#he roots for the characters and frets they won’t make it even though he only reads stories where he knows there will be a happy ending

[general-yasur]

I think Lloyds secret guilty pleasure that he keeps from the ninja is reading cheesy romance novels. There’s something about those stories where the only problems/qualms characters have to worry about is their love for another that Lloyd finds amusing

Lloyd: [ This is so silly, why are you so worried over how he thinks of you….oh my god he looked at you…hold hands now or I will throw this book]

​there’s so much violence and chaos in his life that he just consumes media that is the complete opposite

[hwan-g]

LAVENDER GIRL 🔮 hwang hyunjin.

pair. successor! hyunjin x fem! reader | genre. friends with benefits, soulmates, multiple partners, angst, smut | warnings. profanity, alcohol consumption, smoking, anger issues, manipulation, pet names, dirty talk, unprotected intercourse, threesome, oral sex, underage drinking, flawed characters | word count. 6.9k | prequel to put me in a movie but can be read as standalone.

synopsis. before bang chan, there’d been hyunjin. deranged, tatted up, borderline alcoholic hwang hyunjin, and his obsession with you. your angel doll, always and forever.

You weren’t always together.

But even before, you think, there was this conjointness; a neediness of sorts, a darkness you found in each other and recognized it for what it was early on, plucked it from its roots and held it in your hands, smiling secretly, giddily, eyes locked, barely fifteen years of age.

It started with sneaking whiskey from the wide selection of his dad’s cupboard and into Hyunjin’s room. Smoking cigarettes in the dead of winter, windows open, huddled together, warmth in the closeness of your bodies. Thin strips of iridescent paper that melted on your tongues, glitter on both your cheeks at a party neither of you should be allowed anywhere near. And then, finally, the exploring of hands, legs tangled under fuzzy blankets in your bed during a sleepover, lines that curved and bent, cavernous places with adult names—all giggles for you. Nothing serious, nothing to fret about, even as your mother finds you cuddling the next morning, and threatens to call Hyunjin’s father.

There is that one thing that makes your friend go cold all over, makes him drop you from his lean arms at once, and gather his clothes silently, leaving your makeshift fort, no word, no goodbye. Every single time. The mention of his family. Rich, self-made millionaires with their private schools, and the habit of treating their son like a chess piece in their grand scheme for unlimited power. They take him from you just before the first year of high school starts, a school among mountains, isolated from everyone.

From you. His enabler. His matchstick.

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, lavender girl,” the night before he was sent off.

His hair is long, and black. His eyes eternally sad, his limbs growing taller, stealthier. Your partner in crime, your best, most valuable friend—gone. You hug him tighter. He won’t let go of you until he absolutely has to, until the first rays of sun rise in the sky, the train reaching the station, everyone looking for him, the successor, the investment, despite knowing where he’ll be. Where he’ll always return to.

“I’ll wait for you,” you say, but different words burn in your throat. Words you’ll never say, even years later.

And Hyunjin smiles, because he knows. Because he won’t say them, either. “You won’t.”

“I will,” you insist, burying your face deeper in his embrace. “I’ll never be separated from you, not really.”

He looks down at you, already forming into something else, already changing, preparing for the blow, the death. He truly will go, and it won’t seem to settle in you, it just can’t. Not when he’s staring at you like that, not when his lips are so close, the one line you haven’t crossed. An ongoing joke between the two of you, though there’s nothing funny about it. Nothing funny about the fire in his chest, the way it burns everything in him. Even then.

“And when I call, you’ll come,” he asks, but it’s a statement, and the light swimming in his eyes is overwhelming, it’s tearing at you.

The only boy that ever mattered.

“When you call, I’ll come,” you repeat, and his hands reach for your cheeks, like he’ll do it, like he’ll finally break the spell, lift the curse, and you lean into him, waiting, hoping, but then he just—

Pulls away, gets up. He never truly has the chance again.

“You wanna know mine?” he whispers in your ear in front of the car that will take him away until you recognize not one part of him. “You haunt me in ways I cannot haunt you.” A kiss on your forehead, a lingering hand on your waist.

He never writes. But he does, eventually, call.

The boy in the picture is not Hyunjin. Not at first.

He stands tall, so much taller than when he left you, and his gaze is closed off, serious. The medium length hair has been replaced with a choppy ash blonde cut, short in the front, longer in the back. An inked design is creeping up his neck from under his white button down, something you can’t decipher. But it’s the way he stands among the rest of the boys, the sheer weight of his name so evident now, where once it was nothing but a faraway nightmare. It loops through him and hangs over everyone, it’s so clear in their stance. It hurts to witness the distance they keep from him; afraid, intimidated. Envious.

His mother pulls the picture away from your view, as she clears her throat and changes the subject upon noticing your gloomy expression. “His graduation picture,” she said, but all you see is a death sentence waiting to be executed.

Your angel doll, nowhere to be found. And you, a changed girl, not quite the same without him. Wilder, untamed. Three boyfriends in, countless fuckups and an almost disownment. You wouldn’t need any of them if Hyunjin would just come back, you kept telling yourself. You were never sure why.

“Why ‘lavender girl’?” you’d wondered once, seemingly centuries ago.

The sharpness of him shocked you everytime, the bluntness of his truth, the easiness in which he carried himself. The fluidity of a dancer, the intensity of the dance.

“Because you’re devoted to me.”

You’d scoffed, pretended offense. “You sound sure of it.”

Those slits for eyes were clear, certain as they bore into yours. “Give me a reason not to be.”

You never did. He was right, of course. He’s been there since you were born, but the realization didn’t hit until the early years of adolescence, and once the burning starts, it won’t end until there’s nothing left for it. Fire is fire. In the same way, you will always be pulled towards him, as a wave, as a shore. A constant, a current—it’s all the same in what you are. Yet, it’d been three years and he hadn’t called once. You didn’t think you could forgive that. (Even after all that time, younger ‘you’ makes you laugh, shake your head in pure amusement. You couldn’t yet understand what it meant holding up a mirror and seeing yourself stare back. You didn’t have the ability to not feel like the only person in the room, and in the same way not notice your own shadow trailing behind you. It was Hyunjin, that was all those things. An extension of, a reflection.)

(It wouldn’t be until college that it’d finally click. And those would be Dionysian years; years that would stretch over your mid twenties and then finally into your first real relationships.)

The day is barely turning into night when the phone rings. A lapse in time difference, and your mother makes sure he knows that. You strip her of the receiver and press it into your ear, listening to his steady breathing over the line. It feels like you’re holding your own breath, bracing for impact, letting the outer change of him infect the inner workings of his heart.

Truth was, nothing had changed. Not when it concerns you.

“My lavender girl.”

“Angel doll,” you exhale, breaking into an inevitable toothy grin. “I’m mad at you!”

You can almost picture him smirking, those eyes twinkling. “I’m sure you are, darling.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Soon, you impatient girl. I heard you got into your first choice. Congratulations.”

You can’t help the proud swell of your chest. Hyunjin was, after all, an excellent student throughout the school years. An example you couldn’t help follow after.

“I heard you’re into tattoos now,” you retort cheekily.

“You can say that,” a ghost of a smile in his words.

And you really can’t stop what comes after. Because you’ve waited too long to say it, because it’s haunted your dreams for months, only to be confirmed through a fucking photograph. Your oldest friend, your only friend. You turn away from your mother, a sign for privacy, of secrets.

“You’ve been hurting, haven’t you?” Barely a whisper.

It’s in his silence. The way it blankets over everything.

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, angel doll. I worry about you,” like all those times before.

“My own words against me,” and he chuckles, and it’s miserable, and you can hear the sound of a lighter, of an inhale. “When I call, you’ll come.”

“Of course.” In a heartbeat. Your promise.

“This is the only way I can have you, (Y/N). Please worry about me. I miss you.”

He hangs up before he can hear your reply. It hovers in the middle of the call, through the cable, to wherever he is. You stand there until your mom calls for you, and even as you move it moves with you. Always the joke, always the thing left unsaid. You carry it like gold in your pocket, to be used later. 

There’s more ink than you expected.

It covers parts of his forearms, behind his ear, half of his neck, and you pull him in your room for an extensive search, unbutton his shirt as he stands still, quiet, and watches you undress him—it’s on his ribs, over his heart, you turn him around, shoulder blades, his nape. Your fingers go over the intricate lines, the absence of shadows; tree branches connect from the neck over his shoulder to his back, withering flowers hanging limply off them. On his arms, thorns dig into skin, wrapping around it like shackles, like handcuffs. But the one on his chest, that one makes it hard for you to breathe, makes you drop your hands, bite into your lip to keep from crying.

Because it’s so different, so delicate amidst the bleeding and chaos on the rest of his body. A cut of lavender positioned vertically on the left side of his chest, the only design in color, the greens and purples pastel enough to miss them. You notice, because it matters.

This is a declaration, loud and clear, and not just to you. (That will always be the hardest part.) This is for everyone that will ever see him like this, for everyone that will ask, but likely won’t get a straight answer. The question sets aflame your shaking eyes.

Hyunjin remains still, his full lips glossy with spit, jaw clenched, the only thing betraying him, what he’s feeling. To get him alone in your childhood room, the memories and the same wall colors as so many years ago—he never thought he’d be there again. With you. 

You.

His head falls on your shoulder, almost in a sigh. You hold him, half naked as he is, as you made him, and you listen to his heart, the beat of it, so similar to yours. How to handle a separation—there was no such thing. It all falls back in place, as it was. He’ll be with you from now on, a shadow returning to its owner.

“What have you done,” you mumble.

“Let me,” he mutters on your skin. “Let me pretend.”

“This won’t just wash off, angel doll,” and it’s sad, it is, “Your heart.”

It’s then that he breaks the illusion. Where his lips brush over yours, and his hands guide you to the familiar mattress. Only a mere lifting of your dress, a tug on the dainty piece of fabric. You hold your breath, and look at the door. Hyunjin cups your chin and forces your eyes on him. When he enters you, you question every silly rule you put between you; every fucking missed chance, every second spent together hauled up in closets, hiding from anyone that dared to break you apart.

“Your heart,” he tells you, and you’re one. One.

He fucks you with a hand over your mouth, a murder with no weapon, hunched over you like the back of a knife, harmless in its end, and you don’t fight it, not like the other times. There are no giggles now, no laughing—he’s taking something from you, something that belongs to him, has belonged to him, and he makes sure you know. Hyunjin won’t kiss your lips, he never does, but he kisses your eyelids, your hair, your neck. All the places he’s dreamt of while being away.

When he comes inside your cunt, it’s a belongingness as well. Close enough to slip a part of him in between your cracks, but never his. Always the distinct line of otherness, of trying to hold water.

“The haunted,” he cradles you as you finally let everything out.

After this, you’ll always be together, never apart. Never. Never never never—

(Until Bang Chan. Until Lee Felix.)

“The hunter,” you finish, smiling through your tears.

He smiles back, tasting every single one. Your old Hyunjin wrapped in the new, the layers beautiful in their unfolding. You’re the only person that will ever know the whole truth about him. 

“So, onto university now, is it, sweetheart?” He holds out his hand.

You intertwine your fingers in his, nodding.

“Never leave me.”

“Would not survive it a second time, angel.”

Still, no mention of the siren going off in your chests. The words cutting your throats open like a sword.

It’s there that the thing between you announces a game. A challenge, an open invitation to whomever was strong enough to try and get one or the other. An impossible task for Angel Doll and his Lavender Girl.

Everyone on campus thought you a couple already. It wasn’t until rumors started spreading about you ‘cheating’ on Hyunjin, and then him ‘cheating’ back, over and over and over, that people understood the nature of the relationship. Open, yes, but also—nonexistent. There had been no discussion of wavering feelings or breaking it off, simply because that was unimaginable. Whatever the case was, at night the two of you always slept in the same bed, naked after hours of diving into each other.

A concept hard to wrap around one’s mind. And yet your partners never seemed to care until it was too late. Until it had to become this whole entire situation that needed resolving, and more often than not—Hyunjin had to beat some poor boy’s ass for disrespecting not only you, but what you two had. Being called a slut just couldn’t seem to get past him. And he loved starting some shit.

You never mentioned his habits again, and everyone else seemed to treat it as a personality trait, a quirk that made him stand out, that made him the undeniable ‘king of beer pong.’ To you, it was a parasite that was eating him alive. Ever the overachiever, he never let the effects show, the withdrawals rock. Four years of it, and not one person ever saw it for what it was.

It was boyfriend number four that had it the worst.

“It’s pathetic,” Hyunjin would snarl in your face, half naked, a storm gathering in the corners of your dorm room. “He’s so serious about you!”

You would be proud. You would cry, and you’d get offended easily. Only because it mattered—what he thought about any part of your life mattered. You loved him the most. You loved him the best.

“And that’s a bad thing?” He’d wipe your tears away, and look at you with a broken expression, lavender stem over his heart. Always. “For once, someone actually wants to show me off, and it’s a bad thing?”

Pisces Sun eyes melted at your tone. He didn’t mean it like that. He never meant to hurt you, to make you feel less than. You were everything to him—and it was exactly that, that kept him green green green; jealousy was growing over the thorns on his arms, seeping through his skin, infecting his organs, his bloodstream—

He couldn’t have you for real. He never would. In the same way, he wanted no one else for you. His lavender girl belonged in a field, to be looked at, to be admired, yes, fuck—but never to be touched. Anything but that. What he’s trying to say… you have his heart. He can’t possibly ever lose you.

“What do you need their attention for?” He asks in a boy voice. Defeated. Childish in his adult body, with the long limbs and the long fingers and all the ways you make him feel. “You don’t need them, baby. You have me,” and when he pulls you to him, was there ever really a fight to begin with? “You have me.”

All of him. He lets you know, let’s you feel it, as he lays you down on the full bed you’ve shared since your first semester, the exception to the rule, because he’s a ‘Hwang’, and he gets whatever he wants, no matter the way, no matter what. It’s a strange thing to witness him abusing this newfound power, when he was once so against it, so different from it.

But he merely taught himself how to manipulate it, without letting it affect his character. An admirable thing for such a popular person, the students of the school his father funds would say. And he chose you, the girls would whisper. Why?

As he licks between your legs, those intense eyes looking up at your face, leftover glitter on his cheeks from the third Halloween party this week, you think you can answer now. You’re twin flames. A single soul split in half, mirroring each other. You cannot escape, as much as you can’t stay together. There will be a point where you’ll meet someone else. Where he will too. And it will be life changing, brain rewiring—it will be necessary. But the connection, it’ll never get lost. 

Not as long as you’re both alive.

“Tell me you’re mine,” as his fingers bury themselves in your wet cunt, as he watches your back arch for him. “God, I can’t hold enough of you, my pretty girl. I can’t have enough of you, sweetheart.”

“Let me…let me lose myself in you again.”

And he does. Every time his cock enters you, there’s a completeness you can’t find anywhere else, not even with your own blood family. He’s made of something entirely yours, a part of you in another, and you don’t have arms long enough to wrap all around, to swallow him into you, your angel doll, your heart.

Yet, rules are rules. He never owns your mouth, only your breath. Hyunjin moans as he bottoms out, as he starts fucking into you the way he only can, his grunts filling your lungs, paralyzing your brain. He wants to, there’s tears in his gingerbread eyes, he wants to, he fucking wants to, Jesus; he wishes and dreams and begs and pleads and prays for your lips, for one kiss, for the holiest touch—but he’s turned away every time. Lines that even he cannot cross.

But others can. Others have free access to you so easily, so inattentively, those greedy guys and their dirty hands all over his lavender girl, all over his girl, and it doesn’t feel so much as a game now, it’s a full fledged out war, and he’s carrying a double edged sword, he knows, because he, too, gives himself away to meaningless people and one night stands, so in a way he’s covered in sin, covered in slime, and does not deserve you, not one bit of you.

But that doesn’t matter either. Because it’s not about deserving. It’s about the cross he carries on his back, the pain in his chest, the thorns that dig, the branches that poke and tug, the wilting of his entire self without you. Those years away shaped a tough exterior out of what he previously was, out of what you’d made, and the big hole where you should be only grew bigger. Hyunjin placed you on top of his heart, because it’s the one thing that just has to keep fucking beating in order to come back to you every single time.

A war. With himself.

As if you heard him, your palm presses on the tattoo, eyes glazed, fucked out, and all thoughts turn into static noise. Nothing is real yet everything comes into focus with you. He curses the day when he’s going to have to share you. The asshole that took you out three fucking times certainly is not gonna be the one. He’ll make sure of it.

“You must let me find you,” he whispers in your hair, emptying himself inside of you, shuddering. “Every time. Do you hear me?”

“He’s staying,” you mumble stubbornly in his arms, but your sweat is his sweat, and there’s no room for a third person in this. Not yet.

“He won’t,” he soothes you. “He’s not the one for you, sweetheart.”

“You don’t know that.”

A ghost of a smile. His lips pressed against the side of your head.

“I’m sure of it. I know what you need, lavender girl. Air, sunlight. Water.”

Your fist comes into contact with his collarbone. Hyunjin laughs, a breathy thing. You laugh too.

“Just another flower in your stupid garden,” you joke, but it’s not funny.

He stills, expression solemn. His fingers pass over your eyes, closing them in the process, and you inhale sharply. He brings his face close to your lips once again, pretending, always pretending that he’s going to do it, but all he really does—

“The only flower. My most precious one. My heart tree.”

My body is nothing but an extension of yours. I painted it as I see you. Use it as you like. Kill me if you must. It was all for you, anyway.

In simple words— I love you.

Hyunjin was born for the arts.

It was a suppressed talent, but one he indulged in when he could nevertheless. He followed you to the university of your choice, humored himself into a major he’ll never actually have a real future in, and raised a big middle finger to the private school in England and his last name.

He liked painting, but dancing—it flowed through him, moved him, it was a possessive thing. He loved dancing, is what he’s trying to say, perhaps in a similar way to how he loved you—inevitably, all consumingly.

He adored it even more when you danced with him. When he danced for you. Your body on his, swinging to the rhythm of whatever song would be playing at the parties you frequented, reminiscent of the way he fucks you, of how you fit together. There was one song in particular that became a tradition for the two of you.

Maneater by Nelly Furtado. Sophomore year, Halloween Day. You helped him put on blue eyeshadow, and you had an outrageously orange colored dress on, cosplaying as a famous rockstar couple from the seventies. His hair was longer again, the faded blonde appearing almost dark silver under certain lighting. Hyunjin always looked ethereal, but that day? All the glitter and flare spoke of magic, witchcraft beyond your usual pointy hat and swish and flick of a wand.

Somehow, somewhere, Hwang Hyunjin had been conjured up. And you were the lucky one that got to witness him in all his glory and charm, both as before and after. Prior to the two of you walking through the doors of what would be another season of unhinged fraternity parties, he held you close, semi naked chest touching yours, silk shirt feeling cool against your cleavage, and he threw you a dashing smile, the happiest he’s ever looked.

The drunkest he’s ever been.

“Marry me.”

You blinked. Then giggled, attempting to push him away so you could enter the house. His arms wrapped tighter around you, smile widening, pearly white teeth showing. There’s no way he’s serious, but despite the light tone, his eyes are dead set on you, and you very much don’t feel like giggling anymore.

Boyfriend number four didn’t make it, but potential boyfriend number five was in there, waiting for you to show up. This was no time for declarations of marriage. Panic bubbled in your throat.

“You’re—you’re not serious,” you stutter, dumbfounded.

“He’s not the one either,” he says, and his full pink lips look so inviting, so soft the more you stare at them. “Baby, you’re so beautiful, but so fucking desperate for love. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

You wonder what would happen if you broke the rule. What fate would await you knowing how he tasted. You’d probably say yes, completely drunk on him. You’d probably throw away your entire life and follow him anywhere.

No.

“Say you don’t belong with me.”

You push him away for real this time. He stumbles back, but his smile never drops. He expected this reaction, can read you like the back of his hand. And the proposal—an intangible thing. Angel Doll and Lavender Girl. The magic would fall apart like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage. You simply cannot afford to lose him if it doesn’t go well, if one of the two fucks up unfathomably bad.

Having no title leaves room for mistakes. You can fight about it, then fuck, and it’s forgotten by the second orgasm. But a relationship? Marriage at that? You’d kill each other, you’d die.

No.

“You can’t,” he continues, and he’s shining so bright it’s hard for you to stay mad. To push away and stay away.

You feel like crying, you feel like doing something very stupid—like go in that house and fuck that poor boy’s brains out. Obviously. Pointedly. Hyunjin would get jealous, drink some more, work himself into a sour mood, then fuck off to bury himself in the first person he sees. That’s how it usually went when he cornered you like that.

He regretted it immensely. He ran away. As did you.

Then he searched you out, and brought you home. Showed you why. Called himself your victim. You think you’re as much a victim as he is.

“You’re drunk,” you say, nearing him. “Give me until graduation.”

He shook his head, tugging at the ends of his soft hair, chuckling maniacally, like a crazy man. He was as panicked as you were; you were not supposed to know about this—his wants, his truths. His love. You’d become so good at the dance; the twirling, the hand over hand over hand, that the spilling was incomprehensible, the consequences incalculable.

“You’ll have found him by then,” he explains, and finally meets your gaze, a sad smile quivering on his plump lips. “I‘ll become an afterthought, a background character.”

“You won’t, you can’t!” You take his face in your hands, smudging birthday cake glitter everywhere, and you see stars. Galaxies, nebula’s. Your angel doll is not a man suddenly, but instead an entire universe. And you’re able to hold something like that. It’s never going to make any sense. “You’re imprinted on me, Hyun. Wherever I go, you follow. I’ll let you, okay? Stop crying, I’m not lying, I promise, are you listening?”

But he’s lost in his thoughts and fears, and nightmares again. You must look silly standing right outside a costume party, fighting to cling onto each other for dear life.

“I will too,” he mutters, nose running, sparkly tears. “I’ll fucking—I’ll find someone else, but they won’t be you, and I won’t know how to be with them, and it’s all fucked, darling, isn’t it, it’s—

“Marry me before that happens, angel. I’ve no idea how to be without you. Please.” His eyes are wide.

You stare at him and he stares at you, and you’re both saying the same thing without saying it at all, and that’s an answer all on its own.

“That’s not us,” you remind him softly. “I’m not leaving you behind, angel doll. You’re coming with me. Till death.”

And he’s terrified. He’s scared, and he’s been drinking for two days straight, has smoked more cigarettes than he can count or remember, all for it to come down to the same old conclusion. Unable to be together, but inseparable. (It will sting less later, but for now it’s an open heart surgery wound the size of two of your fists.)

He hugs you until you can’t breathe, and then pulls you into the house, where he delivers you to your plaything for the month, and heads for the kitchen to find the one thing that can numb it all away. If he sees the way you hold onto that beast of a guy, Ivy League scholarship, football star in the making, he holds back. It’s futile anyway. He has no way of stopping it.

Instead, he goes on a little hunt of his own. He likes to call this revenge, but really it’s punishment.

For him.

He eases you into your first threesome during spring break.

The guy is familiar to you, you’ve seen him around, but can’t really think of a name, or a major. Maybe from a party? It doesn’t register until much later that he’s Hyunjin’s fucktoy from freshman year, and for some reason you can barely stand, it makes you sick to your stomach—

Because this kickstarts the beginning of the end. He’s showing you how it’s going to be from now on.

“She likes it rough,” he informs the black-haired boy standing between your legs. Then he leans into his neck, and whispers, “Like me.”

He doesn’t mention how you only learned to take it that way, because it was the way he taught you. And you loved it—the flesh-eating need to have someone disassemble you and put it all back together, to have someone’s cock (his cock, it’ll always be his first) (until Bang Chan) buried so deep in your pussy you feel him all the way in your stomach. The feeling is indescribable, every.single. time.

“You’re okay with this?” The cute guy asks you, but you’ve never taken your eyes off Hyunjin. He hasn’t either.

“Yes.”

“I’m Felix, beautiful,” he tells you, dropping to his knees and hooking his arms around the backs of your knees, sliding you close to his face. “I’ve heard all about you.”

He found them first. Your hand shoots out for your angel doll, and he grabs it without thinking. He’s there, as promised, guiding you through your first orgasm with someone that’ll end up being the love of his life. He’s shaking, and he’s caressing your hair like he’s going through unbearable agony. Perhaps he is, as you cry out and moan another man’s name for his ears to hear.

“Shove another finger in her, see how she cums for you.”

And you do. Again and again and again…

By the time Felix is done with you, Hyunjin is unzipping his jeans and getting on top of you, his mouth leaving butterfly kisses from your neck down to your breast, to your navel, on your swollen clit. You don’t dare open your eyes; you hold his hand tight, and fall into the feeling of his weight, of his hips, of his length pushing past your folds.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and it’s the sexiest sound you’ll ever hear. “You’re just for me, sweetheart. It’s always going to feel this fucking good with you.”

You don’t see it, but Felix gets behind Hyunjin and slips right into him. Your doll collapses against your collarbone, muttering, moaning, baby… fuck, let me die here, let me die between the two of you…

His thrusts find a rhythm, as your voices all blend together, strings of filthy words bringing you closer to your release. You’ve never watched Hyunjin get fucked before, he’s usually so dominant with you, but you think you prefer him this way more. Surrendered, half mad, leaking inside you, his beautiful face twisted with pleasure and pain—a painting of pure ecstasy.

Felix grabs your boy by the neck and twists his head so he can kiss him flat on the mouth. Something stirs inside you, but it’s not jealousy. They look so in tune, move so well together that it’s hard to hate them. It feels like the point over the horizon where the sun and the moon meet—there’s a certain flowing between them and it runs like water, parts like the Red Sea.

“I think your girl wants a kiss,” the black-haired boy pants as he catches you looking. He slows his thrusts, takes his time with the two of you.

“We don’t kiss,” you and Hyunjin reply at the same time, and then giggle, eyes bright.

It all soon turns into deep mutters and moaning again, and you come the moment he hits something inside you, reaching so incredibly deep he has you seeing black spots, has you shaking. You hold him close as he reaches his release, a couple minutes after you, and Felix winks at you, kisses your angel doll’s back and gets off so you can stretch.

The three of you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, made up of nothing but breaths and sweat. You can smell the sex in the air, feel Hyunjin’s fingers play with the stickiness between your legs. You rub your thighs together, wanting his touch on you again. Always, perhaps.

“You’ve never kissed?” Felix asks, but he’s not being nosy. He seems genuinely interested in the fact.

“Never,” you reply, and Hyunjin intertwines your hands on the cotton sheets. “Are you planning on sticking around?”

A moment passes. Then, “Yes.”

Your mouth curves. “Then you’ll find out why.”

Hyunjin laughs, brings your hands up to his lips and kisses the back of yours. “This is my lavender girl, Lix. You’re gonna love her.”

Your little arrangement continues until well into your third year. Hyunjin had cut back on the alcohol but was smoking like a chimney in winter. Felix did a lot of good, brought a lot of light anywhere he stood, to everything he touched.

And you liked him quite a bit. He kept your favorite boy occupied and silenced the voices in his head, something no one except you could do. They were clearly in love, clearly enamored with each other. Nothing mattered outside your little circle, and it felt the same way for you, as well. Until Hyunjin came to your room crying one night in December, with a bloody nose and a broken heart, locking the door hurriedly, begging to let him inside you.

You closed your book, jumped out of your shared bed, and ran to him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“He slept with someone else, he doesn’t understand, darling, he doesn’t get us…” he muttered on your cheek miserably, resting against you, arms clinging onto you.

You rubbed soothing circles on his back, let his tears calm down to a soft sniffling before you questioned him. You’d learned long ago to be gentle with him when he’d get like this; your angel doll did not handle life well, rejection even worse.

“Is it exclusive?” you ask softly. “What you two have… did he know?”

When he ignores the question, you know it isn’t. But Hyunjin is hurt, stubborn and possessive and he will never share, not unless he approves first. It doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for him and he’s never cared. With you it’s out of the question. The unfairness is lost to you, but you’re certain that it should feel wrong, that he should probably let you go, too.

“Why would he do that to me? I love him.”

You’re jealous then. Ever since you snuck booze in your room and painted purple eyeshadow on each other’s lids, you’ve never uttered the three words once, not even as a joke, as a whisper, as a mouthed forbidden curse—but Felix gets to have it just.like.that? Spilled out like a murder scene between you? Your killer is pressing kisses on your collarbone, tears mixed with saliva, and you feel him all over you, all the times you’ve let him imprint what he cannot say, his seed still inside you from the last time you fucked, his sweet voice calling you ‘pretty darling,’ ‘beautiful lavender girl,’ all of it, does it even matter now?

He can love another, but could never tell you, his open field, his summer breeze, love betrayed, recycled—

Your hands stop him, push on his chest, your own stomach turning. Your eyes can’t possibly meet his. Hyunjin breaks apart in front of you, but you don’t think you can save him from himself this time. Not tonight.

“If I don’t say this now, I will be killing my own heart, angel doll…” you whisper, and there’s a ball of something in your throat, it’s choking you, it’s crushing your skull. “Have you ever loved me—”

It’s within a split second that he smacks his hand on top of your mouth and presses his own on top of it. His arm is digging on your lower back, and you can feel his erection against your thigh, hard through his baggy jeans, always hard for you, and needy, so needy, so ready, and how can you be so stupid, so silly? He is not himself when he’s not with you. He only hopes you feel the same way.

He kisses you like that as if he were kissing your lips, and your wet cheeks touch his, your voice breaks trying to whisper his name, his own hushes you, brings you closer. The one thing you swore you’d never do.

“Are you leaving me? Is that what this is?” you ask, desperately trying to catch your breath, hear over the rushing of your blood.

Hyunjin laughs, fully removes his hand from your jaw, instead rubbing your cheeks, caressing your hair, pulling at the ends, looking at you with the gingerbread eyes, the honey eyes, the ones you can’t resist, don’t ever try to. 

“Silly girl,” he scolds you fondly, his mouth curving, the red lips sore, and he appears much like the moon to you now. “I apologize. What would ever become of me if I didn’t have you? If I never met you?”

When he truly smiles, through the tears, through the pain, you can’t help but to smile back. The game is back on, the walls rebuilt themselves, but it’s not quite pretending. Not anymore.

“You’d be miserable without me, angel doll,” you pout, giggling as he tickles your sides, sparkling as he throws you on the bed and has his way with you.

“I’d be miserable,” he confirms, kissing down your breast. “I’d be dead. But you understand why I have to love him, don’t you?”

Your eyes meet. “He’s the sun,” barely audible.

His hands fumble, the sound of a zipper, his cold hands lifting your dress. “He’ll look over my lavender field,” his pulsing cock pushing against your entrance, “my sweet girl.”

Hyunjin fucks you like he’s going to lose you, slow, hips grinding into you like he’s trying to leave a piece of himself inside you, where you can never find it, never remove it. He looks beautiful in all the ways he isn’t saying it, in all the ways he means it. Your arms wrap around him, and you fall, deeper, further, for all eternity.

As promised.

It’s in your senior year that you understand why you had to wait.

Bang Chan is older, he’s a film graduate, he’s Felix’s best friend from Australia. His accent is thick, his hair is curly, and his hands are surprisingly rough.

