#au. eternal life is both a blessing and a curse ; fear those who live in the shadows. / vampire.

[dawnled]

tag post #4 ( au verses #1 ) !

[seraphiism]

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐄𝐆𝐎 , 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 , 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑-𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐍-𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢 ) ;

( it seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge WHO DID YOU COME BACK FOR? )

characters : scaramouche / alhaitham / xiao fandom : genshin impact quote cr : lexie liu ; helen oyeyemi a/n : reincarnation!au

↬ scaramouche ࿐ ࿔

◸✦◿ ; ( you ask yourself every question you can think of : what, why, how come, and then your sadness turns to anger )

& A PUPPET WILL BE FREED FROM THE CHAINS OF DAMNATION, REBORN INTO A LIFE HE HAS YET TO GRIEVE FOR. it will be his undoing & uprising one in the same ; he will recognize you in a place that you once knew as the beginning of a happiness shared between two souls.

you stand before each other, reminiscent in the bittersweet nostalgia that lingers on your tongue, fills your mouth with the taste of iron.

you will know this feeling as love found and reunited. he will know this feeling as the fourth betrayal.

( how much must he endure, this trial of brutalities? it feels like something is torn from his chest, ripped away from his soul, and crushed beneath the weight of it all. )

because it is a blessing and curse, this fateful meeting, and a wanderer feels his heart pound with rage and relief. what a foreign sensation this is, the racing of wavering altruism in his chest. he has found you again, desires to seek refuge in your touch, just as he always has in all your previous lives together.

but to find you again means he will lose you again, and this cycle will repeat until your lives are no more and the gods have granted you forgiveness to rest in the depths of the earth, bodies side by side as you fall in eternal slumber.

this will hurt. it always does.

he steels himself, holds his breath as you take a step towards him : cautious, gentle, almost apologetic.

this will hurt. it always does. but the pain will be worth it. it always is.

you hold your hand out to him, pray he does not notice the way it shakes in both joy and fear of what is to come in the beginning and end of this cycle. how delicately the tears fall from your face, pierce his heart in ways he cannot explain. your lips part, fragments of the past nearly relived as his former name dances on the tip of your tongue. but you stop yourself , feel a gentle smile bloom on your lips.

"come, tell me what name you have chosen for yourself in this life."

↬ alhaitham ࿐ ࿔

◸✦◿ ; ( i forgot softness because it did not serve me )

HE WILL ONLY KNOW LOVE AS A DISTANT BEING, THE SCRIBE WHO ONLY KNOWS OF LOGIC AND RATIONALITY. in a world of survival, alhaitham knows that to bear the softness of oneself is a death wish. to harden oneself, create a shell of what is meant to be protected is the only means of living. it is foolish to do otherwise, and so he will deem those who wear their heart on their sleeve as cowardly.

so what is it that makes you different? in a time where he does not remember the past & previous selves, there is something that draws him to you. he does not catch the way you look at him, a fondness in your eyes and all the right words lodged in your throat.

because you remember him, you do, but he does not remember you, and maybe it's better that way. because you are far too different, humanity embracing all feelings and instinct, while his humanity only knows of logic and nothing of what it means to succumb to the heart. your love was a strange thing -- the way you broke down those walls, waited so patiently until he allowed himself to understand what he felt for you.

how you miss those days, yearn for the sensation of his hands on you. how gentle he was, words and expression softening in your presence. you keep your silence in this world, know what is meant to happen will happen, even if days and months have passed and passed.

but alhaitham has always been intuitive, knows that there is something more to this friendship you share. there is something deeper, something that goes beyond lifelines and lifetimes. there is something about you that is unforgettable, his dreams filled with hazy scenes that almost feel too real.

"i dreamt of you." he tells you one day, gauges your reaction carefully, notes how you tense up, instinctively tear your gaze away from his.

you are nervous and you do not know why. you almost excuse yourself, realize perhaps you are not ready to remember what love is like once more, but he stands before you, purposely blocks your path.

"we have met before. who were you to me?"

your soul freezes, feels a trepidation at the possible rediscovery of memories. you do not know if fate is cruel or kind in this moment. you swallow hard, watch as he observes the devastation and longing in your eyes. that look in itself is enough, he decides, but he awaits your answer, knows that it will be the beginning of something you both have been waiting for all along.

"i was someone you once loved, alhaitham."

↬ xiao ࿐ ࿔

◸✦◿ ; ( i wept because i have lost my pain and i am not yet accustomed to its absence )

OH, BUT A YAKSHA DOES NOT KNOW A WORLD WITHOUT CRUELTY, THIS PEACE SO FOREIGN AND DISTRAUGHT. xiao has carried his pain and sins throughout many lives, relived them over and over again until this cycle. it is too strange, the serenity in this life with you, and he cannot relax entirely. because it is meant to happen, isn't it? he has hurt too many, stained his hands with blood as they bathed in sanguine in uncontrollable massacre.

the punishment must be coming-- is what he thinks, day by day, year by year, yet it never comes. but it must be, it must be, because xiao does not know what to do with mercy, and he does not know if he is worthy of living such a tranquil life. it makes him feel guilty, makes him feel ungrateful, because he loves you so, loves spending these moments with you, but carrying the weight of the world has taken its toll on him and he does not know anything else but that.

you wake to a silence, your slumber disrupted by a nothingness except for a weary heaviness. you blink, take in the darkness, listen carefully, but there is nothing there. you close your eyes, hear a subtle shift from the warm body beside you, hold your breath, listen, listen : and you hear it.

"love?"

he does not answer immediately, wipes the tears and gathers composure before he answers you with a hum of acknowledgement. you sit up, concern plastered all over your features as your hands cup his face tenderly, feel the tears that trail down his face reach your fingers. seldom is it that you see him break, his facade always so carefully crafted and held together.

you do not speak, hope your presence can be more than enough in this moment of vulnerability. the clock ticks, the minutes pass, and the tears dry. you have spoken of this before -- this peace that neither of you can quite accept, the lack of fighting and struggle in these golden days. it dwells, visits him far too often, and he cannot escape it.

"xiao," your fingers trail down his cheek, leave a quiet strength in their wake, "you can be happy."

he trembles beneath your touch, finds haven in your arms, buries his face in the crook of your neck. how the tears still fall, their warmth felt upon your skin.

"it's alright, xiao." you hold him close, know that his grief is yours as well. "you have always deserved to be happy, whether in this life or another."

so you'll hold him until he falls asleep, hope that he will one day, eventually learn that this is the ending he has always meant to have.

quote cr : ↬ scaramouche : jennifer salaiz ↬ alhaitham : catherynne m. valente ↬ xiao : anaïs nin

[iwas-baby]

—𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢

i. a lifetime ago

includes: suna rintaro x f!reader

genre: vampire au, reincarnation au, drama

about: to many, immortality may be a blessing but for suna rintaro, it is a curse like no other. he can watch the world burn, knowing that the love he was felt is not eternal, or is it?

cw: death, mentions of illness, fire, unrequited love (not towards suna/reader), arranged marriage, angst

masterlist > next

1897

Suna Rintaro once believed that he was incapable of love. He’d been alive long enough to know that he lacked the warmth and endearment humans so easily showed. So many years had passed since he had been one, that he had completely forgotten what it was like to feel affection. He would nonetheless, watch them in his alienated tower, they’d laugh and drink and waste the few years of life they had to live. He often thought that they were foolish for devoting themselves to finding their over halves. That was, until a dying girl was at his front steps.

For the centuries he’d lived alone in the castle, he hardly had visitors as the horrid tales of what vile creature would be residing there put so much fear into the heart’s of the villagers that they stayed away. Not only that, but the tall towers, spiked metal gates and daring statues of both fallen angels and gargoyles were surely enough to drive away trespassers. Meaning, when there was a large pounding at the door and he caught sight of a young man carrying a young woman in his clutches, his curiosity was raised.

It was then that he learned who you were; a local villager who’d caught an unknown illness and was in urgent need of medicine. The man that brought you in was your fianceé, wearily explaining the rumors of the castle: it was believed a magic man lived there, granting certain powers to those who were worthy.

Rintaro was appalled by such a thing, but as he watched the way your fianceé regarded you, caressing your sickly, sunken face, he felt pity on the mortal, so infatuated he failed to understand that death was only a part of human life. You would die eventually, and so would he.

“Fine,” he sighed, watching your fianceé’s eyes widened, “I’ll cure her, but you must leave at once.” The other man thanked him, rushing out without a second thought.

The vampire stared down at your practically lifeless body, wondering to himself if he would actually help the human. He brought your limp body near a warm fire, drawing a blanket over your body. Rintaro sat in a nearby chair, reading a book from his personal library, waiting for you to perhaps wake up, or even to simply die.

Not much time passed after, and he heard you cough up a storm, weakly trying to sit up. “Where am I?” You asked disoriented, staring back at Rintaro so that his lingering gaze could truly see you.

With your eyes open, you were different. You were beautiful, it was undeniable to him. He basked in the sight of you, feeling himself inch closer. He slowly explained what he was going to do, that you were brought by your fianceé to look for a cure.

What surprised him was the way your face soured, laying back down and staring mindlessly at the ceiling. You calmly said to him: “please let me die before I have to marry him.”

“You wish to die?” He had never met a human like that before, one who was so adamant on expelling their own life. There was a saddened look on your face, evident in the way your eyebrows dipped to the center of your forehead.

“Yes, my father has planned for our marriage but I can not find it in myself to love him. A wife should love a husband, you understand, don’t you?” You reached out, grabbing Rintaro’s forearm for some form of comfort.

The minute you touched him, he felt warm, his skin was and always had been cold to the touch and he was almost at ease by the sensation. Your eyes were beginning to tear as you sniffled. Rintaro had never understood human emotion yet simply by observing you, he felt he’d unlocked all of mankind’s secrets.

“I suppose I do understand,” he stated, clearing his voice. “But surely that isn’t a reason to die– death is permanent.”

At his words, you realized he was right, you didn’t want to die, begging him to excuse your last words and to heal you. Rintaro weighed his options: would he turn you into a vampire? How would he explain that to you without having you run away and bring an angry mob of torches and pitchforks? Surely, he had other methods of soothing your illness but none that would cure you in comparison to a transformation.

“Eat this,” he ordered you everyday, handing you a special plant that would help you regain your strength. Just like that, you began to spend time together, keeping him company through the day, not questioning why his castle was so dark, or why the man never stepped foot outside during the day.

Suna Rintaro found you amusing in many ways. How you’d fall asleep so easily, and so regularly, even once tipping your head against his shoulder. Your cheeks would heat up at the smallest compliment and you’d begin to stumble over your words. He’d talk to you gently, and listen to you speak. He was intrigued on how long humans could go on rambling, but he didn’t have it in his cold heart to stop you. Everyday for a week you would venture the property, collecting flowers to put in his private library. You brightened the space he was in, and it was something he never knew he needed.

“The flowers would look better… elsewhere.” He wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings as he watched you pout, but he quickly demonstrated what he meant. Taking a single flower from the vase of water, he placed it behind your ear, carefully moving your hair aside to tuck it in. “Beautiful,” he said without a second thought, not missing the way you covered your face while looking away.

Those events were only the beginning of your love tale. Every day would be spent like that until, on the night marking your two month stay in Rintaro’s care, he finally kissed you. Rintaro could taste the honey in your mouth, holding your cheek as you wrapped your arms around him.

This, he thought, this is what humans want, they want to feel like this. He couldn’t find it in himself to let go of you, becoming addicted to your touch almost instantly. He imagined the warmth from your body to be second to only the sun.

“I believe I’ve fallen unconditionally in love with you,” you whispered softly into his ear, “I’ll leave my entire life behind if I could spend the rest of my aching days with you.”

Suna cupped his hands over yours, pressing your foreheads together, he didn’t know what to say, surely love had to be conditional; what would you do when you learned who he was, or what he’d done? He’d seen many things over his long, eternal life, and surely they were more gruesome and disturbing than you could ever imagine.

“I am not a perfect man,” he explained in a low voice. Laughing dryly he continued, “in fact, I’m hardly a man at all. Before you came, I hardly knew what love was.” It seemed hard for him to say, like he was questioning himself. Was what he was feeling really love? Staring into your sparkling eyes, he now knew your features like the back of his man and could map them out blindfolded. With each day that passed he found himself trying to become closer and closer to you, craving you like a starved wolf searching for food.

Carefully, as he continued to hold you near, he admitted what he was. He showed off his sharp teeth, and the dark glow to his eyes. He let you realize why his hands were so frigid and pulled the side of your head against his chest, hearing the sound of an empty chest with no working heart. He was the darkness small children feared, and the reason nuns held their rosaries so tightly. Yet, being near him was not horrifying, nor did you want to leave.

He had been tender with his touches and sincere with his words. There was no doubt that you had fallen in love with him and despite his attempt at pushing you away.

“It doesn’t change how I feel so please, tell me you love me, too. If you do not wish to return those emotions, I’ll leave, and I promise to keep your secret,” you replied softly. You wanted to kiss him again but there wasn’t time for that, nor was there time to hear him say those fateful four words. A booming sound rang through the practically empty castle, the sounds of loud calls filled your ears, staring up at Rintaro.

“Stay here,” he instructed, planting a lonesome kiss against your forehead, rushing towards the main entrance to see what was happening. Standing in front of the giant oak doors, he was shocked to see your fianceé standing with a torch in hand, a group of men from the village behind him.

Slowly lifting his finger he pointed towards the vampire, a disgusted look on his face as he snapped his head back to speak to the mob. “This is the monster that is holding my fianceé captive!”

Suna took a breath, watching as they grumbled, “you’re mistaken, I’ve been curing her by your orders,” he hissed. Your fianceé on the other hand, only shook his head.

“You’ve all heard the rumors of the vile thing that lives here, and behold; here he is!” His loud voice reverberated amongst the crowd, “he’s kept my future wife here against her will, and now we must do everything in our power to return her safely!”

“Liar! Your fianceé does not wish to marry you! It is not you that she loves!” Suna replied, not taking a minute to think. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if he angered the men even more than they already were, and instantly, he regretted it.

What happened next was a blur in his memory, with chaos ensuing so quickly that he could hardly retain the fine detail. What he did recall, was the way the men charged into the castle on their way to rescue you while Suna was left to fight them off, although clearly outnumbered.

He was left with your fianceé, staring him down with his unholy eyes, piercing into his soul and letting the human man see him for what he truly was. Charging forward, they had managed to end up far from the entrance, fighting each other until the sound of a breaking glass carried into Suna’s ears.

Pausing to look back, his castle, his home had erupted in flame, forced to watch as the villagers ran out, saying that they’d left you inside. Forgetting about your fianceé and his attacks, Rintaro darted back towards the fire.

And although vampires were sensitive to such strong heat, he braced himself, willing to die in order to save you. Shielding his face, he found you laying there, still as a statue and he knew he was too late.

Rintarto called out your name, with little response, he ignored the growing fire, kneeling by your side and scooping your head into his lap. It was a miracle that your eyes even opened in the slightest while you parted your lips as if to speak.

“Save yourself,” is what you said, and he shook his head vigorously.

“I’ve lived long enough, I’ll die here if I must.” For the first time since he too was human, he felt a wet teardrop whelming in his eye. He shamelessly let it roll down his cheek, watching the droplet fall onto your dying face.

Your breaths were shallow, from what he could see and it would only be a matter of time.

“You can’t leave, I’ve only just found you,” he said, as if his words alone could change the reality of the situation. He was always cold and merciless, but now he was no better than a simple human, grasping onto the idea of love as you weakly smiled at him.

“We won’t be apart long,” you stated, “I’ll find you again.” Your voice was tiny in comparison to the crackling and burning of the castle around you. Still, Rintaro was able to pick it up, leaning over and hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

“I love you,” he finally said, but you would never hear his response. Staring down, your body had slumped, although your face looked peaceful, as if you were just sleeping. Rintaro couldn’t stop himself from crying, letting out centuries of tears he thought were incapable of falling.

He held your dead figure, rocking himself as the heat increased and he had no other choice than to leave you.

