#but Gil quietly is like

[softquietsteadylove]

How about more wildfire au? Maybe something tense?

Gil watched with a scowl. Two trucks, five men in total. He wasn't sure what they were doing here, but no one ever found his cabin 'by accident', it had to be said.

And Thena was in there.

They had gotten to a point where he could radio in and ask how she was doing without her telling him to shove it up his ass. He considered that a win! Every once in a while he would radio while she was in the shower or having a nap, and the worry that would consume was probably best kept to himself.

The five men walked calmly, looking around them and at what surrounded the cabin in its little clearing. They didn't seem to be here for any trouble, but Gil didn't want to rule anything out. They went up the stairs and knocked on the door.

Gil tensed, gripping his hatchet in his hand.

As soon as the door budged the men flooded into the cabin, their larger bodies obscuring Thena's tiny frame completely.

Gil ran from where he was hiding and up the driveway, almost slipping a few times in his hurry. "Thena!"

There were loud shouts coming from inside the cabin, the door left wide open.

"Thena!" Gil repeated as he slid over, hatchet raised, ready to defend his temporary and cranky roommate. "Get away from-"

"White Wolf! White Wolf! White Wolf!"

Thena laughed as they hoisted her above their heads, cheering her name. She patted their heads, pushing at their faces while she was seated on their shoulders. "Okay, boys, that's enough!"

"Well goddamn, Thee, we had to go through a hell of a lot of trouble to find this place!" More than one of them jostled her in a friendly matter as they set her on her feet again. They pushed and shoved, squeezed her shoulders and ruffled her hair. And each gesture would be reciprocated in the form of a punch on the arm. "When you hide away you hide the fuck away!"

"Hey Thee," the tallest one bent over to get closer to her face, "where's my welcome kiss?"

"Who the fuck are you?!"

Six heads turned as Gil tossed his hatchet aside loudly and pulled his own damn front door closed. The men traded looks, already looking agitated, "we could ask you that, buddy."

"Boys!"

Gil had to admit, he was impressed when one word from Thena had the men's backs straighter than a lightning rod. He watched as Thena parted the sea of meatheads and moved closer to him, as if to shield him from her little wolf pack.

"Leave him be," she said more quietly, but she obviously didn't need to shout to get her point across.

"But Thee-" Gil didn't like their nickname for her.

"Gil's been good to me, that's all you need to know," she said with some finality to it. She stared down each of them, "and it's his property you're barging into here."

The men - her boys, as it were - all looked at him. Gil didn't even blink, not willing to let any weakness show to the pack of wild animals with him. He shrugged a little, "it is my cabin."

The men nodded between themselves. Obviously their concern was with Thena, and Gil probably couldn't blame them for being wary of some guy who had suddenly offered her a home out in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere while she was injured.

"So, you're the boyfriend?"

Thena positively smoked the big guy in his smallest ribs, hard enough for him to double over. "He's not some boyfriend."

"Okay," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath after the bony little rocket of a punch.

Gil wasn't sure if he should be grateful for her defense or offended by the vehemence of it. "Yeah, I'm just...a patrol fighter."

The most softly spoken one gestured among them, "we're Thee's old search and rescue team. Some of us have even been with her since the Montana fires a couple years back."

Gil nodded. They were more than just a work team. Out in the wilderness, even the most unwilling had no choice but to trust their crew. But these guys...they truly and deeply were bonded.

"Boys," Thena took a more stern tone and nodded her head between them. She looked back at Gil, and he really thought she looked at him a little differently from how she looked at them. But what did he know. "Gil. Gil--boys."

"Uh, hey," Gil greeted, although he didn't feel the need to move away from Thena to shake anyone's hand.

"Hey man," the tallest - the inappropriate one - nodded his head at him, as did the rest. "Sorry to, uh, bust in like this."

"We didn't expect to get word from Thee until she was on the move again. She said she was holed up in some cabin and..." the soft spoken one shrugged, "this is the only one for miles."

He supposed they had a point. Thena had basically gone completely off the grid, but obviously the bond with her team hadn't suffered from whatever made her leave in the first place. They were here for her, not for any trouble. He swallowed the lump in his throat which had crawled its way out of his twisted stomach, "no hard feelings."

Thena, however, crossed her arms at them, "still not a single fucking manner between the lot of you."

The quieter one shrugged, sliding away from his rowdier comrades. He was leaving them to the slaughter.

"Aw c'mon, Thee, we said we're sorry," the big guy practically whined at her. "How 'bout I...make it up to you?"

Thena herself gave him a pat on the cheek (maybe more like a gentle slap). "You keep asking that but I'd sooner fuck a wild bear than let you cop a feel."

Gil blushed.

"Why's the boyfriend allowed to!"

The gentle slap turned into a harder one. "Not the boyfriend!"

"Then why're you wearing his sweater?"

Gil blinked, but they were right, she was wearing his sweater. It was just a thick knit sweater he liked to wear around the house, but she had it on over her long sleeves and yoga pants.

She looked cute in it.

"Okay boys," she declared, skipping over the sweater comment entirely. "Patrol's in ten, party's over, say goodnight."

"Fine," the big guy grumbled but gave Thena an undeniably gentle pat on the shoulder, "glad you're okay, Wolf."

Gil stood back as the team gave Thena their well wishes and then filed out in an orderly fashion. He gave them all the same uncomfortable half-smile he would give a stranger at the gas station.

"Take care of yourself, Thee," the quiet one said, although between looking at her and looking at Gil, it felt a little like he was saying it more to him than her. "See y'around."

Gil nodded to him; at least the quiet one hadn't made any sex jokes.

Thena inhaled once the door closed behind them. She watched them pile into the two trucks again and slowly make their way back to the main road. "Sorry."

Gil blinked, surprised not only at the apology but at the quiet tone of it. She toyed with the sleeves of his sweater, obviously and hilariously long on her.

"I didn't exactly invite them in, but I guess they were a little worked up when I radioed the station to check in with them."

Gil shrugged easily, as if he hadn't been ready to fight every single one of them if they hadn't been on Thena's good side. "That's okay, they're happy to see you. I was a little surprised when I saw them pull up, but no harm done."

Thena still looked a little annoyed by it all. "I was always telling them not to traipse in places uninvited. They barged into my room enough times before I had to start beating it into them. Roughhousing is the only language most of them speak."

Gil rolled his eyes but chose to skip over the barging into her room comment. It technically wasn't his business--since he wasn't a boyfriend or anything. "Well, they could have wiped their feet, but that's okay. They're all search and rescue, right?"

Thena nodded as Gil moved inside properly, kicking off his boots and slipping on the birkenstocks he wore around the house as slippers. "Some of them were jumpers with me back in the day, too."

Gil chuckled, "then I can't be too mad at them if they're like your family, right?"

Thena smiled at him gently, maybe still energized from the reunion as she hovered close to him, "I guess they are. You can still be mad at them, though."

"Deal," Gil laughed as he sat down in his chair with a groan. It had been a long day, and the adrenaline draining out of him was pulling him deeper into the seat.

"Are you okay?"

He would be lying if he said he wasn't charmed by her softly asked question. So, they were becoming closer. He smiled, "I'm okay."

He had been completely terrified that something might happen to Thena in his absence. Not that she was helpless by any means, but it was hard not to feel protective of the woman who slept in his bed, shared his food, whom he heard trembling after her nightmares in the dark. Muttering about what made her quit search and rescue in the first place.

Thena shifted in her chair, angling herself away and changing her smile to a more playful one. "It was sweet of you to come charging in, all knight in shining armour."

Gil blushed, but also employed rolling his eyes as a means to avoid the feeling behind it, "okay, ha-ha, funny. I was worried, I'll have you know."

"I know." She was up and out of the chair before he could look at her. She moved behind him, and he almost felt as if she had put her hand on his shoulder, but maybe he had imagined it. "I'll put some coffee on."

Gil turned himself to try and look at her, "kinda late for coffee, ain't it? What about tea?"

"I'm not making your fucking leaf water, it's coffee or nothing."

Gil chuckled. That was more like the White Wolf he was used to. "Hey, Thee?"

"Don't call me that."

"Thena?" he tried again, and she did poke her head out of the kitchenette to look at him. He grinned, "that sweater looks good on you."

"I changed my mind, make the coffee yourself."

[a-tired-human-draws-junk]

Some dumbass doodles I did while on call w some friends

[gottagobuycheese]

Hugtober Day 8/? - Traumatized Trio Finally Get to Hug It Out, More at Midnight

A brief pause from the ORV onslaught to bring you yet another trio that knocks me dead if I think about them too hard  there are plenty of ORV vibes here though let’s be real

[ID: A greyscale piece of digital fanart depicting Yoon Hwa-pyung, Kang Gil-young, and Choi Yoon from OCN’s The Guest. The three of them stand in the middle of the drawing, hugging each other tightly. Gil-young wears a long coat and has her back to the viewer as her arms clutch Hwa-pyung’s and Yoon’s backs, holding them close as she buries her head between them. Hwa-pyung is dressed in a light flannel overshirt and dark slacks and places one arm along Gil-young’s shoulders, with his other hand barely visible around Yoon’s waist. His face is hidden from view as he presses his forehead against Gil-young. Yoon is dressed in his priest garb and wraps his arms around the other two, turning his face away from the viewer as he rests his head against Gil-young’s. /end ID]

[theinfinitedivides]

one of these days i will have enough energy to take over a hundred screenshots and cull them down to a specific amount so i can rearrange them in a careful line-by-line web weaving of Mitski's I'm Your Man for Song of the Bandits but today is not that day. it is not that day

[ardenssolis]

[An interesting thing about Ozy is that one would assume that because of his position he prefers being inside rather than out, but in actuality, the opposite is true. He had spent a great deal of his time within his palace (most of his life, really), and so any opportunity he had to go outside and just enjoy the scenery was taken with gusto with his favored spot being by the Nile River and beneath the shade of trees. However, the only times he was really able to travel and see things was when he would go from one city to another, for war, or to aid in conflict. So, when he’s in Chaldea or he has been summoned somewhere where he has the opportunity to just enjoy the scenery around him, he has a tendency to wander off and just kind of vibe. Sitting outside a café, on a park bench, stargazing beneath the night sky -- these are more preferable than being inside to him.]

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Love's Proposition Collection Event

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Slightly suggestive

I woke up earlier than usual and quietly slipped out of Gilbert's bed to change in my room, but, for some reason, the door wouldn't open.

(It's locked from the inside.)

Emma: "Gil..."

Gilbert: "The key is right here."

He seemed to have woken up as he sat up and playfully shook the key in his hand, smiling.

(It's not the first time he locked me in, but...)

Emma: "Do you have something to tell me?"

Gilbert: "Who knows?"

Emma: "Please tell me."

Gilbert: ".........."

Emma: "I was planning to bake a lot of sweets today, you know?"

Gilbert: "Heh?"

He beckoned me over, still smiling.

I approached him cautiously, and he grabbed my hand and bit it.

Emma: "Ouch!"

Gilbert: "Be careful, as every time you make a mistake, your body will be covered in bite marks."

(He's being unreasonable!)

Emma: "Wait, are you sick?"

Gilbert: "Do I look sick?"

Emma: "No."

He pushed me roughly onto the bed, and this time, he bit into my shoulder, opening my collar.

Emma: "T-Then do you want me to help you with something一"

Gilbert: "All of those are completely off."

He bit into my other shoulder, and tears welled up from the pain.

Gilbert: "You need to guess quickly, or you'll end up getting covered in bite marks."

(What else could it be?)

He peered into my face from a close distance.

Drawn in by his seductive blood-colored eyes, I lightly kissed him as if being tempted.

Emma: "Is it something like this?"

Gilbert: "............"

He gently nibbled on my nose.

(This isn't it either.)

(Crap. At this rate, I might not be able to leave the room.)

The strange tension and the pounding of my heartbeat stole my words.

In the silence, Gilbert's cold hand pulled down my negligee, and he bit into my exposed nipple.

Emma: "Nnn. You still haven't given me an answer!"

Gilbert: "It doesn't matter how long it takes me to answer."

As his tongue slid over the throbbing bite mark, my body gradually succumbed to the heat.

He mercilessly repeated it, and my thoughts melted into a heavy, vanilla-like sweetness.

Gilbert: "Why can't you understand something so simple?"

Gilbert: "Come on, think properly."

Emma: "Ahhh... I don't know."

Gilbert: "I see. Then I guess you'll be stuck in here forever."

(Forever!?)

Gilbert: "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."

His cold fingertips slid from my chest to my stomach, eventually slipping inside the space between my legs.

(I need to think.)

I bit my lip to prevent myself from being consumed by the violent pleasure, but a cold kiss stopped me.

His expression, as he pulled away, seemed somewhat dissatisfied.

(The reason I can't leave the room is a simple one.)

(But when did he lock the door in the first place?)

(At the very least, he had already wanted something by the time I fell asleep.)

(I'm pretty sure he anticipated my actions.)

(Oh!)

The moment I realized it, I embraced him.

Emma: "I'll stay here a bit longer."

Gilbert: "Fufu, well done."

He embraced me back, and our bodies pressed together.

Gilbert: "Going back to your room right after waking up is a bit lonely, don't you think?"

Gilbert: "Just how lonely? Well, enough to want to render your legs useless."

Emma: "Will you stop that!?"

Gilbert: "Ahahaha, don't worry. You wouldn't do something so cruel to me, would you?"

His tone was more like a plea than a threat.

Because of that, instead of getting angry, affection filled me.

(At this rate, I might not be able to stay away for even a moment.)

He repeatedly gave me short kisses with a satisfied smile, and I squinted my eyes at the ticklish sensation.

(But it's okay.)

(Because it's not just Gilbert who feels lonely.)

Ikepri Masterlist

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Feral: First Christmas

Summary: It's Dean's first Christmas since being free and no longer feral. However it's only been a few weeks and he's not quite ready to do everything a typical Alpha would, especially one as famous as him. But Y/N has an idea up her sleeve to give him a fun Christmas experience...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 1,500ish

Warnings: language, smidge of angst

A/N: Enjoy!

______

“Hey, Peter,” you said, quickly rushing inside the house, following him upstairs to your bedroom. He pushed open the door, Sam giving you a weary look before his gaze drifted over to the figure staring out the window. 

“He hasn’t moved in two hours,” said Sam. You shrugged out of your winter coat and boots, patting across the hardwoods in your wool socks. “Or talked. He won’t-”

You smirked when you saw Dean’s face, Sam cutting himself off. 

“Is he having a breakdown?” whispered Sam, Peter rolling his eyes at Sam’s overprotectiveness.

“No, no nothing so serious,” you said, lightly grazing your finger against Dean’s bonding gland, his body lax. You gently guided him to the bed, helping him sit and lay down, his eyes quickly shutting. “He was sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking?”

“I told you so,” mumbled Peter, heading for the exit. “Let me know if you’re going back out Y/N.”

“Will do,” you said, urging Sam out after him, gently pulling the door shut when you were in the hall. “And yes, sleepwalking. It’s incredibly common in formerly feral Alphas. Dean’s only about six weeks out from being feral so it’s expected. It normally stops around the three month mark.”

“Huh, never knew that,” said Sam, staring back at the door. “Sorry. I know I’m still a little nervous about him sometimes.”

“Hey. It’s understandable. Dean’s rehab wasn’t like everyone else’s,” you said, heading down the hall with him, Peter seeming to have grabbed your coat and boots for you. “So Christmas is in a few days. I wanted to make it extra special for him.”

“I mean we decorated the house and got him presents and everything in between. What were you thinking?” he asked. 

“He’s so nervous to go out in public. I know there’s still a lot of attention on him but I wanted to try and take him out. To walk through the light show at the park. Go ice skating at the little Christmas village there. Let him have fun without being afraid.”

“Y/N,” he said as we walked downstairs. “I thought you said it’s going to take him a long time to get to that point. How are you going to take him to the most crowded place in the city when he has to psych himself up to go visit Benny? In a private space?”

“I have an idea,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “But I need your help.”

Dean was grumpy the next day. He knew you were taking him out of the house that night which he didn’t have a problem with if it was to see Gil and Sophia at their place. But you weren’t telling him where you were headed just yet which meant your Alpha was in a mood. A mood you very clearly felt through your bond.

“Dean,” you said that evening, knocking on the doorframe of your room. He sat angrily on the couch by the fire, crossing his flannel covered arms and frowning. “Alpha. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to go wherever the hell you’re taking me, that’s what’s wrong.” You sighed and knelt down in front of him, Dean reluctantly letting you take his hands in yours.

“I know you know I’d never hurt you. We both know you’re scared and I don’t blame you. The media still very much wants to know all about you. It’s invasive and scary when all you deserve is good things in life.”

“I’m not ready,” he said quietly. “Please not yet.”

“If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” you said, Dean’s body relaxing. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“I can try.” You titled your head, Dean smiling back when he opened his green eyes, a gentle nod given to you. “There’s a lot I didn’t think I could do when I met you and you keep proving me wrong. I want you to keep doing that.”

“This will be fun. I promise. We can also come back home if you decide you don’t like it.” He hummed, scent nervous but a tinge of excitement underneath it. “But we do need to get you in some warmer clothes first.”

“Warmer clothes?”

Dean looked handsome in his tan wool hat and the new navy winter jacket Sam had picked up for him earlier that day. His winter boots squeaked when he stepped out of the car, gloved hands immediately grasping yours when you got out beside him.

“That’s a lot of people,” said Dean, watching people wandering around the Christmas village, his gaze assessing the scene carefully and ignoring the pretty Christmas scene before him.

“Smell the air,” you gently urged, Dean’s nose twitching up for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“That’s…a lot of Alphas,” he said as you pointed at the luxury buses in the parking lot, not the usual cars that would be there. “What’s-”

“Oh you kids made it!” said Sophia as she jogged over, giving Dean an extra big hug. He melted into it, Sophia kissing his temple. “You smell so tense, sweetie. Go have fun with the others! I think I saw Gil and Sam with Benny over by the ice rink.”