He takes you against the dormitory building at four in the morning, after drinks and a round of bowling. And it’s different, it’s intense—somehow you know exactly what to do, he moves just as you like it, you never bump, it’s overwhelming, it’s fucking amazing. He’s the best kisser you’ve ever had, his mouth tasted like mint and his cologne smelled of tobacco and vanilla, a mix you’ve never seen on anyone else, and somehow he’s just for you, this man with the irresistible smile and sculpted face.

You trace his eyebrows, kiss his jaw. He never shudders, like your angel doll, but instead—he grunts, he growls. You come on his dick three times on your first date, and he brings you over to his place every night after that, for a month straight. Hyunjin distances himself, lets you explore the new world, lets you get to know, but you always see him in your room when you tiptoe around a space you’ve called home for four years, like a thief.

He pretends to be asleep as you grab clothes; sees you choose which panties Chan would like best, what perfume would drive him crazy, if you should do velvet or silk—he gets jealous, but never angry. He chose this man for you, saw how he folds when you look at him, how he’d crumble into dust if you ever broke it off.

They made an agreement, the two. They’d share you as long as they were both allowed to love you. Hyunjin never said it, of course. But only a fool would miss it—

The way he burns and is reborn every time you blink, the stem over his heart, his only calling.

One rare day the Aussie is off working on his many projects, you take Hyunjin’s hand and together you sit under the big oak tree, in the middle of campus, you with your book, him with his sketchbooks and pencils.

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, lavender girl,” he mumbles against your exposed belly, and you giggle.

You can see the branches through his thin white tank top. Your heart. “I love him, angel doll,” you say, confidently.

His eyes are the moon again, his lips cherry blossom. His hair is getting longer. 

Like sunlight, Felix morphs behind him, waving, beaming down.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @lix-ables, @skz317cb97, @koorminii, @choinsaw.

[seimeinotaka]

Rêverie (An OberonXGudako fic)

MASSIVE LOSTBELT 6 SPOILERS INCLUDING OBERON'S PROFILE AND BOND CE

Summary: Oberon has been unexpectedly summoned to Chaldea. He wonders why he is even there as he reminisces what happened in Avalon Le Fae. But it seems Ritsuka isn't leaving him alone, much to his annoyance.

Thanks to jellyfishy for beta-reading this!

Once again, the story has major spoilers for LB6, Oberon's profile and Bond CE, as well as important plot points of Solomon, LB1 and LB5.

There's implied one-sided love, mentions of heavy topics such as loss, and mentions of deceased characters.

"Master, Master, you've gotten better at this!"

"Thank you, Gogh! I've been practicing a lot using the tips you and Oui gave me. Even Jeanne Alter praised my background, hehe!"

"Hey, I said it was passable. Pas-sa-ble!"

Ritsuka Fujimaru has been drawing something in the cafeteria, surrounded by many servants that come and go. No one asks what she is doing, they all seem to know or if they don’t, they don’t bother to ask.

It is so bothersome. Annoying.

So many people surrounding her, like an ultraviolet lamp that attracts all the bugs. Never mind that they end up getting zapped the moment they ever dare to touch it.

The people, the sound, the merriment, it all annoys Oberon, who only watches in silence as he eats some ice cream with melon.

To be able to smile like that, even after discarding all of those stories...Oberon doesn't hide a crooked smile. In the end, the lostbelts are no more than faint dreams doomed to end, forgotten by the winners, the panhuman history citizens. Ritsuka Fujimaru isn't different. For her, it's like reading the doujin the swimsuit berserker is making. Once the pages are closed, the story ends and it ceases to exist. She can choose to forget.

Truly detestable.

-

Oberon stares and then walks away, just as Ritsuka lifts her face. She looks around, the feeling of being watched faintly breaking her concentration.

But in the end he doesn't say a word as he leaves.

-

“Hey, you keep looking at Master!” Jeanne Alter slams her hands on the table where Oberon is sitting. Said Master is working again, too enthralled talking with Gogh to notice Jeanne Alter slipping away to talk to him.

“Does it bother if I do?” He gives her a crooked smile as she huffs and scowls. Though of course her face turns slightly pink.

“Tch, of course not! It's just your stare is getting on my nerves! Wouldn't you get distracted if someone is looking at you intensely?”

“I am a creation, not a creator. I wouldn't understand what you're saying. Besides, I wasn’t looking at her or you anyway,” he says mockingly.

“Hmph, whatever you say. Leave when Master is drawing, what she is doing is very important and I won't let you make it messy.”

“Hah, a page of your little comic? As if you need a lot of care. But fret not, I am certain that with your keen insight and guidance it will be something so memorable, up to the level of the famous writers here in Chaldea.”

“You bug...Bring it, I will burn you to a crisp! Moths do like fire, don't they? Surely you will feel at home then!” Jeanne Alter laughs. “I'll let you know that it is something so impressive that it would make you cry, if you're capable of that anyway.”

Though her Saint Graph right now is one of a Berserker, it seems the insight of the Avenger still exists deep within. After all, only those who are similar can recognize each other. Fake recognizes fake. Emptiness recognizes emptiness. Hate can only recognize hate.

Though come to think about it, Ritsuka has always been writing, he noticed she kept a small book on her, during quiet times. Perhaps a diary of sorts. It wouldn’t be surprising, to record everything she has experienced, as the writer of the winning history.

-

When we die, we'll become like those stories. Our lives are stories that might be discussed and forgotten, so it's not that different from your midsummer night dream.

A dream you forget once you wake up from your slumber.

“You're a tsundere,” Ritsuka says flatly as she rests her chin on her hand. She even dares to give Oberon a shrug and a smile, as if she can tell the truth between the lies.

“Ah, you're annoying.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about, hehe!”

An obnoxious smile continues to be on her face, and he simply looks at her with unveiled disgust and apathy.

“Why am I even here?”

“Well, you answered the call, so you can only blame yourself for that.”

“What.”

“The rayshift system call can be refused. That's an inescapable truth. You lie a lot but there are some truths in your words. Or actions in this case. You wanted to be in Chaldea, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Ah there it is, your virtuous nature shining through. One day you'll be fooled by someone who is pretending to be your ally...ah, my bad, that has already happened, isn't that right? Maybe you should learn your lesson.”

“Ah, yes. But it doesn't change that you are here. And because you lie often, that means I can just take it whatever way I like. You'll just deny it even if I'm right. But you can't deny we get along pretty well!”

“We do not!”

“See, that's a lie!”

“Ah, I'm going to the cafeteria! Don't follow me!”

Yet we thrive on dreams, don’t we?

“How long do you think I've been in this business? Have you interacted already with some of the servants here? I can tell you don’t mind my company.”

“I quit, I'll break the contract!”

“So, one cube or two?” Ritsuka dares to offer him the sugar cube container, even holding some tongs, just to put the amount he requests in his cup.

“You really want a poisoned tea, right, wonderful Master?~”

Even if they are something that doesn’t exist, we yearn for them, even to make them a reality. No matter how impossible. No matter how painful.

That is why we can never get rid of them.

Even if we forget once the veil of dawn has ended, something of it remains.

-

“There's so much that is subjective. For example, you were Artoria's Merlin, weren't you? For a moment you were Merlin, that was her truth. There's different Merlins, I mean we have different Artorias here from different eras and classes. You were a different Merlin than the one I know.”

Ritsuka is busy trying different colors. Oui and Gogh got into a discussion on how to best get the tones she was aiming for, and they even went to do some research on their own. The reds of a forest seem familiar yet not quite right, not that Oberon was looking at the notebook.

It has to have a dreamlike feeling, that’s what she wanted, but that’s not easy to pour into a painting.

“What we see as a lie or as truth, it changes with our perception. Your lies and my truths might be different, but it's ok. In the end we have only one perspective. That's why lies and truths can mix, that's why contradictions exist. I mean, that is why you are here.”

“Here's some advice from the bottom of my heart, don't quit your day job, Master. Stick to the world saving and leave the philosophical dissertation to virtually anyone else.”

In the end, does the truth really matter?

Something that can change when you close your eyes. Something that is as fleeting as a moth's life.

Would anything change in the grand scheme of things?

To protect Ritsuka, Chaldea forged a story, one where Romani Archaman was at fault for everything that happened.

To the world that is on the verge of disappearing, that became the truth.

To everyone in Chaldea, the truth is that this girl worked harder than anyone to protect this world.

That was what Sherlock Holmes said once they met. Oberon didn’t like him, but in a way he seems familiar. Holmes is a great detective, but since he keeps everything to himself, he might be wrong the entire time until the last minute.

So it’s not like Oberon can take him that seriously.

Even so, he told him the story of the great journey before Panhuman History was at risk by the Alien God. A story of which he was somehow aware, but it seems different when it is told by someone else.

To Oberon, it was a story of selfish survival. A fitting story of those who fight in the mud to continue existing.

To Holmes, it was a story of humanity bravely fighting to avoid destruction. An unlikely event that might have inspired others. Or rather, that is how the Leonardo Da Vinci from that time would have framed it, since Holmes isn’t an author and the current Da Vinci is someone different now.

The events are there, what changes is our perception of them. Perhaps this is where truths and lies take root, the lie of today becomes the truth of tomorrow.

The lie allows the fake existence to continue even when the dream has already ended.

But in the end, everything will fade, so nothing really matters.

-

"Well, I don't know if it has a meaning, but doesn't that mean you can give it your own? Just like how I can take your lies the way I want."

"Aren't you a simplistic one? No, perhaps it is that kind of thinking that has let you get this far. What a naive Master Chaldea has. Though it helps you accomplish your goals. "

He is not sure why they are taking tea while chatting, but here he is. Perhaps it is to hide his annoyance, the Master won’t stop until she gets what she wants anyway, so he is just avoiding a pointless squabble.

"You can think whatever you want~ and in any case, even if the feelings of today will be nothing in the future, that doesn't mean they are worthless. Because they affect the you of today and that is the moment when you are alive.”

The joy of living, that is something Oberon can’t understand nor tolerate. It angers him.

Of course, he is an entity of the abyss so how could he comprehend that?

The will of self-destruction, the cessation of existence. That something is so fundamentally wrong that it must wiped out, for there is no way to fix something that crooked.

Faerie Britain wished for him because it had to be wiped away from all records, because it had no way of being salvaged.

Therefore, he can only listen to those words.

(Perhaps it is the envy of not having something? Perhaps it is the bitterness of no longer having something to do, to dream for? Or simple ennui that no matter what, in the end it doesn’t matter?)

Ritsuka ignores his silence, as she continues.

“I don't know but for someone who likes stories you don't seem like you're actually enjoying them.”

“Would you enjoy a story where you fade away like everyone in the lostbelts you have erased? Ah, my bad. Surely, as the winner you can afford to disregard those stories. Silly me, of course you would be able to believe that as the victor you can claim to be the true history. Panhuman history is in the end mankind's right path, after all, and everything else can fade into the abyss.”

Her smile is complex, almost a facade. From one angle it looks like a forlorn frown, from the other a faint smile. She plays with the spoon on her table.

"Hmmm, I wonder..."

 Dr. Roman, we finally beat the British Lostbelt. It was unlike any other places we were, and I keep thinking of Percival's words...

   I wish you were still here.

The sacrifice of someone can mean the whole world for a single person. The sacrifices of millions can become a mere statistic, a simple cold number to show how bad an event was. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What was once lost will never come back.

The void left in one's soul will never heal, it only becomes more bearable with time.

But even so, that lingering pain is the proof that someone was alive, that they left a mark on the others they met as one looks at the twinkling stars and reminisces of the never-happening-again past.

“Did you know the true opposite of love isn't hate but indifference?”

“Haaah? Perhaps you didn't think so but I was being honest about my suggestion. Thinking too much will only hurt your head. You should only focus on what's in front of you.”

“Whether you love or hate, you end up putting a lot of attention to the object of your affections, but if you're indifferent to it, it ceases to exist. Perhaps your hatred of everything is because there's something you cannot afford to lose.”

Titania was the wife of Oberon in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. She was the only one who could accept the king's eccentric personality.

But in reality, she was just a creation for the story, a being who was never real.

Of course, there isn't a person like that in the world.

Someone who accepts a hollow entity like me.

“I don’t know, if Arjuna Alter was able to come to terms with his own humanity, well...nevermind. I was just thinking aloud.”

(Ideals are just that.

A concept not belonging to this world.

It is when you reconcile with the flawed reality that you can grasp your happiness, the one you have.)

“Heh-Hahahaha, that's rich, Master!”

This is so sickening.

Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) such an unpleasant existence. Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) a being born of hate, a destructive force whose only purpose is to rend everything to ashes.

But the fact is, Titania doesn't exist. This means no one could accept someone like him.

That is the unpleasant truth.

That is why people are entranced(poisoned) by falsehoods, lies to sweeten the body and protect the soul. It's a sweet elixir to hide from the harsh reality, the ultimate end of the journey of everyone, a pointless, worthless life. Because at the end of the dream, no matter what one has accomplished, it doesn't change the finale of this story and it is doomed to be forgotten. 

Just as the one princess from before, who also fell in love with the Fairy King. The one who tried to give fire to his cold body. But he didn't notice this, not even when her snow body had ceased to move, a protection of love.

So in the end, if it's not acknowledged, it is the same as it never had happened.

“Tell me, does it matter to you? Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That you understand what I'm going through? Come on, tell me your important story, that everything is going to be alright as long as I'm not alone-”

“I can't. I don't know how you feel. Even if we had suffered the same, I wouldn't know how you feel.”

Her words or her smile, the same as before. He doesn’t know which but it cuts him short.

“All I know is the pain of losing someone important to me, but that's not what you're feeling, right?”

The Titania I wish for doesn't exist in this world. The Faerie Britain that gave birth to me no longer exists, even if I have accomplished my goal. 

I am merely a dream whose purpose has been fulfilled and thus, the curtain shall be down as I exit the stage.

The things I yearn for are merely dreams. Even so, I hope, because I saw it existed for someone else. For another Oberon, not the one I am.

The illusion of happiness, the hope of a love.

I don't know how it is to not be Oberon, the lying king. The king without any other purpose. The villain that has exited the stage having won, but now even that victory is pointless.

Then, why am I still here? 

“For what it's worth, I like you. You're nice company, lies and all.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“I've been told that often.”

“It's not a compliment, you have no taste.”

“You know, for Panhuman history I am the hero, ensuring our world survives. But to everyone else from every lostbelt erased...I am the worst of the worst, the villain that destroys their world.”

Ritsuka traces the notebook on her hands. The contents of the rest could be disclosed but Oberon doesn’t open any of the other pile of notebooks, so they all lie on her bed.

“Patxi cursed me for showing him a world that he thought was happier than his.”

Tears fell from her eyes as she smiled weakly. “I wonder if that was ever the right choice.”

“Panhuman history isn't the perfect utopia you can imagine. Humans seek hatred and war, there's suffering and agony. While some can lead happy lives, there's so many who can't even enjoy a warm meal or think of a future. Kirshtaria saw that, he wanted to make a better world because ours was so imperfect.”

“Why are we still going?”

“Why was ours the correct one?”

“Even now, I don't know. And I'm not sure if I'll ever know. Any justification might seem a rationalization, something to feel less guilty for killing all those people.”

“That is why I cannot forget, I cannot let the history of those lostbelts be erased. Even if I'm the only one who remembers,” her grip on the notebook tightened, “I can never forget them.”

Like a dream, one time Oberon caught sight of what she was drawing, finally reaching the dreamy red hue she long sought, depicting the autumn forest Oberon knew and hated.

The words depicting what happened in Faerie Britain, the stories of Artoria, Morgan, of Barghest, Baobhan Sith and Melusine, of Aurora, of Mike, of Ector, of Knocknarea, of him.

“Even if the rest of the world forgets, I cannot. That's why I want to record as much as I can. I caused them to disappear, remembering all of them is the least I can do.”

“That's guilt for you.”

“...Yes, I can't deny that. I've caused many people to suffer, that is why I cannot stop.”

“You're an idiot. Pursuing a fleeting dream that will only cause you to hurt, as your heart tears itself apart with these thorns you surround yourself with.”

“I guess. But someone has to do it right? But even so…

“I enjoy the moments with everyone here in Chaldea and I can say I'm happy.

But I also feel deep sadness for everything that I have done and continue to do.”

There are many contradicting truths, woven into each other.

Like overlapping threads in a beautiful(horrible) story.

“I could think Panhuman history is the correct one because it was there. There was a reason why it was chosen.”

“And if there isn't? If there is truly no meaning to your journey? That the reason your world was chosen was a mere whim of fate, a sudden lucky roll of the dice? That there is nothing special to your world that makes you worthy of the title of proper human history?”

“Then I guess I will have to make it so that there is one.”

“And if you can't?”

“Just because I can't doesn't mean I shouldn't try.”

“Trying doesn't mean you will succeed. Morgan tried her hardest, but in the end, she still failed, crumbling in despair as her Faerie kingdom burnt to ashes.”

“Well, that will come bite me when the time comes, but for now, that’s all I can do, right?”

In the end, as long as it entertains, does it matter?

What is the purpose of a story? To bring joy(tears)? To break one from that moment of boredom, of despair, and heal the soul even if just a little?

And in the end, does it even matter?

-

“I like this Saint Graph more.”

It’s been a long time since he has donned the clothes as King Oberon. Once the façade was over, once he could ascend, he has never worn anything but the colors of the depths of the abyss. Anyone else would think they are unsightly, hateful, depressing.

After all, the warmth of King Oberon’s butterfly wings makes children smile, makes people trust him. His monstruous limbs right now are not enchanting.

“I thought you were a butterfly girl. And I have been wearing these ever since, why are you even saying this up until now?”

“I just wanted to say that. I like the fluffy cape and the butterfly wings, but you sound less pained right now. And this outfit is cool too.”

In the end, perhaps Titania isn't meant to be someone who brings the sun to your eyes, with laughter so contagious that she makes the bitterness of a day go away. She's not a neverending warmth on a cold winter, nor a guiding bright star up in the dark sky. She's not the simple to your complicated, the light to your dark, the smile to your frown, the opposite of your miserable existence that brings joy to your life. An illogical being that accepts you in spite of your incompatibility. 

Was I wrong all along? 

A companion when watching a wonderful(decadent) play.

Someone who walks by your side in a crumbling world.

Someone whose company makes the poison more bearable and hell, tolerable.

Someone who simply loves me for who I am. Who gazed at the abyss, saw the void yet didn't run away.

Ah, this is so laughable, an amateur terrible tragicomedy, a hideous play with no sickeningly sweet ending.

(Perhaps it is because Titania is a wretched creature herself. Or perhaps because Titania's wings have been torn off that she understands a small fragment of you. Even if true understanding is a lie, a pipe dream. Titania has seen her own hell and can sympathize with yours, with the emptiness and resentment you hold. Not fearing it, not judging it. Just accepting you as the flawed existence you are.

If that is the case, then there is nothing beautiful about Titania.)

But even so...

"...You are..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, nevermind."

Ritsuka smiles as Oberon looks away. He grumbles about the cramped space as he hoards the bed, swatting a mosquito away while she writes in her diary. The boring stories she writes that he doesn't care about even if his fingers have traced those letters.

But even so, he stays.

Ah, love is a bothersome thing.

-

Thank you for reading!

Now, OH BOY WHERE TO BEGIN. Title comes from Debussy's Rêverie. I wanted to play with it, seeing that Oberon's Bond CE is called Pavane for a Dead Princess, which is the title of a melody by Ravel. I am sure it is no coincidence. Both Ravel and Debussy were considered the cornerstones of Impressionism in music, however, they both HATED being labeled like that.

Pavane for a Dead Princess is one of Ravel's solo compositions for the piano. However, unlike what the title implies, Ravel specifically said that it wasn't meant to be a melody of a funeral, but he wanted to evoke the idea of a princess dancing to the pavane. However, some people didn't really listen to him. So in this case, I think that rather than to see Oberon's CE as a funeral to Blanca, it is a way to celebrate her story, even if it didn't end on the happier note we would have wished. You can listen to it here

Now Rêverie is by Debussy and it's meant to feel like a dream, hence the name. The melody became a massive hit, though Debussy later hated this piece because he felt that he had written better pieces but this one was the one that made him famous. Since it was written when he was young, he felt he was still lacking a lot, but the melody became one of his most popular compositions nonetheless. I think that story ties nicely with what we perceive vs what others perceive. You can listen to it here

Now onto the actual fic, I had this vague idea when part 3 was released, especially after all the spoilers about Oberon's true identity. I really wanted to get him, and I was super lucky. In between getting him, his profile and bond lines being translated, I just got possessed to write this as a way to honor and thank him for coming home AND to give him a sort of happy ending after Avalon.

Oberon in that bed is thanks to that comic on Twitter where he is eating chips without any care and the kind reminder of his voice lines that in spite of him constantly complaining, he spends an awful lot of time on our room. Hehehe.

Best of luck if you are pulling for him! And once again, thank you for reading!

[yandere-daydreams]

Can we have a general yandere typing for the TW dorm leaders or your favorite dorm pls?

This is very, very general (it has to be, if I’m going to fit seven different characters into the same post), but I hope it covers what you’re looking for! I’ve been meaning to write a ‘darkest fantasy’ drabble for the dorm-heads but,,, this’ll have to do, for now.

The NRC Dorm Heads as Yanderes.

TW: Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Dehumanization, Implied Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Blood, and Implied Violence.

~

Riddle is Domineering.

He can’t change what he is, and even if he could, he wouldn’t see the need to. Riddle loves you, he loves you so, so much, but to him, you’re so reckless, so impulsive, so inept, it makes his underclassmen seem cautious, in comparison. He worries less for your safety than he does for your carelessness. He doesn’t think you’ll impale yourself on a banister or trip and manage to break your neck, and yet, he’s managed to convince himself that, the moment you’re left into your own devices, you’ll twist, distort, manage to take something that’s so precious to him and turn it into something perverse, something that doesn’t deserve to have a caretaker so devoted. If he has to take a few hours out of his busy schedule to make sure you understand why he’s so adamant that you obey him, then so be it. He’d rather have a perfect, prized doll who can’t meet his eyes without trembling than someone he doesn’t even know, someone he can’t even love. Someone who won’t let him love them, even when he’s made it so clear that if he suffocates you, it’s only because you've forgotten that you can only breathe because he lets you.

Leona is Jealous.

It’s such a classic younger-sibling complex, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s possessive, he’d be more than fine with carving you up and handing out the pieces if he knows who he’s sharing with, but he’s had a say in so little, he’s had so much snatched out of his grasp before he knew better than to let it go, he can’t stand the though of losing you like that, too. He needs to monopolize your time, your attention, he needs to monopolize you, because if he doesn’t someone else is going to come along to do it for him, and he knows they won’t treat you half as well as he will. It’s why he’s so quick to pull you away from conversations he didn’t give you permission to be a part of. It’s why he can’t seem to go five minutes without insulting your friends or implying that you could cling to him as much as he clings to you, even when the two of you have been along for hours. It’s why he’s so desperate to bite into your neck and burrow his nails under your skin and leave proof of his existance, if only to satisfy that repressed, buried, primal part of himself that just wants something he can own. And he will own you, by the time he’s done. He tends to be thorough, with the things he’s so determined to see play out.

Azul is Paranoid.

There’s a connotation with this kind of alignment that might be a little misleading, when it comes to Azul. He’s manipulative, too. He’s obsessive and he’s controlling and he’s so many other things, but above all, he’s terrified by the idea that one day, you might decide that he’s just some pathetic, pitiful bottom-feeder and move on to someone’s who’s worthy of you. His mindset seeps its way into his behavior visibly, tangibly, blatantly, whether or not he’s willing to admit it. A dozen locks on your bedroom door, a new contract he’s gone over a hundred times, a thousand kisses and a thousand promises and a thousand hours spent clinging to your waist, his face buried in your chest as he begs you to never make him let go. He feels like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you close, like you’ll find a loophole or a way to leave him and he’ll never be able to get you back. It doesn’t help that he responds so reflexively to any change he didn’t acconut for. He can make all the plans in the world, contrive as many schemes as he’d like to, but all of his preparations won’t stop him from reacting so harshly when you say something he doesn’t want to hear or do something he didn’t see coming. Above all, he needs you to love him. He won’t respond well to any evidence of the contrary.

Kalim is Smothering.

You have to understand, he really, really thinks he’s just being the best boyfriend he can possibly be. Kalim is naive, like that. He loves you, and he doesn’t know better than to show that love off any way he can and every way he can. It kind of sweet, if you look at it like that. How is he supposed to know you wouldn’t enjoy receiving his gifts as much as he enjoys piling them onto you? You never told him how much his endless parties overwhelm you, so why would he ever stop throwing them? You always bite at your lips and look away and try to cover yourself when he gives you something pretty to wear, and Kalim just thinks you’re so beautiful, so wonderful, it’s only natural that he’ll - playfully, of course - pull you into his lap and go on about all the many reasons he loves you, layering on compliments so thickly, it’s only a matter of time before they start to seep into your lungs and force out the air. Remember, he’s blind to anything he doesn’t want to see, so by the time he finally crosses one too many lines and forced you to snap, he’ll be so caught off-guard, so heartbroken, he won’t know what to do besides buckle-down and give you more, force you to take more. He’s a simple man. If his antics were enough to make you snap at him, surely, more gifts, more attention, more love will only make things better.

Vil is Narcissistic.

This one speaks for itself, really. You might manage to worm your filthy little way into his heart, you might find a way to root yourself there and drive him to the point of near-insanity, but no matter how dear you are to him, no matter how much he loves you, you’ll always be second to the man himself, you’ll always be less than, compared to Vil. It shouldn’t be such a problem, he already acts like he should be the pinnacle of all mankind’s aspirations, but it’s taken to a new extreme when it comes to his closest companion. He expects to be doted on, to be worshiped, and when you’re not busy tripping over yourself to tend to his every desire, you should be hanging off his every word, letting him do whatever he’d like to because you’re just so honored he’d take a moment out of his day to look after you. If it takes a love potion or several, he’ll find a way to live with it. That’s the thing about a mentality like Vil’s, an obsession focused inward that just so happens to brush against someone it’s not meant to - he doesn’t really care about the parts of you that don’t lead back to him. Your health, your happiness, it’s all on the table if he has a chance to take hold of what he wants. He’s always been ambitious. You shouldn’t be surprised when he approaches your love with the same cut-throat attitude.

Idia is Possessive.

If it’s any help, he wants to lock himself away from the rest of the world just as much as he wants to isolate you. You’re the one person he can stand to be around, the one voice he’ll never get tired of, the one pair of eyes he knows will never judge him, even if he’d prefer that you call him more affectionate nicknames, as he explains that he’s just trying to keep the two of you content and alone. He’s greedy, when it comes to you, but that’s not his fault. He gets… sensitive, when you start to focus on other people, when you let other men touch you like they have any right to put their hands on something he deserves to keep to himself. It leads him to some habits he’s not proud of, some reactions that don’t exactly encourage you to indulge his more questionable habits, but while Idia still wants to be able to hide in your arms and ramble on to the only person he knows will listening, he stops caring about how much you want to embrace him, eventually. The world’s already so unfair in so many ways, and no one knows that more than Idia. He doesn’t think he’ll mind if you begin to think he’s as much of a disgusting freak as he already knows he is.

Malleus is Apathetic.

He wants to care. Don’t forget that - he really, really wants to care about your feelings, your interests, your happiness, all of it! He tries to care, too. Not a day passes where he doesn’t make an attempt to get you to smile, to coax out a hint of fondness from your scorned little heart, to sort through all the betrayal and the hurt and the pain and find something redeeming, something that proves he’s not making you any more miserable than he has to. He’ll give you what sparse freedoms he can, keeping your leash as slack as he can afford to, but when you take a step too close to an open window or refuse to hold his hand or he just decides it’s been a few minutes too long since you last swallowed your pride and showed him the affection he strives after like a touch-starved puppy, he never hesitates to pull you back to his side and ignore how violently you’re choking as he takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. He never feels guilty, either, not for the act itself. He’ll fret over the hatred in your eyes, he’ll loath himself whenever you flinch at the first signs of his touch, but in the back of his mind, he knows he deserves what he rips away from you. He’s doing you a favor. Humans are so fragile, so delicate, so easily tricked, and as a prince, a prodigy, a source of unadulterated power, he’s the only suitable candidate when it comes to keeping you safe, to guarding you as fiercely as dragon guards its hoard. He protects you, and he treats you like royalty while doing it, so he wants something in return. He doesn’t think he’s asking for a lot, considering how much he’s been denied.

You should just count yourself lucky Malleus might feel a little bad, by the time he’s done. At least he won’t leave you as bloody as he could, after he’s finished.

[lochrannn]

Warnings: Sexual Content (M Rating)

Characters: Lila Pitts; Diego Hargreeves; Hargreeves Siblings (background)

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Roommates AU; Fake Marriage; Slow Burn; Mutual Pining

Chapter 1/?

-

So it’s been a week since Lila fooled around with her roommate… her landlord?

… Diego! It’s been a week since Lila fooled around with Diego and she’s just a bit unsure about how she’s supposed to feel about it.

It’s not like things have become completely awkward, per se. They hadn’t been hanging out beforehand, they’d just been two people who were polite and courteous about sharing a living space.

One time she’d offered him the rest of her dinner that she’d cooked when he had come in really late in the evening - he kept odd working hours, but then she’s always thought Americans are bad at striking a healthy work life balance - and she’d kept him company in the kitchen while he was eating. They’d had a pleasant chat and she’d felt reassured then that he seemed like a decent enough guy, but that was basically that.

Until he walked into the living room one sweltering afternoon, while she was in the kitchen, apparently didn’t realise she was there, decided to have himself some alone time, and all of a sudden she was treated to his deep, rich voice making all of these rumbling sexy noises, and when she spotted his face turned up to the ceiling where his head was resting on the back of the couch, eyebrows knitted together, full lips slightly parted, eyes closed in concentration, it hit her like a tone of bricks how fucking hot he was.

So in the spur of the moment she decided to get herself involved. And all things considered, she can’t get herself to regret that. Not least because Diego reciprocated so thoroughly that for the last week she’s not been able to stop thinking about his lips, and tongue, and teeth on her every time she’s bumped into him. And sometimes even completely out of nowhere when he isn’t even around.

She told him not to make things weird after and he’d cockily responded with, “Why would I?”, leant into her where she was still sitting on the sofa, kissed her till she was breathless, clearly encouraged by the way she couldn’t help melting against her, before heading out again and to go and meet some family.

And maybe he isn’t being weird, maybe it’s her. He’s not mentioned it again and they’ve gone back to mostly just living their separate lives while in the same space, but maybe with this gentle underlying buzz of tension that wasn’t really there before.

And Lila’s noticed that when she finished his bottle of fizzy ice tea, he replaced it right away but hasn’t touched it himself since. Curious.

-

And so, of course, they inevitably end up in bed together.

It’s hot, and fun, and maybe a little rough, because she niggles and needles at Diego until he holds her down, until her muscles ache from how hard she’s shaking, and afterwards she doesn’t get up and go back to her room, instead she falls asleep with him, too tired and sated to move.

Lila wakes up in the middle of the night and is just a bit disoriented at first until the memories flood back in and she realises she’s lying with her head cushioned on Diego’s arm and her back nestled up against his side. He must have his face turned towards her because she can feel his breath ever so slightly hit the back of her head.

Idly, she wonders if she should head to her own bed, avoid the inevitable awkwardness of waking up together in the morning. At least, she thinks, her legs will support her now, she wasn’t too sure about that earlier. But she’s so comfortable and it’s been a while since she’s gone to sleep with anyone and not just fucked them, that she decides against bursting their little bubble and instead lays her hand in Diego’s outstretched palm in front of her, interlaces their fingers, and turns her head a bit so she can press her lips to his biceps.

