#blissful childhood memories

[random-xpressions]

I'm an 80's guy. Of course, I have a thing for old fashioned cameras, radios with a tuning dial, audio/video cassettes that often have its reel getting stuck inside the players, and lastly the television sets with extendable antennas. Good old days...

Random Xpressions

[autistic-katara]

life would be so much better if i went back in time 3 years (that period of my life was pretty traumatic nd rlly the only good things were the closeness i had with my friends nd the vibes i look back on)

[animeyanderelover]

@lucyrose9820 asked: A scenario where Obito, Itachi, Tomura, Dabi, Shoto, Ulquiorra are sleeping and their beloved caresses their faces?

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, abduction, isolation

Tags: @shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan

Caressing their face while they sleep

Obito Uchiha

🔥​You'd be mistaken to think that a healthy sleep is something Obito is familiar with even if your presence provides enough comfort for him to doze off for a while though he still finds himself waking up multiple times a night. His sleep is very light to begin with so it is very likely that he will be either already be awake by the point you caress his face or will wake up as soon as he feels your touch as he is always very aware of any touches you give him. His heart is pounding and he feels a fuzzy euphoria swirling around inside of him as your love washes over him like soft summer rain. This is the bliss that he has always longed to have with the person he loves and especially if you have been someone who has been up to that point scared of him you'd turn a bright fire of delusional thinking into a raging inferno. His fingers instantly wrap around your wrist as soon as you pull away from his face, keeping your warm palm on his cheek as he opens his eye to look at you., asking you to do it again.

Itachi Uchiha

🍡​Sharing a bed with you is a new development in your lives and even if he can tell himself that you have made this decision based on your own account, he can't stop thinking that the isolation ever since your abduction has probably led you to crave his presence as he's the only human interaction you have left. Itachi has a light sleep himself and needs a long time to fall asleep but he enjoys it listening to your own steady breaths as you slip into dreams. He'd pretend to be asleep as soon as he feels your fingers stroking his face, waiting to see if you'll do anything else. For the split of a second he does feel happiness as it is one of the first signs of affection that you have given him since you requested to share a bed with him. It all is quickly drowned out by guilty awareness though as he questions how genuine your affection is and how much was influenced by the months of isolation. You'll never know that he was awake as he won't talk about it even the next day, a memory he will keep to himself.

Shoto Todoroki

🔥​❄️​Shoto's mostly delusional behavior has led you to share a bed with him from a very early point on. He's going to treat his lover better than his father did which is why he needs you to love him as much as he loves you and his delusional thoughts assist him to drown out any words and signs of protest from your isde even if awareness sometimes creeps in and destroys his view of himself. When he wakes up in the middle of the night though to feel your fingers brushing over his burnt mark, his delusions instantly latch on to your sign of affection. His burnt side has always been a reminder of what his father stole from him, a reminder of the day his childhood was taken away from him and his mother as well. To feel you caressing something that has always been connected to his loss of innocence and childhood with such loving touches makes him very emotional as his arms draw you closer to his chest, taking you by surprise. You finally love him, don't you?

Dabi

🔹​Dabi has stopped caring about anything which includes the people around him. How lame would it be to pretend to care for you just because you happen to be his obsession? If he wants you in bed with him, he'll have you in bed with him. Touya doesn't expect you to love him with the things he has done and he won't change for you either as this man you see in front of you is who he is now. He doesn't expect to wake up abruptly to feel you caressing his jaw and almost on reflex he grabs your wrist and yanks your hand away in a tight grip that has you let out a whimper of pain. Initially he almost doesn't seem to process that you were caressing his face out of affection as he stares at you, why would you with someone as shitty as him? After a while he lets go of your wrist though, unsure what to say to you. Ultimately he decides to close his eyes again with no apology, though he keeps on looking at you as if demanding you to do it again because he is too prideful to ask you for your touch.

Tomura Shigaraki

✋Whether we're considering his gremlin version or his more mature version, you'll end up forced to share a bed with him and especially a pre-Re-Destro Shigaraki would be very demanding of any touches which you will have to give him as his quirk would activate if he were to fully touch you. His reaction would differ depending on what Shigaraki we're going for in here. I'd feel like before remembering his past, Shigaraki would not fully realise just how significant it would be for you to touch him on your own accord without him having to force you. He'd just wake up, stare at you before going back to sleep again whilst mumbling that he wants you to continue what you're doing right now. A Shigaraki after regaining his memories would realise the implication that you have started gaining feelings for him when he senses your hands touching and stroking his face even though he didn't tell you to do so whilst pretending to stay asleep, worried that you'd stop if he were to open his eyes.

Ulquiorra Cifer

💚​I'm not even sure if an Arrancar actually needs sleep but even if they should, Ulquiorra still might as well be an insomniac. He doesn't require sleep like you would and you may think that this may mean that he'd leave you in peace yet it is this unnatural fascination he finds himself having with you that leads him to sometimes lay down with you all to observe you and grasp what it is he is feeling for you. So even if his eyes are closed, his mind is wide awake as he is merely copying what you are doing whenever you go to sleep. The sensation of warm hands on his cold skin is one of the things he is still not used to as the concept of physical affection is one of the many things he is still unfamiliar with. Green eyes glow in the darkness of the room as he gazes at you, startling you in the process as you quickly draw your hand back only for his own hand to grasp your wrist and hold it in place. The feeling was unfamiliar but not unwelcome yet he wants to know from you why you felt the need to touch his face in the first place.

[simp4konig]

Self-aware König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: ~2800

König slowly comes to the realisation that he was in a game, that he was never real, and that he'll never be with reader.

His sense of self deteriorates as all he wishes for is to escape from the boundaries of his code and be real.

In this instance, ignorance really *was* bliss.

*Slow burn

*König has a mental breakdown at one point lmao

Edit on same day: HOLY SHIT thank u for so many notes!!!!!!!!!!! 🥹🥹💞💞💞💞💞 You guys are so nice 🫣🫣

*Self-aware AU belongs to @puff0o0 !!!🥳🥳 (The girl behind the disguise🥸... Was rthis loser all along!!!!! 😈😈imagine giving permission to 👍THIS 👍idiot to write Ur fic idea lol u made a mistake 💀💀💀ok but idid my best not to ruin their awesome au with this pathetic controbution and jope I honoured it well 😭😭 but fr i had been stalking their profile since the begigning of their self aware! au and ivloved their acc 🥺🥺I love their imagines and how they fulfill the request yet leave enoith for imaginstion !! (which, don't mind if I do🤠all of the König scenarios added tovmy incessant daydreamimg hhhhhhhhh oh no),, and when they followed me I was staring at my phone with the BIGGEST goofy grin on my face 🥹🥹Thank YOU sm!!!!! 🫂MUCH LOVE!!!!!!!!!!💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

*To anyone waiting (I've gotten such lovely messages from people saying they liked my first fic (which made me so happy as it was the first ever fanfiction I published online🥹🥹)), Part TWO of my first fic is on its way !!!,, I didn't want to make u guys all fluffy 🥰🩷💘✨🤗 inside only to tear your hearts 💔🥀🗡️🗡️😭 in two witj this 😿 dw I promise to reward u guys with another fic and cute himbo (and absolute menace while on the battlefield 👹)König <33, with King X König having more wholesome interactions in the near future!!

If you had told König that he wasn't real, he would have looked at you blankly and said nothing, passing off your suggestion as a joke of sorts that he possibly couldn't understand.

Perhaps if he was ever faced with a situation like this he'd question you about it, but nothing more, and drop the subject at hand.

Honestly, the likelihood of him ever thinking over this twice would have been slim, as he would not pay your philosophy much thought shortly afterwards.

In fact, he believed that his life as a Kortac operator was indeed a real one, and he wore his embroided Austrian flag on his shoulder with something next to pride, always praised for his outstanding efforts by his superiors in the same tone of voice. To König, however, it meant nothing, and he'd only nod his head in an attempt at gratitude, turning his back to the commemoration in indifference.

Despite not remembering anything of his childhood, his upbringing — hell, even any of his past prior to becoming a soldier — König didn't ever think over it too deeply. The overwhelming pressure to make sure missions went without a hitch and constant deployments to foreign countries left no time to reminisce, especially not when his work was so demanding, and it only made sense to him that they were the reason for his forgotten memories.

Besides, even if he had time to spare and be inactive, he had to stay focused, as being an operator meant that he couldn't let any nostalgia or softness distract him from his tasks.

On the battlefield, König worked on autopilot, performing finishing kills with efficiency and with machine-like precision. Reacting quickly to enemies ambushing him from behind or an enemy that was laying on the floor behind the corner waiting to shoot him in the head, he'd eliminate the targets with bullets to spare. Really, he was unstoppable, and he was on a killing streak.

Until he was shot in the head one day.

The moment it happened, the shot was like an explosion that almost obliterated his eardrums, outside noise deafened like his head was underwater. All he could hear was the high-pitched ringing, and it held an uncanny resemblance to the beeping of a heart rate monitor machine that he would never lay next to, dying instead on a bed of cold rubble and broken shrapnel.

Somehow conscious enough to look around, his mind was completely empty, eyes attempting to adjust. What he'd assumed would happen in a time like this was his mind flashing with memories like a movie reel in his last moments, his entire life playing out in his final dying seconds.

Yet he remembered nothing. No Mama, no Papa, no childhood or any his life trials, nothing that had changed him and moulded his character, not even his motive for enlisting into the military in the first place.

The part that was most unnerving about all this was his complete apathy to it all.

Did he even care that he was dying? Shouldn't he at least feel regret at having essentially been the one to pull the trigger, cutting his own life short with the lifestyle he had committed himself to? Why wasn't he scared, sad, even bewildered at the very least, shocked that his life would soon end so unceremoniously? Fuck, not even mild disappointment at least at not even had travelled the world, and failing to ever explore any place besides abandoned buildings housing hostages and terrorist bases swarming with foes? Nothing at all?

Unable to process his situation, König just... laid there, unmoving, while his surroundings moved in double speed. Nondescript figures holding rifles wearing camo and balaclavas blurred in his vision, and he couldn't differentiate the enemy from his own.

Slowly losing consciousness, he felt his world darken around him, dulling his senses to the mayhem unfolding in real time. He'd accepted his fate, and could do nothing about it. That was that. And this was it.

It was a shock to his system when a silhouetted hand pulled him up by the arm limp by his side and shouted in his face, "Get up, soldier! This is no place to die!"

König didn't need to be told twice. He nodded his head robotically, his eyes looking ahead of him with a thousand-yard stare, and not even sparing a glance to the anonymous ally that saved him, he picked up the his gun off the floor and loaded another magazine into it with a satisfying click.

In his delirium, he worked on autopilot after that, shooting at anything that shot at him first. Too much in a daze, he was past the point of realising that the gaping bullet wound had suddenly sealed itself, vanishing entirely and leaving no mark that it was ever there.

After that, König didn't realise that he wasn't real when any injuries still didn't affect him. He assumed that his insensitivity to wounds was a result of a high pain tolerance, and his body healing miraculously was his ability to regenerate fast.

Although he would lay on the ground, his arm outstretched while through gritted teeth shouting: "Scheisse! Ich brauche hier Hilfe! I need some help over here!"; truth be told, he'd only do so when he after getting used to seeing so many bodies writhe in pain like so, and something for some reason told him that it was the right thing to do.

Waking up moments after not far from the spot he supposedly died in a daze, all bullet wounds gone, he didn't have time in the moment to think over the specifics of his death. Maybe he was hallucinating, or remembering things incorrectly.

König began to suspect that something was wrong when he'd hear his operators say the same sentence word for word. He rationalised that the constant shooting that never ceased even late into the night and dangerous missions that left him with far too many close calls put pressure on his mind. This mania amongst soldiers in the military was a common phenomenon after all, so it shouldn't have been as much of a surprise for König when he felt waves of déjà vu at hearing statements he could have sworn were related to him before at one point, and going to infiltrate areas that were vaguely familiar.

At some point, he thought something was REALLY wrong when he was storming a military base with... a sniper rifle.

Time stood still as he inspected the weapon in his hands, eyes wide.

That... was impossible. He had never been a sniper. True, he had wanted to be one from the beginning, yet he had adapted to his role as the main means of assault, always on the offensive rather on the defensive. So then... Why?

Adding to that, his appearance would differ. They were subtle changes at first, yet still noticeable: a red helmet instead of his black; an ochre hood instead of his black veil with its signature red streaks; a sniper camoflauge when that disguise had never been in his possession before; and even a gas mask with a hazmat suit when he had been wearing something else altogether on the helicopter heading towards its destination.

Although König hadn't know it yet, his reality was slowly shattering along the cracks, but he stubbornly fought the gnawing feeling that ate him up from the inside. He had to stay focused, he repeated to himself. No time to ponder when a task was at hand.

"All units ready your weapons, and in position immediately." Through his walkie-talkie, a voice began counting down the time left before the mission would begin. "60 seconds."

König checked all of his gear, making sure that everything was in place and he was fully equipped. A rifle, a side-arm, ammo, grenades, a med kit for an emergency and a knife. "40 seconds."

Looking up into the sky and straight into the sun, he didn't need to cover his sight as his eyes weren't affected by it at all. Yet, his eyes squinted in confusion, sensing that he was seeing something that he wasn't meant to see behind the glowing eye. "20 seconds."

He saw more than an eye. An ear, a nose, then a mouth. A face.

He saw you.

You were looking at him through a screen, holding a controller and waiting to start playing your game.

His reality shattered all at once, and he stumbled on his feet, unable to regain his balance, feeling himself go weak in the knees. He tuned out the all-important seconds through the communication device, unable to compose himself as for the first time ever he struggled to breathe.

Suddenly, all of it made sense.

People telling him the same things and never deviating from the topic of the mission, the reawakenings, the pain insensitivity — all of it was because none of it was never real.

People never branched off into other topics of conversation because their sole existence was limited to a few hand-selected voiceliness and idle animations. With each upgrade and level up, König had gotten praise from from him superiors, which explained how emotionless their announcements always sounded and why they were so constant.

The frequent brushes with death weren't a matter of luck, and instead it was just his entity respawning until a certain condition was met, until either Kortac or Specgru came out victorious — otherwise, he could "die" as many times as it took until the time ran out.

He was unfazed by bullets that grazed him and knives that tore though his flesh as he could physically feel no pain, his very existence artificial, his skin composed of pixels with no human matter hidden beneath them.

And, his inability to trace back to before he was transferred to Kortac was all because it was all he was programmed to know. There was no childhood. There was no Mama or Papa. It was just him in this world, and he had been manufactured, his thoughts and behaviours fabricated.

For a moment, he considered you the creator of his word, his God, and felt forsaken. He wanted to curse you, to snap your neck in his hands and watch your head drop lifelessly in his hold.

Yet it became apparent that you weren't the one behind this realm. Seeing the headphones strapped to your head and the controller held in anticipation in your hands, you were simply indulging in a past time, and weren't to blame for his state in any way. It wasn't your fault that you were unknowingly playing as a König trapped in the game.

You let out a groan of frustration, mashing buttons on your controller in an attempt to get König to move.

"What the fuck is going on?!" You hissed, trying in any way you could to start playing. Checking your router and the game's ping, you saw that your connection was secure, and that there was no reason for König to be frozen in place. "Fucking piece of shit console."

König shook his head, still disbelieving and unable to accept his fictional reality, yet hearing the sound of your voice made everything an even tougher pill to swallow. He had to stay in character. For you; it was the least that he could do.

After the initial lag at the beginning of the match, the game went smoothly and you couldn't find any faults. However, you suddenly noticed that your movements over König improved, moving with more fluidity and suddenly taking less damage than what you would normally use to. Headshot after headshot and kills all of the time poured onto on your screen until you'd find yourself being ganged up by bitter players wanting to ruin your streak as revenge.

Still, you topped the leaderboards with a new personal record that night. 97 kills to 0 deaths flashed on your screen, and you jumped up from your gaming chair, ecstatic, almost knocking it over in the process.

König felt butterflies in his stomach seeing you smile and jump around excitedly, and that's when he had found his purpose.

From that moment on, you became his lifeline. You gave the unfeeling König something to live for, a motive to keep fighting that he hadn't been given when being created in the game — for you and your greater good.

Really, you made him feel things: made him feel alive; made him fight with more passion and determination when your happiness was on the line.

He fell... In love.

The feelings and emotions he felt in his chest chest were genuine, and weren't pre-written in a script or manipulated by a third-party. Even the bullets that would pierce through his gear and leave him on the ground withering in agony was worth it, and he'd exchange his invincibility any day to feel what he felt when he saw your face, and the smile that tugged at your lips when you were revived or got a difficult kill.

His love for you was immortal, and it would persist through generations and could last for a lifetime, and König was almost certain that you could feel all of his energy channelling through your TV.

He found himself lovingly staring at you through the screen, admiring you as if you were an ephemeral being, a beautiful angel, even when your hair was greasy, your old tee had armpit stains and your eyes were bloodshot from how long you had been playing. Really, none of that put König off — if anything, all of those made you so distinctly you, so human.

Yet, König was in love with someone that was practically in another dimension and he would never speak to them, never touch them, never share thoughts and pass the time doing everything and nothing with them. None of that, because he wasn't real.

Had his life improved now they he had grown self-awareness? Had his ignorance really been bliss before his revelation? Perhaps if he had been another NPC that only gained manipulated consciousness whenever the player spawned in the map he wouldn't be so stricken with grief and crouched over in agony, the knuckles on his hands turning white from how fervently he was gripping his mask. He'd hyperventilate off-screen, sometimes the torment being too much.

Being so close to you yet being restricted to his three-dimensional world was bittersweet at the least, and internal suffering at most. His insatiable craving to be with you, and you with him only, fuelled his desperation, and he tried to keep you with him for as long as possible through any means necessary.

When you selected an operator that wasn't König, your game glitched heavily and would even crash whenever you made the mistake of even complimenting their design, and God forbid whenever you tried to play as someone other than him, as your console would near explode.

When you'd boot up a different game on your PlayStation, your loading screen would suddenly transport you back to the one of MW2, König greeting you with a voiceline that he reserved and perfected just for you:

"Welcome back, schatz. I have been waiting for you." Because he treasured you, and you were the only person that he could ever have feelings for.

Perhaps a recent update was fucking up your console, or it was just malfunctiong due to age. Either way, playing on an eight year old PS4 meant it could only run for so long and glitches like this were inevitable, yet you persisted in keeping the console running, not in your budget to afford to upgrade.

You'd search frantically on the internet for any information about the new König voicelines and whether there was any resolution for your problem when playing CoD, something telling you that your game was not functioning in the way that it should.

A thought crossed your mind that König had gone rogue, and you tried to laugh it off. Swallowing thickly, that still didn't relieve the deep pit in your stomach. If anything, the mere idea made it worse for you, and you'd get an intense gut feeling that would make you feel dizzy whenever König would make eyes contact with you and stand there, making you question whether he was acting out of character or not.

His attempts to keep you with him were commendable, yet none of it could change the fact that it would never be anything more than one-sided pining, a deep longing for a person whose world kept spinning while his stopped once you logged off the game, his day ending abruptly and being consumed by darkness.

For now, König had to content himself with being stuck behind a screen. He wished so desperately to be able to touch you, to escape this human generated world that trapped him in these bounds, and to find who he really is when with you. Shrouded in this deep black void, all he could do was wait patiently until you'd boot up the game again.

A hand was placed on his side of the screen longingly, resting it gently on the face on the other side.

Note: this wasn't meant to be so sad ,how did an idea of König popping out from the screen turnvto this 😭😭

[hardlyinteresting]

To Have and To Hold

Jake Seresin x Reader

Jake comes home

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please), I grew up in an Army household so some of my Navy knowledge may be slightly off base (no pun intended) Word count: 1.8K

The floorboards creak with the weight of his footsteps still. there's a strange comfort in the sounds of this old house settling; the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the quiet slide of his socks across wood floors. If he listens carefully, he can hear the whistle of the wind blowing past the window he meant to reseal all those months ago. The reminder of another missed task weighs heavy in his heart; a failure to provide a safe, warm home. It's the little things that matter most, his mama's voice reminds him, but it's the little things he so often misses-- always overlooked with the prayer that he won't be made a liar when he says he'll do it later. 

Time plays him for a fool. At 35 he rushes to make sure he meets the milestones he set out for himself, steadfast and resilient in his resolve to do more-- to be more. He breaks records, and sets precedents. But, he struggles to relax. Breathing doesn't come easy to him when it's not through his aviator's mask. In for seven, out for five. He counts the seconds of his inhales and exhales grounding himself in the moment. 

He does his best to hold tight to the moments he has here, But still, it never seems to be enough. like sand through an hourglass it all seems to slip away from him; these new found days of domestic bliss escape through his fingers like the memories of his childhood back in Texas. He wonders if one day he might be afforded the chance to pick up all the pieces and fit them together in some semblance of a “normal” life. He worries about his time away from home, what he's missed, and worse yet what he stands to miss if this life is taken from him too soon. 

Tonight marks the end of a six month separation, and tomorrow morning the count down to his next inevitable departure will begin. Always running out of time. It never used to bother him, it exhilarated him even, time blasting by in a blink of an eye. Back when he was younger, back when he had nothing to lose, and no idea what he stood to gain by sticking around. Now he worries about the quality of the lock on the front door, he thinks about restaining the floor downstairs and fixing up the kitchen. Domestic life snuck up on him. Slowly but surely his house became a home. Sun-baked bricks and weather-worn siding, with a shade of green paint he's been told matches his eyes. Four walls and roof that keep the outside world at bay. 

Down the hall in their bedroom, he Expects to find his wife sleeping, waiting in dreams for him to come home to her. It's the part of his job he struggles with the most now. It's so hard to leave this life they've built now that part of him is forever tethered to the earth. 

“I worry sometimes that I'm holding you back,” she confessed one night, “your job is hard enough as it is…I don't want to make it harder for you”. He hadn't been able to find the words to tell her how wrong she was.How could he describe the ways she had changed him? 

The need to return home to her never leaves him stunted in the sky, it fuels him. Long gone are the days where he fought just to be seen; she sees him. He's quick up there, tens of thousands of feet above the ground, he's calm and he's brilliant. His colleagues can call him cocky all they want, but his confidence is founded on his proven ability, and sometimes it's necessary to show off a little bit even if it's just so he can have another story to tell his sweetheart when he gets home. He imagines himself writing her name in the sky, carving her likeness in the clouds, a blazing trail racing home to her. 

So many of his earlier years had been spent playing the field too afraid to commit, too afraid to be loved. Adaptability, while necessary for his job, had never been his strong suit. A tiny part of him deep in the back of his mind always left the hair at the back of his neck on end when faced with change.

He had struggled in school, not academically, but socially and learned to over compensate to make up for his discomfort. The navy had given him the structure he had craved, a way to make his bed and fold his clothes, instructions that weren't open to interpretation. Living on his own allowed him to follow the same schedule and practices as he did on base.  In a split second, his life on the line, he never hesitates, but sustained change to his daily life left him nauseated. Welcoming another person into his life, and into his home had pushed him past the edges of where he believed his comfort laid, but forced him to confide in a support system outside of routine. 

Over the course of a few weeks her belongings joined his, sprinkled through out the house like a treasures to be found. Without a word she had taken care to intermix her books with the few of his own on the shelf, sorting them by alphabetical order just as he'd been doing for years. His anxiety slowly waned as his darling girl continued to prove she understood him better than anyone else ever had. 

“Do you prefer flying at dusk or dawn?” She had asked a few weeks after she moved in. curled up on their sofa, her head tucked under his chin, college football playing on the tv, she traced invisible shapes across his chest. “I don't have a preference, sweetheart. I just like flying,” his response felt half-baked, but it was the honest-to-good truth. 

“But if you had to pick?” she persisted. He weighed his answer before giving it to her, “if I had to pick, it would be dusk. There’s a moment, if you're up at the right time where you can see the night sky blending into the sunset…the sky is a gray-blue and you can see the sun at the horizon and the little pinpricks of stars”. 

“It sounds beautiful,” her smile was soft and genuine when she cupped his cheek to make sure he was looking at her. A habit of hers, not letting him hide away from the softer parts of himself, she seemed to so easily pull out. “It is”.

That weekend he’d spent 72 hours on base and returned home on Monday evening to the faintest smell of fresh paint. In the low evening light, it took him a moment to figure it out, standing puzzled in the middle of the living room, still dressed in his service khakis trying to identify the source of the smell. “You’re home!” she’d grinned coming down the stairs, her jeans and t-shirt splattered with gray. It’s then he noticed with his darling girl looking so proud of herself, the walls of the living room coated in a soft heather blue-grey, no longer just a coat of contractor-grade white reflecting the shade of twilight through the windows. Flicking on the light he watched her grow nervous as he felt his brow furrow processing the unexpected change. “Do you like it?” she asked. 

“It’s perfect, baby,” he promised pulling her close and kissing her thoroughly, “It’s beautiful”. 