“Benny’s here?” he asked when you looped your arm through his, walking with him towards the entrance.

“Of course! All of the stage three and beyond Alpha’s from the facility are. Y/N had the idea of a field trip for everyone and their families so they could celebrate the holidays without any outside pressure,” she said, an Alpha you recognized from the facility coming up.

“Dr. Insler! Avery is asking for you over at the light tunnel,” they said. She gave a quick goodbye, leaving you and Dean to wander slowly inside. Dean stopped you both once you were there, his gaze wandering out as people shuffled around from one activity to another.

“How the hell did you shut down one of the most popular Christmas spots in the city two days before the holiday?” You shrugged, Dean shaking his head. 

“Sam did most of it. I just had the thought,” you said, Dean looking around at the lights, the decorations, a silly smile spreading onto his cheeks. “You deserve a night of fun along with all these other Alphas.”

He leaned in and kissed you slowly, grinning through it and lighting up your insides. “Thank you for making me come out tonight, for making a whole lot of messed up people’s nights.”

“You guys aren’t messed up. You’re just in need of some care,” you said, Dean giving you a side hug, kissing the top of your head. “So. Since this is your first Christmas in a very long time, what would you like to do? Skate? Games? Do the light walk?”

“That hot chocolate looks pretty good,” he said with a smirk. “Ladies first.”

You woke up the next day with a sore butt from a hard fall on the ice rink. Dean hadn’t skated since he was a boy but he picked it up again instantly, teasing you for having two left feet and clutching him the whole time. You hadn’t cared though. 

Dean had smiled the whole night and that boy deserved a lifetime of that.

You were surprised when you made your way downstairs and found Peter and Dean putting on their winter coats, Peter twirling a pair of car keys in his hands.

“Morning,” you said, getting a kiss from Dean, Peter going outside to start the car. “Where are you boys off to? Visit Benny?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and I realized, I haven’t done any shopping,” he said. You pursed your lips. You and Sam had both made it clear to Dean that having him was the best gift you could ever ask for. He pressed a finger to your lips and chuckled. “I won’t be gone long, just going to pick up a few things and then I’ll be home to wrap them.”

“Dean you don’t have-” He shushed you, pressing his forehead against yours. “The stores will be so busy-”

“And I have Peter and a hat and sunglasses. This is my first Christmas in forever and I sure as shit am going to do it the right way and make sure my family has gifts from me.” You stared at him, wanting to argue but if this was what he truly wanted, you weren’t about to stop him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” you asked, his head already shaking. “Alright. Be safe and have fun.”

“I will,” he said, pecking a kiss on your cheek. He slipped out the door, Sam padding downstairs with a yawn in his pajamas. 

“Is he going out alone?” he asked. You hummed, Sam nodding once. “Good for him. I know he wanted to pick out your engagement ring himself.”

You felt flush, Sam chuckling. “I told him I don’t need one. We’re already mated.”

“Try telling him that. He adores you,” he said, heading down the hall for the kitchen. 

You smiled, ducking your head down and feeling a flurry of warmth in your core you knew Dean would be feeling.

“Yeah. I love him too.”

___________

[ginervacade]

Literally all of the descendants boys you listed and how they’d react if you got your period and bled through your clothes?

My darling anon you’ve been here before. And I love you for it.

First of all they’re all gonna be nice about it. Chad would be a jerk about it but he’s not relevant here.

That being said, Harry and Jay WILL LAUGH. Until they see that you’re properly upset about it, and then it’s like someone flipped a switch.

Carlos, Doug and Ben will turn bright red. 

Gil, my absolute angel of a boy, will not do any of that. He will quietly inform you that you bled through and then he will help you to hide it and escape whatever situation you’re in to go and handle it. ( Uma trained him well, as much as she tried with Harry, Gil learned it better)

Ben will do the same as Gil, but while blushing and he almost always has a jacket which will immediately be tied around your waist and no one will even notice that he took it off because he’s just that good.

All of the boys will get the situation under control and none of them will make you feel bad about it. Once you’ve managed to get changed, they will all reassure you that it’s alright, that you needn’t be embarrassed. They will all be perfectly sweet to you for the whole rest of your period. If you have any of these sweethearts then you are LUCKY!!

[tanoraqui]

Lalwen caught everyone's attention by slamming a fresh wine bottle onto the center of the table.

"Alright, new game," she said. "'The Worst Thing I Ever Did To You Was...' It's like The Worst Thing I Ever Did, but it has to be specifically to someone else in this room, and you have to apologize for it. And you only get to drink if everyone else agrees that your apology was good enough."

Fingolfin raised one finger. "Point of order: what if you need to be drunker in order to apologize for something?" He didn't look at Fëanor, but his gaze was sliding around a bit, so in order to achieve this, he turned his entire head to the right.

"Tough luck," said Lalwen.

"Point of order," said Findis. "What if we don't want to play this one, either?"

"Then you have to sit here and endure it without getting to drink any more. Because - " Lalwen forestalled Fëanor's imminent query - "the door is still locked and no one is leaving until Family Game Night is over."

The boys all radiated rebellious pedantry, probably still not over how she'd lied to get them all here. But they didn't say anything, so Lalwen smiled brightly and said, "Great! I'll do an example to show you how it's done."

She retook her own chair, wobbling only a little as she moved from standing to sitting, leaned toward her youngest brother and said earnestly, "Ara, I'm sorry that I lied to you that Gil-galad was Fingon's son and your foster-great-grandson. It was politically expedient but essentially an orc move, and mostly I just did it because I was bitter at you for swanning in with all your golden armor and righteousness and optimism, when we had none of any of that. That was wrong of me. Also, obviously it fell apart as soon as he and his parents were all re-embodied."

Fëanor still had half a glass of wine from the now-lost bottle. He'd started slipping it slowly while glaring pointedly at Lalwen, to prove that he didn't need her stupid game.

He nearly spit it out.

"That's why a random half-blood became High King of the Noldor?" he demanded. "You just lied that he was part of the House of Finwë? And nobody challenged it?"

Lalwen was laughing too hard to answer. Findis was also laughing, more quietly.

"To be fair," Fingolfin offered, swallowing his own snicker in favor of loftiness, "from what the elf himself has told me, at the start of the Second Age, Galadriel, Elrond, and Celebrimbor between them could have crowned an unwoken tree High King if they'd all agreed on a candidate. Support from each of our lines, you know."

"Fëanor, how did you think Gil-galad became High King?" Finarfin asked curiously.

"I hadn't thought about it much - I've been busy, you know. I suppose I assumed he'd been elected, as we do now."

Fëanor tipped his head back to drain his glass, then rather slammed it down on the table. Yet again, the jewel-grade goblets proved themselves the right choice for the evening.

Lalwen could barely breathe for laughing. "No Noldor on either side of the Sea did that until nearly the end of the Second Age!"

Fëanor scowled.

Findis smiled serenely, and twisted the top off the new wine bottle. A melodious scent swelled forth of sweet grapes, bruised peaches, and warm summer sun.

"Well, that seems well-apologized to me." She refilled Lalwen's glass - though she paused before handing it back, and asked, "Ara?"

Finarfin nodded grandly, and for good measure took Lalwen's hand and kissed it. "We are well-reconciled, sister, and have been for many years."

"Good, good, gimme!" said Lalwen, grabbing at her well-deserved wine. "Ahh..." The Yavannandil wine was soft and soothing against her laughter-dried throat.

When she'd downed a good third of the glass, she gestured broadly and declared, "There! You see how it's done! Your turn!"

She pointed to Fëanor, then jabbed her finger at his chest. "And you're not allowed to say 'burning the ships', that's too easy."

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore I.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), manipulation, references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and past stalking.

Word Count: 18k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

"She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

i. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow."

The sitting rooms in these types of hotels have always been your favorite place to sit because of the scenery. There is almost always a large window overlooking whatever city you are temporarily placed in with your captor, making everything below you seem insignificant. You see nothing other than your faded reflection in the window and blinking city lights that are so small they seem like a city of stars. At the same time, you can only touch the framed glass panes or the couch you are sitting on. You can only hear Chrollo’s pleased hums and the occasional page-turning of his current novel. You cannot feel or hear the world outside, no matter how much you try to imagine such.

When you were working, you would use your phone to notify others of what you were doing at work or when you would arrive home, but now you can't feel your pants pocket where the phone was usually kept. It would vibrate or chime loudly as its duty as your alarm and messenger. The phone, once opened, would relay your family members’ voices, or your boss’, or your assistants’. Even if some voices were secretly irritating to you before, you feel compelled to admit that they are better than hearing nothing other than the squeaky wheels of a room service cart or the air conditioner. You cannot feel the rest of your work uniform, a classic white dress shirt and black tie. You cannot hear your co-workers’ drunken laughs as they cheer with large glasses of beer in their hands. A small thud catches your attention, making you turn your head in that direction. Chrollo is putting his book down on the coffee table in front of you two. It is closed, with the cover facing upward, and the title in a foreign language. His cup is empty except for a few drops, having been previously filled with black coffee. Yours simply has room-temperature water, still filled to the brim. You make eye contact for a second or two, his eyes calm and composed. Chrollo breaks it as his arm reaches out towards his coffee cup. He picks it up with grace, sipping quietly before setting it back down on its porcelain saucer. A small smile forms on his pale lips as he looks at you.

"You seem rather bored, my dear. Would you mind conversing with me?”

“No, I would not mind.” You say, your lips moving to mimic his own with precision.

“Marvelous. Would you like to talk about anything in particular?” Chrollo asks, his left arm moving to rest on the couch.

“Anything you would like to discuss.”

“If you insist.” He places one of his legs over the other; his posture is relaxed but his stare is suddenly intense. “There is something I would like to ask of you. Tell me, do you enjoy being here with me?”

“I do. I needed some time to adjust, but I like it here. I have fewer responsibilities than what I used to have.” 

“Wonderful.” Chrollo’s smile widens.

You know that he would not be pleased if you told him the truth; that you feel nothing for him aside from disdain. His softness would fade and give way to his true colors rapidly. An eye-catching crimson red specifically. It is the color of blood, danger, fire, some species of spiders and snakes… It is the color of danger and anger. Perhaps he would threaten to murder a dear friend of yours. Perhaps he would hit you. Perhaps he would isolate you even further by not returning for days at a time. Perhaps he will tie you to the bed. …Perhaps he will kill you. It would be easy, you know it from the bits of strength he has shown you. All it would take is a simple wave of his hand and–

“I enjoy having you here, beside me. Your presence is very comforting.” His eyes glimmer for what seems like less than a fifth of a second, a light that you learned only shows when he is curious about something.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

“I am glad you noticed.” His head tilts slightly to the side. “I do have something I want to ask you.”

“Well, what is your question?”

“Do you plan to try to run away from me?” His cold tone and facial expression are unlike the one he had a few moments ago. 

“No. I do not.” You shake your head and take his hand gently. “What better place is there to be other than having you by my side?”

Chrollo’s eyes seem to soften at your answer. His posture returns to one of no worries. His shoulders are not as tense. His breathing is a bit steadier. He looks at your hand with a slight smile. He leans a bit towards you. He squeezes your hand lightly. You put your head on his shoulder to further convince him to believe the lie. Your captor hums with a pleased voice.

He is cold to the touch. It is like your hand is in a blizzard, a small warm flame surrounded by snow. There is a slight stinging sensation. It is colder than literal ice on your skin. Chrollo’s grip is tender yet strong, making it clear that he does not want to let go of your soft hand. 

You feel his nose go into your hair and dare not do anything to stop it.

Your kidnapper inhales sharply and sighs fondly. His breath smells like mint; sharp, fresh, and cool. To distract yourself from the unpleasant truth, you look around the hotel room. There is a rose bouquet in front of you two, still fresh since you both arrived this morning. They are a deep burgundy color, similar to that of the city lights outside. The glass they were placed in is intricate with flower markings. The coffee table is rosewood by the looks of it, most likely polished right before you two came. The curtains on the sides of the large window are a fawn brown, obviously to match the roses. The carpet is a beige with chocolate brown swirl patterns on it. You try to follow one with your eyes but get lost in it after a few seconds. The couch you two are sitting on is beige as well. Perhaps the reason why this room is so dull is because of how colorful the city outside of it is. Designs like this are probably why this city has so many tourists. Either that or Chrollo chose its blandness specifically because he still wanted an aura of superiority, both literally with how high the hotel room is above and in spirit with the colors. It is ironic, but Chrollo’s white dress shirt is the brightest thing inside this room. You wonder if his clothing choice was on purpose too.

You know yours was. A black dress that stops just before your knees, with gold earrings and anklet. It is a part of your plan to lower his guard. You just washed your hair a few hours ago and put on a bit too much perfume. You walk with confidence yet not too much of it. It is similar to how you used to dress when you went to parties hosted by members of high society, tasked to butter them up a little to the higher-ups’ requests for funding public safety projects. Those people were pompous for certain, but still childish and easily fooled. Chrollo, on the other hand, is pompous but intelligent and a manipulator himself, hence why you have done this dance for the past thirteen months for him to lower his guard. You think it is working, but it is not time to escape just yet.

There are still matters that must be attended to. Like a possible escape route. You know that if you try to escape Chrollo in this hotel he will catch you quite quickly since this room is so small and he will for sure notice if the only hotel key is missing. Also, you note that you cannot know for sure whether or not Chrollo fully trusts you at this point. You plan to ask him to take you on a date tomorrow and then run away once you see an area with much fewer people. You will hide a change of clothes in your purse and change your appearance. You will use a false name from then on. You will try to notify your loved ones about your whereabouts and tell them to move within a few days to be safe just in case the Troupe knows where they live. Then you will try to go north then east using the money you have secretly been stealing from him. If he says no or still has a tight grip on you throughout the day, you will not try to escape that day and try within a few more months. You will repeat this process until you have escaped successfully. You must make sure that you have loosened Chrollo’s grip on you enough, otherwise, he will catch you quickly. Who knows what will happen after that? Who knows if you will ever get this chance again? The answer is most likely never.

“Your scent… it’s nice.” Chrollo whispers.

You bat your eyelashes at him as a response.

Chrollo’s eyes appear to be full of adoration. Your makeup is fully done, a style that you know your captor likes. Winged black eyeliner. Black eyeshadow. Dark red lipstick. Your hair is in a braid with your bangs just slightly covering your eyes. Your nails are painted a color to match your eyes.

Deep down, you worry if this is enough, too much, or too little. If it is too much, he will catch on fast, and you will pay dearly for the consequences. If it is too little, he shall not be impressed and not take you outside tomorrow. It has to be just right. Chrollo leans in closer, still making eye contact as you bat your lashes. His hand is still grabbing onto yours, but it seems to have gotten a little warmer because of the heat of your own. Either that, or you had gotten used to it.

“You truly are a sight… My girl…” Chrollo’s other hand makes its way to your cheek. There is a strong scent of flowers coming off of you. He leans in more until his face and yours are just inches apart. “You smell lovely… Let me taste you.”

You hide your disgust and nod your head. 

Chrollo’s lips touch yours. The cold hand that was holding yours also makes it upward toward your other cheek and squeezes lightly. His fingers are thicker than yours. His fingernails are in pristine condition as usual. His wrists are bony. His skin looks callused, but in actuality, it is quite soft. There aren’t any scars or injuries on them, which is remarkable considering what he does for a living. You wonder if those he killed had touched his soft skin and thought they were being strangled by silk instead of actual human hands. His lips are soft too. Chrollo’s kisses always were elegant and gentle, but you think that is because you have tried your hardest to not disobey him. You wonder if the people Chrollo extorted information out of knew the touch of his lips. At least some of them knew, you think. Chrollo is attractive to many people, both rich and poor. He had told you a few stories such as when he had a sexual relationship with an older woman who had a high-paying role in government and one day he ran off with all of the riches in her safe. She died soon after. Chrollo says she died of a broken heart. You don’t know whether he meant she was mentally heartbroken and was joking with you or she had her heart mangled by Chrollo during her last few minutes alive. You don’t think you want to know the answer either. 

Chrollo’s tongue starts to trace your lower lip with greed. You feel your heart nearly skip a beat. Let me out, you want to say. Let me out. It feels like you are black and blue all over from all the tall hurdles you had to jump through to make it this far. A voice in the back of your mind says that the outside will never heal your wounds, but giving in would. It is better to just give up, it speaks in the back of your mind with a forked tongue and unsettlingly calm tone. It would be better to just accept it. Perhaps Stockholm Syndrome is settling in, or it is just your hope for the future withering away.

Your kidnapper bites slightly on your lower lip and looks deeply into your eyes. His pupils are dilated.

You look down at his lips and notice the hue of your dark red lipstick.

Chrollo doesn’t seem to care as he pulls your face towards his own again. Either that or he did not notice it, but it is unlikely considering how perceptive he is. His cold hands hold your warm face in place as you feel his hot breath tickle your nostrils. His elbows go underneath your armpits and stab into the couch. You hear nothing except for his breathing because you look at the clock on the wall to distract yourself yet again. It is nearly midnight. 

Your perfume smells like dahlias and roses, which Chrollo has mentioned liking on you before.

His right hand pushes your right cheek into the arm of the couch and he starts to suck and bite your neck.

Your skin is soft as usual, looking like porcelain.

Chrollo has complimented it before. He has complimented your scent before. He has complimented your makeup before. He has complimented your hair before. You look beautiful, there is always a genuineness in his tone that would make you feel slightly sick like you were going to throw up whatever expensive fruit or chocolate you had eaten. You would never voice it though, because that would mean all the progress you have made to lower his guard would be for nothing. It would only make him test your sufferance further by doing unspeakable acts against you or your loved ones. The only weapons he has not taken away from you are your tactical mind and honeyed words. If you play them correctly, you will eventually escape and live a somewhat peaceful life. 