Lila thought he was asleep, but when she kisses his arm she can feel him hum deep in his chest and he turns around and readjusts till he has his whole front tightly pressed to her back and throws his arm over her torso, splaying his long fingers over her belly.

“Hey,” he whispers and kisses her shoulder gently.

With a hum of her own, Lila stretches like a cat, mostly in response to the shiver that runs down her spine at the sound of his voice and then she thinks fuck it and covers his hand with hers and carefully moves it down and in between her legs.

Diego catches on immediately and nudges his knee between her thighs to give them more room to stroke and tease her together and Lila is delighted with the way he lets her direct his fingers, show him where she wants to be touched and how, while Diego scrapes his teeth over the top of her spine and then sucks hard at the spot.

It’s all too much and not enough for Lila, as she feels her muscles flutter around nothing and when she starts grinding into his hand that she’s pressing hard against herself with her own, she feels his arousal nudge against her bum. On impulse Lila tilts her hips further forward and reaches in between her own legs to align them, and before she can push back, Diego nudges his hips against her and pushes into her almost painfully slowly.

As a shaky breath escapes her lips and she hears a very similar noise from Diego, that he hums into her neck, a tiny rational part of her thinks they should have probably stopped to get a condom, but she’s too turned on to hold on to that thought, when Diego starts rhythmically filling to the hilt, never thrusting, never speeding up, just slowly but surely winding her up, until she has to sink her teeth into the flesh of his arm, making him hiss but not draw away, to muffle her loud moans.

Diego’s fingers continue to rub her in gentle but unwavering circles and Lila moves her own hand to feel where they’re joined. And as she feels with her fingertips how he’s stretching her, how tightly her muscles are contracting around him, the dam breaks and the orgasm that has so persistently been building washes through her, making her skin tingle from the roots of her hair to her toes and she makes a small whimpering noise with how she feels it absolutely everywhere.

Diego grunts and she can feel him begin to pull away, so on some possibly hormone driven instinct, she reaches back quickly and clamps her hand on his hip to hold him in place.

“Lila, I’m gonna…” Diego rushes out in a whisper but Lila interrupts him with, “it’s ok!” and a harsh breath escapes him before he pushes into her only a few more times and then empties himself inside her with a soft moan.

They’re both panting despite the fact that they barely moved the entire time and as Lila can feel her heart racing and a warm feeling spreading out from her centre and all through her body and into her limbs, she turns around in Diego’s arms, ignores the slightly unpleasant sensation between her legs, hooks one over his hip so she can hold onto him tightly and softly brushes her lips against his, glad for the dark, because she’s not so sure she knows what she’d do if she could see his expression properly.

Diego responds by tightening his arms around her and deepening the kiss, until all she can focus on is the way his tongue slides against hers, the soft pressure of his full lips, and the way they stretch into a smile as she hums drowsily into his mouth.

Lila loses track of time and at some point they must fall asleep because she wakes in the early hours of the morning, slightly less entangled in Diego’s limbs but still pressed into his side, and in the cold harsh light of day, as her rational thoughts are no longer completely being drowned out by her desire, she realises the stupid mistake she made during the night, and swallowing down her panic, slips out of Diego’s hold and his room to find a pharmacy and a morning after pill as quickly as possible.

-

Diego is drifting in and out of sleep when the comfortable weight at his side suddenly disappears and Lila leaves him in the early hours of the morning, closing the door silently behind herself but somehow the sound nevertheless reverberates around Diego’s sparsely furnished room.

His arm feels so suddenly unoccupied and useless that he tucks it behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling and watches dustmotes float around in the sunlight that filters in through his half drawn drapes.

He doesn’t go back to sleep, even though a quick look at his alarm clock tells him that it’s very early, instead he lies awake and frets.

How has he let this happen again? He’d felt guilty enough about it the first time around and had promised himself not to indulge in anything more with Lila again, whatever his feelings might be and yet now he’s taken her to bed and though she was enthusiastic about it, how can he be fully certain that she doesn’t think he has some kind of expectation now, or that her continued stay in his apartment is somehow dependent on her willingness fuck him?

And then he remembers that he slept with her without a condom.

“Fuck!” he says out loud. He’s not some horny teenager anymore, he knows so much better than this. Unbidden his thoughts drift to his biological mother, a woman he’s never known, and wonders whether she’d been in a similar situation, whether some asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants had left her high and dry when she got pregnant, leaving her with no other option than to give him away.

Diego covers his eyes with his hand, pressing his fingers into them in an attempt to stave off the tears that are threatening to leak out.

Fuck, he’s a grown-ass man, and he might have a failing business and apparently really shitty luck with women, cause of course the first time he meets someone he feels truly drawn to in years, she’s his fucking tenant, but he’s damned if he won’t take responsibilty for his own actions.

He’s got to get to work, but the next time he sees her, he needs to clear the air with Lila.

[lizacstuff]

SCK Asks: Episode 38

(asks under the cut)

Anonymous said: happy edser just HITS different. maybe it's because we've been so deprived of them together and blissful, it's such a joy to watch. i had a silly grin on my face during all their scenes. sure the tumor cloud is looming over our heads, but this episode only laid the foundation for that and then went into romcom mode, which i really appreciated because we've been bogged down for SO LONG with heaviness, it was nice to just take a breather.

OMG! Yes, all of this. And I’m not sure if it’s happy Edser that hits different, or if it was whatever magic and sparkle these writers injected into this episode that made it hit different.  

The magic was BACK. The sparkle was BACK. These writers took the most ridiculous scenario idea (these two famous architects deciding to solve a murder) and just made it sing. I grinned through the whole thing and laughed out loud, A LOT. 

This was the first episode in ages where I wasn’t watching the clock and waiting for some uncomfortable or unpleasant moment or scene to occur. Instead watching was pure joy and no anxiety, even with a tumor diagnosis. 

There was so much good Edser in this episode it’s hard to know what to talk about. I loved every moment they were on screen together. 

Anonymous said: I have to hand it to you, you said that the reason they were doing this pregnancy story is so that we could find out that Selin and Serkan never slept together. ngl I wanted her to suffer more, but as long as she’s gone I’m fine with her punishment being the humiliation of having to admit that in front of Eda. 

Ha! Yes, I have said that all along, and I’ve never been more relieved to be right. They really went the extra mile with having Selin spell out that it hadn’t happened.  With the English subs it almost sounded like they had never, ever had sex, even before.  If so, I could actually believe it, their prior relationship seemed to be very business like, like they were each other’s safe, convenient date to business and family functions, and it wasn’t emotional or physical for him. 

After the gross story around Selin, and how much damage she did and how much she got away with, this was not nearly enough comeuppance to sate my thirst for her pain. These writers started this story and introduced Selin’s role in it, so it’s not like they 100% inherited something they had nothing to do with. However, between Bige’s limited availability due to her father passing, Sarp Can having covid, and the way the other writers drug it into the ground, I’m also just happy it’s over and will deal with this being all we get, plus, while she didn’t get punished adequately, she did take her lumps. It’s humiliating that Serkan went around acting incredulous to everyone who would listen that she could be pregnant because he never touched her, even while she was his fiancé. I mean that’s a shrinker. Can you imagine agreeing to marry a man who you knew didn’t want to touch you? Everyone now knows her sad, pathetic desperation to have him under any circumstances. Yikes. 

And as you say, she then had to stand in front of Eda and Serkan and admit he didn’t touch her. Admit that Serkan never wanted her, and it’s humiliating that everyone at Art Life knows what she did and thinks she’s a monster. Serkan finally knows she’s an awful manipulator who tried to trick him, and in the end she gets an unplanned pregnancy with a man who doesn’t love her and whom she doesn’t love.  So it’s not like she’s winning by any stretch of the imagination. 

(Though I really wish everyone knew (mostly Serkan and Eda) that she sabotaged Eda’s presentation. It’s important for the characters to know that she can’t be trusted professionally as well as personally... but oh well.)

Anonymous said: Two things: 1) I kinda love it even more that they got the tattoos before he found about the illness.. idk why but it was even MORE romantic. Also does this mean they're kinda sorta engaged again since the reason she said no in the first place was Selin? and 2) I need more of that "ring for love" bell ASAP. My jaw actually dropped when he lifted her up since we were deprived of it in 26.. please more breaking of family structures!!

Oh I agree, I found it very romantic they went and got the tattoos and the only impetus was their desire to have a symbol of their love. I already love those tattoos so much, and I love that they sat their designing them together. They really do signify the ultimate commitment. 

I’m not sure if they’re engaged or not. Maybe they’re in a place where it’s obvious they’re going to get married, they both know they’re going to get married, but we’re still going to get one more proposal to make it official?  

As for the ring for love bell, when and where did he get that!? Hee. And yes to more breaking of the Turkish family structure. That lift and twirl through the living room was... HOT. And it was just so effortless, there are just no words at times for how good Hande and Kerem are, I’ve really never seen anything like it. They don’t really have time to rehearse on set, or limitless takes or the time to really block and perfect things, but they’re just so good together they make magic happen every time they’re on screen.  Amazing. Enjoy this kids, because you probably won’t see anything like it again. 

Anonymous said: With the nature of these shows, Eda and Serkan will not a blissful happily ever after without something hanging over there heads or some new drama until the show actually ends. So if the new angst is Serkan's potential illness, I'm down for the potential angst it'll create.. it's already a good sign that, although he hasn't told her about it yet, he's not pushing her away in fear, but instead the opposite. I also don't think, and really hope not, him keeping it secret rn won't cause trouble.

Yes, I like that even with that heavy health news hanging over the episode, it was still light and funny and romantic and had that old sparkle. That tells me that they’re going to strike the right tone with this story which seems to be a very carpe diem thing with Serkan. 

It didn’t bother me that he didn’t tell her. First, he told the doctor that he didn’t want anyone to know until he had a diagnosis. That makes sense, why worry her, or any of them, before they know.  I’m sure I would feel different if he was pushing her away because of the diagnosis, but since he’s holding her close and just seems to want to spend time with her, without that heaviness hanging over her head, I’m okay with it. 

Also, as seen in the new fragman, if this story is an excuse to get them out of the office and put them in all sorts of scenarios together it would otherwise be hard to justify, bring it on.  Let’s see how far down the list of things to do they can get! 

Anonymous said: i know no one reaaaally cares because they're not most people's favorite side characters, but it's really much nicer to watch aydan and ayfer scenes now that they're both on "team edser" and have become really good friends. i swear, the AAA trio scenes were so unbearable to watch when they were fighting over him and i was fast forwarding through all of them.. at least i can sit through team "united" aydan/ayfer scenes.

They’re actually enjoyable scenes now! I love that they’ve become actual true friends, best friends really, and along with Seyfi I love their little trio.  Love that Seyfi and Ayfer were being so supportive about Aydan rekindling something with Kemal.  And I agree that we can root for them when they’re working for Edser’s well-being and happiness.  I just hope Aydan doesn’t do something stupid if there begins to be some question about Serkan’s parentage. 

Anonymous said: the scooby doo gang ending had me laughing so hard i was tearing up when more and more people kept sneaking in and eda and serkan were getting more and more exasperated. erdem accidentally using flash took me tf out lmao. i love when sck does comedy with the whole cast and not just the usual "comedy" characters.. they're some of my favorite scenes! both "asking for the girl" scenes come to mind.

You could see Erdem using the flash coming from a mile away, but that still didn’t blunt the comedy when he actually did it.  So funny. Also Engin not recognizing Eda, imagine him thinking Serkan is there with some rando woman.  I also love the full cast comedy scenes, they are so much fun and really should be utilized as often as possible. 

The scene where Edser walk back into the house and Aydan and Kemal were there paying their respects had me screech-laughing! So so so funny. Both sides being incredulous that the other was there and wanting answers!  I also enjoyed that Serkan obviously put Erdem in charge of Kemal’s project, because he wants that project to go away. Unfortunately for Serkan, I think it’s going to take more than Erdem to drive Kemal away.  

Anonymous said: Everyone is saying serkan planned the whole thing, do you buy into that? Idk would he really put everyone in a gunpoint situation where they don’t know it’s fake? Cause that’s some potentially trauma inducing stuff. Also I have no idea where they’re going with this, since it’s been a 4 day break from set which is kind of worrying. And do you know why Melisa wasn’t in the ep? I know Sarp can got Covid but wasn’t Melisa posting with cast members on her story throughout the week?

Wow, this is a lot of negative energy and fretting after a really good episode. Deep breath. Since you sent this, we know that Hande and Kerem have been shooting for 2 full days at a romantic looking beach location for 39, so it looks like Edser has some sort of mini-getaway. I don’t see any reason to be concerned about the 4 day break last week. (now the fragman’s out, hopefully that puts your mind at ease)

No idea why Melissa wasn’t in the ep, other than the way the ep was structured with the supporting characters, if she had to miss the ArtLife shooting day then I can see that they would have had to write her out of the full episode, because most of their scenes were there and it set up everything for the rest of the episode. So perhaps she was in quarantine for a Covid exposure, maybe she was legit sick/injured (she has had a foot thing) or maybe she had a conflict for that one shooting day. No idea, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.  Also her absence gave us Ferit/Melo scenes and I’m 100% behind that, give us more of those! 

As far as if Serkan planned the whole thing, he did look pretty smug and relaxed while sitting there at the end, but he also wasn’t planning for the whole group to tag along and make a mess, lmao. We’ll have to see. 

Anonymous said: Do you think bad ratings makes sck in danger of being cancelled or do you think high social media engagement keeps it safe?

Friends, I don’t know anything about the Turkish system, but it seems to me that SCK will either go through May or extend into summer and end then, regardless of the ratings. We shall see. As I’ve said before I’m not going to engage in the fretting and worrying and discussion on this topic because no fan really knows what they’re talking about and there is nothing we can do to change what will happen. So just enjoy the show while we can, the news on when it will end will come when it comes. 

[bangtan-dreamland]

in another life, you and i

Pairing: pjm x male!reader ; one-sided!kth x male!reader

Word Count: 16193

Warnings: major character death, brief descriptions of violence, mention of a massacre, terminal illness

Rating: PG15 

Genre: angst, fluff (?), supernatural!au, demon!au, reincarnation!au

Summary: you are, surely, the strangest human Jimin has ever met, and he’s had two hundred years to mingle with your kind. still, a deal is a deal, and your soul is interesting, so why not?

he soon realizes there’s much, much more to the story than he knows.

A/N: written as a belated birthday fic for @sombreboy, whose fics feed my never ending thirst!! this is pretty wordy and kind of wonky, but I had a lot of fun writing this, the ending stressed me out though, I couldn’t help making it bittersweet

a big thank to you @tigertaehyunq who helped encourage and support me writing this!! I could ramble about her help but it’d take a lot of space, so I’ll just say I couldn’t have finished this without her. also, I rushed making the banner and will probably replace it later. edited a little now!!

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The first time Jimin’s summoned in decades, it’s to a human who he cannot understand at all.

And as a demon, he’s met plenty of human beings over the course of two hundred years. He’s met humans who worshipped him, humans who feared him, humans who hated him… he’s granted all kinds of wishes as well, has made more deals than most demons, even those older than him. He has a reputation, one that he’s earned.

He doesn’t think that you’ll be different from any human that he’s met before, and that like usual, this would be a quick transaction. Boring. Repetitive. But if he doesn’t meet you, then there’s nothing else to do- even if you’re only a quick distraction, he welcomes it.

Yet, when he’s summoned by you, you manage to blow all his expectations out of the water. 

Oh, as the fire that rises to the ceiling brings him over, his feet making contact with the rough floor, the markings on the ground, the offerings- there is not one bit that surprises him. Instead, he readies himself for your shock.

Humans are always ever so vocal, after all, even those who seem to be, at first glance, calm and composed. It’s a waste of energy and effort to introduce himself when they’re too busy panicking over the fact that they’ve ‘actually summoned a real demon!’. Therefore, he waits for you to get your screaming done and over with.

But as the flames make way for your visage, the face with which you greet him is not one that he’s familiar with.

Yes- In the split second that the flames die down to a simmer before disappearing, he can see the vivid surprise in your face, then replaced by fear and- grief?

However, as soon as they come do they pass, leaving him wondering why and if he only imagined it. You approach him with a mild look on your face that gives away nothing as to what you really feel inside, your tone even. Still, your slightly heavy breathing gives you away. “... You’re not the demon I aimed to summon.”

Jimin chuckles. “No, I am not. However, do not fret. I am much more powerful than whatever demon you originally intended for, I assure you.”

“... Or perhaps, you are not worried, so much as you are afraid right now?” As he takes a step forward, he has to inwardly commend your courage- even at the distance of a mere foot between the two of you, still you do not cower away from him. Rather, it seems you even have the nerve to take a step closer, as you tilt down to look at him. He feels a small surge of excitement in him- maybe this one won’t prove to be boring at all. Jimin continues his words. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Humans are ever always so afraid, after all. Especially of the supernatural.”

And then it takes him by surprise- the way that your lips shift oh so suddenly into a smile. It turns your face from a still lake in winter to the blooming fields of spring, and a stray thought in his head arises- for a human, you’re quite attractive yourself. “I’m not afraid of you at all,” you easily state. “I don’t mind if you’re not the one I was originally calling for. You’re much better than him, after all.”

At this close a distance, he can see in clear detail the way your eyes are clearly free of any fear, as you say.

How interesting.

“Wonderful,” he purrs, smiling widely, taking delight in the way you freeze for a moment, evidently charmed by him, especially when you’re so close to each other. “For humans like you, I do not mind making a deal.”

It would be best to take a step backward, the current distance between the two of you unsuitable for a serious conversation. Still, he’s never been the one to back down first. With that in mind, he simply continues on the conversation. “Now, human, for what reason have you called for me?”

You nod your head, a small smirk on your lips. “This is my last cycle,” you suddenly declare, and, what-

Before Jimin can process the words you’ve just spoken, you admitting to information that you should have no way of knowing, you are the first one to take a step back. As you do, you make a gesture to the center of your chest, and- 

“As you can see.”

Jimin makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat as his attention is demanded by your soul. As he examines it, the first thought in his mind is that- impossible.

It’s an enigma, like you. Whole, unbroken. Your soul can almost be called pure, as there’s not a single crack to be found anywhere, the orb smooth. Yet mystifyingly enough, at the same time there is a black shroud of darkness that surrounds it, the type that only souls broken beyond the point of salvation can emit. The pristine state of your soul would qualify you a place in heaven- yet at the same time, the aura of death and hatred that surrounds your soul would open a position for you as one of hell’s most powerful demons. He can’t help wondering just what exactly were you like, and if the state of your soul is the reason why you can remember your past lives.

It’s how the game of heaven and hell works, after all. Humans are given ten lifetimes, ten journeys in the mortal world, their souls starting out as pure orbs filled with the power of uncertainty and potential. And then they are born as humans- starting out with truly blank roots, no outside influence offering them good or bad luck. 

Starting from the first lifetime, all decisions they make are important as it determines their next lives. The more giving and loving they are in their previous life, the more luxurious and pleasant their next lives come to be, as they are blessed with luck by the heavens. Even those that seem to start from a tragedy, it wouldn’t be too hard to survive and thrive. People would adore them, they would find themselves more attuned with the world, and ultimately whatever field they endeavored in, they would find themselves succeeding.

In turn, the more wretched and hateful a person is in his previous life, the more the heaven casts him out with luck against him. They may be born in a wealthy family- but if you wait longer, then you will find that their only choice is to fall deeper into disgrace with evil, fight fire with fire so to say- or to suffer the fall and endure pain to gain heaven’s blessings again.

Both would face harder and harder trials in each passing cycle of life- yet, for those with heaven on their side, passing such trials would not be that hard a task, and they would gain even greater benefits if they are sincere. Yet to those who are hated by the heavens, they may only turn to more evil to mitigate the luck that deems them betrayed, failed, loathed by even those that they may trust with their life.

With each passing life, a human’s soul either cracks or repairs. To those who persevere, who manage to mend their ways, who somehow are in heaven’s good grace- their souls are instantly taken to heaven the moment their tenth and final cycle ends. To those whose souls are broken and filled with hatred, well. They are disposed of, turned into demons. 

Most of the time though, souls at the end of their cycles are broken down and remade into new ones. He’s never heard of any exception to the rules of the game they’re all bound by.

And as for him? Jimin is one of the few demons who became one even before his ten cycles were completed. It’s what gives him his reputation, his power.

Yes. As a demon, he’s quite familiar with the system. He’s familiar with all the types of humans in different stages, different cycles of their lives. It’s easy for him to realize, with a glance, the state of their soul. Not even their reactions faze him anymore. After all- you can only listen to one too many screams and whimpers, before they lose the thrill, before they become merely annoying. With a glance, he can tell if they are headed to the world above or the one below- yet with yours, it seems as though you belong in both.

It’s a contradiction- you’re a contradiction.

“What kind of lives did you lead before this?” He mutters, a hint of surprise evident from his voice. “I’ve never quite seen a soul like yours before. Never have I met a human who knew about the cycles before, too.”

In response, though, you only laugh quietly, dodging his question. “I’ve lived the best lives, that’s all.”

Jimin’s lips curl up into a bemused smile. “Then I suppose you really indulged yourself in the past?”

“And now the heavens punish me for it,” you agree with a smile. “But I don’t want my last life to end like this.”

With that, you suddenly gesture to the room around the two of you, bringing Jimin’s attention to your state of living.

Jimin frowns as he notices the run down walls, the naked floor, the cracked windows. That’s not even mentioning the bare feel of the room, without much furniture or personal items in any way.

“As you can see,” you explain. “I’m currently down on my last legs.” 

Giving him a nonchalant shrug, you continue. “Estranged family, no friends, no money, not much possessions left… a birth defect that will deare me dead soon enough… with the state of my soul, it seems that there is no changing it in this lifetime either.”

At your last sentence, you fall quiet, but it’s not quite the quiet of despair, but rather- calm acceptance. It intrigues him. With each second that passes by in your presence, Jimin finds himself sensing layers underneath layers in your personality, little things that make you stand out from other humans he’s met before. 

He hums. “Well, YN, I hope you realize it isn’t possible for me to give you the perfect life without a proper price,” he teases you with a lazy smirk, wondering if you’ll notice his lie. “Seventy five years of a human’s life, one that’s evidently been marked against by heaven too, it doesn’t seem like one that offers me much power. At most, I could give you a year.”

And yet you only shrug a little. “I figured that might be so,” you admit. “I… I think I just want a better life, in any way I can get it.”

He lets out a chuckle at your words. “If a better life is what you want, that you want to repent, I believe you’ve summoned the wrong entity,” he muses. “After all, with a soul like yours, even an angel could be persuaded into helping you.”

You scoff. “If I wanted to repent, which I don’t, I never would have summoned you.”

“I just... I just want to make the last years of my life worth living,” you clarify, voice becoming wistful. “Rather than live a lifetime like this… I’d much rather use the rest of what I have for a moment of happiness.”

“I won’t ask much from you. I don’t want to stand out too much anyway, humans can be just as troublesome as devils and angels.” You huff wryly at that, fidgeting with your hands. “I just need you to-” for the first time, you falter, a noticeable blush coloring your cheeks, but you go forth anyway, “-stay by my side.”

“At all times. I mean- to ensure I am happy and safe at all times, for at least a year, keep my disease at bay,” you add, at a point almost stammering. Still.

Jimin blinks. Looks at you. Twice. Waits for you to continue- to rescind your words,  to say something. Yet you continue to stay silent, eyes not quite meeting him but peeking at him anyway, and he-

Jimin erupts into laughter, loud and long, practically falling over himself at that. “You want me to- stay with you, protect you, heal you and oversee that you are always happy, that’s your wish, human?”

You huff, making a snippy comment, "I don't believe you can heal, which is why I'm only asking you to keep the pain away," but you nod your head without a hesitation. 

Jimin grins. “You really are daring, aren’t you? Aren’t you afraid to bring heaven’s wrath down on you? Asking a demon for protection and healing! For happiness- and I doubt what you’re asking is the one that you can gain from materials or other humans.”

You scoff. “I’m not afraid of heaven,” you deadpan, brows furrowing as the solemnity of your voice, coupled with the tight look on your face makes him smirk. Daring, indeed. “And- do you really believe an angel would grant this wish?”

His lips curl into a smirk. The answer to that is something that you obviously know as well. No, an angel would never.

Seemingly satisfied with his silence, taking it for compliance, you take a step back towards him. 

At this close a distance, for the first time of the night, he fully takes you in. And- truly, although he doesn’t know what standard of beauty humans have at the present, even with the faint, bluish hue to the tips of your body that he now notices, Jimin thinks you’d fit any and all requirements to be considered being able to bewitch one’s soul at a glance. Not him, though, as a demon.

“So,” you murmur, a slight smile visible on your face. “Do we have a deal? Seventy five years of life, in exchange for a year of living however I want.”

“Deal,” he purrs, tilting your head down to seal your transaction. As his plush lips glide over your own, he whispers, light and teasing. “I truly hope you don’t regret it.”

With his eyes closed, Jimin fails to see the way your face flashes with an unknown emotion. “I know I won’t,” you murmur just before he fully claims your lips for a moment.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that starts his deal with you, and Jimin is given all the time in the world to realize- that yes, you truly are one of the weirdest humans he���s ever met, much less made a deal with.

The first evidence to that is perhaps the morning after the night of his summoning.

As a demon, he never had the need for sleep. However, after signing the contract, you’d immediately claimed to be exhausted, heading straight towards your bed. With that, he took upon it himself to first examine the state of your apartment, and to verify your past. Well, this cycle’s past, anyway.

What he finds only deepens the mystery that is you in his mind.

Twenty three years old as of today (he’s amused that you summon him, a demon, on your birthday, of all days), YN LN. Congenital birth defect. Living family, however, there’s a record of abuse towards you, particularly from your parents. Still, the charges were dropped, and the records erased. Most likely because your family is influential and rich. No friends, none that can be called upon in times of need, anyway. No lover, of course. 

You also have a brief history of showing great skills, particularly academic wise. It’s baffling how you've come this low, if you remember your past lives. Luck plays a huge part in living, yes, but so does skill and it does not seem as though you are lacking in that in any way.

Not to mention, your personality. You are- brave. Or perhaps fearless is the right word. You do not panic in unknown situations, and you are clearly quite intelligent. Witty as well. Skilled, and experienced.

And yet.

You truly hold no wealth or money under your name, and you are without a job too. More than that, you live in the shady part of town, in a dilapidated apartment.

"... I can't wait to discover your secrets," Jimin cheerfully announces as he takes a seat at the table. Placed on it are food that you've cooked, and he's more than curious to try it out. Though he doesn't need to eat, he's never been one to deny himself of any pleasure, and food is no exception.

You hum in response. "Well, good luck with that. Although I'm not telling you anything."

"You will," he assuredly tells you. "It's only a matter of time."

He hears you snort, before diverting your attention back to your food. "... I hope you like it."

Jimin has high standards. Or, rather, humans have very low standards for what they see as delicious, which is understandable considering that most never leave their cities, much less their countries to sample other foods.

Still, there’s something about the hotteok you offer him that brings him comfort. He takes one bite- and a part of him is already impressed. 

"It's passable," he admits, amused when he sees the way your mood suddenly seems to become happier. 

For a moment, silence reigns in the room as the two of you as you eat breakfast. 

A moment like this- it's rather nice. Compared to the screams and flames that fill hell with noise, the murmur of the city outside, in a time where the world still holds a small piece of quiet, Jimin finds himself relaxing a little.

Still, all too soon the food is gone and the conversation starts again.

“Truly, it astounds me, how those who heaven is frustrated with are bound to the worst lives," he finally remarks as he takes another look around at your apartment. In the light of the day, its inadequacies are only made more apparent. The wallpaper peeling off the walls, the faulty pipes that offer you poor water, rusty doors that creak noisily and the cracks in the walls and floor that are damp with water. No doubt would they leak if there is rain. “I will have you move to a more suitable lodging. This one is not fit for a human in a deal with a being like me, much less one that is fit to house a demon like me.” The distaste in his tone is pronounced.

He misses the smile on your face, hidden behind the cup of tea you’re drinking.

“I’ve made plans for you to win the lottery,” he announces.

“I refuse.” You bluntly say, before adding. “Sorry.”

Jimin frowns. “Why not,” he crosses his arms. “Would you then prefer to live in a place like this?”

“I don’t,” you deadpan. “However, winning the lottery would make people suspicious of us, and I’m pretty sure there are people who would target me for the money.”

“Are you doubting my ability to protect you?”

“I’m not. I just don’t want to deal with having to be protected in the first place.” At your words, something in your tone changes for a moment, and Jimin frowns. Sensing the sudden fall of your mood, he opts to acquiesce.

“Your family is quite well off, isn’t it? And you aren’t close to them in the slightest... I could arrange their deaths and leave you with their riches,” he offers quickly, not really meaning it- just wanting to keep your mind off whatever thoughts you found yourself in.

“For the same reason as the first, no,” you refuse. “Angels would notice, and that would be troublesome.”

“A contest?” Jimin drinks his tea while he waits for you to consider his proposal, internally pleased with your skills in cooking. It doesn’t come close to renowned chefs, but there’s something about your food that makes him feel happy, and safe. The way you’ve acted so far… the lack of fear, the familiarity… perhaps you’ve dealt with demons in your past lives? It’s certainly a possibility. “I can acknowledge your skills with food.”

You smile for a brief moment, but all the same, it’s laced with the same emotions as before. Grief and longing.

“... Thank you,” you reply after a  moment, although you shake your head after. “But I don’t want the fame that comes with it. … I’ve had enough of it.”

Left over feelings from a previous cycle then. Jimin nods, finally letting out a sigh. “Well then,” he grumbles. “I suppose that leaves me no choice.”

“Human-”

“YN,” you interrupt him, gaze not particularly on him, but the tone of your voice firm. “Call me YN. Please.”

“... YN, how do you fancy a game of poker?”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Six hours later, YN is a man richer by several hundred thousand dollars. And as Jimin feels the cold air of the night meet him as they step outside, he has to suppress the giggles building up inside him. There’s nothing quite like being in a casino, surrounded by danger and despair hidden beneath the veneer of luxury and temptation. Nothing quite like the faces revealed to them as he deceives foolish humans, especially when they believe they’re about to win- and then, just like that, the victory is taken away from them. It’s all quite hilarious, really.

“You seem quite happy,” he hears you remark. Spinning around gracefully, Jimin grins at you. 

“What’s not there to be happy about?" He smoothly retorts. "I've gambled to my heart's content, and you are richer than you expected. This has been a productive evening."

He's about to tell you exactly why casinos are amazing, when he notices the man standing around the corner. 

Jimin's smile falls.

Clad in simple but fashionable clothes, the handsome face and sculptured body would have been a cause for getting mobbed by humans, not just girls, but also boys.

However, he's standing alone.

He may be without his wings, but there is no mistaking the holy aura that surrounds him, evidently sensed by even humans, as none dare to approach him. 

Crossing his arms, Jimin sends Taehyung a sharp look, the frown on his face all too visible. He instinctively pulls you behind him, not wanting you to get taken away by the self righteous sanctimonious angel. "Taehyung."