A few months later he came home from work to find his shower gel and shampoo had both been replaced by a new set. Confused and with no other option, he chose to use them, deciding he liked the smell of eucalyptus and mint much more than he'd liked sport: for men anyway. 

“Baby, what happened to my shower gel?” 

“You were complaining about how dry your skin has been”.

“Hmm,” the consideration to change his routine to better himself hadn't occurred to him before she moved in. 

More recently he'd come home from a night out with the squadron, and woken up under a Forest green duvet, a jarring difference to the burgundy plaid cover he'd owned for years. Momentary panic filled his chest. Like a sharp, sudden plunge into cold water he'd gasped his eyes scanning the room to confirm his location. The familiar scent of her perfume, the sound of the ocean breeze, assured him he was in fact in their room. In the dark when he'd come home, colour of the duvet hadn't been noticeable and he found himself mildly embarrassed by how badly it startled him. Her hand reaching out for him, stretching across the sheets to touch him lured him back to a flat position letting her snuggle herself right up against his side. It was then he noticed that the weight of the blanket was the same as before, and it was just as plush as it had always been. Her on going respect for his comfort continued to leave him floored. A memory of her texting him to ask his favourite colour (green) filled his mind and left him drifting back to sleep with a smile on his face. 

Secretly, he'd begun to look forward to the tiny changes she brought into his life and into the house. The littlest reminders of their strengthening bond, their lives stitching together in more tangible and visible ways. The Navy had taught him to think literally, latteral thinking developed and honed to reach conclusions and make decisions quickly and effectively, but the metaphor of their lives blending like the presence of her belongings along side his own, and freshly painted walls is not lost on him. 

Tonight the house is quiet as it often is when he returns so late. He knows if she knew what day he was set to come back home she would've done her best to stay awake for him, dozing off on the sofa with the living room curtains wide open, hoping to catch the sight of his headlights pulling into the driveway. It's thoughts of her safe and waiting for him that have pulled him through this latest deployment, so he does his best not to disturb her sleep as he makes his way to her. Like a silent sirens call an unspeakable force drags him through the house. His boots are left by the door, laces tucked in. His bag is heavy in his hand, more than just its physical weight tugging at him, and he's glad to be able to put it down by the bedroom door. 

“Welcome home,” she whispers stirring from her sleep as he slips beneath the sheets, freshly showered. 

[parkerluvsu]

oh god I’m so obsessed with divorced dilf!Art 🫠🫠🫠 need him to ignore Lily’s cute babysitter flirting with him because he just can’t believe it that someone so young and pretty would be into him🥲but after a certain point he just cant take it anymore🫠🩷

yes omg.. dilf! art is so yummy ugh.. (im in the mood for something fluffier rn so this is mostly just sweet 😭 working on a smuttier fic tho!!)

his time with lily is precious, and as much as he'd like to spend all of it together, he is still a professional tennis player, and he doesn't want lily running to her mom saying how she gets bored when she stays with art, so he hires a babysitter. scrolling through the profiles of babysitters in town you're obviously the most qualified (but he won't deny that the butterflies in his stomach when he saw your picture may have influenced his decision). luckily, you live up to his expectations, and lily loves you immediately, always asking art when you're gonna come over (he worries that she likes you more than her own dad), but he's happy, happier than he's been in a while, and he can only credit you for that. you're around him for about a month when things start to change, your hand lingers on his when you take the payment for the day, your hands find his broad shoulders and squeeze them when you walk by, and whenever art finds time to look over at you and lily, you're always looking at him first. art is no longer a young tennis academy boy, he knows how you feel about him, and he'd be a liar if he said he didn't feel the same way. seeing how you are with lily tugs at his heartstrings, the scene of him coming home to find you and lily playing on the living room floor feeling much more domestic than anything he felt when he was married. however much bliss he feels around you, he knows that you could find someone better, someone your own age to spend time with. the downsides of not being a young athlete have caught up to him, more and more gray hairs popping up and his back getting sore quicker than he remembers. you don't mind though, you treat him like he's young, always inviting him to play with you and lily, making him wear silly hats and awful makeup done by his daughter.

eventually it's just too much to take, he can't handle being around you anymore without you knowing how he feels. he's a gentleman though, sitting you down after you put lily to bed, a cute blush on the tips of his ears. he tells you that he'd like to take you out on a proper date, to see you outside of his home and outside of your job. the date he takes you on is truly extravagant, better than any one you've gone on before, he picks you up from your apartment in a fancy black suv, opening the door for you and driving to the restaurant with a hand on your thigh. he buys the most expensive champagne they have, toasting with you over your good work. he's pretty quiet the whole night, letting you talk and share about yourself, committing every little detail to memory, even the small things, your favorite color, the name of your childhood pet and the hobbies you like to do. by the end of the night you're comfortably tipsy, walking hand in hand with him through the city, giggling at each other. art drops you off at your apartment, walking you to your door with a large hand on the small of your back. you shyly invite him in and he accepts, his tall frame looking comically out of place in your small apartment. you sit him down on the couch as you two talk the night away, both if you scooting closer to each other under the guise of "getting more comfortable". arts hand, that started gently touching your knee has gently climbed up to your inner thigh, casually enough that you don't notice, blissfully talking to him like you've been friends for years. seeing art outside of work is refreshing, he's less wound up, he smiles more, and you cant stop yourself from leaning in and kissing him, not even caring that he was in the middle of a sentence. your heart jumps into your throat when he reciprocates, his surprisingly soft lips working in tandem with yours. arts large hands come to cup your face, pulling you closer towards him. he can't remember the last time he had a kiss so romantic, his hands getting slightly sweaty with nerves. pulling away, the both of you are flushed with excitement, the feeling of a new and budding romance buzzing between you. art doesn't want to go any further with you that night, politely explaining that you're too important to him for him to rush things. kissing him again before he leaves, you wave goodbye, going back up to your apartment and flopping onto your bed, head still in the clouds from the passionate kiss you shared with art.

waking up at your usual time the next day you get ready for work, pulling on your shoes and heading out the door, you're met with a surprise. a beautiful large vase of red and pink roses sits on your doormat, a card resting on top. "i hope you like the flowers, they were the best i could get on short notice. i really did enjoy our date last night, you're a beautiful person, inside and out. i thought you could take a day off of work as a treat, im sure lily can spend a day with her dad instead of her babysitter :) i set you up with a spa appointment at 2, just say my name at the front desk and they'll know what to do. if it's not too presumptuous of me, ill pick you up tonight at 8 for another date. looking forward to seeing you. yours truly, art."

[notjustjavierpena]

Meadow (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

Summary: Javier hears you singing to his newborn.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, sugary fluff, Javi POV, babies!

Word count: 850

Meadow

Javier tries to be quiet as he returns to you, carrying a stuffed Eeyore in his hand while listening for the sound of Inés' unhappy hiccups. He calculates his steps on the ground to make sure not to step on a twig or a branch, the crackle of it sure to distress his newborn even more.

He finds that the tall grass dotted with wildflowers and the soft earth is forgiving of his feet, so much so that his presence goes completely unnoticed by you. He never knew that this spot existed, having always treated the road as nothing more but a road until you showed him that its surroundings were so much more. There’s a metaphor somewhere in that, something about him just passing through and you making him able to stop and take a look around. 

The sun is warm on his exposed skin, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and you have convinced him to leave the jeans for a pair of comfortable slacks instead. He checks the time to see how long he has been gone and it’s nothing more than a few minutes, realizes that the sun is starting to fade from being at its highest point today. 

As he draws nearer to the spot you chose, Inés’ cries have died down completely until they are not heard at all. Instead, it is the soft sound of your voice that drifts through the air to him. You are singing quietly to his daughter, a lullaby that he remembers having heard before in a distant memory of his own childhood. 

A breeze rustles the leaves of the oak tree you sit beneath, its crown of leaves protecting you both from direct sunlight. As if forced by nature to relax, he hears the birds chirping too. This is peace and contentment, he thinks, and how wonderful it is to do nothing with the people that he loves the most. 

When he finally spots you, he finds you sitting on the blanket you brought with your sweater tucked underneath your slightly bent knees. Inés is resting in your lap, cradled by your soft arms, and sleeping soundly with her tiny fingers curled into fists. You are so beautiful as you stare down into his daughter’s blissful face, your smile even warmer in the soft glow of the sun. 

Occasionally, you run a thumb over the length of her nose but you never stop singing to her. The stuffed animal seems a waste of time now but if he hadn’t gotten it from the car, he would have never caught you like this. 

How has he gotten so lucky, he wonders, to have such an incredible woman to be the witness of his life? He cannot believe how sentimental you have made him, his chest aching as he watches your beauty grow even further as it is enhanced by the nature around you. More than a decade in Colombia and he thought he would never feel anything again. How ridiculous a thought that is. 

When he finally makes himself known again, bursting the bubble of quiet admiration he has been in, you turn your head when he kneels down beside you. You stop singing but Inés sleeps on.

Without a word, you notice Javier and then smile until it widens into a grin on your face that outshines the summer sunshine. He smiles back and places Eeyore on the ground in front of you, purposefully posing him to stand in the grass because you always hate when he is careless about stuffed toys. 

“I hope he doesn’t mind getting left in the car,” he whispers as he makes sure Eeyore won’t tip over, “Sorry it took a bit.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, “You have made it up to him; grass is his favorite.” 

“Papá! There are frogs here!” Suddenly, his four-year-old son emerges from somewhere in the tall grass, carrying a stick in his hand that he seems to be using as a sword. He grins widely as he approaches the three of you, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he walks quickly on the uneven ground and Javier holds out his hand in case he has to catch him.

“Careful, Muchacho (young man),” Javier chuckles, “You might scare them away if you trip.” 

“I found the biggest frog ever!” Lucas brags and falls into his father’s embrace, throwing his arms around his neck, “I want to show you!”

Javier looks at you to silently ask if you need him. Lucas presses on, “Come on, Dad!”

Inés fusses a little at being woken up by the noises around her. You take the stuffed animal and wiggle it in the air in front of her. You start singing again. It is something about meadows and daisies, something about being warm and kept from harm. 

“Go,” you stop briefly to urge him, “We’ll be here when you come back.”

And as Javier gets up from the ground and takes his son’s hand, he smiles because he knows that you will.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[strawberrymochin]

Springtime Fushiguros♪

Context-: exploring the memories of childhood of fushiguros, marking the spring time of you and satoru gojo.

Period- tsumiki gets her first period. Gojo and Megumi panicking around.

Gojo streched himself on the couch, turning sides to get hold of the tv remote, switching it on, totally ignoring the pile of laundry he's supposed to get done.

Yawning to himself, he sits up straight. It's boring, to enjoy a sunday alone, especially when you have gone out with shoko to help her out with some of her queries. He could have bothered megumi, annoying him would be a great time pass or maybe getting him practice some of the new moves he learned.

Or maybe he could have played with tsumiki, letting her tie his hair into pigtails, doll him up. Adore his skin with different cute holographic stickers and have a kitty party. And even rummaging through your closet, hosting a fashion show.

However, today none of the kids bothered to show their faces.

A rushed creak of door opening echoed through the apartment, above the sound of the television. Gojo turned his head to the side, to see megumi....with dread plastered face.

"What happened? Saw a ghost or something?" Gojo's lips curve into a smug smile, pleased to get an opportunity to tease megumi. Though it vanishes quickly when Megumi's expression doesn't seem to falter.

Megumi's steps are rushed towards his sensei, eyebrows knitted in a worried form.

"Tsumiki's bleeding." Said megumi, pointing his hand towards their room.

Gojo got still for a moment his eyes travelled to megumi's hands. They were trembling.

"What! Did you use you accidentally used your cursed energy on her?!" Gojo stood up hastily, walking up to the kids room, trying to locate tsumiki.

"No." Megumi followed him.

Gojo's eyes scanned around the entire room— tsumiki's nowhere.

Megumi dragged him to his sister's bed by his sleeve. As the bed came clear in view, among the tousled sheets of pink strawberry printed ones, sharp in contrast with plain whites of megumi's, there was a huge stain which seemed like fresh blood.

"She went to the bathroom hurriedly, and I saw her shorts had blood stains....what happened to her? Is she going to die?"

"Goddamn! Did she ate those cookies made by shoko?"

"Huh?! I did saw her having some this morning!!"

"Fuck! She must have been poisoned then....her cooking is disaster anyways"

"No wonder she's your friend."

"Wha—"

"What do we do now??"

"What do we do nowww???"

"I wouldn't have asked you, if I would've known what to do!!"

"No wait...i know....imma get an ambulance first and then," he halts midway before reaching hell for leather to get an ambulance, "wait a min....." He straddled his way back to miki's bed, bending down to scrutinize the stains properly.

"Ahh....I see...but she's only 9 years old..." Gojo mumbled to himself, tilting his head to the side, while megumi glares at him annoyed.

"Why aren't you hurrying? Go get an ambulance!!" To this gojo replies nothing but goes to the corner of the room, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Miki... it's me. Gojo sensei. Is your stomach hurting?" For moments it's complete silence, till gojo speaks again, voice more soft, this time, "Don't be afraid Miki, it's fine. Tell me. Open the door of you feel like."

After a few seconds of hushed silence, the door of the bathroom unlocked, creaking a bit, revealing a tear stained tsumiki, eyes puffy from crying, looking down.

"Is it hurting?" Gojo asks tsumiki, fists dragging the hem of the tshirt, trying to hide the stains nodding her head slowly.

"You're a grown up girl Miki! Congrats!" Gojo chimed as tsumiki, with eyes filled with fat tears threatening to fall, looked up to him. Gojo had the kindest smile on his face, as he forwarded his hand patting on Tsumiki's head. His little girl's blooming fast. Though he cherishes it, there's a pang in his chest. It's already been two years. Why does time flies so soon? Why can't its wings freeze? Why can't the blissful moment last forever?

Megumi's stands behind him totally dumbfounded.

"So Tsumiki's fine? And she won't die right?" Megumi asks frowning, however there was a little relief on his face.

"Ofcourse not idiot," gojo flicks megumi's forehead earning an 'ouch' from him, "Your sister is just growing up. She got her first period which is a 100% normal thing. And we don't need ambulance for that."

Tsumiki tilts her head at confusion. Period? She thought. Gojo continued, "what we need is, a—"

"What?" Megumi asks dubiously as gojo's face falls.

"Umm... I will just call y/n a bit..." He says, asking tsumiki to stay there till he returns. Megumi, however, uncertain of gojo's decisions follows him to the living room, where he picks up his phone dialing you.

Then, to his washroom checking in the cabinets. "I can't seem to find it."

"Find what?...just ask y/n san."

"As if she's picking up my calls...i will be back in a few minutes.....be with tsumiki till then.

Before Megumi could ask what he's exactly planning to do, he senses the flow of cursed energy as gojo's figure fades in a quick blink of eye. He teleported to somewhere leaving Megumi and tsumiki home alone.

By the time he's back, teleporting to the entrance, wanting to hurry up to tsumiki, he's greeted by shoko bumping midway.

"Woah! What the heck dude!!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Well I'm here, since your girlfriend brought me in. Damn what do you have in those?"

"Is y/n home?"

He rushes inside to see you caressing tsumiki on the couch as Megumi sits on the opposite one, reading a book.

"Toru— omg.....what do got in there?" You gasp at the two huge plastic bags. Before he could answer, shoko snatches the bags from him peaking inside.

"He got pads and tampons along with cramp medicines, chocolates and heat pack and oh— there's menstrual cups too."

"toru, it looks like you robbed an entire pharmacy!"

"I couldn't find any in the cabinets," gojo sighs joining you guys on the couch. "And i didn't knew what tsumiki would prefer, moreover you weren't picking up my calls. Are you fine now Miki?"

Tsumiki nods at him with a smile, as he ruffles her hair. "Now that you're home, I guess everything's fine."

"You handled it well too. And you too megumi, you really care for your sister even though you don't show it much." You compliment as tsumiki giggles seeing Megumi blush.

"Yeah I mean you gotta see who's he learning from!" Gojo says with his signature smirk, spreading his arms showing off his greatness.

Silence,

Awkward Silence,

More awkward silence.

"Whatever." You, Megumi and shoko say at the same time, as you shift your attention back to tsumiki. Megumi goes back to reading his book while shoko goes to the kitchen.

Later this evening, shoko bought a cake to celebrate tsumiki's first period. Gojo sang on the top of his voice as shoko lectured the fushiguros on how this is a thing every girl has to go through.

As the kids were busy with shoko, gojo excused himself to the kitchen, where you were pouring out hot chocolate for everyone.

"Want a sip in advance?"

"I would love to have that but—" gojo's voice wavered a bit.

"Hmm?" You looked at him from the side of your eye, wanting him to continue.

"Is it okay for a girl to get her period when she's 9? Those parenting books and those internet articles said that the average age is somewhere between 10 to 12..."

You smiled to yourself at his question, leaving no doubt that one day he will surely be a great father. Maybe he even sees himself as a father figure for the kids. How pure and innocent is he?

Being born so strong, he had such huge responsibilities over his shoulders, barely allowing him to have his childhood. Growing up devoid of affection, gojo knows how important phase it is, thus he tries his best providing for Megumi and tsumiki. Making sure, the kids won't face what he faced.

"Nah, its normal to get it a year earlier or so, it depends on the girl's body." You assure him. Gojo leaned on the counter next to you, gazing the kids with shoko.

"They are growing so fast, ain't they?" He sighs.

"They are...." You sigh, " you want the time to stop?"

"Would be itching for that to happen." Gojo chuckles lightly, as his crystal blue eyes met yours.

"I love you."

"I know you can't resist my charm."

"Shut up. And say it back."

"I love you too my dear villian, my wicked angel, my sweet nemesis, do you even know how cunningly you've stolen my heart, even though it was yours to belong with."

"God! satoru...shut up."

a/n- had to post again for a glitch. Please reblog or like if you feel so.

[adore-laur]

Hey! Saw your post abt asking for more dadrry and I love sending these to you so here goes: Harry’s been noticing that his wife is a bit down lately. It’s not because of anything in particular she still loves all of them but she’s just a bit bored at home with him back at work after a short parental leave to take care of the baby and their oldest daughter at school now. So one day he concocts a plan with their oldest kid and takes her with him to the pet store to pick up something to keep his wife company

——

It was Harry's last day of parental leave, and he noticed you were apprehensive about it. He had been at home for twelve weeks, savoring time with his three girls. Now, he was leaving the little bubble of bliss and heading back to work.

He empathized with you, knowing the daily parenting routine would weigh heavily on your shoulders. A part of him didn't want to leave you. It wasn't that he didn't trust you—he simply dreaded missing milestones, cuddles, and the mere pleasure of watching you as a mother.

Harry was out and about running errands with his eldest daughter to enjoy some quality time together before tomorrow arrived. He stocked up on groceries so you wouldn't have to worry about it for a while. He had also already decided to freeze several home-cooked meals to make it easier on you, as well as occasionally bring dinner home from work if he had the opportunity. Next on the list was buying more diapers and baby powder.

You had told him the days would be long and boring without him home as the main entertainer for the girls. Last night, before he had fallen asleep, he brainstormed ways that you could pass the time while he was working. You obviously had the kids to take care of, but there would be moments, like during nap time, when you'd be sitting in the house with nothing to do.

It was easier with the first kid since all you did was nurse and soothe cries. Now, you needed a distraction for both the kids and you.

"Daddy, can we go see the animals?"

Harry was buckling his daughter in her car seat when she asked the question. Her little finger pointed next to the grocery store they were just at, where a pet store resided. He'd never ventured in there before simply because he had to reason to. Now, he had a daughter who loved every animal that roamed the earth and held a curiosity toward any signs of them.

He sighed and unbuckled her. There was no chance he'd have said no, even if he did want to soak up family time in the comfort of his home. But his baby girl got what she wanted, at least when it was a reasonable request.

Steady rainfall dotted his clothes and frizzed his hair as he speed-walked toward the automatic doors with his daughter on his hip. It was Sunday, so there was a slow stream of people driving around and walking past the line of stores and boutiques.

Inside the pet store, an unknown smell greeted him, as well as two green parakeets perched in a large, luxurious birdcage. His daughter gasped with a wondrous smile, listening to them chatter and squawk noisily. Further past the several species of birds placed near the storefront window were glass terrariums with bearded dragons, nonvenomous snakes, and slider turtles. They all moved leisurely and held zero interest in visitors.

In the back, a dark section dimly lit by blue aquarium lights showcased rows upon rows of glass tanks filled with freshwater fish galore. Some of Harry's cherished childhood memories involved lingering near the fish section at pet stores, feeling like he was in a secret underwater world that no human could enter.

"All right, lovebug," Harry said. "I have a question. Should we get Mommy a fish to take care of?"

"Yes!"

"Let's pick one out. I'll even let you get one if you want."

"Really?"

He jostled her playfully. "Of course. We'll put it in your room and help you feed it."

She rested her head on his shoulder and softly said, "Thank you."

His heart melted a little bit as he kissed her temple and set her down. "Anything for my sweet girl."

They walked hand in hand past the tanks and admired the different species of fish floating in the water—goldfish, cichlids, tetras, and ones he couldn't name.

"I want one of those." She pointed to some nearby shelves, where there were little glass containers with betta fish swimming around in them. Many were vividly multicolored. It seemed like a perfect distraction for your mind. Nothing too high-maintenance or in need of too much attention.

"Yeah?" He stalked over to the shelf. "Which one?"

"Purple," she said decisively.

"And which one for Mama?" he asked.

"You pick."

Harry browsed the options. They were all magnificent to look at, but one in particular grabbed his attention. On the bottom shelf, there was a pearl-white betta fish that looked like a wispy angel. Harry crouched and closely inspected the harmless creature. It was beautiful, with an appearance of quiet elegance. Just like you.

"Definitely this one," he said, picturing it in a bigger tank with aquarium pebbles and plants and maybe a rock cave to sleep in.

Harry waved over a store associate and got the checkout process started. Within ten minutes, he was carefully carrying two glass containers with the new pets and pushing a shopping cart with two separate two-gallon tanks, pellets, and a couple of cheap aquarium decorations.

When they arrived home, Harry walked through the front door and saw you sleeping on the couch. The baby must have been napping as well, which was really the only time you or he could catch up on sleep. He smiled to himself, a lovely ache pulsing in his heart. If it was possible, he'd stay home with you forever and have "parent" be his singular job title. Alas, he was a needed man outside the home. 

His daughter skipped toward you, clearly excited to reveal the surprise. Harry slowly walked over with the fish and crouched next to your sleeping form. Quietly beautiful. 

"Sweetheart," he whispered, softly stroking your cheek with his knuckles. 

You sleepily opened your eyes, squinted at his face, and then hummed happily. "You're home." The way you said it sounded relieved, which made him not want to be released from his sabbatical. If only he could work from home. 

"We got you something," he said, turning to his daughter so she could do the honors. She took the container with the white betta fish and held it out like it was a sacred gift meant to be handled with the utmost care and respect.

"What is... oh my, what is this?" you asked, your expression morphing into amazement. "Where did you get this?"

"We went to the pet store, and Daddy said that me and you could get pet fish."

You quickly noticed the other betta fish that Harry was holding, and your eyebrows drew together. "What's the special occasion?"

Harry tucked the blanket further up your body and said, "Tomorrow is going to be rough, so I thought you could use a distraction when the days are long without me here."

Your jaw dropped a little as you took the container and closely watched the wispy specimen swim in circles. "That's so thoughtful, Harry."

"Thank your daughter," he replied, kissing your head as he stood up. "She convinced me. Thankfully, she picked an easy animal to take care of." He couldn't imagine if he came home with a slithery snake or an obnoxious bird. This was a peaceful pet that didn't really do much of anything. Something you could simply admire and keep satisfied through simple measures.

He never thought getting you a fish would be a part of his lifelong repayment for two precious children, but it was the most spontaneous moments that mattered most.

——

[erwinsvow]

𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

summary: domestic bliss with agent hotchner is hard to come by. you take advantage of your time with him at home when you can.

word count: 1.4k

author's note: eeeeeee. cannot stop writing for this man. not bau!reader explicitly and also not smut explicitly, more in between. enjoy!!

The house you and Aaron buy is small, and in one word; picturesque. The outside panels are a soft, faded yellow and the shutters are brown.

It’s not a fixer-upper by any means, though Aaron talks often about the wood floors that will need to be redone in a few years, and the kitchen tile and backsplash that aren't in the condition he would quite like.

There’s other things too, like the downstairs bathroom with the peeling, floral patterned wallpaper and the carpet in Jack’s room. He worries about redoing the wallpaper—visions of hours of peeling it off and getting new sheets up and if there’s mold behind the paper, but you like it. It makes it feel like you’ve lived in this house your whole life.

Your shared bedroom is upstairs, down the hall from Jack and the first room off the stairs. You like the simplicity of this house most of all, nothing too grand or vain. When the realtor had taken you for a showing, Aaron was off on a case in Florida and Jack was at school. You felt silly touring alone, because it would have been easier to imagine living here with Aaron and Jack by your side, but you do it anyway.