Rintaro put one last kiss against your angelic lips, shutting his eyes before making a promise: “we will find each other again.”

taglist: @boosyboo9206 @rntrsuna @szna @chaotic-fangirl-blog @bisexualtragedy [open]

© all work belongs to iwas-baby on tumblr, please do not plagiarize, repost or translate anywhere

[nctsworld]

the yuletide boyfriend

✩‌ yangyang ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fluff | angst | smut | friends to lovers | ‌college au | 9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ your one wish this year is to not be single during the holidays. yangyang, as your best friend, takes it upon himself to be your temporary boyfriend. soon enough, both parties begin to wish this new arrangement could last beyond the holidays. // part of the x-mas in ncity collection WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ implied ‌anxiety attack (during the first part of dec 24th – skip if need to), smut, mutual m*sturbation, couch s*x, angst, miscommunication, swearing RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature TAGLIST ⇾ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ this is my longest fic to date and also... might be my worst b/c i feel like the angst plot points don’t really make sense... but i hope y’all still enjoy!!! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

NOVEMBER 30th

“So, anything special on your wishlist this year?”

Your best friend, Yangyang, asks you as you two sit next to each other on one of the many plush lounge couches in the Psychology building. It’s the usual lunch spot where you meet with him during your break between lectures.

The Psych building held much sentimental value for both of you because you met in Psych 101 during first year. Fast-forward three years later, neither of you expected to be the close friends that you are today.  

Chewing your sandwich, you ponder on his question for a bit. Through the transparent glass walls leading to outside, you see the trickle of students heading towards the building since class is about to start for the noon round of lectures. A couple, you assume by the tight hand-holding and nose kissing, giggles as they enter the building, glued to one another by the hip.

“Not really.” You drop your head downward to your lunch container, smiling to yourself. “I’m honestly just happy to have Mark in my life, especially at this point in the year.”

Yangyang nods in accordance and smiles too, understanding the story behind your sentiment.

The boyfriends you’ve had since first year have always broken up with you before the holidays, right before the end of November. Since you only became close during second year, Yangyang’s been around for two out of three of your cursed holiday break-ups.

To have Mark, your latest boyfriend, be with you and it being already December tomorrow, it was truly a blessing for you and a silver lining that maybe this was the year to break the curse. Yangyang was grateful too, wanting you to have the utmost happiness.    

You take another bite of your sandwich and tilt your chin toward the ramen eater.

“You?”

Yangyang slurps a few more noodles before he answers.

“I mean, the new Playstation would be nice,” he hums, mouth full.

Pointing the tip of your sandwich, you joke, “I’ll get it for you, but only if we share custody over it.”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head during a mid-slurp. “You know I can’t promise that.”

Both of you laugh in unison, living in the calm before the oncoming storm.

DECEMBER 5th

The E-Sports club for the university is hosting a party tonight and because Yangyang’s on one of the professional teams, he asked a few weeks ago if you and Mark wanted to attend. Of course you accepted; Mark also had some friends in the club.

However, when you text Yangyang in the afternoon, stating a change of mind, he knows something’s off.

Half an hour before the party starts, Yangyang decides to visit you. Thankfully you both lived on campus, but even if you lived across town, he’d still bus out to see how you were doing. He does it all the time to visit his family, anyway.  

In the living room, the two sudden knocks at your door startle you. Peering through the peephole, you see the usual sight of your best friend, his lips curled upward and thumbs tucked in his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

It feels like an eternity for him when you unlock your door. The hinges squeal as you open it hesitatingly, your face barely appearing through the agape crack.

Immediately, his smile dissolves. Your face is drained and blood-shot eyes avoiding his own confront him.

Yangyang has only seen you cry twice in the three years he’s known you:

Once, when you were freaking the fuck out over potentially failing a course (but, on the upside, you ended up passing the final to save your grade).

The second time was at his house for a family dinner, when his mom accidentally added too much hot chili sauce to her homemade beef noodle soup (let’s just say you weren’t the only one crying that night).

Those were tears of dread and physical discomfort.

But this… this was crying he’s never seen from you before. His chest collapses inward, fearful of the reason behind your tears.  

His voice shakes as he asks, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Neither of you are major huggers and only exchange them on the rare occasion.

However, this situation screams the necessity of it, so Yangyang lunges towards you, the collision swinging the door out of the way. His arms embrace you like a large, warm blanket. Comforting and safe.  

Despite the affection, emptiness has taken over your body. Tonight, you’re a dead, empty shell of who you normally are.

You feel weak to the bone, but you muster up enough energy to scarcely raise your arms over his back to return the hug. Your eyes are dry from all the crying you’ve done all day, but apparently you have more tears left in you to spare.

Your eyelids snap shut and your jaw clenches.  

“Mark broke up with me.”

Your words are muffled into his shoulder, but Yangyang hears it crystal clear.  

You break down, sobbing out of control over the statement.

As aforementioned, Yangyang’s been around for your last two, now three, break-ups. Sure, he’s aware of how grumpy and distant you can get, but you never cried in front of him. You made an effort to never have him see you at your lowest point.

And yet, here you are, drowning him in your misery. Guilt washes over you for drenching his bomber jacket, but Yangyang couldn’t give two shits. His arms squeeze tighter while he rubs your back tenderly.

After several minutes pass and your waterworks abate, you peel away from him. You sniffle and rub your nose with the back of your hand.

“Sorry about cancelling last minute.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” he whispers soothingly.

“I’m just… so fucking frustrated.”

With fatigued eyes, you drag yourself back inside your apartment. Yangyang discreetly closes the door behind him and hurriedly uses his feet to push off his shoes. As he does so, your mouth begins to run off while you slowly pace around aimlessly.  

“Fucking done with boyfriends, especially when they think it’s so fucking awesome to keep breaking up with me right before the holidays.”

He kicks off his last stubborn shoe and catches you raking your hands through your hair, pulling it back firmly. Your lips are trembling, along with your entire frame.  

“Like I get that I’m horrible and needy and emotional—”

His mouth opens, wanting to cut in to disagree with you with all his heart, but he clamps it back shut and swallows, allowing you to blow your steam off.

“—but can’t they wait until the fucking new year? I don’t know, or maybe just don’t date me in the first place! I don’t know, I don’t fucking know anymore. I’m just cursed, Yangyang...”

You flop down onto the couch and sink into the ocean of shiny pleather, shutting your eyes and trying to stop crying for the nth time. The deep sting behind your eyelids pain you, but it pains Yangyang more to watch the events unfolding ahead of him.  

Unsure of what to say, Yangyang walks around the room. His gaze falls on your laptop screen and he frowns at the mostly bare Word document that stares back at him:  

“WISHLIST:   -KEEP ONE (1) FUCKING BOYFRIEND DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON!!!!!!!! GOD FUCKING SDKMFLDS”

There are a few more lines below it with more profanities and keyboard smashing. He quickly darts away, a pang of guilt striking for invading your privacy.

Then, he turns to you on the couch again. You’re now covering your eyes with your forearm, pressing your lips together. His chest twists and his throat is arid as a desert.

You’re in shambles and he’s dying to pick up the shattered pieces of you, wants to glue you back together. On a regular basis, Yangyang’s a talking machine and can talk your ear off for hours, but right now, he doesn’t know what to say to you in your current state. He second-guesses himself, wonders if he’s even that great of a friend if he can’t comfort you in your worst times.

Blowing out a long sigh and removing your arm, you speak aloud, “You should get going to the party.”

Like awakening from a deep slumber, you rise up sluggishly and sit up on the couch, slouched over. The other figure in the room steps closer to you.  

“Sorry about your jacket, by the way,” you say. Your body is still, but your glazed eyes move to the dark spot on the middle of his shoulder. He glances at it and shrugs.  

“It’s better like this anyway,” he says with a gentle smile, and the tight knot in his heart softens at the flicker of your own smile, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, it fades in a few seconds. “I don’t want to leave you like this, though.”

You stare at the used, crumpled balls of tissues scattered on the living room table. Some also ended up on the floor. Break-ups are shit and 98% inevitable, but you know you’ll eventually get over it. You always do.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He raises an eyebrow, as if asking, “Are you sure?” The lack of a worded reply causes you to notice the question written on his face.  

“Go,” you plead with a feeble laugh. “Have fun for me.”

Both of you head towards your front door again. Crossing your arms, you lean your head against the door frame and attempt a smile for your best friend.

“Thanks again for checking up on me.”

Yangyang nods with a half-smile, half-pout, “Of course.”

You give him a departing wave prior to sealing your door.

Usually, Yangyang would bus from your place to the student union building, where the party is being held. Instead, he zippers up his jacket and stuffs his fists into his pockets, opting to bear the early winter chill to walk his thoughts off. His blazing self-doubt burns at first, but he overcomes it by focusing on ideas to fix your accursed dating rut instead.  

Halfway through the walk, a light bulb moment occurs. A plan begins to brew on the surface of his mind and he thinks on it for the rest of the week.  

DECEMBER 11th

It’s been almost a week since you last saw Yangyang.

Finals started already, so classes were done for the semester and thus, your lunch meet-ups halted too. On top of that, since you were simultaneously moping and studying, you hadn’t really texted him much, nor had he, besides the occasional check-up text on how studying was going and random memes. Yangyang knew you preferred time alone to heal and he respected that.  

He also thought six days was enough time to get yourself back on your feet.  

Yangyang’s at your front door once again, but this time with two bowls of his mom’s beef noodle soup in tow.  

“Long time, no see,” you greet. Your tone is chipper, but your eyes look heavy, which could be partially from studying, Yangyang thinks. His smile deepens, content that you seem a lot better than the last time he visited.

“Delivery for two,” he raises the bag in his hand.

“And if I told you I already ate dinner?” you playfully retort.

The boyish man shrugs defeatedly, “Then I’ll tell my mom you hate her cooking—”

“You didn’t say it was your mom’s, Yangyang. Oh, my God,” you gasp, half-mockingly. You rush to grab the bags out of his hand and stroll towards your tiny kitchen. “Start off with that next time.”

As you remove the containers from the bag and onto the granite countertop, Yangyang shuts the door and takes his shoes off.  

“So, I’m gonna be upfront and say that I may have come here with a proposal.”

“Changed your mind about the shared custody of the Playstation?”

“I’m still considering that one.” Finally in his socks, he slings his backpack off his shoulder and plops it onto the couch along with his jacket. He stands next to you by the counter. “But it’s on the same page as that. Remember that day we were talking about wishlists?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum as you rip off the lid of one of the bowls. Blatant wisps fly upward and you inhale the savoury aroma, followed by a heavenly sigh.  

“Last time I was here… I might’ve seen what you wrote on your laptop.”

Your expression immediately changes into full-on cringe. You bring a palm over to your face.

“Oh, God. Let’s not talk about that. That was just weepy, lonely me talking.”

Yangyang pops off the lid for his bowl and steps into your kitchen, rummaging through your drawers for chopsticks. “So you’re telling me you don’t want a boyfriend for Christmas?”

Your hand flies off your face. Eyes widening, you spew, “Do you have a boyfriend in your pocket, ready for me to have?”

In your open hand, he places a pair of chopsticks into it. “Well, actually, I was thinking—”

Sternly, you point the chopsticks at him. “Don’t you dare set me up with your friends.”

He counters and points his at you, “Even better than that.”

With your interest piqued, you slide yourself onto the counter stool and mix the noodles around, anticipating to hear Yangyang’s fantastic plan. Your friend sits on the other stool, facing you. He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath.  

“Why don’t I be your boyfriend for the holidays?”

You freeze, and the noodles’ drips above your bowl are deafening to both individuals. Laughing awkwardly, you break your frozen state to drop your chopsticks and turn your head to look at him.

Sputtering, you say, “What?”

Unnerved, his mouth pinches to one side, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have even said anything in the first place. This was stupid, so stupid, but it’s out in the open and Yangyang already dug his grave—he may as well lay in it.  

“Well, for one, it’s something on your wishlist that I can easily get,” he pauses mid-sentence, glancing upward in thought. “Well, really, fill? Is that a better way to put it?”

He continues, eyes back on you, “And two, I’m not setting you up with a stranger or someone you wouldn’t be comfortable with. I assume you know me well enough that you’re comfortable around me?”

Yangyang lifts an upturned palm and raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response to his assumption. Petulantly, you shake your head playfully and stick out your tongue at him.  

Rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze drops down to the floor for his last point. His voice lowers.

“And, I don’t know, we’d just hang out like we usually do during that time, except we’d do more couple-y things.”

Realizing the implication of his words, he widens his eyes. “I mean, we'll do whatever you’re comfortable with, obviously. We don’t have to do any of the physical stuff—”

You burst into a giggle at his rambling and hold a hand out, cutting him off. “Okay, Yang. I get it.”  

Yangyang watches your next moves carefully. You’re peering off to one side and picking at the tips of your fingers. After a minute that feels like forever, you nod slowly.

“I guess you have a point. We are sorta like a couple already.”

Your best friend sighs in relief, grinning that you’re not outright rejecting the idea.

“So,” you meet his eyes and bunch a shoulder up towards your ear. “We’ll just be a couple until what, New Year’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs indifferently. “Whatever you want. It’s your Christmas wish.”

You chuckle and shake your head in disbelief that you two are actually making an agreement for Yangyang to be your temporary, holiday boyfriend.

Honestly, it’s a little crazy... but maybe it’s the perfect thing to get your mind off of Mark and the handful of holiday exes hanging above your head.

“Okay, since my last final is on the 21st, let’s start ‘dating’ then and we’ll play everything by ear, see how it goes.”

Yangyang bobs his head eagerly. “Sounds good, soon-to-be girlfriend.”

He sticks a hand out for you to shake. You take it firmly, sealing the deal and flashing him a grin.

“Soon-to-be boyfriend.”  

Although the night goes on like usual between the two of you, you couldn’t deny how ecstatic you are to finally have a boyfriend during the holidays, even if it was technically your best friend as a stand-in.

DECEMBER 21st

Tonight’s your first date with Yangyang.

That sounds weird to say, you admit to yourself, but it’s the truth.

After you stroll out of your last final of the semester, Yangyang’s waiting for you inside near the main exit of the building with several layers on, including his hoodie over his head and a knitted scarf underneath. His attention leaves his phone and he stuffs it into pocket as he notices you heading over.  

“Hey, girlfriend,” he welcomes you, beaming.

You snicker at the unfamiliar label. You wonder if you’re going to get used to this, even if it’s only for two weeks.  

“Hey, boyfriend,” you grin harder as the word falls from your lips, trying your best not to outright burst into laughter. “Where we heading off to?”

Although you said both of you could play the dating by ear, Yangyang’s been keen on scheduling plans for the upcoming days. You told him he didn’t have to, however, he insisted by saying that he wouldn’t only be a horrible boyfriend, but a horrible friend if he couldn’t make the next weeks fun for you.

Yangyang was anything but a horrible friend, and the fact that he was willing to be your holiday boyfriend to make you happy proved it further. Nevertheless, you gladly let him take the reins.

“I was thinking the movies tonight? See the latest Marvel film?”

Concurring to the idea, you scurry towards the bus stop and are movie-theatre bound to the nearest one off-campus. Arriving at the theatre, Yangyang and you buy your tickets and a popcorn to share, then head into the respective auditorium where the movie is playing. Since the movie’s been running for a couple of weeks, the auditorium is fairly empty, giving you two the chance to snag perfect middle seats with nobody else is in the row.  

Up to this point, aside from the name-dropping of boyfriend and girlfriend, this feels less like a date and more like any other hang-out with him. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing awkward.

But that changes during a third of the movie.

You’re both so immersed by the screen that neither party notices the other’s hand when both of you reach for the popcorn in Yangyang’s lap at the same time.  

A jolt runs through as your hands brush together. The duo’s eyes tear away from the screen and flit to the action happening in real-time. The touch lingers for several moments.  

“Sorry,” you quickly mumble, drawing your hand back slightly, but still hovering over the popcorn.    

“Uhm,” Yangyang licks his lips and visibly gulps under the screen’s bright glare.

He whispers, his voice almost cracking, “As your boyfriend, can I hold your hand?”

Okay, this is just your best friend, acting as your temporary boyfriend, asking to hold your hand. No big deal, no big deal at all.

Yet, the thunderous knocking in your ears, louder than the explosions blasting through the theatre’s speakers, suggests otherwise.

You don’t even register it, but you’re already nodding in response. Your breathing slows to the rate of Yangyang’s hand inching over. At the anticipated contact, you gasp softly. His smooth fingers clasp over yours. Since the arm rest in the middle of you is positioned upward, there’s no obtrusion and you relax, letting your hands mingle in between the empty space.