His name rolls off Jimin's like a curse, but it's as if Taehyung doesn't hear him, or he doesn't care.

In fact, the only assurance Jimin has that Taehyung has seen them is the way that he looks up- before freezing, the surprise all too visible as his eyes dart from you, to him. For a moment he sees something flash in his eyes- before it dies down, and like Jimin, he frowns deeply. He takes a step forward, towards you, but Jimin pulls you back as well, restoring the distance between the two of you and him.

"What are you doing with him?" Taehyung's jaw is clenched, a sure sign that he's angry, if the way his eyebrows are knitted aren't enough. "Let go of him." What more, the way he bites out his words.

“Let go of who, my human?” Jimin sneers, arm holding you close against him. A lazy smirk arises on his face as he meets Taehyung’s eyes and sees the sparks of anger inside. “You aren’t in any position to warn me away from him, angel, seeing as he called for me on his own.”

“Although it is quite intriguing for you to take so much interest in a human,” he taunts. “To go so far as having a personal meeting with him… why? Have you fallen in love?”

“YN.”

Instead of responding to Jimin's words, Taehyung turns to you, worried countenance seemingly pleading with you. 

“Taehyung,” you softly reply. It makes a part of Jimin annoyed, for some reason. The first time he hears you like this- and it's for an angel.  “It’s my choice.” 

Still the other does not back down, and you add with a helpless sigh. “Please.”

If possible, the angel's fury grows at your words. Not to you, though, but perhaps for him. For a moment, Jimin readies himself to fight- even if he doesn't know why the angel sees you as someone close enough to personally protect, more than the view of heaven treasuring a potential asset, he's determined not to give you up. You are a mystery he wants to unravel himself, after all. And it'd be another way to oppose the angel. 

Still, soon enough even that diminishes, until the angel's face is blank and seemingly uncaring.

“If you know what’s good for him and for you, you would leave,” he glowers at Jimin. And then he faces you and his face immediately softens. “I’ll try to plead with them.”

“There's no need for that,” you shake your head, a small smile on your face. “... But thank you.”

And with a nod of his head, the angel disappears, and the two of you are alone, again.

"Well," you sigh. "That was an experience."

Jimin turns to you, pinning you down (or rather, trying to) with a look. Still you remain calm under his gaze.

"An angel," he states, the question there all the same.

You only shrug at him, a playful smile on your smile as you start walking down the road. "A secret. Come on, I want to eat at a proper restaurant. Feels like it's been forever since I got to eat good food."

Jimin follows behind you dutifully, but it doesn't erase the suspicion in his heart.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"So, YN” he starts as he watches you stroll through the aisles of clothing.

At this moment, the day after your casino outing, your first plan of action had apparently been to head to the mall and acquire new clothing. While Jimin personally thinks that there are other places, other things that you could handle first-

“Where do you think I should go then?” The sarcastic tone in your voice is loud. “The hospital? What’s the point of getting treated if, after this year, my conditions still stay the same? Maybe you’ve forgotten the state of my soul.”

“My old family? Oh, to make amends. Unfortunately I hate their guts with a passion,” you continue, making him fall silent with how suddenly the words seem to spill out of your mouth. Your face is set in a tightly neutral look, but the bitterness is easy for him to see.

“A job for after then? What’s the use? As with my condition, this cursed, rotten luck will ensure that I never truly succeed without dirtying my hands. And while I don’t mind it, it’s just too troublesome.”

“I just want to live my life the way I want to, without other people fucking butting in for once.”

There’s an intense look in your eyes then. There’s a history behind that sentence that Jimin can easily see. It can’t be from this life, so it definitely must be from your previous ones. Still, for once, he can’t help but wonder just what exactly it was like, for you to react like that.

“The mall it is, then,” Jimin hums with an easy smile, pressing his body closer to you. Since that little moment when he was first summoned, he’s noticed that he has quite the amusing effect on you whenever he goes near- your cheeks reddening, body stiffening for a moment, eyes darting away- it’s clear that on some level, even though you try to hide it, you find him attractive. Which really isn’t a surprise.

Even now, he sees you bite the inside of your cheek, angry look easing down.

And that was that.

“What is your requirement for,” he pauses, mulling the word over in his head, “‘happiness’? Is there anything in particular that you want? … I doubt you’d be one to wish for the typical.”

You pause from your steps, looking up from the rack of clothes.

The answering smirk that he spots on your face only confirms his words. “Well, I was hoping you’d answer that question,” the hint of cheer in your tone makes him look at you with even more surprise.

“... Me?” Jimin repeats. Your smile grows and you turn back to the matter at hand. In your hands.

“Give me a year of fun that can rival even more than my past lives,” you challenge him brazenly, although your attention is seemingly only on the clothes that you’ve picked. With a scowl, Jimin stalks over to you.

“And you believe I can provide you with that?” He dodges your challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m curious as to what a demon enjoys,” you nonchalantly say. “Aside from casinos, that is.”

Jimin suddenly has the urge to sigh, his face falling at once, but it seems you pick up on it.

“I mean… aren’t you a demon?” you grin at him unabashedly. “Are you seriously telling me, that in all the years you’ve been a demon, you’re still surprisingly-”

He has a bad feeling about this.

“-pure?” You chortle at that word, and Jimin bristles.

“I’m not,” he instantly denies, lips pushing up. “It’s only that your wish was for me to protect you and keep you happy, however, why should that mean that I become your… your…" He pouts even harder, "... your helper?"

“Because that was our deal,” you say simply, before throwing him a look, a hint of mischief in your expression. “But there’s no shame if you can't do it. After all, it's not usually what a demon is summoned for, is it?" 

Jimin crosses his arms.

"And if I choose a dangerous place? If none of what I choose brings you any enjoyment?"

"Well, if I remember, part of the deal was for you to protect me. And it’s alright, we’ve got a whole year to play around with!" With that said, you finally turn back to look at him with a pleasant smile, holding up a jacket to your frame. “How about it? Do I look good?”

“Put down that clothing for one moment,” he bites out, annoyed. “And listen to me?”

“Don’t want to,” you blithely reply. “Besides, I’ve already made the decision. You can’t make me change my mind.”

There’s an obstinacy that your stance conveys all too well, and goddamn you’re such a brat. When you refuse to look back at him, he grabs your arm, pulling your body to finally face in his direction. When you still keep your gaze locked away from him, he uses his other hand to tilt your head up firmly but gently. 

In this distance of less than a foot, he looks you in the eye and asserts himself.

“I am not a toy, nor am I your butler,” he tells you slowly, but with a weight in his words. “I am a demon. If you know that, then you should know not to treat me like we’re anything like friends, as I assure you, it is only a mistake. And one that will cost you your life.”

You bare your teeth at him, eyes suddenly clear of any emotion. “And so?” You demand, pulling him closer in turn, a strange pressure present in your tone. It makes him tremble, an unknown emotion building up inside him. Annoying, frustrating, maddening. You’re the strangest human he’s ever met. “You say that like you believe that will somehow change anything.”

It’s not fair. Why do you have this effect on him?

He opens his mouth to speak-

But then he catches your expression change slightly. There is a brief flash of pain on your face, and the heavier breathing alerting him to your condition. Barely does a second pass before your legs tremble and Jimin spurs into action.

Jimin immediately maneuvers you to fall into his arms as your legs give way, leaving you to collapse on him, your chest falling and rising with increasing tempo. 

“Someone dares to harm my charge,” he swears under his breath, immediately spreading out his power to sweep through the nearby areas, but to no avail. There are only humans around, ignorant humans, so-?

“It-” you shudder as you struggle to breathe, your voice coming out as a croak. “Heart-”

-of course. Your congenital birth defect. 

He places one hand against your body, the magic in his veins directing, telling him that your disease is acting up again. Although a little awkward, he directs his magic through the nerves in your body, cutting off the pain and easing up the exhaustion of your body. Jimin isn’t an expert in the workings of the human body, but he at least knows enough to figure out how to temporarily ease and solve the problem at hand.

When he feels your breathing slow down, body relaxing, melting to his own- only then does Jimin allow himself to finally stop worrying.

“Don’t you humans have more regard for your life? Isn’t it human instinct to want to survive, or is your brain just that broken?” He hisses, glaring at you when you purse your lips, the very picture of stubbornness.

Still, when you speak, he’s forced to listen.

“... The moment I summoned you,” you say quietly as you press yourself closer to him. If anyone were to see the two of you now, they’d assume you were lovers embracing each other, the fleeting thought races into his mind. “I knew what I was getting into. I place my life in your hands. I trust your hands to take care of it.”

“After all,” you continue. “what else is there to live for?” 

“Besides, it’s only for a year. After that, you’re free to do whatever you want with my soul.” And then do you smoothly pull away from him, earlier weakness gone, the clothes you’d been trying on in one hand as you make your way to the counter. “Choose something you like. We have the money for it anyway.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that starts what might be Jimin’s craziest deal yet. Fully committed to live your remaining year of life your way, you have no qualms about using the contract to make him submit and follow your tems.

What’s even more infuriating is the way you do it. Sure, he could easily get mad, as a demon there is pride in his bones that cannot be easily handled, but you somehow manage to avoid that. When you talk to him, your tone is always light and playful, teasing, ever so confident. You don’t bow to him, like some of the humans he’d met who knew him and his power, but neither do you assume yourself to be the better of him, ignorant and drunk on power. For a lack of a better word, even after everything he’s done to you, you treat him as an equal.

“I feel exhausted.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you, considering I was the one who carried all our luggage.”

After that event at the mall, the two of you decided on a plan. 

A year’s worth of time, several hundred thousand dollars and absolutely no responsibility left to hold you down anywhere. Jimin didn’t know where to start, who the fuck would ask a demon to guide them? No one in their right mind would. 

Except you, that is. Infuriating you.

“It’s not my fault I’m not as strong as you,” you dramatically sigh as you flop on the bed.

Jimin snaps the lock on the suitcase a little harder than he intends.

Still, when he’d been practically browbeaten into accepting your deals, you’d offered him a piece of advice.

“I’m alright with anything you want to do. … Isn’t there something you wished you could do here? I don’t imagine a demon can spend so much time aboveground, the same way angels don’t linger here.”

So here the two of you were, on a trip around the world. 

“Maybe not,” he mutters under his breath, “but getting here would have been done much faster if it weren’t for you almost fainting in the middle of the damn street.”

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” is your blithe reply.

Starting from Japan, to Philippines, to a week in a country of your choosing, sometimes more, sometimes less, the two of you have gone in several different countries, trying out food, experiencing the vividly different cultures, learning about famous landmarks and basically touring around. All things that Jimin (if only to himself) admits that he enjoys, especially with your company. 

Choosing this particular plan is perhaps a mix of his own desires and an assumption. Almost every human had the desire to travel the world, didn’t they? Even you, with your past lives, would have to enjoy it.

He just didn’t expect how much he himself would have fun as well.

“You,” he sighs, “are completely hopeless.”

“But you’re still here with me, aren’t you?”

Perhaps that’s why three months later, as the two of you are checking in into your hotel rooms, he finds himself… being more gentle (not fussing, not, he would never fuss or truly worry about you, he’s a demon for fuck’s sake) with you, especially after you’ve just experienced another one of your episodes.

Three months with you, and Jimin’s become accustomed with you being… well, you. 

When you mention something clearly ridiculous (who asks a demon to dye his hair? Just because you are doesn’t mean he should, and why would he know how to?), to doing something ridiculous (he didn’t really need that stuffed toy. Really), to just about almost collapsing from overexerting your body in your excitement (the most annoying thing about it perhaps may be the fact that you don’t even seem to care that you’re in pain, just that you can’t move as your body refuses to listen to you), he slowly becomes used to handling you. Reading you, learning to take care of you.

He doesn’t understand it himself, even as he slowly recognizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s started caring for you more than he should. More than he wanted to, far more than he ever thought he would.

He accepted the deal because you were a mystery he wanted to unravel, but as each day passes, he finds your existence to be more than enough reason for him to stay.

“I keep telling you to take better care of yourself,” he scolds you as you lie down on the bed, eagle-spread. Still you remain completely at ease, complacent look on your face and body relaxed. If not for the way that you eye him with amusement, Jimin would assume you’re not listening to him at all. As it is, he fixes you with a glare. “I’m not all-encompassing, you know. All I can do is take the pain away and temporarily fix your body’s failure.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you cheerfully exclaim. Jimin aggressively unpacks the clothes in the dresser in response, grumbling under his breath. No matter how much he practically insults you into taking care of yourself, you always shrug off his words.

“What kind of human are you? Don’t you want to live?”

“Of course I want to live,” you immediately reply, before yawning. “But I don’t want to live it in a hospital.” 

“Anyway, this current life is good enough for me. As long as I’m happy, I don’t care what happens to my body,” you quietly laugh, as if there is a joke hidden somewhere in your words that Jimin has failed to see. “Now, won’t you kiss the pain away?”

He sighs even as he looks over you, scanning you for any signs that your disease has flared up again. You wink at him in turn and he snaps his head around, annoyed at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the one who took me to Disney World. A demon taking a human to Disney World, can you think of anything more ridiculous than that?”

The clothes in his hand almost slip from him as he splutters. Red flashes in his cheeks as he whirls around to glare (read: pout) at you. “You had fun! … Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” you agree with a small smile. “I’m pretty sure I had the most fun there, even if you were the one screaming your head off while we rode the rollercoaster.” Jimin’s face reddens even more at the reminder, while you chuckle at his reaction. “Though you lost all your dignity for a moment.”

“If you can make jokes like that, then I know you’re feeling alright already,” he glowers. “Go on and get some rest.”

“Yes sir,” you mock salute him, before shutting your eyes and falling asleep just like that. Jimin sighs, and then pulls up the sheets to your chin. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Why does he like to visit you so fucking much?” He asks, maybe a little more aggressively than he likes. Still, it’s very much justified in his opinion. Taehyung stops by way too often, dropping by at least once a week, if not even more. It aggravates him to no end, to see the angel dare to get close to what Jimin has marked as his. “Does he not have anything else to do, or is heaven really that idle?”

His irritation only deepens as your lips quirk up in amusement.

“He’s just checking up on me.”

“What he is is being a nuisance and an overall pest. The urge to swat him down like the fly that he is rises up every time he appears.”

He hears you snort with laughter beside him.

“Pfft! Geez, alright. Instead of thinking about that, why don’t you look over this with me?”

He feels you lean on his shoulder, the phone’s screen showing your possible next destination.

“As long as that fly doesn’t dare to appear, I’m fine with wherever.”

“So you don’t mind missing out on the music festival in England for some other place then-?”

“I never said that,” he glares at you, pout on full display, ignoring your snickers. “Give me that phone.”

“Yes, yes, here you go.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It takes him five months- almost half of the time he’s dedicated to your deal- before he asks you about the question he’s always wanted to know the answer to, the curiosity backed up by the fact that you probably will answer him. Hopefully.

Five months, and with every little thing he manages to glean about you, there comes another question to replace it. The skills he can easily guess to be remnants of your past lives, far off gazes reminiscing old memories, the unbothered attitude the accumulation of lives lived and lost.

Not to mention the way you always seem so... sad. Yes, perhaps that’s the best way to describe it. You hide it well, but even as you smile, you always seem to be one step saying goodbye. It doesn’t make sense, considering it was your choice to traded away your remaining years. Not to mention, you’ve let it slip that no one from your past lives are still living in the present.

Although.

It’s not as if he cares, not really- besides the fact that you always keep him on his toes, surprising him at ever moment, you’re just like any other human. Actually, you’re even less than that, considering your living conditions.

But time is running out, and if he lets you slip away without even trying, out of fear, then it wouldn’t be like him, now would it? And that won’t do at all.

At this moment, the two of you are sitting on the roof of the cabin you’ve rented out in Swedish Lapland. Something that you both came here to accomplish was seeing an aurora borealis, and as you’re both clad in warm layers of fur, hot chocolate in your flasks as snow surrounds you below and around you and the brilliant flashes of light above you- he can’t help but let his thoughts wander. 

For once Jimin decides to take a step past the line he’s tried to define against you.

“What were your past lives like?” The question slips from him before he can take it back, and he sees you tense up, though you soon cover it up with a befuddled look.

“Hm?”

“You know what I mean,” he pushes. “Even us demons barely remember our human lives, much less a human like you who remembers their past cycles.” 

A flash of heat decorates his cheeks as he sees the light in your eyes fade a little. “.. I was merely curious. It’s alright if you don’t want to-”

“I was the village healer in my first life,” you simply state. Jimin freezes, shocked that you would even reply.

Still, when he sees you turn to him, the look on your face clearly asking him to respond, he clears his throat.

“A healer huh…” he trails off, the image of you in his head becoming clear. “Somehow, I can easily see you as one. … Although it’s a little ironic, considering your current state.”

“Yeah,” you quietly chuckle.  “It was one of my favorites. I had a loving family, and many friends. We had enough to live by ourselves, and the place where we lived was peaceful and beautiful.“ 

“Our village was situated on the mountainside- we were surrounded by this huge forest, and the blue sea below. My daily life started with tending to my patients first, and then to my garden. After that, I’d go into the forest to scavenge wild herbs, and I’d always take the time to appreciate the beautiful scenery. When I got back, I’d start making medicine, and then I’d continue taking care of any patients that came through the door.”

“Sounds like an idyllic life,” Jimin remarks, before adding, “If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to stand that.” 

“I wouldn’t begrudge you for missing that sort of life. It’s much more simple and easier than the life humans lead nowadays.”

You laugh, the sound full of melancholy even as there is nostalgia in it. “Right? You have the same way of thinking as- as him,” you pause, before your tone changes to a softer, gentler one, full of unspoken feelings. “My best friend. Kindest, most cheerful and helpful angel of our village. He was the son of our chief, but that wasn’t the reason why everyone loved him. We all adored him because he was the brightest part of our lives.”

“You sound overly fond of him.”

“I am.” The way you phrase your words doesn’t escape him as you look him in the eyes. You pause for a moment, before almost whispering the words, though he still hears them. “I will always love him.”

“... Do you?” For some reason, Jimin’s chest feels tight. It’s impossible for it to be like that. His body doesn’t function the same way that a human does, after all, no matter how much it may seem otherwise. Still, the way it suddenly feels as though the breath in him is slowly being stolen away, pain filling in the space left- he hates it. “How did it go, then?”

“How did what go?” You ask him, bemused. He sighs irritably and repeats his question, mixed emotions unknowingly present in his tone.

“You said you love him, so… did you, with him...?”

For a moment, you stare at him in surprise-

- and then you burst into laughter, long and hard. “Pfft! No, we didn’t,” you clarify as you giggle. “I’m sure I don’t have to point it out explicitly, but he was the son of the village chief, and I was just the healer. Besides, we were both men. No one would have approved of it, and it’s not like we could just shrug off the village and run away together.” 

You smile widely, brighter than he’s ever seen you smile before, but Jimin is not blind to the lingering pain inside. “He got married to someone else.”

“... He did? But I remember you saying you were the closest one to him. If he knew-”

“-I never told him,” you shrug, a hollow chuckle slipping out. “It wouldn’t have done anything anyway, except make him miserable.”

It should make him happy. Thinking about this ‘best friend’ of yours who you’re still in love with makes him unnaturally angry, and to know that you have feelings left for a ghost even more. 

Yet in the face of your heartbreak, as much as you try to hide it, Jimin feels sympathy for you instead. He clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“So you spent your life alone, then. While the guy you loved was with someone else?” He shakes his head. “I’m surprised, and yet I’m not.” Only half a year spent with you, and yet he can tell it’s something you would do. “Tell me about your next lives then.”

You smile a little then, recognizing the out he’s giving you. After a brief period of contemplation, you start speaking again.

You tell Jimin vaguely about your previous lives, the previous cycles you’ve gone through. You tell him about the city in your second life, the wandering merchant family you’d been born to and how you were pulled into the trade. You dipping into secret deals, backstabbing and a little manipulation to protect your family from malicious people. Your third life, where you are from a family of low nobles, and your forage into politics to find out who’s your allies and who’s your enemies. All the way up to your eight life, you talk, and talk, and talk, filling up the silence of the night with tales of lives lived so long ago, details lost to history and moments uncaptured but remembered. 

Even as a demon, as old as Jimin may be to the humans, he’s barely as old as you are, if one were to take your first life as your moment of birth. He’s only heard snippets and rumours of dynasties and eras so far down history, nothing can be proven a hundred percent true. Yet in your words, you manage to vividly paint a picture, a window into a world he’s never seen before.

In your eighth life, you tell him about the powerful family you’re born into. About the way your family held you tight, how politics ran deeply and tightly around the city, the powerful dictating the lives of those without, and how you carved a place for yourself into history despite the obstacles in your way.

About the prince you grew up with, the emperor you eventually strived to serve faithfully.

That’s something that he’s noticed is a commonality with every lifetime of yours. There is always the presence of this other person. Some lifetimes, they are your childhood friend and others they come late into your life. Their personality often varies, and so do your relationship, but several things always remain the same.

You and them are partners in some sense of the word.

They are in a position of power higher than yours.

You are close to them, devoted to them, perhaps even in love with them, although it never leads to anything tangible in the end.

“That sounds like a tedious life,” he quietly comments as you tell him about the banquet you’d been forced to attend, the beautiful but dry and cold food. “It doesn’t seem like one you’d like, but let me guess, this lifetime around he was the emperor, wasn’t he?”

To your point, you don’t ask him what he’s talking about. A bitter smile alights on your lips instead as you consider his question.

You huff. “Yeah. It’s kinda obvious, isn’t it? He was the emperor’s son in that lifetime,” you admit. “I helped him battle his siblings and gain the throne.” 

“But if you’re wondering... as I’m sure you know, relationships between the emperor and the officials are forbidden.” You look away from him then, eyes going back up to the northern lights above, though neither of you have been paying attention to it since the conversation started. “I was already pretty controversial in that time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“Secret~” you smirk. He frowns at you, rolling his eyes- and you giggle.

“... I can’t understand how your soul became like that,” he grumbles. “How the hell do you have a soul that’s both pure and not? More than that, how is it that you happen to be reborn together and in almost the same circumstance in every life? It’s as though you’re tied together.”

You laugh, although it’s tinged with sadness. “... if I ever find out how, maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

He only rolls his eyes. “You will.”

The resounding laughter he hears from you makes it worth it. Still...

“Where is he in this lifetime, then?” He finally asks. Surely, if this person who you’ve met and waited for in every cycle has been part of your life without fail, then, surely, he has to have appeared in this one as well, right?

Although he thinks they don’t deserve you, but they obviously make you happy, and… you’re just about the only human Jimin thinks deserves that word the most. Happiness. He hasn’t seen you truly happy even just once, and it’s not as if he cares, no. But you made the deal with him to enjoy your last life, didn’t you?

You fall silent at his question, lips struggling to hold the smile on your face. When it doesn’t work, you take a deep breath, and then turn to him. “... Who knows? If he’s out there, alive… I just hope he’s happy.”

Jimin hisses at that.

“Asshole,” he furiously mutters. “After everything you sacrificed for him, you should get to have your own happiness too. If I ever see him, I’ll-”

You interrupt his angry tirade with laughter, warm and isn’t it funny how that single action seems to be more effective at keeping the cold away than the drink in his hands?

“Being with him was what already made me happy,” you smile. “But thank you.”

He pouts, wracking his mind for words to not only keep your smile afloat but to show you how worthless the person you’ve endured heartache for is. “... I wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone.”

“I know,” you coo at him, smile becoming a smirk.

“Because of our deal,” he hurriedly clarifies, the tips of his ears burning red as you lean on his shoulder. Jimin feels his body stiffen as the weight of your head on his side registers. He doesn’t want to push you away- but damn it if this isn’t something he’s ever done, and is familiar with before. 

Your fingers intertwine with his, bringing with them affection and comfort, and he finally calms down with a huff. “... I-I made a deal with you, after all.”

“Yeah, I know,” you repeat, obviously struggling to hold back your laughter.  “Thank you.”

“... As long as you know.”

That night ends with the two of you spending far more time than you should out in the cold, no matter that it’s the rooftop of your cabin. The aurora lights last all night long, the beautiful glows of colors dissipating and blending into the rosy colors of the morning sky, a beautiful sight that even Jimin has to appreciate as he sees it from the bedroom’s window.

If only you would wake up from your slumber, you could see it too. Still, he isn’t too keen on waking you up in any way, much less shoving your body away from him. 

… Even if your body is a little too cold than he likes.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It’s in his seventh month of being with you that he slowly realizes something. As the cherry blossoms die, autumn leaves falling and snow coating the world in white, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s let you come a little too close, a little too familiar with this heart.

At first he looked forward to knowing your secrets, but it’s infuriating to realize that even as much as he gets to know about you, it’s surprisingly not enough. He wants more. It never feels enough- whether it be your secrets, your attention, or maybe just you.

Not to mention he’s never had reason to stay so long as he has in the human realm, and not so close to anyone, moreso his human. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why it takes him so long to realize.

The way that it dawns on him too is frustrating- the thought instantly settling in his mind when he sees you flash one of your rare smiles at him. Mid-afternoon, as you stir the tea in your hand, the sunlight almost seeming to cover you with an ethereal glow as you sit with your back against the window. 

For once, you’re the one filling the silence, chuckling over incidents that happened as the two of you went to see the parade earlier that day. The memory of you watching the performers decked beautifully in white facepaint, skull masks and roses, and elaborate clothing, with an awed look on your face… the thought of it makes him smile unconsciously and you catch it.

“Are you smiling?” You raise an eyebrow at him, bemused. “I didn’t know you liked the parade that much, you wanted to join.”

Red flares up in his cheeks when your words sink in. “What. I- I wasn’t smiling! I was just- thinking.”

You give him a skeptical look, eyes travelling from feet to head, before you hide a very visible smirk behind your cup of tea. “Huh. Must’ve been a wonderful thought, if it made you smile so easily like that,”  you tease him. “... It’s nice seeing you smile more often these days.”

Do I? He wonders. You’re all that fills his head these days, from your ridiculous antics and decisions, the unfathomable way of thinking you have, the way you so easily see him and read him. Does he really smile that much, when you’re the only thing he thinks about so much?

Do the thoughts of you really make him happy, enough to the point that he’s always smiling?

You offer him a warm grin. “I’m glad. I worried I was the only one enjoying this deal, after all.”

… He’s fucked.

After that, it takes a miracle (heh) to act the same as before, to pretend that nothing is going on. After all, it’s not as if he can confess his love for you, can he? He isn’t even sure if it’s love that he feels- can demons even feel that emotion? 

But the truth is, now that he’s aware of just how much exactly you mean to him, it’s hard not that smile a little too much when you get the pleased look in your eyes, to keep the laughter at bay when you make a mistake and pout just the tiniest little bit, sulking, to generally just not let you catch on that everything you do is making him feel like holding you close as much and as long as his heart demands.

He can’t. He shouldn’t. He wants you, and he’s never had a problem with taking what he’s set his sights on before. But you aren’t like anything else he’s collected. You aren’t a toy he wants to play around with, nor are you a rare item he wants to keep locked up. You’re someone he treasures, and while he has no doubt he’s charming and powerful, that on some level, you’re attracted to him, that’s not enough to make you choose him.

At least, not enough for you to pick him over them.

Not if you chased them across literal lifetimes, if you’ve spent lifetimes dedicated to them.

Even now, when he approaches the subject, he can feel you distance yourself from him. He’s torn.

Jimin watches you, a smile of his own appearing.

I don’t want to push it and push him away for good.

But.

I really want to get past this wall.

… It’s fine though. There’s still time. There’s still time to make you change your mind, to love him too. He’ll make sure of it. After all, whoever he is is long gone, and Jimin is the one in front of you and beside you at all times. Something is bound to change.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“You’re much more agreeable these days.”

Walking side by side, he thinks that it would be more than easy to reach across and hold your hand in his. Instead, he raises an eyebrow at you and pushes those thoughts out of his mind.“And? You aren’t complaining, are you?”

You chuckle. He averts his gaze, feeling a little blinded. “No, not really. Just an observation. Does this mean you won’t mind the festival tomorrow? It’ll be messy, after all. And not in the way you like.”

He grumbles. “... I suppose so. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway, so why not?”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The days pass, and the cold becomes unbearable. It burrows under his skin, surrounding his body that not even human clothes can keep away. Especially at night, when the temperature is at its lowest, does he find himself shivering. Although admittedly, it’s much better than how it was months ago, now that the seasons are shifting into spring, it’s still bad for his health.

At least that’s what he tells you, any extension himself, as you continue to share one bed. You are his responsibility, but in the line of thinking Jimin is someone under your care too, as you are both partners. Therefore, it only makes sense for you to share warmth with him by cuddling (read: spooning, you’d been the one to bring it up after a very embarrassed Jimin almost stomped off, although you never mentioned the implications wrapped around it) with you.

In your arms, your scent surrounds him, legs thrown over his own, your hair soft on his cheek. Moments like this are hard to come by, but that just makes him savor every one of them even more.

Under the darkness of the room, minutes after you’ve agreed to turn off the lights and go to sleep, he finds himself whispering, wondering if you’ll reply.

“Aren’t you scared to die? … Is it really that terrible, to be confined in a hospital?”

Your response is short, tone even, but the way you tighten your hold on him says everything.“I’m more scared to not have lived.”

“And honestly… I can’t stand the somber atmosphere in hospitals. I never have, and I never will.”

Months ago, he wouldn’t even have entertained sharing a bed with a human, much less cuddle with one. But these days, Jimin finds he can’t ever sleep without the uneven beat of your heart lulling him to sleep.

He’s become spoiled with your presence.

“I’ll give you the best two months of your life,” he mumbles before correcting himself. “... Lifetimes.”

“Really now,” you hum, a yawn escaping you near the end, “I’m looking forward to it then.”

“Don’t give me those perfunctory words,” he gripes. “I mean it.”

“I know,” you adjust your position, just so that Jimin is pulled close, close, closer to you. WHe can hear the faint beating of your heart even louder, the miniscule warmth of your body a familiar blanket over his own. “... I’m just really tired right now. Can we go to sleep?”

Jimin finally yawns too, feeling exhaustion wash over him as you accept his declaration. “... Alright, fine. Good night, YN.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

But everything good has to come to an end. It isn’t an opinion, but rather a fact, and Jimin is only reminded of this just as the seasons start to shift back to spring, the year coming to its last month.

The way it happens is not even anything gradual, or perhaps it is, but he’s long chosen to ignore it. Because he’s been able to handle it so far, so it should be okay, right? If it’s for you, he’s willing to dole out his magic freely for your sake, so, you’d be alright no matter what, right?

But the way you suddenly collapse on the sidewalk tells him otherwise.

There’s barely a few seconds of warning, maybe one or two. Jimin can’t really tell. All he can remember is how you were walking side by side under the warm weather, enjoying the sun him telling you to take a break at the next cafe over, your laughter ringing out-

-before you fall over, just like that, your legs and arms painfully stiff, you almost crashing onto the asphalt if it weren’t for him catching you in his arms.

“J-Jimin,” you instantly choke out his name, the blue tint of your skin becoming stronger as the words fail to leave you, leaving you gasping and clutching your chest. He isn’t as worried at first, thinking that he only has to fix your failing heart again, but-

No. Your blood won’t move. It won’t close.