You love Aaron’s apartment and you have more memories than you can count there—visions of making oatmeal raisin cookies with Jack and your first date with Aaron (a dinner that he cooked followed by a record playing softly and dancing in the living room) pop into your mind—but it’s running out of space, and it’s not quite like home. 

This house is home in all the best ways. A big kitchen with an island, where you can picture a cookie jar and a tall counter stool where Jack sits and eats his oatmeal before school. 

The living room has big windows and there’s a smaller playroom off the foyer, and in an instant you can picture the rest of your life here. You tell Aaron that night on the phone, and the three of you pay a visit the following weekend. You’re signing papers and packing up boxes two weeks later.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been much time at all, but you realize you’re coming up on almost a year of this house. Your house, the both of yours, the family house. This will be Jack and his siblings’ childhood home.

If you can ever get your husband into bed, that is. 

It’s eight-thirty on Friday night. Jack has been at a birthday party-sleepover night since about five. Aaron returned from a case in Michigan less than twenty four hours ago. You had been asleep, late Thursday evening, when he came back home.

He’d gone to the office today and then picked up Jack from school to bring him over to the sleepover. You had triple checked that he’d packed everything he needed—pajamas, toothbrush, his emergency Epi-pen—but forgot the birthday boy’s present in the back seat of your car. 

You and Aaron drive back over to deliver the gift, make polite small talk with the parents, and then rush out of there.

Aaron had set up a whole plan. Dinner reservations, dessert at the ice cream place near the house, and then a quiet night in, which was long awaited and desperately needed.

However, nothing goes as planned. You miss the reservation window by ten minutes trying to get Jack’s friend the stupid gift—a Lego Star-Wars kit—before they open presents and cut cake. The ice cream shop is closed due to renovations. You return home to missed calls from your boss and a stack of Aaron’s paperwork on the counter. 

“Take out it is,” Aaron says, rifling through the drawer next to the oven. There’s more flyers in there than he thinks, and he still can’t find the one he’s looking for. “Honey? Where’s the menu for that one Indian place-”

“Side of the fridge,” you call back, typing away on your laptop. He doesn’t have to finish his sentences anymore. It makes him smile every time. He locates the menu and brings it to you on the couch. 

“What’d you think? The usual?”

“I have a couple ideas.” You are starving, and not for food. 

You’re in Aaron’s lap before you can even think about it. He has big hands, very big, very strong hands, that grip you by the waist and hoist you on top of him in a moment. It takes your breath away, momentarily, and then he really takes your breath away.

He kisses you like it’s his first and last time ever being able to do so. His hands roam all over your body and it makes every part of you tingle in anticipation. He grabs your ass with both hands and then slaps it hard—hard enough that it hurts, but he knows you well enough to welcome the moan you emit into his mouth.

Your hands run through his hair and then focus on loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. It’s hard to think, though, with him beneath you and his hardness pressing against you in all the best ways. You want to stay here on the couch and grind yourself against him until you’re both sweating and cumming—but he has other plans.

Always a gentleman, always patient, he pulls away from the kiss and lets you catch your breath. Your foreheads are pressed together, noses touching, and you briefly take in that after so many years of knowing him, Aaron will always take your breath away.

“Why’d you stop?” you question innocently, and he thinks he’ll lose his mind. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Why? I think this is perfect.” You lean back in to kiss him hard, losing yourself in the sweet taste of his mouth—always coffee—and his aroma, which draws you in no matter where you are. 

He laughs into your mouth, pulling away again. You make a soft noise of displeasure, but it all goes away when he lifts you up to carry you to your bedroom. 

He puts you down first, and gets rid of the tie you undid downstairs. You watch with big eyes while he hovers over you, until he finally leans down and your lips meet again. It’s all too natural to take off your dress and spread your legs and help him pull off his button-up, moaning into your kisses and enjoying the feeling of his hand in your hair, pulling softly. 

You like Aaron all of the time, but you’re incredibly biased when he’s like this. You’ve never had to ask for anything, and he somehow knows everything you like. He lines more kisses along your neck, down to your chest. Just as you hear him, low and heady, murmuring, “Tell me what you want,” and getting ready to answer, needy out of your mind and ready to tell him that you need to be fucked, hard, now, his phone goes off.

You exhale. Aaron drops his head in defeat against your chest.

“I’m sorry, honey, hold on a minute,” he starts, leaning over you to get his phone from the nightstand. 

“Who is it?” “JJ. It must be a case, I’ll just-”

“Wait, wait,” you whisper. “If it’s a case you can go in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” he questions, eyebrow raised. You look back at him sheepishly.

“Okay, fifteen minutes. I mean, nothing’s gonna change in a half an hour, right? Fifteen minutes here and then fifteen minutes to get there.”

“Honey, I really shouldn’t-”

“I mean, think about it. Everyone else probably isn’t even there yet. You’ll just be sitting around waiting for them before you start. So really, I’m saving you time.”

You both lock eyes and burst into laughter. 

“I’ll get your go-bag,” you say, as he answers JJ’s call. You’re about to get up, looking for your haphazardly discarded dress and Aaron’s shirt, when you feel Aaron grip your forearm.

“Hotchner. Okay, JJ, thanks. I’ll be there in forty.” He hangs up and looks back at you, frozen in place. “You have twenty-five minutes to tell me what you want.” You squeal when he pulls you back into bed, kissing you hard.

He gets to the office an hour later.

[kaylasficrecs]

coriolanus snow recs

make out sesh | drabble, fluff | @murdrdocs

kiss is better | imagine, flangst | @venuslore

a touch of red | drabble, fluff | @lex-the-flex

the songbird | imagine, trifecta (smut/angst/fluff) | @pawnshopbleus

ignorance is bliss | imagine, fluff | @allbark-no-bite

the fall of snow | imagine, angst | @writersblockiskillingme

jealous lover | imagine, fluffy flangst | @hearts4hughes

peace | imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @writersblockiskillingme

distraction | imagine, fluff | @itsbuckytm

thin line | imagine, fluff (some angst) | @ghostfacd

childhood best friend | headcanon, fluff | @nightmare-niko

touch my waist | drabble, fluff | @spideyhexx

wildflower | imagine, fluff | @venuslore

cross your heart and hope to die | imagine, flangst | @surftrips

losing your memory | two shot, angst | @kasagia

please don't go, i love you so | imagine, fluff | @ervotica

it burns for you | series | @darknight3904

sickly confessions | imagine, fluff | @coryosmin

miss | imagine, fluff | @wyniepooh

snow and roses | series | @kitscutie

needing you to sit on his face | imagine, smut | @murdrdocs

fake-love | imagine, flangst | @lqveharrington

bitter cold | imagine, flangst (little smut at the end) | @evielmostdefinitely

winter gala | imagine, fluff | @lqveharrington

match made in heaven | drabble, fluff? | @celesterayel

[handlemehyuck]

oh, we’re falling in love . lee jeno

・❥・ a best friend and breezy drives bring realizations | 831 words ・❥・

there’s something so sweet about his presence, but the peace feels fragile. to hold it in your hand would be a moment spent without breathing, without moving, consumed by admiration alone.

it’s taking up space, and you’re making more for him. you notice when he’s not around. you think of excuses to have him close—reasons why you could show up at his doorstep again. but the fear of being obvious ringsringsrings in your head, pulling you back to the ground and away from the high—the delightful serenity he’s flooded your life with.

your roommate believes it’s marvelous. she’s always sworn to be a bit clairvoyant—from a bloodline of women with gifts. her words. apparently, your hue has changed colors. apparently, your hue is warmer than it used to be, and her proclamation over spaghetti and glasses of red wine keeps you up until the early hours of the morning.

the idea of another having so much control over your emotions has always terrified you. you want to create that peace and love on your own and for yourself; the empowerment is delicious, but you’ve never done what this man has done in a couple of months alone.

“it’s ok to like it. you can relax in it if it feels good.”

your roommate’s voice cuts through the humming coffee machine, pulling your gaze away from the device taking up far too much counter space for an already tiny kitchen.

she smiles and dips her spoon into a bowl of cereal. “what i said last night freaked you out.”

your mouth opens to only close again, a furrow setting in between your brows.

you’re not denying it, so she continues. “if anything, people are uncomfortable crying in front of someone, but you were afraid to laugh in front of me. it took so long. you hid your happiness, and i had the hardest time trying to understand why that made you feel the most vulnerable.”

the back of your neck feels hot, preparing yourself for the rest of this conversation.

“i came up with a few ideas. the first being you simply don’t like your laugh, nothing deeper than that. secondly, you don’t think you deserve to be happy, and it has nothing to do with letting someone hear you laugh. it’s all internal. the third is laughing leaves you too exposed. crying makes everything so heightened. your emotional awareness is crystal clear. it’s like all your senses are on high alert. laughter is the total opposite. it reduces your stress and relaxes your muscles. it brings the happy hormones. it leaves you naked.”

it leaves me naked.

the answer is obvious. you rub the back of your neck and finish making the coffee that gets you out of bed.

for now, the conversation is left alone. you don’t have anything to say, but you reflect on her monologue all day, wondering when this all began and why. your mind sifts through memories, taking you back to childhood sleepovers filled with laughter that didn’t leave you running for privacy.

so, when was it? what the hell happened?

jeno wants to see you again, but it’s friday night, and he can’t decide if exposing his lack of plans will stir negative feelings in you. rationally, he knows better, but he likes you, so he’s thinking too much.

spring is falling into summer. the days are warm, and the evenings welcome blissful breezes, perfect for night drives. they’re enjoyable on his own, but jeno continues craving your presence in his car.

it’s easy to imagine the first waft of your perfume when you sit down and the smile on your mouth after the hello passes soft lips. he wants to hear you humming melodies and folding your legs to create a place of comfortable rest for your chin as you peer up at the sky. he wants to catch your closed eyes at stoplights, the radiating red on your skin, as the best part of a song consumes your entire body.

he’s enamored by your quiet passion. he’s fascinated by the gentle rhythm to your love. he craves to hear your voice grow louder when you finally give in and let the emotions within you burst, spilling from your lips in a beautiful palaver.

he noticed you at parties years before you connected, but he never saw you dance. he never saw the veins in your neck from singing with your entire being. he never saw your eyes as wide as saucers or any evidence of drunkenness on your features.

even at a party, you were soft smiles and crossed legs and slight sways.

jeno would never push you beyond your comfort zone, but he can’t help but want you to let go. he can only imagine how beautiful utter bliss will look on you and radiate off your skin.

fuck me, he thinks, stalling at a stop sign while a blue honda crosses in front of him. i’m falling in love with her.

[panda-writes-kpop]

your home is the sea, my home is you ~ pirate! giselle

a/n: after almost seven months (good LORD), we have a third pirate aespa fic!!! and everyone cheered!!! this may be one of my favorite works of the year, there's something so tender and sincere in this fic that I can't quite put my finger on. anyways, gonna go watch Hugh Jackman edits on repeat until I get more fic ideas! 🫶

tw: mentions of robbery, violence, and other crimes associated with being a pirate, a LOT of swearing, the faintest hint of winselle, it's not angst but it gets sad at times???

summary: Your idea for your latest novel has you ruminating on your previous relationship with the woman who haunts your dreams, Giselle. Giselle's longing for a missing piece of her heart leads her to your front doorstep. She just has to hope that you won't close your heart to her, just as she did to you years ago.

♡ Masterlist ♡

A cool ocean breeze wraps around her neck as the chill of the night starts to seep into her bones. Every part of her is screaming to run, to go far away from the things that scare her.

But what is life without a little bit of adventure?

You watch the pendulum in your grandfather clock swing forward as the next words flow easily onto the paper.

She wanted to experience the adventure of the ocean, to let her heart travel with the ocean waves that beckoned her forward. But what was she to do? Abandon her family? Leave the familiarity of her hometown behind?

Leave them behind? The one person who supported them through thick and thin?

The pendulum swings back as you stare at the candlelight in your bedroom.

Rosella had a choice to make, one that would decide her entire destiny. A friend, or a lifetime of fulfillment?

Their call was strong, but the ocean’s was stronger. 

~

With one hand on your naval revolver and the other on your bag, your feet hit the ground with increasing frequency as you run towards the docks. You had a deadline to meet with your time and your writing. The traveling night market was in town tonight, and within their merry caravan of travelers was your editor. A shrewd old woman with a sharp tongue who had been your mentor since you had abandoned your studies to pursue writing as a career.

I would’ve stayed if Giselle stayed.

You shake your head at the thought of your childhood best friend - you were nothing but a fleeting nostalgic memory to her, so she should be the same to you.

The book, the market - I have to hurry.

Unfortunately, the night market only accepted incoming foot traffic until midnight, and according to your grandfather clock, it was a centimeter past eleven-fifty. Your home was ten minutes away from the docks - you’d be cutting it close if you were simply walking.

~

“You’re early.” The guard jokes as you pull out the business card that Merrin, your editor, gave to you. “She still edits your books?”

“As long as I keep writing them.” You fold your arms as the guard stares at the card. “Can I go in?”

“Try to make it quick - she’s in one of those moods again.” 

You pluck the card from their hand before waving at them.

“She’s always in a mood, but I have to hope that it’s a good one.”

You greet the various merchants and regulars that pass by you - most of them are familiar with your work, even if you use a moniker instead of your real name. It isn’t hard to deduce who the newest novelist on the block is when you know their publisher by name.

“When’s the new novel coming?” One shouts at you as you chuckle to yourself. “The last one really pulled on my heartstrings, and I need a bit of a pick-me-up before I go for a second read.”

“You’ll get your hands on it as soon as everyone else does.” You reassure them as they jokingly scoff and walk away.

Oh, the bliss of only being recognized by a small crowd of people.

You stop in front of the last tent on the docks - a large purple cloth hangs over the rods and poles that make up the foundation of the tent. Angry red vines dart over various parts of the tent, but none dare to cross each other.

You take a deep breath before entering the tent.

Hopefully her mood won’t sour mine.

“You’re earlier than usual. Did you get sick and tired of begging the guard to let you in until I would show up and save your ass?” Merrin, dressed in a conservative, frilly white dress, lights a candle with one hand as she balances on her cane with the other.

“Does your bad mood have to do with whoever’s wedding you interrupted?” You bite your lip as she slowly turns toward you.

“If my glasses were on me, I’d knock you to the floor with my cane.” She hobbles over to another table to light another candle as you approach the middle of the room. “And I thought this dress looks nice on me.”

“Yeah, if you were a fourteen-year-old noble who was forced to marry a man decades older than her.” Another sharp look from Merrin causes you to shut your mouth before she fulfills her early promise. “Are you in the mood to read something I’ve written?”

“Depends on if it’s better than the utter shit I’ve been reading all day.” Merrin sets her cane aside as she sits on one of the two chairs near the middle of the room. “Hand me my glasses, will you?”

“Don’t hit me with your cane, you old witch.” You pick her glasses up off of the floor before handing them to her.

“Why, I ought to-” She quickly grabs her cane, which causes you to immediately sit in the chair on her left.

You’re both playing with each other - she won’t hit you that hard, and you won’t completely piss her off. It’s just the way that Merrin is, and if you’re careful, you can break down her walls and see the woman behind the anger and sass.

As you look over to her, Merrin lightly taps your ankle with her cane as a rare smile appears on her face.

“How’s the novel coming? More progress than scribbles and midnight thoughts, I hope?” She looks surprised as you pull a bundle of parchment from your bag.

“I managed to get a chapter out, but it’s a rough draft, Merrin.” You remind her as you hand her the papers. “It isn’t very good-”

“-that’s for me to decide.” She says as she grabs the papers and adjusts the glasses on her face.

“I-” You interject before she gives you a pointed glare.

“Shut your damn mouth so I can read in peace.”

~

Sometimes you wonder why you chose Merrin as your editor - a form of punishment, perhaps?

That’s what you feel like you’re doing to yourself as she carefully scans every single word on the pages that you scribbled on. A spotlight has closed in on you, and you’re sweating under the pressure. What will you do if she rejects you again after this draft? Will you finally part ways with the woman who helped you find a path when you were nothing but an empty wanderer?

Merrin clears her throat as your attention snaps back to her.

She thinks it’s terrible - I’m never going to live this latest failure down.

“This is quite good.” She softly says as she reorganizes the papers for you.

“I beg your pardon?”

“And I thought I was the one with bad hearing, being old and all.” She snorts as you reach for the papers from her extended hand.

As soon as your hand touches them, Merrin snatches them out of your reach with a knowing smile.

“I have one question about the main character.” 

“Alright, lay it on me.” You sigh in relief as you can mentally prepare yourself for her critiques.

Rosella was hardly fleshed out, and she had little-to-no dialogue to give perspective into her motivations, ideals, and personality. Perhaps Merrin could help you with that?

“What woman inspired you to write Rosella?” She asks as you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Answer the damn question.”

“I, uh…” You nervously look around, trying to think of an escape route. “She’s based on a friend, from long, long ago.”

You stress that this woman was long behind you, and there was absolutely nothing to worry about. It’s not like she would show back up in your life after years and years of silence.

“Well, if you see this friend from a long, long time ago,” She stresses the words the same way you did, “tell her that she’s one hell of a protagonist.”

“I will.” You grit your teeth as your mind wanders to the woman in question.

I hope I never see her again.

~

Giselle scribbles various notes onto the map within the captain’s quarters. She used to be the primary navigator when the Red-Hair Pirates were nothing but an idea in Winter’s head.

“One day, this boat will be filled with pirates and friends we’ve collected in our travels,” Winter looked over to Giselle before placing a hand on her back, “and I’m going to need you to be by my side, every second of every day.”

Winter paused for a moment, before walking towards the ship and extending her hand to her.

“You have everything you ever need here - a good education, family, friends, and stability. I’m offering adventure until your heart's content, enough money to set your family up for life, and every kind of booze imaginable.”

“Even rum?” Giselle tilted her head at Winter, who gave her a toothy grin.

“Especially rum. So, are you in or what?”

“I’m in, I just… have to say some goodbyes first.”

Now, her role within the crew was more muddled, somewhat lying between weaponsmaster and navigator. Usually, she would sort out her navigating affairs in the morning, and then keep up with the weapons in the afternoon. The nighttime was reserved for merrymaking and hell-raising - just as Giselle liked it.

But there was a part of her missing, something she had been chasing with booze and adventure that couldn’t be replaced.

What was she missing?

“Giselle!” Karina barrels into the captain’s quarters as she nearly collides into the table.

“You’re still drunk.” She chuckles. “You can’t handle your liquor for shit.”

“And you prefer in that way, so you can scam me out of my money.” Karina scoffs before loudly hiccuping.

“Alright,” Giselle stops working and puts her hands up in the air, “I am a bit of a trickster, but we’re pirates, remember? It’s kind of our thing.”

“Eh.” Karina shrugs before throwing a book onto the desk where Giselle was working.

“What’s this?” 

She studies the book for a moment before looking at Karina

“A gift from the Captain. Winter says to come see her after giving it a read.” Karina stumbles out of the door before loudly shutting it.

“Riveting conversation with a drunk Karina, like usual.” Giselle mumbles to herself. “I wonder why Winter would want me to read this?”

Her hands gently trace the spine as she studies the author’s name in bold ink.

It’s not one she recognizes, but perhaps she might know the writing style? Curious, Giselle carefully opens the book and begins to read.

~

It was mid-afternoon before Giselle exited the captain’s quarters, much later than usual. When she does, she immediately charges towards her quarters in a fury.

It takes every bone in Giselle’s body to stop her from ripping her room to shreds to find the letters that she had locked away years ago.

The letters that reminded her of you. The letters that had the same cadence and writing style that you did. Those letters tied you to her, and, at the moment, pointed to you as the author.

More than that, Giselle had come to the realization that Winter knew that the two of you were connected.

And that was more terrifying than confronting someone from her past.

Giselle finds the letters under her bed, and they’re carefully tied together with a bit of rope. She snatches them within an instant, and she tucks them under her arm before beginning her journey to find Winter.

“Giselle!” Ningning calls out to her as Giselle appears on the upper deck. “I had a question about some of the knives that I found in the gunroom.”

“Not the time.” Giselle charges right past her as she spots Winter on the quarterdeck. 

“Is that the book Winter asked me to get you?” 

Giselle, with no hesitation, turns on her heel to face the assassin.

“Of course she did!” She sighs before turning around. “Am I the one finding this out last when it’s my business?”

“If it comforts you, I didn’t ask for any details. I just grabbed the book and gave it to her.” Ningning plays with a knife in her hand as Giselle tightly squeezes the book in her left hand.

“Thanks.” She grumbles before calling out to Winter, “Hey, you have some explaining to do!”

“As do you!” Winter copies her volume, but she waits until Giselle comes closer to begin speaking in a softer tone. “Are they the reason why you tried to send letters back to your hometown from the different ports that we stopped in?”

“You knew about that?” Giselle stares, absolutely befuddled.

“I know when my friends aren’t themselves. I did a little digging, and I found a gold vein.” Winter looks out to the ocean. “You could’ve told me, you know. We could’ve worked something out.”

“But you needed me-”

“-I did, but I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I knew that your loyalties lied with someone else.”

Giselle physically deflates before confessing the truth to Winter.

“So you know that I was a part of the naval academy before I joined you.” Giselle looks away in shame, like a small puppy. “They were too, but we quit together-”

“-so you could chase your dreams together. You, an acclaimed mapmaker. Them, an accomplished novelist. Do I have the narrative right?” Winter raises an eyebrow at Giselle.

Not quite.

“I loved them.” Giselle bites her lip. “I love them.”

Panic covers Giselle’s face as she opens her mouth to speak.

“There it is,” Winter smirks before yelling to the crew, “Set sail to the west.”

“I’m doing you a favor, mind you. You need to figure this out before it ends with you getting yourself killed. I can’t stand to watch my crewmate, my friend, drink herself into an early grave.”

“So we’re doing this?” Giselle asks.

“You’re doing this.”

~

“The pirates are coming! The pirates are coming!” A man on a horse repeats the same phrase over and over as he passes by your estate.

Pirates? Here? Why?

No, it can’t be those pirates.

Your head snaps towards the nearest window that faces the docks. In the distance, you can see a large pirate show approaching your humble town.

And wouldn’t you know it, the flag on the ship shows a dead skull sporting some fire-red hair.

The Red-Hair Pirates.

The crew that Giselle’s a part of.

Shit.

You can see a group of villagers approach the docks from your side, and you’re sure a fight will break out - no, a bloodbath will occur - if someone doesn’t get down there and stop it.

Maybe that naval training will come into use.

~

“Your kind isn’t welcome here.” A villager points a large shotgun at Winter’s chest, and she seems unphased by his outburst.

“We’re not here to loot, we just want to rest.” She pulls out a gold coin and flips it into the air before grabbing it and offering it to the villager. “Our coin is good here, no?”

“I-” He pauses before studying the coin. “One night. And the only place that you can shop is the night market.”

“That sounds like our kind of place, right?” Winter turns to her pirates, who cheer loudly. “I’ll make sure they’ll behave, I swear.”

“You better.” He scoffs before spitting at the ground. “C’mon, we have better things to do than guard open docks.”

The villagers disperse, which causes Giselle to sigh in relief.

That’s a battle I didn’t want to fight.

“Alright, everyone, back on the ship until nightfall. We aren’t welcome here until then, so this boat better be spotless in a few hours!” Winter commands, and her crew scrambles back onto the ship as Winter pulls Giselle aside. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I do, and I don’t need backup. I’ll be back before nighttime.” Giselle softly says before Winter grabs her shoulder.

“I’d like to meet your friend, if they want to meet me. Perhaps it can help explain why you left - take some of the blame off of your shoulders,” Winter shrugs, “Or I can just have a drink with a friend and a friend of a friend. Either works for me.”

They’re… leaving?

“Not sure I’d call us friends, but I’ll see what I can do.”

~

You watch from a distance as the villagers, your neighbors, disperse with varying emotions on their faces. Some look relieved, others seem pissed, but most appear to be indifferent.

As if killing another wasn’t a brutal act that weighed on your soul for as long as you lived.

A woman with striking red hair turns to the pirates on the dock, and with only a few words, she sends them back onto the ship.

Their captain - Winter, the pirate queen of myths and legends.

Infamous doesn’t even begin to describe Winter, as her face was neatly plastered on every wanted board across the nation. Her reputation of brutality nearly exceeds her generosity and kindness. She took from the rich government ships and gave to the poor towns that she traveled to.

Almost like a storybook character. Perhaps my next protagonist can take some of her qualities.

Before all of her crew can go back to the ship, Winter pulls one of them aside. A girl with blonde hair, but a face that you recognize. Not from the wanted posters that showed her with black hair and a devilish yet charming smile.

But a ghost from your past, the woman who you were hoping to escape from. The girl who had invaded your dreams every night since she left.

Your Rosella.

Giselle.

You want to turn away, to run back to the safety of your home, but you can’t. Not because you want to see Giselle, but because she’d follow you back home.

After all, it was her home too.

With a deep breath, and as much courage as you can muster, you let your feet carry you towards Giselle.

Towards your destiny.