Chrollo moves upward toward your ear and nibbles at your lobe softly. “You are so beautiful, my precious.” He whispers. “So beautiful…” His perfume smells like sandalwood and musk. “Like a doll. Truly, you’re quite the sight to see…” Chrollo purrs.

His fingers trace the top of your hair.

“Like silk. So soft and gentle…” His fingers dance downward on your braid, twisting back and forth. “The shampoo I chose for you was a good choice.”

You smile.

“White jasmine…” A sweet and soft scent. Swirls of saccharine and fruit. A slight tart smell of citrus. Universally ambrosial paired with the bitter words that leave your syrup-covered lips; making a charming palette of a flavor similar to that of biting into a square of dark chocolate mixed with orange zest. The texture is not ever strange because of how well-crafted the chocolate is. It is not difficult to swallow but doesn’t melt in the mouth too fast either. The delicacy’s flavor stays in the mouth even after it is fully dissolved, coating each tooth in a substance that has a lovely bittersweet taste like honey mixed with black tea. “It suits you.”

*~*~*~*

1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people. 

A lot of them were on the lower floors, scampering away to locked exits like stray, captured cats, clawing and screaming at the metal doors to open. You sometimes envy them, for their time with the Troupe was short. They knew how their fate was going to end; swift and twisted. A quick punch. A sudden stab. A loud blast of a firearm. They knew how they were going to die. They comforted each other as they were ripped limb from limb. 

You don’t know how you are going to die, or when you are going to die. You could die in a few seconds, a few months, or a few years. You could die by being shot, being poisoned, or being strangled. No one came to comfort you, and no one comforts you now. No one listened to your struggles and cries for help as you were pushed in a black car, gagged and restrained. No one helped you in one of your most desperate moments. 

You are tired of doing everything with the person that made your life a living hell. You want to go back to eating dinner at a restaurant and not feel an unwanted hand on your thigh. You want to go back to sleep with a loose arm around you and not a strangling one. You want to go back to talking to someone you like about a topic you like and not think your every move toward freedom is a gamble.

1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people, leaving very few people to tell others of the tale. Perhaps you count, but you are presumed dead by the outside world so it wouldn’t matter anyhow. You are all alone and stuck in a situation akin to limbo. 

*~*~*~*

Chrollo keeps batting his eyelashes at you across the dining table.

His hair is well-kept, he is wearing a fancy suit, and his nearly black eyes are wider and brighter than when you saw him last. It is well past sunset, the sky outside the window a murky, livid color. He is humming now, staring at you rather than the uncut steak in front of him. You are about to stop playing with your food when–

“Black is a good color on you.”

Your head jerks up. His eyes are even more vivid, and focused, while yours are uncertain. Your hand stops moving your fork to your mouth and falls back to the table lifelessly. 

“Your dress,” he smiles.

“I…” You look down and close your eyes. You have to force your shoulders not to shake by thinking of happier times in your life. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You refuse to look at him for it will show what you are feeling. Your heart beats so fast that you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest. “I have something for you, after dinner.”

He has just come back from another successful heist in this city. It makes sense.

“I’m not very hungry, Chrollo.”

He hums. “You are going to go hungry.” You hear him place his cup of wine back onto the table. “At least eat the radish soup. You need to eat your vegetables.”

As if brought to existence by his words, you smell the bowl of vegetable soup beside the uneaten steak. You mostly smell the tartness of the tomato slices, big and bright. Mint comes second, fresh yet light compared to the tomato smell. You don’t smell the radish, though, despite the chunks of them being large enough to hardly fit in your spoon.

You open your eyes and lift your hand to pick up the spoon in the bowl. You take a piece of radish in your mouth, quickly chewing the peppery vegetable.

You still refuse to look at your captor. You just try to focus on eating the soup so you can at least temporarily avoid his gaze. You are never this nervous when you are about to try to manipulate someone into doing what you say, but Chrollo’s eye for tactics is about the same as yours. When you are almost done with your soup, you suddenly hear Chrollo’s chair move, followed by footsteps.

“You’re nervous.”

You shake your head and take the last bite of your soup. “I am not. I am just thinking about something, dear.”

He grabs the hand that was holding your spoon. His thumb makes circles around your own.

You take some of the quietest and quickest deep breaths and look at Chrollo, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into another deceitful smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. You already work hard enough as it is.”

Chrollo hoists you up and hugs you. 

The window gives way to the starless night sky as dark as obsidian–the moon a slight crescent, and a snow white. It floats atop the carefully cut trees onto their tips and stays there, like a strung puppet in a finished puppet show, unmoving until called upon again by its master. 

“What is my beautiful [First] worried about?” He murmurs. 

“I was examining something.” Your fingertips graze against his palm. You plan to recreate the classic dance of Black Swan Pas de Deux, with you taking on the role of Odile. “Something most peculiar.” Your hand clasps onto his. “I am like a train. I can only run anywhere my rails take me. I suppose you are a new track I have yet to explore, and the only option is to move wherever it is you take me.” His hand feels warm, but not warm enough to comfort others. “It has been an unexpected journey with many stops, but it is my purpose to keep moving forward until the end. The end’s length feels far and I feel that only through death would the tracks cusp.” You stand up straighter than before and your breath echoes in his ear. “People focus more on the train’s condition than the tracks but the tracks are the most important part of the journey. Without tracks, trains would not exist. So, Chrollo…” You feel comfortably numb and not as timid as you were a few minutes ago. “How do you feel?”

You look into your captor’s eyes, and all you see is hell. The very gates of hell in the eyes of a human being. When judgment passes, all of your sins shall be weighed. The only way for your sins to disappear before that day is to lie. 

The Devil himself is waiting for the moment when your mask shatters and gives way to a horrid monstrosity. Only then can he punish you for your misdeeds.

“...How I feel, huh?” Long, silent fingers move like a spider’s legs up and down your back. He is now reciprocating your dance by playing the role of Prince Siegfried. The gramophone plays Beethoven’s Für Elise.  “I think you're a fascinating woman, darling.” His tone is gentle, contrasting with the usual coldness and detachment he carries so often. He moves his other hand to the side of your face and gently caresses your cheeks. “You're smart, creative, and strong. You have a unique charm that sets you apart from everyone else.” 

Like a rose, Chrollo’s thorns and stunningly beautiful features cut deep into both your psyche and the world around you. He has spent what feels like years trying to pluck your petals off one by one in a game of effeuiller la marguerite, the logic behind it being a bizarre combination of many things. His stalk, the axis that connects all his reasons, would be simple curiosity. He was curious to find out where your traits stemmed from, what and who made you the way you are today if you were hiding something nefarious behind that bright smile and kind voice of yours, and thus began his hunt for more knowledge. His calyx, a shield made of his in the form of sepals, represents how protective he is of his deepest, darkest secrets. He has buried them all beneath a temple of fake phlegmatism and honesty. The petals of his biggest and most colorful flower lead his admirers astray so they could never uncover the real Chrollo, which you think is a mercy in itself. Most of those who have seen his true self are buried along with it soon enough.

You want to take a lighter and light him ablaze so that he shall never reroot in the soil around him. The only way you can do such a thing is to play a game of effeuiller la marguerite as well. This is the path you must take to get your freedom back.

The key is to follow the hidden rules.

That means doing things you find repulsive but he finds lovely.

That means kissing him when he comes back. That means letting him do what he wants with your body. That means lying straight to his face when saying you are attracted to him. It will all be worth it in the end, you tell yourself.

You hum, acting like those words that leave his mouth are the things you want to hear the most.

“Those eyes, so grounded yet divine, are the only ones worthy of reverence.” His pale lips twirl upward like a ballet dancer’s arms. “I shall be honored if you choose me to be your apostle.”

“Do you see yourself when you gaze into my eyes, my beloved?”

“I do.” His voice seems breathless, almost drunk, his mind above the clouds and fantasizing about the future. Your eyes are similar to that of a small, round mirror that can reflect light just like the surface of a pond does. 

“I see myself when I look at yours as well,” You sigh with a pseudo impression of an amorous tone. “I suppose we are meant to be together.” Like an elegant ballerina, you relevé. “So, Chrollo…” Your lips are so close to his. Your voice is hushed, calm, and teasing. “I have a favor to ask.” 

His eyes light up with adoration, similar to how Romeo first saw Juliet at the Capulet ball. 

“Ask me for anything you wish for and I shall see to it that it is done.” The hand that is on your back clenches it a bit more.

“I would like to go somewhere tomorrow.” 

“Hm? Where would you like to go?” Chrollo’s tone is now a mix of curiosity and hopefulness. 

“The planetarium.” Your thumb circles his. “That is if you’d like to oblige my request.”

“Of course.” His fingers curl into yours. He smiles as he speaks, his tone soft and sweet. “I’d like to go to the planetarium with you, especially since you have such a desire to go.” There is a twinkle in his eyes.

“Perhaps afterward we can go to a cafe and sit in the park?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” He casts you an unfamiliar glance before your lips meet. You start to back away as he lets go of you, and you pick up your glass of water. You take a few sips before setting it back down on the table.

The absence of sound doesn't please you, as the music from the gramophone has ceased and Chrollo seems lost in thought. However, you're not bothered enough to not enjoy the silence. You are envisioning a future of peace, where your captor never finds you again. 

Donned in velvet attire and sipping on tea, you frequent the sandy shores, observing the ebb and flow of the ocean. Undisturbed, you create music with your violin for an audience of one; yourself. A life of uttermost pleasure.

“I shall prepare for tomorrow, then.”

Chrollo nods with a satisfied hum.

“Very well.”

You slink off into the bedroom, grab your purse, and pack the money you had stolen from Chrollo’s jackets and pants. It is not much, but it should be enough to cover travel fees. You also pack more comfortable clothes and shoes to run in. They are clothes you have never worn, so they are the clothes most likely to not be recognized by him.  You lay out a fancier outfit over your purse to hide it. 

Now all there is to do now is wait.

*~*~*~*

“Get in.” 

Your mouth is gagged with a tied scarf and your hands are restrained with handcuffs. There is no warmth in the monster of a man’s tone. There is only an open car door and a forceful push. Later, a slamming sound. 

You are covered in blood, your supervisor’s blood–he tried to use you as a shield against the intruders but was met with a bullet to the head–so much blood. Your dress shirt is as red as a traffic light or a ladybug, though you would prefer the traffic light because you signal to those still dying not to scream anymore, that there was no point in trying to delay the inevitable. There are small pieces of his flesh inside your mouth, you are certain of it considering that you can taste something metallic and flabby. Multiple small, flabby things. Your colleagues’ screams still ring in your ears; they hurt so much.

You can still hear the crunching of their smashed skulls and bones, the alarms, the emergency protocol announcement, the gunshots, the loud severing and ripping of muscle and fat, and–

“Greetings.” A voice, calm and placid. A man sitting beside you, visibly comfortable with one of his legs over the other. He moves his left arm and clicks your seatbelt into place, then does the same with his own. 

A blaring statement outside the car. “Two billion Jenny and she’ll be set free,” one of the thieves said, probably the one that pushed you into the car, “if we aren’t paid by next week she dies.”

“Do not worry.” The man beside you speaks in a lulling tone. “It is simply a ploy. We won’t kill you, I will make sure of it.”

You look down at your legs and shoes, considering what to do or say if the gag is ever taken off. 

A firm grip on your shoulder and a say of your name makes you look at him again. His eyes are filled with nothing but obsession and make your heart stop beating for a split second. “If I take this gag off of you, do you promise not to scream?” 

You nod, because what choice do you have other than being compliant? 

There is a pleased hum and a praise you cannot exactly remember, then the scarf is off and on the floor of the car. 

“I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” A warm chuckle. “My name is Chrollo, and… for now, just let me say that we are going to get to know each other quite a bit.”

*~*~*~*

“Stars are such wonders, aren’t they, dearest?”

You give an impressed hum as you look around and sit in your seat beside Chrollo. The room soon goes dark as the public speaker starts talking.

There is a single spotlight on her that is a bright white which contrasts with the pitch-black room. She bows as some of the audience claps, you included. You don’t think Chrollo clapped, though.

“It's been estimated by astronomers that there could be as many as one septillion stars in the universe.” 

“Yet there is only one of you,” Chrollo whispers in your ear.

The announcer speaks with a proud yet modest tone, not being too outward yet not being too quiet to not draw any attention to herself. “The Milky Way galaxy is home to over 100 billion stars, with the Sun being the most well-known.”

You are not the moon above, you aren’t even a star. You are simply a piece of an asteroid, soon to fade to dust in the cold, cruel darkness of space.

You look at him and smile. He smiles back at you.

“The creation of this universe brings me joy, for it has led me to cross paths with you.” The spherical walls light up and turn a dark blue and fill with holographic stars and meteors. “I’m glad.”

“These fiery balls are composed primarily of hydrogen, with traces of helium and other elements.” The speaker continues. “Each star has a unique lifespan, which can vary from millions to trillions of years, and their characteristics shift as they age.”

“The Sun is needed to sustain life in this galaxy, just like how I need you and you need me.”

You hum again and grab his hand gently. “You do not need to hang a legion of stars around yourself to show you are not Neptune, for I already know you are my Sun.”

“Should the sun disappear, the Earth would be devoid of light, warmth, and life.” It is like Chrollo had a vision of the future. “Initially, the planets would follow their orbits for a short while before eventually exiting the solar system. Although the sun's rays would continue to reach us for a brief eight-and-a-half minutes after its disappearance, the world would be plunged into darkness.”

“Within a week, temperatures would plummet to zero degrees Celsius, causing the demise of most flora and fauna.” Chrollo resumes. “As time passes, the atmosphere would also gradually disappear. The Sun is very important if you cannot tell.”

“I concur, beloved.”

“It’s a miracle the Sun’s warmth exists in the first place, or that this planet’s orbit was placed in the perfect environment.” Chrollo sighs peacefully, but you aren’t sure if he is in awe at the planetarium or you. “We wouldn’t have existed if this planet was made in a different area of the universe.”

“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it? Thanks to the Sun, now we have a bright future ahead of us all.”

His hand clasps onto yours. “I make a vow to you that our bond will never break, and we will remain inseparable for eternity.” His mouth is so close you feel like he is about to kiss your ear. “Do not worry about the details, for I shall take care of everything.”

*~*~*~*

There is one mirror. There are two hanging jackets. There are three lights above you. There are four paintings on the wall facing the entrance. Five vases contain your favorite flowers, two on the floor and three on the table. There are six rows of stone bricks, then carpet at the start of the stairs. Seven glass panes make up the decoration above the entryway. There are eight engravings on the locked wooden door, each of a flower or deer. Nine smells are coming from upstairs; garlic, cheese, tomato, onion, poultry, olive oil, butter, pasta, and basil. Let me out. 

It’s dark outside, but the chandelier above provides enough light for you to see that the door is still locked. As much as you want to mask your real feelings from your captor, you have to acknowledge the fact that you cannot breathe. There is a call from upstairs. You put your book down on the sole chair. There are ten steps leading to the second floor. 

There is one staircase leading to the third floor. There are two rooms: the living room and the kitchen. Three footsteps are approaching you. Four words leave Chrollo’s mouth, but you cannot remember them.

You cannot cry. You cannot do anything but smile and hug back. His embrace feels like it is burning your skin. He says something about your beauty. He grabs your hand gently. There are ten steps you take as he guides you to the stove.

There is one pot full of food. There are two plates. Three instruments are playing on the gramophone; violin, piano, and cello. There are four chairs near the kitchen table. There are five books, with one of them being an open cookbook. There are six candles on the table with the lights turned off. There are seven wrapped gifts on the table. There are eight seconds of Chrollo hugging you.

You unwrap the gifts. Matching necklaces with engraved names on them. A gold ring with rubies. A decorated photo of you taken from a Polaroid. A large box of your favorite chocolate. A butterfly pin. A velvet coat with a spider embroidered on the back. Chrollo’s smile almost makes you shudder.

There is one chair you sit in. There are two utensils before you; a fork and a knife. There are thoughts in your mind for three seconds; fantasizing about you stabbing him. There are four seconds of temptation before you ignore it. There are five seconds of silence before you say you love Chrollo. Gifts are celebrating six months of you being held captive. There are seven roses in the vase in the middle of the candles. There are eight bites you take of your food, and then force yourself to eat the rest through your nauseousness. 

Let me out.

*~*~*~*

The nutty smell of coffee brings you a feeling of slight warmth and relaxation. The chalkboard above the barista reads Carte Du Jour with white words, listing off the assortment of pastries, coffees, teas, and fruit-flavored drinks. Chrollo is ordering for you two, spending what feels like an unnecessary amount of Jenny on pumpkin muffins, chocolate croissants, and two espressos. The barista audibly gasped when he gave her a tip that can best be described as more than what she would make in a week. 

The two of you soon make your way to this city’s largest park and sit on a bench away from most people. There is a musician loudly playing clarinet nearby, but he is not close enough for you two to see him, and he is too invested in playing his instrument to notice anyone. The sun is well above the pond, making the ducks swimming in it almost glow. Chrollo is still holding the paper bag full of the pastries and his espresso, but you are holding yours in your hand.

He is still, visibly calm, and enjoying the sight.

You feel an invisible pressure on your neck. It’s just a knot in my throat, you think to yourself, closing your eyes. The sight of his stillness gifts you a veil of comfort so thin that if anyone were to touch it it would tear. I’m not going to die. But you can’t breathe.

Your heart tells you otherwise. You can feel, no, hear blood pulse to the very tips of your fingers. Your feet tell you otherwise. They are cold. They hurt. They are adhered to the ground. Your arms and legs tell you otherwise. There is nothing but pins and needles all over. This is your chance, the little voice in your head says with blind reassurance. Who knows when you will ever get this chance again? Do it now, and be quick about it. But you can’t breathe. You can’t breathe, and you have to try your hardest to stop the hand holding your espresso from shaking and falling on you. 

“Thank you for taking me here,” You smile the best you can, as usual. You try to not focus on your memories of Chrollo’s observation skills. “You made my day. This is one of the best experiences I have had in a while.”