He tries again, his hand clutching you tighter this time as if to respond to the panic slowly rising up inside of him, but- still. It’s as if your body is rejecting him, the magic being blocked out, unable to enter you-

“No-”

-and he can only uselessly hold you in his arms, you getting closer to dying with every moment that he wastes-

“No, no, n-no-” he stammers.“YN, hang in there-”

Again and again, he keeps trying, trying to push your body to do something, but no, nothing.

From thereon, it’s a blur. He remembers that he can call the hospital, and scrambling for his phone, he immediately punches the numbers in, though his hands shake with every passing second. 

“9-911, help, please-” he chokes out, “please help, m-my YN, he’s- he’s-”

“Sir, can you please give us your location?” The voice that answers him is quick, urgent, but focused, and how can they be focused when you’re bent over, convulsing in pain-?

“I-I can’t-” he stammers, the address muddled in his head. Though he then looks around, searching for landmarks to give the other person. “W-We’re in front of the entrance to the Keukenhof Gardens.“

He fails to hear what they say, the only words standing out in his head that they’re coming. 

It should amaze him, later on, how at this moment all the panic seems to melt away and not, leaving him shaking but able to speak better, clearer. It’s as if the emotions have dulled away, leaving him pounding but still going on.

“YN,” he tells you, voice wrapped up in emotions that not even he can tell is what. “Hold on, the medics are coming- just-”

“Jimin,” you whimper, trembling. He can see your skin turn even bluer with every passing second, a warning that your heart is pumping yet your lungs are failing. You’re clearly in pain, but- despite that, your whole focus is on him. “... I couldn’t- I can’t see you- I t-thought you left me again.”

An ugly sob tears its way out his chest then. It feels as if his eyes are burning with tears, blurring his vision, but he’s resolved not to let you go.

“D-Don’t worry about that. I’m right h-here sweetheart,” he reassures with a shaky voice. “Didn’t I say I’d n-never leave you? Just focus on my voice-”

Whatever words he speaks next, you never hear as you fall unconscious. Jimin catches you in his arms, and promises to not let you go. 

He doesn’t register the sound of the ambulance arriving, the medics pulling you away from him, him using his power to convince them to let him go with you. The ambulance’s siren doesn’t sink into him, and neither do the busy personnel connecting you to various machines and leading you away into the emergency room, him stuck outside as they tell him to wait. He wants to go inside, to see you, but- they tell him that they can’t work with him in there. So he lets him be sat down on the bench outside by the nurse, eyes drifting into space as he stares at the doors.

All that remains on loop in his mind is the moment you look at him with tears dripping down your face, the terror reflected back in his eyes as you whispered that you thought he’d left again.

The tears fall even faster.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

When they allow him to come in, hours and hours and what feels like an eternity later, the sight of feathers and a(n unfortunately) familiar face barely surprises him. After all, it was made clear to him during your earliest days with you that the angel has a soft spot for you, though how much is still a mystery.

“Taehyung,” he says quietly.  “what are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Taehyung stands by your bed, lips pursed and entire countenance stony as he regards Jimin. You continue to slumber, unaware of the conversation taking place before you. “I should be the one asking you that question. Then again, I guess I can’t be too surprised. You really are dedicated to your job, aren’t you?” He doesn’t laugh, only tightening his grip. “I’d say I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done to him, what you will do to him, but we both already know that’s a lie.”

Jimin bristles. “You say that like I intended for this to happen. … I care about YN.”

At his answer, Taehyung only seems to grow even more furious, the tick in his jaw appearing as his glare becomes murderous. 

“If you really cared for him,” he doesn’t outright yell, no, but Taehyung’s voice is low, trembling with anger, the type that takes every part of yourself to hold back. His hands are drawn into fists and Jimin doesn’t doubt that if you weren’t asleep, he wouldn’t even talk, he’d use his fists instead. “You wouldn’t have stayed near him at all, much less let it come to this point!”

“If you cared about him, you would have let him move on!” 

“I-” Jimin should be angry, and he is, but there’s something about Taehyung’s words, something about the grief in his face that forces him to take a step back. “W-What do you mean…?”

“... this was supposed to be his last chance,” Taehyung whispers. Looking down at your sleeping face, Jimin sees the way his face crumbles with bitterness.  “If he could just move on from you and start anew, he could have been given a chance to be an angel instead. Now, it doesn’t even matter if you and him aren’t like before, that he hasn’t done anything to harm others at all, they aren’t letting him go-”

Jimin’s whole body stills as he stares at Taehyung.

“... Like before?”

Taehyung’s face darkens- and then he snaps.

“How daft can you be?! Have you never wondered just why, out of so many demons, you’re the one he summoned? 75 years of a human life, even on their last cycles, that’s more than enough for a lifetime of wealth and riches!” Taehyung’s voice becomes increasingly loud, anger and blame visible in his eyes, before they shift to bitterness. “But no, he just wanted you. You, who’s always been the reason why he got screwed over in all of his previous lifetimes!”

“I…”

“And now he’s dying, his tenth life and he can’t enter heaven or hell, neither can his soul be broken and made anew,” he spat out bitterly. “Don’t preach to me about how his current state is our fault, because if you’d never tempted him in the first place he wouldn’t even be born into this wretched state!”

After saying his piece, it’s as if a string controlling Taehyung has been cut, as his whole body sags. Once more does he show grief in his face, tears falling and him brushing them away.

And Jimin?

He doesn’t know what to say, how to react. 

Thinking back on it, perhaps the clues had been there all along, and it was just him who refused to see it for what it was. The whole mystery, presented to him, while still missing important pieces had already given him the most important information.

All along, it’d been Jimin who YN searched for in every life, who you’ve been devoted to, may be in love with, and-

And him who’s ruined you in turn, whether it be your previous lives or this one.

The revelation makes him fall, crushing the breath in his lungs. It feels like he’s falling, deep, hard, with no way out and goddamn it why would you still want him after everything?

“... no.”

It’s your words that halt them in their tracks. Surprised, they see you awake.

“YN!” 

They both exclaim your name in surprise. You smile weakly at them in turn, and the way you struggle to breathe a little doesn’t escape them. 

“Thank you, Taehyung, for trying to protect me,” you start, before your smile turns sad. “But I think you forget I’ve always had the choice to leave Jimin. If I ever wanted to, if it ever got too hard for me, I could have left. But I didn’t. And I never will.”

You close your eyes. “A life without him isn’t a life worth living at all.”

Taehyung’s laugh is broken as your words sink in. “Is it worth it even if it costs you everything?”

“You know my answer will always be yes.”

It’s kind of funny. Jimin has always known you would die. Not just mentioning how you’re human, the fact that you refused to get treatment for your condition means death was only ever a few steps behind you.

But even so, now that the moment is creeping closer, it still hits him hard, anyways. 

Perhaps the worst thing yet is the calm smile on your face, reminiscent of the first time Jimin’s met you. You aren’t angry, aren’t defiant, aren’t trying to fight against this in any way at all- you’re just accepting what’s to come and it breaks both of their hearts.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that, Taehyung leaves, though not before he has a private talk with you. When he leaves your room, Jimin sees the trail of tears remaining on his face before he disappears.

Coming in, it all feels like a dream. 

It was only a day ago that the two of you had been planning to take a stroll together and admire the garden boasted to be the ‘most beautiful spring garden in the world’. 

Now the only thing that reminds him of spring inside is the flowers on the vase by your bedside (probably placed there by Taehyung, his mind tells him). You’re admiring them with a small smile (fake, his mind oh so helpfully tells him), though the way you’re determinedly not meeting his gaze, hands clutching the blanket tightly tells him otherwise. 

Silence reigns in the room like so many times before, but this time, neither of you are breaking it. He can only stare at you, the questions in his mind screaming at each other to make themselves known, but as he sees the vulnerable stance you’re holding, your body curled up just enough that you could hide in on yourself, he hesitates.

He can’t. 

It’s with that that Jimin turns around, intending to leave, but-

Only then do you finally speak. Your voice is almost a whisper, but he hears it loud and clear. “Don’t leave,” you beg him. “Please.” The way your voice cracks at the end with unshed tears echoes in the room.

Jimin stops. A moment passes- and then he turns around again, sighing as he seats himself beside you. You still aren’t looking at him, but you aren’t quite looking away from him either.

“... Is it true then? YN.”

You flinch, but you answer all the same.

“... Yeah, it is.” When you speak next, it’s only too obvious that you’re trying to be casual and light. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think Taehyung was such a blabbermouth.”

Jimin already knew. That was a fact.

But damn it if it doesn’t hurt right now. If it doesn’t make him physically sick, to consider his part in your current condition. To actually have to face the truth. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have-”

“You could have what?” You interrupt him. Jimin falls silent, unable to answer and you smile bitterly. “That’s what I thought.” 

“If I told you when we first met, would you have believed me?” 

He looks away. “... Yes, I would have.”

“Liar,” you immediately call him out, a hint of exasperation present in your tone. “Don’t blame yourself, Jimin. I chose this. I’m happy right now.”

“Originally I wasn’t going to find you, but… when I saw you, you just reminded me of the old you,” you smiled sadly. “when you didn’t know what to live for, desperate for anything to keep you going. And then I realized you didn’t recognize me… I just wanted to see you smile happily again.”

And then it feels as though someone’s punched him in the chest.

“If you die, I won’t be smiling happily anymore! If you die right now, I won’t find any reason to smile for the rest of this hell that I’m stuck as a demon. This time, I won’t ever be able to forget you. I won’t ever be able to forget your smiles, your laughter, the way you smirk at me when you tease me- I couldn’t ever forget you.” He chokes out, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks you in the eyes, forcing you to see him. “How could you ever think there would be a life where I wouldn’t fall in love with you?”

“... I’m sorry, Jimin,” your voice breaks with tears. “I’m sorry for being selfish. I should’ve just let you go, I’m sorry, I just missed you so much-”

He doesn’t know who starts crying first, only that the two of you are so close to shattering. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“What did I do to you?” He finally asks. To your credit, you don’t break eye contact with him, only flinching a little. Jimin quietly continues. “Taehyung… he said your soul became like this because of me. I want to know the full story.”

When he senses you hesitating, thinking over what to say, he clasps your hands in his own. “Please.”

Your shoulders sag, and you look away. 

“... in our first life, your wife cheated on you with another man from her village,” you finally say softly. 

Jimin says nothing, only encouraging you to speak. 

“Your father married you to her because she was the daughter of the head of the neighboring village, and she seemed to like you. When you were married, you made sure to treat her well, going above what people would normally do and almost even pampering her. With everything that was going on, you becoming head and your marriage, we began drifting away.”

“But your wife turned out to be tricking you only for the money and the status. I soon found out she’d been stealing money and lying about it, and going behind your back to see other men. At first I was incensed, and I immediately confronted her. She knew I could make you listen, so she promised to stop and change her ways. I agreed. I didn’t want you to be heartbroken when you realized how much she’d been lying to you.”

“... I found her under another man weeks later, near the shed. I confronted them, threatening to tell you- and her lover, who obviously knew who I was, panicked. He tried to kill me then, but I was stronger than him- and then he tried pleading for his innocence, killing your wife in turn before begging me to let it go.”

“I was shocked. At first I didn’t know what to do, but then I tried to confront her, and well-” you fall silent again, obviously torn about telling him what happens next. Jimin awaits your response, and it isn’t long before you make up your mind.

“... I tried to detain him, but in the process killed him instead. You came out, attracted by the ruckus… I can’t ever forget the face you had when you saw both your wife and another man dead, and me, standing over them,” your voice comes out as a whisper. “You never blamed me, especially after you heard the truth, but- we were never the same afterwards.”

“I think… that was the start of everything.”

The way you retell your past lives now, revealing to him the parts that you glossed over before, it puts the clues he’s seen before in clear perspective. It breaks his heart to hear your journey through the different lives, always there for him, always getting dragged into the darker side of the world because of him. Because of him, in almost every life you’ve been dragged to kill, to manipulate, to ruin lives on his account. If not to protect him, to keep him safe then to avenge him in some way.

Taehyung was right. It is his fault.

Finally, you touch upon your last life with him, your eight life.

“In our eight life, you were the emperor’s son, and I was the concubine’s son of the right minister of the court. We were childhood friends,” you smile a little in reminiscence. 

“... The royal family was full of backstabbing and schemes. I wanted to protect you, but I was too young. When I finally had the power, you were already broken in by others, wanting nothing but power and revenge. I thought… no, I wanted to help. If I could have just stopped it sooner, you wouldn’t have suffered so much after all,” the guilt in your tone is thick as is the regret in your eyes. “I became the minister, scheming and backstabbing others in order to gain what I wanted, to protect you, and to help you get revenge.”

“At the end of that life, we’d drenched the whole city in blood, not a single person against you left alive.”

“... I remember that,” Jimin finally says.

A demon’s past lives are always sealed shut and kept secret, but- perhaps just by the virtue of standing by you, the one person who’s always been a central point in all his lives, that he can remember at least his last life clearly.

“... I was poisoned, wasn’t I?” He chuckles. Your smile tightens, a shaky breath leaving you that he knows isn’t just from your illness.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “In the ninth life, I couldn’t find you anywhere. I lived my whole life searching for you, but I couldn’t even sense the slightest hint of you anywhere.”

“You were looking in the wrong realm,” he laughs a little. You shrug.

“... And now, this life.”

“This life,” he echoes, falling quiet.

“You already know about my family. My mother dying at childbirth, father abandoning me, my relatives only being greedy… I ran away as soon as I could. I suffered, that’s true, but- I thought,” you swallow nervously. “I couldn’t find you anywhere last time. And this was my last life. So… I thought that maybe, I could summon a demon to help me search for you, if you were at least still alive somewhere.”

“Imagine my surprise when I summoned you instead.”

You place a small kiss on his palm, intertwining your hand with him after. “I promised I’d only take a little peek, see if you were happy, but… I guess… I guess I got greedy.”

Jimin lets out a shaky exhale, feeling the strength leave him as your words sink into his mind. “And Taehyung?”

“I met him in my ninth life. I’m pretty sure he already told you, but… he’s the one who made it possible for me to remember my past lives,” you smile a little at that. “I started searching for you after that.”

“I guess they were pretty anxious for a new angel to arrive, making me that deal.”

He scoffs. “The amount of angels that enter heaven have heavily decreased these past centuries. I’m not too surprised if they are. For a system that prides itself on its morality, their pragmatism rivals even hell itself.”

“Yeah,” you simply reply. “Don’t be too harsh on him, okay? He was the reason I found you in this life, after all. I’m thankful I got to see you again in my last life.”

And just like that, he’s reminded again of the situation at hand.

“After all, they said,” you continue, “I could die at any moment now.”

Fingers trace where your heart would be in your chest. “Complications from my birth defect. A blood clot formed in one of the arteries near my heart. ”

“More than that though- there’s only two weeks left, before our contract ends,” you tell him. Jimin squeezes your hand, seated beside you.  

“...Is there anything you want?”

“Just stay with me, please,” you close your eyes as you lean on him.

“Alright. Alright, I can do that.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that, Jimin stays by your side at all times, every waking second of the day, if not to keep you company, then to ease the pain in your body. It’s ironic, considering your past lives. He remembers being bedridden, every change of his condition monitored. You’d told him multiple times then, that you were willing to follow him to the grave. The ministers praised your loyalty. Only he knew that it wasn’t a promise so much as a statement.

“Wow,” your lips quirk into a grin as you take the cup from his hands. “Tea from you, our great and oh-so-gracious emperor. How lucky of me.”

“Perfectly brewed tea too,” he preens as you compliment him.

In a reversal of roles, he brews you tea, accompanying you around (though not too far lest your disease acts up again), making sure that in your last days, you’re left with as little regret and as much contentment as you can get. 

Still, he can’t help thinking over the angel’s words. Every time he sees you just enjoy being alive together, he wonders, why not? If it guaranteed your survival, he’d push you to become a demon, or even an angel.

The one time that he brings it up, though, you instantly shoot him down.

“I don’t want to be an angel,” you bluntly state. “If I did, I’d be bound to fight you someday. Besides, heaven cast me out already..”

“Becoming a demon isn’t something you can so easily do, either. Remembering my previous lives actually makes it harder for me. Even if it’s for you… I can’t justify ruining people’s lives in any way in this life.”

He exhales, grip on you tightening with every word you say, feeling as though if he doesn’t, then somehow, somehow, you’ll instantly disappear.

“... I know.”

He doesn’t bring up that topic again.

And if he leaves moments later, not returning until an hour later, appearing the same but feeling empty of everything inside, well. At least you don’t call him out on it.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

A few days before your contract ends, he’s visited by someone he didn’t think would see him.

“If you had a chance to save him,” he says. “Would you?”

Of course. If there’s anything that binds Jimin and him together, it’s you.

“I would.”

A heartbeat’s worth of moment passes- and then he replies.

“What are you willing to give up?”

“Everything.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“YN!”

You cheekily wave at him from where you are, standing by the bed, outfit not the hospital gown but rather clothes for outside wear. Jimin stride over to you, features stiff as he almost-but-not-quite glares at you, or to be more specific at you standing and dressed to go out.

“I didn’t want to spend my last days on a hospital bed,” you explain before he can say anything, a forcefully lighthearted tone in your voice. You smile at him easily, pulling him down for a kiss- one that he easily returns, before grasping his hands in yours. “So. Accompany me, will you?”

Cold. Your body temperature has always been a little below than how normal humans should be, but in this moment it’s fallen even lower and Jimin can’t help but let his magic ease the discomfort you must be feeling. You hum in pleasure as you feel the pain in your body dull, no doubt because of Jimin.

“... Fine,” he sighs, before warning you. “But we aren’t doing anything strenuous.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes at him, before tugging on your interlocked hands. “Come on, we’re losing daylight.”

Where are we even going? He wants to ask, but it’s a futile question. After all, he’ll follow you wherever you decide to go, whether it be even heaven or hell.

With that thought in mind, he lets you lead.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The destination in question turns out to be the Keukenhof gardens, the place you two intended to visit before the incident.

Although he originally didn’t want you to put too much pressure on your body, Jimin thinks, if only to himself, that maybe this trip is doing you more good than harm. Surrounded by the beautiful scenery, it seems as though you are at peace for once. The tension that seemed unnoticeable before has visibly melted away for both of you, leaving you both at peace. 

“I remember you strolling in the imperial gardens.” The memory in question comes in a burst as he watches you walk around. The scene before him blurs. The present overlaps with the past vision of you in his mind- where you’re wearing brightly colored robes, followed by several attendants. Tulips on the ground are replaced by falling plum blossoms, and even the atmosphere is different. 

What only remains the same is you and the gentle look on your face.

“I always found you having tea in the pavilion. That was the first place I looked to when I needed you, and I rarely failed to find you there.”

You laugh a little. “I always asked you to join me.”

“... Yes, you were the only one who could so easily ask me to take a break with you,” he murmurs. “No one else would even dare meet my eyes. They were always too afraid.”

“The memories keep coming back to me now.”

“Do they?” You ask him, swinging your linked hands a little. “Our lives keep changing, but if there’s anything that stays the same… I guess it’s this. I’m glad I got to do this at least once with you in this life too.”

“If it were up to me, we’d do this everyday.” 

And then he feels you tug on him. He notices the way your breathing quickly becoming erratic, you starting to struggle even more just to breathe. It’s nothing that his magic can’t dull, the pain disappearing but the damage increasing.

This is the limit of what Jimin can do (he hates it, but you always look at him a grateful look on your face and he swallows back the words, knowing what your reaction would be).

After that, he carries you to one of the benches by the path. In the late afternoon, the sky is a brilliant shade of rose, sunlight gently bathing the sea of flowers with gold.

‘Just a little longer’, he thinks. Please.

“Hey, Jimin.”

“... You asked me before,” you suddenly speak up again, voice falling lower as if you’re sleepy. “If I was afraid to die.”

“Even after countless lifetimes, I’ve always been afraid to die,” you reveal. “But I was more afraid to die without seeing you at least once.”

“Were you happy, this past year?” He abruptly asks. The answer should be obvious- you’ve done so much just to find him, just to stay by him, so obviously you should, but he can’t help asking. Were you? Were you happy? Was he able to make you feel that the pain was worth it in any way?

Maybe it isn’t for you as much as it is for him. I’m sorry. The words are laced in every touch and he wonders if you can hear it.

You chuckle. “Of course I am.”

“... Jimin,” you call out his name again, when the silence drags him down to where his thoughts fester. He shivers- feeling your presence slowly wither away beside him, as you struggle to speak, your voice becoming more and more quiet. “Jimin...”

“Yes?”

“If there’s a life beyond this one, and the other one, and beyond… I’d still want to spend all of it with you.”

Jimin laughs, but it’s strange.

His voice… it really isn’t as smooth as it used to be. The trembling, choked up feeling in his throat- they turn his words into ones filled with tears. “Really, YN? That’s a promise then, alright? After all, I still haven’t paid you back for all the lifetimes I’ve caused you grief… I don’t think I ever will, no matter how much I try.”

He looks at you then- at your eyes that hold nothing but fondness in them, to the gentle slope of your lips, the smooth space between your eyebrows. Dipping his head low, he cups your face, pressing a kiss on your forehead. Your grip on him would be painful if there was any force behind it. As it is, he only grasps your hand in turn to make sure that at least you know you are together until the end.

A moment passes, and then another.

An evening breeze brushes by, making the trees sway, leaves falling down to the ground.

Jimin’s hands barely tremble as he closes your eyes for you. 

Like this, it’s easy to pretend you’re just sleeping. 

“... Goodnight, YN.”

Flower petals dance through the air, and Jimin thinks that is probably the send off that you would like. Surrounded by what you love.

He hopes that your smile carries on wherever you may go.

“I’ll meet you soon.”

Only the wind is there to hear him now, only the rising moon there to witness the tears that follow yet again.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Hic… hic…”

It’s the sound of something that draws him to the place hidden behind the playground. He’s not scared- no, really!- but the other kids are too busy playing, enough that they couldn’t hear him when he said he wanted to join, so they definitely wouldn’t notice if something interesting was happening somewhere!

He’s a big boy though, so he can wait until they’re done, whenever that is. In the meantime, he can hear something weird, and he’s curious, so he can go investigate that!

So he walks carefully to just the veeeeery edge of the sandbox, looking around and trying to find out where the noise is coming from.

When he looks through the bushes, it’s when he finds himself what’s making the noise.

“What the- hey, are you okay?”

It’s a crying boy. 

For a moment, the two of them look at each other, surprised- before he awkwardly smiles at the other. When they don’t say anything, just staring at him, he patiently waits for them to say something. That’s what his mother always told him to do, after all. 

“Are you okay?” He repeats. The other nods a little. “What happened? I heard this strange noise but you seem and sound like you were crying!”

At that, they begin to tear up again.

“... I-I got lost, and I can’t find my mommy or my daddy…”

“Oh,” he says, before smiling. “That’s okay! I’ll help you find them!”

“... Really?”

He grins, eyes turning into crescent moons as he holds out his hand for the other to take. “Yeah, really! I’m kinda new here, so my mom told me where to go if I’m ever lost! I can take you there!”

They hesitate, face sad, before they seem to decide- and they take his hand.

And in that moment, he feels something wet on his cheeks.

“... a-are you crying!? I’m sorry!”

“Um- no, it’s okay… I just got really happy for no reason!” He hastily wipes away the tears, feeling really happy and sad for some reason. “Um… sorry… um.”

“What’s your name? Do you want to be friends? You’re really cute!”

“H-Huh?” They blush. “... My name is YN. And you are?”

“It’s Jimin! From now on, we’re friends, okay?”

They smile, and his chest feels a little funny. A little warm too. Just- he’s really, really happy, more than he’s ever been!

“Sure!”

Behind them both, a feather falls onto the ground.

[incensuous]

demon!NezuTan AU

fandom: KNY character(s): Nezuko/Tanjirou (not explicit, but they are together), Yoshiteru (Zenitsu), Aoba (Inosuke) rating: T, pretty gen tho words: 1522

basically, what if NezuTan had stayed demons and lived to the present-day. mild spoilers for ch 205/end of KNY

read on AO3

“Are you reading those stories again, Yoshiteru?” Aoba sits down across his friend, at a cafe, rolling his eyes. “We’re supposed to be studying, not reading some sci-fi, fantasy stuff.” 

“Hey, my great-grandpa wrote these, you know!” Yoshiteru huffs. “Apparently, he was good friends with the Kamado demon siblings, and helped in the fight against Muzan. So I might be related to the reason Japan is still standing today!”

“Okay, sure, then maybe I am, too,” Aoba rolls his eyes again, before opening his book. “Can we get to business, now? I want to go into research. I’m not gonna make it there if I don’t get into the university I want.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring, Aoba,” Yoshiteru grumbles. “I think they’re real.”

At the sight of his friend’s incredulous face, Yoshiteru frowns. “You don’t think they’re real? There’s so many sources and stories about them--”

“Yeah, just a bunch of people spreading the same rumors, and wanting to get some attention,” Aoba shrugs. 

“But these stories are from all over Japan, and there are even some from outside too in recent decades. And they corroborate, even though there’s no way these people would know of each others’ stories--not back then.”

Aoba raises an eyebrow. “Well, even if those stories are true, there certainly aren’t any demons now.”

“Probably because they don’t want us to know they’re around. And maybe the Kamado siblings got rid of most of them!”

He snorts. “What next? You’re probably gonna say the Kamado siblings are still running around in modern day Tokyo, being vigilantes or something.”

His friend’s eyes sparkle.

Aoba grimaces. “You actually do think that? I bet you’re only so interested because Kamado Nezuko was said to be a great beauty.”

Yoshiteru leans forward, eyes ablaze, and practically drooling. “She is a great beauty! My great-grandpa writes how any man seeing her would be overwhelmed with emotion!”

“You’re disgusting. Sounds like your great-grandpa was the same.”

Suddenly, Yoshiteru’s eyes intensify and Aoba sighs, because he knows that look. 

“Aoba! Your six o’clock!” Yoshiteru half-whispers, as if trying to be discrete, but nothing about the boy was discrete, from his personality to the volume of his voice. 

Regardless, the cafe is quite bustling, so Aoba hopes whoever Yoshiteru is pointing out to him hasn’t heard the whisper. 

When he stealthily tries to peek over his shoulder (not that he really cares, but he knows his friend wouldn’t let it alone), he’s briefly worried they were overheard after all, because a beautiful girl is in fact sitting across the cafe, and she’s staring directly at them now.

There’s no way she should’ve heard them, not as far as she was. Her stare isn’t threatening or annoyed, more like curiosity. 

Aoba quickly turns away. “Yoshiteru, don’t you dare go and bother that girl.” But it’s too late, and Aoba can see the hearts forming in his friend’s eyes. 

Almost as if in a trance and true to his convictions, Yoshiteru strolls over to the girl in question and Aoba frets before rushing after his friend to wrangle him away. 

By the time he reaches them, he gets a better look at the beautiful girl Yoshiteru is currently talking nonsense to. She seems a bit older than them, perhaps in college. 

She looks the part, in a cozy sweater, jeans, and combat boots in contrast to his and Yoshiteru’s high school uniforms. Her long, pink-tipped hair is free flowing, with a small clip to keep it from falling into her face. But most strange of all, she was actually smiling at Yoshiteru. 

“Miss, I’m so sorry,” Aoba apologizes, slightly bowing at her, as he insistently tugs on his friend’s arm, whispering harshly of how they needed to sit back down because he really didn’t want to get banned from another cafe, dammit. The one owned by the strange, mismatched couple had the best donuts, and he was lucky the pink-haired woman still let him in on occasion. “My friend was dropped on the head as a baby many times, so he has no working brain, you see.”

For his credit, the taller boy remains obstinately in place. “You said your name was Toko? Toko-chan?” 

Aoba smacks the back of his friend’s head, and normally he would wail, but it’s as if Aoba turned into a ghost, his strike having no more effect than a breeze. 

The girl, apparently Toko, giggles and waves a small hand. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “It’s nice to meet you two. And your name is?” She turns to Aoba. 

“Uh, Hashibira Aoba,” he offers, after a beat. He can’t believe a pretty college girl is actually giving the two of them the time of day, even if out of pity. 

He might be imagining it, but when he says his name, it seems like her eyes soften at the two of them. 

“Hashibira-san,” she nods her head, still smiling. 

Suddenly, he feels a tingle down his spine, like a deep rooted instinct, passed down from his ancestors. But when he turns around, all he sees is a kind-faced boy with light purple eyes, smiling at him. 

“Hello,” the boy grins gently, tilting his head. “Have you two been keeping Toko company?”

Aoba freezes--crap, is this her boyfriend? Is he about to beat the two of them up for trying to hit on his girlfriend? This guy’s face is one of the softest faces he’d ever seen, but there’s no mistake there’s a lot of muscle hidden underneath his hoodie and jacket, and he doesn’t disregard the shock down his spine from earlier--

“Onii-chan, you’re pretty late.”

Okay, they’re siblings, it changes things but still does not rule out the possibility of getting beat up for bothering Toko-san. 

“Sorry, Toko,” the red-haired boy ducks his head sheepishly. “I’ll buy you a pastry, I promise.”

“I made some new friends,” Toko says instead. “This is Hashibira Aoba-kun and Agatsuma Yoshiteru-kun.”

“Nice to meet you. You can call me Sumihiko,” the newcomer bows and beams at them, almost too friendly. 

Yoshiteru is giving Sumihiko a dirty glare, as if Sumihiko somehow insulted him by being related to a beautiful girl. 

“Nice to meet you,” Aoba bows, forcing his friend to bend forward as well. “I’m sorry to have bothered you two, we’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Toko-chan, can I get your number, please?” Yoshiteru howls, and Aoba can never stop getting embarrassed when he’s loud enough people around them start to take notice. “Just your number, and I swear I won’t text too often, maybe just once every other day, maybe once a day, okay?”

Aoba futilely attempts to drag his friend away. “Goddammit Yoshiteru, if someone calls the police on you one more time, you really might not get away with it--”

“Sure.”

Even Yoshiteru himself is in shock at Toko’s ready agreement, and dumbly hands over his phone for Toko to input her contact information. Again, Aoba isn’t sure if it’s the lighting in the cafe, but now it’s as if both siblings are looking at him and Yoshiteru with tender, fond eyes. 

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Have we met before?”

Sumihiko shakes his head, slowly. “No, I don’t think we have.”

“Oh… sorry, I thought you two just looked a bit familiar,” he blushes, feeling like an idiot in front of these two very attractive siblings now. 

“It’s alright, we get that more often than you’d think,” Toko assures him. 

Aoba isn’t sure why, because the two of them definitely stand out enough to not be confused with other faces, but he doesn’t question it further. 

“Toko-chan, perhaps we met in a past life!” Yoshiteru croons, cloyingly. “Maybe we were even married!”

Aoba notices the matching grins on Sumihiko and Toko--and also realizes they really do look alike, considering at first glance, he could hardly believe they were actually siblings, with neither their hair nor eyes matching. 

“Okay, I think it’s really time we start studying, Yoshiteru,” Aoba grits his teeth, and with herculean effort, wrenches the boy away from his newfound infatuation. “I don’t think Toko-san will want to talk to a high school dropout.”

“We’ll meet again soon, Toko-chan!” Yoshiteru blubbers, reaching out towards her. 

-

“Do you think we acted weird?” Nezuko ponders quietly, when Tanjirou returns to her with the promised croissant. “We smiled like fools the whole time.”