Giselle’s eyes widen as she sees you walking towards her with an unreadable expression on your face. You’re not completely pissed, which is good, but you don’t look happy. You’re not sad, but there isn’t any longing in your eyes. There’s no indifference in your face, but when your eyes meet hers, a twinkle of nostalgia appears briefly.

~

Perhaps you missed her as much as she missed you.

“You look…” Giselle pauses as the two of you meet in the middle of the road. “Well.”

“Thanks.” You nod before looking out to the ocean. “I like your blonde hair. It suits you.”

“Thanks…” Giselle trails off while hoping that the road would open up and swallow her whole.

Why was it so hard to talk to you? She thought of a million things to say to you, but none of them seemed right.

So let’s start with the simplest one.

“I’m sorry.”

When the words leave her lips, you look over in surprise.

As if you thought that she meant to hurt you.

A dagger slices through her heart, as the wound that is your shared history is reopened again. She’s going to let herself drown in bad blood unless she says something else.

Something that will make this right.

Nothing will, she knows this. But why not try?

“I’m sorry for leaving you with such a shitty goodbye. I’m sorry for convincing you to leave the naval academy with me and then leaving you behind. I’m sorry that I never was able to return your letters.” She pauses to hand you them.

“You kept them?” You tilt your head at her. “After all of these years?”

“Of course I did.” She says before softly laughing. “It was the only reminder I had of home.”

“I thought the sea was your home.” 

“No, my home was always you.” Giselle quietly mumbles. “I wanted to explore, to see the world, but I wanted to come back home.”

“Why didn’t you write me back?” Your voice is laced with hurt, and Giselle wants nothing more than to hold you in her arms.

But you’re not that close, not anymore.

“I tried to, but no letter carrier would take my money. Turns out that people aren’t fond of pirates,” She scoffs, “but I kept them all in my quarters. Perhaps you’d like to see them?”

A light smile appears on your face - you’re actually contemplating her offer.

“Would you like to see the home first? I don’t know if it has changed much-”

“-that sounds great.” Giselle lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

A peace offering. An olive branch. Perhaps you can begin anew?

~

Months ago, you would’ve sworn at Giselle if she had set foot in your town, let alone in your house. That was before you finished the book, before a character in that book taught you something about forgiveness.

“Will you ever forgive me, my dear?” Rosella says to her beloved. “I know it’s been years, but I can’t help but yearn for you. Our souls are intertwined, and no amount of treasure will ever make up for losing you.”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive and forget, but…”

“But?” A flicker of hope appears in Rosella’s eyes.

“But maybe there’s room for us to start again. If we’ve both healed from our past wounds, then what’s the use of bringing them up again?”

You watch Giselle comb over your bookshelf as you take a seat in the living room. 

“You really didn’t change this place, huh?” She says before sitting at a chair on the opposite end of the room.

“It didn’t feel right. This is still your home, after all.” You say.

“Our home,” Giselle corrects you before her eyes widen, “shit. I didn’t mean to-”

You wave away her concerns with a charming smile.

“No, it’s alright.”

An awkward silence spreads over the room - what should you say to her now?

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Giselle softly asks before looking in your eyes. “I don’t want to intrude if I’m not welcome.”

You take a deep breath - it’s time to address the massive elephant in the room.

“Giselle, I don’t want to do this back-and-forth with you. I want to talk about what happened between us.” 

You’re surprised at how mature you sound, how non-malicious your words are. You had gone over this moment a thousand times in your head, but none of them were this nice or friendly.

“What is there to talk about? I ruined your life, no, our lives. I promised you that pirating was only a temporary thing, and you can see how that ended-”

“It pains me to see you tear yourself up about this, Giselle.” You calmly say as she pauses and reflects for a moment. “How can we move forward if we’re stuck reliving the past over and over?”

“You want to start again?” 

Giselle looks dumbfounded as you nod.

“We might not be that close again, not for a long time, but we can try being friends. Then we’ll see where it goes.” You shrug your shoulders as she thinks for a moment before responding.

“Why would you let me get away with what I did to you? I left you alone for years, with not a word of my health and well-being. Why put yourself through that again?”

You chuckle to yourself as familiar words come to the front of your mind.

“Maybe there’s room for us to start again. If we’ve both healed from our past wounds, then what’s the use of bringing them up again?”

“From your book.” She responds wistfully before her eyes widen. “You wrote yourself as the love interest?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod as the realization comes crashing down on Giselle.

“And the girl, Rosella, who is strong, beautiful, and kind. The girl who messes up time after time yet she still manages to redeem herself - that’s me?”

“Yup.” You’re quiet for a moment, to allow Giselle to process everything. “Do you know why I chose you as my inspiration?”

“Why?” She leans forward as her voice quivers in anticipation. “Why me?”

“Because no matter how much I hated you, I could never get you out of my head. You haunted my every dream and nightmare. I couldn’t escape your grasp, so I wrote about the woman who had completely transfixed my mind, body, and soul.” 

A breathy chuckle escapes your lips.

This is just like a confession that I would write in my book. The next thing she would say is I love you-

“I never stopped loving you.” She confesses before standing up.

You stand up to meet her gaze.

“Neither did I.”

~

“To be completely honest,” Winter says as you and Giselle approach the docks, “I didn’t expect you to come back.”

“You’re still my captain, Winter.” She smiles before gesturing to you. “This is my friend, the one I told you about.”

“Friend,” She stares at your intertwined hands, “right. Excuse my staring. It isn’t every day that you meet an author of legend.”

You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Ah, that’s sweet of you to say.” You nudge Giselle’s shoulder. “Why can’t you be as charming as her?”

“Hey-” She tries to defend herself, but Winter’s laughter cuts her off.

“Oh, I like them. They’d be a good addition to our crew.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you blink rapidly.

“You… you can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so, unless Giselle objects?” Winter turns to Giselle, who glances at you.

“It’s your decision. I won’t force it on you-”

“Yes,” You quickly answer, “but I’m not sure what use I would be to your crew.”

“We could use your writing and organizing skills to keep track of weapons, finances, maps, food, and other supplies on the ships. That means that you would be working closely with Giselle and I.” Winter explains as you nod along. “Plus there would be plenty of time for you to continue writing your latest masterpiece. I know you’re good with a gun - I can see the Navy’s engravings on the handle, so combat won’t be an issue for you.”

You quickly hide your gun holster with your coat.

“I hope you don’t take offense to my weapons background,” You say before leaning over to Giselle, “how the fuck does she know all of that?”

“Long story, I’ll explain after a drink or two,” Giselle whispers back, “but I’m glad that you’re going with us. It’ll be nice to show you to all of the places that we’ve been before.”

“Got it.” You smile before letting go of Giselle’s hand.

She reaches out to grab it, but you instead maneuver around her hand to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“I, um…” She struggles to articulate her feelings as a furious blush appears on her face.

Winter laughs loudly before gesturing towards the ship.

“We still have a few hours before nightfall. Perhaps we can celebrate with a drink?”

“Sounds good. You in?” You ask Giselle, who can’t even look you in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Her face is still red as Winter walks to the ship.

“Feel free to join me when you’re ready.”

You go to follow behind her, but Giselle stops you by catching your arm with her hand.

“Hey, I-” She pauses to regain her composure, “Thank you, for this. I needed it.”

“It really isn’t a problem,” You say before leaning in to tease her, “but don’t expect me to kiss you every time you need a pick-me-up.”

“Damn, you know my schemes before I can properly plan them.” Giselle smirks before pulling you closer. “But I can always kiss you, right?”

She closes the distance between your lips before quickly pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Tease.” You grumble as she leans back.

“You started it, and I ended it.” She shrugs before her hand slips into yours. “We shouldn’t keep Winter waiting - we don’t want her to have a bad impression of you, right?”

You nod as Giselle leads you on to the ship.

As her crewmates greet you and welcome you onto the ship, you wonder if this new chapter of your life will be something to write about.

Maybe it’s time for my story to be told.

[yonemurishiroku]

Nico with Italian roots is fun yeah.

but also Nico, who lost his memories, returns to Venice and comes to a heart-breaking realization that he can’t remember the image of blissful childhood that he, Maria, Bianca had once loved; and what fragments the Lethe returns to him, what he does manage to remember, just isn’t there anymore - forever lost to the flow of time.

There’re the things he knows he should recognize. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t belong to the 21st and his home’s gone, gone in the reality and gone in the memories. Down to the last traces.

[azukiel]

Nightfall Heir Chapter 1

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Kidnapping, Pregnancy and Childbirth

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 |

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

Summary: Two years have passed since the events surrounding the destruction of the Absolute. Baldur's Gate is slowly rebuilding itself from the rubble, and you and your companions have established yourselves within the city to help in its restoration.

You and your vampiric lover, Astarion, had been nigh inseparable since coming back together. Yet a certain turn of events saw to your kidnapping and then... to your unexpected pregnancy.

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

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

As you lay in Astarion’s arms, you relished in the bliss that coddled your heart.

Alas, your mind wandered. It had not always been like this.

Blissful.

Your memories vividly recalled the time you had first laid with him, the time where the soft glow of fireflies had danced in the air, casting shadows that whispered secrets into the grass beneath you. The subsequent times thereafter had also been a symphony of sensations - feverish rustling of bedsheets, and the intoxicating scents of his cologne mingled with the musky aromas of passion. Back then, Astarion had always assured you that your very essence would be enveloped in a euphoric blend of pleasure and ecstasy. However, beneath the surface of those passionate encounters lay a web of deception. Your trysts had been nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask to conceal the collective traumas that haunted you both. Astarion had sought protection and trust from you, while you had yearned for a semblance of true companionship and belonging from him.

Still, the scars you both carried were etched into your souls, impossible to conceal. They were etched into the very fabric of your beings, leaving invisible wounds that refused to heal.

You flinched at the painful recollections as you looked up again at his peaceful, sleeping face. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took in a deep breath. His scents of bergamot, rosemary and aged brandy eloped you with a warmth like a midsummer’s kiss. His enchanting perfume restored a sense of peace. Yet, the darkness that still lingered in the back of your mind clawed its way into your consciousness once more.

Shuddering, you pressed yourself harder against his body to shield yourself, and though, in his sleep, he tightened his arms around you, you felt your walls again crumble. As the salt of your tears stung at the corners of your eyes, your unscrupulous mind continued to ravish your heart…

You were flung back to your childhood, vividly recalling the relentless barrage of blows, the sound of bones cracking, the scathing verbal assaults, and the relentless condemnations. The overpowering stench of sweat and blood used to fill your nostrils as you were forced to confront opponents far stronger than yourself, all for the perverse amusement of the masses... enduring unspeakable torment that had assaulted your body and mind alike. Such was the brutal reality of the Drow society that had shaped your upbringing. And yet, your tortures were not so different to that of which your lover had suffered at the hands of his old tormentor, Cazador.

The torment you had both endured had left deep scars, which had resulted in your eventual separation. The memory of it lingered, triggering a silent sob from you. In the past, you and Astarion had made the mutual decision to remain ‘just companions,’ driven by guilt over having used each other as shields for your sufferings. It had seemed like the ideal solution, a way to aid in healing. But unbeknownst to either of you, it had only exacerbated the anguish, a truth you both refused to acknowledge, even to yourselves.

At least, not until the events in Cazador's gloomy prison had unfolded.

Your mind, shrouded in darkness, conjured up a vivid and haunting replay of the events...

Your heart had been torn asunder as you had watched Astarion confront his old, wicked master. The anguish inflicted upon Astarion had been unbearable, a raw wound visible in your eyes. Alas, the hunger for power had consumed him, a voracious appetite for ascension that had wrapped around him like a suffocating web. In a mere breath, the Astarion you had known and loved had vanished. The vibrant essence of the witty, sassy, and flamboyant Elven vampire you cherished had been replaced by a feral beast. The sight of his former slaver, now succumbed, bloodied and kneeling, blurred the line between captor and captive.

You recall having exerted every ounce of your strength, having plead with Astarion to resist the seductive pull of power, to spare the lives of the countless thralls and spawn. The weight of this decision had threatened to consume his true self, which would have rendered him unrecognizable. Unimaginable sorrow had consumed you as you had contemplated the magnitude of such a loss.

The anguished cries that had escaped him as he struck down Cazador had reverberated through your being, threatening to shatter your very core. Even though Astarion had eventually yielded to your pleas, a deep resentment had grown within him towards you.

Your mind then shifted to when you and your companions had returned to the Elvensong Tavern nigh your vampiric companion. Your body had trembled uncontrollably, with tears streaming down your face, your sobs wracking your entire being. The weight of your despair had felt like an unbearable burden, threatening to consume you entirely. You remember the painful pounding of your heart in your chest, the rhythm deafening in your ears, and your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to regain control. Halsin’s sudden powerful embrace had provided a sense of stability, and his firm hold had offered a sense of security that you had desperately needed in that moment. He was, in fact, the only companion strong enough to hold your arms to prevent you from burning down the place in your despair. You recalled the surrounding room blurring as your vision had become clouded by tears; the world reduced to a haze of pain and anguish.

The others, your companions, had surrounded you, and eventually their presence had become a comfort amidst the chaos. Their words of reassurance and support had washed over you, their soothing voices attempting to ease the torment that had consumed your mind. Though their words had been barely audible through the fog of your despair, their presence alone provided a sense of unity and shared strength.

Sighing inwardly as you nestled yourself in the crook of Astarion’s shoulder, you remembered that back in that tavern on that night, time had seemed to lose all meaning to you. You had continued to tightly cling to Halsin as he cradled you, and your body had gradually succumbed to exhaustion.

After what had felt like an endless stretch of time, Astarion had finally returned. You recall that the room had been dimly lit by then, and the dancing candle light had cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor. You had heard the faint echoes of his fervent apologies, his voice trembling with remorse. The weight of his rage, which had been directed solely at you, had torn through your heart like a sharp knife. Truly, you hadn’t blamed him. It had been a battle within himself, a struggle to maintain control. Nevertheless, it had still shattered your already delicate heart and mind.

And then you recollected, amidst the heaviness of the situation, he having expressed his gratitude. The words had hung in the air as he had thanked you for rescuing him from the brink of losing his very self. You had saved him from becoming a reflection of the one he despised most in the world. Cazador Szarr.

Late that same night, under the glowing moonlight, he had guided you through the calm silence of the local cemetery. After having reached a secluded plot, he had unveiled a tombstone that had been crafted for him upon his ‘death’ as a mortal elf. The tombstone had stood there, adorned with weathered vines, a testament to the passaging of two long centuries. The air surrounding you both had carried a hint of mustiness and an earthy scent, mingling with the faint aroma of decaying leaves. A chilling breeze had whispered through the graveyard, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Astarion’s voice had broken the silence then, and he described how this tombstone represented not only the end of his previous life in Cazador’s clutches, but also the death of the creature he could have become had he ascended. In that moment, he had realised he was no longer a mere spawn, but finally, truly free.

And as he often reminded you, even now, it had all been because of your unwavering perseverance, infinite patience, and resolute devotion. Your enduring devotion to him. For that, he had fallen profoundly for you and had not hesitated to confess his adoration right in front of his grave. He had not hesitated to guide you down onto the mound of earth, where your bodies soon intertwined with an intense fervour, either.

You remembered the fierce emotions that had flooded your body. Every touch and every caress from Astarion had sent shivers down your spine, electrifying your skin and loins with an unbearable ecstasy. The air around you had seemed to crackle with an intoxicating energy, as if the gods themselves had acknowledged the depth of your connection.

Your breath had hitched with each movement, the anticipation coursing through your veins. The taste of passion had lingered on your lips as a mix of desire and a hint of rebellion. The gritty texture of the earth beneath you had only heightened the rawness of the moment, grounding you in the physicality of your love.

You bit your bottom lip with the memories which now overwhelmed your senses. You felt it all again. With each feverish thrust, the passion had intensified. The heat between your bodies had grown to burning new heights and had wrapped you both in a cocoon of shared desire. Astarion’s touch had ignited a fire within you as his hands had explored every inch of your body with a frenzied hunger. The world around you then had faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you entangled in a dance of unbridled passion.

In that moment, the boundaries of time and place had ceased to exist. Moans and gasps had mingled in the air, a symphony of pleasure and longing as you had moved together with an unspoken understanding.

It had been just you and him in that graveyard, your souls entwined as one. The world could have crumbled around you once again, yet you would have remained oblivious, lost in the sheer intensity of your love.

You trembled at the memory of the last echoes of ecstasy fading away, and the intense heat between your thighs after he had filled you. You had found solace in the knowledge that your devotion had been reciprocated with equal fervor.

As your mind floated back to your present time, you shivered again at the sudden delicious tingle at your junction, a soft moan escaping your lips. You froze, glancing up at your sleeping lover, hoping you had not been loud enough to stir him, but he was as still as the tombstone that adorned his grave. Which brought your salacious thoughts back to that night. That night had cemented your relationship once and for all. He was now yours and you were now his and the both of you had been inseparable since that night two years ago.

[casuallyanidiot]

Moon Waltz [Yandere M. x Gn. Reader]

Made this around a year ago for a Halloween writers collab on Quotev

There are a lot of amazing one shots from authors there, and there's another collab being planned for 2024 if y'all would like to check this out. The theme was Childhood stories, and I chose to base my entry on the theme of music boxes.

On Halloween night, you fall into a strange world and with an even stranger man inside of it. He says he can bring you home by the next full moon, but things start to become odd when you find yourself becoming part of the world too...

Tw. For confinement, blood, manipulation, long post

26k words

Music boxes had fascinated you as a child, specifically the more detailed ones. The kind that had pretty little porcelain figurines on top and flowers painted onto the sides were your favorite. There was something about the looping melody, the softness of the whole the, and the spinning little people living out their lives in complete bliss. You loved it, and often you would imagine yourself carrying out the rest of your life just like that. In hazy daydreams and bouts of pretend, you could pretend that you too were made of glass and covered in delicate gold foil, twirling to a lovely tune.

Of course, as a kid, your parents didn’t really trust you with actually owning any of these admittedly very breakable objects. In fact, after being caught playing with any music boxes in your house a few times too many, your parents had decided to pack them all up in places you’d probably never be able to find them. The ballerinas, fairies, and princes were all packed up in layers of Styrofoam and plastic, sealed away in some closet that your younger self was always too afraid to peek into for some reason. 

Still, you loved the music boxes, and you begged your parents to let you hear them, let you look at them and imagine, to create stories and lives with a simple set of notes and fine china. So, from then on, any time you did good in school or for any other sort of special occasion, your parents took one out for you and set it onto the coffee table. You would sit there, a ball of energy and nerves, patiently as a child could as your mother wound up the music box as far as it could possibly go and place it down. She’d walk out of the room, just within earshot in case you decided to be a bit too rough with it and leave you to your own devices.

You have fuzzy memories of those moments. The sun would be fighting through the cheap curtains, making the room all hot and humid. But the light was pretty, and from where you pressed your little face onto the table, you could see the specs of dust floating around in the air, taking the center stage under the spotlight of sunbeam. And while you dreamed of dancing with porcelain figures, the soft plinks of the music would thrum out. With each note, you could feel the table slightly vibrate, and you along with it. After rewinding it countless times, one of your cheeks would tingle by the time your mom came back to fetch it.

And she would rewrap your little ornate world back up, and place it back until the next time you did something that warranted such a moment of unbridled peace.

It had been years since you were that easily satisfied, though. Now, you were more interested in other things, things that a college aged student you ought to be concerned with. Namely, the bonfire that was going to be held tonight by the lake.

The October air was chilly to say the least, and you watched from the window with mild interest as a few brightly colored leaves were swept up into the dimming eve. You weren’t really trying to take in the scenery of twilight tonight, it just kind of happened to be that you were so bored out of your mind that you had started picking up on the little things again. In all actuality, you had been keeping an eye out for any trick or treaters still roaming about. There had been a steady stream of kids skipping down your street to pound on your door, but they had all seemingly disappeared as soon as the sun even began to set.

When you were a kid, did you ever head in that early? You could have sworn that you had stayed out at least past this point in the evening, but your mom had always made it a point to hand you a flashlight and trail close behind while you ran around, so it wasn’t like you really had that much freedom back then. If you had gone out by yourself, you would have imagined her demanding you back less than an hour after you’d go out.

But anyways, there hadn’t been any kids in a while which was good since the little pathetic candy bowl you had was pretty much dried up. When your parents left the previous day, they had pointed out the two bags worth if treats that they had bought in preparation for all the trick or treaters, but you just had to guess that either they were largely underestimating how many people came up to your surprisingly secluded house at the end of the road, or they had been skimping out on these poor children.

You shook the plastic bowl, bright orange with a jack-o'-lantern style face by the way, and stepped away from the window. Guess there wasn’t much left to do tonight. The house was tidy, most of the candy was gone, and it was late enough where you could call it quits and turn on some cheesy movie to pass the rest of night in peace before you went to bed. Pretty uneventful, but hey, you had done what your parents had asked of you. You flipped off your porchlight, the universal signal to any would be trick or treaters that you would be handing out nothing, and slumped down onto the old, plush couch set up in front of the T.V.

You sighed as you lazily flipped through some channels and streaming apps, before settling on some low energy movie and snuggling into the mediocrity of the cushions. 

If it sounds like you weren’t having a pleasant time, it would be, well because it was the simple, honest and sucky truth. To put it plainly, you had been a bit of a loser in high school. Not very many friends, not the best grades, and hardly any joyous memory for your youth either. It sucked, but you managed to get into a local community college. It was there that, for the first time in what felt like forever, you had started having a social life. We’re talking classmates inviting you out to lunch, going on spontaneous car rides with people for no reason other than to hang out, goofing off in convenience stores, and finally getting decent grades once again. It had been so long since you had felt this accepted, this welcomed by people your age. 

It was wonderful, to be honest. All that time in high school you spent imagining yourself in better scenarios, ignoring your hurt, and convincing yourself that you were fine with the solitude that being a bit of a social outcast brought you had made you miss truly feeling like you belonged. You didn’t know when you had stopped feeling like that in the first place, but now that it was back, you didn’t want to do anything that would risk this new life you had been building up recently. 

So far, everything had been going pretty smoothly, and even your rather protective parents seemed to recognize how badly you needed this, how much happier you had been since you actually started making friends. And even though you were technically a grown adult, they gave you their permission to go out as much as you wanted. It had changed your relationship with them slightly, too. No longer was it you asking them to allow you to go out, but simply stating where you were going to be and a rough estimate of how long you'd be gone. The only thing they had requested of you was that you turn on your location so that they could see where you had been or where you were. For safety of course.

So, when your friend who you had been gradually growing closer with had invited you out to an annual university bonfire by the lake, that was right by your house mind you, you were ecstatic. This was your first real party! Sure there would probably be some alcohol there, but there would also be a large amount of people attending as well. It was an event that was widely known among the youth of your area, and it had been held many years prior to this one. Everyone knew about it. It was safe, and it was an opportunity for you to enjoy Halloween with your new social circle. You were excited, to say the least.

And then… your parents said absolutely not. The “My house my Rules” rhetoric was strong throughout their refusal, and you had to admit a bit of defeat there. After all, they let you live in your childhood home after high school rent free. Seeing as they had already booked a small trip out of town for the day of and week after Halloween, they didn’t want you going out without anyone to look out for you. Not wanting to argue any further, you grit your teeth and accepted the verdict.

But now, on your couch, you scrolled through your phone and all the messages expressing disappointment but understanding that you couldn’t attend, a new determination grew within you. You were grateful that your parents were so concerned about you, but this was a chance for you to live a little! Besides, the location of the bonfire party was close  to your home, and you had traversed the nearby woods enough times to be confident in your ability to not get lost. You sat up confidently before shooting a friend a text in the large group chat.

Actually! I can come! I’ll see you there!

Immediately, your phone began to blow up with excitement at the news. You knew of your shy reputation, and you also knew that many of your friends were ready to get you out of your shell, to help you try new things, to let you do whatever and have fun all the while. You smiled to yourself and giggled. Yeah, you were giddy, but who wouldn’t be? For the first time in your life, you were going out into the night hours. For the first time in your life, you were going to rebel. 

You giggled shamelessly as you threw on a thick, warm coat and a comfortable pair of shoes that would do a decent job of carrying you through the woods. An infectious smile played on your lips as you rushed to grab a flashlight and a pair of bunny ears that your parents had left you as a sad excuse for a Halloween costume on the dining room table. You shoved the cheap mess of felt and plastic on your head before practically skipping towards the back door. Your phone was still nestled in the back pocket of your pants, and you were suddenly aware of what you were about to do.

Your parents, who had only forbade you for concerns of your safety… Did they really deserve this? Did they deserve this blatant defiance of their wishes? Of course not, but hey, if you left your phone at home, then they probably would be none the wiser to your absence. 

So, you went back to the couch and set the device down gently. Your mom would definitely be freaking out the second she noticed that your location had been turned off, then your dad would probably start calling you nonstop. At that point they would call the cops to the house and your ass would be found out. So, the best option would be just to leave it here and hope nothing too crazy would happen tonight on your way there. Hopefully you could get a ride on the way back, though.