There is sweat going down your forehead. Chrollo nods his head and smiles. You’re afraid, and you never are afraid. His head leans forward until your noses are barely touching. 

He is so close you can smell the mint in his mouth. 

“Of course, my dear. It is an honor to have you in my life, after all.”

“I… would say the same.”

He lifts his head slightly. “Spending time with you is always a pleasure. I would commit the gravest sins if it meant having moments like this forever.” You know that he is being literal. That is the reason you nearly shudder.

He is leaning in closer. You want to run. You have to run.

He backs away after kissing you, and that is when you strike.

You throw your espresso on him, its lid on the bench. You don’t focus on his reaction, because you are running as fast as you can with your purse.

You toss your heels to the side of an unknown road when your feet start to bleed. 

You change clothes in a rat-infested public restroom. You throw everything aside from your stolen money into a nearby lake in fear of a tracking device being on something. You cover the wounds on your feet with toilet paper and then put on sneakers. 

You put your hair up in a bun and cover it with a hood.

You wash your makeup off using lake water.

You soon get on a bus. Then another.

You then eventually take a train. For nearly three days you stay, hardly eating out of fear of vomiting due to nervousness. You walk the rest on foot until you have reached somewhere far, far away from that city. 

You steal money from those around you when needed. You threaten those around you when needed, threatening them to stay silent or their fate will end at your hands. You make use of a few kind-hearted people who let you into their homes when they see you, dirty and injured on the side of the road. They clean up your wounds, give you warm food, and you repay them with a simple, untrusting, and cold goodbye and leave without a trace. 

You move from place to place every few hours.

Then you move from place to place every few days.

Eventually, you move from place to place every few months. You ultimately settle into a town by the seashore, under a fake alias. You move into a cabin by the beach with no warmth other than a few candles and no entertainment other than books or writing. You eat the cheapest food the local saloon sells that day. 

The day you escaped was 1996, May 9th.

It is now 1997, August 3rd.

*~*~*~*

The speakers blare a sound akin to ambulance sirens. A man’s voice soon after, panicky and horrified. 

He spoke of evacuating as soon as possible through the emergency exits. An infamous terrorist group is in the building, he said. Then the sound of a gunshot, cries for mercy, then another voice. 

“Run, rabbits.” Whoever was speaking had confidence and arrogance. 

Your supervisor stands up from his desk and his guards pull out their guns. You look around for a way out. Screams from outside the office. Flesh being ripped apart. The evacuation door was locked, as much as you and the guards pushed and pulled. 

The main door was kicked open by a man taller than any you have seen, ripped apart by its hinges, and fell on the floor. The guards shot at him, but they reflected off of him like he was made of iron. He was fast, fast enough to smash their brains in with his mere fists. He laughed loudly, amused. Your supervisor grabbed you by your hair and put you in a chokehold. 

A gun was put to your head.

He threatened to shoot you. The threat was met with a gunshot behind his head, his body falling on top of you as he cried out for mercy, and his blood covering you from head to toe as someone dressed in black slashed his body again and again. 

You put your hands up and close your eyes, expecting the same fate as you hear his corpse falling off of you with a loud thud.

…

Instead, your wrists were grabbed and put in handcuffs. A hand on your shoulder and a pat.

“We can’t have damaged goods. You have been chosen to live… at least for now. Congrats.”

A push that blurred between light and strong. A walk out the office doors and to the elevator. A thumb pressing the down button. The elevator doors opened with an automated voice saying going down. Another button is being pressed, the doors closing, and jazz is playing.

One of them, the swordsman, asked how people working (or worked, really) could wait for an elevator every day to go to the top floor, saying how boring that would be if it was him. You cannot tell if he was joking with you or was genuinely curious. The elevator slowly goes down, the light at the top of the button selection decreasing from seventy to one. The doors open. Another push.

A walk out to the lobby.

“Oh, do you guys think that the pocket change from that dude will be enough to buy some snacks from the vending machines? I’m pretty hungry right now. Do you guys think so?”

A woman with magenta hair rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You are such a child, Uvo. You want to get snacks, now?”

Another scoff in response. “Hunger is part of the everyday human experience. Don’t think you are so above it, Machi.”

“Fine.” The swordsman speaks, clearly annoyed. He looks at you with a neutral expression. “Take her to the car and Feitan and I will get you snacks, my treat.”

The man wearing all black rolls his eyes.

“I never agreed to that.” He shakes his half-masked head. “I am also not hungry. We can also get food elsewhere. Vending machine food is expensive. Waste of money.”

Machi rolls her eyes in turn.

“Everyone is dead already.”

You are closing your eyes and imagining being somewhere else, anywhere else than here. A cafe. A ballet. Anywhere but here.

“I’m hungry.”

The swordsman punches him in the arm.

“Ow, Nobu!”

…

A man crawls on his arms towards you all, his legs ripped off. He cries out and curses as he coughs up blood. Curses for their family. Curses for eternal damnation. They are quickly snuffed out by Uvo’s punch and brain matter splatters all over the lobby floor.

Then silence.

The man called Nobu sighs, visibly exhausted. He looks at Uvo like he is two years old. He asks Uvo what snacks he wants. He responds with something meaty or cheesy, like jerky or something. An alright leaves Nobu’s thin lips and he asks you where the vending machines are.

You feel like you are about to soil yourself. Why the hell are they acting so normal after killing an entire building full of people? But with a shaky voice, you tell him that it should be on the 61st floor because that is where all the workers go to eat lunch. 

A damn it leaves his mouth then, and another roll of his eyes. But he thanks you, and he and Feitan go back to the elevators. 

Uvo and Machi stare at you. 

“Listen,” Machi finally talks to you. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If anything, you feel like you are about to cry more at the sight. She puts her hand on your shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you. Far from it, if that helps.”

It doesn’t. You just look down at your feet. 

A sigh. Another push.

“You could have tried to be more gentle, Uvo. Now she’s scared of all of us. What’s the boss gonna think?”

You stare at them. They glare at each other.

“Machi, she’s supposed to be our hostage, at least to the public eye.” He looks at the receptionist's desk, where the receptionist’s corpse lays, her neck bent to an acute angle. You look around for any possible escape route. You see one. The main entrance. 

You run fast. Until you are outside. Uvo’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back.

“Listen. We do not want to hurt you. But we have to at least seem like we are rough handling you.” His hands go on your shoulders and make you walk towards a foreign black car. “Sorry. But it’s for the best. I  promise.”

“Just put this on.” She wraps a scarf around your mouth, gagging you. 

“Hey, you’ll have a good life from now on. Trust us with that, at least. You’ll be happier now.”

Uvo pushes you, hard, when he sees police cars approaching. He opens the car door. A malicious smile appears on his face, like a mask he has just put on.

“Get in.”

You hope that whatever is in store for you isn’t as bad as what your colleagues suffered.

*~*~*~*

There is a man around your age who goes out around the same time as you to smoke by the beach.

He has dark hair with a slight purple tint, making you assume that it is dyed. It looks long and it is swept to the side, except for a quarter of it which is shaved. He has near-black eyes, but they don’t look as intimidating as Chrollo’s. If anything, they look slightly sorrowful. 

You go on the fishing dock as usual with a box of cigarettes and a lighter in your sweater pocket. The man is there, searching his own pockets and visibly frustrated.

“Do you want one of mine?”

He looks up at you. His eyes wander from your face downward towards your extended hand which holds an unlit cigarette. He doesn’t answer and just stares at it.

“I noticed you are looking in your pockets for one.” You smile, but as you usually do with fake kindness, not caring enough about him to get too close.

“I…” His eyes squint, slightly suspicious. Perhaps it takes a moment or two for him to realize you are talking to him. “Yes, thanks.”

“Hmm. You’re welcome.” You hand him the cigarette and you take another one out for you. You put it in your mouth as you pull out your lighter from your sweatpant pocket. “So, what is your name?”

He doesn’t answer, because he is looking in his hoodie pocket again.

“Damn it.”

You extend your lighter out to him. “Do you need a lighter?” He takes it. “You sure are forgetful tonight, huh?”

He presses the ignition button and orange flames arise. The end of his cigarette turns a yam orange. He hands your lighter back to you.

You do the same with yours. You then put the lighter back in your sweatpants pocket.

You inhale the puff of smoke that enters your mouth, an ash gray. You take the cigarette out of your mouth with two fingers and exhale. You then look back at the man, who just did the same thing.

“Thanks for the help.”

You smile.

“Of course.”

“I don’t think I have seen you before so you must be the one that just moved in, right?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Cool. Out of all the places you could have gone, you chose this town.” He raises an eyebrow, visibly curious. “May I ask why?”

You fix your eyes on him, taking a few moments to process the unexpected nature of his question. He inhales his cigarette again and breathes out the smoke. 

“This town seems quaint.” You finally answer. “The locals are nice, the expenses aren’t that much, and the scenery is alluring.”

You use your cigarette again and use your other sweatpants pocket to fish out your portable cassette player along with your headphones. You then realize that you had forgotten your music tape at your house. You sigh and then put it back into your pocket. Footsteps get your attention and you see the stranger approaching the shoreline. He bends down and picks up a small rock. He throws it to the sea and it bounces; one, two, three, four.

It then sinks beneath the waves, and the man mutters something under his breath. “Should have been more.”

You take a few steps towards him.

“What is your name?”

“Sebaste.” His tone isn’t warm, but it’s not cold either.

You stare at each other for a few moments in awkward silence. Your tone is just as strange as his as you say, “My name is [First]. A pleasure to meet you.” You place your lit cigarette on the pier and stomp on it until it goes out. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you live with a family member?” You’re not sure where this question came from, but you are for sure more interested in him than you realize. He turns his back to you.

“Yeah.”

You look out into the deep and dark sea.

“I don’t have any family here.”

“Mmhmm.”

His voice is slightly dismissive, but you don’t think he means to be.

“It must be nice, having people you can rely on.”

He looks at you again, but you cannot tell what he feels.

You don’t look at each other after that. You look down at the items that line the beach instead. Even though they are indeed damaged, they feel more like treasures than whatever expensive gifts Chrollo gave you.

There are mostly large shells that are still vibrant despite it being nighttime as well as being covered in sand. They look like fragments of a broken rainbow when the moon’s light reflects in just the right areas. You have contemplated bringing one home and stringing it into a necklace. 

Sebaste takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points out to the ocean. There is no sound aside from the waves and occasional seagull calls. His two fingers trace the stars beyond the horizon. 

He says there is a constellation called the Hydra. According to Sebaste, during summer, the season of rebirth and peace, the Hydra constellation appears as a reminder of assured death to those below it, whatever arrogance mortals may have had disappearing in an instant. Their fates loom over them like the blade of a guillotine, knowing their hearts shall stop working eventually, the color of crimson fading like flowers in autumn. Memento mori, you suppose.

“You sure know a lot about nature.” You say.

“It’s interesting, but it’s not what I mainly like learning about.” He throws another stone into the sea. One, two, three, four, five. He throws his cigarette out into the ocean and watches the flame die out. “I’m mostly just coding on my desktop. That,” He lightly chuckles. “And playing games. Video games and board games, as well as comics. They are fun.”

You don’t know anything about those either, even more so than nature. “That’s nice. I… don’t know anything about those. They seem cool, though.”

He chuckles at that. You do too.

He turns to you and takes a few steps forward.

He says that that seemed sort of obvious considering how upright your posture is, and how polite you speak. He offers to play games with you sometime and lend you comics. He walks you to your house and says a warm goodbye.

Although the certainness of seeing each other again is unknown, this fleeting encounter holds a remarkable significance, because you don’t feel as alone as you usually do.

You don’t feel alone. It is a strange feeling.

*~*~*~*

You wanted to watch Sleeping Beauty.

“Beautiful.”

Chrollo wanted to watch The Nutcracker.

“Just beautiful.”

The dancers’ feet move with grace and precision as the orchestra plays. Green, yellow, and pink dancers. You let Chrollo have his way with which performance tickets to buy because you didn’t want to fight and lose all of your progress.

“Don’t you think so, dearest?”

You look from your compact mirror to him, your lipstick still in hand.

“Yes.”

Chrollo seems to be smiling, but you cannot tell because of how dark the theater is. It’s a miracle you can see your lips in your compact mirror.

“I spot something even more beautiful, however.”

You almost want to shudder as his hand reaches the one carrying your mirror. He closes the reflector gently. You are thankful for how dark the theater is now because it hides whatever lovesick expression he is wearing. He is the one paying attention to the ballet, while you daydream of being anywhere else.

There is a light chuckle. A light squeeze. A light whisper of a compliment you pretend to listen to. 

“So beautiful.”

…

“Thank you for taking me.”

It’s Christmas Eve. A fur coat covers you and keeps you warm. It is snowing, and the sight makes you slightly less nervous. 

You and Chrollo are walking out of the theater. Hand in hand. As much as you want to break away. Your captor soon opens the car door, and you sit down.

He goes to the driver’s side and sits down too.

The car soon drives away onto the salted road. 

“I had fun.” You try your best to smile. “I did.” You look out the window to the snow-covered, dead trees, as well as the reflection of your red dress and white coat.

Chrollo grins as he turns the steering wheel left. After a few moments, the car stops. “Wait here for a moment. I will be back in a few minutes.”

With that, he steps out of the car and leaves the key with you to make sure the alarm does not go off. 

He makes sure you lock the doors before walking away.

You don’t dare go sit on the driver’s side. You don’t dare touch the steering wheel or press on the gas.

You just sit with your thoughts until he eventually returns, and you unlock the car.

“I have something for you,” His voice is almost cooing, but is laced with honey. There is a large box in his hands.

He extends his arms out and you take it. He sits back down and closes the car door. 

“Open it,” He croons. You pull on the tied ribbon until the knot is undone. You take off the box’s lid. Macarons. Colorful macarons, all spread apart within the box just enough for people to see their fillings. Green, yellow, pink. But there are also a few white ones in the center with red filling. 

You thank him and he tells you the flavors. The green ones are pistachio, symbolizing good fortune in the years ahead. The yellow ones are champagne, symbolizing joy and celebration. The pink ones are flavored strawberry, symbolizing life. 

There is a nefarious twinkle in his eyes as he points to the white ones. The cookies are vanilla with a cherry filling. 

They symbolize renewal and love.

He says that the macarons illustrate your relationship well.

You agree, because what else is there to say?

*~*~*~*

Sebaste invited you to a summer night on the shoreline. He said there was something special going on tonight. 

Most of the townspeople are by the fisherman’s shop, overlooking the pier. They bring lanterns and are huddled together in their sweaters. Knowing Sebaste, he has probably gone somewhere more remote on the beach.

You are right. He is sitting on a picnic blanket with a few takeout boxes of food. He welcomes you with a grin as you sit down with him. There is sashimi, cheese-covered cauliflower, and fried calamari.

There is something behind him. But you don’t ask about it.

Sebaste is a rebellious loner, from what you have come to know from both the townspeople and himself.

He hardly has anyone over because of how judgmental his stepfather can be. He often fights with his stepfather and half-sister, and as a result, was forced to live in the basement as per his mother’s wishes to not cause any more problems. He loves his mother, he does, you can tell. She seems to love him too.

His room is often full of takeout boxes and used cigarettes, as well as video and board games and his desktop. The couch in his room always has comics and food stains on it. But you sit on it anyway to wait for him to finish his work before talking to you about whatever interest he currently is fixated on.

You sit on the picnic blanket and face the shoreline, your dirndl moving slightly with the wind. Your boots are covered in sand, but they are the only ones you have that will keep you warm while keeping the sand out of the inside of them. It’s just you, Sebaste, and the ocean.

Sebaste isn’t smoking for once, and neither are you.

You both agreed to focus on the ocean instead.

Sebaste gets a bit closer by scooting over. He is smiling gently, a smile you know hardly anyone else has seen. He takes a rock and throws it into the water, making it skip. One, two, three, four, five, six. He cheers quietly at his accomplishment, and you do too.

He looks at you.

He looks at your left hand that rests beside his right one. He moves just a hair closer. He clears his throat when you make eye contact. His pale cheeks are a slight pink.

“I…” he starts as his face turns away from you. His voice is a bit jittery. “I think I like you. Romantically.”

Does he mean it? His body language is slightly tense and his shoulders are uptight. His left hand comes out from hiding behind his back as he shows you a bouquet. There are blue thistles, purple sweet peas, and orange poppies.

He waits for a response as he turns to you again, visibly nervous.

*~*~*~*

You continue to try to pull away, but your efforts are unsuccessful.

Chrollo seems somewhat amused at your struggles, though he still doesn't force you to stop moving against his grasp.

"You're acting in a very ungrateful manner, my dear. I've given you this beautiful home and life that you couldn't even dream of on your own. You should be happy and thankful for what you've been given, not trying to escape from it. This is what love is. You are too young and immature to understand that, it seems."

"Love? Do you call this love? You're insane! Let me go!" Your eyes fill with tears as you try to pull away, and your voice breaks as you speak. "You're insane! You're insane and sick and disgusting! You're... you're..."

Chrollo still doesn't force you to stop trying to escape, and he doesn't raise his voice or grow angrier at your words. He just waits patiently.

"Monster... Disgusting... Sick freak... Monster..." Your voice is shaky as you continue to speak, and your eyes are filled with tears. "How can you justify this? What was wrong with my life before you? Why did you have to destroy everything? Why do you enjoy hurting me?" You yell and cry out, still trying to pull away, even though you don't seem to be hurting him.

Chrollo, once again, doesn't seem to be bothered by your words. As the alarm goes off, signaling your time out of restraints, he turns it off and drags you to the bedroom once again. Something tells you that you won’t be sleeping much tonight, less so than usual.

*~*~*~*

“Ah. I… like you too.”

“Really?”

You give him a genuine smile as you nod. “Yes.”