Without looking at one another, both of you smile bashfully to yourselves as you try to continue to focus on the screen.

After a while, because you aren’t exactly holding hands, you spread your fingers, hastily doing so because you don’t want him to think you’re breaking the interaction, and twist your palm to properly interlock hands with him. You give Yangyang’s hand a warm, gentle squeeze. He does the same and even strokes his thumb against your skin.

Talk about playing everything by ear. Who knew you’d be hand in hand on the first date?

You attempt to not think much on it, but Yangyang’s hand in yours feels... so right, like your hand was made for this, for his to hold. Like you should’ve done this way sooner.

And if Yangyang’s thoughts could be heard, he’s thinking the same.

Despite the mutual fear of sweaty palms, neither of you desire to let go, so much that you not only hold hands during the rest of the movie, but throughout the bus ride back to campus and all the way until he escorts you to your front door.

With a certain charge in the atmosphere, you exchange sweet good-byes. That night, after the culmination of stress from finals and your worries of your holiday exes, you finally have a peaceful sleep, looking forward to your date with Yangyang tomorrow.

DECEMBER 22nd

“Babe, how do I look?”

“Very pretty, honey.” A bundled up Yangyang winks at you from behind his phone.

The second date is an evening at a Christmas light festival at a botanical garden on the outskirts of town. The lights illuminate so strongly; there was a glowing dome-like hue over the location that seemed to reach the dark sky as you got off the bus.

When stepping foot into the garden, all the encompassing lights mesmerize you. Lights on the various greenery, lights as decorative art pieces, lights lining the pathways. Different shades of colours and shapes engulf the massive area.

Yangyang’s currently in the middle of taking your photo near an arch tangled with dark blue, gold, and white bulbs. All night long, you’ve been mockingly using endearing terms, but, despite the frigid air, your cheeks heat up over something else he just said.

“You think I’m pretty?” you genuinely ask, breaking your pose.  

He lowers his phone a bit, his jaw dangling.

“Uh, I mean,” he giggles awkwardly, nodding softly. “Yeah.”

Yangyang never told you, but he initially sat near you in Psych 101 because he thought you were the most stunning girl in the class. And sure, he was a little disappointed at the time to find out you had a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean you two couldn’t still be friends. Other than the first few weeks he had a crush on you, he’s never thought of you as more than a friend.  

But those feelings are resurfacing, hitting him in the chest like a bag of bricks, due to moments like this one—you’re batting your eyelids, gaze straying elsewhere, and adorably chewing on your lower lip.  

“And you’re not just saying that as my holiday boyfriend?”

Pouting to one side, he shakes his head cutely. “Mm-mm.”

On the flipside, the beginning with Yangyang for you was strictly platonic. You were dating Haechan at the time you met him. When Haechan broke up with you later that fall, you kept a distance from dating for a while, heartbroken from the high school love gone sour. During that period, you never told him, but you did run through the possibility of dating Yangyang since you got along so well... until you met Jaemin earlier the next semester, who stole your heart. Ever since then, you’ve never seen Yangyang under that light again.

Despite that, you can’t deny how attractive he is, and now that you’re single and technically dating him, you embrace the fact with open arms.  

Beaming as bright as the lights, you tug him by the end of his puffer jacket’s sleeve to bring him closer to you.

“C’mon, handsome, let’s take some pictures together.” Prickles rise under Yangyang’s cheeks from the off-hand compliment.  

Holding your phone up in the air at about an arm’s length away, the side of your heads touch to prepare for a few selfies. When you finish capturing them, Yangyang’s hovering over your shoulder as you scroll through to glance through the photos.

“We look good together,” you comment. “Don’t you think?”

In sync, your heads turn to meet each other. Your eyes waver from the blatant clouds of your breaths and over to his lips. The clouds become rapid bursts as you begin to lean forward. So does Yangyang.

“Do you guys want a picture together?” someone suddenly asks. The abrupt voice drags you both apart instantly, crushing the moment into pieces.

“Sure,” you peep, fumbling to hand your phone over to the stranger.

Posing, Yangyang’s hand rests around the middle of your back, which is the norm when you take pictures with him, but he pulls you in snugly. You smile even wider, relishing in the new-level of intimacy and allow yourself to be truly content among his presence.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” the stranger gushes while they return your phone prior to walking away.

“I guess we are, huh, babe?” you jut your tongue out in jest at him. This time, you indulge in the endearing term without a sliver of mockery.  

Yangyang copies you, jutting his tongue out further than yours, and seizes your hand to continue the tour around the gleaming garden.

The almost-kiss isn’t mentioned for the rest of the night, nor is it acted upon, but both individuals dwell on the near occurrence before sleep that evening, staring longingly at their bedroom ceiling.

DECEMBER 23rd

For the third date, you find yourselves at the campus’ dedicated ice rink arena to partake in ice skating.

You’ve skated a few times in the past, but you’re by no means a pro. On the other hand, this is apparently Yangyang’s first time, and he’s already skating circles around you.

“Show off,” you grumble as he does another lap past you. Your gloved hands are splayed out in front of you, careful not to fall flat on your face.

Turning on his blades, he rebounds over to you.

“Sorry,” he pants. His raised cheeks glow an adorable shade of pink. “This is really fun when you get the hang of it.”

Yangyang intertwines his fingers with yours before you can say anything. “C’mon, take my hand.”  

At first, it was sweet to skate alongside your holiday boyfriend, notwithstanding the few times you almost trip. As the minutes pass, you think you’re getting the hang of it, but suddenly, Yangyang unleashes your hand and glides ahead of you, abandoning you to slide at a swift pace that is definitely out of your comfort zone.  

“Yangyang, what the fuck?!” you screech, completely disregarding the handful of surrounding parents with their kids, the former sending daggers your direction. Your ankles struggle to make a T-shape to stop, but the struggling only somehow makes you move faster.  

As he spins to face you, now skating backwards with ease, he says, “See, you got the hang of it-oomph—”

Air’s struck from his lungs when you crash into his body. Thankfully, Yangyang skids his blades harshly against the ice and is able to steady and support you within his arms.

“You little fucker,” you gripe, lightly punching him in the arm.

He chuckles blithely, “Sorry, but it was kinda funny, you gotta admit.”

You breathe a large huff, which makes you note how your hair is falling over your face after the catastrophe. You’re about to lift your hand to rearrange the strands, but Yangyang beats you to it and is in the midst of tucking them behind your ear.

The knocking in your ears reappears with a vengeance and the physical source of the knocking is thrashing violently against your chest.

Your scorching breaths fuse in the refrigerated rink as Yangyang eliminates the inches of space between, his plush mouth ultimately converging with yours.

You have to constantly remind yourself to breathe under Yangyang’s intensity, and remind yourself that you’re in a public space and shouldn’t be making out like this.

But everyone’s skating around the couple, daring to not disrupt the affectionate display.

God, you don’t know when was the last time you’ve been kissed like this. Have you ever even experienced a kiss that was a fraction of this? Yangyang daintily cups your cheeks like you’re glass, but his lips press ruggedly into yours, inflaming your entirety and melting any existence of your figurative fragility.  

You ignore the echo in the back of your mind that reminds you he’s your temporary boyfriend.

The Talk will inevitably occur, but your future self could deal with it. Presently, you’re too caught up, drowning in Yangyang’s embrace.

DECEMBER 24th

On Christmas Eve, Yangyang decides to bring you to an outdoor Christmas market.

Understandably, since it’s the day before Christmas, the place is absolutely packed. For the first fifteen minutes or so, it’s joyous being immersed in the Christmas spirit with the assorted little shops and their respective products. You’re holding Yangyang’s hand tightly, pointing and half-shouting over the bustle about the items that catch your eye.

Unfortunately, someone accidentally bumps against your arms and your hand is gone from his.

Swivelling your head, searching through the crowd, it occurs to you that you officially lost Yangyang.

Your feet come to a halt as your hand attempts to dig into your jacket pocket to pluck your phone out, but the moving crowd forces you to constantly follow the stream.

You yell for him, but words can’t materialize. Your windpipe tightens. Your breath is becoming shallower and shallower. Blood pulses in your ears alarmingly, blocking out the clamour from around you. Your mind’s running everywhere without control.

Where is your boyfriend?

No, scratch that, he’s not your actual boyfriend—where is your best friend?

Did he leave you? He would never.

Right?

But what happens when all of this is over? Will you still have your best friend?

You’ve avoided The Talk long enough, but you didn’t expect to catch feelings for him. Not like this.  

Maybe you’re just destined to be alone.

Is this how it feels to actually lose him?

Tears fight your vision. You hear a faint call of your name, but you can’t urge yourself to turn around, sinking only further into the sea of anonymity. You’re just a face in a crowd, all alone, with no one who cares—

Yangyang grasps you by the arm and maneuvers you aside to a less busy area behind one of the vendor stands.

“Oh, God, thought I lost you there—”

You cut him off, hugging him with all your might and stuff your face in his chest cushioned by the downy layers of his winter jacket. Yangyang immediately drapes his arms securely around you, reading your uneasiness.  

“Hey, I got you. I got you,” he soothes, running a hand through your hair. “God, not my best idea. Sorry for bringing you here.”

You shake your head, wordlessly informing him that it’s okay. You’re just glad to be with him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You nod solemnly, and Yangyang zips you out of there in minutes with his arm tucked by your side,  ensuring he doesn’t lose you in the crowd again.

Fortunately, the jitters mostly disappear when you arrive at your place in the late afternoon. You’re in the middle of rummaging through your keys to unlock your door.

“Sorry I didn’t have anything else planned for today,” he mumbles, leaning with folded arms against the wall.

“Did you...” You insert the correct key and turn the lock, clicking the door open. Your gaze lifts to match his. “Did you wanna maybe have dinner with me tonight? I was thinking of ordering pizza in.”

The grin that reaches his eyes is a sufficient answer for you.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He hangs his arm around your shoulder and plants a kiss atop your head.

After chomping down pizza and playing a few rounds of Super Smash Bros. on Yangyang’s Switch, you peer over to him on your living room couch while he’s figuring out which character he should play next.  

The little mental voice in the back of your mind prods you, reminding that you should really, really have The Talk soon. The Talk that you swept under the rug at the start by saying you’d play everything by ear.

Four dates later, and the thought of this ending scares the living daylights out of you. This not only including the interim relationship, but the dire possibility of the friendship itself too. Is it possible to go back to how you were, flipping it off like a light switch?

But the internal voice is smothered as you’re drawn to his pouting lips in thought. His pouting, oh-so kissable lips. Following the ice skating kiss yesterday, you only shared a good-bye kiss when he dropped you off. Since then, you’ve been itching to have his lips on yours again.

Yangyang eventually detects your lack of focus and finds you gawking at his mouth. Your gaze dashes to his eyes, blinking innocently, but then his eyes flicker to your mouth.

The tension in the room snaps. You two carefully throw the Switch controllers off to one side and attach yourselves together. Unlike the crashing of your bodies at the ice rink, this one is purposeful. Deliberated, as his forehead presses into yours and his tender caress carries your cheek. Your body plummets backwards until Yangyang pins you completely into the couch.

Initially, the lip-locking is gentle and mild. Your fingers lay in the vicinity of his angular visage and sturdy upper frame, in contrast to his hand curling around your waist in a light squeeze.

Soon, hands traverse to other regions—his back, your thigh, his stomach, your ass. Each touch seeking, craving, whining. Tongues slinking and dancing with appetite. Your bodies buzz for more.

Open-mouthed kisses transition from the damp lips to each other’s necks. The touches dig deeper, thriving with hunger. Your back bows, body curving into his. Grinding ensues and his robust desire is blatant against your own pulsing passion.

“You don’t happen to have any condoms on you, do you?” you groan upwards to the ceiling.

He retracts from your neck to swing his head side to side, grumbling a “Sorry, we can stop...” yet you interrupt his apology by cupping his covered length. The guttural groan he exhales into your lips makes you shiver with pleasure.

“Doesn’t mean we still can’t have fun with our hands...” you say slyly.

“Fuck yeah,” he rasps, smirking, before diving in again to taste your mouth.

Clothes are stripped with the assistance of each other, leaving you with only your bra on while Yangyang opts to be completely bare. He tops your body in the same position once more.

On the couch arm rest, your head is perched with his hand clutching the space next to it for leverage. Both figures are too scatter-brained to delve into the exquisite nudity of one another, hands flying desperately to your respective arousals.

Your pretty fingers wrap around his possession almost exactly when he dips two digits into your warmth. In unison, two sharp, quiet gasps pierce the room.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he hisses observantly. You’re so overwhelmed by the bliss that you can’t assemble any sort of response.

Your mouth’s parted to one side, chest soaring with each plunge. Through his clouded vision, he ambles over your curves and lines and yearns to see your breasts, but he respects your choice of keeping it on and opts to ambush the expanse with kisses. Your chest is launched further into his mouth and Yangyang assumes you’re enjoying this.

Fearing friction burn, you drop him from your grip momentarily, swiping a few licks over your palm. When your hand pumps him again, now drenched with saliva, grunts reverberate against your skin.  

“Yangyang?” you whimper, causing his face to pull away from the temple of your body.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m-I’m close.” And he can attest to it; the contractions around him are increasing, harshly squeezing his fingers.    

“Same,” he pants.

Your best friend flicks his wrist with ignition, securing your waves of elation. You attempt to do the same, but it’s difficult when he’s also sloppily thrusting himself into your fist, so you simply clench your grasp harder. His features pinch and choppy moans dribble as he yields to his climax, gushing himself over your stomach.  

Still sucking in lungfuls of air, Yangyang kisses you tenderly before removing himself to clean up the mess he made.

Following the clean-up, while putting on your clothes, Yangyang expresses how he should get going since it’s getting late.

“Did you wanna stay the night?” you pipe up.

His mind races, debating on whether to leave or not, anxious to blur the lines of your relationship even further.

Sure, he’s your temporary boyfriend, thus staying over at your place shouldn’t mean anything. But this agreement is ending next week, and he’s questioning if you two can stay just friends after this, knowing that he’s going to want more. Yangyang has had a taste of the what if, and it’s now irrevocable.

He wants you all for himself. Selfishly, but deeply.

For the sake of keeping this a great thing for you, he shoves his thoughts aside. This is all about you and for your benefit, anyhow.

“Uh, sure, I can take the couch like I always—”

“Yangyang, you just put your fingers inside of me,” you snicker, snagging him by the hand to your bedroom. “C’mon.”

The rest of the night is relatively chaste with some kisses and touches here and there. Eventually, you fall asleep facing each other with your fingers interlocked, excited for the big day tomorrow.

DECEMBER 25th

Normally on Christmas, Yangyang and you spend it with your respective families, but coincidentally, both of your families, your parents being retired and all, ended up vacationing this year, leaving the two of you to spend it with each other.

After getting up around noon, Yangyang heads to his place to grab his gift. He takes longer than you expected because, as it turns out, he also went home to grab baking goods he bought beforehand since he wants to make butter cookies with you today.

The cookies end up fine, but the mess is another story. Besides the chaos on the counter, your faces and aprons are splotched with flour (you swear he started it, but he disagrees and stands his ground that you’re the perpetrator). With a damp cloth, Yangyang aids you to clean, but not forgetting to wipe your face and giving you pecks over your cheeks and nose.  

The baking and aftermath occupies most of the afternoon, so dinner comes in the form of fancy, romantic instant ramen for two. Afterwards, you two sit in your living room and start to exchange gifts.  

Yangyang hands his over to you first. From the size of the gift and the crumpled, oddly-shaped wrapping, you already can guess it’s a stuffed plushie of a cute animal to add to your never ending collection. You hug it tightly with a large smile.

“It’s so cute, thank you!” you squeal, but you change your expression in an instant to a serious pout. “But you can’t steal this one like you did with my Ice Bear plushie.”

“Hey, I didn’t steal Ice Bear, I just forgot to give him back.” You roll your eyes sarcastically and he laughs. “I’ll bring him over tomorrow, if it makes you feel better.”  

Then, when it’s your turn, you head into your bedroom and come out with a large, white shopping bag. His eyebrows raise, unsure of what could warrant a gift this size.

“For being my holiday boyfriend,” you grin, placing the bag in front of his feet.  