You left the T.V running on low volume and left out the back door to venture into the woods. There was a big, infectious smile on your face and a pep in your step while you wandered off to meet your friends. This was going to be great!

This, as it turned out, was not as great as you had hoped it’d be. You frustratedly kicked a branch out of your way while groaning.

  “ Ughhhh, there’s no fucking way I’m this dumb,” you said as you stomped through the vague path made by the few people, mainly kids, that would wander through whatever particular section of forest you had wandered in. Yeah, that’s right. You, in all your excitement, had gotten lost. Who knows for how long, because you didn’t bother to bring a watch or anything with you.

The dark wall of trees loomed over you mockingly. Its colossal mass of leaves and bark blocked any view of the moonlight struggling to stream down, and you felt this crushing weight of fear that had not been there moments before. Your stupid, horrid confidence had tricked you into thinking that this was a good idea (part of you still believed it was), and now you were at the mercy of whatever lurked in the brush. 

Wind curled chillingly around the bodies of wooden figures and cut directly into you. Your fingers had begun to grow numb from their lack of protection, and you brought your hands up to cup the warm puffs of breath you let out to prevent fall frostbite. Your eyes, holding back tears of frustration, stung with the nothingness of the night. It really was too dark to make your way back home at this point. The path you had taken had gotten tangled up like a spool of cheap yarn, and you weren’t sure that there was a way that you could safely find your backyard again, much less your intended party. 

In your wallowing, your gaze fixed upon a faint glimmer from between the trees. It wasn’t particularly bright or dazzling, but the haunting void of the woods offered you no greater comfort. Even if it wasn’t anything grand, a clearing of some kind would be better than staying where you were. I mean, if you were already lost, then why not spend the remainder of the evening looking up at the stars? It was a weak motivator, but honestly the paranoia of the canopy was too much for you to bear. Who knows what was hiding in them? 

So, you stumbled about for a little longer. The tip of your shoe caught on roots that jutted out above soil, and your clothes snagged on whatever stray twig reached out, but eventually you arrived at the source of silver shimmer that you had spied.

It was a little clearing, serene and silent save for the rustle of breeze upon the otherwise still water of the pond. The moon, which you could finally see now, shone merrily on its surface. The reflection bathed everything in bright gray, a stark contrast to the utter darkness you had been struggling through for what felt like eternity. More than just the moon, you could make out the constellations stretching across the night without any interruption. 

You could hear no frog croak, nor the faint humming of bugs. The only thing that reached your ears was your own stilling heartbeat as you decided to rest against a fallen log. Truthfully, you were exhausted. The adrenaline of getting lost had taken a lot out of you, and you held little hope of actually getting out of this stupid forest until the sun rose. Part of you wondered if your friends would think it was strange how you hadn’t showed; You really, really hoped that they wouldn’t call the cops to do a wellness check on you or anything. You would definitely get busted if that happened. 

You groaned in relief as you sunk down to the ground. The cold and damp soil pressed into the lines of your hands, and you cringed slightly at the feeling. You would be super uncomfortable for the rest of the night, but that was just the price you would have to pay for being dumb. Though, as shitty as this situation was, the pond was kind of nice. I mean, it was almost glowing in a way that you would see in a pretty oil painting that had all of the brushstrokes still visible. It wasn’t the body of water you were looking for, but it was still nice. You appreciated the peace it brought you in that moment. 

As you sat there, trying to close your eyes and soak up your surroundings, you heard a very familiar sound.

Plink

Your attention was captivated by that single note. Your heart began to beat and ache for the hazy nostalgia it brought. You knew what it was. You had craved the exact thing as a child, and even now you yearned for the fuzzy warmth that you knew it would bring.

Plink

It was behind you, in the log. You sat up unbelievably straight and twisted to look through the rotting wood. You could feel small spiders and bugs brush up against your fingers, but you persisted. The soft notes rung out slowly, pathetically, begging you to wind it up so it could play to completion. There was a crevice where cold moss had filled in, and you reared your hands back like a snake before striking. It was a clumsy, exhaustion driven endeavor, but you knew you had to find whatever was making the music.

The tips of your nails bumped against something solid. Another note played. Another Plink; you had found it. With some weird sense of desperation you grabbed it and wrenched it out of its place. Your chest heaved with some anxiety as you held it under the moonlight. 

A music box, detailed and ornate like the ones you used to love. The glossy porcelain shimmered like it was made with the finest jewels, and you shakily gazed over the little figurines sitting together on a sculpted, crescent moon, smiling and sitting shoulder to shoulder in complete bliss. You laughed a little. How could you not? In the worst situation you had ever physically been in, you had found a small piece of joy in both the clearing and a trinket that a child version of yourself would have gone ballistic over.

There, on your knees with the dampness of the grass soaking into your pants, you wound it up. The little couple on the moon spun idly as you held it in your hands. There were bits of grime and dirt covering its surface, and you had to wonder how loved it had been. Was anyone missing it? If so, you hoped that they wouldn’t mind having the object find a new home. You knew that if any of your beloved music boxes had somehow managed to wind up in such an odd place, you’d be more relieved to find that it had been loved rather than ripped apart by mother nature. 

You could pretend there in that clearing with that soft tune, on a night made for pretending mind you, that you were anywhere else. That you were living a fantastical life full of romance, adventure, and surrounded by a kind of beauty that could only be found in little delicate pieces, painted with care and crafted to spark comfort. 

When the gears within had stopped turning, you found yourself more calm than when you had been frantically searching for a way back home moments before. It was funny how just a stroke of familiarity could ground you. You held up the music box once more to examine it fully, your eyes squinting with some effort. Still transfixed by it, you began to shakily stand up. You weren’t really sure why. Perhaps you wanted to just stretch out your legs a bit, or maybe you wanted to move around to get some more warmth back into your admittedly freezing body. It didn’t really matter as to why you stood, but as soon as your wobbly calves were placed under your full weight, you stumbled to the side.

You squawked out in surprise as you tripped and careened towards the surface of the pond. You held the little music box tightly, your hands automatically cupping around the figures, as you braced for the impact of cold, frigid water.

Instead, you were met with cold, rigid ground.

Shock raced through your veins as you bluntly landed on your side, all the air leaving your lungs in an instant. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest sucked in and in but nothing was happening, and your limbs flailed around wildly, searching for anything to help. You took in large gasps, certain that you appeared as a beached fish, while your vision blurred and you somehow managed to roll onto your back.

Your entire body felt like it burned, your heart was racing to the point it was painful, and the world was a blur of silver and black, but after a few moments of struggling to calm down and breathe properly, you were able to somehow feel alright. You didn’t feel like it, but you also weren’t suffocating anymore so that was definitely the better outcome. Your hands were shaking as you held them in front of your face, and you could barely focus on them properly. Beyond the tips of your fingers, you could see the porcelain box. It had rolled away after you had dropped it at some point. 

You groaned as you sluggishly reached for it, forcing yourself to sit up along the way. After briefly confirming that the object was okay and not damaged, you quickly came to realize one majorly glaring issue: there were no trees. There actually was nothing that even resembled the little clearing you were in. No rotting log, no moist grass, no pond. No, you were sitting on a brick paved path, the tile made a pearlescent white, shimmering as your gaze raked across it. You blinked slowly a couple times to make sure that you weren’t hallucinating, only to find a large gate before you.

How you hadn’t noticed it before, no idea, but what you could see plainly was its otherworldly beauty. Swirling white wood formed into a circle, Glowing bright in a way that resembled the shining pond. It resembled, to be frank, the moon. Your lips parted wordlessly. 

“What the fuck?” You whispered very confusedly. The more lucid you became, the more clear it was that you were no longer in the forest by the lake. You were, evidently, sitting in front of a gate that was attached to no fence, sitting at the end of a pathway. When you frantically turned your head, you were met with the sight of a sprawling complex of ornate buildings, all connected by covered wooden paths. The place was lush with plants and flowers, and lanterns swayed softly as they lit up their surroundings with a dim, comforting hue.

It was gorgeous, out of a storybook even, but it was, as you quickly realized, all in various shades of silver. What you presumed to be wood was a sleek dark gray, and anything else held the appearance of being bathed in… well bathed in moonlight. You tilted your head up quickly, and your breathing became rapid at the suspicion that had sneaked into your head. Up, there in the deep inkwells of the sky, were stars. Many constellations peppered the night like freckles, and they were clearer than you had ever seen before, even more so than earlier when you had arrived at the pond. It was breathtaking, but there was a lack of a certain presence that frightened you. There was no moon.

With that sudden realization, came a crashing noise. Your attention was snapped back to a lone figure standing on the path ahead of you, just before the complex. A tray laid by their feet, shards of shattered porcelain scattered about from what you presumed to be a cup, and the liquid held within it had spilled all over the ground. You were stunned, all the shock held within you being exemplified by the fact that standing before you was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

He too was not exempt from the grayscale of this odd world you had entered, and his shining eyes had been surprised by your sudden arrival to his home (?). Neither of you moved from your respective spots, until an excited, infectious smile spread across his lips.

“ Welcome!” He spoke as he rushed forwards. He crouched down to your level, stretching out his hands and arms in a beckoning gesture. You curled into yourself a bit, the music box still in your hands. He faltered at your hesitation, the corners of his lips falling ever so slightly, and moved back. 

“ Uhm, forgive me. You must be frightened,” he apologized quickly. The rushed nature in his voice was not lost on you, and his kind smile was stretched too thin for you to really feel comfortable, but he was offering his hand out to you. On the smooth surface of his skin, you could see a desperation that was oddly familiar. Your quickly beating heart stilled slightly before you began to take in an actual good look at him.

He had silver eyes, reflective like the rest of the surroundings, framed by long lashes that you were sure touched his eyebrows. His complexion, a dark gray, was shiny like glass. You could see no blemish upon his exposed skin. He was as mystical as your surroundings. He was tall, with a lean and nimble build that showed with every movement he made. His hair was braided neatly, and you felt a twinge of both envy and awe at the way his locks fell below his waist.

Slowly, as if you might die if you actually touched him, you reached out and put your hand in his grasp. He laughed, softly and so quiet that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it, and From there you were quickly pulled to your feet and tugged toward the complex of buildings. The man led you through the open halls, which were more confusing than you had originally gleaned, shooting you quick, joyful glances. The wooden planks under your feet creaked loudly, there was some faint rustling from the flora, and yet other than that, there was no noise. It unnerved you to no degree. You clutched the music box closer to your chest as your ears searched for anything other than the whispers of the wind. 

It was almost apocalyptic, like you had stepped into the end of the world.

Finally, after winding through the halls, he stopped at a room with a curtain for a door. He brushed the sheer fabric aside and pulled you in excitedly. 

“ Here, sit down. I’ll make you tea!” he insisted. He put a hand on your back and pushed you towards a dusty table. A little stove and sink was in one corner, and it didn’t take you long to identify this place as a little kitchen. You didn’t know what else to do, so you pulled out a chair and settled into it. He bustled about, hurriedly opening cabinets and getting everything ready. You watched him wordlessly, not really sure what to do.

It was obvious that this man was not expecting your presence here if the shattered glass, that he had left by where he found you by the way, was anything to go by. The odd appearance of this place combined with the way you got there in the first place confirmed that either you were hallucinating, or you had somehow gone to a place that was definitely not earth. Your stomach twisted into tight knots at the thought of that. 

The soft clunk of a teacup on wood brought you out of what was likely the start of a spiral, and you looked up to see the eager, smiling face of the man. The steaming cup was pushed gently to your side of the table; he sat opposite of you, watching intently as you stared at the beverage.

“ I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made black tea. Do you need milk? Sugar?” He asked, already moving to get anything you desired.

“ Uhm, no, no. I’m fine!” you insisted. He sat back down quickly.

“ So uhhh, what is this place?” You cut right to the chase. You were too hopped up on adrenaline to really wait any longer. The pads of your fingers rubbed over the sides of the music box in a self serving manner as you swallowed nervously.

“ I will be honest, I’m not sure myself. I’ve been here for a while, though. I’m Samuel, by the way,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. He seemed sheepish. It was like he was embarrassed about something small, like a pimple on your back, and not an entirely different plane of existence or wherever it is you were. 

“ Sorry if I seem…A bit odd. It’s been a while since I've, well, since I've talked to anyone,” he admitted. “ I’m terribly sorry if I've frightened you. You must be very confused.”

“Yeah no kidding,” you snorted out almost immediately. He winced at your grumbled words, and a pang of regret hit you. You uncrossed your arms. “ I’m fine,” you relented, “ just confused is all. I got lost and ended up here.” 

“ I see, could you perhaps recall what happened before you came here? It’s been such a long time since I arrived. I’m not even sure I can tell you what I was doing before I became part of this place,” he asked. 

“ What do you mean?”

“ I used to not live here. I was like you, and I used to roam as I pleased. This was a safe haven of some sort, and I kept returning until I felt as if I no longer wished to go back. That was ages ago, though. I can hardly remember it,” he explained. Odd, he looked only a few years older than you were. How long could he have been here to forget everything? Despite your concerns, you introduced yourself briefly and explained how you had strayed away from your path during the night. You briefly mentioned the party and took off your stupid rabbit ears that you were honestly surprised had stuck onto your head for so long at this point. You talked about finding the clearing and falling into the pond.

“ So yeah, that’s when I wound up uh by that moon thing where you found me. Here I am I guess,” you shrugged, not really feeling comfortable with his intense stare. The small little tidbits of information he had given you made it clear that the man was simply lonely. You weren’t exactly sure how long ‘ ages ‘ was, but you didn’t imagine that this little complex of buildings was a thriving social scene. You fiddled with the little figurines in your palms. The curve of the crescent moon fit into your palm like it was meant to be there, but they were starting to feel clammy from your nerves. You gently placed it on the table so you could wipe the sweat off of them, nearly missing the way he perked up.

“ Where ever did you get that?”

“ Huh? What do you mean?” 

“ Where did you get that? I’ve been searching for that for such a long time!” He exclaimed, reaching over to grab it. He snatched it up quickly, a large smile on his face. He held it up like it was a newborn baby, fondness etched into the structure of his face.

“ Oh, I found that before I fell into the pond,” you explained. Your fingers twitched, subconsciously you wanted to take it back.

“ Ah, I see. So it was out there… I would have been searching these halls for an eternity if it wasn’t for you. This is one of my most precious objects, you see.”

“ Oh, uh, you’re welcome I guess. Glad you could get it back,” you said, feeling a twinge of disappointment. The soft melody of the music box wasn’t something you could easily get out of your head, so you could understand his excitement at your discovery, but still that meant that you  were the one that would continue to remember that sweet song for who knows how long. Whatever, it was fine. You could probably scratch the itch by digging through an old closet at home and finding your parents’ collection. Speaking of which…

“ Uhm, how do I get home?” You asked. Your query seemed to break his joyous mood in an instant, his demeanor drooping like a kicked dog. “ I just, you know, I need to be back before people realize I’m missing. I’d, uh, yeah I’d get in a lot of trouble if my parents found out I snuck out,” you lamely explained. You hoped that he wouldn’t take you wanting to get the hell out of here wasn’t a reflection on his personality.

“ You wish to leave? Already?” You nodded, and he sighed sadly. “ I see. Well, it is a shame, really. I was quite enjoying our conversation. You seem like you have a lively character, and I’m sure that there are already people who miss your presence. I would’ve liked to further learn of your life and what it’s like out there right now, but that’s quite alright. Here, I’ll show you the correct way to exit this place.”

You felt relieved the second he stood up. Your cup of tea had barely been touched, and the pit in your stomach had become unbearable. Screw the party, screw Halloween, you just wanted to go and curl up in your bed, pass out and pretend that this whole thing had been just a very weird dream. You followed him out of the little kitchen eagerly, the tension melting away finally. After this, you’d probably be sore for days based on how stiff you were. 

“ I hope I’ve been a decent host. It really has been too long. I apologize for how…dysfunctional my home might seem. It really is beautiful, yet I find that there are simply too many rooms and halls for me to keep them properly tidy. I hope you didn’t mind,” Samuel chattered on as you approached the shiny pearlescent path that you originally arrived at. You considered his words briefly; they did make some sense. It would explain why the table had been so dusty even though he seemed sure about that being the first room he had in mind to bring you. It was only him though.  That gave the serene complex a lonely, melancholic air. 

You watched the way his locks fell down his back. They shone so brightly under moonlight that came from nowhere, and you felt a bit irked that you found someone so beautiful under such odd circumstances. If only you had met him at the party tonight. It probably would’ve only elevated the whole experience. Damn, if only you hadn’t gotten lost. 

“ Here we are,” he said softly as you approached the circular gate.

“ Does this really go back to Earth?”

“ I should hope so,” Samuel’s laugh was gentle and clear as a windchime. “ I mean this is how you got here. This is where I would go through any time I wanted to leave, when I used to do so that is.”

He reached a hand out, ready to go through the shimmering surface of the moonlike gate. His fingers grazed its surface, and his eyes widened slightly. He pressed his palm fully to it before turning to face you with what you could only describe as utter confusion.

“ What? What’s wrong?” You asked, concern clear in your demeanor. His gaze was pointed towards the ground, refusing to meet your eyes. “ Did it not work?” You gulped. At this point, you didn’t notice when exactly you did this, you had latched onto his arm a bit desperately. Finally, at this physical contact, you looked up to see his guilty expression.

“Ah, it, uh, it appears that we missed the window.”

So apparently, the gate that you had entered through only opened once a month on a full moon for a brief period of who knows how long. Samuel hadn’t been able to go through, so, because the universe loved you sooo much, you were stuck in this weird realm until when the next full moon rolled around, AKA, in a month. Basically you were stuck here. 

As pissed off as you were, there was really nothing you could do about it, so all you could do was really sit back and try to relax. Samuel had excitedly dragged you to show you more of the rooms in the complex. There were an incomprehensible amount of bedrooms, though you didn’t have much time to actually look at any of them properly before he had dragged you off to what he was most proud of.

“Here! You can have the room next to mine!” He had exclaimed as he threw open the door to an admittedly very nice bedroom. “ I’ll have to tidy it up a bit,” he remarked after you swiped your finger on the vanity surface and a coating of dust came up with it. “ I’ll rest here for tonight. You may take mine,” he stated. It wasn’t really an offer, more like a fact of the matter.

So you went to his room with a bundle of clothes Samuel had provided from a wardrobe. You had to shake it off for a little before you felt comfortable sliding into them, and they fit loose and baggy on your frame, but they were soft and comfortable so you didn’t particularly mind. You were alone for the first time since you had come here, and it was now that you weren’t swept up in the chaos of your temporary roommate's excitement that you were able to take in the true craftsmanship that was surrounding you. The furniture in his room was part of a set, the bed frame, desk, small armoire, chairs, and wardrobe all having vines and roses carved climbing up the surface of wood. 

It was lovely, and the curtains both by the small window and by the bed were a soft sheer silver, though you were glad that there was actually a door here. You weren’t sure that you would feel the safest if there wasn’t. Granted, there was no lock, but you’d rather have some kind of separation from a total stranger rather than none. There was a series of knocks, and you weakly called out,” Come in.” 

“ I came to make sure that everything was up to par,” he explained. “ Is everything alright? I mean, I understand that you’re not here under the most ideal circumstances, but I mean, is the room alright? I would like you to be comfortable.”

“ Yeah. It’s nice here. I mean yeah, you’re right this isn’t, like, ideal or whatever, but this is okay. Thank you for letting me stay here,” you said absently as you fussed with the sheets and pillows on the bed before sitting down. 

“ It’s hardly any trouble. There isn’t anywhere else to go,” he said pleasantly. “ Ah, I suppose I should leave you to rest. You’ve had an eventful night. Sleep well,” he said, hesitantly hovering by the door as he spoke.

“ Yeah, uh, goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left after that. You managed to snuggle into the sheets without much difficulty. You had to admit, it was the most comfortable mattress you had ever laid on. It was like a dream, and you thought briefly about how you might actually be doing so. Part of you hoped that this was all some weird nightmare brought on by eating bad candy or something, and you were actually back at home laying on your couch. This was too elaborate, though. As you tried to fall asleep, you gazed at the pond and courtyard just beyond your window, watching as gauzy curtains floated on a gentle breeze wondering about what he meant that there was nothing else beyond here.

It hadn’t occurred to you the night before, but it turned out that the time here didn’t seem to pass the same as it did in the real world. When you had awoken, it was still night. When you left your room and asked Samuel, who was sitting in the courtyard by your door, about it, he had simply replied, “ That’s just how it is.”

He then asked you if you would like to help him clean up your room, and because you weren’t rude and would feel bad if you did make him do it all by himself, you agreed. He became elated afterwards, humming quietly to himself as he fetched some brooms, buckets, and rags from a small little closet down the hallway. 

“ I’ll make us some food soon,” he said, a smile settled on his lips, as he handed you a bucket. When he did so, his fingers brushed up against your own, lingering there for a few moments longer than you what probably would be acceptable. “ Do you, ah, have any preferences?”

“ Not really, just as long as it’s edible,” you laughed weakly, pulling away slightly. He nodded. 

“ I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.” 

The two of you got to work quickly. There was a thin layer of dust over every surface there. It made some sense; there was no need to hang out in a bedroom that wasn’t yours other than maybe for a change of scenery. Samuel made small talk with you as you swept, remarking on various items and books that he found while organizing things. There wasn’t much to be done really, the room looked as if it had been untouched for a long time. It wasn’t messy in the way where clothes and crap would be strewn around everywhere, but there were cobwebs that needed to be gone if you were gonna stay there for more than a night.

You had just finished up mopping the floors when the silver man paused in his dusting and suggested that you two finally take your break. You, running on an empty stomach, agreed pretty quickly. This led to you sitting in the open hallway outside of another small kitchen a couple doors down from the two bedrooms that were now being used. Your legs dangled over the side, your shoes brushing over the blades of shining grass. Behind you the soft sound of a wooden spoon scraping against a pan could be heard along with his humming. 

He had made you tea again, and this time you actually found yourself idly sipping it as a way to pass the time. It was peaceful here, you would admit that. Despite the large amount of skepticism you held, you had to acknowledge that as weird as it was, this was an okay change of pace. Yes, you would have rather spent your time doing assignments or strengthening your new friendships, but Samuel was nice if not a bit over eager, and there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with that. Maybe this was just a really weird way of making an equally weird connection with someone new. 

Plus, like you had noted many times before, he was insanely nice to look at. It was hard to not feel some small flutters in your chest when he looked at you like you were the only other person in the world, mainly because you actually were the only other person here. You were trying to not think about it too hard, though. You wouldn’t be staying here for long. Samuel handed you a small plate filled with eggs and rice with a pleasant expression.

“ It’s not very elaborate, but I hope that it’s enjoyable. I can make you something more flavorful at another time,” he said while taking up a seat next to you.

“ It’s pretty good,” you said after shoveling in a few mouthfuls, nodding with satisfaction.

“ That’s a relief,” he laughed. “ I’m glad that I don’t have to relearn how to cook or anything.”

“ Don’t worry about it too much. I’m not really a chef either. All I know how to make is some basic stuff like noodles. Oh, hey, that reminds me, where did you even get the stuff to make this?” You asked, gesturing slightly to the food. Samuel shrugged.

“ I’m not sure. It simply… appears. A Lot of items here just appear sometimes. There were times where I had to figure out how to use them correctly. Like the fridge. I’m not sure when it arrived or how, just that I had to figure out what it was used for. Some of my food just started appearing there from then on,” he pondered.

“ Hm, well that’s kind of cool,” you shrugged with a hum.

“ Yes, I suppose it is.”

Something that you noticed by your second day in the complex was that there was a lack of most modern technology. There were no radios, T.Vs, modern magazines, microwaves, computers or phones, landline or mobile, that you could find in the main building that you and Samuel were staying in. When you had brought this up to him, he had just stared at you with a slightly bewildered expression.

“ So you’ve never heard of a radio?” you asked a bit incredulously.

He shook his head. “ I’m not certain if I have. Perhaps you could detail it to me? It’s possible that I’ve seen one before,” he said earnestly, leaning over to you. 

The two of you had been sitting out on the lawn of the courtyard, just talking about various topics as they floated into the conversation. Your room had been cleaned out already, so now there wasn’t much to do but hang out. You had asked him if there was anything that he really had to do at one point, but as it turned out there weren’t any real responsibilities that came attached to this place. It was clear though that you were both interested in each other's lives, though, so getting to know each other was pretty high up on the list of things to do. 

“ Uh, never mind, It doesn’t really matter,” you laughed, waving off the whole technology issue. Samuel seemed hesitant to drop the subject, but then you started asking about other things, like how many rooms there were and if he had ever swam in the pond. Harmless topics like that seemed to bring back his excited chatter quickly, and the two of you continued on with your conversation. 

Though later, when you went to bed, you looked out at the stars and wondered just how long the silver locked man had been here exactly.

The third day you had woken up much earlier than Samuel, so you decided that it was time that you do a bit of exploring by yourself. He had shown you around the building your room was in briefly, you knew that there probably were more interesting things to be found in the other ones in the complex. You, in all your modern attention spanned glory, were curious and bored, so you quietly left your room so as to not disturb him and set out to check out the building that was closest to the gate. 

There wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary there other than the fact that it existed in this realm to begin with. It was different from the building with all of the bedrooms, though. There were more places that seemed suited for gathers of various sizes. From small, intimate rooms with couches, pillows and lamps that burned dimly to a large extended banquet table that could seat an impossible number of guests, It was clear that this space was made to house people. It wasn’t just this building though, it was the one with all the empty rooms. This place was supposed to hold life, and the fact that it seemed so desolate despite you and Samuel was a bit chilling. 

Still, you continued to look around, poking your nose into random closets and paging through books that were far too old for you to comfortably sit down and read them. Just like everything else there, there was dust to be found on everything. You had been thrown into a few hacking fits just by sitting down on a few dirty chairs, the upholstery pluming out with grime. 

Eventually, you stood in front of two doors, more large and ornate than any that you had seen previously, so of course you had to go inside. There was no way that you couldn’t, given the burning desire to just get up and do anything. So, you went in to discover, to your surprise, a library. Instantly, you recognized that this space must’ve been used by Samuel regularly, for one, there were signs of actual life everywhere. 

The shelves of the library went all the way up to the tall ceiling, and they were packed full of novels of all kinds of genres. There were scientific journals and romance volumes crammed next to each other, there were history books galore, and you even spied some copies of Shakespearean tragedies shoved next to poets that seemed to weave silk out of words. Your fingers ran over their spines, trying to decide if you actually wished to read something at the moment. It wasn’t like you were doing anything better, though.

Still, there were books strewn out on the tables, candles that had been melted down to the stub, and loose papers stacked into messy piles, even messier handwriting scrawled on their surface. Everything had this old, antique sort of feel to it, one that you would see people trying to desperately recreate online for the sake of living up to some aesthetic. You assumed that everything that was out of the shelves had been handpicked by Samuel, so you began to look through the novels.

As you did, a few trends became very noticeable. One, he seemed to be a sucker for romance. The books that he seemed to read the most, the ones with the cracked spines and softened paper edges were all stories of grand love. You hadn’t known him long enough to properly assess his character yet, but you wouldn’t deny that you could see him being of the tender hearted type, and these stories with prose that dripped with honey seemed to prove that. Not to mention, his writings were all poems that also seemed to focus on the concept of finding one’s true partner. He dreamed of it frequently, it seems. You put down the poems, feeling slightly uncomfortable with looking through something so personal, maybe a bit too late, but hey, you tried. 

Another thing that became quite clear was that most of the books and novels in the library had been published during or before the late 1800’s. You tried to think not too hard about the implications of that.

Eventually, you found a relatively easy read and settled in to really dig into the book on a comfy little couch that surprisingly didn’t have much dust on it. You had gotten maybe 20 minutes into it when you heard the sounds of hurried footsteps, slamming doors and your name being called. You jumped a bit when Samuel came bursting into the library, breathless and clearly just a bit frantic. You blinked at him owlishly as he panted like he had just ran a marathon. The second he caught sight of your tensed up self he let out a large sigh and seemed to physically crumple.

“ Oh good, you were here all this time,” he gasped out, a weak, trembling smile meeting his lips. He wobbled over to you quickly, and you could only really stare back at him.

“ Uhhh yeah, I wanted to see if I could find any books to read to, you know, pass the time. Is, uh, everything okay? You okay? Have a bad dream or something?” You asked with clear concern.

“ Ah, no everything is fine. I just, perhaps I got a bit carried away there. You’ll have to forgive me. I became very frightened when I realized you were not in your room this morning. Then I couldn’t find you anywhere else and I, well, I became worried for a moment. It’s all well now that I’ve found you haha,” Despite his small laughs, you could see that Samuel was still shaking. From fear or what, you weren’t sure, but he was obviously not alright.

“ Oh, well I’m sorry. I, uh, didn’t really want to wake you,” you explained, standing up so you could stand by him and offer a bit of support. You weren’t really sure what was the best course of action to take here, but maybe being understanding was the best route?

“ Of course, It’s really no trouble. No need to apologize. Although, if you could, just please let me know where you’ll be ahead of time? It would save me a great deal of worry,” He asked, his brows pinched up in concern. You bit your lip. This was not normal behavior, to be so worried about a near stranger disappearing and all, but then again, Samuel had been here by himself for what you presumed to be a very long time. If you really were the first person that had come here since he started living in this place full time, then wouldn’t it be natural that he was instantly clingy to the first social connection he’s had in a while?

“ Uh yeah, I can do that. Sure, uh, do you want to uh, go back to the courtyard or something? I wanted to uh grab some books first though,” you agreed and gestured to the shelves. He nodded quickly, and you didn’t fail to notice how he scrambled to hide his various pages of writing behind his back. You  pretended not to, more for his peace of mind. You quickly gathered up any novel that had caught your eye and shuffled out of the library a bit awkwardly. 

The next few days were spent just lazing about and reading any books that look vaguely interesting, and Samuel stuck by your side as much as possible. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t, making up some excuses about wanting to clean a room or him forgetting an object by where you were hanging out, but it appeared that at one point or another he realized how lame he probably sounded so he simply just started following you around the complex. You didn’t mind all that much. He was good company, and it was clear that he was just worried about being a bother. 

You had called him over a number of times to your side, and his bright expression was admittedly pretty lovely. It turned out that he had also read most of the books in the library, if not all of them. You found that out after he made remarks about a fantasy novel you had gotten pretty engrossed in and subsequently spoiled the ending for you. He had been very apologetic afterwards.

Like most days, the two of you would sit in the courtyard and the open hallways, laying down and talking about random subjects. It was one of these idle days that you finally broached a topic that you had been dying to know.

“How old are you anyways, Samuel?” You asked while lazily flipping through some pages that you had already gone through. He, who had simply been watching you, blinked surprised. 

“I’m not exactly sure. I believe that I am about the same as you,” he shrugged. Over the past few days, the two of you had become slightly more casual with each other. Spending all day within each other's company was bound to do that, but you found it to be interesting.

“ Well like, what was the last year before you started living here full time?”

“ Hmmmm, perhaps 1899? I recall many being restless about the incoming new year. You must have experienced that by now,” Samuel hung his head back in contemplation. You blinked in shock.

“ Dude what? You’re from the 1800’s!?” You pushed yourself up, more of your attention put on him.

‘Dude?” he mouthed out, confused by your wording.

“ It’s 2023 on Earth right now. That would make you over a hundred years old,” you explained, awe laced in your voice. You crawled over to him in what you could only assume was in a super unhinged manner. “ You’re like, super old.”

“ I am most certainly not old!” he cried, crossing his arms in protest. You laughed, the most open and expressive thing you had done since you had gotten to this odd place, and rolled onto your side unceremoniously, your body shaking with little snorts. At your response, he could only grin.

“ Come now! You can’t be serious!” he laughed. “ I am not!”

“ You totally are dude!” you playfully shot back. From there, your conversation devolved into a messy tangle of jabs, giggles, and jokes.

 The quietness of the complex melted away slowly as you filled it with the music of your voices intertwining. You would say something silly, and Samuel would respond with naive confusion. He wasn’t used to your kind of humor, but by god was he trying. You could see it in the small pinch of his brows before he would throw all of his 17th century logic to the wind and join in on your fun. 

It was almost like you were a kid again, playing with some other child that you would probably never see again after you left the park. A temporary best friend who you would spill your entire family’s business to as you ran around a swing set. That’s what Samuel was to you in a way. There was actually something kind of freeing about knowing that anything that happened in that weird realm would stay there with him. There was really no reason why you couldn’t be friends with him, even if any relationship built wasn’t very permanent. Besides, he seemed to actively want to interact with you at nearly all points of the day(?) despite knowing that you would be going away in about three weeks, so who were you to really deny that?

At some point the gate had changed in appearance. You had noticed on maybe a week into your stay while taking what you guessed to be a morning walk. The library had been calling your name, probably a product of nothing else but boredom, and you had taken a quick glance in its direction. You stopped in your tracks when you saw that part of the circle had been darkened. 

“ Huh,” you managed out weakly. That was certainly strange, you would have to ask Samuel about that later.

“ Why don’t you clean the rest of the rooms?” You asked him the next day. You had been doodling on a piece of paper while he had been writing what you assumed to be a poem. He had finally gotten comfortable enough with you to actually start doing things that he liked to pass the time, and the two of you had settled into a random drawing room with a table low to the ground. There was a plate of cookies and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate that you had made before your little hangout session had begun. He had been slightly wary of your presence in the kitchen, but you just had to shoo him off so that you could actually treat him to something.

It wasn’t like you were a super experienced baker or anything, but still, you just wanted to do a little something for him. 

“Hmm, I haven’t considered it in a while. A while ago I attempted to keep this entire place spotless, but after a while of doing so, I failed to see the point. It was an Era, as you would say,” He explained, pausing his writing for a moment to visibly think about it. The fountain pen perched in his fingers dripped ink slightly, causing a small, black splatter to appear on the paper. You giggled softly. “ Why? Do you wish to see them clean? I’ll do so if you want. All I ask is that you stay by my side and help as needed,” he offered, very sincerely too. You tried not to think of the way your face might have flushed at that, nor did you pay any mind to the tingling feeling racing up your skin.

“ Nah, I was just wondering. It would be a pretty big project to upkeep this place like how you do with our rooms. Though it would be something to do. Maybe we could pick a random room and clean it up tomorrow?” You suggested as you ran a stick of charcoal on your own paper, creating random lines and swirls. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his lips curl into a fond smile.

You didn’t want to meet his gaze, for you were harboring a sneaking suspicion that you were developing a crush on your new friend. Sure you had only known him for a week, but stranger things had happened. Plus, considering your isolation in high school and middle school, you never really had the chance to explore friendship much less romance. You were sure that Samuel was in a similar position; you could tell by the way his fingers would linger on your skin when ever he pushed you gently into wherever he wanted you to go, by the ways he would look at you as if you were the air he breathed, by way he acted like you were his last chance at anything and everything. 

That was a kind of attention you never had before, and had to admit that it was nice. The connection you had each other felt like a heavy blanket after an exhausting day. At least to you it did. But you knew that you really shouldn’t give in. You were going to leave soon, in like three weeks no less, and that gave you plenty of reasons to not give in to the warm feeling spreading through your chest whenever he gave you a smile. It was hard to ignore, though. 

“ That sounds like a lovely idea. Sounds like we’ll have a busy day ahead of us.”

From there your conversation fell into a comfortable silence. You focused mainly on your growing stack of drawings, the soft skrtching of both of your chosen utensils filling the space with noise. You drew corners of your home as best you could, some of your friends from college, jack-o'-lanterns, really whatever that floated into your mind at the moment. When you finally took a moment to pause from your “work”, you noticed that it was really quiet. Looking up, you could see that Samuel at some point had dozed off.

His arms rested against the table, his sleeves stained by the now dried ink of his poem, the words being a smudged mess of meter and rhyme. His braided locs fell over his face and back which softly rose and fell with every breath he took in. Your lips parted in slight surprise. Without really thinking about it, you leaned over the table to further see his resting visage. You drank in the way his long, silver lashes brushed up against his cheekbones. You blinked for a couple of moments, unsure of what to do. Honestly, you didn’t want to wake him up from his slumber, but you also didn’t want to keep staring at him. It was so unfair. He was too pretty to be real.

So, you quickly scribbled a note that you would be out exploring the rest of the complex and left it on the table before you scurried out of the drawing room as silently as you could. The creaking floors made it hard to do, but other than Samuel’s face scrunching up at a particularly loud squeak, you got out of there without disturbing him. From there you decided to walk through a building you hadn’t been to yet. 

It was cold there. Not just in the temperature, but in the general feel of the realm too. You looked on to the vast expanse of nothingness that stretched beyond the railings of the hallway, at the gray ground, at the stars that freckled the eternal night. There was no warmth, no love, no life here other than Samuel. You briefly recalled what he said to you when you had first met. How he was a part of this place now.

Did that mean he couldn’t leave?

You shrugged off the thought. He said it himself; he chose to be here. You probably shouldn’t pry into the matter. If you did, you weren’t certain that you could feel guiltless about leaving him behind here.

Today, you wanted to go to the building that sat just behind the other ones. It wasn’t by much, but you actively had to go slightly out of the way of the ones that surrounded the courtyard to get there. It had a slightly more gloomy air to it, but that only grew your interest further. 

There were fewer silver lamps glowing on its pathway than everywhere else, something that you thought pretty odd. Even more strange was the dust that covered the floorboards leading up to its darkened entrance. Dust was present everywhere here, it was just a fact, but none of the halls had been this neglected. Maybe Samuel just didn’t have any real reason to come here. 

You walked up to the double doors that led into the rest of the buildings, a bit strange considering that most of the buildings didn’t have anything other than the rooms that were purely indoors. Just another thing to make this one stand out. A trail of your footprints against the dust led up to where you were standing as you gave a couple hard yanks to the entrance before they finally gave way. Inside was almost completely pitch black save for a small window at the end of the hall letting in some shimmering light.

It was pretty eerie, but there was nothing to suggest that there was anything that would actively hurt you here, plus you had already come this far. You entered the dark building, peering at the closed doors with interest. You gripped onto the handle of the nearest one, attempting to push it open, but you didn’t have much luck. Locked, great. You huffed in slight frustration and moved on to try and get into any of the other rooms, but it was the same thing: A bunch of doors that wouldn’t open and your burning curiosity. You made your way down the hall attempting again and again until you finally reached the end of the hall. You were so close to the window that your shadow loomed across the floorboards in a warped manner. Part of you wondered if the light from the stars was really bright enough to have that kind of effect, the others just ignored it for the sake of having fewer unanswered questions. 

At that point, you had kind of given up on your little adventure, but you pushed on to the very last door without much fanfare. When you twisted the knob and pushed, this time instead of being met with nothing, when it clicked open. Your eyes lit up in success, and you couldn’t help the little triumphant grin that crossed onto your face as you found somewhere to finally explore.

The room you went into was probably the dirtiest you’d seen yet, though the locked ones were probably in a worse state. There wasn’t that much furniture there to begin with, but what did occupy the space wasn't in good shape. A chair that had likely once been highly ornate and pristine had been flipped over, part of the upholstery ripped out, and one of the arms as well as a leg had been smashed so harshly into the ground that the floorboards had cracked slightly, and the carved wood splintered all over the floor. 

There was a vanity pushed up against the wall, small gashes on the table top, the mirror shattered with glass shards littering the area around it. In the reflective surface, you could see where it had been hit, the impact leaving a spider web of cracks.

The thing that caught your eye the most was the wardrobe, a milky sort of off white, rickety and aged, with its doors thrown open. Its contents spilled out onto the floor in a haphazard manner. 

It was trash. Like actual garbage. There were candy bar wrappers, empty soda cans and chip bags stacked on each other and crumpled in a careless fashion. You stooped down and gently picked up one of the bags, the plastic crinkling along the lines of your hands, and swallowed down the uneasiness as you realized that you recognized the brand. You remembered the label too. 

Taking a glance at all the other pieces of waste around the room only confirmed that these were all from your world, all varying from different years based on the graphic designs, except that they were all in the silver and gray shades that coated the realm. Had Samuel saved all of these? If so, how had he been getting them? He said himself that he didn’t leave anymore, and his lack of knowledge about current events and culture didn’t suggest otherwise. You set down the chip bag gently, choosing instead to inspect the vanity and its drawers. 

You expected to find more garbage in there, but surprisingly instead you found various old beauty products. A couple of powders, some eyeshadow, pots of eyeliners, rogue, and lipstick. None of them were pigmented, but if you squinted you could pretend that you saw some shades of color. A bit of scarlet red here, some bright coral there, all dull and shining against the pads of your fingers. You held them up close to your eyes to further inspect how they glimmered. 

“ What are you doing?”

You turned around quickly, eyes wide and heart beating wildly. You put your hand to your chest, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of Samuel standing in the doorway with a hard to read expression.

“ You scared me,” you said, lungs heaving just a bit. He walked into the room, eyes cold as he took in the piles of trash. He chose to go directly up to you, gently taking the pot of blush out of your hands and setting it on the shattered vanity.

“ Don’t touch that. Who knows how long it’s been there,” he softly muttered. You held your breath. He stood so closely that you could feel his words ghosting on the shell of your ear, sliding down the crook of your neck, warm and melancholic. 

“ I was just exploring. This was the only door I could open,” you explained. You shifted slightly on the balls of your feet. The sullenness of his face was enough to tell you that you probably shouldn’t have been in here. It was kind of obvious that that might’ve been the case given the state of the whole building, but you didn’t expect the hurt present on his face. “ What is all of this?” You asked, gesturing to the pile of discarded wrappings. Samuel grimaced slightly. A sore subject it seemed.

“ You don’t, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you rushed out, but he only sighed and wiped his hand nervously on his face.

“No, no it’s alright. I can, I can tell you. Could we, perhaps, go somewhere else?”

His voice cracked slightly, like he was being burned alive with tears. You nodded without thinking, your hands still smeared with makeup, and led him by the wrist out of the dark building. 

His vision was downcast, but he kept up with your pace as the two of you padded towards the courtyard. You stepped down onto the grass before sitting down next to each other, his tall frame resting against the side of yours. Being there with him like that felt like being a part of a puzzle that had just been completed; It was just right.

“ You okay?” you asked. Samuel was blankly staring at the surface of the pond. The gentle wind rustled through the bushes and small trees. He shielded you from the chill.

“ I suppose,” he shrugged. “ That place is just… It holds a lot of awful memories for me.” 

You thought back to the wrecked appearance, how abandoned the building felt. It was like an old tomb, forbidden and desolate. Still its structure loomed on not too far from your little haven, threatening the peace silently. 

“ Objects come here from your world, you know. Things people have lost, things people have tossed aside. Sometimes when the moon is full, I’ll find them by the gate. And when I do, they’re always so colorful. And I know, they’re things that have been discarded. They’re dirty, but I have no color like that. So I keep them, I look at them until they become like me, and when they lose all their vibrancy, I put them in that building.” His voice rumbled softly, coursing through your skin, twisting your stomach into knots. He took a shaky gasp.

“ I- forgive me, I just can’t help it. Whenever I go there…”

“ It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it. I get it. I’m sorry for making you go there. I mean, all you have to say is you don’t want to be there. If it makes you feel bad, then I understand. That’s all I need to know. If it hurts you, that’s reason enough,” you offered in a quiet whisper. You could feel him nod against you, the edge of his fingers finding your palm. You let your hand slip into his, and you could feel him let it lay in his grasp before he tightened it like you were his last lifeline. 

As you sat there hesitantly enjoying his warmth, you wondered if the way the edges of your skin appeared in a shimmering gray was a trick of the dim lighting in a shattered mirror. 

Somehow, you had fallen into the pond in the courtyard. It was probably a symptom of you not properly gathering your balance before walking,  Samuel having just called you to eat moments before. It mirrored your arrival, save for actually crashing into the water instead of another world. 

You groaned as you wiped off the droplets clouding up your vision. Man, your clothes were soaked now. It wasn’t like you had anything else better to do, but you were lazy, so it was more annoying than anything. The chill of the water combined with the wind made you shudder as you climbed out of the pond, its surface sloshing around you noisily. 

“ [Name]?” Samuel called out from the kitchen. You could hear the clanking of plates. Ever since yesterday and your admittedly intimate conversation, he had been calling you by your name more freely. You had to guess it was part of the 1800’s manners that still lingered within him.

“ I’ll be there in a second!” You yelled back, stumbling as you did so. He must’ve heard the struggling in your voice because as soon as you spoke he was poking his head out from the doorway with a concerned expression. He took in your drowned rat appearance, his eyes growing wide.

“ [Name]! “ he cried out. He rushed over to your side, grabbing your arm and quickly pulling you out onto dry land. This was the least gentle he had been since you got here, panic clear in his demeanor. He practically dragged you over to the wooden halls, forcing you to sit down as he began to frantically look you over.

“ Are you hurt anywhere? Here?” he asked as he grabbed onto your leg, rolling up the leg of your pants to check your skin for any sign of bruising. You practically had to kick your way out of his tightened hold.

“ Hey! Hey! I’m fine! I just slipped! “ you protested, laughing a little weakly too. You placed your hands on his shoulders to try and calm him down a bit. Samuel frowned deeply, and you hesitated. Was he still feeling sensitive from yesterday? Probably. You let your touch linger. Your pinky played with one of his locs idly. You smiled at him as best you could, but you had to admit that you were freezing at that point. The cold air of the realm cut into your bones. You shivered, and the reaction did nothing to calm him down.

“ You’ll get sick,” he mumbled, watching the way the water dripped from your clothes onto his dark skin. 

“ I should be fine If I get dressed. Here, let me get up, I’ll go to my room.”

“ No, mine has a fireplace, You’ll be warmer in there,” he stood up, putting his arms under your armpits and hoisting you onto your feet. You cried out as you grabbed onto the front of his shirt in shock. He dragged you towards his room, threw the door open and had you sit down on one of the chairs. You cringed as you could feel the upholstery grow soggy underneath you.

Samuel was rifling through his wardrobe, pulling out sleep clothes and a few fluffy towels. He wordlessly crossed the expanse of his room towards you, and began to wrap the fabric around you, rubbing the sides of your arms. 

“ Here,” he said as he handed you a silken shirt and a pair of pants. You noticed how they were much larger than your own frame, much more befitting the man before you. 

“ Thanks,” you replied weakly. You patiently waited for him to leave the room, but he stood still, blankly staring at your hunched over self. You quirked a brow at him, gesturing for the door. Instead of leaving, Samuel turned his back to you and began to fuss with the fireplace and the basket of wood  sitting on the floor.

“ I won’t… I won’t look. Please, just tidy yourself,” he spoke in a wavering voice. You could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed. You were uneasy, but there was no reason really not to. So, you quickly shimmied out of your sopping outfit and changed into the clean one provided, all the while practically glaring at him to ensure that he was in fact keeping true to his word. You didn’t let him know that you had finished, choosing instead to simply watch him. Soon the silence was filled with the crackling of a fire. He sighed in relief when he stood up and realized that you had done as he asked.

He pulled off some of the pillows from his bed, the duvet, and grabbed some fluffy blankets from his wardrobe. The soft materials were placed down on the floorboards in front of the flames, arranged into a plush little area that looked insanely comfortable. 

“ Here, sit down. I’ll bring you some tea,” Samuel said as he placed his hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you down. 

“ Hey,” you spoke. He stopped in his tracks. You gestured for him to come back to your side, patting the ground next to you. He looked reluctant, fingers twitching and ready to head back to the kitchen. “ You don’t seem okay. Talk to me,” you said as earnestly as you could. You wanted to help him. There was a sort of pain on his face that you couldn’t stand. His fragility was even more pronounced than your own sorry state.

“ Nonsense, you’ll become ill. Some tea will properly warm you up,” he refuted, averting his gaze.

“ You’ve already set up the fire. Plus I promise if I start feeling bad, I’ll let you know. Okay? Just relax with me, please?” You could see the way he bit his lip, the way he still reached from the doorknob. You continued to look at him, pleading silently. You wanted to make him feel better. You didn’t know how since he was being rather mysterious in why he seemed so upset, but you could try. He huffed loudly, the sound escaping through his nose, and it was then you knew you had won.

So the two of you sat in front of the fire, watching the silver inferno dance, spreading light through over the expanse of your form. Samuel had wrapped a blanket over your shoulders, his way of feeling better about the whole situation. He was rigid as a board, stiff and posture straight. You, on the other hand, settled down to lay on your side, tired of sitting criss crossed. When your face pressed against the plush duvet he had put down, you could feel the tips of his fingers lightly trailing on the nape of your neck. You shuddered slightly, for his touch was cold.

“ What’s got you so freaked out?” you mumbled sleepily. He hummed in response.

“ Nothing really. I’m just concerned for your well-being.”

“ Well, I’ll be fine. You’ve done plenty for me already,” you said lazily, blinking slowly. You wanted to say more, you really did, but you were so tired. The fire was so warm, the pile of pillows so comforting that you could barely fight against the lull of sleep. You found yourself falling asleep quickly.

“ I know… It’s just, you’re so fragile,” he sighed, resting his hand on the crown of your head, cradling it even. Still, you could only laugh in drowsy amusement. He looked at you as if you were crazy, but you couldn’t help the smile playing on your lips.

“ If anything, you’re much more fragile than me, old man,” you said with a yawn before slipping away into complete slumber.

Samuel was much calmer the next few days when he realized that you weren’t on death’s door, but he had been pretty insistent that you stay in his room and not go wandering around the complex as you usually would. You were rightfully annoyed by this, but he was, to no surprise, incredibly stubborn when it came to such matters. The two of you had your first dispute since you had been there over it even, and you had eventually given in once the look of hurt on his face grew too great to ignore. 