He smiles at that as his posture becomes more relaxed. You take the bouquet from him and set it beside your small backpack. Sebaste seems unsure for a second, most likely thinking that you have misunderstood his question. He thinks for a second or two as his face becomes laced with slight worry. You smile again as you take his hand gently. His face becomes bright red and you chuckle at the sight. He does too, but quieter.

His fingers then intertwine with yours.

He doesn’t smell of cigarettes like he normally does. You assume he put on cologne. Refreshing, sweet, and crisp. Pine cologne, with a hint of citrus. 

He bashfully giggles a bit more. He puts his free hand on the back of his neck.

“Does… this mean we are… dating now? Or is this just a fling or…”

Your grip on his hand tightens slightly. You both seem giddy. This is the first time either of you has felt this way. You seem to have sparked something in each other.

“If you want to, we can start dating.”

“Oh? You… actually like me?”

He seems confused or doubtful as to why you feel the way you do for him.

“Yes, I do. I like you. Would you like me to enumerate the reasons why?”

He looks unsure of it all like you will stab him in his back at any moment.

“You’re kind to those who are kind back. You’re willing to do anything for those you trust. When you trust, you trust wholeheartedly. You have interesting hobbies.”

Sebaste chuckles again. “So, beating you within six turns of Go Fish and collecting frogs covered in mud is interesting to you, huh?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as unique as you. I mean that most positively and genuinely. Well, what do you like about me then? I’m curious.”

“Everything about you. The way you walk and talk, your hobbies, the way you present yourself. Everything about you is just so alluring and admirable. You are everything I am not.”

“I suppose we always love what we cannot have ourselves. Opposites attract, after all.”

He nods. 

The ocean starts to glow a bright blue. You look at it confused, with one of your eyebrows raised.

Sebaste giggles once more at your lack of knowledge of what is happening. “Every year, right before summer ends, jellyfish rise to the surface of the shore and glimmer.”

You’re too awed at the sight to put it into words. “Thank you for inviting me, I didn’t know about it. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Beautiful.” He looks at you instead of the ocean.

*~*~*~*

You take a deep breath. You’ve come to pay what’s owed.

You knock on the door and wait for a response. After a moment, you hear footsteps approaching the door.

It opens and James is standing there. When he recognizes you, his face turns into one of triumph.

“Hmm, so you have come. Just like you promised,” he says to you in a voice a mix of arrogance and gratefulness.

“Yes. The… night you wanted.”

James’ expression changes to a wide grin. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” He says to you with a chuckle, stepping aside to let you into his apartment. “Come in, come in.”

He steps aside and motions for you to enter, closing the door behind you. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. To get information out of James, you need to make him believe that you are interested in him.

James is very happy that you kept your word. He’s smiling widely.

“Come in, I told you that I would host a special evening for you,” He says to you, sounding sincere and eager to please. He takes your hand and leads you inside the apartment. “I have a surprise for you,” He says to you, leading you deeper into the apartment.

You have to play the part of the seductress to the best of your ability.

“What is it?”

The usual city apartment, it looks like. Messy and full of mildew from the floor to the ceiling. By the only non-musty window there is a plastic up on the ground with drops of water coming down into it from the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. You can only hear the drips of water and you and James’ footsteps. You cannot feel your true emotions, because you have a job to do.

James brings you to the only lit room in the apartment; the dining area. The circular table seems to be made of poplar and has a dark stain in the center of it. There is a vase of dark red roses on the top, clearly just bought. The chair you sit in is squeaky and is also made of poplar. James is staring at you. You can only hear the dripping of water, the squeakiness of the chair, the broken air conditioner, and James’ chuckles. Drip, drip, drip. James is still smiling, and staring like you are a piece of meat. You suppose you are, at least to him and at least at the moment. You smell cigarette smoke and spoiled food. You lean down to smell the roses, but you cannot smell them because the foul stink of the rest of the apartment is so much stronger. You pretend to anyway, a pleased hum leaving your painted lips. His eyes are wide and unblinking. Another chuckle, and another drip, drip, drip. His smile widens even more as he looks at you.

“Close your eyes,” He says to you in a soft, commanding tone. “I have a surprise for you,” He adds. “I want it to be a surprise. Keep your eyes closed.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to close your eyes.

You cover your eyes with your hands. 

“That’s good, that’s good,” James’ smug voice says. “Just wait one minute.”

You hear his footsteps on the creaky floorboards quieting, making you assume he has gone elsewhere. You hear a cupboard opening and closing along with glasses clinking. 

“Now, remove your hands from your eyes,” James says.

You do as you’re told and remove your hands from your eyes. James smiles at you, revealing the surprise that he had promised. On the table in front of you are two wine glasses and a bottle of expensive red wine. Cabernet. "This is my special surprise for you," He says to you, still sounding sincere and excited. James pours both of you a glass of wine and places one of them in front of you. He then raises his glass and holds it up in your direction. He smiles at you charmingly and says, "To you, [First]. And to your beauty."

You smile at James and cheer with him, raising your glass and taking a sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you.

James smiles at you, still looking charming and sincere. "Tell me," He says to you, "What do you think of the wine?" He takes a sip himself, smiling as he savors the taste. "I always buy the best when I entertain a guest as lovely as yourself," He says to you with a wink.

“It’s good. But… I feel like it won’t compare to you.” You wink back at him.

James smiles and takes another sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you. He seems to like your subtle flirtation, as if it's having the desired effect. "Oh, don't worry," He says to you with a charming smile. "I've been looking forward to this night all night. You're just as wonderful and beautiful as I remember," He adds. "I can hardly wait to spend some time alone with you."

James takes another sip of the wine and continues to stare at you, still smiling.

“Am I as beautiful as you say?” You blink your long lashes at James, your eyes gazing into his with a gentle but seductive expression. Your hair is loose, gently framing your face, and you look ravishing.

"Of course," James says to you with a smile as he gazes back at you. He reaches out a hand and gently strokes a streak of your hair, letting it fall back into place after it has been gently moved by the gesture. "You're the most lovely woman I've ever seen," He says to you confidently.

“What do you like about me?”

"Every inch of you," James replies, still stroking your hair with a smile on his face. "From your eyes to your long lashes, your hair, your skin..." James pauses, looking into your eyes for a moment. "To your soft lips, your small, delicate hands," He adds, still stroking your hair lightly. He looks at you with a charming and passionate gaze, as if he can't get enough of your beauty.

“...Would you like me to kiss you? It would be our first.”

James looks delighted by your proposition and nods slowly, in response. He finishes stroking your hair with one last, gentle touch and gazes at you once more. "Of course," He murmurs, his voice softer and more passionate than before. He pauses for a moment before taking the initiative and leaning forward to kiss you slowly and softly. His lips press gently against yours, and he holds you close as he pulls you into a gentle, intimate kiss.

Drip, drip, drip.

It’s for the greater good, right?

You kiss back and return James' affection, feeling the heat of passion slowly build as the two of you kiss. You hold him close and slowly pull him towards you. The kiss is soft and tender, and although it is a rather chaste kiss, it leaves you breathless and feeling dizzy. After a few moments, you both come up for air to breathe, and James looks at you with a warm and sincere smile. 

"You're a wonderful kisser," He says to you softly. "I've always imagined it would be like this..."

At any cost, the greater good must come first.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?”

"Yes," James replies with a nod. "Let's go to the bedroom," He adds. "I can't wait to be alone with you." He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the dining area and into a small bedroom. You enter the bedroom and see a large, comfortable bed in the center of the room, with the moon shining through the window. James closes the door behind you and leads you closer to the bed.

You sit on the bed and open your arms. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

James smiles at you and steps towards you slowly. He takes off his jacket and throws it on a chair next to the door. He then comes closer to you and smiles, leaning forward to kiss you passionately. His arms are wrapped around you, and his body is pressed against yours. He begins to kiss you deeply and passionately, his lips lingering on yours for long moments.

James continues to kiss you, and as he does so, his hands begin to explore your body. He lets his fingers run down your arms, leaving soft, tender trails of affection on your skin. As his lips move to your neck, he begins to bite it softly. He starts to explore and taste every inch of your skin, leaving small marks of affection. You feel a jolt of passion and desire course through your body as you feel James' lips pressed against your neck and his teeth lightly biting you. As he continues to kiss and nibble your neck, he begins to breathe more heavily.

You pretend to groan and moan as James continues to kiss and nibble your neck. You lean your head back and close your eyes, trying to appear lost in pleasure. You feel his lips move down your neck, leaving little, soft bruises of passion. You let out another soft moan as he continued to kiss your neck, nibbling your skin and letting his teeth leave marks of affection.

"Do you like that?" He whispers to you, his voice deep and passionate. "More?" He asks, sounding breathless and eager.

Drip, drip, drip.

“More.”

James chuckles softly before moving his lips back down towards your neck once again. He bites your neck and kisses it again, this time leaving more marks of affection. You pretend to moan in pleasure once again, feeling James' breath against your neck.

"How does that feel, dear?" His voice is low and seductive. "More?" He asks gently, biting your neck once again.

“I want you to touch me all over.”

James pauses for a moment, his green eyes looking at you with a charming and seductive expression. He smiles at you, and you notice his eyes are filled with desire. "I want to touch you also," He says to you softly. His hand gently touches your cheek and strokes your hair. "Please, let me explore you," He whispers seductively. He moves towards you and gently pulls you towards him, kissing you softly before moving his hands towards your body.

As you feel James' hands start to take off your clothes, you begin to feel some of the passion and desire that James had shown before fade away. But as James continues to take off your clothes, you start to feel the heat of passion and excitement come back.

James seems intent on savoring and enjoying every moment of this moment with you, every moment of intimacy and passion. He slowly undresses you, taking off each piece of your clothing, as if you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. His touch is gentle, and his eyes are filled with desire.

Drip, drip, drip.

“Touch me, touch me everywhere, for your lips worship me.”

James pauses as he hears you speaking. He gazes at you for a moment, his face filled with a mix of passion and desire, as your words have left a deep impression on him.

"Oh, my love," He says to you softly. "My lips worship you," He adds, leaning forward to kiss you again.

His hands begin to run over your body, caressing you in all the right places. His fingers trace soft arcs over your skin, leaving trails of affection and passion wherever they go.

…

You find yourself standing in the middle of a large and eerie graveyard. The sky above you is dark and cloudy, with little sunlight filtering through the clouds. You take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, lighting up a cigarette and taking a few puffs. As you lean against a gravestone, you see a figure standing in the corner of the graveyard, just watching you. You can't quite make out who it is, the figure looks like a shadowy silhouette, but you can see the orange glow of a cigarette in their hand as well.

It’s James.

As you take another puff from your cigarette, you see James stepping closer to you, his figure now becoming slightly more visible in the dim light. 

"Hello, [First]," He says quietly, the tone of his voice hinting at a slight twinge of concern for you. He takes a drag from his cigarette, his expression still difficult to make out in the shadowy light. "How are you feeling?" He asks, looking at you with a sense of curiosity in his voice.

“I see you kept your word.”

"Of course," James says, taking a soft puff from his cigarette. "I promised you, didn't I? I'm not one to go back on my word."

You notice James looking at your cigarette, seemingly a bit tempted by it.

"Can I have a puff?" He asks, looking at you with a tiny hint of a hopeful expression on his face. "I've been craving another cigarette for a while now."

James quickly steps forward, seemingly going in for a kiss, but you quickly duck out of the way and move away from him. He stops in his tracks, not wanting to make any sudden movements or startle you. However, he still looks at you with a tinge of frustration and disappointment on his face.

"You don't want to do anything with me, do you?" He asks as the light from his cigarette illuminates his expression for a moment. "Am I just not good enough for you, is that it?" He adds.

You keep your attention on your cigarette, ignoring James' frustrated expression and question as you take another puff. After a few moments of complete silence, James finally breaks the silence once again. 

"I knew you were like this," He says, his voice filled with resentment and anger. "I've always known you were like this," He adds, moving closer to you once again. "And yet, I still fell for you like an idiot." He pauses for a moment and takes a drag from his cigarette. "You're just... so damn tempting," He adds.

“...Hmm. It’s my specialty.” 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," James says, seeming slightly irritated. He takes another puff from his cigarette, the orange glow on it making his eyes seem brighter than usual in the dark. "You know, that was the reason I was attracted to you in the first place." He adds, his tone becoming a bit quieter. "Your specialty of seducing men... and women." This time, there was a subtle twinge of sadness in his voice. "You're just too damn gorgeous to resist, I guess." He adds.

“...It has its benefits. I don’t hate you, just so you know.”

It seems like James still hasn't given up in his attempts to kiss you, despite your repeated refusal earlier. He moves in towards you once again and leans in close to your face, his expression becoming a bit more excited and hopeful. That's when you see his gaze locked in on your lips, and you realize his next move before he even makes it. You quickly duck away from him, moving out of the way just in time to avoid his lips.

"I told you, stop." You say firmly, not wanting to give him another chance to kiss you. “It was a one-night stand. That’s all it was, and… it was for my matters.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know," James sighs, his tone becoming somewhat frustrated once again. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the light from it illuminating his face for a moment as he looks straight at you. "It was just a one-night stand," He echoes, seemingly to himself. "But... for some reason." He pauses for a moment and looks at you with slight confusion. "I still have feelings for you," He finally says. "Even though I know it's stupid to feel this way..." He adds quietly.

“It was just something I had to do.”

James seems to pause for a moment as your words sink in.

"What?" He asks, seeming slightly confused. "Do you mean... you had to sleep with me as part of an investigation or something?" He asks. "Or were you not attracted to me?" He adds. "You felt like you had to sleep with me, even though you didn't want to?" He stops for a moment to take a few more puffs from his cigarette, the light from it glowing orange in the dark. "Is that... what are you saying?" He asks.

You take a soft puff from your cigarette as James continues to look at you with a slightly frustrated expression on his face.

"I want the truth, [First]." He says, sounding more serious this time. "I want to know why you slept with me..." He takes a final puff from his cigarette before looking at you once again. "Was it because you were attracted to me? Or was it because you felt like you needed to sleep with me for some other reason?" He asks, his tone becoming a bit quieter again.

“...I suspected you of something.”

"A suspect, huh?" James says, sounding only slightly confused. "So this was all part of some elaborate plan to figure out who I was?" He pauses for a moment as he thinks about your words, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking up again. "Was... Was I really that suspicious, [First]?" He asks. He seems slightly hurt by your words but still manages to hold on to his composure as he looks at you with a bit of apprehension.

“...You were. You drove me five hours to that seaside town without a second thought, even though your guard shift at that hotel had just ended. I had to know if you had other motives… aside from sleeping with me.”

"I guess that makes sense," James says quietly. "So, that's why you decided to sleep with me..." He adds, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking once again. "Is that it?" He says, his tone sounding slightly less annoyed now. "You just wanted to gather information on me, and nothing else?" He asks. "Did you like, not enjoy your time with me in the slightest?" He adds with a tiny hint of disappointment.

You take a deep puff from your cigarette, the smoke rising upwards into the air before mixing with the gloomy clouds floating above. You can see James looking at you with a bit of disappointment on his face, but you just keep silent.

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, James finally speaks again.

"So, that's it, huh?" He says quietly, his tone becoming somewhat resigned. "You just... slept with me for information and nothing else." He takes another drag from his cigarette, the orange glow from the tip illuminating his face in the darkness.

“...That’s correct.”

"So... you don't like me?" He asks, turning to you with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It was just... part of the job?" He adds. He takes another puff from his cigarette, his eyes moving back to looking at the clouds above. "Is there nothing else you like about me?" He asks softly, turning to you once again. "Not even a little bit?" You can see James' expression change, his heart is affected by your words. "Please don't be silent again," He adds quietly.

“…You aren’t useful to me anymore, so from this point forward you will not see me again.”

"Not useful to you, huh?" He says softly, sounding a bit hurt by your words. "So... now that you got what you needed, you're just gonna toss me out like a piece of trash?" He asks with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "What happened to the [First] I thought I knew?" He says, sounding slightly frustrated. "Don't you feel at least a little bit bad?" He adds. "Even a tiny bit?" He takes another small puff from his cigarette before looking at you again with mild concern.

You start to lean away from him before he suddenly grabs you and pulls you towards him, the two of you now face to face. James then places his hand behind the back of your head and leans forward, trying to kiss you once again. Before you can get out of his grasp, he kisses you forcefully, pressing his lips against yours for a few moments as he tries to make you kiss back. Once James is done, he lets go of you, his expression still filled with passion and determination.

"Well?" He asks, sounding a little annoyed. "Where's your response?"

“...You know,” You throw your cigarette to the ground and step on it roughly, making a loud footfall noise as you squish it against the cobblestone. “I was going to let you go on with your life as I found no ties to the Spider.” Your hands go into your trench coat pocket. “But now you have forced my hand. Most unfortunate.”

James takes a moment to process what you had just said. “W… What?” He looks confused and panicked. “What do you mean by that?”

You display a smile, yet it lacks any semblance of kindness. 

“The Phantom Troupe? You’re… a part of the Phantom Troupe?” The man takes a few steps back in fear, a stark contrast to how he was just a few moments ago.

“No.” You say firmly. You hear James sigh in relief. 

“Thank God.”

“But,” You add, taking a few steps closer and still having that grin. “I promise you that soon, you will realize what I mean. Very soon, indeed.”

James laughs loudly and arrogantly like a crow’s caw. “You’re going to kill me?” He takes a few steps closer as well and crosses his arms, smirking. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you can even touch me.”

“Never say never.” With a smile on your face, you glance back while making your way towards the graveyard's exit. 

James angrily yells at you to come back, but you don’t listen and soon you are gone.

He better prepare himself for death while he still can.

…

You broke into James’ neighbor’s apartment.

Victor, you found out later, was his name. Not that it mattered much. He was reading a book, Crime and Punishment, on his couch and facing away from the entrance. He didn’t have any instinctual gut feelings that someone was in his home, standing above him with a blindfold, ropes, and a scarf. He had good taste in books, at least.