Tanjirou shrugs, the grin not leaving his face. “I couldn’t help it. I was so happy to see them again.”

Nezuko giggles, wistfully. “I know. Me too.”

(“Let’s bring Yushiro some cake pops, later.”

“He’ll only eat them once we leave.”

“I know.”)

[tenspontaneite]

Boundless (Chapter 1/?)

A powerful arcanum needs a powerful outlet. Where none exists, magic will create one, or kill you trying.

Callum’s human body isn’t enough to withstand the boundless power of the Sky Primal. But magic always finds a way.

(Or: Callum gains the Sky Arcanum, and swiftly thereafter begins to grow wings.)

(Chapter length: ~8k. Ao3 Link)

Preword: For the record, I’ve been planning this story since s2, and wrote this chapter and most of the next in the week following the 10th October. I have edited this chapter by a very small amount to make it align more fully with s3 canon, mainly for descriptions of early season scenery. If s3 made you hungry for wingfic, you’ve come to the right place!

Story warnings: I’m a lot more into wing and feather biology than a lot of wingfic authors are, and also I believe in making my characters pay for their goodies. As such, this story starts off much more ‘body horror’ than ‘glorious magic materialisation of wings’. As the story progresses, it’ll go into significant detail about wing-related anatomy and biology.

Chapter warnings: Blood, pain, body horror. Edging into gore territory for some of it, though it’s relatively short-lived. Also, milder warnings for suffocation and emetophobia.

 —

The first time Callum cast aspiro by virtue of his own arcanum, it was living triumph. A culmination of all the thought and fear and inadequacy that had chased him through the week, and the realisation of what his deathly dream had taught him. The magic of the Sky was around him and within him and everywhere, and as he cast his spell it settled like a spark into his heart. He felt it every breath thereafter, every second, with every gust on the cliffside and glimpse of the blue-above shivering through him like another kind of life.

It settled into his blood like the air did, it coursed through his bones and flesh and sinew – the Sky was a part of him and he was a part of the Sky, the understanding of it sinking deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. By the time he’d said farewell to his brother, the arcanum was as viscerally-rooted in him as his own skeleton, a precious and irrevocable part of him; a channel that opened him up to the vast and boundless magic of the Sky.

He and Rayla and Zym walked to the Breach, and if he noticed the ache in his back, he thought nothing of it. After all, hadn’t he spent hours today convalescent upon hard stone? It was only to be expected.

—

The second time Callum cast aspiro from his own breath and magic, it was amidst heat and urgency and the dread of a rising sun. The magic surged in him as he spoke and wrote and breathed, the feeling of it effervescent and electric at once, crackling in his blood and bubbling through every inch of him. It ached. It burned, too, but wasn’t that just the heat of the Breach? He worried more about directing the wind-gust from his lips, and watching Zym’s wings catch the air like twin sails, and seeing how great a shadow a young dragon could cast.

And when they were safely across, and Callum and Rayla threw their arms around each other from the pure relief of it, her arms around his shoulders were startlingly painful. Like pressure against a livid bruise. But the adrenaline of their success was enough to forestall the flinch, and she noticed nothing.

But when they drew apart, Zym cheerful and victorious between them, the ache at his shoulders didn’t leave. As though Rayla’s touch had wakened it, or perhaps awakened him to it, and it became insistent enough that he paid it notice he hadn’t earlier.

“You alright?” Rayla asked, as she showed him along the canyon-paths into Xadia, as he twisted his hands behind his back to pat cautiously at his shoulders.

They hurt, to the touch. Sharp and raw, like the worst bruises he’d ever had. Like blistering skin. “…My back is kinda sore.” He admitted, with a light frown. “Maybe I bruised it, or something.”

She blinked at him with a glimmer of concern. “…Well, hopefully that’s just from sleeping funny on a cave floor.” She offered. “Or maybe you hit yourself during your dramatic collapse earlier.”

He eyed her, fingers lingering on the fabric over his shoulders. “Dramatic collapse?” he repeated, uncomprehending.

Rayla averted her eyes. “When you…unchained the dragon.” She elaborated, and didn’t say when you used dark magic, and he knew at her expression that she hadn’t quite forgiven him for that.

“…Maybe.” He agreed, uncomfortable, and thought of the way the power of it had swept through him, heady and dark and burning. How empty he’d felt afterwards; hollowed-out and aching, like an empty husk.

Sky magic didn’t feel like that. His second aspiro had ached too, but not like the hollowness of the dark. Not like everything beneath his skin had been scooped out. More like…the magic had put too much back in. As if there was too large a force for too small a space, and his skin couldn’t quite hold it. He wondered, for a fretful moment, if the power of the Sky was too vast for him. If even the barest spark of it that was his arcanum was stifled in his too-human flesh.

Rayla watched him, unusually sombre, for a few more seconds. Then she reached out to pull his hand from his shoulder, and tugged him onwards by the fingers. “Come on, stop messing with it.” She said, deliberately light-hearted. “If you’ve hit your back you won’t do it any favours by picking at it.”

“I’m not exactly picking at it.” He complained at her, but allowed himself to be pulled unresisting further into the Xadian borderlands, where the canyon-tunnels widened out into the bright glow of red rock beneath the sun, where that same sun gleamed upon something gold and glittering and huge-

“Welcome to Xadia!” Rayla said, and when she saw him staring, turned to follow his gaze. Like him, she saw the immense shining form of the Archdragon, stopped short, stared with perhaps more horror and less awe than he did. “Oh no,” She breathed, utterly dismayed. “It’s him. It’s Sol Regem.”

And then they were entirely too busy figuring out how to bypass a dragon to worry about his back.

(The third aspiro, wielded against Sol Regem, might well have burned, and might well have seared; but there was no room around their desperate attempts to escape for him to notice it. If he was aware of the pain, it was in a very distant way, far-removed from the far more immediate issue of their survival. They passed into Xadia, and neither commented on the spell that had saved them.)

—

Later, when they were together and more-or-less unharmed past the gauntlet of a former-King, there was a little more space to breathe. A little more space to feel the Sky brimming up against his skin, to feel the breath almost too-deep in his lungs, like there was too much of it, like the air was filling him up like a balloon and he’d burst any second-

He only noticed that he’d fallen when Rayla caught him, his scarf still a vibrant streak of red about her neck. “Callum!” She said, alarmed, as she insinuated herself under one of his arms to hold him up. She put her arm around his shoulders to complete the support – and at the slightest pressure against his back, he cried out in pain. She released him as though burned, and then barely managed to catch him before he crumpled fully to the ground. “Callum,” She repeated, when all he did was breathe in quick shallow bursts, rather than answer. “What’s wrong? Is it your back?”

He was too-full of air, too-full of magic. He’d burst. He couldn’t breathe, but he had to. Near to hyperventilating, he sucked in more and more and more of the Sky with every second, and felt it brimming in his flesh, swelling his lungs, and it hurt. “No,” He managed, after another several conspicuous gasps. “I mean – yes – but not-“ He had to break off for another half minute, torn to pieces between the feeling that he couldn’t breathe and the utterly paradoxical sensation of his lungs filled past their capacity. The primal panic of breathlessness was a far more immediate thing than the searing pain on his back, though, and so much harder to resist. “Can’t breathe.” He said to her, when he found enough space between suffocating and bursting to speak.

He barely had the presence of mind to see the worry written all over her as she ran her eyes over him as if to inspect him for signs of damage. “Haven’t you suffocated enough for one day?” She asked him, with some asperity, as if it could disguise the fear in her eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on making a habit of this.” Gently, she pressed fingers against a point on his wrist, perhaps to feel the hummingbird-pace of his heart.

Callum tried to laugh, and the requisite loss of breath left him spluttering for long painful moments. “Sorry,” he said, once he had found some equilibrium again, and then descended once more into gasping, sucking in air as if there was none left in the Sky. But there was. There was so much breath, too much, too much to hold-

“Dumb prince.” She muttered to him, worried but achingly fond. She supported him upright, so that he was sitting up, and held him there, a hand on each of his shoulders, carefully away from his back. “Callum. Look at me.” She said, with such sudden command that his frantic breath stilled for a second, just to look at her. He stared at her as she stared back at him, and clung to the eye contact like a lifeline in the tide of breathless panic. “…Good.” She nodded, a little, and he abruptly realised that he wasn’t gasping so desperately now. The breathlessness was a constant pressure, though, and as he noticed it he started wheezing again – Rayla shook him, and the surprise of it stilled him again. “Just breathe.” She told him, in a way that was by now terribly familiar.

Hadn’t he heard it, drowning in the dream-state? Hadn’t he heard her? Hadn’t he heard the words from her lips, before he heard them from his mother’s? “…Trying,” he managed, still caught in the eye contact like a ship to its anchor.

“I know.” She said. “Just…try to breathe more slowly. Deeper, I guess.”

He tried. It was hard when the gasps kept bursting into his attempts at deep, steadying breaths. Harder when the pressure of breathlessness increased, even as the pressure of too-much-air decreased. The former was harder to bear than the latter – suffocation was death, but pain was only pain.

…But, by the sharp and tearing ache in his chest, he was reminded that some pains did lead to death. His lungs felt too-full. Like they really would burst.

He breathed through the panic, and did not suffocate, and did not rupture.

When his breathing was into more of a normal rhythm, and he seemed calmer, Rayla relaxed a little and lowered her hands from their urgent place on his shoulders. He managed to keep himself upright, and appreciated it more than he could say when she took and squeezed one of his hands. “Is it the dark magic again?” She asked him, after a moment, and he had breath enough to speak.

He closed his eyes, just briefly, and felt the Sky brimming beneath his skin. “No.” he said, shaking his head, vehement. “It’s not – it’s the Sky magic.” In the new sense of calm, Zym finally found space to insinuate himself between them, settling his front paws into Callum’s lap and looking up at him with wide worried eyes. He lowered his other hand to the dragonling’s mane, and felt a little calmer at the contact.

He could feel the Sky beneath his fingers. It was in Zym, too, but…settled, in a way it wasn’t with him. It belonged.

“The Sky magic?” Rayla repeated, after a second, clearly startled. “But – why? It’s Primal magic – it’s…natural.”

Water was natural, too. But it could still drown you.

He shook his head, almost more to clear the thought than as a response to her. “It’s too much.” He said, and then shuddered at expressing it. “It’s like – I’m filling up with Sky magic, and – and there’s no way out for it, and I’m just…” He raised the hand from Zym’s mane to wave frustratedly in the air. His voice trembled worse than his fingers. “It feels like I’m going to explode. I – I don’t think humans are made for Primal magic, Rayla.” His heart sped again, this time in a different fear, and she stared back at him with a furrowed brow. “I – I think I’ve really messed up.”

Having spoken the words onto the air, they felt too real. What if he’d messed with something he shouldn’t? What if – what if the dark magic was only the first thing he shouldn’t have touched, what if humans just weren’t meant to use Primal magic, what if he’d bitten off more than he could chew and – what if it killed him?

This moment he lingered in, caught between breathlessness and bursting…he couldn’t keep it up, surely. Either he’d suffocate or he’d explode, and it was all his fault. His fault for grasping at something he was never meant to hold.

“Try casting a spell.” She said, after a moment, and the words were such a shock against his thoughts that they practically gave him whiplash.

“What?” He demanded, breathing picking up again, even as he tried to calm it down. “I say I’m full of too much magic, and your solution is more magic?”

She stared back at him, unrepentant. “Spells use magic, right?” She pointed out. “Maybe casting a spell or two will let off the pressure.”

Callum blinked. “That’s….” He frowned. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She huffed. “Just cast your spell, alright?”

He considered her, and then considered the spell he hadn’t tried casting since the Primal Stone broke. The most powerful spell he knew. He nodded, slowly, and exhaled like it could relieve the pressure in him, and shuffled away. His fingers parted from hers, and still sitting, he raised them to draw in the air, the opposite direction from her. “Fulminis,” He said, with the breath he had, and the magic…changed.

It had been building in him, swelling in him, as aimless and merciless as water straining at a dam. There had been too much of it to sit in his blood, too much to fit in his lungs, and it had hurt. Too much breath, too much air, with nowhere to go.

The spell awakened it. That aimless, ruthless pressure went hot and bright and fast, like the sear of a lightning-flash against unprepared eyes, and the unleashed magic screamed through him with terrible purpose. It shrieked from his fingers, incandescent and sparking, and cracked through the Sky to shatter the quiet like glass. And then – in that moment-

His hands flinched back from the dissipating rune as if from fire, and flew to his shoulders. He gasped with pain, and hunched forwards the better to reach it, to feel something roiling beneath his skin, the lingering magic burning there like it had burned out of his fingers. Like it had unleashed itself upon some other conduit than a spell.

“Callum?” Rayla spoke, worried, when all he did was pat frantically at the searing pain on his back. “…Did it work?”

Was he imagining it? Was it just that his back was sore and swollen and the skin felt huge with the pain of it? Was it just his imagination?

“Callum.” She pressed, a second later, impatient enough that his head jerked over to look at her.

“Huh?” he thought. “I mean – yeah, kinda? But-“ The pressure that had built in him had released, in a way. He could feel it building again already, but – not all of that magic had gone into the spell. For a second – for a second, it had felt like – and now his back felt – but surely he was just imagining things.

…Well, there was one way to find out.

“…Could you, um, feel here for a second?” He requested, awkwardly, fingers still hovering over the pain on his back. “But – carefully.”

Her eyes flickered between his hands and his eyes, wary, but she leaned forwards, reaching out. He moved his hand to let hers pat gingerly at the spot over his shoulder-blade, and-

Any hope he’d had of it just being his imagination was soundly dashed the second her hand shot away again, eyes flying wide-open with shock. “What is that?” She demanded, in a strangled voice, nearly squashing Zym’s tail with how quickly she retreated.

He deflated. “I don’t know.” He admitted, a new fear beating in his chest. “It’s…I think it’s why my back is hurting.”

“There’s something on your back.” She told him, stridently, as if he hadn’t just figured that out for himself. “Is it – some sort of, I don’t know – did you break your shoulder, or something?”

For a second he entertained the brief and bloody image of a spur of broken bone jutting through his skin, and shuddered. “I think I’d have noticed that, Rayla.”

Her eyes moved from him to do a cautious sweep of their surroundings, and she exhaled. “We’ll need to take a look at it.” She said. “But…maybe we should try to find a good place to camp, first. If you’re injured…”

He grimaced. They had very little in the way of supplies, which had been okay up till now, but none of them had got hurt up to now either. “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?” She asked, quick and practical, and he considered himself.

He felt…okay. His back hurt badly enough now that it seared through him in bursts of pain that…pulsed, almost, like he could feel his heartbeat in the swelling over his shoulder-blades. But the pressure of too-much-magic and too-much-air was, for the most part, gone. He felt quite sure it’d be coming back, but….

“Yeah.” He answered, eventually, and rose to his feet.

She rose with him, and gave him a quick look-over before nodding. “Alright.” She said. “Let’s go.”

—

It took a while to find somewhere suitable to stop. The dry, dusty canyons of the borderlands began to give way to red rock studded with greenery, little waterfalls coursing down the vast cliffsides. In the distance, he could see the edges of a vast forest, but by mutual decision they made no attempt to reach it that day.

Instead, they settled for a sheltered little hollow in the rock, close enough to a river that he could hear the water burbling someway off towards the forest. By that time, though, the pain of the something on Callum’s back had magnified considerably, and he was gasping and wincing every time he moved. Every step felt like it jolted the searing, swollen agony that was building there, enough to send shocks of pain through much of his body. The fabric of his clothing over the skin felt too-rough, abrasive, and the whole area burned.

When at last Rayla ordered him to sit down and get his shirt off, he was almost too relieved at the prospect of – of removing the abrasion, finding out what was on his back – to be embarrassed.

Almost.

With Rayla’s help, he peeled off his jacket, gingerly enough to not pull unduly at the now very pronounced distension of his upper back. Then his shirt went too – and with only the thin undershirt in the way, it was evidently concerning enough to look at that Rayla cursed quietly. And then, feeling increasingly chilly and increasingly exposed, Callum divested himself of his undershirt, and understood the severity of whatever was going on by how utterly silent Rayla went.

“…What does it look like?” He asked her, once the fear of not-knowing had surpassed the fear of knowing, and the silence had stretched too long. “Rayla?” He prompted, anxiously, when she didn’t reply.

Very gently, she reached out and touched her fingers to the inflamed skin on his upper back. He flinched and jumped a little at the touch, her fingers almost startlingly cold on the burn of it. “….There’s something sort of…pushing up underneath your skin.” She said, after a moment, with the barest tremble in her voice. “In two places. Here,” Her fingers drifted, touching skin that wasn’t quite so painful, and then over to something that seared. “And here. Kind of….a little to the up and middle of your shoulder-blades, stretching down to here, on both sides.” Her fingers moved again, carefully gentle, and trailed a line down to maybe the middle of his torso. “It…looks pretty symmetrical.”

When she stopped talking, the silence resumed. He wasn’t at all sure what to say, and had to fight off the fear that gripped at his throat and made him feel increasingly breathless, increasingly – oh, but no, that was the…Sky-magic-thing, wasn’t it? He shivered, feeling the magic building in him closer and closer to that strange crisis point he’d reached earlier, not quite yet enough to hurt yet, but enough to make him want to gulp in air like he was drowning. And that was a thought, wasn’t it. “My back got worse when I used fulminis.” He admitted, a little hoarsely. “It was – almost like I could feel something moving. On my back.” He shuddered, all over, at the revulsion of the sense-memory.

She hesitated. “I’m…going to try pressing on it a little, alright? See if I can get any clues about what it is.”

He gritted his teeth, and nodded, bracing himself. “…Okay.” He said, grimly. “Do it.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, stifling a cry, as she palpated one of the unnatural masses under his skin. It was unbelievably painful. It was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying, when she began to speak. “It’s…solid.” She informed him, voice a little choked. “Not just…bloody swelling or soft tissue or anything. I’m pretty sure there’s bone in there.” She prodded a little harder at one point, near the top end of a shoulder blade, where the distension was worst. “And there’s something at the top here, on both sides. Something sort of…a little pointy, poking at your skin.” She paused. “On the left, actually, there’s two little pointy spots.”

He shuddered, half with horror and half with pain. “What is it?” He asked at last, desperate, even though he knew she hadn’t any more idea than he did.

“…I don’t know.” She confessed, quiet, and drew her fingers away. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

He’d known that would be the answer. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

—

She located the nearby river, and brought him to its edge to make him drink. Then, carefully, she slathered cool-wet river silt against the hot agony of his back. It helped, a little, but not enough.

It was at least warm enough in the Xadian borderlands that it wasn’t too cold to go shirtless for such a long time, but when he’d tried to put a shirt back on, the pressure against the growing things under his skin was too much to bear. And they were growing. Rayla said she could practically see it, hour to hour, stretching his skin out until red-raw lines were drawn upwards to the peaks of the swelling. It felt like his skin was tearing every time he so much as moved a muscle, and she admitted that she wouldn’t be surprised if it really did start tearing soon.

Callum had thought, after that spell earlier, that the horror of his back was related in some way to the Sky Magic. It made him dread the way that the energy built up in his blood, the way his lungs started feeling too-full again, too full to breathe. He lingered on the edge of the suffocation, gasping frantically again, until Rayla clutched at his hand and said “Just cast another spell, Callum. It helped last time.”

“Last time,” He huffed, light-headed and fearful, “it made my back worse. Don’t want-“ He paused to gasp in six more frantic breaths. “Don’t want to get worse again.”

She shifted, uncertainly. “It…might not be because of that.” She said, though she didn’t sound especially convinced by even her own words. “It could be something else.”

He snorted amidst the feeling of his lungs straining, straining almost as much as the distended skin of his back. Tearing and stretching and- “Like what?”

“…Dark magic?” She suggested, though only half-heartedly. “That’s actually unnatural.”

“I think I’d have-“ He gulped air. “I’d have noticed if – Lord Viren – or Claudia – turned into – hunchbacks, Rayla.“

She watched him gasp, increasingly anxious, and finally snapped “Callum, you can’t breathe. Even if it does make your back worse – you have to cast something!”

He didn’t answer, and remained steadfast in his avoidance for about another minute of gasping for breath around straining lungs before he got light-headed and faint enough to agree with her. Torn two-ways by fear, he raised a finger and drew aspiro. He barely had enough breath to whisper it, but it was enough. The terrible over-pressure of breath and magic gusted out of him, potentiated into the purpose of the spell, rushing through his body and – and out three channels. One, his mouth, breathing the spell, and the other two-

The pain leapt and tore and burned.

Something gave way.

He wasn’t aware of much more than screaming, the seconds after he cast the spell, but when he regained some measure of awareness….the pressure of the magic was quiescent again, and…the pressure in his back had lessened, just a little, too. There was something warm dripping down his spine.

“…Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely the Sky magic doing it.” Rayla said, voice tight, and he realised that she’d been squeezing one of his hands the whole time.

“…My back,” he started, a little numbly, and tried to use his other hand to reach behind, to feel… “I’m – am I bleeding?”

She hesitated, nodded, and then dropped his hand to go have a better look. “The poking-bits have…” She swallowed, looking a little green, and turned aside for a few seconds to suppress a gag. “Well, they’ve gone through your skin, now. They’re…pointy. Whatever’s under your skin is bigger, too.”

He closed his eyes, and drew his fingers away from his back bloodied at the tips. “…right.”

Rayla had to take several more deep calming breaths before she could investigate further. “At least we’re next to a river.” She said, determinedly, and ushered him to the water again. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

True to her words, she cleaned the blood from his back, of which there was quite a lot, draining from the blood-swollen tissues around the distension. With some of the pressure relieved, it…actually hurt a fair bit less, but it was still awful. And then, with the bleeding stopping, and his back clean, Rayla made her assessment of what had poked through his skin.

“There’s four. I think?” She said, poking at each of them in turn. “Small. Black and sharp. They look like claws.” She hesitated, and poked at the swelling behind the claw-things. “I think they’re on…I don’t know, fingers? Two on each side. And something underneath.” She frowned, and prodded something a little more purposefully. He felt something under his skin move aside from the pressure, and he shuddered. “…Definitely something underneath these.” She concluded.

He was silent for a while, processing that. “So, what.” He said, finally. “Am I growing a couple of weird clawed extra arms, or something?”

“Arms,” She muttered, almost scornful, and leaned away to shuffle around to his side again. “Honestly, Callum, if it wasn’t for the claws – and for them being all the way up on your shoulders-“ She stopped.

He eyed her, curiosity piqued, despite the ongoing pain. “What?”

Rayla frowned. “Sky elves.” She said, without preamble. “Skywing elves. Some of them have wings, you know.”

He stilled, and it felt like his heart stilled too.

“…But they have their wings lower down – sort of mid-back, underneath their shoulders and arms. And they don’t have claws on them.” She exhaled. “And they’re born with them, anyway, so – it’s not like-“ She waved her hands towards his back, very expressively.

Callum stared at her, his gut uncertain whether it was twisting or fluttering. “…I wasn’t born with an arcanum.” He reminded her. “But I got one anyway.”

She sighed, looking as uncertain as he’d ever seen her. “I get your point.” She said. “And I suppose it would make more sense for you to be growing wings because of Sky magic than – than some weird clawed arms. But it’s – it’s not normal, Callum. I don’t know what’s happening to you.” She sounded almost hopeless, at that. Afraid.

Unthinkingly, he clutched at her hand again. Squeezed it to reassure her, for once. “…well, whatever it is, we’ll probably find out soon.” He said, uncertain how he quite felt about that. “It’s been, what, half a day since I got my arcanum? It’s going fast.”

She glanced at him, side-long. “Magic speeds it up.” She noted, and he went still again at the implication.

“…You want to make it go even faster?” He said, aghast.

She shrugged. “Not want, but…it’s probably an option.” Her eyes slid over his shoulders again. “Where those claws came through…it’s healing quickly. Magic-fast, even. If you keep waiting until you need to cast a spell again…you’ll probably just keep tearing your back open.”

He shifted uncertainly. “I don’t know, Rayla. Maybe it’d be faster to just…cast a load of spells and get it over with – whatever it is, but…” He shuddered, at the mere thought of it. How much would it hurt, to have his skin roil and tear and peel away as the things on his back grew and grew and tore their way out of his skin all at once?

Rayla watched him, anxious but sympathetic, and squeezed his hand back. “…Let’s go to sleep, then.” She said, finally, glancing up at the growing gloom of the evening. “See how it looks in the morning.”

He exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

—

He slept on his front, with his shirts and jacket draped over him like blankets. Zym curled up beside him, pressed to his side, and wormed his way underneath Callum’s arm until he deigned to hold it around the little dragonling. He wondered if Zym was missing Ez. He wondered what Ez would think of the somethings growing beneath his skin. He wondered a lot of things, thoughts whirling and spinning around themselves, until he finally managed to slip asleep.

It didn’t last. He might have expected pain to wake him, but instead, it was the magic. He woke breathless and gasping, some hours into the night, chest tight and lungs swollen as the magic built in him to the point of pain again. He stumbled upright, dislodging Zym and waking Rayla, who sat straight up and rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at him.

“Callum?” She asked, groggily, eyes settling onto his shoulders. “Y’alright?”

“Breath,” he explained, his whole upper back straining as he moved, and he turned aside to draw the zig-zagging shape of fulminis.

Just as before, the aimless magic in his body shifted and awakened and moved. Unlike before, barely any of it left his fingers. The lightning-bolt that emerged was thin and sparking and did not travel very far at all, spilling only the barest smell of ozone into the air, and instead – instead, all of that electric energy surged into his back as though to a lightning-rod, and it writhed.

He cried out with pain, Zym squeaking in fright and Rayla shuffling over to grip his hand, and familiar hot-wet spilled down his back again. Something had torn, again, more than yesterday, much more-

Callum reached back, to feel, to find out what had come through – and nearly vomited at the feeling of finding something small and limp and blood-wet and firm hanging out of the skin there. It was warm. Warm like a limb. Warm like a living thing – but wet and tacky and too-soft, like the thin weeping skin under a blister. On the end of the horrible hanging thing was something small and sharp. The claw.

So…the ‘fingers’, that the claws were apparently on. One on that side, and….he checked…two had torn free on the right hand side. The second on the left was still under his skin. And…wait.

Was that a third? He checked the other side, found something much like it in the distended shape of his skin, and felt his breath stutter with horror.

“That’s horrible.” Rayla told him, looking pale and a little green, as his fingers trailed blood over his upper back. There was so much pain now that it felt almost like he’d passed through it, to some numb other-side where nothing felt right and his thoughts were strange and scrambled.

“Mmhm.” He agreed, a little vacantly, moving one of the clawed-things between his fingers. It felt like a finger, slim and bony, even if the skin was all wrong and it was covered in blood and had torn its way out of his flesh-

“We need to clean you up again.” Rayla said, decisively, and moved to herd him over to the water again. He could hardly see anything around them, given the time of night, but the moon was past half-full and cast just about enough light to see by.

“…Wait.” He said, after a moment, and her fingers stilled on his arm. He breathed, not-quite-awake and not-quite-coherent, uncertain if he just hadn’t woken up properly, or if the pain had just…disconnected him from a proper feeling of consciousness. “You were right. I should just…get this over with. It’s not going to stop. So…I should just…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Cautiously, she took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“No.” he admitted. “But I don’t want to keep waking up and – having to cast a spell and tear myself open again. Once these….whatever, once they’re out, it should be better. Right?”

“…Well, in theory, you won’t have anything trying to break out of your skin anymore.” She said, dubious, and a little wary. “So, I guess?”

He sighed. “This is going to suck.”

“It’ll also be pretty bloody, I think.” She nodded, looking as though she were trying not to think about it too hard. “So let’s get you to the water for this anyway.”

Once they were there, and Rayla had washed some of the blood off to see the new developments with his back, she reported on the state of things and confirmed his uneasy sense-impression of what he’d felt through his skin.

“It’s grown in the night.” She said, of the distension as a whole. “One of the clawed…fingers…is still under your skin. And…” She shivered, close enough to his side that it made the fabric of her sleeve brush against his shoulder. “And, I think there’s…three. Fingers, I mean, on each one. The third ones are still…inside your back.” Her eyes squeezed briefly shut, as if to forcefully expel the image from her mind as well as her eyes.

“…Thought I felt something like that.” He said, quiet and pale, mind too numb with shock and pain to offer much more than delirious dread. He had felt something that felt disturbingly like another digit, underneath the right-hand two that had torn out.

Rayla looked side-long at him, hesitating. “…Honestly, Callum? It might hurt less if – if we cut it, instead of letting your skin rip open.” Zym, who seemed to understand them quite well, quailed at the words, crooning and shrinking back.

He blinked, startled, not having thought of that. “With one of your swords, you mean?” He asked, and reached to the side to pat Zym on the head. After a second, he drew the little dragon into his lap. He wasn’t a human kid, maybe, but this was still kind of more gore than he was comfortable with Zym seeing. If he was in his lap…he at least wouldn’t see it.

At his words, though she seemed distinctly sickened at the notion, Rayla nodded.

It was probably a bad sign that he found the idea a relief. The clean cut of a blade seemed so much more merciful than skin strained to tearing. “Good idea.” He said, and wondered at how swiftly his life had gone weird, to make such a thing a sensible and merciful option.

Still, she hesitated, hand on the hilt of one of the weapons hung at the small of her back. “…Now?” She asked, unhappily. “Or when you cast the spell?”

He considered it. “….during the spell.” He decided, reluctantly. “That way we can get it all done at once.” Nausea rose in his throat, and he carefully swallowed it away.

Rayla shuddered. “…Alright.” She said, visibly steeling herself, and he heard the shnk of her blade assembling as she moved behind him. A couple of weeks ago, he’d have done nearly anything to keep her blades away from him, and now he was inviting them. The world was mad. “Go ahead.” She said, and lowered the tip of the blade against his skin, cold and sharp, just below the protruding left digit. He braced himself, and raised a hand.

Fulminis was somewhat easier to deal with, since he didn’t need to do any gusty exhaling for it, so he drew its rune crackling in the air. This time, when he spoke it, there was no well of expanding magic pooling and stretching him out from within – instead, it coursed in from the Sky, that inner-spark of the arcanum opening and welcoming it in. A little of it went to its proper place, coursing along his arm, but only a thin crackle and a few sparks emerged. The rest…

It surged to his back, and at once, the flesh beneath his skin swelled and grew and roiled, pressing and stretching and expanding into a searing, tearing pain. And then-

The sword was sharp. Incredibly so. There was barely any resistance at all as it parted his skin and the thin layers of flesh below it – it was so sharp and clean a cut that for a second, it almost didn’t hurt. He gritted his teeth and hissed and gasped, but even then – even then, there was such a relief to it. He could feel the horrible straining pressure easing even as the magic of the spell coursed in and in and in, even as the somethings under his skin grew, and grew, and finally-

Where Rayla had made the cut on the left, something spilled loose. Something heavy and fleshy and soft, limp and bloody, dropped out of the open wound and thumped wetly against his back. He heard Rayla gag, and felt nausea surge in his own throat at the mere feeling of it, but – she stayed her course, and moved her blade over to the right to repeat the cut.

The energy of the spell ebbed, even as the cut widened and the incredible relief repeated for the other thing, the wet meaty limb spilling down along his back in a trail of blood and gore. He clenched his fingers in Zym’s mane, stomach roiling. Voice hoarse, he asked “Is it all out?”

