romance between my boys because oooohhh boy am I gonna have fun tearing everyone apart when the real fucking deal Smile shows up and fucks shit up. Smile is my main villian and a veru fun and manipulative one at that. She uses Oliver to get to Dindet and eventually catches the both of them, revealing clowns to the entire world right before snatching them back to the home base the Cornucopia.

This is where we learn all the information we have been wanting and building up to about Dindet >:3

She is a criminal because she has Essentially tied a doomed universe to the Cornucopia in a never ending time loop because she is so heckin big that every time that universe is torn apart, she jumps back in time and DIES in order to recreate it. (She's the big bang yo)

That isn't the only reason though. Oliver comes to learn that his mom was FRIENDS with Smile. And Smile was the one who tore her apart in the machine scattering her subconscious in the literally timeless Cornucopia (time doesn't exist there so aging, death, anything like that is completely halted) and MARIE who has been half alive and omnipotent this whole fucking time has been trapped in the Cornucopia unable to see her family or child but fully able to see a know the infinitesimal inevitability of the destruction of his universe. So what does she do? She PULLS DINDET PUT OF THE ABYSS AND TELLS HER TO GO BE FRIENDS WITH HER KID TO KEEP THE TIME LOOP GOING.

And this has happened before. Like this book series is literally ONE (1) version of events that have been stacking up on top of eachother for millenia. The reason Dindet shows up in the first place is because she can partially see these past loops and the remnants of her love for Oliver keeps her coming back YO.

But while all this lovely information is being shared, Dindet is in clown jail and Oliver is treated as a pet to Smile. He tries to stage a break out and fails and what does Smile do? She turns him into a got damn monkey!

And uses him as literal fucking bait to a starving Dindet in order to justify her sentence (which is obviously death)

It almost works too, if it weren't for the fact that these two kids are BEST FRIENDS NOW and would legit die AND kill for eachother, Dindet pushes Oliver out of the Cornucopia (he is still a monkey boy btw) into his universe which inadvertently scatters him.

(A human person can enter the Cornucopia but if they leave, their molecular structure will destabilize in a slow and painful way until they literally are nothing left so that sucks)

This is where I want the next book to start tbh. Now back at home without his friend, as. A. Monkey. Oliver find that his entire home town is under lock down and strict control by the clowns who have now infiltrated the government and are putting plans forth to rebuild the SAME MACHINE his dad and Dindet built to bring about the destruction of the universe. (They want to do this because if they prevent Dindet from jumping back in time, they can end the time loop and get on with their lives)

So ols has to essemble a rag tag crew of Douglass and some other classmates and figure out that all the goop floating around belongs to Dindet (bruh. She is the size of the universe like. There is a lot of her to go around) and they can technically use it as gateways into other dimensions to gather an arsenal of GIANT BABY ANIMALS AND SQUIRREL BIRD CATS AND DRAWN TO LIFE ANYTHINGS so they can try to 1. Bring back our clown gal who is the key to fixing this and 2. Take on the now heavily fortified lab in order to get Olivers and Douglass's dads back.

All the while my boy is slowly dying >:3

Eventually, Oliver finds a way to get Dindet back but its at a cost :/ he tricks Smile into turning our clown organic to prevent her from being able to control any of her matter whatsoever and the cost of it is that Smile is VERY bad at making humans, so she basically traps Dindet in a catatonic meat sack that doesn't have half the organs it needs to function properly :/

To make her not be organic anymore they gotta uh..kill the tumor that is an organic half body (which yes, does have nerve endings) which eventually allows Dindet to be 100% clown again.

They break into the lab, but its basically too late. Reality is fractured and the multiverse is imploding in on itself and in the midst of all of this, Ols and Dindet are careening through the vacuum of an entirely empty space, dying of starvation and scattering and the only option left is to jump back in time to start the loop over again.

It is heartfelt and it is good and pure and the last moments they share together perfectly bring this loop together because in the VERY FIRST BOOK Oliver asks why Dindet came and she says "you asked me to."

And their last moments together he asks her to come back for him. Like I CANNOT yall!!

But that isn't the end. Yet.

The real end is after they die and the universe begins and a single hand pushes through the stars and pulls out a little orange bean. And it's Marie, pulling Dindet put of the Abyss this universe that is so intrinsically tied to the Cornucopia that it literally creates all the fucking clowns.

Its not supposed to be destroyed. And the reason eveeything falls into place so perfectly and things always go the same way is because ita already been seen and already been narrated. By Marie.

The WHOLE ASS SERIES IS IN THIRD PERSON OMNISCIENT BUT ITS ACTUALLY NOT. Its first person. Narrated by Marie.

Dindet knows Marie because she pulled her out of the Cornucopia. Clowns exist because Dindet was told by Oliver that she was and looked like a clown. The entire ass UNIVERSE exists because Oliver and Dindet are the fucking building blocks of life.

All of Olivers character actions and growth and eventual love (platonic) for Dindet shape their futures and all of it started because a mom was so concerned and guilty about leaving her kid in such a time of need that she would rather start the world over than see him suffer.

So..themes.

Throughout the series there are heavy HEAVY parallels between Dindet and Marie (partly because Dindet is a parrot and almost all her actions and reactions mimmick things that she has seen and the first person she met who wasn't out to kill her was Marie) but also because Dindet is the conduit through which Marie vicariously lives out the rest of Oliver's fleeting life with him.

There is even a point where Oliver genuinely questions whether or not Dindet actually IS his mom (she isn't obviously)

One of the themes I really love about this series is that compassion, unconditional love and care is deserving to even the most obstinant. Oliver isn't easy to love. He actively makes it very hard for anyone who could be a peer (even his own dad sometimes) to care about him. He constantly pushes people away to safeguard himself from potential harm and it takes three fucking books ROUGHLY 200,000 words to get this boy to understand what unconditional love can do.

How it can help with the grieving process, and help you become a more compassionate person toward others.

And also how your actions affect others!!

Like i said, Dindet is a parrot, she can read your mind (if she wanted to) but what she sees she incorporates into her own thoughts and as a reflection, Olivers harsh words and actions, even the most simple kind are recorded and even amplified. He is MEAN to Dindet. He makes fun of her often and gets angry with her and calls her stupid and she internalizes that immediately and it has an immediate affect on how she views herself. Oliver doesn't even think of this as something that happens until much later in the story! And gradually he grows past it and becomes more considerate and affirming toward Dindet and Douglass as a result.

And the way things matter. Oh. Every little detail matters in this story up to seemingly inconsequential continuity errors! Foreshadowing is everywhere from the first fucking sentence to the last because the things the characters do and say to eachother are simultaneously current and in the past all at once and no one knows which is which.

Someone got hurt? There are consequences, even unforseen ones. Dindet loses her hat. It is the most precious thing she owns and is a huge comfort item for her. Oliver asked where she got it? A friend gave it to her.

OLIVER MAKES HER A NEW HAT AFTER SHE LOSES IT. He is the FRIEND that gave it to her.

Almost everything in this story has parallels and consequences and twists and turns and outcomes that are wildly unpredictable (up until now because I've just spoiled the entire fucking plot but who cares!!)

Like...this is my baby. I care SO MUCH about this story and the characters in it that when I think about certain scenes I legitimately start crying.

I can't wait to publish the first book yall. I'm planning on publishing it either through a publisher or self publish, and maybe make a comic even? Idk. I just i really think people would like my dumb absurd story about clowns and I wish i could just spout about it 24/7...it breaks my heart that no one will listen.

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