“Greetings,” You bend down to the slumped man, weeping with his hands and legs tied, his tears wetting the white blindfold. “I have a favor to ask of you. Then I shall let you go, alright?”

Your voice is soft, and gentle, like a mother speaking to her crying toddler. Like a Venus fly trap, your jaws will soon lower onto your unsuspecting prey. Tender fingers snake around the back of the stranger’s head and untie the gag. A shushing sound leaves your lips as a finger lays on them for a second or two. You roll on your ankles backward and stand up. You tell him that if everything goes well, he can leave. He simply nods, giving up right away.

Your hands go into your trench coat pockets for a second, worshiping the fur that lines them along with your forged ID card, portable cassette player, and flip phone. It is just to make sure they are there in your jacket and not left out as evidence of the performance about to happen. The guests of honor are James and Victor, and they will never know it.

Drip, drip, drip. Through the thin walls, you can hear the usual drops of water coming from James’ ceiling to the container he probably has there. Drip, drip, drip.

“I just need you to say a few words.”

Your demand is sturdy, not taking no for an answer. 

You open up a window and a gentle breeze flows in, making your braid sway from side to side. After a few moments of silence, Victor says that he will do anything if it means he can leave afterward. The floorboards are creaky and splintered and damaged from all of the feet, wheels, and canes that move on and off them. 

“Repeat after me.”

You look down on him like a God. He is nothing more than a dog.

James deserves this. That’s what you tell yourself. James deserves this. James deserves this for being scum and only seeing you as a possession. He deserves this. He deserves what you are about to do.

The sun is rising behind you. You bear resemblance to a masterpiece crafted with the utmost precision and the most vibrant pigments. Your arrival is akin to that of a deity. Drip, drip, drip.

You take your hands out of your pockets.

“Say the name James Ericsson. Please.”

Your stare is vivid, and even with the blindfold on you know that Victor has sensed its intensity because he says. “James Ericsson.”

You smile and your hands dance with one another in a sort of waltz.

There are cries of pain and the sound of bones bending like plastic straws coming from next door.

Victor falls to the ground, not breathing. It is done.

…

The photos were shown on the news, late at night to prevent younger children from seeing them.

There was nothing left of James' upper half.

There was a huge gaping hole in his skull where the brain burst out. The face was completely gone, caving in on itself. As his body was crushed by the invisible pressure, his chest and arms were ripped apart, the muscles and organs ripping out and sticking to the walls, and the larger pieces of meat slipped down with copious amounts of blood, accumulating on the poplar table adorned with dead roses and a shattered glass vase that had been broken. The rest of his stomach spilled out onto the floor beneath the table he had been standing next to. 

Victor was found dead at his apartment. There were no signs of a break and is presumed to have died of a heart attack or stroke. You were careful to attach and remove the blindfold, gag, and restraints so that no bruises or marks formed. 

It is somewhat regrettable, but there was no other way. You know that. It was for the greater good.

Right?

There was no other way, right?

You know that there was no other way, right?

Because there was no other way, right?

They had to die for the greater good, right?

Right?

…Right?

You ride one bus after another back to town with something inside you telling you that this is wrong. James’ screams, his snapping bones, the way his muscle and fat separated like he was a slain cow being cut into pieces by a butcher. Victor’s begging to be set free, and the way that he trusted that you would let him go after he did what you wanted. All of this is wrong, a little voice in the back of your mind says to you.

This isn’t a crime. It isn’t.

The rest of your brain tells you that.

It was a necessary evil. James deserved it, he deserved every ounce of pain you had inflicted on him through the thin apartment walls. You can imagine hearing the dripping of blood from the formerly white now red ceiling.

Drip, drip, drip.

…

You eat at your poplar dining table, alone, in a squeaky old poplar chair. You have only managed to take a bite or two of your food before feeling the urge to vomit. You drank half of your cup of water though, at least. You would have preferred bleach or soap, though. Something basic.

That way your insides would be scrubbed clean by the mix of enzymes, organs, bacteria, and a strong base. Your skin, eyes, and hair would be cleansed with the sweat and tears produced afterward. You pick up your spaghetti with your plastic fork.

Your stomach churns and it feels like it is eating itself. You run to the bathroom, overcome by nausea. An acidic smell and taste. They are both sour and nasty. 

You gag like you are being choked by a ghost or your guilty conscience. You are loudly gasping for air through your vomit-covered lips. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Plop, plop, plop.

Bile piles up in the toilet water, making it bright yellow. You hold onto the toilet seat like it is your lifeline. After a few more moments of heaving, you adjust your posture to be more straight.

You walk back to the kitchen and put the dinner food in your refrigerator. It hums as if it is pleased with how you are feeling. 

Drip, drip, drip.

There is some water leaking from the faucet. You put a cup under it and try to ignore what it reminds you of. You hope it goes away soon. You do. More than anything. 

You want it to go away, and you would do anything to make it stop. But you’re not a plumber, and the only nearest one is in a neighboring town a few hundred kilometers away and his fees are worth a few thousand Jenny. Even if he was nearer, you wouldn’t be able to afford his services. Most unfortunate for you.

You still feel like you are being strangled. 

Your neck’s muscles tighten and the tendons are sticking out. You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and you are disgusted with yourself. But you have to keep going, for eternal freedom. 

Your skin is covered in goosebumps.

You want to vomit your organs out.

You want to scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work. 

You want to swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

But you can’t, because you are living in a town now, one where the neighbors are so friendly and everyone knows each other. But you can’t, because someone will come to you, worried sick about you. But you can’t, because you are too appalled in yourself right now to lie to them and pretend you are better than them.

You cannot pretend you are cordial and graceful, because if anything you are sick. Sick and twisted. Your secrets mirror your repulsiveness. You want to lean away from yourself and run from yourself. 

But you can vomit your organs out.

But you can scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work. 

But you can swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

That’s because this house is nearly impossible to find for most. Only the porch light is currently on, with the rest of the place in complete darkness. There are overgrown weeds and grass, trees, and fallen branches everywhere. You have tripped many times and almost broken something in the past. You are getting better, though.

This property can be the place where you bury whatever sins you have committed. No one comes here, and no one will come for you if you scream. No one will hear you because this property is cramped and large. 

But you are still living in a town full of people who all know each other.

What if someone hears you?

It is best not to think about it, you tell yourself.

It is best to just let it all out, you tell yourself.

It is best to ignore and lie to those who ask you about it, you tell yourself.

So you vomit again.

You scream so loudly you lose your voice.

You scrub your hands so hard under the sink with soap until they bleed and have scratches all over them.

No one comes for you.

Good.

*~*~*~*

You have always been someone who never takes the time to appreciate the beauty around you.

Your thoughts are constantly besieged by a multitude of voices. Unloving, taking pleasure in others' misfortune, outrage, fear, happiness, delicateness, peacefulness, besiege, schadenfreude, wherewithal. In due time, emotions will reach their boiling point, unveiling the authentic hues of your being; crimson red.

You can make people prefer you over the largest of diamonds with just a few words. Your words can be either their exposition or their denouement. 

But you can’t bring yourself to use Sebaste. This feeling is odd to you, but you don’t complain about it. If anything, you feel warmer than you ever have been.

Your emotions find themselves trapped in a state of indecision, teetering between self-centeredness and pure joy. Something has gone off course. You.

You, who was born with an innate desire to only help those who would help you in exchange. You, who never ventured out to explore the depths of your being, to discover the essence of empathy. You, who have always used others in an attempt to better humanity as a whole, to be in control of others. It is what you do best; being in control.

So, why does Sebaste, an impoverished man, interest you so much? Why would you be willing to give everything you have away just to make sure he has a good life? Why can’t you just leech off of him like you do with everyone else?

It cannot be denied that he holds the position of your greatest vulnerability.

But you cannot bear to discard him.

Even if you wanted to. Even if he wanted you to.

You cannot leave him. He holds your heart in his gentle hands, and you will never get it back. There it will stay far past when his body is deep underground and lost to time.

You would jump into the largest crimson tides if it meant he was waiting for you beneath the waves. In the end, the amalgamation of your emotions will birth a monstrous force, unleashing nothing but devastation.

A colossus. 

The devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart.

No exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. It will stay inside you until your last breath. Sebaste will eventually uncover the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

In the future, when the stars twinkle no more, the moon loses its luster, and the night sky breaks apart, you will need to seek a new refuge to conceal your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun.

If Sebaste ever were to discover the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face, or your sticky, sticky, crimson hands, what would be done to stop you? What would you do to stop him from leaving you?

You simply confine the devil into the smallest crevice of your heart, pushing it inside as far as it can go and locking the door. That way, if Sebaste ever were to delve into the labyrinth that is your soul, he wouldn’t find it no matter how much he looks. There the devil will stay even far after it starts rotting, and you promise yourself to keep it that way.

*~*~*~*

The flowers are in bloom. You don’t know what species they are though. The night sky is above you, cold, injured, and bleeding you. Your only physical weapon is your nails, your dull and split nails. 

It starts raining. You don’t have a home of your own, so you decide that a bus stop will suffice for now.

Every inch of you is shivering. Every drop of blood that you bleed hurts. The forest is deep and dark and cruel. If any animals were unaware of your presence, they surely are now considering how you howled in pain as your leg toppled into a bear trap, and howled even louder as you clawed it off with your bare hands, making them all scratched up. The cicadas are crying, even louder than you are. They only respond to your pain with shrill, grating noises and the flaps of their wings. You have nowhere to go that is nearby. Not with your injured leg that has large, deep, painful markings of the trap’s teeth on it. Aside from this bus stop that is in the middle of nowhere. You’re not sure if any bus at all is even on this route anymore, considering how rusty and broken down this stop is. 

You attempt to light one of the few matches you have left. It’s pitch black outside, and the match is your only source of light and warmth from the rain and the night. Your jacket is still caught in that tree, far away from where you currently are. Well, it wasn’t yours per se, but it was your only protection from the elements with its hood and heat. 

Your cries are wasted on your injuries. You know no one will come for you, aside from predators if you bleed out and are near death.

You cannot see anything, even the path of blood drops you most likely made as you gripped your injured leg and began moving once more to the poorly taken care of bus stop, ignoring the pain that shot up with every step. It’s too dark.

You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it.

Even if Chrollo knew where you were and was on the way, it wouldn’t matter. This forest is too big and you may die of blood loss before he even catches sight of you or hears your pained cries.

There are most likely predators here. Wolves, bears, hawks. Something is out there, watching you, you are sure of it. You know it. 

Eventually, the rain stops sometime after your match goes out and you close your eyes after refusing to rest for far too long. You catch a glimpse of the flowers, soaked with morning dewdrops and reflecting the sun’s rays. 

Ah.

Columbines. 

The usual white ones are called doves for a reason. They look like five doves nestled together from afar. The white columbines represent many things. Love. Innocence. Calmness. Peace. Foolishness. Winning. Ironic enough, you cannot relate to any of them.

You’re not in love with anyone. Your innocence was stolen from you long ago, far before you even met Chrollo. You aren’t calm, you are weeping. You aren’t at peace, you are internally fighting yourself as to whether to go back to your captor’s gilded cage. Perhaps you are a fool for running away from the warm blankets and fresh, expensive food. You aren’t winning anything aside from both regrets and desperate want for stability.

Maybe that is why these columbines before you are red. An eye-catching crimson red, as red as your wounds and the trail of blood left from it as you walked to the bus stop. They look like dead doves. They only represent three things. Passion. Terror. Trembling. You find a resemblance of yourself in them, as odd as it would sound to anyone who doesn’t know of or believe your current situation. 

The trap didn’t have rust on it, right?

*~*~*~*

Chrollo and Sebaste are both difficult to understand for you. However, they also could not be more different. This dynamic is similar to a newborn witnessing dawn’s sunrise blossom from the night sky. Both confuse you, for both are very similar yet very contrasting. 

Chrollo and Sebaste both know what they want and they would do anything to achieve it, as long as the people they love aren’t in any danger at the reward of attaining their desires. They only trust a handful of people fully while they ignore other people’s presence. They both have that dark brown hue in their eyes. They both wear darker colors. But Chrollo holds the past in high regard and loves history, meanwhile, Sebaste thinks of the future and modern times more so than the past and as a result keeps up with new technology and media. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a doe or rabbit, while Sebaste looks at you with purpose, for he knows who you are; an equal.

You look at them differently, too. 

You look at Chrollo with a facade in your eyes, as you pretend to accept your role in his theater by dancing the waltz and singing praises.

You look at Sebaste with veracity, for he is the only one to have ever earned your genuine admiration. 

If either were to see the cracks within the mask you wear if either of them saw what was underneath… it would all be over, wouldn’t it? Chrollo would know more about you than you ever did about yourself and use it against you. Sebaste would leave you all alone to rot away.

That is why you will play the role of a doting queen who hangs onto every word her lover tells her because it is the only choice you have.

It is the only choice you have, and all you ever can be.

It is all you ever will be, you say to yourself.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I might be wrong, but it's implied that dragons are an extinct species in the SDV universe. So like, what if the Farmer found a petrified dragon egg, or even a whole clutch, and somehow managed to hatch it/them Game of Thrones style? They've done some insane stuff both in canon, and in SVE and RSV so it's not hard to imagine they'd do the truly impossible like reviving not only an extinct species, but a magic species at that. Rambling aside, onto the question: how would the SVE mages (including Morgan) and adventurer's, and Mr. Aguar from RSV react to the farmer's feat of bringing dragons back to life?

(P.s, maybe add Mr. Qi as well bc I imagine he'd be VERY interested in this event)

You're 100% right

And it's interesting: I've long wondered why there was no mention of dragons anywhere in the notes or in the library, when there are skeletons and teeth of these very same dragons lying around in the Calico Desert and Ginger Island? And can serpents be considered descendants of these dragons?

Lance's mention of his teacher with the title "Dragon Master" also gives us the right to believe for the existence of dragons in the SDV world (although I used to think it was just such a cool title for his teacher. Or a reference to Lance's Pokémon trainer in general).

But enough rambling! Thanks for your ask and enjoy some short stories ☺️🫰

Warning: this post is long...

_________________________________________

Marlon & Gil:

Marlon sipped his tea quietly in his Guildhall on a cold winter morning, to the crackle of a blazing fireplace and the soft snores of his friend, Gil. The one-eyed adventurer was enjoying a rare moment in his life - a quiet morning, with no worries about stocking up on provisions and elixirs, no worry about monsters...

But apparently the Yoba itself decided that Marlon had had enough of the peaceful time and presented him with a Farmer riding a dragon. The flying reptile with purple scales, beautiful as amethysts, along with its rider managed to smash through the old Adventurer's Guild roof, but thankfully no one was hurt.

If Marlon had only known Farmer for a few months, he would have been in mute shock at what he had seen. Now that the youth was a full member of the Guild for the second year, Marlon only sighed tiredly and went to the undestroyed room to get his tools. Dragons? Yes, he was interested in that. But questions later, first they need to fix the hole in the roof because it's cold winter outside, you know.

The Farmer will help, of course, as they are the direct cause of the collapsed ceiling. And the Gil will join in when he stops hiding his chuckle behind his snoring. He's been awake for a while now, and he can hardly contain his laughter (and his pride in Farmer) while pretending to be asleep.

_________________________________________

Isaac:

If the quote "I don't get paid enough for this shit" were a person, Isaac would be the complete personification of that phrase.

Anyone would be shocked, amazed and delighted by the most beautiful and noble creatures that had extinct so long ago that many people no longer believed they existed and had come to regard them as a fairy tale and a legend. Anyone, but not Isaac. Because the moment the master of the dangerous reptiles appeared before Isaac's eyes - he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

Let no one dare tell him that 'Farmer is special' or 'Farmer knows what to do'. No, they don't know what they're doing! A bloody immature upstart who coddles a dangerous dragons like a puppies! That even now the curious reptiles are slowly moving towards Isaac to sniff and study him, a man they don't know. And how does HE know what the hell is going on in their heads?! Maybe they see him as just another snack, for Yoba's sake!

He won't be tempted to trade his own safety and the safety of other people for prickly curiosity. He will not, like the others, reach for the huge toothy maw, nor is he going to scratch the head of the purring (dragons can purr?) creature. Isaac goes to report the Farmer and the dragons to the Order of Pythagoras, and he doesn't care that he'll be disliked by many for such an act. It will take a long time before Isaac finally trusts the Farmer and their pets, but that will be a while yet. For now, the scarred adventurer will do what he thinks is right.

_________________________________________

Lance:

After a long training in swordsmanship and magic spells, young Lance always waited with joy for his teacher to call him for a short break. After all, it was during the break that they would both go to the tavern, eating dinner, where his teacher would praise him for his success in the last training session, and most importantly, tell him another fascinating legend about monsters and creature. Even though his mentor was a "Dragon Master", they haven't met any dragons themself. Their great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, however, had seen the beautiful flying reptile once with his own eyes.

Oh, how Lance wanted to be the man who would see a dragon, how he wanted to believe they still existed!

It was just a childhood dream that Lance had long since grown out of. But life had given him an unexpected surprise.....

He slowly touched the dragon's snout, gently running his fingers over the warm scarlet scales. Taking his time, careful not to bring his fingers too close to the razor-sharp fangs. Lance almost couldn't tear his gaze away from the big amber eyes that watched him intently. Slowly turning his head towards the Farmer, the pink-haired adventurer saw a sign of approval that he could continue. Giving his friend a grateful nod, Lance turned his gaze back to the dragon. Who would have thought that gallant adventurer would have the opportunity not only to see this marvellous creature, but also to learn from Farmer how miraculously they were able to do the impossible.

It'll go down in Lance's memoirs for sure.

_________________________________________

Jadu:

Due to insomnia, hard work with manuscripts and scrolls, and an unhealthy obsession with coffee, Jadu looked like the walking dead these days. Add to that the fact that the young wizard was as stubborn as an ass: no matter how much Lance tried to gently help his friend, no matter how much Isaac tried to force him into bed, and no matter how hard the others tried - to no avail. Jadu's goal was to finish the job - and he'd done it, and sleep was of secondary importance to him.