She gagged again, but answered anyway. “Think so.” She said, shakily, and moved to the side to wash her hands and blade in the water. “Feel for yourself.”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to. Even the sensation of the things, wet and warm down his back, was viscerally disgusting, and his throat already felt fluttery with nausea. Still, though, he couldn’t quite restrain the morbid curiosity, and moved one hand from Zym’s back to feel around at his own.

His hand landed on something warm and wet and sticky. The skin was…thin, too thin, like something malformed and underdeveloped, and it was growing out of his body but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel his touch on it, it might as well have been – have been something else, something not-him, something alien, something parasitic, growing out of him-

He lurched forward and vomited, managing to avoid Zym entirely. The dragonling scurried out of his lap in a hurry, yipping with alarm, and stared at the puddle of sick with wide-eyed consternation. Then he looked over Callum’s shoulder, and shrank back.

“It wasn’t much nicer to watch it, believe me.” Rayla told him, dryly, as she came over to gently bring him over by the water, steering him with careful fingers at his arms. “Come on. Let’s clean you up. Wash your mouth out.”

He was entirely too shaken to make any sort of comeback, and just nodded, leaning forwards to slip his hands into the water and wash the blood off and then cup some water from further up-river to his mouth. He washed out and spat it to the side, even as Rayla gently set to work cleaning the blood off his back and the things with water and a few wet river-leaves. He still had open wounds, of course, and she muttered a little worriedly about getting river-water in them, but…in the end, it wasn’t as though they had anything to boil water in.

Finally, his back was apparently clean enough, and she patted him on his clammy-wet shoulder. “That’ll do it for tonight.” She said, tiredly. “Wish I could bandage you, but…”

“No bandages?” He guessed, and she nodded.

“No bandages.” She agreed. “You are healing already, though. It’s already scabbing around the…” Her voice went odd. “…limbs.” She decided, eventually.

“…So that’s definitely what they are?” He ventured, brow furrowed. He reached over his shoulder and found, indeed, that the cuts she’d made and the tears around the protrusion of the things were already near-firm with hard coagulation, even though she’d just been at him with water. It was astonishingly painless, compared to how it had been not fifteen minutes ago.

“Can’t you feel them?” She asked, after a moment. Tentatively, she reached out, and he could guess that she picked up one of the limbs by the lessening of the sensation of weight, pulling at his shoulders.

He shook his head, unsettled. “I can’t feel them at all.”

Rayla grimaced, and then, not looking terribly pleased about it, gently manoeuvred the thing down and around to his side, so that he could actually see it. He twisted to stare at it, morbidly fascinated, the nausea lessened now that he’d already vomited.

“That’s gross,” he noted, almost fascinated now, and made a face as he reached out to touch it. It was warm, and that was even more disgusting, somehow.

She let it fall into his hand, and he inspected it. There was a joint at the end, like a wrist joint, with something that wasn’t really a hand hanging there limply. There were, at any rate, three digits, all of which clawed. The first digit was half the length of the second, which itself was half the length of the third. All of them had as many joints as a normal finger would, but the proportions were all wrong – stretched-out and heinously alien, not even close to human. With a raw, shocked sort of apathy, he took the shortest in his fingers and bent it, pressing the sharp point of the claw against his thumb.

“…Is there an elbow joint?” He asked, though he was already checking. In short order he felt along the limb and found it, and hummed pensively at the discovery. Oddly, the discovery of the joints made him feel a little better about it. The limbs were disgusting, and he couldn’t feel them, and he hadn’t asked for them, and it wasn’t even slightly normal to grow two extra limbs on his back – but, at the very least, they had an almost soothing structural similarity to his arms. An elbow and a wrist and a hand each. It was a paltry thing to be comforted by, but it was something.

“You really can’t feel them?” Rayla checked, again, fingers reaching tentatively out to poke at the limb in his hand. He could guess what she felt, when she touched it, by how it felt on his own hands: warm and somehow tacky, even with all the blood washed away. The skin didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like normal skin – it was….thin. Delicate, in an alarming way that made him feel he could rip it with the slightest pressure. Like he would rip it, if he weren’t very very careful. “They look…sore.”

“It’s just my back that hurts, around them.” Callum said, making a face at the two alien fingers on one of his new limbs. His new, limp, utterly insensate limbs. “I can’t feel any of this. It’s like-“ he swallowed against the taste of acid, against the shape of the thoughts that had horrified him earlier. “It’s like it’s – not even me. Just…something growing out of me.”

Rayla shuddered at that too – and for a long moment, he was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful that she was here with him. Here to help him, here to empathise with the visceral horror of what was happening to him, just…here.

“Maybe that’ll change.” She said, softly, and he wasn’t actually sure whether he agreed or not.

If he never felt anything from them – if they stayed these disgusting, insensate things hanging from his body…that would almost be easier to deal with. At least then he could…look into getting them cut off, or something. But if he could feel them – if they really did become a part of him, these things that were on his back but shouldn’t be ­– that was somehow a whole lot scarier. What would that even mean? “…I don’t even know what they are.” He said, a little plaintively. “I don’t even know why they’re growing. No one else grows weird gross extra limbs from their backs like this.”

“No one else gets a sparkly new arcanum years and years after they’re born, either.” She pointed out, and he huffed, reminded of what she’d said before.

“So, what? Are they arms? Useless featherless wings? Something else?” He questioned, looking down at the disturbing tiny hand-joint thing she was still gingerly holding. Three-fingered, it looked nothing like a proper human hand – not even an elf hand – and the proportions were all wrong.

“If it’s an arm, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” She answered, after a moment, peering along the wrinkly too-thin skin, as if she were looking for something. “As for wings…I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Skywing without feathers, but…I’ve never seen the wings of a baby, either. Pretty sure they’re not born with feathers, so…”

“Too early to tell?” he suggested, and she shrugged helplessly at him. He sighed, and inspected the limb as best he could by moonlight. “Well, I guess it does look kind of…baby-skin-ish.” He concluded. “Like newborn baby-skin, I mean – all red-looking and wrinkly and gross.”

“…Well, they’re developing fast.” She said, dubious, and withdrew her fingers from the senseless skin. “Maybe they’ll look less gross and sore-looking and wrinkly by morning.”

Callum wondered, for a brief and distant moment, as if he should maybe be a little bit put-off by her using those descriptors, even though she was mostly just quoting him. After all, these new…things…were ostensibly part of his body, so shouldn’t he feel defensive about their appearance?

But he didn’t. All he felt was a sincere echo of her own sentiments and her own disgust as he looked at the limp thing in his hand. It didn’t feel like a part of him. It didn’t feel like a part of him at all.

His gut twisted, and he shivered. “Maybe.” He said, a little tightly, and dropped the limb. It dropped back down, sagging against his back with the other one. A small, insistent part of him was screaming to get them off, in an instinctive revulsion he couldn’t quite manage to displace. He swallowed against the nausea again, and tried to put the thoughts aside.

Rayla looked at him, for a long moment that he spent mostly trying to wrestle his gut into some semblance of good behaviour. He’d really like it if his stomach would stop roiling at every reminder of the things that had burst out of his upper back. “…If you think you can, it’d be a good idea to try to get to sleep.” She offered, eventually. “It’s still the middle of the night – and we have a long way to go.”

He frowned….but nodded, reluctantly. “I don’t know if I can.” He admitted, and thought the reasoning needed little explanation. “But I’ll try, I guess.”

As if encouraged by the words, Zym took that opportunity to butt his head under Callum’s hand, crooning a little when the motion automatically earned him some scritches around the horns. The little dragonling looked up at him in a way that suggested he was entirely ready for some nap-time, preferably with a large warm cuddle-buddy.

Zym hadn’t been this touch-hungry before, he didn’t think. Not when Ezran was here. Still…

Callum smiled, gentle affection replacing the churning in his gut, and reached out to hoist Zym into his arms as he stood. The new limbs swayed and slapped a little against his back as he moved, but he tried not to think about that.

“If nothing else, Zym definitely needs sleep.” He said, and tucked the dark blue dragon-wings neatly under his arms. Zym craned his neck backwards, trying to look at him, and then broke into a sharp-toothed yawn. In the contagious way of yawns, he was returning it a second later, abruptly more tired by all the pain and stress than he’d realised.

“Looks like Zym isn’t the only one.” Rayla observed, lips twitching, and then ushered him gently over to where they’d been sleeping.

Laying down took some arrangement, this time. He had to avoid laying on the new limbs, and somehow manoeuvre them into a comfortable position despite not being able to feel or move them. They were a strange, warm, foreign weight against his back. Eventually, Rayla took pity on him and tucked them inwards on his back, draping his jacket over him.

As a finishing touch, she picked up Zym, picked up his arm, and then planted the dragonling beneath it. Said dragonling chirped happily, and shoved his snout into Callum’s armpit. “Sleep.” She ordered him, or perhaps ordered them both, and slipped with a smile on her lips to lay just a little way beside him.

As unsettling as everything had been…it had been exhausting, too. He’d thought he’d stay up a long time, thinking about it all, but instead…

Instead, he closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost instantly.

 —

End chapter.

Notes: This chapter is the bloodiest by far. There might be small bloody moments in the future, but from now on it’s just steadily decreasing amounts of body horror and drastically increasing amounts of inconvenience, indignity, and fluff. There’s also potential for a more complex magically-rooted plotline eventually, but it depends on what I plot out. Could just end up being a relatively straight s3 fic with wing-related divergence points, could be very very different. We’ll see.

I really do mean it when I say I’m going to go very in-depth with the wing biology stuff. This will, in places, be slightly gross. Callum may be done with most of his pain but I have so many other ways to make him suffer.

World notes: Magic works a bit differently in this AU, which is why Callum is growing wings. Callum’s wings are also very different to an elf’s, and to the mage-wings as seen in canon. Still, there will be a whole lot of wingfic stuff and wing-fluff, which I imagine many of us are very hungry for after s3.

Hope everyone enjoyed s3 as much as I did!

Feedback and kudos etc very much appreciated. Chapter 2 is mostly done, just need to adjust it for s3.

[atlas-the-worldbuilder]

So! It’s that time of year again, magik is in the air, and monsters are prowling the streets. Time I say we share a good old-fashioned halloween folk story!

Before I begin, let me first clarify a few things. Firstly, this is an old story; the fable has roots in Ireland, and has been around at least several hundred years. As such, several different versions of the story have cropped up, so if you’ve heard a different version of the story, do not fret. For this telling, I’ve selected the iteration of the story which I personally feel is most faithful to the characters and the natural flow of the story itself. Secondly, this is a story with deep cultural and religious ties. Being an Irish folktale, of course, there’s going to be a heavy mix of Christian/Catholic themes alongside more abstract pagan beliefs. I myself say you’re more than welcome to believe whatever you wish, but for those of you who get offended easily by mentions of religion, you may wish to forgoe reading this tale.

That being said, let’s begin this story about a terrifying being who stalks the night every year! Though you probably know him already, in one form or another~...

THE TALE OF STINGY JACK

So! Our story begins a long, long time ago, in a small Irish town - more specifically, the pub of the old Irish town. Sitting in the pub, drinking to his heart’s content, was a man known to the local residents as “Stingy Jack”. Stingy Jack was known around town for many reasons; as the nickname suggests, he was rather cheap and selfish, and was very much known for his avarice and... generally being an all-around jerk to people. However, he was also known for being a rather shrewd and tricky individual; he could always find cash around when he needed it, or ‘convince’ some poor stranger to part with some change.

Another thing Jack was known for was being the town drunkard, and presently he was living up to that reputation. On this particular day, though, Jack had run into a bit of a problem. He had just finished his mug, and was going through his pockets to pay for another, only to find he did not have enough! He cursed to himself, and idlely grumbled, “Damn... I’d sell my soul for one more beer.”

So just imagine Jack’s surprise, when who should happen to hear this plea... but the Devil himself!

The Devil pops into the pub, and takes a seat next to the rather surprised Jack. “So I hear you’ll sell your soul for one more drink, eh?”, the Devil asked, smiling with that devilish grin of his. “I think I can help with that! If you agree to give me your soul, I’ll give you enough change for a final drink at the bar. What do ya say, Jack?” Now Jack, as we covered, was many things - a cheater, greedy, and selfish among them. But one thing he was most definitely not was a fool; he recognized at once that making a deal with the Devil would end up with his desires being twisted or convoluted. But rather than doing what most people would do and decline, Jack decided to try his luck at out-swindling the swindler. “I got a better idea,” Jack replied with a sly grin. “If you turn yourself into a coin, I’ll spend you for my last drink for the night. Then you can change back to normal, and cheat the bartender out of his payment! What do ya say?”

The Devil chuckled aloud. “I like the way you think!”, he confided, and with that, he promptly turned into a gold coin to be spent. However, Jack instead took the devil coin, placed it inside his pocket, and held it against a crucifix he had in his pocket! Unable to shield himself from the sacred icon, the Devil began to shriek and shout. “Please! Stop! It burns!”, the coin shrieked in agony. “I’ll do anything you want, just take it away and set me free!” “Ok then,” Jack replied with a victorious smirk, “I’ll let you go if you promise that I won’t go to Hell when I die!” “Sure, fine!”, the devil cried in pain. “Just let me go!” Jack smiled, and tossed the coin away. The Devil disappeared, and Jack had got his wish.

For the rest of his mortal life, Stingy Jack indulged himself in the most deplorable of activities. He murdered, he stole, he drank, he performed just about every sin and crime in the book. After all, with no worries about where he would end up, he had nothing to fear anymore!

When Stingy Jack’s death finally came to pass, there were more than a few among the townsfolk who were grateful to be rid of his debauchery. Jack’s soul left his body with an air of smug joy, and followed the path to heaven, ready to indulge himself in his afterlife. However, as he approached, the gates remained locked. Confused, he approached the gatekeepers and asked why he couldn’t go to heaven.

“Your soul is too wicked,” the gatekeepers said. “We cannot accept you here.” “I can’t go to Hell, though,” Jack countered confusedly. “Doesn’t that mean I go to Heaven?” Again, the gatekeepers refused him entry due to his wicked soul.

Jack tried again and again to argue his point, but each time was steadfastly refused. Stunned and confused, Jack reluctantly turned away from heaven and began to follow the path. Without a place to rest, his soul wandered the dark, mysterious realm between Heaven and Hell... the Other Side.  For months he wandered, trying to process the gatekeeper’s refusal while avoiding the unearthly shapes and ominous sounds hiding all around him. Finally, though, it dawned on him... the afterlife wasn’t all or nothing, as he had believed.  Heaven was only a place where the goodhearted could reside; because he had lived his life with selfish and greedy intent, he could never truly gain the enlightenment and peace that realm offered. 

Somewhat defeated, Stingy Jack trudged back along the path, down to the only place he had left... the very place he had declined access to...

When he finally arrived at the gates to hell, a familiar face greeted him, his smile full of savage and cathartic schadenfreude.  “Well, well, well! Look who comes crawling back to me!”, the Devil gloated with a cackle. Jack knelt down. “Please,” he begged, “I understand now, and I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I just... I need a place to rest. I can’t stay out here, so please let me take back my wish?”

The Devil frowned in thought; while he wasn’t particularly eager to have someone like Jack in his domain - especially after the horrible backstab he’d received -, it seemed somewhat unfair to let the swindler go empty-handed...

With a vile smirk, the Devil grabbed a burning hot coal from the ground at his feet. “Here, this should help light your way!”, he called out as he tossed it over the gate. “Careful, its hot!”

As Jack caught the burning coal, a couple things happened. Firstly, his hand was severely burned, as the coal seared his skin, and he screamed. Secondly, the hellish energies and magik from the coal began to mutate and warp his body. His body twisted and stretched, as Jack was transformed into a freakish entity, daemonic energy radiating from his once mortal body.

With the Devil’s laughter ringing in his ears, Stingy Jack slunk back into the darkness, clutching the coal. Rejected by heaven and hell, he spent what felt like an eternity wandering the dark, twisting, foreboding lands of the Other Side. All the while, he held the searing hellfire coal in his hands - too painful to squeeze it tight, but too afraid of losing it forever to let go. After all, it was his only source of light and warmth, in the darkness. And it likely would’ve remained that way, but then Jack gained a small reprieve.

Whether it be through sheer determination or from some bizarre supernatural strength granted by his transformation, Stingy Jack managed to hold onto that burning coal until a very special day came. That day, of course, was All Hallow’s Eve - Halloween.   A day when the mortal world and the Other one start to grow closer together, and the monsters and strange beings from the Other Side start to slip into our world to explore while they can.  Jack, too, managed to cross over, and made it back to his hometown under cover of night.

But he didn’t come to relive the old days, or to apologize to the townsfolk he had wronged; Jack only had a short amount of time before he would be forced to return to the darkness.  He only had one goal: finding something to carry the coal in, so he wouldn't be pained any longer.

So he stumbled through the night, still clutching the eternally-burning coal in his hand.  After several hours of lurking through the woods, he found his way into a farm, where he found a collection of freshly-harvested gourds. He picked a small one, carved a hole in the front and top, hollowed it out, and tied it up with some rope to carry it. Then, he dropped the coal in, and carried it like a lantern, managing to complete all this before slipping back into the darkness.

And this is how he got his name, “Jack of the Lantern”.

The ending of this story differs from telling to telling.  Some like to think that old Stingy Jack has taken this new opportunity to redeem himself, and has taken up the role of a gatekeeper himself, keeping the monsters from the Other side from causing trouble and guiding them back at the end of every Halloween. Others like to think that Jack has only became even more vile and cruel after his transformation, and now lives for the pure enjoyment of the suffering of others, be it mortal or monster.  Unable to sway from his sinful and sadistic past, and now with the powers of a daemon, he has truly become the most monstrous of monsters.

And then there’s those - myself included - who like to take a more benign middle stance: having made peace with his past mistakes, Jack is nowadays just an incurable prankster, living to cause a good scare once in a while, making him not much different than the monsters he walks amongst.

Whatever you believe, the end result is the same.  Jack has earned a reputation among the monsters of the Other Side as a being whom is best not to provoke.  And this reputation is the reason we carve Jack-O-Lanterns every Halloween: to scare away monsters by tricking them into thinking that Stingy Jack’s lurking around. When a monster sees the carved pumpkin, glowing with the light of a flame, they take notice and give it space.

So keep yourselves safe this Halloween, friends.  And if you happen to see a Jack-O-Lantern on its own in the woods... ...run. 

[sage-nebula]

I just finished episode fourteen of Good Morning Call and there’s something I need to talk about for a second.

So by this point in the series, Uehara and Nao are officially a couple (which is one refreshing thing about this series, I feel; it’s not will-they-won’t-they until the end, we actually get to see them be a couple for most of the series I think), and things are . . . or should be . . . going fine. The problem is that even though Uehara has confessed his feelings (granted he was tricked into it by Yuri, but nonetheless), and even though Uehara has made it clear that he appreciates her romantic gestures and reciprocates (e.g. he bought all those milk puddings for her in return for her Valentine’s cake because that’s what she told him she’d want), and even though they’ve kissed multiple times, and even though he’s told her time and again that she’s the only person he’s interested in . . . Nao is constantly bogged down by insecurities, and in my eyes it’s really causing a strain on the relationship.

I haven’t ventured too much into the tags or sitewide search for this show yet because I don’t want too many things spoiled for me in advance, and I haven’t read the manga either. But from the little I have seen it seems like most people hate Uehara for “being a jerk” or “not sharing interests with Nao” or whatever else, whereas no one seems to point out the fact that these problems that these two have in their relationship stem from Nao’s own insecurities and the problems that she creates in her own mind. 

Like . . . let’s take the “love triangle” with Yuri, for example.

For the first half of season one, Uehara’s sister-in-law Yuri was a major character. Uehara had romantic feelings for Yuri for a very long time, but she chose to marry his brother instead, and so he moved out as a way of moving on. At no point is it ever in question whether Yuri and Uehara will get together. Even when Yuri starts having troubles in her marriage (due to misunderstandings and a lack of communication), she makes it clear over, and over again that not only does she only see Uehara as a little brother, but also that she supports him and Nao being together. And she tells Nao this! Multiple times! Even if Uehara still had feelings for Yuri, Yuri makes it abundantly clear that she does not have feelings for Uehara. The odds of them getting together a straight nil. There is absolutely no chance of it, ever. Yuri knows this, Uehara knows this . . .

And yet Nao . . . fabricates this love triangle in her own damn mind.

She angsts so much over the fact that Uehara had feelings for Yuri. She gets jealous to the point of wanting to move out when she learns that Uehara let Yuri stay the night, despite the fact that Nao herself had agreed to let Yuri stay the night in previous episodes! Like, I get it, it’s hard knowing that the person you have feelings for had feelings for someone else---but when they and the other person make it clear that there will never be a thing between them, and when the other person tells you over and over again that they support your relationship with the person you like, you have GOT to accept that. Continuing to convince yourself otherwise is doing nothing but hurting you and the other people involved.

And the thing is, Nao keeps doing this. Once Yuri leaves the picture, Kitaura comes in. Kitaura is a lesbian, although to be fair Nao doesn’t know this at first, so that’s number one. But number two is the fact that Nao works herself into a frenzy because other people in the school are saying that Kitaura and Uehara would be a good match (and it’s other girls saying this, which is ??? since you’d think they’d want him to be single like at the start of the series, but whatever), and also Marina---in a rare instance of her forgetting that she’s the only person on this show who is smart---sold Nao on the “enemies to lovers” deal because Kitaura and Uehara were always quarreling. The thing is, Uehara doesn’t show any romantic interest in Kitaura whatsoever. He straight up says he doesn’t remember her even though she has a grudge against him. The most he ever says about her is that she’s a nice person. That’s it. Nao doesn’t ask him directly if he has feelings for Kitaura, but it should be more than obvious that he doesn’t given the fact that he . . . you know . . . doesn’t talk about her, and is pretty blasé about her when asked. But still, Nao frets and worries and feels insecure and jealous, because CLEARLY there’s something going on, or there will be soon, particularly since (GASP!) Kitaura and Uehara have similar tastes in movies. Anyway, this whole thing culminates in Nao deciding that she needs to study up on all of Uehara’s interests and change herself to be less of a disaster and more put together, which leads to Issei (the new secondary love interest for Nao, whom she was ranting to) telling her that both people in a couple should work to change and be better for one another, which is true. Nao is taken aback by this, but it doesn’t seem to have dissuaded her from the idea that she needs to step up her game and change herself. And the thing is . . .

Look.

Are there ways in which Uehara could improve? Sure. Uehara is tsundere to his core. He tends to hide when he feels jealous, and brushes off showing his more vulnerable feelings except for moments when the two of them are completely alone. He’s reserved and aloof by nature, and he’s independent, so he doesn’t mind doing things on his own / having Nao do things on her own, rather than thinking about the two of them doing things as a couple. He also doesn’t seem fond of PDA, which is probably why he doesn’t really hold hands with her in public very often. Uehara could definitely learn to be more open about his feelings, and could make more of an effort to plan dates for the two of them, definitely. Additionally, I of course agree 100% with Issei that it should never be one person in a relationship changing, but two if changes need to happen.

HOWEVER.

Uehara has never once expressed that he thinks Nao should change, or that he wants her to. This idea that she has that she has to learn all about foreign films or that she has to, I don’t know, be more serious all the time? That came entirely from her own mind. Uehara has told her that he has romantic feelings for her. He’s told her that she’s the only person he’s interested in. He’s kissed her, he’s held her, he’s raced back to their apartment during a blackout to be there for her, he took care of her on Christmas Eve when she was sick and brought her the Christmas cake she wanted, he agreed to her Valentine’s Date (even if he wasn’t able to make it), he bought all those milk puddings for her, and so on and so forth. Uehara has made it pretty clear that he likes her as she is, he’s interested in her as she is now. Hell, he even got so jealous over her fake date with Issei that he wanted her to quit her job (because she works at the ramen shop that Issei’s dad owns), which he told her! (ofc she didn’t quit but it was still him feeling jealous, and that’s how she took it, and she was happy about it.) All of this, and yet she still is convinced that she has to change for him, that she’s not good enough for him, even though he’s told her and shown her time and again that she is.

In the most recent episode I watched, they were alone at a hot springs resort together, and they were originally going to share a room. But then Uehara went to sleep in a different one, and she asked him if it was because he didn’t think she was attractive. His response?

“Being with you is really exhausting.”

He then goes on to explain that he wants to be in a different room because he’s super attracted to her and wants to make sure that he doesn’t make a move on her (as in seduce her, not assault her). But that first line? 100% accurate. Because it’s like no matter what he does, Nao continues to be highkey insecure and think that she’s not good enough. It doesn’t matter how many times he says it, how many times he shows it. It’s like she has no object permanence when it comes to how he feels about her. If he’s not showering her with affection 24/7, suddenly she’s unsure whether he likes her at all. And the thing is . . .

That’s not healthy.

Like I’ve seen people criticize this relationship because Uehara is “too mean,” but the thing is, not only is Uehara not actually a cruel person (he’s just tsun), but Nao knew who he was when she decided to start pursuing him, and definitely knew after. These two live together, for godsake. Uehara is reserved, aloof, independent. He’s not very good about showing vulnerable feelings. He’s very blunt and to the point. Nao knew this about him when she decided to date him, she has known it for a while. Yet she keeps picturing him in her fantasies as this guy spinning long romantic, poetic lines, showering her in roses and whatever else. That’s not who Uehara is, and it’s not who he should have to be to make her happy if she truly loves him and not just the way he looks. But even setting that aside, constantly demanding that your partner prove they love you over, and over, and over again . . . it IS exhausting. It IS tiring. Because at the end of the day, it sounds an awful lot like Nao just doesn’t trust Uehara. Sure, this is perhaps partly rooted in her own insecurities about herself, but it’s more like it’s rooted in her insecurities about Uehara’s faithfulness and their relationship despite the fact that he’s never given her a reason to doubt it. And the worst part is, she won’t even ASK him about it, she won’t even TALK to him about it, she just catastrophizes and drags all of her friends into her newest romantic woes and creates an entire shenanigan while he’s standing off to the side wondering just what the hell is going on. (And then, of course, he gets the new secondary love interest yelling at him, which doesn’t help matters when there wasn’t a problem until Nao imagined one out of thin air.)

At the end of the day, what I’m trying to say is . . . if Uehara wanted Nao to change (beyond wanting her to stop catastrophizing problems where they don’t exist), then yeah, I’d say that he should change, too. But he hasn’t expressed that. Instead, he’s made it clear he’s interested in her the way she is. So in that sense, I think the only thing that needs to change is that Nao needs to stop being so insecure. Because to be honest, I’m 100% in agreement with Uehara on this one: It’s exhausting. 

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Warmth of Rage, Cold of Love” Chapter 2

A couple of people expressed interest in me writing a continuation to this so here it is!

The room they’d given Griffin was so different from the one she had in Cloud Tower. This one was drowned in positive energy and protection charms exactly in the style of Alfea – the school for fairies that was proving to be as annoying as its inhabitants. Speaking of which, the room was packed with both people who did and didn’t belong there.

Griffin’s colleagues–Ediltrude and Zarathustra–whose only impressive ability was turning into monsters, were fretting over her. Which was pointless, really, considering their unwillingness to touch her, her cold skin too shocking a reminder of her helplessness. Valtor could feel the warmth of life draining from her with every passing second as her magic was flowing into him. He’d only shown up when she was sure to be just a few hours short of the cold of a corpse. And her weakness was taking its toll on everyone present.

That included Saladin who was standing near the door as if ready to open it and run away. Valtor barely recognized him thanks to the merciless work of time. Or maybe it was because he’d never been of much interest to him, having nothing that would draw his attention. Griffin and Faragonda had always been more entertaining opponents.

Speaking of which, Faragonda’s eyes were on him the second he appeared. She stood at the foot of the bed, her gaze boring into him. She’d expected him and, from the looks of it, she was prepared to make a deal. The deal he’d come from. Though, from the looks of it, she was also ready to murder him and the only thing that was stopping her was the knowledge that Griffin’s body was getting colder by the second.

The quiet rage in her eyes was almost enough to balance out the simmering hatred in his heart. Griffin was a traitor, someone who couldn’t be trusted, yet, they regarded her as a dear friend that they were ready to sacrifice themselves for. When all she deserved was to suffer for betraying him and dooming him to the isolation of Omega. Still, all of them together could not defeat him and save her from his revenge. That didn’t seem like a good enough reason for them to give up, though, and he would savor every bit of their foolishness and the futility of their efforts.

As if to prove his point, the twin sisters jumped into offense, their dark magic creating a shift in the atmosphere, only making it more pleasant for him as the positive energy was drowned out by their rage.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he folded his arms, unperturbed by their intentions. He didn’t need magic against them. He had the perfect defense. “Right now I’m the only thing standing between Griffin and death,” he reminded. “I’m the only one who can lift the spell. If I die, she’ll follow me.” His words worked their magic and forced the two witches to lower their hands, the magic dying out at their fingertips, but the negative aura of the room was sustained by their crushing defeat. Yet, it wasn’t quite enough for him. “She didn’t do it seventeen years ago, but now she’ll have no choice,” he added one last blow.

The reminder of Griffin’s past with him seemed to overcome them with shame enough to make them look away and their pitiful misery finally loaded the room with enough negativity for his liking. It crashed into them in waves, threatening to carry them away.

“You broke her heart and came back for more, you bastard,” Faragonda–unlike the others–didn’t shy away from the past, instead allowing her clouded judgment to distort it into a weapon against him.

“I was not the one to betray her. It was the other way around,” Valtor snapped, unwilling to let her make him the villain of his own story, to be the perpetrator of his own defeat. He wouldn’t let her put the blame for his own misery on him.

“She loved you but you could never put anyone else before yourself,” she went on, indifferent to the presence of others in her onslaught. She just spewed out her venom–fairies were never good at handling that–hoping to hurt him, uncaring about the feelings of her friends and how her rage was affecting them.

And they looked just as shaken by her words as he was but most probably for very different reasons.

He was taken aback by her words, by her lies, by the sheer disregard of what the past actually looked like. Though, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for getting lost in her own imaginary reality where Griffin was as innocent as she would’ve liked her to be. “Was betraying me putting me before herself?” he asked, a question that would shut her up if she wasn’t so biased.

“She put everyone’s safety before herself,” she argued, professing Griffin to be some sort of brave hero in her little delusion when she was nothing more than a rotten traitor who deserved to have everything taken away from her the way she’d done it to him.

“And how did that work out for her?” he asked, deciding to combat the lies with a strong dose of reality. “How did that work out for all of you?” He took a step forward, uncrossing his arms to drag her out of her fantasy world and remind her of the situation at hand, remind her of their helplessness, remind her of the way things were supposed to be.

His way was blocked by Saladin who slid in front of Faragonda with surprising for his old age agility. Another one that hadn’t gotten the message and was still having illusions that he stood a chance against him. Well, Valtor would gladly shatter those illusions the way he’d shattered Griffin’s perfect little life with a single kiss.

“I suppose you’re here to offer me your powers in exchange for Griffin’s life, too?”

The slight widening of Faragonda’s eyes gave away her panic. It gave away how deep-rooted it was. He could tell it had been eating away at her for a long time. She almost reached for Saladin’s arm to pull him out of harm’s way and prevent him from losing his magic, too, but cut herself short when she noticed Valtor’s studying gaze on her. As if that would keep her intentions and fears safe in her head when they’d been all over the place the moment Saladin had jumped to the rescue.