He brought you books from the library and meals fresh from the kitchen. You had suggested that you eat in the courtyard like usual, but he had shot that down quickly. Something about it being too cold out there. Instead, he had dragged another table into his bedroom so that you could spend time in there. He hardly left your side for those three days, and when you asked about going back to your own room, he had refused on the grounds that there was no fireplace there. Deep down, you knew that you were probably indulging him too much, so you said that after today, the third day you had been holed up in there, you would go back to wandering around as you pleased.

“ Fine, as you wish,” he gritted out, obviously not happy about it, before turning heel and stalking out to do who knows what. You were left there alone for the first time in what felt like forever, and you sighed with relief. Sliding off his bed, you ban to wander around his space to kill time. You appreciated what he was trying to do, you really did, but you were getting tired of being cooped up here. Plus the utter boredom you were starting to feel was getting on your nerves. You figured that Samuel would be less paranoid about your health once he saw that you were perfectly fine, uninjured, and unriddled with all kinds of ailments. You had tried to give him a bit of grace, but you were running out of patience to keep relenting. 

You were tidying things up a little, just to keep yourself busy. You folded up blankets, pushed in chairs, stacked up some of the books you had gone through. Part of you hoped that it would serve as a peace offering to your friend, making his worries fade if only by a small amount. Eventually you waltzed over to his vanity, arranging the various knickknacks on top of it so they weren’t just strewn about. There were bottles of perfume and powders, some not too unsimilar to the ones you found in the dark, dusty building. You did so mindlessly, until you really focused on the object you had touched. The smooth texture was familiar to you almost immediately, and your eyes widened as you looked down at the music box, the one you had found by the pond. 

You blinked at its appearance, once pastel and gold, colored into a silver, platinum and shimmering version of itself. You dropped it in surprise, the notes within it making a loud clang. Your hands which had held it were in the same color scheme as the entire room.

You gasped nervously as you turned them over, your vibrant skin fading into a much duller color. 

“What?” you whispered shakily. Your mind instantly went to the room full of garbage, the ones from your own world. They were gray, just like the music box, just like the world, just like Samuel, and now just like your fingers. You thought of the trash and why he had chosen to keep it. It would be so easy to chuck them out the moon gate, but instead they were collected there in that building. You swallowed thickly, remembering something that he first said to you.

“ I’m not even sure I can tell you what I was doing before I became part of this place.” 

Samuel said it himself, he used to be like you. Now, though, he couldn’t leave, and everything that ended up in the same coloring got trapped here as well. Were you… were you becoming a part of this world too? 

That night you had returned to your room, and Samuel had reluctantly kept to his word. You were itching to ask him about what was happening to you, but you wanted to keep silent for now and see if anything was off about his demeanor. Yes, he had explained that eventually things lost their color to the gray, but he hadn’t elaborated on how long it took. But it had been around twelve days now, and the music box you had entered with had already turned completely.

When you had gotten dressed this morning, slipping on your socks and shoes, you noticed that your feet had lost their original shade. You were extremely unnerved by this, and when you looked in your vanity mirror, it appeared that your cheeks had been dusted with a silver flush. 

It occurred to you that the fire that he had constantly going while you were in his room had likely masked the fact that you had suddenly started to change in shade, you chalking it up to the lighting. Maybe that was why he hadn’t said anything. 

Regardless, you went to check on the moon gate. You were starting to become anxious to go home. It had been over a week since you had initially wandered out, and you couldn’t help but think of the panic your disappearance must’ve made with not only your family but your friends. How would they feel knowing that you went missing on the way to hang out with them? You sighed, melancholy and longing filling your lungs as you looked out at the only thing that could grant you your exit. 

The gate itself had faded from a half full moon to a waxing crescent. The sliver of light shining upon its surface would likely disappear into complete darkness in a matter of a few days. You were nervous, to say the least. If whatever was happening to you completed before the gate fully opened again, you were never going to go home again. 

“ Samuel, how long did it take for you to, you know, lose all your color?” You hated how blunt you sounded, but you had to know. You were sitting in the library today, cozied up in two plush chairs across from each other. You had been trying to focus on a book you had picked up, but your grayed out hands made it hard to concentrate. He was humming, a small smile on his face, while writing his poetry. 

Your question broke him out of his happy state, him quickly snapping into a worried expression. When he didn’t say anything, you rolled up your sleeve to reveal your problem, fading up your forearm. Over the past three days, you had tried to act as normal as you could, shoving down your concerns in favor of returning to the casual atmosphere you had built before you had wandered into the building with all the trash, but it was harder than you thought it would be. 

“ I’ve been, uh, experiencing this for the past few days, and well, I’m nervous that it’ll spread more before it's my time to leave,” you said awkwardly. Samuel stood up from his chair wordlessly and grabbed onto your wrist, his fingers rubbing over your skin in a soothing and curious manner. 

“ You’re becoming like me,” he said plainly. 

“ Yeah, uh I guess I am. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it, but yeah. Is, uh, is there anything I can do to slow it down? Or make sure that it won’t take over completely before the full moon?”  He winced at your mention of leaving, sadness pooling in his eyes.

“ There’s nothing that can prevent this place from claiming you. You must leave before then, but you should be fine by the time the gate reopens,” he explained dully. “ Would it, would it really be so terrible if you were to stay here with me, though?” You looked up at him, your face completely splattered with shock. You choked out a surprised laugh, like he was making a cruel joke.

“ What? You know I can’t do that Samuel. I have a life that I have to get back to,” You rejected the idea immediately, gently trying to tug your arms out of his grasp. He bit his lip as his chest began to rise and fall more rapidly.

“ I understand. However, you, I believe that if you would just stay,  we could have a life here. One that is just as wonderful as your life on Earth. I know that I’m asking you to give a lot here, but I just, [Name] I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m alone again,” he gasped out his words, squeezing down on your limbs without realizing. A few tears, bright like dying stars, began to slip down his cheeks, falling down and splashing your own frantic hands. Your own heart felt as if it were being slammed against your ribcage, guilt and sorrow bubbling up. 

In the brief period that you had come to know him, you had started to become fond of Samuel. It was a fast forming bond, driven by both of your respective degrees of isolation, and you couldn’t deny the attraction that you felt every time he shyly smiled your way. But this wasn’t some fast forming crush. This was a man asking you to throw your everything away for him, for eternal youth, for eternal nothingness. This wasn’t him asking you to become a trusted friend or even a lover, he was asking you to be his whole world. You wondered if he was only offering to become yours because that was the only thing he had to give. 

“ I’m really sorry, but I have to go home,” you said as resolutely as you could, but you couldn’t help the small cracks in your voice creeping in. Your refusal devastated the man, and he let out a few sobs and sank to his knees, placed his head in your lap, and softly cried into you for what felt like hours. All the while he quietly mumbled his pleas for you to reconsider, for you to stay, to witness all he could promise you.

When you didn’t do anything other than caress his head in an effort to calm him, he shambled up to his feet, wiped off his tears with his sleeves, weakly said goodbye, and turned to leave the room. You sat there for a while, staring at the emptiness that flowed in after him, and you thought of how everyday must’ve been like this for him. There was nothing but regret and anxiety of whether or not the right decision had been made everyday for decades upon decades. You felt bad, you truly did, because it was a miserable existence frankly, and part of you worried that if you did stay, you would eventually succumb to that crippling loneliness even with Samuel with you. That you would lose your color, and you would become like the garbage holed up in that room.

The next day, when you cautiously ambled out of your bedroom, you were immediately hit with the scent of flowers. The entire hall was filled with vases and pots containing all kinds of floral arrangements and species. All shimmering and gray, but beautiful nonetheless. 

“ You could have this everyday if you wanted,” his voice startled you, and you jumped when you realized that he was practically leaning over you. You had been too distracted by the plants to notice him emerging from his room, and you assumed that he had been listening for when you would emerge from your own. 

“ Samuel… Please,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “ I understand your feelings, but you gotta also get that I need to go home. I made that clear yesterday,” you pleaded with him as you brushed by his figure, stalking off to make a meal for yourself. He followed suit, hardly a step behind you.

You went through the curtain and began to pull out various pans and utensils, trying to figure out exactly what it was you wanted to make in the first place when he came in and took a spatula that was in your hand. You protested weakly, trying to grab it back, but he pushed you to sit at the table as you normally would. You crossed your arms, quirking a brow at him in clear annoyance.

“ Uh, what do you think you’re doing?”

“ I’m making you breakfast. I know you wanted to split the meal making duties, but I can take over from now on,” he explained, moving to pull out ingredients from the fridge. “ You won’t ever have to lift a finger again. If you stay, that is.”

You ate breakfast with him, because what else was there to do, with a very strange atmosphere. The man kept asking if the food was good, if you were comfortable, asking if you wanted to go to his room where he knows you would be comfortable if you would just let him take you there. His confession, as vague as it was, and your rejection had dialed up his clinginess to the max.

“ I’m going to the drawing room,” you said after dumping a clean plate on a drying rack. Samuel was hovering over you, leaving you slightly pinned to the counter you were working on. You slid past him as best you could, but an arm shot out to prevent you from going any further.

“ I think you should stay here, in the courtyard with me.”

“ I’ll be fine by myself. I need a bit of space right now,” you shrugged him off, trying to ignore the way his face lit up in momentary anger, something that you hadn’t really seen before on his sweet appearance. He ignored your request to be left alone, by the way. He followed you to the drawing room, remarking about how lovely the complex was, how it could be more beautiful if the two of you just cleaned all of the empty rooms. How if you stayed that would be a real possibility. 

You sat there silently, trying to ignore him as best as you could. You were doodling again, and this time instead of sitting himself opposite of you, Samuel decided to cozy up beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and watching with mild interest as you sketched. His breath was warm on your skin, but you stayed quiet. You hated how flustered he made you feel even now when you were clearly frustrated by his clinginess. Part of it was because you truly couldn’t be fully mad at him. He was lonely, desperate for the first bit of human contact in who knows how long to stay with him, and you couldn’t really fault him for being so devastated by your exit from his life. 

If there was a way where he could come back with you, you were sure that you would have thrown caution to the wind and explored your growing crush on the handsome man. You wished things had been different; that he was just a boy you had known and quickly grown close to on campus or somewhere around your town. 

“ You’re quite good at that,” he said. You called bullshit; Your art was a mess of ink splotches and squiggly lines that you cobbled together to resemble the flowers and the hallways that surrounded you. You hardly put any effort into it, and anyone would be a fool to say it was anything more than a way to pass the time.

“ I can do portraits, you know. If you would sit down, I could draw up the two of us. There are some oil paints around here somewhere, so I could paint it as well,” he offered, his arms slowly moving to wrap you in an embrace. You shrugged him off with a bit of reluctance.  His touch was comforting, but you had to create a fine line between the two of you. Leaving would be harder otherwise. 

“ I’m alright,” you responded curtly. You could feel his lips against your skin form into a frown, and he brought up a hand to turn you head. You startled a bit, but his eyes bore into yours with a frightening amount of intensity. A cold fear settled into your stomach.

“ Please,” was all he said, and all you could do was meekly nod.

Samuel had you sit down in a room with a large amount of windows to paint your portrait. He had given you an outfit that was far more ornate than anything you had worn in the previous week and a half and sat you down on a plush, comfortable chair. He had surrounded you with flowers, petals sitting at your feet and scattered across your lap. Satin, ribbons hung from your wrists, neck, and ankles. He had tied them after you had been dressed, a small, fond smile settling on the lines of his face as he held onto your limbs gently. 

“ You look absolutely lovely,” he said, content as he moved in front of the canvas. 

“ Uh thanks I guess.”

“ Have you ever had your portrait taken?” he asked, holding up a brush between poised fingers. 

“ Not really. I mean I’ve had my picture taken at school,” you shrugged. You wished he would stop staring at you, dissecting you with his fluttering eyelashes. Your skin had continued to gray at an alarming rate, and you could not ignore the panic that had gripped you. You were trying to trust what he had said about you not turning completely before the full moon came, but it was hard to just brush off the sudden way your appearance was changing. 

You had checked the moon gate the night before, passing by it under the pretense of going to the library. You weren’t sure why, but you no longer felt comfortable simply telling Samuel about your true intentions anymore. Before he had asked you to stay the first time, you would simply inform him of where you would be. Sure, he would likely show up to stick by your side before long, but he hadn’t actively stopped you from going anywhere until then. But yesterday with his insistence that you stay with him in the courtyard and his tailing you all through the complex was the beginning of a new pattern that you were certain that you didn’t like.

When you had first woken up this morning, he was sitting outside of your door in the hall. It wasn’t unusual before, but now it felt like a calculated step he took to make sure that every second of your day was spent with him. It was then that he had given you a silken shirt and pair of pants and pulled you into a room with windows that went all the way to the ceiling.

But the moon gate, it had passed from the new moon into the sliver of a crescent. It wouldn’t be long before you could go home. You had to keep reassuring yourself of that. Maybe twelve days or so more? Six until the half moon appeared again for sure. You sighed, trying to focus on anything other than his gaze.

“ Picture? Ah, I recall that being a new thing before I came here. Is it more common in your time?” he asked. 

“ Yeah, uh I’d say they are. Like super common actually. I wish I had brought my phone with me. I think you would have, uh, I think you would’ve enjoyed seeing all the stuff on there,” you laughed weakly. He hummed in response. The room was filled with the sound of paint being rubbed onto canvas. His eyes flitted between the you he was creating and your own fidgeting figure. You wondered if he was having trouble with you not being completely still. After a few moments of him being focused on his task, you let your mind wander. It must’ve gone a bit too far, though, because soon you found yourself voicing a question that you had been holding since a few days in.

“ Hey, if we hadn’t met here, like if we met back on Earth and all, would you have liked me?” Samuel froze, his small smile halting into one of shock. He tore away from his art and fully faced you, truly taking in your petulant expression and pinched brows.

“ Of course,” he said without hesitation, and you sighed.

“ But like, why? I mean, can you really say that if you had met me without being here by yourself for so long, you would be like this with me?” you asked. He stared blankly. He hadn’t tried to think about it. It was plain to see from his silent floundering. Part of you knew that he didn’t really want to answer your question, for anything he said would probably be untrue to some extent. Deep down he knew the way he clung to you wasn’t natural. Deep down he knew that if you hadn’t met under such circumstances, he probably wouldn’t feel as desperate or deeply about you. If he thought otherwise, he would be lying. He had to because to some extent you felt the same way. 

“ Does it matter?”

“ What do you mean?”

“ I don’t think it really matters. We didn’t meet on Earth because we weren’t supposed to. You came to me now, here. There’s a reason for that, you know. I haven’t felt much of anything lately, yet you, you came here. You’re with me now. I know you don’t wish to stay, but you have to agree that this is fate. That’s all I need to be certain of my affections for you,” Samuel looked at you with such fondness, and you couldn’t help but ache. You wanted to believe him so badly that it hurt, that this was meant to be, that you were meant to stay. He walked over to you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face like you were made out of porcelain, his finger pushing down on your lower lip. 

He leaned in for a kiss no doubt, but you turned quickly, your figure curling up on itself in discomfort. He kissed your jaw gently, trying to make his way towards your mouth, but you pushed gently on his chest while quietly saying “no”.  He reared back before homing in close once again, chasing after your affection. Still, you screwed your eyes shut and stood from your seat, breaking away from his touch.

“ [Name] please-”

“ Samuel, You have to stop. This is going nowhere. I care about you, really, and I, I also like you in that way, but it’s just not going to happen. I have to go home, and that’s it,” it hurt to say those words. You wanted fate, you wanted a person that you were destined to be with, but it couldn’t be like this. You had tried so hard to leave your shell, to go out and enjoy life while making friends and experiencing everything to falling in love to the joyful chaos of university. You needed that too, and you couldn’t get it if you stayed here. 

“ No, no, you’re not understanding me. I need you here, please. I can’t be alone again!” He cried, chasing after you as you began to exit the room. As you stalked off, fighting tears along the way, you began to undo the ribbons that he had tied to your wrists, discarding them in the ground in your wake. He scrambled to pick them up, calling your name.

“ [Name] [Name] [Name] “

You shoved your hands over your ears in a desperate attempt to drown out his increasingly panicked voice. You were practically running down the hallways, racing to reach your room. Your feet thudded against the creaking floorboards, his even louder ones following suit.

“ I’m sorry!” You shouted, your throat hoarse with fear and sadness. You slid in front of your doorway, quickly heading inside before shutting and locking it behind you. You could hear Samuel’s body slam into it, his fists pounding against it.

“ [Name]! Please let me in! I didn’t wish to frighten you! Just let me make it up to you! Please I swear I wasn’t attempting to force you. I just, I simply wanted you to understand my feelings,” he begged, his breathing rapid. 

“ Go away,” you said loudly, backing away slightly. He kept on hitting the door, the handle jiggling with his attempts to get in. 

“ [Name] open the door please. Please, I can make you understand.”

“ Go away!” you repeated, a bit more loudly this time. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He didn’t stop though. In fact his actions only became more frantic, and you could see the way the door began to shake with every slam he made against it, the wood shaking against his hinges.

You had begun crying, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sank to the floor, curling into yourself as you sobbed out. He must’ve heard you crying because he was practically trying to break his way into your room.

“ [Name]! Let me in! Please! Just give me a chance! I love you! PLEASE!,” he frantically called as the banging continued. 

SLAM

“ Let me in!”

SLAM

“[NAME]! PLEASE!” He was sobbing too.

SLAM

“ I LOVE YOU! LET ME IN!”

“ GO AWAY!” you screamed, louder than you think you had ever screamed in your entire life. Your body shook as you cried into your knees, and you felt like you were going to throw up, but the terror outside your room had stopped suddenly. 

The quiet was unnerving, and it lasted for a while. You sniffled as the minutes ticked by, trembling as you looked at his shadow coming in from under your door. He was just sitting there, waiting for you to say something, to come out, to fall into his arms and allow yourself to be swept up by the dream-like romance that you knew we wanted to sweep you up in. But you stayed still out of pure fear of what he would do to you once you left the room. You could hear his slightly ragged breaths, waiting to have you in his hold once more.

“ If you wish to stay in there,” he said after a long period of no words passing between you,” It’s okay. I’ll be here for you, and you’ll understand how I feel then.” His words were ominous, and they sent shivers down your spine. 

You couldn’t really believe that this was the sweet and gentle man you had come to know over the past couple two weeks, but then again that was hardly enough time to truly know someone. You felt stupid, being swept up in the way he treated you, in how beautiful this place was and how sweetly he spoke your name. You wanted to make it work. You wanted to believe that this was just a weird dream that was going on for too long. Oddly, part of you still felt guilty over not being able to give yourself to someone who was so lonely, someone who yearned that deeply for connection. You could be that missing piece to make his life whole, but you’d be sacrificing yours in the process. You couldn’t, it was as plain as that, and yet you still wanted to make him happy.

The Samuel that you had started to like, the one who looked at you like you were everything, was not truly real though. The real him was partly that, but he was also desperate and wild to a degree that frightened you greatly. You couldn’t live like that, not after how he reacted. So even if there were still some feelings for him there, there was no way you could let them get in the way of you going home.

He had sat right up against your door for the entire night, and you had fearfully allowed yourself to slip into a fitful sleep pressed up against the wall in your bed. In the morning, you awoke to him knocking.

“ I told you, you would never have to lift a finger again. I made you breakfast. If you open the door it’s here for you,” he chuckled slightly. You didn’t fail to notice the unstableness in his voice as you clutched your blanket closer to yourself. 

“I’ll, I’ll go to my room, just make sure that you eat something. I don’t want you to starve,” he sighed after you didn’t answer. You could hear the clanging of silverware and plates being set down before the tell tale creaks of the floor board gave way to his location. Indeed, he had stepped away, but that didn’t mean you could afford to be flippant about the matter. You approached the exit to your room slowly, unlocking it with a soft click before you opened it in a hurry and snatched up the meal. You locked it back in place almost immediately after, staying alert in case Samuel decided to come running for you. To your relief, he stayed put.

You swallowed down the food as best as you could, but you couldn’t finish most of it. You decided that you would leave the plate on your vanity for later as the more you could avoid having to leave your room, the better. You caught a glance at your appearance in the mirror, and you were alarmed to see that the silver had spread up pretty much all the way to your biceps. It was taking over you quickly. You shakily sighed as you tried to stave off the rest of the time by reading some books that you had left in there from the previous few days. 

Samuel tried to coax you out with lunch a couple hours later, but since you had your plate, you stayed inside and ignored it.

“[Name], please… You’re not taking care of yourself. If you would let me in, I could help you,” he said, but again you stayed quiet. He was a bit more stable than the night prior, though, so instead of screaming at you to come out, he began to read off some poetry that he had been writing. You assumed that it was all from the period after your arrival, recalling how he would be jotting down imagery with a serene expression while you lazed about. You missed how it had been, even if it hadn’t been all too long ago. 

Eventually, his voice grew hoarse from speaking to no one for hours, and you heard him dejectedly bidding you goodnight, once again leaving you with silence.

The next day carried out much the same, and you found yourself growing increasingly paranoid. You didn’t want to stay in your room the entire time. Your books had been read and the gate needed to be checked on, but you were certain that if you stepped out of your safe haven, Samuel would be there ready to do who knows what.

That day, he had spent many hours telling you of how he envisioned a life with you to be, and you became increasingly aware of the notion that he might be planning to prevent you from leaving the realm all together. 

“ We shall sit here and discuss everything and nothing,” he laughed to himself.” Why, we’d be like those scholars in the library! Perhaps you and I could write books together. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” 

As much as his words disturbed you, it did give you an idea. After he retired to bed, you devised a slight plan to visit the library once more. Perhaps there was something there that could offer you an answer about what this place was and maybe even how to slow down its claim over you. So that night, you opened your window carefully and climbed out to land on the barren expanse of silver ground that surrounded the complex. 

The floorboards in the hall would give away your activity in no time, but if you sneaked in through the outside ground, then you could slip into the library undetected. There hadn’t really been any reason to leave the carefully maintained halls until now, but now you were offered a more covert way to traverse through the buildings. 

You quietly skirted on the edges of the property until you gently climbed up onto the wooden pathway. Hopefully you were far enough away from the bedrooms that the slight creaking wouldn’t be too much of a give away. It seemed that you were correct in this assessment, for you were able to rifle through books in the library undisturbed for the first time in what felt like a long while. You were a bit desperate in combing through the knowledge available, though you were careful to put everything back in its place lest Samuel figure out that you had managed to sneak in without him seeing. 

You pulled out journals about the phases of the moon, star maps, novels that looked as if they had been read by him on multiple occasions. You found nothing of use. Frustrated, tired, and scared beyond imagination, you gripped your head in your hands. You surveyed the place, eyes roaming over the shelves upon shelves of information until a slight glint caught your eye. It was something shining between two heavy books, the light from outside hitting it perfectly. You would’ve never really seen it if you hadn’t been scrutinizing the room so intensely, and you quickly made your way over to whatever was shimmering so brightly. It was really just a sliver of reflection, hardly noticeable, but when you inspected it further you found a key, metal and shiny despite a small amount of grime covering it. 

 You turned the object over in your palm curiously and quickly placed it within your pocket. Something told you that whatever answers you sought were somehow connected to this simple piece of metal.

With that you quickly scurried off to your room once more.

“ I know you’d be sacrificing a lot,” Samuel said to you on the third day of locking yourself in your room. The gate had opened up a considerable amount since he had exploded in anguish, and you could tell that he was trying even more desperately to get you to stay of your own volition.

“ You have friends and a family…But I could be both of those for you. You would be the same for me. We could be each other's everything, you know. If you would just give me a chance to prove how wonderful we’d be, I’d make it worth your time.” You could hear the gentle movement of pen over paper, of a broom sweeping down the hall, of his breaths. He would spend his whole time there, luring you with honeyed promises of a romantic and satisfied life, but his frightening behavior made you sure that your days here would be anything but that. If he had you, he would never let you go. This realm was much the same. 

With that terrifying fact in mind, you knew that you had to figure out where the key led into. Its neglected state told you it had to be a place that Samuel hadn’t bothered with for a long time, and there was really only one place that fit that desolate description. While he waxed on about how good he would be to you, how he would worship you if you truly wished, you  thought of that hallway filled with locked doors. Considering how long he had been here, there might be some things of some long gone era including the remnants of a stable Samuel.

Later that night, when you snuck out again, you stared out over the vast silver nothingness. If you weren’t so terrified that there wasn’t anything but the complex, you would have taken off running into it. Your window, which was very high up by the way, looked down on your shifty form.  

The old building loomed in all its dim glory like a beacon in a sea of darkness, and you approached with much caution. The key in your silver palm sat heavy with years of unknown history. The stars watched from above as you gripped onto the wooden railing that decorated the edges of the halls. The carved wooden leaves and flora pressed into your skin, leaving indents in their image. Like many times before, the floor creaked with each step you took. Here, you were less worried about Samuel hearing you as it was so removed from everything else. Here, you could breathe a little more. Your silk shirt didn’t feel as stifling, and you shook a little less. 

You yanked on the handles of the doors, shocked to find that they didn’t budge. Shit, he must’ve locked it at some point. You sighed, part out of anger and part out of fear, and stepped back. If you couldn’t get in the normal way, then some alternative methods were needed. 