Naturally, this disregard for his sleep regime was not without consequences, and so Jadu, about to teleport back from the Stardew Valley to the Castle Village, didn't even realise how the world swam before his eyes and his body went limp. But before poor wizard lost consciousness, he felt that someone had grabbed him and would not let him fall. Half an hour later, Jadu realised that he was not lying on the cold ground, but in the warm embrace of someone... with scales? And wings? And claws on its paws?

Is he still asleep?

But as it turned out, he emerged from the realm of reverie and listened half-asleep to Farmer's restless speech. The sensation of inhuman skin and the word "dragon" made Jadu jump up as if scalded by boiling water and quickly get to his feet.

A dragon?! A real one?! Where from and how? Farmer, please explain! You raised it? Where? And what kind of dragon?! He'd studied the legends, but he'd never thought he'd meet a large reptile himself. And what do they eat, and how do they conjure? He need to know? Sleep? What sleep, he doesn't need that right now!

It took a lot of effort for the farmer to at least get Jadu back to a sitting position. It is not clear whether the noble reptile understood their words, but the creature's gaze was shrewd and full of wisdom. And amusement from this funny scene.

_________________________________________

Morgan:

Morgan follows the familiar hidden path again, behind a flowering tree with a swing, where there is a hole in the farm's fence. Trying not to make any loud noise, Magnus' young apprentice walks through the tall grass, holding back a playful chuckle.

Even though the Farmer had long ago told them that they would always be welcome at the farm and would be treated to ripe fruit from the greenhouse, Morgan still chose to visit in this way, adding intrigue and fun to their dull routine of studying the history of the Republic and the bestiary.

The young talent once again wanted to go into the chicken coop, where there was a void chicken that the Farmer had allowed them to feed and even give her name (Morgan had named her Coal). But when Morgan looked into the coop, instead of the usual joyful clucking, they felt a smoky breath coming from a toothy mouth that definitely did not belong to a hen. In the dark wooden room, Morgan couldn't see who it was, so all they could do was run out of the coop screaming in terror and crying.

Luckily, the Farmer, who had arrived quickly, had time to calm the child and explain that a dragon lived here for the time being.

Morgan at the mention of the mythical creature completely forgot about everything in the world. A moment later, the Farmer was bombarded with questions and requests to see dragon again. The farmer allowed (taking Morgan's word that they would keep it a secret). Wow, dragons are even cooler that void chicken! Sorry, Coal...

_________________________________________

Alesia:

Crazy... This was just a crazy idea. Maybe Alesia still had the option to refuse and get off the green dragon's back? Before she could say anything, however, Farmer gave the takeoff command to his winged friend, and they and Alesia, riding the dragon, began to separate from the ground higher and higher. The sniper was out of breath, and her mind was unable to comprehend what was happening. A farmer, a dragon - a living dragon! - and flying on top of a large reptile. How had all this happened for literally half an hour?

Alesia never thought she would agree to ride a dragon without a second thought. She felt a little ashamed, for she had been so quick to give in to temptation and curiosity, forgetting all about safety. But that view... Definitely worth it.

Finally when they landed and Alesia felt the solid ground beneath her feet, she had to temper her excitement and have a serious talk with Farmer. About the dragon, mages and adventurers should know. No, no arguments. It is better to let the senior adventures be warned, for it could happen that seeing Farmer on a dragon could mistake them for an enemy or potential threat. This is for the safety of both the humans and the Farmer with the reptile. The girl sees that this beautiful creature is significantly intelligent and wishes no harm to anyone. Therefore, she will feel safer if Farmer, as a responsible adult, makes the right decision.

But until they notified the Order and the others, Alesia would be interested to hear how the Farmer was able to not only raise the dragon themself, but also hide their existence from the others for so long. And, if the Farmer and the dragon itself are okay with it, to repeat another flight. Because that's was fun.

_________________________________________

Magnus Rasmodius:

The Farmer couldn't have been happier when, after months of caring for the dragon eggs, they saw the first crack of the shell and a cute little scaly face emerge. One little flying lizard was followed by two more, and now the trio are chirping and flying merrily around their parent, already begging for attention and food.

What Farmer didn't know was that as the dragonlings hatched, a strong magical flow would come out of the eggs, which Magnus Rasmodius definitely felt.

Shocked at the unknown strong source of magic, the purple-haired wizard dropped everything he was doing and teleported to the Farmer's house. The magic that had broken through his barrier? But the barrier was still intact! Then what? An anomaly? A strong corrupting spirit? Ancient magic? And his apprentice is right at the epicentre! But while Magnus was filling his head with horrific scenes and preparing to recite the spell, teleporting straight into the living room of the Farmer's house, all his battle fervour deflated. And before Magnus's gaze was an unharmed Farmer, with three little dragons sitting on top of them, eating peach slices with gusto.

On the one hand, Magnus has an irresistible urge to smack himself on the forehead for having conjured up such scary scenes, when as an experienced magician he should always keep his composure. On the other hand, he really wants to scold the Farmer for another wild thing. His gut tells him that he has a very long report to write to the Ministry of Magic. He also needs a bottle of strong wine to get drunk and pass out after all this madness. Poor wizard is too tired to marvel at the very fact that dragons have been reborn. Maybe later...

_________________________________________

Camilla:

My oh my... And how come the Farmer didn't tell her, Camilla, about this wonderful pet that breathes fire and can fly in the sky? She's their best friend, isn't she? And friends always share secrets with each other.... How did the Farmer manage to raise such a marvellous beauty? Really? Hmm, interesting.

Some might rightly resent that the head witch of Castle Village treats a dangerous mythical creature like a cute poodle. Even the dragon owner themself might be surprised that she doesn't show the reaction that people usually have at the sight of a big and scary dragon.

But even it look like Camilla in her favourite way is not serious about everything, it is not true at all. Quite the opposite, she will always put her duty to protect the people of the Village above all else. But she is confident in her abilities, so just in case the Farmer's scaly friend wants to make a little mischief in her domain, she will make sure that the creature never wants to appear on the Continent of Galdora ever again. But enough of that!

Camilla will become a more frequent visitor to the Stardew Valley, because the witch certainly won't miss the opportunity to study such an interesting specimen. Camilla also has some of the rarest pets, and the witch would like to get a dragon as well. Ah, what a cutie!

_________________________________________

Dr. Aguar:

For a fortnight now, Aguar couldn't figure out why his body was tingling with magic like an annoying itch. For a fortnight he had been walking around irritated, unable to understand the source of this itch that was driving him crazy and preventing him from working in peace. It was only at the bus stop that Aguar realised that the closer he got to the farm, the stronger the tingling became. There's clearly something the strange Farmer is doing here.... Magnus had already mentioned that the youth had a magical gift, just like Aguar himself. But the former mage knows nothing much about the Farmer: not their motives, nothing. So Aguar wanted to find out what the Farmer does, and whether it has anything to do with this unbearable itch.

Before Dr. Aguar could even reach the porch of the Farmer's house, something blue flew out of the door at full speed, but he couldn't see it because of its speed. The Farmer ran out after it, calling to someone and waving their arms.

The thing stopped abruptly in mid-air and returned to the Farmer, wrapping their body around Farmer's right hand and growling merrily. The Farmer, barely out of breath, held their breath as they realised they had guests and that they could see the dragon. Aguar, on the other hand, crossed his arms and waited patiently for the Farmer to start the conversation themself.

So that's what it was...

A dragon, yes? And a dragon of the water element, Aguar's own element. Indeed, this little reptile was too young to control magic on its own. And the incessant flow of the same element's magic influenced the flow of the scientist's magic. Very interesting. That's what really caught Aguar's attention. He's really going to want to study the dragon. Oh, spirits, Farmer, there's no need to look at him as a bloodthirsty monster! He won't harm this little one.

_________________________________________

Mr. Qi:

"Congratulations to you, Farmer. Once again you managed to exceed my expectations when your tending to the eggs I left behind succeeded. I didn't doubt the success one bit, of course not. I hope you enjoy your new pets, they are truly wonderful. Also, I'll put it on a note, they are fruit-eaters, so treat your dragons to fresh fruit often. Especially melon, these dragons love it. I already know that, hehe. Good luck to you, child. I'll keep watching your progress. And always remember, the key to success is within you."

The Farmer would probably have been surprised by a letter from Mr. Qi..... But alas, the little flying reptiles accidentally burned the paper before the Farmer could open anything.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hey :)

If ur still accepting requests, could you something where Thena is on her period and is in a lot of pain (Cramps suck Fr) and Gil comforts her??? You can choose the AU <3

Btw ur entire account literally gives me life lmao 🫶🏼

Thena woke slowly, having drifted off on the couch after using the last of her pain meds. She had sent a message to Kingo to bring her more, though.

There were sounds coming from the kitchen. Panic flooded through her as she looked up and over the back of the couch.

"It's okay," he smiled at her, having sensed her alarm, "it's just me."

Gilgamesh.

Thena relaxed her knee-jerk reaction to reach for a knife. Although she was on high alert in other ways, seeing him at her stove. "What are you doing here?"

Gil turned down the burner on whatever he was cooking and came over to the couch, leaning on the back of it. "How're you feeling?"

"Answer me," she grumbled at him, curling around herself and drawing up the blanket she had thrown over her legs.

"I ran into Kingo while he was out getting some things," Gil answered gently, brushing some hair away from her cheek for her (why she let him was beyond her). "I offered to come and check on you."

Thena made a mental note to fire Kingo before she killed him.

"I've got some cheesy tteokbokki on for you," he smiled at her, leaving the back of the couch only to retrieve a tray from the kitchen and bring it over for her. "Start with this."

Thena frowned as he set the tray on her coffee table, on top of the laptop she had abandoned since cramps had robbed her of the ability to work from home.

He had arranged a glass of gingerale, a fresh dose of midol, a few crackers and cheese and even a few pieces of white chocolate (her favourite). There was even a tiny little vase with a budding lily in it.

Thena looked from the tray to the eager and hopeful face of the Tyrant King. She was still curled up around herself, and not just because of the cramps in her abdomen. "Why?"

His smile fell, and she hated to admit that it made her feel so bad she was willing to do anything to undo it. He corrected his expression, though, letting his smile become smaller but softer. "I'm your boyfriend, Ice. So I'm here to do boyfriend things, like comfort you when you're having a rough period."

She was a grown woman. She had no reason to be embarrassed about a perfectly natural function of her body. But she had never intended on letting him witness it firsthand.

She hadn't showered yet, she was sure she was pale as a ghost with messy hair and cold sweat on her skin. And that was to say nothing of the fact that instead of her usual silk nightdress she was in fuzzy sweatpants and an old hoodie.

Thena picked her head up off the throw pillow and gave him a withering glare, "my boyfriend, are you?"

"Well, let's go with that for now," he chuckled, putting his hand on her shoulder to steady him as he leaned over to kiss her cheek before returning to the kitchen.

She eyed the fresh ink of his ring tattoo as he moved.

"Your cup is still in its pot here, too--I just moved it."

Right, she had been boiling her menstrual cup while she had texted Kingo for supplies. This was exactly what she meant about Gil not having to be here doing all this for her. They were...something--she had thought to maybe call them an ongoing affair. But apparently he was her boyfriend.

That didn't mean she wanted him handling the pot that had a silicone cup she put in her-

Thena groaned, leaning her head back against her throw pillow again.

"Take your drugs, Princess. I'll bring lunch over in a sec."

She pursed her lips as she eyed the lovingly arranged platter he had brought her. She could hear him humming to himself in the kitchen behind her. It was so...domestic. She turned herself as best she could, keeping her blanket over her lap as she leaned just enough to reach the midol and the gingerale (and a piece of chocolate).

"Here we go," Gil narrated as he came over with a sizzling claypot in its holder. He walked over briskly with it, setting it down next to the other platter and sitting beside her. He turned to her with a grin, "want me to feed it to you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, Sweetness," he laughed as he stirred around the steaming hot rice cakes in their red sauce. "It'll be like the old days in the poison ward."

Was that what constituted 'the good old days' for them?

"I can feed myself," she huffed, although when he leaned out of her way, she realised just how far away the nice hot bowl really was.

"Here," he smiled, picking up the utensils and using the chopsticks to pile a few into a larger spoon as kind of an in-between serving vessel. He handed both over to her, "take your time."

Thena sighed, taking a few and blowing on them before eating them. She knew very well he made the best tteokbokki. He was quite a sufficient home cook, but something about how he made the sauce for the rice cakes--how he got them to the absolute perfect consistency for her every time. It never failed.

Gil rubbed her back as she slurped back a few more. "You could have told me, y'know."

Thena sighed between bites. She didn't have to answer him. If she didn't, he probably wouldn't pester her with it, given her current mood. She handed the spoon back so he could pick up a few more for her. "It's...personal."

He gave her a look. "Baby, I gave you a sponge bath while you were in the hospital. You think I can't handle your period?"

She glared at him; he didn't have to bring that up. "Not the point."

He let it go, handing back another few tteokbokki with stretchy, oozy cheese on them.

"Just," she said just before taking a bite, using the time chewing to collect her thoughts. She sighed through her nose, her shoulders sinking. She gulped. "Just...let me be a mess on my own."

"A mess?" he asked in a tone that was so disbelieving it was a little snarky. But surely he knew better than to be snarky with her when she was in a foul mood; she glared at him again. But he laughed, "you think you can hide how beautiful you are?"

Thena stared down at the tteokbokki she was holding. She was piled under comfy clothes and blankets and a fuzzy warmer stuffed inside the pocket of her hoodie. Her back hurt, she hadn't even washed her face that morning, let alone brushed her hair or checked what she smelled like.

Gil blinked as she handed back the utensils without having finished her last bite. "Sweetness?"

"Stop it," she grumbled, pressing her face into her hands, including the tears that were threatening more and more seriously to spill over. "Stop...being sweet."

Gil smiled as the problem was stated. He set the food aside, moving closer so he could pulled her into his lap. She growled at him a little but he nestled her head under his chin, "I don't think that's something a good boyfriend does."

Thena pressed her face into his shirt. He smelled like his office, even in his casual clothes. He smelled like gojuchang and gojugaru and aromatics.

Gil let her bury her face in his chest, her hand sliding up to join it, sitting over his heart, like it always did. "I'm right here, Thena. I'm not going anywhere."

She inhaled the mix of scents on him, letting it relax her like lavender in a bath. "Lunch."

"I'll save it for you, heat it up later," he promised, whispering as he ran his fingers through her hair. "I'll run you a hot bath, we can have a nice relaxing dinner. What do you think, Ice?"

"Hm," she mumbled, already on the verge of falling asleep again. The night had been fitful at best, and something about how warm he was always made her want to nod off. "Tell Kingo he's fired."

Gil laughed, although it wasn't the belly deep laugh he sometimes had. He was careful not to jostle her in his arms. "I think you should tell him that yourself."

She whined faintly, burying her face in his chest completely again, "later."

"Later," Gil agreed, kissing the top of her head as he supported her back with his arm and rubbed her shoulder. "Take your time."

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🖤 Black History Month ❤️

💛 Queer Books by Black Authors 💚

[ List Under the Cut ]

🖤 Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender ❤️ Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta 💛 Warrior of the Wind by Suyi Davies Okungbowa 💚 I'm a Wild Seed by Sharon Lee De La Cruz 🖤 Real Life by Brandon Taylor ❤️ Ruthless Pamela Jean by Carol Denise Mitchell 💛 The Unbroken by C.L. Clark 💚 Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova 🖤 Skin Deep Magic by Craig Laurance Gidney ❤️ The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi 💛 That Could Be Enough by Alyssa Cole 💚Work for It by Talia Hibbert

🖤 All Boys Aren't Blue by George M. Johnson ❤️ The Deep by Rivers Solomon 💛 How to Be Remy Cameron by Julian Winters 💚 Running With Lions by Julian Winters 🖤 Right Where I Left You by Julian Winters ❤️ This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kacen Callender 💛 The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum 💚 This Is What It Feels Like by Rebecca Barrow 🖤 Son of the Storm by Suyi Davies Okungbowa ❤️ Black Boy Joy by Kwame Mbalia 💛 Legendborn by Tracy Deonn 💚 The Wicker King by K. Ancrum

🖤 Pet by Akwaeke Emezi ❤️ You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson 💛 Once Ghosted, Twice Shy by Alyssa Cole 💚 Cinderella Is Dead by Kalynn Bayron 🖤 Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann ❤️ A Spectral Hue by Craig Laurance Gidney 💛 Power & Magic by Joamette Gil 💚 The Black Veins by Ashia Monet 🖤 Treasure by Rebekah Weatherspoon ❤️ The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow 💛 Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James 💚 Full Disclosure by Camryn Garrett

🖤 The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta ❤️ Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee 💛 A Phoenix First Must Burn (edited) by Patrice Caldwell 💚 Rise to the Sun by Leah Johnson 🖤 Things We Couldn't Say by Jay Coles ❤️ Black Boy Out of Time by Hari Ziyad 💛 Darling by K. Ancrum 💚 The Secrets of Eden by Brandon Goode 🖤 Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé ❤️ Off the Record by Camryn Garrett 💛 Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers 💚 Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

🖤 How to Dispatch a Human by Stephanie Andrea Allen ❤️ Black Girl, Call Home by Jasmine Mans 💛 The Essential June Jordan (edited) by Jan Heller Levi and Christoph Keller 💚 A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark 🖤 A Blade So Black by L.L. McKinney ❤️ Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo 💛 Dread Nation by Justina Ireland 💚 Punch Me Up to the Gods by Brian Broome 🖤 Masquerade by Anne Shade ❤️ One of the Good Ones by Maika Moulite & Maritza Moulite 💛 Soulstar by C.L. Polk 💚 100 Boyfriends by Brontez Purnell