Despite the hugest smile on your face, his heart sinks at the label for a second, but he blinks and wills himself to look inside the bag.

His eyes shoot open, so much that you’re scared you might have to stuff them back into his sockets.

Yangyang slips the box out of the bag with precision and stares at it speechlessly.

It’s the new Playstation.

He shifts his eyes toward you. You’re swaying on the couch, pleased by his reaction.  

“Your parents paid for most of it, so I can’t take all the credit.” Sticking a finger in the air, you add, “You just gotta promise to share custody with me though—”

A hand behind your head yanks you into a deep kiss. He’s not the only one left speechless on the couch. He places the top of his head against yours.

“You’re crazy, but I love—” He quickly catches himself from saying something he might regret. “—I love it so much, thank you. Now I feel bad for getting you only the stuffed animal...”

You shake your head softly, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone.

“Thank you for everything.” Your eyes twinkle. “I couldn’t have asked to spend the holidays with anyone else.”

Carefully, like a newborn baby, he safely situates the boxed Playstation to one side and nabs your lips with his again. The scene feels like repeat of last night as your bodies wrestle passionately on the couch.

“Not to be presumptuous,” he mutters between the kisses upon your neck. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation. “But I also grabbed condoms from my place when I stopped by.”

His words sends the two of you leaping towards your bedroom. Under the dim lighting, you fall into the bed as Yangyang pares your layers off, one by one. With each peel, his lips roam the revealing bare skin. You swear he has kissed you from your literal head to toe when you’re fully nude in front of him.

Your companion drags his shirt over his head, throws it off to your floor, and immediately targets in onto your nub with his mouth, finally satiating his craving from last night.

Fingers thread into his hair and over his flexed back. His tongue swirls and his teeth lightly tug on your perkiness, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And he still isn’t even inside you yet.

After leaving love upon your other bosom, Yangyang fumbles with the condom, forgetting which way it should go on. Giggling, you perch yourself onto your elbows and assist him. Rolling it over his possession, you recline yourself back and spread your legs for him.

Pensively, he sticks his tongue out as he adjusts himself between your sex, easing himself into you, and upon the full impact, you meet his gaze head-on. His stare makes you feel vulnerable and exposed beyond the physical plane.  

But, unlike the others you have been with, you trust him with everything, like you always have, and be free with him. Losing your inhibitions and submitting to your whims, you entangle and become one with Yangyang.  

Behind his hazy vision, Yangyang’s simply thinking how beautiful you are, how he can’t imagine anyone else under his touch but you, how he is willing to give up anything to make you smile.

Well, in this case, he’s willing to give up anything to make you pleased.

However, it doesn’t seem like he needs to do much because you’re howling his name and clinging onto his skin and the sheets in a frenzy, like you’re about to die of exhaustion.

You perish a few times under him before he finally reaches his little death himself, convulsing into the sheath.

When air’s replenished into your bodies, you rest on his chest under your blanket. Glancing up at him, you move some of his tousled hair off his sleek forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Yangyang,” you whisper, snuggling him with a satisfied smile.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he whispers back, giving you one last peck before you both drift into a deep slumber together.  

DECEMBER 26th

Last night took so much out of the both of you, you don’t get out of bed until about the middle of the afternoon. Yangyang doesn’t have anything planned for today since it’s Boxing Day, since the crowds might be crazy wherever you go, so it’s officially a chill, rest day for you both.

When you step out of the shower in fresh clothes, from behind the couch, you watch Yangyang gaming on his Switch.

The little voice in your head looms, prompting that now is the time to have The Talk, and speaks up on your behalf.

“Do we have to end things next week?” you croak.

You see Yangyang’s shoulders stiffen, then he pauses the game and turns around to face you. His gaze follows you as you step closer to the couch, opting to stand.  

“Uhm.” His Adam’s apple bobs and he shrugs. “It’s up to you, it’s your—”

“Yangyang, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking what you think, how do you feel?”

His lips press together and he’s staring at the floor. You can tell the gears are moving, but you can’t read his expression clearly.

“I’m down for whatever you want to do,” he says slowly, eyes still averting yours.

That’s a I’m-your-best-friend answer, you deduce. Not a I-want-to-be-your-actual-boyfriend answer.  

He adds, stuttering, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing this a little longer if that’s what you want—”

Your face scrunches in annoyance. “Did you just sign up to be my short-term boyfriend so you can fill my empty heart?”

His eyebrows crease with confusion. “I mean, I never want to see you unhappy.”

“So it’s pity dating then?” you lash, raising your voice.

“No, I—” Yangyang bites down on his tongue, almost letting the one word slip out again. He blows out a lengthy sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I care about you, so much. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

You’re defining his words as an affirmation of friendship and as an underlying rejection of your love.

You need to know for certain.

“Do you love me, Yangyang?” you blurt. “As more than a friend?”

This is it, Yangyang thinks. This is your chance to let her know how you feel.

But the distress written on your face makes him wonder if he should even go through with it, and it’s intensifying with every passing moment that he’s not speaking.  

If only he knew your distress was deepening because you took his hesitance as absolute rejection.  

Your heart is breaking because of him, and he technically wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You smack your lips together and gulp a few times, trying to make the huge knot in your throat disappear.

“You know what, maybe let’s just forget this arrangement and leave it all behind and forget about the sex and—”

“You wanna stop this?” he utters quietly.

The word “this” hangs heavy in the air. This, carrying the weight of not only being the temporary agreement, but also your friendship.

“Yeah,” you whisper, tears beginning to blur your eyes. “I think I do.”

DECEMBER 28th

Two days have passed since you last saw Yangyang.

That day before he left, Yangyang, feeling guilty for how events unfolded, wanted to give back the Playstation, but you insisted for him to keep it. In spite of everything, it was a Christmas gift to him from you and his parents.

But both of you weren’t sure if the shared custody promise was going to be held up.  

In hopes that things would eventually get better and heal itself, Yangyang thought it’d be best to leave you alone for a while, like how he usually did.

And maybe he was right to do so, but this time is different.

Because he’s on the other end of the stick now; he’s the one who broke your heart.  

Under regular circumstances, whenever you needed space, he was always ready to be there by your side.

But Yangyang’s uncertain if you’re going to let him comfort you this time.  

And you’re uncertain if you even want him to.

DECEMBER 30th

Today, Yangyang finally makes the move to get in touch with you, texting you to call him, but you don’t, so he leaves a voicemail later in the evening.

“There’s a New Year’s party I’m going to tomorrow,” he starts off, then spews the specific details.

There’s a pause and you hear shuffling in the background. You assume he’s pacing around.

“I know you ended our agreement, but I wouldn’t mind fulfilling my end since New Year’s is the last day tomorrow. I’d be really glad if you came to the party with me, whether it be as my friend or my girlfriend.”

Another pause.

On the other end, Yangyang rubs his palm over his face, considering whether or not he should say it. If you picked up the phone call, he was going to do it anyway, but this just felt improper. He wants to say it when he knows you’re listening in real-time, so he ends off the message with:

“I miss you. So much.”

DECEMBER 31st

It’s 8:40PM. Before Yangyang buses out to the party, he’s back at your front door for one more shot. His fist taps at your door, cognizant that you wouldn’t be elsewhere since your other friends are out of town for the holidays. Despite that, you don’t come to the door. Nevertheless, he speaks to you through the wooden barrier.

“Hey, I know you want to be left alone, but I just wanted to see if you changed your mind about the party.”

Still no answer. He lets out a sigh and prays the following will incite a reaction from you.  

“About the question that you asked me that night...”

He closes his eyes and allows his mouth to carry him.

“I do. I do love you. As both my best friend and more. I’m sorry if I hurt you that night by not saying anything, but I love you so much and I think we should give us a shot.”

Still no answer. Yangyang continues.

“Look, I know it’s scary and crazy to date your best friend. I’m scared too, but you know what? I’m okay with being scared. I’ve watched you gone through those assholes over the last few years and maybe you’re scared I’ll end up like one of them, but unlike them, I don’t think you’re horrible or needy or emotional—you’re beautiful, intelligent, and strong for putting up with all those fuckers.”

He leans his forehead gently against the door.

“And even if we ever do break up, and this is a big if because I’ll always try my hardest with you to make it work, I’ll still be your friend. I promise. You won’t lose me ‘cause I need you in my life. I gotta keep my end up for the custody of the Playstation, right?”

A smile breaks over his face from his joke, but still. Radio silence.  

“Can you at least say something?” he begs.

After a few minutes, realizing he needs to probably give you more time to be left alone, he departs and heads to the party.

Originally, you actually were planning on attending the party to see Yangyang to make-up with him.

Unfortunately, out of all the days you had to take a late afternoon nap, it had to be today.

And you overslept. Big time. 

At 10:55PM, you scramble awake, realizing you’re absolutely late to the event. Since the party’s downtown, you know calling an Uber or Lyft there would be fast, but tonight’s the worst night for any share riding service and there aren’t any available drivers. Thus, you have to manage with busing there.

It’s 11:40PM when you finally reach downtown, but the bus can’t take you all the way to the core centre where the party is; hordes of people are out on the streets and traffic is dreadful. God, you’re going to be cutting it close to midnight, but you make a run for it.

You’re grateful the party is on the second floor of a small building because you slide in right through the entrance at 11:58PM. You rush to call Yangyang’s phone, hoping he’ll pick up as you try to find him in the scattered groups of people.

You begin to holler for him in hopes he can hear you, but the countdown is happening, drowning out your voice. Thirty seconds left until the clock strikes for the new year.

When his number finally goes to voicemail, you redial his number. Suddenly, a hand grasps you by the wrist.

Yangyang looks at you, dumbfounded.

“When did you get here?”  

The harmonious chanting around you floods your surroundings.

“Ten, nine, eight...”

Getting closer to him, you practically scream into Yangyang’s face, trusting he’ll hear what you’re about to say.

“I know Christmas is over, but I want to change my wish.”

“Seven, six, five...”

“I know you might not feel the same and I know things might not work out.”

“Four, three, two...”

”But I wish to date you past New Year’s until whenever, however long we last.”

“One...”

“I love you, Yangyang—”

The one you love snatches you by the waist and your cheek, stealing your lips at the last millisecond before midnight.

“Happy New Year!”

A wave of noisemakers, clappers, and hollering erupt around the room. After it dies down a bit, Yangyang shocks you with a scolding.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I came over?!”

Confusion rushes over you. You realize he probably came by when you were sleeping. 

“You came over?!”

“Yeah, I confessed my love for you.”

“Wait,” you blink blankly, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Your love?”

“Yeah,” he nods, giving you his cheesy, adorable smile.  “I love you.”

“As more than a friend?” you clarify.

“Babe,” Yangyang’s thumb caresses your cheek. “I don’t think I could ever go back to wanting less with you.”

Your lips tremble with relief as your gaze melts in his.

“And, anyway, who else am I going to share the Playstation with?”

“Well, I mean, you do have Hendery, Xiaojun, Winwin...” you start to count his infinite list of friends on your fingers.  

“Yeah, but I need you so I can constantly beat your cute little butt at games.”

“You do not constantly beat my cute little butt at games, I’ll have you know that I beat you at—”  

Yangyang shuts you up with another kiss, the one of many for the rest of the night.

JANUARY 2nd

It’s your second morning at Yangyang’s place. You’ve only done it a few times now, but you realize that waking up in his arms is one of the greatest feelings in the world, second only to his kisses.  

In his bed, spooning you from behind, he grumbles into the nape of your neck, “Morning, girlfriend.”  

Half-awake, you mumble back, “Morning, boyfriend,” and sink deeper into the curve of his body.

Content, you finally broke your string of cursed holiday break-ups for good.  

And all it took was to be with the one who was in front of you all this time.

[rottenheartedchild]

Feel inspired today so I drew Valentino or Val and made his full bio today. Originally he's supposed to be an AU oc but I love the bastard too much so I'm making him a multiverse oc instead. Enjoy for now.

Deep within the unforgiving, twisted forests of Inferno lies a palace that resembles a grand amphitheater of old with its marble columns, gold statues, and a gruesome arena in the middle of it all. It is said to be the domain of an ancient cambion who ruled a sizable portion of the land with his sister's kingdom not too far from where he is.

Legend says that he was born from an unholy union between a demon and a human. Growing up poor, he learned from his mother how to make a living from stealing, conning, and even murdering those with ill-gotten wealth before dividing his hauls equally to feed his family and village. He soon passed that knowledge to his sister when she's old enough to join in one of his raids.

For years they've built quite the reputation for themselves. The siblings were worshipped, feared, and hated by everyone until a botched burglary cost them their freedom. Forced to be a noble's gladiator, he was pitted against countless foes but won them through sheer brute force, quick thinking, and impressive wiles. After his last battle, he bowed dramatically to the audience as his eyes glowed an eerie green, taking it as an opportunity as he tossed his spear to the noble's chest before diving into a pit of deadly scorpions. Before the poison corrupted his body, he smirked as he cursed the nobility that their bloodline would forever be cursed and no peace would ever come to them and their descendants.

Once he's reincarnated in Hell, he began to garner prestige amongst the denizens of Inferno due to his famed skills, one being able to curse or cure his prey. It is said that those who formed a contract and forfeit their soul, they'll be blessed with knowledge in the mechanical arts, the gift to unlock mysteries, causes or cures diseases, and the power to turn people into anything they desired.

Facts

❤Implied to be ageless, stops counting at 5000.

❤Valentino is one of his newest names since his original one died alongside his past self.

❤Died the same way his sister, Laverna, did via scorpion venom.

❤Those who honored his pact are rewarded with a seat in his palace as one of his elite knights. Those that don't are forever doomed to be shackled in his arena, fighting endlessly against other Infernals for eternity.

❤Unlike his son, Durante, he unlocked his demonic heritage moments after his death. He's still salty about that to this day.

❤Dafina, his wife, is an Umbran witch and cousin to the former Umbran Master of Assassins. Laverna loves to comment how both he and Ivan are alike in many ways.

❤Has a fondness for human flesh, both in his past life and now. His favorite type to eat are the ones without a heart (Corrupt politicians, billionaires, etc.)

❤His powers are based on Marbas/Barbas, a demon in Ars Goetia.

❤Shares a scorpion theme with his sister, the pattern on his skirt doubles as a tail and there's scorpion-shaped jewelry on his gloves.

❤His official alias in Inferno is 'Defiler of Thrones'

❤Can change his form into anything he wants if he travels outside from Hell. His current form is 7'3" in height with messy auburn hair and piercing green eyes.

❤Current face claim is Lee Pace for his human form.

❤Absolutely adores his wife, boyfriend, and their kids.

❤A total mush with children, especially his grandkids. Loves spoiling them with toys he made himself, much to Durante's concern.

❤It took him a long time to warm up to Caesar since he reminded him of the nobility he hated so much.

❤An unapologetic eccentric yet loyal man who values others before him and has a deep sense of justice. Wonderful father, brother and friend.

❤One of his biggest regret was causing the death of his sister and how she should've a better life than this. Laverna often reminded him that it's her own choice and she's more than happy to be with her family even it's in Hell. That and she'll never get to meet with Ivan in the first place if that didn't happen.

❤His closest companions are Raphael, Ciarán, and Kahina. He also has countless allies around the globe, one being Dafina's equally nonconformist cousin, Ivan Petrovich.

❤Once offered to curse the entire Cassell College with severe case of food poisoning. Isidore and Marisol had to coax him out from doing it, saying it's not worth the trouble.

[cupsofsuga]

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers.  I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ ☕️} NOTE - a faint trigger warning for jungkook’s part! there’s some heavy violence in there! again, viewer discretion is advised!!