So, that’s how you ended up crawling through the window at the back of the building. It was an awkward action, your stomach pressing uncomfortably onto the ledge. You hung there for a moment, trying to shimmy inside before you fell ungracefully onto the floor with a large thud. You froze there as a few moments passed by. Part of you was waiting for Samuel to come storming into the building, for him to unleash a torrent of tears and desperation upon you. Silence passed. There was no thundering pace, and no calling of your name from a man starved of stability. You placed a hand to your chest, gasping in relief and at your aching muscles. 

There wasn’t much time, not much that you were comfortable spending out here from the safety of your room, that is, to properly look through every room in here for a clue on your condition and how to leave. You glanced at the door not too far from you, slightly ajar from your last visit to this place. If that one held things that were more contemporary, then wouldn't it be safe to assume that the ones closest to the main entrance were the oldest?

You shakily stood on your feet while using the wall as your guide. You pulled out the key as you picked the nearest one to the front of the building You slotted in the key, and much to your relief, the door swung open with an ancient sounding creak. The smell of age immediately hit your nose, and your face wrinkled in disgust. This place had not been touched in a while. Unlike the one you had seen a week ago, the room looked as if it had been left as was. The furniture seemed to be in their proper places, and there weren’t random objects strewn about. The only things that could make it messy was the amount of dust coating over every surface and the odd few stacks of books on the floor.  

You quickly walked over to the vanity, rifling through the drawers. There was makeup. Hairpins, brushes, some old pots of congealed ink, but nothing of much note. You threw open the wardrobe to find some fraying clothes that looked nothing like the ones either you or Samuel wore. You gently pinched the sleeve of the faded shirt, the old cotton rolling limply between your fingers. How long ago had he slipped these on? Since he had gone around wandering the world as he wished? You couldn’t imagine the outfit you wore when you came here being sealed away like this.

You frowned deeply. The memories these pieces of old cloth must’ve held…It made you truly wonder what he had given up to be a part of this place. You dropped it and continued to look on for what else was in the wardrobe. There was a box holding a well worn pair of leather shoes, some gloves, and a crumpled up jacket that sat dejectedly in a pile. You rifled through them with haste, frantically looking through them. Within the pocket of the jacket, you felt the fragile texture of aged paper, and you quickly pulled it out.

Underneath the silver moonlight, you could see faded ink looping in their delicate chain, spelling out a sweet Dear Samuel.

I hope this finds you well…

It was hard to make out any of the words on the rest of the page. You furrowed your brows as you tried to piece together prose that had long since lost meaning. There were parts where the parchment had wavered under what you had assumed to be tears, places where it had been crumpled by how tightly it had been gripped, soft and limp from how many times it had been folded. It was well loved, and now, judging by its resting place, it had been forgotten. 

There was nothing to learn from it, much to your frustration. You sighed shakily as you carefully folded up the old letter and tucked it away again. You pressed your face to your palms and let out a low groan. There had to be something that could help you, you were sure of that, but whatever it was had been hidden away. Either that or it was just in a different room. 

So you went to the second door by the entrance. It was much like the one you had just been in before, except this one had a more noticeable air of clutter. There were books everywhere, strewn about in haphazard manner with pages falling out of bindings and ink splashed out across the floorboards. On the desk pressed against the wall was a worn journal, the paper in it bulging out from use.

It was by itself, illuminated by the light from the window, with little else sharing its space. You rushed over to it, before flipping over to a random page.

Today has been an eventful day. Father says that soon Mother, Charlotte, and I shall depart for the city soon. He says that there is work to be found there, and that my brother has found us occupation and housing. It must be quite nice to be familiar with the lively atmosphere. I hold little doubt that such a large number of individuals will suit my character in an unfavorable manner, yet I find that there is little I can do to protest such a sudden decision. Mother is elated for me to finally join brother and father, sister is excited to go to school in a more fashionable location, and my father is simply content to provide. By all means this is an opportunity that I am certain some would be green for, and yet I feel a sense of unease.

For if I leave this town, what will become of this place?

You visibly recoiled from the information. You knew that he had a life before this. It had been mentioned and hinted at many times before this moment, but to actually have it confirmed? It was unsettling. You nervously shut the journal, the leather and paper making a soft thud, and quickly left the room. From there you left the same way you came in, the rusty key and book tucked safely in your arms.

The next day , you sat on the floor of your room hunched over the little book. Samuel scratched at the door now; his fingernails swooping as he spoke weakly.

“ I understand, you know. I do, I really do, but I simply think you’re being unreasonable now. It’s been days since you’ve come out. I miss you [Name], and I know you miss me too,” he drawled. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and you could practically picture the way dark lines would hang heavily in his otherwise perfect visage. You hoped that his appearance had become akin to that of his words: sick and uncanny.

You pressed your fingers into your temple in an attempt to drown him out. Your brows were furrowed in concentration, trying desperately to focus and make out the looping cursive on the page. You sighed in frustration. You really should’ve paid more attention in classes.

As the move to the city approaches, I find myself increasingly conflicted. There is little reason as to why I should be so opposed, yet I am inextricably reluctant to go. I sit in this pavilion unknown to my family in contemplation, for I have become convinced that this solitude is more befitting of my character. I would have accommodation, food, entertainment, everything an individual would need to live a life of fulfillment and esteem. Additionally, I would achieve every son’s greatest dream: removing the burden of oneself from their parents.

I should consider taking this place as my permanent residence.

It felt wrong reading this. The only thing you could compare it to was watching back footage of a car crash before the collision actually happened. Your silence was a palpable response, and you could feel his unease oozing from into the small gap under your door. 

“ [Name], I hope you know that you still have a few days to change your mind. I’ll be here for you, throughout the whole process and everything. I know it can be frightening, but when you become like me, I’ll treat you so well that you won’t even know why you resisted me,” he laughed lowly, and you seized with fear. Your chest heaved slowly as you hung on the action of flipping a page. 

“ Please just… please just leave me alone,” you said tiredly. His weight shifted under the floorboards, the wood creaking, and he pressed his palms up against the wall outside. You could hear it, no, you could practically feel his eyes wildly searching for signs of you. His breathing was heavy, unhinged, and absolutely terrifying. You winced back from the entrance to your room. There was no telling what he would do to get in, and you had a sneaking suspicion that the door was only a decorative obstacle for him. There was no way he wasn’t desperate enough to not have tried breaking in, and that scared you so much. 

He was so sure of himself, and you did not miss the certainty in his words. When you become like him. When he would comfort you. There was no ‘If’ anymore, no attempt to conceal his certainty. Did he think that he could physically stop you from leaving? When the gate opened, he would probably do everything in his power to stop you from going. 

“ [Name]”

You ignored him in favor of digging further into his past life. He wasn’t satisfied, though. You could feel the way his shoulders heaved in your bones, how he bored his gaze onto silver wood, the way his tongue rolled with your name like a curse. 

He was quiet after that, and you watched as the shadows underneath your door shifted back. Your stomach churned in discomfort, the acid burning and warm as it crawled up your throat ever so slightly. There was no way that you could do this everyday; no way that you could sit there as he hovered around desperately for the rest of your life, or the rest of whatever it was you’d be leading if you did stay.

I have never been humiliated in such a manner as I have in this moment. I confessed my feelings of our departure to the city, how little it appealed to me and all, to my father. I’ve never seen him so cross, so cold towards me. I have always held suspicion that my family did not hold a level of affection towards me as they did to each other, but it seems that I have had to reach this unfortunate conclusion. 

He called me a drain on the fortune he had worked so hard to come across. I know that I write this in a calmer state of mind, but it took everything within me to not burst into tears right then and there. I’m in the pavilion again, and I believe that I should spend the night here. I’ve never done so before, despite all the time I do lay around in these halls. 

He’d never spent the night before? Your face twisted into confusion. That can’t… That didn’t make any sense. Did the gate function differently when he first arrived?

“[Name]...You can’t stay in there forever. If you would just speak to me, I could make this right. I promise,” Samuel mumbled out. You flipped to another page. Another day. Another tainted memory of his.

It’s been a week. I haven’t the heart to return. I suppose that my family has likely departed to the city without me being there. I wish them well, truly, and I hope they feel my support from this place. 

Perhaps I am a coward, for I cannot find the courage to go beyond here and truly apologize nor tell them that my well being is secure. I instead choose to sit around and lament. Truly my self hatred knows no bounds. Part of me imagines that my family shall scorn me for my behavior, the other thinks that they would be indifferent. They’ve never cared to know where I have gone off and disappeared before now, and I don’t believe that they’ll suddenly give a damn. 

The bitterness was palpable, and you winced as you read. The Samuel in the ink was far more antisocial than you would have ever assumed him to be; It was jarring with the way his honey dipped words tried to sway you from outside your safe spot. You swallowed thickly as you tried to imagine him with a cold and disdainful look when you came here. Had he wallowed in this awful self hatred for all this time? There was another series of soft taps on the door, ones that you vaguely recognized being that of the music box on your vanity. 

“ I promise that everyday will always be interesting. That you’ll never be bored, or suffer from loneliness. It’ll be the two of us, and I swear that I’ll make you happy. Please, won’t you please just let me see your face,” he paused, waiting for you to say something (as if there was any chance in hell that you would do that again). “ I just want to see you, see if you’ve become even more like this place and me. You can confide in me, you know.”

Had you grown more silver? The panic of the past few days had deterred you from really caring about your appearance, so the mirror in your room didn’t seem to hold much purpose. Not to mention, you were so fucking scared of what was happening to you. You could already see that the shimmering greyscale had already coated your calves and your fingers entirely, but there were large expanses of your skin that had been covered by clothing.

You slowly stood so as to not make too much noise, and carefully peered into the reflective surface that sat pressed up against the wall. You gingerly brought your hands up to your face as you stared with a mix of dismay and awe. The color had covered half of your features at this point, your eyes maintaining their color. In the meantime your hair had turned a mix of gray and silver from the ends up until just before your roots like a dye job that looked a few months overdue for a retouch. Your breath caught in your throat as you inhaled sharply. It had spread so quickly over these past couple of days…Why? Why had it done that? Was it going to completely take over you before the gate opened? No, because otherwise Samuel would’ve said something. He would’ve noted how this place took hold of him before he could go home, because he said he went home in that journal. Right?

You practically threw yourself to the floor, not caring anymore if he heard you. The Journal had to have some answers. You opened it to a random spot, eyes frantically roaming over the dates and times. The one to which you settled on seemed to be two weeks away from the last one you read. 

My clothes that I wore when I came here have faded completely into this wonderful silver color, and my skin seems to have begun doing the same. I am intrigued by this greatly, and I am interested in how it should progress. I suppose that it would be an interesting endeavor to see how it spans out fully, for I have not seen any deterioration within the objects that I have brought with me. I can only assume that I shall not be harmed by this process. 

I have been missing the company of Mother and Charlotte, and I have been reminiscing on the argument with father as well. I doubt that they stayed within town. The opportunity in the city greatly outweighs any effect my disappearance could have possibly made. I think that after I observe what happens to myself here, I shall leave and go find them. 

Perhaps my findings here could bring me some fortune… In any case, I must sincerely apologize to them. I suppose that this experiment of mine is just delaying the inevitable, but I’ll find them. I’ll make this right, just after this is all. 

I do love them. I hope that I may be forgiven. 

His fate was spelled out for you so plainly, and the irony was so palpable that it could’ve been in a movie. This didn’t feel real, like a story that was unfolding in real time. The shy but remorseful boy painted by words was nothing like the man only a few feet away.

But looking at the dates… This was all in the span of a month. It mirrored your situation very closely, except you were aware of the consequences of what would happen if you actually let the silver coloring consume you entirely. Some sick part of you felt a little guilty. Guilty that you had the chance to get out, guilty that if you did, you would leave him here. It didn’t really make much sense to you, but you thought of how he must’ve been before you came here: lamenting over his family he never had the chance to properly say goodbye to, wishing that he had done something different, wishing that he had someone there to stave off the crushing weight of nothingness that was this place. He had hoped and waited for a chance like you to appear, and this would probably be the last time he would get one. For a long time anyways. When you left, if you left, he’d be destroyed. That fact alone was awful, but it wasn’t your fault and you needed to go home. 

But… the more you read and the more you thought it over, why did it feel like he could’ve left at any time?

You let out a small laugh as it dawned on you. The journal didn’t go back too far, but it made sense, didn’t it? He didn’t spend the night here, he wasn’t forced to stay here until the next full moon. He chose to stay here, and he felt guilty for it too. Then why couldn’t you go?

Another page. Another utterance of your name from beyond the door.

I’ve been monitoring the progress of this process for a week now. It was a slow process in the beginning, yet I found that as the days have gone by, it has spread quite quickly. I find that I can no longer tell the difference from before I’ve gone through this transformation in regards to my surroundings . I believe that it will be a bit jarring to see such vibrancy . The new moon has passed. It won’t be long until I can return. It is my sincerest hope that my family will understand this erratic decision of mine.

You moved on to another day, skipping a few other entries. This one, you noted, was different from the others. The ink was smudged, and there were small indents that had the words run ever so slightly. Tears, if your shaky guess was correct. The loops of cursive was messier than anything that you had seen him write before, not even the hurried poetry he would jot down on the crisp days, sitting in a drawing room while you lazed about. There was a heaviness as you gently rolled the stiff paper between the pads in your fingers. You inhaled deeply through your nose, steadying yourself for something that felt monumental.

I’ve failed.

I can’t go back. The gate was wide enough for me to go through. I should have been able to go through. What have I done? Father and Mother I want to see them. I want to go back.

Is there a way to go back? I’ll have to see. Maybe when the full moon comes I can leave. It’s never done this before. I could always leave as long as the light part of the gate was large enough. I even put my hand through it the other day. Why? Why now? I’ve been trying for hours.

I can go back. I have to go back. I’m so exhausted, and my vision is so blurred I can barely see what I’m writing. 

I should go to sleep. I’ll try again tomorrow when I wake.

You inhaled sharply. He could leave? The entire time?

“ [Name]...You understand right?”

You looked up sharply, your chest rising and falling rapidly. How could you have been so stupid? He lied. It was as plain as day, and you fell for it. 

“ You never planned to let me go, did you?” Samuel didn’t say anything this time. Your voice had wavered slightly, hurt seeping into your question. Though, you weren’t really asking. You gulped slightly, choosing your next words carefully. “ You were just going to lock me here once the full moon came, right? Because after that, I’d have to stay here forever. With you.”

You didn’t dare to reveal that you knew that you’d be fully taken by the silver before then. That you could leave before then. You just wanted to hear him admit it. Admit that this entire time, while you had been struggling with the guilt of leaving him behind, he had never intended to let you go in the first place. From the moment he met you, from the moment he shattered porcelain across his feet, he had decided that you were his. You choked back a small sob, to hold back the tears of anger. 

You were leaving tonight. The gate should be wide enough for you to squeeze through by now, and based on the state of your skin, this would likely be the last chance that you had to escape. You smoothed back your hair from your face, your entire body shaking with nerves.

“ Do you know what it was like?” He asked, steady and emotionless. “ Everyday, with every book in here read? Every thought I had already written down? I lived with 100 years of nothingness. My main joy in life was to find garbage. And everyday, I hoped that I could leave, or that something in this fucking place would just change for once.”

“ And I thought that, eventually, I would die and finally be able to leave this place. But nothing, NOTHING ever happened! And I thought that I had come to peace with that, I truly did. But when you appeared that day, I felt like all this time I’ve wasted, all these thoughts and feelings that I could never do anything with, they weren’t useless. You gave me a reason to start looking forward to waking up, to cooking, to living again. You were the answer to everything [Name]. You are my reward for suffering here by myself for all of this time.”

You sat there, cold sweat clamming up your palms as you scooted back on the floor. Samuel laughed lowly, and this time, you couldn’t picture what he looked like. The sound was so sinister in a way that was so unlike anything before.

“ So no, I’m not letting you leave. I never intended you to,” he said plainly. “ Everything I promised you, it’s still yours. My loyalty, my love, my everything…It belongs to you as yours does to me. Soon, we shall be equal in more ways than one, and you’ll understand. I promise.”

Hours had passed since then, and you sat on the floor of your room with your back pressed against the cold, hard wall. The journal was held tightly to your chest as you kept your eyes trained on the door, blinking ever so slightly from exhaustion and nodding off in fitful bouts of sleep. The sudden movement of your head lolling to the side would jerk you out of “rest” that would find you. Honestly, you didn’t know how you hadn’t broken into hysterics by this point. Same went for throwing up as your stomach felt like a blackhole, collapsing in on itself in a swirl of bile, fear, and the small amount of food that you had reluctantly accepted.

But Samuel hadn’t moved from his spot. After his sudden outburst, you had heard him softly crying against the wood of your door. Whispering your name, saying how happy he was that you were here. Eventually, he slumped down with drowsiness, snoring quietly and mumbling “[Name]”, breathing it like it was air. You waited and waited, hoping that he would fall far enough under slumber that he wouldn’t notice the light creaking of the floorboards as you found your way to your shaky feet and approached the window. 

The cold, dry air dusted over your skin as you gripped the sill, preparing yourself to hoist yourself over for what you prayed would be the last time. You looked back at the small amount of light coming from the small crack under the entrance, and the way his shadow stretched underneath it. Your chest squeezed with empathy despite it all, like you were leaving behind a toy at the store that you decided to not take home after all. But at the end of the day, you had your reasons, and to stay here was sentencing yourself to misery. You turned back to the starry sky and took in a large gasp of air before you pressed up against the floor to finally put this all behind you.

Suddenly, the maws of pain closed in on your ankle as you fell to the ground with a loud thud. The splintering feeling radiating from your foot was accompanied with a loud crack as you realized the floor had broken under you. Horror raced up your spine as the sharp barbs of wood dug into your skin. 

“ Shit, shit shit!” you hissed out as you hurriedly sat up and began to wrench your leg out of the newly formed hole.                   

“[Name]?” Samuel called your name drowsily, concern hiding behind his slurred words. His dark figure cloaked yours in shadow as he shifted. You let out a panicked grunt as you pulled hard on your stuck foot. The splintered wood formed gashes on your silver skin, the blood shining bright red against the greyscale night, ruby and glittering. You stared breathlessly, your vision blurring with awe and illness. How could it be so beautiful? 

There was banging on the door, far louder than any attempts he made in the past. That shook you out of your pain induced stupor in a second, and you began kicking wildly to get out. You had to get out. Out of this hole, out of this room, out of this world and fast.

“[Name]? What happened?” He asked while jiggling the handle violently. “ [Name]!? Answer me!” 

There were thundering footsteps, the drumming of your heartbeat and pulse, and shouts of your name. It was so loud and frantic, and you screamed in agony as you finally ripped your ankle free from the fragmented wood just as the door was thrown open with a large crash. You scrambled up as Samuel stood in the doorway, looking at the crimson splattered across the ground and your hands. 

His front was hidden by the lack of light that graced his shoulders instead, but in that split second you could see how disheveled he had become. His face gaunt with worry and mania, his posture hunched and yearning. This was not the man you had felt the spark of attention for. This was a monster determined to drag you down with him. 

“[Name]!” he cried as you ambled up. The adrenaline coursing through you stamped out the agony that radiated up your form, made you ignore the way you trembled, told you to get the fuck out of there. His arms reached to circle you in a damning embrace, but you slapped him away as best as you could.

“ Don’t Touch me!” you screeched, but he continued to advance. You stumbled up against your vanity, pressed up against hard floral carving as you palmed around behind for anything solid enough that could find your hand. He lurched forward, and you smashed the object against his head with as much force as you could muster up. 

Gears and pieces of porcelain scattered through the air, shooting like comets as silver blood streamed like starlight from his cheek. Samuel cried out in anguish as the music box hit his eyes, ears, and features. He stumbled back in shock, clutching the side of his face as he looked at you with a mix of betrayal and anger. You stood there, eyes locked for a few moments before you dashed out of the room.

“[NAME]!” he screamed as you tore out of the room, scarlet falling behind you in a trail of sinew and desperation. Your feet, dirty and worn thumped against the floor halls of the complex as you ran as quickly as you could. 

Samuel was up after you in a matter of seconds, and you looked over your shoulder to look at him stumbling and crashing into the walls and railings. He groaned loudly, one of his silver eyes screwed shut. You tripped slightly, your limp becoming an increasing hindrance. But you had to get out. You had to go.

You passed by the courtyard, passed the drawing rooms filled with papers and sweet smiles, past the half finished painting of your worried face, past the monumental amount of books, past the softly glowing lanterns that swayed gently despite the chaos until you finally appeared in front of the gate. It sat there in its half moon glory at the end of a lonely path. 

You jumped off the wooden halls and cried out when the pressure couldn’t be held up by your injured foot, causing you to collapse suddenly. Samuel was quick to catch up as you frantically crawled forward. The dirt scraped against the unmarred skin of your forearms while you dragged yourself to freedom. Up ahead laid the few shards of the porcelain cup that he dropped upon the first sight of you, the ones by you leaving small lacerations on your knees and palms as you cursed wildly.

“[NAME]!” He shouted as he stepped down and gripped onto your waist, pulling you back as you clawed at the ground, only finding purchase in one of the pieces of the destroyed cup. He pulled you into his chest, his bruised arms squeezing you tightly. “[Name],” he said, more relieved as he pressed a small kiss at the top of your head. The blood from his lip that had just been busted ghosting on your crown. 

“ It’s alright, I’ve got you now. You’re just frantic right now, hysterical even. It’s fine. I’ll care for you, I swear. So please… Just stop fighting me. I love you [Name], so please just accept it,” he murmured, pain clear as he held you harshly. You cried out slightly, squirming around.

“ I know,” you spat out.

“ What?”

“ I know you lied. I know that I just have to go through that gate and I can leave you for good.”

“ No… No you’re wrong. No you can only leave on the full moon, remember,” he laughed in disbelief as he shook you, his hands gripping your arms as he turned you to face him. He was shaking as a manic smile fell on his lips.

“ I read your journal Samuel. You’re full of shit, and I’m getting the fuck out of here!” You yelled as you began to thrash, kicking and snapping at his arms. His smile dropped instantly as he coldly grabbed your throat. Your breath snared at that moment as he shoved you down onto the ground. The pearlescent brick dug into your back as you gurgled in surprise. He began to squeeze.

“ You don’t know anything.”

“ S-Samuel,” you choked out as you tried to pry his hands off your airway.

“ [Name], I love you. I love you so much, yet you don’t understand. How I’ve yearned for something like this. Just accept it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you won’t be able to leave after this, and then you’ll know,” he gritted as black spots began to cloud your vision. Your nails scratched at his arms wildly, taking chunks of silvers down with them. No, no ,no you had to get out. This was it! This was your only chance!

“ I- I love you too. I- I see now. I’m sorry,” you wheezed as you raised a quivering hand to cup the side of his face. In the same manner that you had wished to only a few days ago, you stroked his cheek and wiped the blood from his eye. He visibly softened, lips parting and gaze shimmering with hope. You smiled through your tears when his hands stopped pressed down on your throat, and Samuel leaned into your touch. He whimpered quietly as he closed his eyes and shed a single tear, relishing in your affection for one moment. One moment where he had everything he had ever dreamed of, content for the first time in centuries. You wished that he would find happiness before, but as the fingers of your other hand gripped onto a shard of porcelain just within reach, you knew that he wouldn’t be able to find it in you.

With one final scream of rage, fear, and sorrow, you slashed him across his face. The beautiful starlit man cried in agony, more guttural than anything you had heard in your entire life, as you shoved him off of you and made a running start for the gate. He blindly fumbled around for you, wailing when he found no trace of your warmth.

“ DON’T GO! PLEASE!” He screamed, desperately trying to push himself off of the ground. “ STAY WITH ME!”  His eyes, silver and filled with every emotion known to man, settled on you through blood and tears as you sprinted towards the half moon. ”[NAME]!!!!” He cried one last time before you jumped through, not even bothering to look at his pitiful state.

The world slurred around you in a cacophony of screams, silver, and the brightest of reds. It felt like you were in complete darkness, coated in anguish and regret, and then you couldn’t breathe. You fought, you struggled even with everything weighing you down, and eventually, you were able to take a gasp of air. You struggled for a moment before realizing that you were sopping wet and sitting in the middle of the pond that you had originally fallen into.

The clearing was still quiet as you scrambled out, slipping on damp grass and slick mud. You were filthy, with your clothes plastered to your skin. Not to mention it was absolutely freezing, cold ripping into your injury and fragile state. You swiped the water off your face, and when you caught sight of your fingers you laughed in relief. The noise ripped from your sore throat as the silver color of the realm slowly bled out from your skin, your color returning to its original hue. You had done it.

You cackled loudly as you fell back, looking up at the bright half moon, smiling down at you and your success. The moist grass wasn’t comfy, but you let yourself sink into it, simply too tired to care. And when your joy had passed, you stretched out your palms to the sky, imagined a heartbroken Samuel bleeding and weeping your name, and you too began to cry.