🖤 Hurricane Child by Kacen Callender ❤️ Quietly Hostile by Samantha Irby 💛 Coffee Will Make You Black by April Sinclair 💚 The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi 🖤 If It Makes You Happy by Claire Kann ❤️ Sweethand by N.G. Peltier 💛 This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron 💚 Better Off Red by Rebekah Weatherspoon 🖤 Friday I’m in Love by Camryn Garrett ❤️ Rainbow Milk by Paul Mendez 💛 Memorial by Bryan Washington 💚 Patsy by Nicole Y. Dennis-Benn

🖤 Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon ❤️ How to Find a Princess by Alyssa Cole 💛 Yesterday is History by Kosoko Jackosn 💚 Mouths of Rain (edited) by Briona Simone Jones 🖤 Dead Dead Girls by Nekesa Afia ❤️ Love's Divine by Ava Freeman 💛 The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr 💚 Odd One Out by Nic Stone 🖤 Symbiosis by Nicky Drayden ❤️ Thanks a Lot, Universe by Chad Lucas 💛 The Passing Playbook by Isaac Fitzsimons 💚 Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

🖤 Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert ❤️ My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson 💛 Pleasure and Spice by Fiona Zedde 💚 No Gods, No Monsters by Cadwell Turnbull 🖤 The Stars and the Blackness Between Them by Junauda Petrus ❤️ Filthy Animals by Brandon Taylor 💛 The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin 💚 Peaces by Helen Oyeyem 🖤 The Beauty That Remains by Ashley Woodfolk ❤️ Every Body Looking by Candice Iloh 💛 Bingo Love by Tee Franklin, Jenn St-Onge, Joy San 💚 The Heart Does Not Bend by Makeda Silvera

🖤 King and the Dragonflies by Kacen Callender ❤️ By Any Means Necessary by Candice Montgomery 💛 Busy Ain't the Half of It by Frederick Smith & Chaz Lamar Cruz 💚 Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo 🖤 Sin Against the Race by Gar McVey-Russell ❤️ Trumpet by Jackie Kay 💛 Remembrance by Rita Woods 💚 Daughters of Nri by Reni K. Amayo 🖤 You Know Me Well by Nina LaCour ❤️ The Summer of Everything by Julian Winters 💛 Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi 💚 Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyem

[lgbtsana]

OFF THE RECORD ; AHN YUJIN ONE-SHOT

you’ve been chatting with an online friend for about 2 years, you knew them as their alias ‘ahnz’, they never posted their face but you knew almost everything about them. but, did you really know what they were saying was true?

it’s been about two years since you turned to online friends instead of real life ones. the ones you made offline were just complete assholes. it was always when you needed your real life friends the most is when you realized how fake they were.

you’d call one of your friends, lim dahye, sobbing uncontrollably, begging for her to distract you from your parents fighting. yet, all you got on response from her, “sorry, who are you again?” while you heard giggles in the background. you had considered her a closest friend, but all you received was humiliation.

the closest friend you made throughout the two years online was ahnz. the only thing you knew about them was they were a year older than you and that they, or well she, was a girl.

you had given her a nickname “hannie” and you were happy to know that she thought the nickname was cute and that she liked it.

the more the two of you talked, the closer you two got. you felt like you could trust her, although, you hadn’t met her in person. she just seemed different, not like the other people you had trusted before.

there was one night that your parents started to fight when you received a text from ahnz, you had nicknamed her in your phone as ‘hannie’ since the app you used, let you.

she had sent you a link to a girl group performance, the thumbnail had a girl with short hair poking her cheek. “she’s so pretty, her makeup looks amazing...” you spoke in awe.

you stood up to grab your wired earbuds, since you couldn’t afford wireless ones, and watched the performance. it was a very useful distraction from the fighting going on.

hannie: y/n, check out this video :o [link]

y/n: omg, they’re amazing performers!!

y/n: wish i was that good lol

hannie: don’t say that! i’m sure you’re amazing at it :(

y/n: i see their group name is ive, how do you pronounce that? like i’ve?

hannie: i hear people pronouncing it ivy or i’ve, i guess it’s a matter of preference? idk though

hannie: which member caught your eye?

y/n: hmm, the one with the short hair with bangs. she had so much charisma and just looked fierce! she’s so pretty~

after you’d sent that message, you realized ahnz went quiet. so, while you waited for a response, you decided to watch some more videos of the group she had sent you.

———

the next day, during class, you received a call from hannie. your teacher, mrs. lee, gave a stern look towards you. “no phone calls during class, miss seo.”

you nodded before answering the call, “sorry, mrs. lee. it’s... an emergency.” your quick answer made her give you a nod, “go out in the hall then, y/n.”

“hannie, what’s going on?” your concerned tone rung in her ears, “y/n, are you able to... meet up...?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“what?”

“are you able to meet up with me?”

the question hung on a string. a string that was about to snap clean in half. you felt your heartbeat increase as you weren’t sure what to answer. sure, you’ve talked to her for two years, but you’ve only thought about meeting up once.

you weren’t sure if you were ready to meet her.

“y/n?” her voice entered your senses again, making you gasp softly.

“ah, sorry-” you barely let out a whisper as you apologize quietly. “y/n, if you’re able to meet up, please come to 4-5, samseong-ro 146-gil, gangnam-gu, seoul. it should be nearby you, yeah?” you hum giving her the confirmation she needed.

“see you then, hannie.”

you walked back into class and all eyes were on you, “so?” your teacher stares you down, waiting for some kind of response.

“what?”

your teacher huffs in annoyance, “what was so important?” your thoughts quickly scramble to make up an excuse, “ah- my grandmother passed away.” you give off a weak smile to keep your act straight as your teachers eyebrows narrow.

“i thought your grandmother passed last year?” it was true, but you had an excuse up your sleeve, “that was on my mother’s side, the recent one is on my father’s.”

mrs. lee quickly gave an apology, which you accepted. she didn’t know it was a lie after all.

———

after your classes came to an end, you found yourself in front of the building that hannie suggest you meet up in. but, it was starship entertainment? you weren’t sure why she’d ask to meet up here.

you shrugged before hitting an intercom, that looked very high-tec. you watched as it lit up and noticed a very small camera, recording your presence outside.

“come in,” a female voice is heard thru the intercom as the fancy doors opened to let you in.

“oh- t-thank you...?” you struggled to sound genuine as you were still, very confused. just why did hannie want to meet here?

you hesitantly entered the tall building and nervously looked around. you felt you stood out against the rest, but not in a good way.

you felt very underdressed, everyone else looked as if they were wearing designer clothes (they probably were), you didn’t feel like you fit in.

a taller figure was approaching you with a smile and it felt like time slowed down as you took in their physique. she was nearly 6-feet tall, her smile was very charming, alluring. her hair was on the shorter side, seemed to be a wolfcut. she has a leather jacket on, seemed to be in the middle of recording something, but you weren’t totally sure.

she looked exactly like the female from the fancan video hannie had sent you. just what was hannie playing at?

“hello, are you y/n?” the tall female looked at you with the same charming smile she approached with. with a slow nod, you gave her the confirmation she needed.

“i can’t believe we’re finally meeting each other! my name is ahn yujin,” she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “you know me as hannie~” the teasing tone of her voice made you jolt back, surprised that the female was actually hannie.

“h-hannie?” your voice was failing you. the sudden surprise of learning she’s your closest online friend was big, you could barely let out your voice.

she gave a simple nod before saying, “you can call me yujin now!”. she reached for your wrist, making your pull it back without thinking.

her eyebrows furrowed and yujin looked down at the ground, “ah, i’m sorry. this must be a shock..”

you nodded, “very shocking, i mean i was just watching a fancam of you a few days ago.”

yujin let out a giggle, “i wanted to know your thoughts~” she lightly punched your arm with that same smile.

faking hurt, you grabbed your arm and yelped in pain, “you pain me, yujin!” you laughed, before noticing yujin was looking at you with wide-eyes.

“what?”

“you called me yujin this time,” her voice seemed filled with emotion. what emotion? you couldn’t read it.

you shrugged “you told me i could.”

yujin pulled you in for a tight bear hug, “this makes me so happy! i can’t wait to introduce you to the others~”

you smiled as you gave the same amount of strength into the hug, “already? we just met~” you teased as you received a pinch in response.

A/N: maybe there will be a part two? we shall find out in the future. i do like how this turned out, did you guys enjoy?

TAGS... idol!yujin x fan!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, light angst, online friends to irl friends to lovers, friends to lovers, reader becomes a fan of yujin after she introduces ive to them.

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@zuritastic

[aubeystawby]

— 💡 cynthia zdunowski x fem!bestfriend!reader

request: CYNTHIA X FEM!READER!! Her and the boys getting high of reffer but than instead of at her house they drop her off at the readers house so now she's in her bed flirting with her, Very high — @deadsnothere ⚠️ warning(s): lots of mentions of being high (about cynthia) and very brief implied homophobia (blink and you'll miss it) not a warning but it's kind of implied she's at least somewhat come to terms with her sexuality (more than she has in episode 5)

The tell-tale sounds of the T-Birds and Cynthia arriving outside your house have become like a routine that you’ve grown used to (Minus the routine part - you can almost never predict when they'll show up - but when they're there you can tell without a doubt that it's them). Whenever it’s late at night and you hear tires screeching or muffled laughter, your bedroom window is opened within seconds, and the sight you find is always your best friend with the T-Birds.

And tonight is no different.

Your bedroom lights are still on, no doubt seen as a sort of approval for the group of friends outside that you're still awake and won't get mad at anyone for waking you up (Though you doubt that would stop them anyway).

Tonight, it's a shout that you think comes from Gil that alerts you of their arrival. And then the fact that you can't hear Cynthia giving him a muffled yell to keep it down tells you that your best friend is either passed out, not even there, or to say the least she's not exactly sober right now. Of course, it's the third option.

You have half the mind to ignore them — having tried to be clear in the past that you and specifically your parents do not appreciate a group of rowdy (and high) greasers yelling outside your house late at night — but know that if you did they'd probably just become even louder to get your attention.

You walk over as quietly as possible to your bedroom window that looks out to the front garden, and carefully open it.

You swear your heart stops for a second when you're immediately met with the faces of Shy guy and Cynthia, the former looking vaguely sympathetic — but still definitely high — and the latter just grinning aimlessly at you.

You hear laughter as you slap your hand over your mouth to suppress a scream from the jump-scare, trying to catch your breath and steady yourself in front of the sudden appearance of the two people outside your window.

You go to say something — an objection probably, you have no idea what they're planning and probably don't want any part in it — but are cut off by Cynthia unceremoniously being slightly pushed to climb into your window and subsequentially practically throwing herself at you as her feet hit the floor of your bedroom.

Someone says something — probably Shy guy — about how your house was closer to get to than Cynthia's, but you don't really catch it all as your heart beats in your throat; Cynthia's eyes staring right into yours as it appears she tries to fight back a grin.

"Um- okay but-" Your words stumble of your mouth, hands hovering near Cynthia's shoulders out of the fear of her falling face-first onto your carpet.

Your words are cut off when you look up and out the window to see the T-Birds already driving away, essentially dropping Cynthia at your feet and running so she's your problem to deal with and not theirs. Which you can't complain too much about — the company of your best friend never feeling like a burden — but you do find yourself wishing you had it in you to reprimand Cynthia's friends without being absolutely terrified of them.

A head meets your shoulder as you close your window, your breath yet again catching for a moment at the proximity. Instead of dwelling on how warm she feels this close to you, you decide to distract yourself and focus on taking care of her.

"Cynthia...?"

All you get is a muffled "Yes?" in response, as you try to manoeuvre out of Cynthia's hold where her arms now wrap around your shoulders and hold you close.

You eventually shuffle towards your bed and pry her arms off of you, slightly bloodshot eyes meeting yours as her eyebrows furrow unhappily.

Before Cynthia has a chance to protest, you push her slightly so she tips over and lands on your neat bed.

"What-!"

"I'm getting you a glass of water." You cut her off, not giving any room for argument as you can practically feel yourself how dry her throat must be, if her slightly rough voice is any indication.

Your carefully close your bedroom door fully as you step out, hoping that if the door is at least properly closed that Cynthia will take the hint and not follow you into your house where the risk of getting caught by your parents is even greater.

Your movements are swift and footsteps light as possible as you quickly grab a glass and fill it with water. You sigh with relief once you're sure your parents are sound asleep, and walk back to your bedroom with far less anxiety.

When you enter the room again, you're met with the sight of Cynthia laying with her head just hanging off the foot of your bed.

You try to think of something to say, should you even say anything? Should you just let her sleep? Do people even get tired when they're high? You have no idea, so instead you just sit the glass of water on your bedside table and try not to disrupt whatever Cynthia's doing. She however, has other ideas.

"So I'm thinking," She starts, tilting her head towards you to check that you're listening, with her hands clasped over her stomach and a rather serious expression that makes it look like she's about to make some sort of business proposition.

"..Yes?" You prompt.

"A wedding," She states, voice noticeably just a bit lighter than usual, no doubt due to her being high.

This catches you off guard.

"Huh-"

"I've been thinking," She cuts you off, sitting up excitedly with a huge grin on her face, "A wedding with two brides."

You're too confused to even comment, for a second you think she might be proposing to you? A thought you immediately dismiss. Forget the impracticality of it all; It's just a wild concept that you can't even begin to wrap your head around to begin with.

Though she doesn't notice your shock — or maybe just elects to ignore it — and instead just continues.

"Listen, I've been really imagining it, and I think it could work! And what would even change about the ceremony if there just wasn't a groom?"

As she rambles, she grabs your hand (rather forcefully) and pulls you over to sit next to her.

"I can picture it really easily, y'know?" She continues, not even noticing how flustered you're becoming as she takes your left hand into hers, tracing circles around your ring finger, "And rings wouldn't be a problem either! It's not as if wedding rings come in a set, and-"

It's almost like the fog in Cynthia's mind has cleared for just a second. Her eyes widen as she practically jumps back away from you, like a scared cat.

And then you're both just sitting there for a moment, your skin almost sizzling where Cynthia's hands were a second ago. Your stomach does summersaults and your heartbeat is desperately trying to break out of your chest.

Every instinct in your mind tells you to just turn around and tell her she needs to leave, that what she was saying was weird and so uncalled for... And yet?

"..A wedding with two brides doesn't sound like such a bad idea.."

There’s a second before she processes what you just said and what that could possibly imply. When it dawns on her, Cynthia's face grows even paler for a split second as though she's not just seen a ghost but is one herself.

But then — almost so quick you miss it — there’s something that sparkles in her eyes and curls her lips ever so slightly. Though as soon as that glimmer appears, she bites her lip to hold a smile back and blinks quickly, hiding her reaction (Just not quite fast enough).

At that, the butterflies inside you sing and flutter, and you cant help but have to bite back a smile too.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Sweet boy. - Harry Hook x reader - ficlet

She/her* reader, no use of *you

=

Touch was one of Harry’s main love languages.

A graze of his fingers on the back of Uma’s hand. The clap on Gil’s back when he did something particularly smart or good. Holding CJ’s shoulders and shaking her about as he cackled, his little sister screaming obscenities at him with a matching grin. The push of his cheek on Harriet’s shoulder.

Touch was how Harry said ‘I love you’. On the isle-it was one of the only safe ways to say it. Uma did the same, mostly aimed towards Harry-her fingers through his hair, pinkies interlocking when they were close enough(or wrapped around his hook).

When they moved to Auradon-Harry became more open with his affection. His arms around Uma’s shoulders, holding her close as he laughed. Holding Gil’s hand when they walked. Carrying CJ on his back (usually from her demand but he never minded). Putting his full weight onto Harriet, his arms wrapped around her torso as she ignored him with a fond smile.

Harry never realized how badly he wanted to be touched like he did others, for someone to take that step before he did.

He found that in a friend he met in Auradon.

Harry smiled as he watched (y/n) move through the crowds of students, huffing as she attempted to push through a small pack of friends-all so closely knit together she had to stop and step aside to let them pass. “yall ain't the only ones in the hall ya know!” (y/n) yelled over the noise, barely audible with how loud everyone was. Harry laughed quietly, watching as (y/n) finally broke through the chaos and ran up to him, her arms spread wide as she yelled out his name-the two finally reunited after morning classes separated them.

“HARRY!” (y/n) slammed into his chest-her arms going around his torso and squeezing tightly, his arms doing the same-nuzzling his face into her hair. He loved her hugs, she liked to practically body slam him and squeeze him as tight as she could without hurting him-he didn’t mind, it gave him a sense of peace he never knew he could feel.

“(y/n)” Harry purred, feeling (y/n)’s hands pat his back a bunch of times before pulling back, his hands moving to her waist as she twisted around to look for Uma and Gil-but they were already in the cafeteria-getting a table for the group. “they’re already at lunch, c’mon-before all the good shits gone.” (y/n) cheered and took his hand, trailing behind him as he easily walked through the crowds.

When they finally sat down-(y/n) was already glued to his side, cheek on his shoulder and hand around his arm. She was always touching him somehow-just like he did. Be it Uma, Gil, his sisters, Ben, or Evie, hell even Jay-he always was touching them one way or the other, a hand on their shoulder, his shoulder against their back, his foot touching theirs, he always had to be touching them in one way or the other-unless they didn’t like being touched, like Mal.

Mal didn’t like to be touched unless she initiated it, and even then she was very….cat like. Harry loved it, he liked being touched, his hands held, his hair ruffled, being hugged, hell his new favorite thing was laying down and having Uma or (y/n) just-putting their full weight on them. Just absolutely crushing him.

He loved that.

He tilted his head into (y/n)’s as she curled her arms around his arm and turned, her cheek pressed against his shoulder as someone called her name-her laugh ringing through his ears as she squeezed his arm. Harry couldn’t help but smile, a feeling floating in his chest as he took a bite of his sandwich. A feeling he could only describe as; peace. He was content.

-end-

Idk-just kinda smoothing back into writing Harry. Again, the only multipart I’ll be writing will be cstf so-have a lil ficlet?

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