{ 💐} ANON ASKED - ❝ Hcs abt yan! Fanboy! Bts with their idol! S/o publicising their relationship but he ends up getting a ton of backlash from their s/o's fans? ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

the flashes of the camera and the sensitivity of his shattered self-image left alone to be toyed with wasn’t exactly seokjin’s idea of a happy future

all he ever craved was to just bathe is his bewitchment with his youth

he’d do just about anything to hold the past in his grasp just once more

jin swears he can still imagine fidgeting with the shrivels of orange peels as you two try to speak over the lunchroom chatter or how you two fell asleep in willow trees, ignoring the fact that your face will potentially be on a milk carton by the time the sun rises

but, the glimmering fate of fame had snatched you away with its colorful patterns and it’s facade adorned with glitter

and this eternal ache within jin’s chest has cunning ways of slithering into his bloodstream and gripping his heart with its tenacious grip on a day-to-day basis

he can feel the magical, youthful soul he fell so deeply infatuated with start to depart from its host just to be replaced by the molded personality this company you signed with assigned for you to wear

and nothing makes him more livid than these money-hungry freaks that bark and yap at you like dogs and have no formed concept of respect

like that one humid july afternoon where, once again, paparazzi pried into one of your café dates and ruined the blessed day

yes, jin did take part in ruining the day by socking one of the men in the nose and shattering their camera on the pavement, but it was totally their fault!

all has been forgiven, anyways!

but, it wasn’t until he caught sight of you falling under the spell of these master manipulators and found you beginning to alter the vision of yourself did jin finally snap

this life is not for you, nor is it for him

you two were supposed to spend your days in a claustrophobic studio apartment with two cats, not dressing yourself with cheap smiles and blinding your vision under the burning spotlight!

so, this leaves you waking up the lavender-scented sheets lied in an unknown place

the faint pitter-patter of pots and pans echoed from down the hall of the place you’ve now deemed as your childhood home

jin sits in the kitchen, cooking up breakfast for you and humming a tune, daydreaming of fairytale-induced future that is held for you two lovers

now, you both won’t have to worry about the heavy burden of fans, paparazzi and all of that! you two can finally live in tranquility!

you two can finally be happy…

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

with an array of plastic bags containing all sorts of foods to feast on for the following week, you enter your humble adobe

and as you attempt to lock the door behind you with your pre-occupied hands, you mentally prepare yourself for the golden retriever of a man who will soon pounce on you with a wagging tail

but, this is not what occurs

with furrowed brows, you find the scrawny figure tucked into the couch while hushed sobs echo in the eerily quiet room

and you could’ve sworn yoongi waltzed straight out a renaissance painting with how undeniably immaculate the sight before you looked

small, cherubic face, feline-like eyes and glitter tears; all resembled a brilliant work of art that could leave one starstruck

but, that was not valid now, as you silently prayed for the glasses held in the bag as they tumbled to the floor once he stumbled over and clung onto you like a lifeline

you both sat on the floor, tenacious grip refusing to weaken as yoongi’s tears dampened your shirt

he’s had days like this before, where the man’s grip is inevitable and tears could just about flood the place

no matter how many times you reassure him with your sugary-pink voice that he is all you desire and crave, nasty trolls online still manage to crawl under his skin

yoongi is perfect in your eyes, but, every day he fails to see this

those poisonous comments mocking his height and weight or anything as little as the shirt he wore on a specific day all have clever ways of triggering the waterfall

he sees that he is not a good boyfriend, and you deserve somebody else

someone who isn’t just a nobody, someone who has worthy potential in this life, someone who could illuminate the galaxy simply with their smile

someone who deserves to stand by your side

but then you hold him in your warm embrace and speak words of honey, and alas, yoongi has found nirvana

although this isn’t the anecdote for his insecurities, to simply be held by you is such a privilege

and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

you remember vividly of those poisonous comments directed towards your lover

they gossiped and chirped about how you would be more satisfied with some actor you don't even remember the name of, which was the very first manifestation of the downfall

there is the guilt that seeps in your bloodstream and sheer rage that could crumble galaxies with its force

you confront hoseok, watching the pearl of his eyes glisten under your stare as you reassure him that the comments don’t differ your infatuation in the slightest

but, much to your surprise, the sensitive boy agrees

he shares no inkling of attention to the haters and instead mentions a cat café he wanted to visit later that day with you, eyes filled with stars and all

hoseok and his disturbing eloquence; a cunning distraction of the awaiting prophecy

having to dwell in the comments and opinions laced with fury and venom, you could practically feel their fire through your phone screen

and as days pass by, spending hours with your puppy-dog of a lover, you catch yourself agreeing with them

this must not be your fate, it can’t be...

you refuse to be one who lets others dictate your opinions, especially about something so valid to you

but, as time passes, opinions reeling within your mind, you find disgust in his touch and rage in his smile

and you fear what just might happen if you touch the revelation

a virus, a parasite, a burden, all of the things they told you, you believed!

and you bet hoseok refused to let this settle in

so, as you lie in your state of slumber, you are oblivious to the man before you who’s rage fills the room like smoke

an act of rebellion, the sun seeping into the night sky; entirely an inhuman act

he has become ruthless, spitting out insults and threats of their supposed death to the people who have wronged you two and had the guts to dare brainwash you into believing their filthy lies!!

your future alongside hoseok is inevitable and your infatuation is eternal, a love that is indestructible and legendary

always and forever, your love shall be sacred...

and as the computer light dims and hoseok crawls back into your embrace, he has found that sugary-sweet tranquility that rests within his heart whenever he lies in your presence

alas, hoseok has found warmth in the winter storm.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

a fairytale, a sunlit infatuation that burns

something holy that namjoon holds close to his heart

but, as these comments crawl like insects under his skin, his tenacious grip on your heart begins to weaken

every waking moment now is spent in eternal panic for the potential future without you by his side, all because of the demons that lurk in your comment section

the whispering and gossip, mocking namjoon of his place as your lover and how he was undeserving to have the privilege of standing by your side

insults hit him like bullet wounds and resemble a stake to his heart

and then the pit; the pit he despises so, so much returns and the loneliness sinks like lead in his stomach

the entirety of his childhood, the burdening comments of his father, the neglect of his mother, his money-hungry friends, every revelation of his loneliness returns once again

he is alone; so utterly alone that he spends his nights clinging onto your pillow, inhaling your flowery musk and crying out for his lover

you can’t leave him, you can’t!

you have to love him, just as much as he loves you!!

if he doesn’t have you then he has nothing!!!! can’t you see!?!?!

not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again notagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagain. don’t leave him don’t leave him DON’T LEAVE HIM

wobbling to his bedroom, he thrashes, yells and throws any item within his grip and shatters it against the wall

there’s the fury that resembles a fire-breathing dragon as he destroys his neatly made bedroom, cursing so loud that the housekeepers a floor down fear for his safety

namjoon cannot find sanity; he cannot find clarity in this moment of chaos

there are wars and disasters that take place within his mind and the pit within him only sinks lower with every passing second

finding his closet, he drops to his knees before the shrine kept hidden behind expensive suits and sobs

he cries for his lover, praying with whatever strength left in his body that you’ll never depart from him and your infatuation will never once weaken

namjoon falls limp onto the ground, curling himself into a ball and weeping out into the carpet

just, for now, he is eternally caught in the revelation of chaos

only your sugary-sweet, lavender-scented reassurance will rescue him in this warzone

you’re his savior, his knight in shining armor

he doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t love him.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

dressing in faux pearly smiles and hushing down your anger as the interviewer cunningly spoke words of poison to jimin was in every means an everlasting burden

fame was intended to be a gift, not torture

everyone would lionize you and bow down to you as if you were some all-mighty god who graced this earth, as satan’s contract listed

being an eternal victim of the microscope and listening as people barked and yapped perverted comments and words of envy, jimin resembles the sun in a cold night

throughout your busy schedule, the ephemeral moments spent with your lover were enchanted and served as a satisfactory breath of fresh air

i mean yes, there were those times where his possessive nature bled through the bandaids and fans concluded him as abusive, but, that wasn’t true!

these filthy opinions have little to none power over either of you… or that’s what you assumed

walking back into your changing room after a god awful interview, you find your lover nestled into the couch as his shoulders shake from hushed sobs

you find the screen plastered in front of him which played your previous interview, watching as the woman from earlier validate his horrible reputation and slyly agreed with the false accusations

without an inkling of a second thought, you rush over, cooing as he jolted from your sudden, but gentle, touch

those narrowing eyes, hushed words of gossip, insecurities laced with venom that resemble an ice prick to his heart had him powerless in his stance

and as you enter his tunnel of vision, he finds an oasis in the midst of chaos

jimin clings onto you as if your a life preserver in the ocean, a single star in the vast galaxy, an inkling of tranquility held in the state of a war-zone

you feel tears rest on your shoulder, the sharp prick of his nails on your back from his tenacious grip as you coo and comfort your lover of his sorrows

he pleads and cries for you to remain by his side and not to listen to their lies, and of course, you reassure him on your candied-voice that nothing they say could weaken your adoration

and even in the midst of a downfall, he has found nirvana in your touch

even in the midst of anarchy, jimin has found euphoria.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

taehyung meets with a chauffeur as his final period in school comes to an end, a gentle smile forming upon his face as he knows what follows

of course, being an idol and receiving a high income, you just had to coddle your lover in every possible way

he climbs into the vehicle, careful not the stain the immaculate black leather seats with his paint-splattered hands

the revelation of you spoiling him rotten due to your infatuation never fails to have taehyung blushing like a lovestruck teenager and melting into the seat before him

although he is alone, the buzz of elation that settles within his heart sends him into a frenzy for your love that he will soon meet face-to-face with

and as he’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone in the secluded area of the backseat, he stumbles across an article

there was a picture of you and him plastered on the front page with a cunningly negative title, sparking his frightful curiosity

throughout the pages, taehyung witnesses as the writer pick and prods at his self-image, claiming a boy who grew up with nothing surely was undeserving of living a second with a star

he is worthless, an obsessive freak, in every means a burden to his light

but it wasn’t true! they don’t know what they’re talking about!

you love him! why else would you send him a chauffeur for his liking!

this article… it’s all lies! it has to be!

taehyung soon feels his lungs collapse and his throat tighten, choking on the sorrows that build up in his stomach

an epiphany that he was soon to relish in, but, never in a million years would he be ready to face the reality that he doesn't deserve someone as undeniably perfect as you

he then brings his knees to his chest, screams like banshees that echo and reverberate in his eardrums

there’s heavy rain that flows down his cheeks, sobs that could shatter cities with its force and crumble galaxies to nothing but ashes

the silk heart taehyung possesses has been held in the grasp of a dying light, and he would do just about anything to feel the warm embrace of aphrodite herself

you love him, you must!

taehyung doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t…

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

jungkook sees these comments and he is livid

the explosion of his fragility, every particle of his very being now tainted

god, the things he’d do to get his hands on these scums who dared to assume they have the right to speak of you in such a manner

jungkook would be infatuated by their screams of agony as he plucks off their fingers one by one, a sadistic grin growing on his lips at the simple thought

oh, how they’d bleed and beg for mercy and apologize over and over for the heinous crimes they committed

and he’d torture them for eternity, days upon days of torment and cries in the blood-splattered shed

what a dream their pain would be

tears stain his phone screen as he scrolls through the venomous comments from a video taken just a few weeks ago

you see, your lover has a temper, and if you proceed to poke the bear, his anger strikes like satan had entered this very realm

and when that man spoke blasphemy about who your destined lover should be, jungkook blew up like a ticking bomb and proceeded to strike the man until he was nothing but a bloody pulp left on the sidewalk

and then, in the midst of these blood-induced fantasies, he hears it, the jingle of keys which could conquer any melody that exists

like some lovesick golden retriever, jungkook races to the sound to greet you

as you snap your coat undone, you’re suddenly engulfed into a tenacious embrace by the puppy himself

the calm after the storm, the light in the eternal abyss, jungkook has found what’s holy in this disgusting world

your sweet fragrance, gentle hair and ethereal caress; he had forgotten what he was upset about, to begin with

moving to keep you at arm's length, you find his eyes adorned with dreams

there’s infatuation swimming in his irises and petals within the lovesick smile plastered upon his face

all because of you, the single daisy in a winter storm

there are still tears that seep from his eyes, but, he’s come to the conclusion that they must be tears of joy

alas, jungkook has found euphoria.

[floosies]

bury a friend: The Story of Noctua

pairing: steve rogers x possessed!oc x mcu!au

summary: there have been sightings of a dark creature who vanishes with night and in the mornings only remains of once living people are found scattered in open fields or forests nearby.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of attempted suicide, violence, gore, cursing, mentions/scenes of sexual nature.

Please read with discretion. 18+ content.

A/N: This is my first attempt at something more dark. It’s been in my brain since hearing some of biilie’s works and quiet frankly I want to venture into new territory. However, I understand the severity of some topics that I will write about. If you or someone you know is in need please look at these resources.

Part 2: The Happening

In ways her powers heightened with the passing of time. It’d been another decade or so since the last time she’d seen an avenger. Jumping to different futures she saw they existed regardless, in different variations. The being knew it was inevitable, “I may deter them for a while more but they will find you. It is part of each timeline. I cannot stop them, this a force greater than mine.” So unknowingly she did as her true parentage did and went into hiding.

Deep in the forests of Europe she hid, still killing when it let her know of horrid acts upon the innocent. That’s how they found her. There was a sighting of a dark loom over a lake bed in the German woods. Knowing she would not speak to Strange, they sent the super soldiers and Maximoff. Little did they know they would be walking into a ceremony. Time moved in a different way for the young lamia, she was a witch blessed with youth. Her mortal age was unaccounted for what truly mattered. She was now entering young adulthood in the sense of her witch kind. 

The being had spoken to her about the ceremony since her early training days. It showed her past examples, some more bloodied than most. Others offered their virtue in exchange for their powers. It was a rebirth of sorts. However because her powers came directly from the being, her ceremony would depend on the attendance of watchers, as it could not be the only living thing present for the ritual. She knew they were coming, it’d warned her to prepare for that night. The catch was she could not harm them until after they’d witnessed her rebirth. Their blood would be the sacrifice needed as the gift in return for her strength.

She’d prepared herself, bathing and feasting on delicacies from around the world.  Still deep in the German woods, the spring nights were cold. She only wore a silk ivory gown with a simple golden crown. She could feel their presence near and began the fire.

Before the war, when Steve was still a scrawny kid, he believed in many things. Now that’d he seen the future and all it holds, he could no longer feel that way towards what he once thought was true. However, seeing her made a chill run down his spine. He wasn’t the only one though.

The three all felt a sense of fear and regret, as they watched the scene unfold. They could hear it’s voice as it guided the lamia to levitate over the fire, chanting latin spoken spells. Her eyes were hazed over in white, her hair was as dark as the sky above them. Frozen from what they were witnessing, neither the scarlet witch or the super soldiers could form a coherent thought as to whether they should stop it or not.

Regret would begin to fill in the incoherence for she waited not long after to take them at a choke hold and levitate them to her view. Seeing the agony on their face, she smiled. It didn’t last though, as she was so contempt in knowing who she was going to dismantle, she looked into their memories. Their pasts, so clouded in pain and agony, she could not bare it with her own. They began to fall from the air into the soft grass on the ground. 

Wanda tried first to use this moment of disarray to her advantage. Noctua would not have it and with a simple motion of her hand she stuck her onto tree. Bucky tried next to shoot her with a tranquilizer, they meant not to kill her afterall but to bring her back with them. She disarmed him in the same efficiency she did to the Wanda, expect she planted him into the soil around her. Steve was different though, “we didn’t come to harm you.” His voice had good intention, the being spoke softly. “Let the golden boy speak.” She stood her ground as he neared her.

Still a sense of fear lurked in her, “halt come not nearer. Speak from where you stand, and I will decide if you are worth mercy.” He nodded not wanting more harm brought upon his friends, “please come with us. Your powers are of good use, killing innocent people isn’t-” Anger surged through her, “they are anything but. They are monsters that deserved their endings. Their souls are now in eternal agony for the atrocities they committed upon innocent harmless people.” The power in her voice boomed through forest like an earthquake. He shook his head though, “this isn’t justice though. It isn’t right to simply kill out of emotion.” She knew he had a point, so did the being, “Tenebrae, what is your judgement so far,” he looked puzzled, then he heard the being speak. “The boy is right, I have been selfish allowing you to kill at your leisure for the mere satisfaction of ending brutes with their kind of force.” She looked bewildered, it continued though, “however, had it not been for your murderous mannerisms, you would not have gain your strength, learned your abilities, or ended mortal suffering for many helpless souls... Perhaps, I do not need a sacrifice tonight, young lamia noctua.”

A cold wind was felt after it finished speaking, it served as a manner of ending the argument. She released the imprisoned soldier and witch, both to apologize and assure herself she still had her powers. Steve looked around to make sure they were okay, “I apologize. Tonight was an important evening, and I assumed you meant harm.” Her voice was soft now, like a pillow of feathers on a tired night. Steve spoke again, “we do not. However, we do request you come with us.” Immediately she spoke, “no. I have seen what they did to Maximoff, I traveled into the future many moons ago. I saw how they hurt you. I was once subjected to that life. Caged and made to feel worthless, I will not live that way ever again.” She spoke sternly. It was Wanda who intervened now, “they do not wish to take your powers from you. We simply want you to use them as a way to protect those who cannot protect themselves.” Searching her mind, she found no evidence of deceitfulness. 

The silk sleeves of her dress felt cold as she contemplated for a moment, “I’ve seen your pasts. You all know agony and loss like the kind I’ve had to endure, why would you use your abilities for those undeserving of them.” A sigh escaped Steve’s lips as he took in the depth of her words, “you can decide who deserves your help. Trust me, I have.” It wasn’t his answer though, it was Bucky’s. His memories were the most tortured, his past was one she wished she could have saved him from. Her eyes met his, and for a second they gazed at each other.

He had never seen eyes the color of the crown she wore. They were bright gold with red rimmed pupils. Then she saw Steve, he had a look of a worried father, something she’d never had. Wanda had neither a worried or interested gaze, just eyes looking for an answer. Perhaps Tenebrae was right, “I will go with you, but if I find it unsettling or sense I to be harmed I will leave without warning.” They nodded leading to her their flying vessel. She thought to herself, in a matter of short time, she would be in front of others with abilities that could compare to hers. A voice in her head spoke then, “no abilities on this realm compare to the ones you have been blessed with Noctua, none of them could ever be capable of destroying you. They should fear you and your greatness my daughter.” It’s voice was kind and filled with praise, it made her calm. It raised her as it’s own, she would not be without help. They should fear her, and if it came to it, they would.

-

Tenebrae: dark

Noctua: owl

Lamia: witch

[moonguilt]

Voltron MMORPG AU: Chapter 3

HERE it is, the final chapter.  It’s pretty much all klance.  Enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

eventually it comes to a head when lance loses a bet with pidge, who demands that he make his character perform a VERY public, VERY elaborate marriage proposal to keith's character as soon as he logs on

nervous but determined lance, dragging his and keith’s characters out into the middle of a popular in-game city. he is a man of his word after all

“((keith ok dont freak out))”

“((?))”

“((i need u to make ur character say 'no' in a sec ok? dont worry just say no))”

“((....ok?))”

“Keith, light of my life, truest and brightest soul to ever walk these good lands, I cannot wait but a moment longer to reveal the longings of my heart, buried so long out of fear for your reaction.  Many moons have I traveled this world's paths, weathered and uncharted alike, with you at my side, my dearest companion.

“Yet I profess that friendship is only a whisper of the bond I wish to share with you.  It feels as though for an age and more, your love has eluded me, just beyond my grasp.  I have looked upon your divine complexion each morn and thought, 'Curse the light of dawn, for the touch that it lay so brazenly upon those delicate lips!  Oh, would that those ivory cheeks were mine to caress with such tenderness!'  I have drowned within your gaze each evening and thought, 'Curse the night sky above, for the celestial gleam it ignites in your eyes!  My only desire is to be but a single star, to bring so much as a fraction of that sparkle to those orbs of boundless beauty!

“I stand before you now, Keith Kogane—nay, kneel before you now—and open to you the deepest veins of my very being, whose blood knows naught but the fire of my passion for you. With your blessing, I would share with you the warmth of these flames.  With your blessing, I would name you Keeper of my heart, and hope beyond hope that you might name me Keeper of yours.

“Keith Kogane, will you invoke the ancient rite of Heartkeeping with me?”

keith: what.jpg

a crowd has developed around them. many many roleplayers including their friends are now watching

“((its ok bro just say no))”

keith is both very gay and also a little shit who loves to antagonize lance. these two things are a dangerous mix. his character bends down, clasping lance's character's hands in his, and declares:

“Oh, my sweet songbird, how I yearned to hear this tune from your slender throat, which I have overlong ached to taste for but an instant.  Just once, and that would have been enough.  And yet here you present yourself, offering me not a taste, but a lifetime of eternal sustenance in our joined love.  I accept your offer, full knowing that I shall never want for anything else so long as I live.”

“((wtf dude))”

“((oh oops. damn autocorrect))”

“((KEITH))”

the crowd is going WILD. i mean absolutely bonkers

cue lance realizing that it is now EXTREMELY public knowledge that his and keith's characters are engaged. half the damn city knows now and is rushing to congratulate them. people are gossiping about it in the city-wide game chat. he's starting to process keith's response. it's a Lot and he's probably definitely going to kill keith

keith continues being a smug gay baby bastard. his character reaches an arm around the waist of lance's character, pulling him in close as the wellwishers crowd around

lance finally manages to extract them both with loud proclamations of his “pressing urge to ravish this handsome young man in the nearest inn”

as soon as they are out of sight, lance logs off without so much as a goodbye

keith: uhoh.png

starting to think maybe he screwed this up

Gay Panic Time

immediately logging out and calling shiro

“well hello romeo, congratulations on the--”

“SHIROIFUCKEDUPPLEASEHELPOHGOD”

not even 3 minutes later, knock on the door

keith goes dead silent. pretends to not be home

“keith? i know you're in there”

“fuck i gotta go shiro he's here to kill me please tell adam i love him even though i never said it out loud goodbye”

disastrous fumbling with the lock on the door

finally opens. there is lance, looking like a deer in headlights

awkward staring for several seconds

super duper awkward. they are both in their PJs. keith has a toothpaste stain on his shirt. lance is making a weird gurgling noise in the back of his throat

gurgling noise becomes more of a whining noise

whining noise becomes high-pitched frustrated groan

cue lance basically shouting out “PLEASE PLEASE STOP ME IF I'M WRONG” and then—reaching up—clutching keith's collar—leaning up because he stupidly forgot to take the last step up to put himself on equal footing and now it's too late—too fucking late, lance, you made your bed now lie in it—and pressing his lips to keith's for what feels like a year but is barely a second and a half before he pulls away

or, well, he would have, if keith's hands hadn't already been on him, reeling him back in like a riptide before any doubt or regret could the chance to do more than flicker across lance's electrified brain

they want to make out. they Really do. but this is decidedly not a comfortable place for a makeout sesh so they just... stumble in through keith's doorway and kind of fall onto his couch. and just lie there for a while. turns out their brains are both pretty fried after all of this

“so... when do you wanna have the ceremony”

“mm.”

“... keith?”

“mmm.”

“that's not an answer dude”

“MMM.” [with feeling]

“you do wanna have the ceremony still, right? im not misreading things”

“mmmohmygod lance yes, but we can figure it out later. im busy holding my boyfriend right now”

“boyfriend huh?”

“yep.”

“... okay”

the RP does, admittedly, get a lot more fun after that.

for keith and lance, anyway.

maybe not as much for anyone within a five hundred foot radius of their disgustingly in love characters.

THE END.

[kamen-rider-zed]

PML Sky Zine piece: you are my sky

So, my first submission as part of Project: Miraculous Ladybug was a collaboration with the INCREDIBLE @miraculousturtle. The theme, of course, was sky, so we did an AU with Chloenette as the centerpiece. First and third parts are mine, second and last are ALL Turtle! Enjoy!

you are my sky

In this world, there are born two groups of people: those with wings, and those without. The ones fortunate enough to be born with wings inherit the sky, finding a place amongst the extravagance of the flying city, Paris. Those without are cursed to live on the ground, The Below, constantly plagued by strife and want. This is a tale of two girls, one born to Parisian royals and one to bakers Below. One with wings and the other without. Though they come from different worlds, their destinies are intertwined and they both will someday find their sky.

Born on the same day, in the same moment, Chloe Bourgeois and Marinette Dupain-Cheng could not be more different. Chloe was born to the ruling family of Paris but unlike most Parisians, she was born without wings. Her mother, Miranda Bourgeois, known as Queen Bee to her people, wept for days, mourning her earthbound daughter. She soon after distributed bribes, threats, and blackmail to secure the silence of her attendants, for who would ever follow a royal without wings?

Marinette was born to a pair of bakers who made their living feeding the people of Below. A calm pregnancy and an easy childbirth gave Tom and Sabine a healthy daughter who they soon learned had been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with beautiful gossamer wings. The bakers immediately concealed the wings, for fear the Parisians would steal their child away from them. Marinette grew up happy and loved, though she always wondered why she must hide away her wings.

At the age of ten, Chloe was fitted with a special harness, concealed beneath the black and yellow bodysuit that was her customary royal uniform. Though this harness granted her functional wings, some part of her always knew she didn’t truly belong in the sky. And so, she began to turn her eyes, not towards the sky, but to The Below. She oft wondered what it would be like to live without the constant expectations of being a princess, without the constant fear of someone discovering her ‘deformity’, as he mother was known to call it.

It wasn’t until her fifteenth birthday that she worked up the courage to elude her escorts, fly down to The Below, and shed her wings for the first time in five years. She stowed her harness and her suit in the most worn bag she could find, stole...borrowed some clothes from a Below home, and made her way into the streets.

She soon discovered that everything she’d been led to believe about The Below was wrong: it wasn’t a cesspit filled with criminals, diseased inbreds, or wide-eyed lunatics.

It was beautiful.

From above, the buildings of The Below seem like roughly organized piles of rubble, painted in dull browns and grays. Now, walking through the winding, somewhat cramped streets, the skyline had an odd charm to it, and she could see the color and life around her that wasn’t apparent from so far above: market stalls draped with clothing that could rival Parisian finery, fresh produce, hand-painted portraits, home-made perfumes, fresh baked goods…

And a pair of dazzling blue eyes that could rival any shade found in the sky.

Her name was Marinette, and Chloe had no idea why she felt so drawn to her. She approached the stall on the pretense of buying some bread and asked about the girl and her wares, lying about being from another part of the town. Marinette warmly opened up and the pair stood talking about anything and nothing until just before sunset. At that moment, Chloe excused herself to go home, disappeared down an abandoned alley, and a few minutes later, took to the sky.

This became her routine over the next few weeks: every spare moment she could, she would fly to The Below and meet with Marinette. The baker soon introduced Chloe to her friends: Adrien, Nino, and Alya, and the three of them were quick to accept the princess, though Chloe ensured they remained oblivious to her lineage. Chloe also met with their families, and always had some excuse as to why they could never meet hers. It pained her to lie to her new friends, but if she desired to keep visiting them, she must keep everyone, including her family, in the dark.

(#(#(#)#)#)

When she was a child, Marinette would gaze longingly up at the floating city hoping, wishing, dreaming that one day--maybe, perhaps, if only she could--fly there and discover what it meant to be free. When she was a child, a wingless angel descended—sunshine hair outlined by a fine halo and sky eyes clearer than a day after summer rain.

When she was a child, the world didn’t feel like it was ending.

Angels should have wings, angels should fly, angels should not be plummeting to the ground. Should not lose their wings, should have wings, should have, should have—

The brick walls echoed her beating footsteps as Marinette raced down to get enough momentum, tearing at her coat to expose her wings. One step, the coat fell, two steps she curled into herself, three steps she lept into the air.

Her wings caught on a clothesline, the sun blinding her as Chloe’s halo fell to the Earth. Blood thrummed in her ears, a scream caught in her throat, the world ending and ending and ending.

Adrien shouted something from a rooftop, chasing her as she nose dived deep, the seconds stretching for eternity. Five: Chloe banged into a shutter plane; four: screams from below, three: Marinette crashed into a wall; two: it seems impossible; one--one--one: the moment stuck on one as Marinette cradled a limp Chloe in her arms, mere inches from the ground.

When she was a child, she wondered why she had wings, wondered why she had to hide them, wondered why she got them, wondered and wondered and wondered—

--when she fell for a girl from the clouds whose smile was sparkling and laughter contagious.

Marinette knew now as she heaved breath after breath, fevertly smoothing her hands over Chloe’s face, over her brows, her eyes, her lips, that some things best remain tucked away and hidden. Townspeople stared, whispering as her wings ache, unable to be tucked away too soon, unable to curl into the groove of her back.

Adrien stood at the outskirts of the crowd, trying to get through, but couldn’t. They locked eyes, worry painted over his features as Marinette tried to grimly smile in return, as some sort of reassurance.

She clutched Chloe closer to her beating heart, love causing enough movement in her veins to push herself forward and beat her wings to fly.  

It was a long journey, to the city in the sky. Marinette had never flown so high before,let alone with another person. Her arms burned, her heart hurting, her soul breaking because—

There were gates here, much like heaven. Golden, gilded arches, locking anyone out who didn’t belong. There were no guards as of yet, an odd hour where bells chimed somewhere in the distance.

Bleary eyes finally opened as they landed.

“Marinette?”

Chloe’s question rang like crystal and Marinette found herself smiling as she lowered the Princess back on the ground. It occurred to her that her wings got lost in the fall.

Perhaps—

“I…” she started. “I brought you home, Chlo.”

Chloe swallowed, realization sparking. “Yes, I can see that.”

Marinette took a wide step back. “You shouldn’t come back. Actually, don’t. Don’t come back.”

Chloe closed the distance. “Wha--what?! Why?”  

(She ignored the way Chloe’s voice wavered, ignored the tension of the moment, ignored the fluttering sound of powerful wings approaching.

She ignored a lot of things.

Like her own feelings.)

She knew that Chloe was waiting for an answer. Could see it her face, in her movement as she reached out and--

Marinette stood at the edge and fell backwards instead. She gazed at Chloe’s face that popped out from the ledge, two guards finally coming back to surround the wayward Princess.

Unlike Chloe, Marinette was no Icarus, but why did it feel like her own wings had melted despite the fact that there will be no sun now?

(#(#(#)#)#)

Chloe gazed upwards for the thousandth time since that day, and once again mourned how the blue of the sky had dulled since the day she last saw Marinette’s eyes. She lost everything that day: her friends, her freedom, and the girl she lo--

She squashed down the emotion. The pain was too great.

In the aftermath of revealing her wings, Parisian guards had descended upon The Below, invaded the Dupain-Cheng household, and taken Marinette against her family’s wishes. They forced her into the training camp at Garrison 13 to become a knight of Paris, and though she was so painfully close, Chloe was forbidden to interact with her or anyone from The Below ever again. Forbidden to do anything save for attend the lessons grooming her to become the next Queen Bee.

Forbidden to attend the wake for the knights who died in an Anti-Parisian extremist attack on Garrison 13.

There were no survivors.

After that day, Chloe poured herself into her studies. Became whatever her mother--whatever Paris--needed her to be. Nothing mattered anymore. She only desired distraction, anything to take her mind off of her loneliness, her misery, but every time she looked up to the sky, she saw Marinette’s eyes.

Now here she stood, dressed in full royal regalia, on her twenty-first birthday, about to ascend to the throne. She tore her eyes away from the sky out the window and to the mirror before her. She saw in it a young woman ready to take on the responsibilities of ruling her home. But for all her outward confidence, she saw the truth in her own eyes: pain, grief, emptiness. A gaping void in her heart that could only be filled by one who no longer lived.

“Your highness,” came a voice and a knock from the door. “Your mother awaits you at your coronation.”

The echo of her footfalls in the grand hall deafened her. Knowing every eye in the room rested on her made her skin itch. She acted and spoke purely on reflex, reciting every word of her oaths to the people in robotic rhythm. She knelt and her mother slipped the golden winged comb, the symbol of her authority, into her hair, then placed the gold and black mask upon her face. She stood and turned, attempting a smile of confidence and humility, and praying she had succeeded.

“People of Paris,” her mother intoned. “I give you your new Queen Bee!”

Applause thundered through the hall. When came the time to give her own speech, her own promises to the people as to the direction of her rule, her tongue froze in her mouth. She wanted to establish peaceful terms between Paris and The Below, to open channels of communication between the two worlds. But in reality, she wanted her friends. She wanted Nino, Alya, and Adrien. She wanted to apologize, because in her heart, she knew she was the reason Marinette was gone.

But instead, she spoke of prosperity for Parisians. Maintenance of the status quo, mimicking her mother’s coronation speech almost verbatim. She disgusted herself. And when she had finished, hundreds flocked to her, bowed, showed their respects. ‘My Sky’ this, ‘My Sky’ that. She heard none of it, yet responded in the same automated fashion that she delivered her address.

No longer was she Chloe Bourgeois. No longer was she the pitiful, wingless girl who cost her best friend her life. She was Queen Bee, ruler of Paris. She had a new name, a new title, a new life. And with it, the sincere hope that she could move on.

“My Sky,” came a clear, stern voice from behind her. She turned, and faced a bowing knight in peculiar armor: crimson plating adorned with black spots. Waves of raven-colored hair obscured the knight’s face, but judging from her voice when she spoke again, she was clearly female. “I have been assigned by your mother as your personal guard.” She lifted her head and upon her face sat a mask similar to Queen Bee’s own: red, the same red as her armor, patterned in the same spots. But her eyes...her eyes jolted whatever remained of Chloe within the Queen’s heart. It was...impossible. She was...dead… The Queen swallowed back the emotions as one swallows back rising bile. “If it pleases you, you may call me Ladybug.”

Queen Bee sniffed and turned her head away, unable to gaze into the woman’s eyes any longer. “If it pleases my mother, I will accept you into my service, Dame Ladybug.”

That night, Queen Bee dreamt only of Dame Ladybug’s eyes, and woke up weeping.

(#(#(#)#)#)

Queen Bee leaned against her balcony, the cool night breeze chilled her face like a forgotten lover’s fingertips. With starlight and moonbeams, the world felt like hers as she gazed into the expanse of the sky, her bedroom at the edge of her floating city. Forever velvet blue, an infinite plane where only the free could travel.  

“My Sky?”

Queen Bee snapped from her retrieve, found a mischievous smile lit much like the starlight she adored: an intense gaze found hers much like the haunted sky she longs for. “What is it?”

Ladybug rested her chin in her hand, her black wings fluttering beautifully in the night, just to the left of her head. “How did you get that scar behind your ear?”

The Queen self-consciously lifted a hand to her ear, a twitch in her heart, images layering over the other as finds herself at a crossroads of memories--of the love she lost and the--well, the one that might be blooming in her heart.

Chloe made herself look away, deciding to fixate on the rivers that ran in the marble.

One breath, then two. Two breaths, then one.

Her hand brushed the scar again, a tender touch that made her heart ached. “From a dumb girl.”

Ladybug snorted before perching herself on the railing. “A dumb girl? My Sky, you are better than that.”

Her heart stammered in her chest, bittersweet melancholy surging to the tip of her tongue as she spoke. “Well, maybe I’m the dumb girl, but she? She wasn’t. I just--wanted to see her so bad, you know. And I made new wings I didn’t test—” she trails. “And well, the rest is history: my fall, that is.”  

Ladybug whispered, “What happened next?”

Tears pricked at her eyes as she met Ladybug’s, the moment suspended in forever, much like the sky. “She died,” she choked. “She was my sky and she died.”

Ladybug stilled for a moment, lips parted before she leaned forward and—

Kissed her Queen carefully. A heartful, careful kiss where she raised a gloved hand and Chloe melted into it, pulling her down to make them equal.

When they broke apart, Chloe closed her eyes, unable to truly let herself believe. “Please tell me you’re my sky. Please,” she desperately says.

She feels Ladybug reached up and removed her mask before giving her a little squeeze to look and see. When Chloe opened her eyes, there’s—

Marinette/Ladybug/Her sky/Her love/Her—

Chloe threw her arms around her shoulders and sobbed in the crook of her neck, wailing. “Don’t you ever leave me again,” she sobbed.

Marinette held her just as tightly. “Can’t, I’m bonded to you after all, My Sky.”

Chloe planted a tearful smile against Marinette’s pulsepoint. “No, My Sky.”

(And they kissed under moonlight and starbeams and the sky that was forever theirs for the rest of eternity.)   

[thecatsaesthetics]

Okay so this is a Gisla/Rollo fic (My first for them) or maybe it’s more Anti-current Gisla/Rollo. I just had alot of feelings about how the show was portraying them and needed to write it down. Honestly this may fit more in line with the historic figures. 

This is probably gonna be an AU given the current episode might make some things not happen. This is working on the notion that Gisla just thinks Rollo is raiding Christian lands though. Which I don’t think is out of the realm of possibility. 

*******I should put a trigger warning in this, their is mention of rape and a sexual assault scene. So please if that kinda talk or stuff upsets you please do not read*******

Hope you enjoy, please leave me a comment 

Read here or on AO3 X

Clay

The summer breezy was gentle against Gisla’s skin and the salt from the sea could be smelt even within the castle. The summer nights were short and quick, and Gisla would be so often reminded of the happiness that use to surround summer. Rollo and she had spent these last nine summers with relative ease and comfort.

Gisla tried, as she did could not push the memory of her husband far from her head. When the sky swirled together to signal the change in time Gisla would even admit she missed him. Moreover she could not seem to hate him. Gisla knew what it was to hate someone, she knew what is was to love someone, however for the first time she experienced hating the warm feelings she still felt towards him.

Most of all she hated the longing. Gisla thinks she might be able to put up with her mixed emotions towards Rollo, if only she did not long for him so. Yet when she looks at his empty throne she longs for him, she burns for him. She rages inside her head. How could leave? He belongs here. With her, with their children, he did not belong with his pagans. She fears after not hearing word from him that his pagans killed him when they left. Gisla calls him a fool in her mind, for only a fool would leave everything they’ve built together for men who he could neither trust nor rely on.

Gisla had pleaded with him, raged at him, demanded from him; she had tried everything within her power to keep him from leaving. Yet he left. Fool, Fool, Fool. She chanted in her head when he left, she willed herself not to cry, she was a daughter of Frankia, she would not let anyone see her cry. She did not give Rollo her blessing as he left, she did not look at him. She gave him nothing.

Yet still she misses and longs for him. Gisla misses his heavy breathing at night, a sound she had grown so accustom to, she misses his weight on her bed, she misses watching him at his desk, she misses helping him rule Normandy, she misses seeing him play with their children. She simply misses him. It was a safe thought in her head, but she would never confess this, even to her Priest, that she misses him. When she goes to her Priest for confessional she makes no mention of her Viking husband for fear the words will slip between her lips.

Too proud, too ashamed, too hurt. Most women, most Princesses, would scorn, hate, rage, bitter themselves against any man who dare abandon them with three children none the less. But Gisla cannot, her heart still longs for him. Each night after her children were asleep, she would sit by her fireplace and play with the arm ring Rollo gave her so long ago. His long ago promise to her that he was hers, a promise that amounted to nothing in the end. She would eye his empty chair beside hers.

She would stare at the fire, her thoughts consuming of him, and wonder does he think of her as well? On the camp side of some foreign beach, does he long for her as she does him? Or is the excitement of treasure, drinking, and women enough to push her from his thoughts? Is his bed as cold as her is? Or has he found someone to replace her? Does he dream of their happy life the way she does? Or is glad that his time with her has passed?

Was that happiness all a lie? Rollo promised that this life was what he had wanted, and yet in a flash of an eye he had broken his word. Was she too blinded by her love for him to see his unhappiness, or was Rollo just a very different man from who he appeared to be.

At times she would sit and wonder what fault she committed as a wife that he felt the need to leave her. Though Gisla could not find any fault in herself. As a wife she had done everything she was meant to. What had she not done? She had gone into childbed for him, each time with the fear she would not come out, bore three living children, lost others, raised his children to love and admire him, had guided him while ruling Normandy, had told him of the neighboring countries, of their cultures, looked over his papers, she stood beside him in battles, properly arranged their household, and promoted him to her father. Most importantly she had… she had loved him. Fully and unrepentantly, she had put aside her hatred for Vikings, for his culture, for his birth, for his worship of false gods, and loved him anyways. She was no fool, she knew Rollo was not a Christian in his heart, that he still longed for his pagan gods and yet she had put that aside. She had allowed herself to love him despite his lack of devotion to her faith.

Still this was how he saw fit to reward her good nature towards him. Abandonment. If not for her three children she might have wished she had obtained that annulment so many years ago. She had thought she knew Rollo, she expected much from him but never abandonment.

It stung at her heart whenever she thought of the word, but it was true she was abandoned. She could do nothing but wait for her Viking husband to return from raiding Christian lands, plundering God’s houses, and raping decent Christian women. Rollo could not think she would ever forget his brother’s raid on her beloved Paris. Rollo could not possibly think she did not know what raiding with his nephews would bring, what he would do and what sins he would commit. Rollo would damn his soul to eternal torment by raiding; he will commit the most unchristian acts. Gisla nearly wept at that thought, Rollo did not care, he did not care at all that he would be damning himself to eternity without her, without there children, to unimaginable hell.

           When messengers came from her father demanding to know why her husband had left she was lost for words. All she could do was request her father support her as Regent for her son, William, and that she prayed for Rollo’s safe return to them soon. Though the last part was a lie, she could not bend her knees and pray to god for her husband’s safe return. She would not pray for his safety in battle over innocent Christians. She could not. At night she prayed that her husband would see the errors of his ways and seek penance for his sins.

All she could now is wait.  

~~~~~~~

Weeks passed and the summer months were long gone and the chill in the air grew. Normandy had cold winters, for so long this factor had not been a thought in her head, as she had Rollo to keep her warm at night. Now… now he was gone. She had expected Rollo to return to Normandy by fall at least. She knew very well that winter months were unsuitable for raiding.

News reached the court by Christmas that Ragnar Lothbrok has died, killed in a pit of snakes by King Aelle of Northumbria. The news makes Gisla’s heart startle for the first time in months, the man who held a knife to her throat, who used her faith to attack beloved Paris was dead. Gisla could not help but celebrate the death of the Viking demon that had caused so many innocents to die had suffered horrible before his death and she took comfort in the fact that those souls he took could now join The Lord in peace. She celebrated The Lords birth more joyfully then she intended and Rollo hardly even entered her thoughts.  

           In the back of her mind she must have known this joy would not last. Not long after Christmas, as she was still basking in this triumph, Gisla was punished again. Her beloved little Marcellus had caught a sudden chill and fever, she had sat at his bed side with cool cloths and the physician she employed but it was of no use. Marcellus was dead before the morning light hit him. As the Priest preformed last rites Gisla recalled how his labor had lasted more then 3 days, he took longer to birth then to die.

           She touched his soft brown curls before they took him away. Sealing his face to her memory. Marcellus was such a sweet boy, yet of both her sons he was the only one to look like Rollo. His name on her mind caused her curse. He should be here she thought bitterly. He should not be off with his Vikings or dead at the bottom of the sea, but with her and their children. He should have been there for Marcellus. She felt her eyes become wet; her son had been strong and healthy, then suddenly dead. Her confessor even told her that God finds ways to punish the wicked in the harshest of ways.

During her son’s funeral little William come to her, she petted his blonde hair, and held him close.

“Mama why did Marcellus die?” He questioned her.

“Your father killed him.” Gisla responded coldly. She then knelt down to his level and said “Your father angered God by abandoning Normandy and God in turn took his vengeance out against us and took Marcellus from us.”

William stood there in shock, looking at his brother’s casket.

“William promise me,” Gisla said, taking her young son by both hands. “Swear to me you will never abandon Normandy or Frankia.”

“I will mother.” William said, though Gisla heard fear behind his voice. He had no father to make a man of him Gisla though. She would have to do. For if Rollo did not return, all William will know of ruling will come from her.

Outside Gisla knew the trees surrounding them were bare and no leaves grew on them. Gisla felt as though all her remaining love for Rollo had been taken with the winter.

 ~~~~~~~~

With her new lack of feelings towards Rollo discovered, Gisla was able to put more time and effort into home life and defense. In the weeks after Marcellus’ death Gisla found herself too focused to even think of her long gone husband.

Yet as suddenly as he left her had returned. It was still winter, yet the snows had all but melt and Gisla new spring was going to be upon them soon.  His arrival home was announced to her as Gisla was helping to teach her daughter, Celsa, how to make proper stitches. When the servant had announced the Duke had returned, Gisla felt her blood run cold. He entered the great room, his eyes were lite and his grin was large. It was plain to Gisla he did not suffer from their separation. In appearance though he was utterly Viking, his clothing, his hair, and his beard. He looked like the animal she first met, not the man she fell in love with. She knew by his appearance that he had fully rejoined his people in all aspect. His eyes did not even meet hers; instead he went to Celsa first, picking her up in his arms, commenting on how she had grown over this past year.

“Where are your brothers?” He said cooing at little Celsa.

“William is with his tutor and Marcellus is dead.” Gisla said sharply calling for the nurse to take her daughter to her lessons.

“What?” Rollo asked in complete shock, his eyes now attempting to hold hers.

“He died shortly after Christmas, a fever took him. You only have one son now, if you wish to visit him as I said he’s with his tutor.” Gisla said, willing her voice not to crack or break. She could not show him or she would break. She would allow him to make up for his mistakes, and she could not allow that. She simply took her daughter from his arms and gave her to the nurse. She then turned to leave the room.

“You did not think to send me a message?” Rollo asked. With that Gisla whipped her head back. Their was a ringing in her ears. How dare he.

“Where would have I sent such a message? To the towns you plundered? To the bottom of the ocean where I hoped you might be. To your filthy pagan village? You think I’d dare put one of my people in such danger in the hopes of finding you?” Gisla said with venom in her voice and began to exit the room.

“Gisla…” Rollo called out to her. “Please Gisla… hear me out.”

Gisla stopped in her tracks but did not turn her head.

“No, my lady or wife. Nothing more.” Gisla said and walked out of the room.

~~~~~~

Rollo gave his wife a few days before visiting her chambers, it was late at night and Gisla was sitting in her chair sewing up a tear in one of her gowns. Rollo admired it from afar, he knew the gowned very well. He had picked out the fabric for her years ago. She had it fashioned into a rather beautiful dress. It was so beautiful that Gisla decided to keep it for so many years.

“May I sit with you?” Rollo asked as he entered. He had taken over an hour to gather up the courage to come talk with her.

“This is your castle, you are entitled to sit where you please.” Gisla responded not looking up at him.

“Gisla…” He said softly, reaching out to touch her arm but stopping himself at the last moment. “You are angry, I deserve that, you hate me, and I deserve that as well. I deserve all these things, but I know you. I know you are not just feeling hatred towards me but you are also mourning Marcellus.”

At the name of her dead son Gisla’s hands frozen, her throat dried and her heart became sick.

“You cannot do this alone love. I know how you love our children. Would Marcellus want you to do this alone? Would he not want his parents to mourn him together?” Rollo said hopefully. Gisla looked up at him, and met his eyes. Her eyes were steel against his.  

“Do you know what my priest told me after he died?” Gisla asked rhetorically “He told me the story of King David losing his first born son by Bathsheba. Now you see Bathsheba was a married woman when David met her, but her marriage did nothing to stop King David. He took her anyways, and she became pregnant with his child. So David unfairly placed Bathsheba’s husband in battle to ensure his death and then he married the dead man’s widow who he had dishonored.”

“Where is this going?” Rollo asked slightly annoyed.

“David angered God, and God took his vengeance out on David and Bathsheba’s son, killing it mere hours after its birth.” Gisla said.

Rollo was silent. The implications of what Gisla had said spoke volumes. She blamed him; her forgiveness was something he could never ask for. It was out of the realm of possibility.

As Rollo shock over came him Gisla stood up and went over to her jewelry box, she pulled out Rollo’s arm ring, and clasped it between her fingers. She went back over to their matching chairs and placed the bronze ring on the arm of the chair. She sat back down in her chair and went back to sewing. Rollo looked the arm ring for a long moment before picking it up. He then stood to leave her chamber.

“You should not come here again Rollo.” Gisla spoke before he left, her eyes lingering on the torn gown. “You must grow content with our two remaining children. For unless you wish to demand your marital right and force yourself on me, like I don’t doubt you did the poor other Christian women on your travels, then you shall have no more children from me.”  Gisla said.  

Rollo did not deny her accusations; he simply nodded and left her chambers.

~~~~~~~~

Not even the summer heat could thaw Gisla to Rollo. As time went on the once happy couple saw very little of each other. They each perform their duties separately. Gisla spent her time mostly with her children, with the management of the castle and praying for her dead son. Gisla tried not to hear the servants gossip but her ears were all too open. They giggled over the fact that her sheets were only in need of washing when her monthlies came and that the Duke had taken a slave woman he captured to his bed at night. If someone had whispered this years ago, Gisla might have flown into a rage against her husband, and yet now she felt nothing. No pain, no love, only pity for whatever poor girl he was holding against her will.

           Rollo on his part grew less patient with his wife’s coldness and began to lash out on her whenever he saw her. Though he did not demand martial rights, nor did he hit her, his anger towards her was well known. He would snap at her for the smallest of things while in her presence. Which was not often, most days he spent little time with her, his children, or even the Castle. Instead he fled to taverns and whore houses, enjoying all the delights his wife denied him. He found sick comfort in the fact that he may do as he pleased whereas Gisla would never know another man so long as she lived.  

           Rollo’s time with her grew so faint that Gisla was shocked one evening when he demanded she eat supper with him at his table.

             “Your father wrote to me.” Rollo said halfway through the meal.

Gisla took a sip of her goblet of wine and then asked “What news does he have from Paris?” Gisla realized this was no romantic gesture but rather him informing her of something.  

“It is my nephews, the sons of Ragnar, they have a larger army which invaded Wessex and Northumbria. They have killed King Aelle, they butchered him.” Rollo spoke, Gisla could see the pride in his face and near wanted to vomit.

“To avenge that fiend of a father.” Gisla said bitterly.

“Careful.” Rollo warned. “Ragnar was my brother. His sons have every right to seek revenge. He was a man of great gifts and he was murdered.”

“Your brother?” Gisla mocked “You expect me to pity him? The man who held a knife to my throat, who plundered my city? How could I ever feel anything but hatred towards him?” Gisla asked rhetorically.

“I did not come here to fight with you. Only to tell you that my nephews have begun to avenge their father’s death.” Rollo said wearily.

Gisla sighed and was silent for a moment, then asked.

“And you stay here? Do you not wish to go with your nephews and avenge your brother death as well?”

“My place is here.” Rollo simply responded

“Is it? I thought you were a Viking? I thought you told me that part of you will always long for that life? Here is your chance to prove yourself to me again. Leave Normandy, use the army my father provided. Attack The King of Wessex and help your nephews. I’m sure after you prove your loyalty to them they will welcome you with open arms. For what Vikings would not want you then. I’m sure they would rejoice in knowing you would be their beside them, killing Christian men and raping Christian women, you seem to have quite the taste for it.” Gisla said bitterly. For the first time she had brought up the knowledge of Rollo’s behavior and Gisla could tell by the red in his face she had gone too far.

With that Rollo slammed his fists down on, and threw his plate off the table. He went over to Gisla, and while he did not touch her, the look in eyes made Gisla’s heart shiver with fear.

“You are my wife. I will take none of your judgments or your petty jealousy; you were given to me by your father to be my wife. If you wished others not to warm my bed you should not have denied me my rights. But I am sure your God will understand your betrayal of sacred marriage vows.” Rollo said leaning very close to her face, his hot spit flinging into her face. Gisla attempted to leave but Rollo gripped her wrists and forced her to stay seating in her chair. Gisla heart raced, she had never feared Rollo like she had in this moment. Even on her wedding night, when she was certain she would be raped and brutalized by him, she never feared him like this. He crotched low to her ear, her caressed it with his nose, breathing in her the scent of her hair, Gisla stomach churned. “I do not answer to you wife. You should have been grateful I even returned to you. That I did not stay with my people, that I returned and allowed you to have a proper status again. If I had died who would marry you? The Christian woman who had bed a Viking of her own fear will? Who took pleasure in my bed? What good Christian Lord or Prince would want you or look after our children? What would your father have done with you when William came of age? A convent? Or marry you to the lower level Lord who would take you? Would they have been kind to you? No my dear, you should have opened your arms and you legs to me again when you saw that I had not abandoned you to such a fate. One day you’ll learn that you shouldn’t have treated me so.” He said kissing and licking the inside of Gisla ear. He then bite it sharply and she yelp. He chuckled at her pain. He let go of her wrists and pushed himself away from her. He shoved her porridge and meat to the floor, and knocked over her wine glass. “Go hungry for all I care.” and fled the room.  

Gisla began to shake after Rollo left, her rubbed her wrists and saw that her arms were beginning to bruise, her eyes felt wet, her heart raced like horses on the move. Servants rushed into the room, and cleaned up Rollo’s mess. Gisla wondered what they must think. Did they pity her, being married to a brute? Or did they think her cold and deserving of her husband’s abuse and neglect?

Gisla’s pride ate away at her; she felt heat rising on her face. How dare Rollo do this to her, how dare he make her suffer this humiliation. She near ran to her chambers, and slammed her door shut. She sent her servants away. Picking up the nearest vase she smashed it to the ground. It’s clay pieces scattering all around Gisla. The clay was easily broken, Gisla hardly need to put any force into the matter.

She sat down on her bed, and allowed tears to fall out. Rollo had once swore his destiny was to be with her, she had clung to that idea over this past year. Yet he had done this, he had left her and now he humiliates and torments her. Was this her destiny? Was what Rollo had said those years ago been a lie?

They were still together, that much was true, but Gisla reasoned, destiny may not mean happiness together?

[fireballofinsanity]

Super detailed question meme go! All questions with a two in them, for Aladdin's big sister~

Super detailed questions about your OCs

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Queen of Sindria and (eventually) Pacifist Queen! The first comes from marrying Sinbad, making her queen upon saying “I do”, pretty much, and she absolutely loves her role. Pacifist Queen is one that eventually comes to be due to her pacifist nature; unlike Sin, who desires peace but can also be slightly quick to the sword, she prefers to talk things out in a rational, easy manner unless otherwise shown she has no choice but to fight, and she’s pretty good at it. The result has the title rise up from gossip, and she embraces it wholeheartedly.

12. What is their favourite food?

Dumplings! Sera’s a woman that’s easy to please, and she knows a handful of different ways to make and prepare them. Fill one with pork and a blend of seasonings, cook it up, and hand it to her, and you’ll be her best friend for an entire day!

20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

In modern verses, Sera likes light music, like classical, because it’s often played in the shelters she’s lived/volunteered in to help calm down over-excited kids at night and generally ease everyone into a more relaxed state of mind towards bedtime. Over time, it became a favorite of hers, though she’s also fond of more upbeat tunes as well, using them in the Midnight Hour verse for her student’s performances.

In her Sindria’s Light/canon magiverse, she likes just about anything that plays during Sindria’s festivals, and more than anything, loves the lullabies and songs mothers sing to their kids.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

She’s patient to the most ridiculous levels, honestly. It’s something that eventually lends to the Pacifist Queen title- Someone could be screaming him her face and she’d still have a sweet smile, trying to talk things over calmly and rationally. But underneath all of that is a temper reserved for those who forget that despite being soft and sweet, Sera is a flower with thorns; If you cross her loved ones, you’ll live to regret it. She is merciful in that she won’t let Sin (or anyone really) physically harm someone past what’s absolutely required of the situation, but she will force them to sit in the palace dungeons for the rest of their lives, if the punishment calls for it. She’s still learning swordsmanship at the moment, but you best be sure she’ll use that blade when nessecary after her training is through if you even lay a single finger on her family… And Sin, Alibaba, and Aladdin aren’t her only family. She counts all her friends as family.

You better run, fool.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

Sera doesn’t usually insult anyone? If she has an issue with someone, she tries to keep it to herself, but on rare occasion might be found complaining to Sin or Ja'far about a particularly stressful person or situation. She doesn’t want to cause trouble, and knows all too well word can cut deeper than the sword in a moment of anger, and never be fixed.

Once in a serious battle, though, Sass master mode engages and she’ll generally sass anyone she’s against, and that includes calling them on their fashion, their hair, how they talk, etc- She’d never do it against some like, say, Sharrkan, even if they did somehow become enemies, because she respects him too much, but some random soldier or an enemy of Sindria is going to get the full force of it. Still, she doesn’t really have a favorite insult to use, just grabs at whatever she can.

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

She has a fairly good memory, closer to long-term, though she counts that as both a blessing and a curse. It means she’s not only remembering the good times, but all the bad of her past as well, though she’s generally able to force the bad into the darker corners of her mind and let them sit there. Meeting Sin made that a lot easier, too,

She’s better with faces than she is names, but that’s not to say she’s bad with either, really. It just means that the face will come to mind long before the name if she’s actually met them, and on several occasions she’s forgotten the name completely, but that’s been limited to those she’s met at diplomatic functions as Sindria’s queen and people she’s only met once or twice, or in a similar setting as a studio owner at busy performance venues in the Midnight Hour AU.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

Oh god- Sera has a very…. Non-existent pattern. No matter when she goes to bed, unless the room is kept dark and devoid of actual sunlight streaming in, she’s up at dawn to work, even if she’d just gone to bed an hour before. She’s been a little lax since marrying Sin, getting up not so much at the crack of dawn exactly but lounging a little for at most an hour, but she still tends to get up and get her morning chores done before occasionally crawling back into bed and snuggling until she has no choice but to get him out of bed. She’s a fairly moderate sleeper; certain noises can wake her ala a light sleeper would be, but she’s generally out cold.

She doesn’t snore, but she does rarely talk in her sleep, usually during a particularly vivid dream. As for what she sleeps on, she’s comfortable on anything. For nine years, she slept in trees and on the ground, so to sleep on something hard doesn’t faze her in the least, but after moving into the palace she came to really enjoy the incredibly soft mattress Sin made sure she had in her room… Though she likes his a lot more~!

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

Her sense of humor is pretty typical, really. She’ll laugh at jokes told over dinner with everyone else, giggle at someone doing something silly, or something Sin says just for a reason to make her smile. But she has moments where something not really funny could make her laugh; for example, in a current mini-thread with Ja'far telling her about how he has a secret remedy for hangovers, but won’t tell Sin and makes him suffer with them unless something important comes up, Sera is highly amused by this and wants to laugh, but has no idea why it’s so funny.

As for being funny herself, she can be, but it’s more of a light humor, poking at something someone’s said or an amusing situation. Her sassy side in battle is actually a lot funnier, since her generally pure humor comes down to the weirdest insults and comments, - She’s not above interrupting an opponent’s tirade to let him know he has a headache before headbutting him or hitting him over the head.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

She’s generally happy, but when overly so, like the day after receiving her crown from Sin, she dances about a fair bit more, hums an upbeat tune, giggle and smile even more than usual - she makes it more than obvious she’s in a good mood, even catching someone, be it staff, Sin, her brother or sister, even Ja'far, up into a dance with her.  There’s even an extra abundance of baked goods if she has the time to head to the kitchen, and always everyone’s favorites for an after-dinner treat.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad?

The little she knows of what Sin’s suffered through as a kid and teen is something that can upset her a great deal when thought of, and knowing people are still suffering, seeing it in person, can bring her mood way down as well. Remembering her lost blood-related brother and sister can get her to break down into tears on the spot, and so can remembering Alibaba and Aladdin when she’s not seen then for a long time. These, among common things like hurt feelings, her fears being triggered (sitting through thunderstorms, for example), and horrible nightmares are the major reasons her mood would drop to one of sadness.

However, she often tries to hide her tears. When alone, she’ll curl into a small ball and hug her knees, or slump against a wall, even slump over her office desk if she’s in the middle of work and bury her face in her hands. If she breaks down around someone she trusts, she might lean against them and hope they’ll wrap an arm around her shoulders, though even if they don’t just being close to them helps, and Sin will instantly pull her into his arms and hold her until she calms down, rubbing her back and comforting her in a way she’s eternally grateful for, and she loves him even more for his gentle kindness.

But the majority of the time, unless she’s completely breaking down (Like standing at the marker she had made for her lost siblings and remembering them), she’ll wipe her tears away upon being found and insist she’s absolutely, perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong, she just got something in her eyes- It takes a gentle hand catching her wrist or shoulder before she can get away from them to let her cry more and get out what’s bothering her.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

As previously mentioned, thunderstorms are a major fear, but her biggest fear and worst nightmare is losing Sin and her family. Sindria is the first place she’s ever felt wanted and accepted, like she’s finally home for the first time in her entire life. Losing her family - Alibaba, Aladdin, and their friends, and especiallySin, who’s become her entire heart and the one thing tethering her to the light and making her the person she is now - would completely and utterly shatter her. If there’s one way to force her to fall into depravity, it’s taking them from her. Remove Sin from the world, and she’ll fall hard.

Generally, she’s also afraid of being alone, and very, very much afraid of most bugs. She’s also a hair above scared of snakes, which is a bit ironic, considering how close she’s gotten to Sharrkan and Ja'far, though the later is a viper in nickname and skills only, really. An easy way to get her to shut down completely and trigger a fight or flight reaction born from fear is to tie up her wrists/hands in a tight binding AND be someone she doesn’t know/trust.

When scared, she’ll hide behind someone she’s near, or jump away from whatever spooked her, maybe climb up onto someone/thing to get away from it. Thunderstorms specifically will send her into a terrified fit, prompting her to curl up, cover her ears, and scream, eyes squeezed closed and praying it’ll be over soon. If she’s with someone she trusts, ala one of the generals, she’ll cling to their arm or side for comfort, but with a loved one like Sin, her terror has her wanting to be as close to him as possible. If not stopped, she even goes as far as trying to squirm underneath his clothing; nothing is quite close enough until that storm is over… And this reaction often leads to him either drowning the sounds of the storm out with something else, or, on occasion, taking her to bed for a few heated rounds of lovemaking. Both are successful means of helping her through it, really.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?

Already answered!

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

Sera prefers to wear modest clothing; she’s of the belief that if someone is going to like her and want to get to know her better, or desire a relationship, they’re going to want it because they like her, not her body. She also dislikes showing off too much of her form to the world, especially when she’s a very thin woman, barely even at a healthy weight.

Ironically, her preferred dress as queen is a strapless  thing with a band that ensures it sits just on top of her bust, with a skirt that doesn’t quite reach her knees, and she also owns a rather skimpy outfit saved specifically for dancing during maharajan. She argues these are because she’s at home in Sindria and therefore more comfortable, but still acts the opposite in any other situation and with anything skimpier than those two outfits.

She generally buys her outfits from Sindria’s bazar, but has a fair number of dresses bought for her by Sin that were made specifically for her, like her wedding dress and a pink dress usually saved for diplomatic venues. Actually, the majority of her clothes were bought by Sin, forming a wardrobe he helped her choose when he realized she was living in nothing more than tatters for nine years before they even started dating.

As for sleepwear, she has a selection of nightgowns and nightshirts, including one of Sin’s that he gave her upon giving her her original bedroom in the palace’s Purple Leo tower, and a short, silky pink nightgown held up by long ribbons tied into bows atop her shoulders. Despite having such a selection and believing Sindria’s nights are far too cold, Sera sleeps stark naked, unless the night is exceptionally cold. This is a habit born after marrying, since Sin strips in his sleep and she finds it warmer to have skin on skin contact, as well as it being more comfortable to snuggle him in such a way on a lazy morning.

When it comes to makeup and her hair, she’s not fussy in the least; unless nessecary for a meeting or going to a diplomatic venue, she doesn’t do much with her hair except maybe braid it after bathing before bed or tie it up into a ponytail when needed, and doesn’t touch makeup aside from perhaps a slight bit of something to keep her lips from chapping, and this goes for all verses. When dressing up, she’ll go for a hint of color on her lips, maybe a bit of blush, and do up her hair in a bun or something slightly fancier.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Her dream in life is to end suffering and illness, seeking peace for reasons incredibly close to her husband’s. However, she prefers to go about attaining her dreams in a far different way, using methods of peace and talking things out rather than fighting. Though she and Sin have incredibly different ways of doing things seperately, when together they turn into a remarkable team, able to put both sides together in a method of problem solving all their own.

However, she would sacrifice everything for Sin and her home, especially her family. Rather than let any harm come to them, she’ll willingly walk unarmed into an active battlefield, especially means she can help someone, to protect them. And if it comes down to it, she will stand in front of them and offer her life in exchange for theirs, all without batting an eye. Even she’s not sure if it’s bravery or sheer stupidity, but she won’t let you hurt her loved ones.

Though she thinks it’s secret (it’s not), she wants to make Sin into the glorious king he rightfully is, and see his dreams come to be reality… Of course, in peaceful ways that will unite everyone, together.