Saladin’s stance didn’t change, though, and his determination never wavered, the first show of character Valtor could ever remember of him. “I’m here for Griffin. She’s my friend and I’ll do everything in my power to help her.”

Valtor had to ball his hands into fists to keep his magic under control and rein in the desire to blast him. For daring to call her a friend. For daring to care about her. For daring to try to protect her after all the suffering she’d subjected him to. He would punish them all for having the audacity to support her when all he wanted was to see her alone and abandoned by everyone she loved.

“There’s not much for you to do, considering the extent of your power.” He turned to Faragonda, unclenching his fists when he saw the worried frown on her face. “You don’t need to worry about his precious magic,” he soothed mockingly. “I don’t want it. He’s of no interest to me.” What good would a Company of Light with only one member left do? He turned to look at Saladin again. “He couldn’t even take me on when he was young,” Valtor said, staring him right in the eyes. “He won’t be able to do anything now.”

A scowl took over Saladin’s face as his grip on his staff tightened along with his resolve to prove him wrong. The fool was eager to suffer alongside his “friends” so Valtor would give him exactly that.

“You see, Griffin here is completely powerless,” he motioned for her, catching a glimpse of the two witch sisters that were standing at her sides like obedient guard dogs–he’d forgotten all about their unimportant presence, “and I’m going to take Faragonda’s magic, too,” he ignored them, making sure to look at Saladin to get his point across. “And there is nothing you can do to stop me. You failed them both.”

“Don’t listen to him, Saladin,” Faragonda was quick to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder but it was too late. The guilt had already settled in and it would need solid, tangible proof to chase it away. Proof that they’d never get. “He’s the one who set a trap for all of us,” she said as her angry gaze befell Valtor. She’d reached the same conclusion he had.

“And you walked right into it like unsuspecting little sheep.” Though he supposed it made sense. They believed so much in their so called friendship that they never would’ve guessed he would turn it against them.

Faragonda opened her mouth to say something but he was tired of listening to her. He hadn’t come in search of a lecture.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“How do we know he’ll keep his word and free her once he has your powers?” Ediltrude turned to Faragonda, intervening and filling him with the need to blast her. For opening her mouth. For questioning his word. For wanting to protect Griffin.

“Just have the audacity to even think of not keeping the deal,” Zarathustra turned directly to him, her confidence commendable but she lacked the power to back it up.

“Whatever will you do to me?” he asked, his voice hoarse with the desire to just blast someone in the face and his fingers curling under the flow of his magic.

“He’ll keep his word,” Faragonda said as she came between him and Zarathustra, putting an end to his opening for an attack but not on his desire for one. She looked him in the eyes, demanding his attention. “How can he break her heart again and cause her more pain otherwise?”

He forced his face to remain blank and his muscles – still, refusing to fall for the obvious bait.

“Let’s finish this,” Faragonda spoke in a commanding tone as if she had any control over the situation. “I don’t want you in my school any longer than necessary.”

He wouldn’t have her speaking to him like that. Everything they had was his for the taking. They were supposed to cower and beg for his mercy. And he would see to it that they did. “And how will you stop me if I decide to take over your school after I leave you powerless?” She’d just presented him with the perfect way to have the fear gripping her throat and squeezing the air out of her.

A smile was definitely not what he had expected. “I wouldn’t try that,” she threw his own words at him. “Griselda cast a spell over the school that tracks the signature of my magic. If you use magic–even your own–while in possession of mine, you will get incinerated.“

“So that will leave him powerless?” Zarathustra asked, her mind already racing with ideas, her voice grating on his nerves. Their breathing was grating on his nerves.

“Don’t try your hand,” Faragonda warned. “With so much magic he’ll be out of the realm before you can lift your arms.” It looked like she at least had some common sense left. Even with that ridiculous stunt she was trying to pull. “The spell won’t stop him from leaving but it will stop him from getting any ideas about my school or anyone in it.” She looked at him, her eyes daring him to try.

He had to burn the whole place down to punish her for even having the audacity to burden their deal with conditions. “I could refuse to wake her,” he said to wipe the victorious look from her face. It didn’t belong there. It belonged on his face. Only defeat belonged to them. Not even their lives. Just defeat.

“Could you?” Faragonda asked, never losing her composure even for a second although the witches behind her crouched under the weight of his threat. But she didn’t fall for it.

He advanced upon her, invading her personal space to chase away any sense of security she could be feeling. They were his puppets and he could set them on fire whenever he desired. “And what if I decide to take over your school first and then wake Griffin up? That spell is keeping you from using your magic, too.” She’d do well to remember that.

“I don’t need it,” she found enough oxygen to speak with ease even with his flames so close. “Everyone’s on high alert. You can’t fight the entire school on your own.”

“And what if they kill me?” She didn’t seem worried for her own safety or that of her school. So he went for a different angle. “You’ll sacrifice Griffin?”

“You’ll sacrifice your revenge?” she asked in turn.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a fairy this good at bargaining,” he admitted. As much as she made him want to set the whole place on fire, he had to give her that. He’d rarely seen anyone that good at bargaining. She’d considered every angle before agreeing to give her powers away.

“I wasn’t always a fairy,” she said seriously, reminding him of the darkness that supposedly lay in her past, too. That would explain why she refused to give up on Griffin even after learning all of her deepest, ugliest secrets.

“I never believed you had an ounce of dark magic in you,” he said just to spite her. “I guess it’s time I found out.”

He raised his hands, lifting her in the air as his magic surrounded her. The lack of resistance on her part allowed him to start draining her powers and he felt them flowing into him. And that quiet rage he’d seen in her eyes before? It was laced into the magic, burning with so much might that it could power some of the strongest dark spells. It was soothing to feel her distress even if the slight pull of the protection spell cast over the school spoiled the fun.

Her magic was soon his since he wasn’t preying on her life force, too, like he was with Griffin, and he had her floating through the room, completely powerless to even direct her own movement. He dropped her on top of Saladin, causing them to fall to the floor, and turned his back on them, focusing on Griffin. She was the one who’d dragged him there. Her suffering lured him in like a siren’s call.

The witch sisters were at her sides and had pushed themselves to hold her hands. In fact, they only clutched harder at them when he came closer, looking like they didn’t intend to move. Not even to help the other two who were groaning in pain like the old, frail people they were.

“You want to let me wake her up?” he asked, their behavior quickly drowning out the heady feeling of having Faragonda powerless as well.

“I don’t want you anywhere near her,” Zarathustra hissed at him.

“I’d move you out of the way but that would get all four of us killed,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. And seeing them cling to Griffin so adamantly only tempted him to set them both on fire and have them turned to ash in a matter of seconds so there’d be no one there for her.

The last word seemed to remind them both what was at stake and they let go of Griffin’s hands and stepped away reluctantly. Zarathustra even turned away as he sat down on the edge of the bed and took Griffin’s face in his hands, his gloves keeping away the cold of her skin. Ediltrude watched carefully as if to make sure he wouldn’t trick them and he’d murder her a hundred times in his thoughts if they weren’t full of Griffin.

He leaned in and touched his lips against hers, parting them to breathe air in her failing lungs. He could still feel her breath filling him as he took it away from her with that first kiss. But as pleasant as it had been to feel her struggle for her life, his revenge only began with that second kiss. For she could only suffer if she were alive, if she were awake. Awake like he’d been all these years in the ice.

She started sucking the oxygen out of him as she woke and he pulled away, unwilling to let her steal anything more form him, leaving her to breathe on her own as best as she could. Her eyes opened and her fists closed in the fabric of his coat as the disorientation set in along with the newly returned life. A whisper of his name fell from her lips as she took in the sight of him.

She looked so beautiful with that confused, yet, adoring expression that had haunted him for over seventeen years. She thought it was a dream. She hadn’t remembered it was a nightmare yet. And he couldn’t stand it. Her nightmare was the only thing that relieved him from his. And the sight of her love burned too horribly even for him.

“Griffy,” Faragonda saved him as she drew Griffin’s attention to herself. She was leaning on Saladin, her skin pale and her legs barely supporting her, but her eyes were full of timid hope. “Are you okay?”

Griffin’s expression changed as the pieces clicked together. “You’re not,” she said, her voice strong and full of rage now, nothing like when she’d said his name.

She turned to look at him. He expected her to push him away. Yet, she only pulled him closer, her fists clutching at him as if she was trying to break him in half. She kissed him and he couldn’t keep up with her, her tongue slipping into his mouth and blocking any air from coming in or any sound from getting out. Her teeth clashed violently against his in the confrontation he hadn’t gotten seventeen years ago. She was trying to tear him apart and he could do nothing to stop her. He couldn’t use magic to protect himself and she wouldn’t let go of him so that he could escape. He could only let her suffocate him with her kiss, hoping that she’d leave him enough oxygen to allow his Dragon Fire to keep burning.

She pulled away as sharply as she’d captured him in her kiss. “I will kill you,” she said, her voice low and dangerous and never wavering even though she was supposed to be as out of breath as he was, even though she was supposed to be unable to speak. “This kiss is my promise. I’ll kill you, I swear.”

He’d never seen her like that. Burning with so much rage and ready to murder him. He’d never seen her look so stunning. He’d finally done to her what she’d caused to him. “I’ll wait for you,” he promised. How could he refuse to see more of her when she was so vibrant with fury and so consumed by thoughts of vengeance? She was terrifying and exposed to the gazes of all those who loved her. And they were all so vulnerable, unable to protect themselves from the truth about her nature. “It will probably take you a while to get to me without magic,” he said to remind her how helpless she was herself.

It got her to loosen her grip on him and he was out of her hands and out of her sight but stuck in her heart as the thorn that would make her bleed to death, all of her boiling blood spilling for him.

[anyway-i-love-vanderwood]

RFA - Proposals!

✿ This is for @salarinnar​, who wrote, 

Hello! I love your writing style so I thought I'd donate! How about MC asking the RFA + the minor trio to marry her? With all that getting on one knee and giving them a proposal ring jazz. Bless u.:) 

Thanks so much! I actually did the minor trio proposing to MC awhile ago here, so here’s the rest of the RFA!

(If you’d like a guaranteed request fill, but me a coffee on my Ko-Fi!

Yoosung

His mother puts the idea in his head, asking him when he’s finally going to propose to that lovely person he’s been seeing for so long. Yoosung swallows, nervous – it’s not that he doesn’t’ want to marry you. In fact, he’s looking forward to it, and often daydreams about having a happily married existence like his own parents share. But… he’s just…

Worried. He’s scared that he won’t be the right kind of guy for you, and he’s worried that you’ve changed your mind and don’t love him as much as he loves you.

So he frets. He asks his mom about how his father proposed, he asks his LOLOL friends how they proposed – hell, he asks V how he proposed, being so desperate to get input that he’ll put aside his own feelings for the man.

He gets a variety of answers, files them away, and keeps thinking.

When he takes you out to romantic movies, he watches your reaction to the lovey-dovey scenes carefully, taking inspiration from what you say about how the characters handle their own proposals. He reads books, he browses forum threads… and he thinks and overthinks the matter, trying to figure out how to best ask for your hand.

Yoosung gets the ring while he’s STILL not sure how to propose to you, and as he’s walking home from the store, he gets a panicked call on his cell.

You’ve found a baby bird and it’s broken it’s WING and YOOSUNG HELP you DON’T’ WANT IT TO DIE, PLEASE COME QUICKLY.

(you’re crying, and so he runs.)

Using his veterinarian skills, Yoosung helps you save the bird’s life, and you’re just so… happy and thankful and you hug him, telling him that he’s the best, and Yoosung falls in love with you all over again. You’re so kind! You’re so gentle! You’re so loving!

You’re so kind to everyone, even the smallest of animals, and on complete impulse, he gets on one knee and busts out his newly acquired ring.

It’s poorly thought out. It’s spur-of-the-moment. But he’ll never forget the way you light up and hug him, saying “yes!” over and over.

The two of you laugh about it afterwards, and decide that was probably the most memorable way it could have happened.

Zen

Zen knows you are completely and entirely perfect and, therefore, he knows that his proposal to you needs to be completely and entirely perfect in return. How he achieves this Holy Grail of Marital Intent, though, is a matter of some internal debate.

He considers going to stereotypical route of wining and dining you, but that’s a.) not really very him and b.) he can’t think of any restaurant that matches up to the vivacity that is you. Besides, he’s not really on-the-ball on the whole… restaurant scene, being that he’s a loser who can barely keep anything more than beer in his fridge.

He also considers surprising you on a date, like – at the zoo, or the aquarium. Or maybe on television in front of thousands during one of his on-screen appearances? But then it’s pointed out to him that, oops, a public proposal basically pressures you into saying yes, doesn’t it? And, if you do say no, it’d open you up to the onslaught of thousands of his angry fans.

No. He wants this to be between you and him, where you make a decision about your future that he’ll respect and appreciate either way… so he thinks more, and decides to go back to the roots of your early relationship.

He decides to take you stargazing.

Zen parks his motorcycle in front of your apartment one night, furiously texting you and begging you to come outside for an impromptu date. He already kind of checked to make sure you didn’t have anything planned, but he’s still over the moon when you a.) don’t get mad he rolled up the street at 11PM and b.) he hadn’t given you any notice.

(he thought it would be more romantic like that.)

You come outside to find him with a picnic basket strapped to the back of his motorcycle and a big smile on his face, and shaking your head, you get on behind him and let him take you on whatever wacky adventure he has planned.

He takes you up to your special place in the mountains, his jacket protecting your body from the cold and his back shielding your face. You have your arms around him, and you’ve never felt someone’s warmth as intently as in that moment.

The basket is full of all of your favorite foods, no matter how ‘dumb’ and ‘unromantic’ they are. Do you get all of your nutritional content from potato chips? That is ok, Zen has packed all the best flavors. There’s also a blanket, which he spreads out for you, and you lie back and look at the perfectly clear, beautifully expansive sky.

You and Zen talk for awhile, pointing out constellations and making your own, when he gets quiet and reaches into his pocket for something. He starts talking about how big the world is, and how happy he found you – you’re like his north star in the darkness of the night. And then he turns on his side, opening the box and looking at you with complete and total sincerity.

Will you marry him? He asks, with only the chirping crickets and the sound of the wind for company.

Of course you say yes. How could you not? And when you put the diamond on your finger, you reach out to touch the sky, and admire how the stone looks like one of those stars glimmering above.

Jaehee

Jaehee takes you to the aquarium.

It’s an atypical spot, which makes since given that she’s an atypical woman. You’re kind of expecting that Jaehee is going to pop the question sometime soon, as she’s been asking about your feelings regarding the future, settling down, etc, but when she invites you out that cool, rainy Saturday, you don’t really expect it’s going to happen then.

She does it near the end of the day, after she’s taken you to the dolphin show and endured you stopping at every exhibit and pointing out which fish represented which members of the RFA. (She bust a gut laughing when you said the flounder was Jumin.) You’ve already had lunch, and are thinking about going when you stop in the shark room, which is more of a tunnel than a room, really. The walls are completely made of glass and, all around you, you can an awe-inspiring assortment of fish swimming around you (and above you!) in a mysterious room lit by an ethereal blue glow.

You find an empty spot to stand, and you press your hands against the glass, completely entranced. Jaehee watches your profile, and then taps twice on your shoulder, sinking onto one knee when you look down at her.

She tells you, as she presents a ring to you in the dim light, that her entire life… she’s felt like she’s been living in a fish-tank. Confined, restrained, where she’s just been surviving under people’s apathetic gazes. She’s never felt like she could explore. Never felt like she could go on an adventure, because her entire world was defined by walls of unbreakable glass.

…Until she met you.

Now she believes in things. Now she dreams. Now she smiles, laughs, and no longer feels like she’s just some specimen kept behind a cold, unfeeling wall. And – no matter what you say, yes or no – that knowledge will always stay with her.

Will you… accompany her beyond the glass walls you’ve helped her shatter? Together?

(In the flickering, wavering light, you smile as wide as the sun and say, yes.)

Jumin

It takes a little bit for Jumin to propose, and before he does so, he takes you on a whirlwind tour of the globe using his private jet and vast amounts of money.

You eat baguettes in France. You see the architecture of Prague. He takes you on a tour of the castles of Scotland, and says that one day, he’d like to build one for Elizabeth the III. You go see the mountains of Iceland and the parks of Oslo, the beaches of Bermuda and see the sunset off the coast of Fiji. You sip margaritas, daiquiris, and pina coladas, you go horseback riding, you take pottery classes with Jumin and laugh as you make mistakes.

You go to art exhibits. Concerts. You go to parties and meet people, and you drag Jumin out on forest hikes in the dim, lonely woods. You see snow, rain, sunshine, you go to street markets and film festivals – you even go fishing with him and watch him pay a five-star chef to prepare what he caught into a delectable dish for the local catlife.

The two of you go to Istanbul, a land famous for its large population of street cats, and Jumin is content in a land that’s devoted to his favorite feline friends.

And… at the end of it, on a quiet, deserted beach at the end of the day, he pops the question.

He wanted you to see the world before he asked you to marry him, because he doesn’t want you to ever feel confined when you’re with him. He wanted you to know what’s out there before you settled down, and now that you’ve gotten a taste of so much the earth has to offer…

Do you want to stay with him still?

You say yes, saying that – while travelling was fun – it wouldn’t have been half as amazing without him there by your side. Wanting to go feed cats, falling off his horse, sharing food with him and laughing… The world’s amazing, yes, but it’s twice as amazing when you get to experience it with him.

For once in his life, Jumin is chosen because he is him, and because he made your travels worthwhile… and he smiles, thanking God once more that he got a chance to experience what life is like with you.

Seven

This man has an entire notebook full of ideas on how to propose to you.

There are so many good options! In the climactic moment of an epic laser-gun battle? Waved in the sky on the banner of a sport-class airplane? Using a small army of drones? Via youtube video? Oh man, he could do the classic “write it using the high-scores on an arcade machine”… but is that too cliché, by this point?

He only gets one chance to propose, so he should make it th-

Wait.

Who, exactly, said he had only one chance to propose?

(Seven sits down and begins to imagine the possibilities.)

He launches off the 2017 “War of Proposals” through a singing telegram delivered by a man cosplaying as Starshine Nyah-Nyah (from your favorite magical girl anime). Said war is a contest of strength, skill, and one-uppmanship, where the both of you compete to give the other more elaborate and unexpected proposals until one of you emerges the victor – and is allowed to have the “canon” one true proposal.

HELL YES, you say, and begin to plot.

You propose to him at the pool, by getting a dance studio to perform a choreographed routine in the water which ends up spelling out, “Please marry me!”

He proposes to you in the movie theatre, where he rents out adspace that he uses to play a video he’s constructed where he waxes eloquent about how amazing you are.

You propose to him in the air and space museum, where you drop out of one of the airplanes with an explosion of balloons and the words, “Seven, will you marry me?” emblazoned on your face like war paint.

He proposes to you by paying a bunch of newbies in LOLOL to die with their corpses spelling out “Will you spend your life with me?”

You continue to trade blows like this for an entire month. Television, radio, the internet – everywhere, there are traces of your continual war. It isn’t until he takes you on a trip to New York and then hacks into the Time Square billboards to deliver his heartfelt and impassioned request that he finally wins, because you cannot think of a way to one-up that.

You do, however, help Seven evade the cops after that, which he is content to call a “draw” in the end.

(The two of you were so busy plotting that neither actually bought a ring, so you go to the jewelry store and chose matching ones together.)

[hannahindie]

Museum of Death: Part 1

Characters: Theodore (OC-brief), Maggie (OC), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader Word Count: 2,581 Warnings: Canon violence, death, things being creepy A/N: I wrote this for @amanda-teaches’s UNDERCOVER HUNTING CHALLENGE! Congrats on the followers, love! (I left it in all caps because it just felt so enthusiastic. lol) This is just the first part, and though I was only aiming for two...it might have a third. My goal was to write it in an episode format, which is drawing it out some, but I really love it so far. I hope you all do too. My undercover job was museum workers. This part doesn’t get quite into that, but part two will!

ALSO a big shout out to @wheresthekillswitch for helping me brainstorm this whole thing, and for picking out sweet fake names for them. This fic would not be nearly as cohesive without her. Thanks for helping my gears get going, lovely. :)

Also, there is an actual Museum of Death in New Orleans, but disclaimer, I don’t know much about it. This particular museum is based loosely on it, and I know that the details won’t really match. Just...uh...roll with it, I guess. lol A special shout out to Manda for helping me with my Cajun dialect. It’s way harder than I thought it would be, so just a round of applause for all ya’ll fantastic Benny writers. Shew. lol If you have any suggestions that would help, I would appreciate it!

Beta’d by the always beautiful and wonderful waterbear, @trexrambling: “I wasn't supposed to feel this way about a side character... thanks for those unwelcome HURT FEELS HANNAH!”

And my lovely and encouraging and fantastic @pinknerdpanda: “Omg! I cackled. This is so 10000% Dean. I can hear his voice in my head.”

As usual, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!

The dull click of the security guard’s heels echoed through the darkened hallway, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent museum. Normally, this was his favorite kind of gig. There was something about walking through what would normally be bustling rooms and popular displays when it was dead silent, the only light the soft beam from his flashlight and the muted green glow of the emergency exit signs. But this time, something was different.

His wife had warned him when he’d taken this job that it was a bad idea. “You hav’to respek de dead, cher. Dat place...it is couillon*. You work dere, you will get notin’ but trouble, Theodore!” she had fretted as he got his things ready for his first day. He had assured her that, despite the unusual and macabre subject matter that the museum focused on, everything would be fine; it was just her deep-rooted superstitions that were clouding her judgement, and besides, they needed the money. She had stopped talking about it, but every night since then he had found an amulet of protection in his uniform pocket. Although he was not originally from Louisiana and did not share his wife’s Cajun superstitions and beliefs, he greatly appreciated her effort in trying to keep him safe.

He paused at one of the glass cases and stared at the contents inside. Staring back at him, her eyes almost as cold as the glass separating him from the black and white photo, was an angry looking woman, her eyes wild and hair a tangled mess around her weathered and scowling face. In all honesty, he did not like walking through the displays at this particular museum, but this one...this one was the one that always threw him off the most. There was something about the look in her eye, the flat, dead stare that always reminded him of a shark. He couldn’t help but stare, and he’d had to drag himself away more than once. He’d read the description over and over, had even Googled the woman’s name one early morning after he'd gotten home from his shift. She was unnerving, and he always felt an awkward shiver go down his spine while passing the glass case.

He jumped as the sudden booming sound of a door being slammed startled him out of his staring contest with the shark eyed woman. “Doc?”

His hand slipped down to the nightstick he carried, the only weapon he was permitted other than his heavy flashlight, and continued his round of the floor. Instead of turning to go towards the stairs leading to the second floor, he turned the opposite way, the direction that the curator's office was. Dr. Lyons, the most recent curator to come into the museum, often stayed late into the night. Lately, however, he had been staying even later in order to catalogue and sort the newest exhibit. He had been incredibly excited to share whatever it was and was working diligently in order to get it ready for public viewing as soon as possible. Dr. Lyons had always been nice to him, and in the few weeks that Theodore had been working at the museum he'd grown quite fond of the eccentric curator.

“Hey, Doc? You okay?” Theodore called quietly into the dark. He stopped at the closed office door and sighed. Lyons had always told him that, no matter what, he was welcome in his office, but something told Theodore that it was always better to keep closed doors exactly that; closed. “Doc? Do you need help with anything?” He reached out to knock on the door but paused, his knuckles just hovering over the pebbled glass. He was worried, the doctor was never this quiet, but everything in his gut said to walk away and to let someone else worry about it in the morning. After a moment of arguing with himself, the braver side of him won out and, instead of knocking, he let his hand move down to the worn, brass doorknob. “I'm coming in, Doc, it's just me.”

The door swung open with a groan, the old hinges cranky as they ground against each other. The room was dimly lit by an old desk lamp, the light a sickly yellow from the shade, and the shadows stretched long across the cluttered office. Unopened boxes and crates were stacked around the room, and one sat open on the desk.

“Doc?”

Theodore swung the MagLite around the room and the beam landed on a pair of leather dress shoes that were sticking out from behind the desk. “Oh, shit…” he whispered to no one as he slowly moved around so that he could see behind it. What he saw made him gasp.

Dr. Lyons was lying on his back, his glasses askew and his face frozen in what Theodore could only describe as pure terror. An already darkening bruise circled his throat, and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. Theodore dropped to one knee, gently placed two fingers on the doctor’s throat, and groaned when he didn’t find a pulse. As he stood, he heard the dull thud of something hitting the floor. His hand automatically went to his shirt pocket where his wife had put the protection charm, and, finding it empty, he began to feel panic set in. He scanned the floor, looking for the small clay amulet. A wave of cold surrounded him, nearly freezing his breath in his chest, and he watched as the warm air he exhaled formed a small, frozen cloud.

“What the hell?” he thought to himself as the temperature continued to drop. He began to shiver, and the beam from his flashlight shimmied across the hardwood floor. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he turned slowly to find himself  face to face with the shark-eyed woman from the glass case.

“You...you can’t be here. You’re dead.” She gave him a cold smile, her crooked teeth dirty and sharp. “I looked it up, you were executed in 2002. You’re not real.” He heard the dull click of a pistol being cocked and his eyes widened. “Listen, I’m not a bad guy. I know how you feel about guys you think are bad, and I didn’t hurt you. I haven’t hurt anybody. I would never…” he trailed off when he felt the cold steel of a muzzle press against his forehead. “Please…no...I didn’t do anything! My wife is expecting me to come home, I promise I won’t do anything-” The loud crack of the pistol discharging interrupted Theodore, and he hit the floor, his wide eyes staring at the ceiling as a single drop of blood rolled down the bridge of his nose.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice echoed down the hall as he wandered the bunker looking for his brother. “Y/N! Where are you guys?”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Y/N shouted back as she blew a stray hair from her face, her flour covered hands too busy pressing dough into the pie plate to do the job themselves. She heard Sam’s long strides get louder as he approached the kitchen, and soon his large frame filled the doorway as he practically skipped down the steps, laptop in hand.

“Pie? What’s the occasion?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Does your brother need an occasion to demand pie?”

Sam laughed, “No, I guess not.” He sat down at the table and opened his laptop, “I found something, and I’m pretty sure it’s right up our alley.”

Y/N grabbed a bowl of chopped apples and poured the contents into the pie crust. “Oh yea? It’s been pretty quiet, you sure it’s one of our things?”

“Yep, pretty sure. Two people killed in a locked building. One was strangled and one was shot.”

“How does that make it ours? Anyone can strangle or shoot someone, and I think we both know that picking a lock isn’t exactly difficult.” She carefully laid the top crust over the perfectly mixed apples, cinnamon, and sugar, then pinched the edges closed.

“The strangulation, maybe. But this other guy was shot and there is no gun, no bullet, no GSR. It’s like he was shot with an invisible gun. Plus, the alarms were still set and all the doors were locked. Not a sign of break in anywhere.”

Y/N slipped the pie into the oven and set the timer. “Alright, that’s a valid reason. Where are we going?”

“New Orleans. It’s been awhile since we’ve been to Louisiana.” Sam closed his laptop and sat back in his chair, “So, do you know where Dean is?”

Y/N shook her head as she wiped her hands off on a towel, “No, but give it a minute. He’ll be here.”

“How do you know?”

Y/N closed her eyes and held up five fingers. Slowly, she began to count down silently, one finger at a time. Just as she got to only her pointer finger, Sam heard footsteps approaching the kitchen and Y/N smiled.

“Where’s the pie?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed as he searched for the source of the delicious smell.

Sam looked at Y/N, impressed, “Nice. How’d you know?”

Y/N shrugged, “Call it a gift.” She walked towards the door, then stopped and looked at Dean over her shoulder, “You’re going to have to take that pie to go, sweet cheeks. We’ve got a case.” She disappeared down the hall and Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“A case? Where are we going?”

“New Orleans.” Sam opened his laptop and spun it around so that Dean could see it, “So, get this…”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Dean griped as he and Sam strolled down the sidewalk, straightening his tie in annoyance as Sam’s last minute warning rang in his mind.

“It must have slipped my mind-” Sam started before Dean cut him off.

“Oh, really? You just failed to mention that this whole thing happened in a serial killer museum? That little nugget of information just ‘slipped your mind’?” Dean air quoted angrily.

“I didn’t think it was that important,” Sam mumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes, “No, it's because you have this freaky ass obsession with serial killers and you knew if you told me, I would have either relentlessly made fun of you or I would have refused to get involved. Luckily for you, I can't just let people get murdered. But I will relentlessly make fun of you. So what's the story with this woman, Nancy Grace?”

Sam glared at him and Dean smirked. “It’s the security guard’s wife. We’re going to see if her husband had told her anything about the museum. If it’s a haunting, maybe he mentioned something.”

They reached the front porch and Dean paused, his eyes narrowed as he leaned towards the porch post and ran his fingers over the small symbols that had been painstakingly carved into the wood. “Do these look familiar to you?”

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder, “Huh...they’re five-spots.”

“Oh, yea, we saw them at that old hotel way back in the day, right? The one where that old lady was living in the attic.”

“Yea, it’s Hoodoo...but to make it a powerful charm for protection you have to fill whatever this is carved on with bloodweed. It wouldn’t be incredibly useful without it, and I don’t see any out here.”

“Huh, that’s weird. Oh well, maybe they didn’t realize that’s what it was.” Dean hopped up the steps and rapped on the door, “We are in New Orleans. It’s not like we aren’t surrounded by stuff like that, anyway.”

The door swung open, and a short, thin woman appeared in the darkened opening. Her red-rimmed eyes shifted from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean before she spoke. “I already spoke to de police.”

“Hello, ma'am, we truly are sorry to bother you. I’m Agent Tom Hannigan, this is my partner Agent Clay Miller. We’re with the FBI.” Dean flashed his badge, then quickly stowed it back in his pocket. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”

She looked between the two once more before pushing the door open wide enough to accommodate them, “If you are wid de FBI, I am Marie Laveau. You best make it quick. Close de door behind you, cher.”

Dean settled back into the flower print chair, the soft cushions nearly swallowing him, and balanced the hot mug of coffee on his knee. Sam was awkwardly shifting on the couch, his own mug of coffee cradled between both hands as he looked around the room. Photos of the victim and his wife were scattered around the room; on the coffee table, lining the mantle, arranged carefully on bookshelves. They looked happy, and Dean felt a sudden pang of sadness as the woman came back into the living room.

“Ma’am-”

“You can call me Maggie, cher. My mere is ma’am. Theo called me Magnolia… ‘My pretty Magnolia’, he would say, ‘Not everyone can have a flower to call dere own.’” She sighed, “He’s de only one dat called me dat.” She sat in the rocking chair by the window and picked up a picture of her and Theodore. “I knew dat museum was no good.”

Dean sat his mug on the coffee table and leaned his elbows on his knees, “Why did you think it was no good?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow, “De place is filled with killers, with monsters. It is like dey built a shrine to dese terr’ble people. I told him dey needed to respek de dead, but I didn’t mean de murderers. I meant de people dey killed.”

Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked down sheepishly. He turned his attention back to Maggie, “Do you think that’s the reason Dr. Lyons and Theodore were killed? Because they were being disrespectful?”

Maggie shook her head, “My Theo wouldn’t ever disrespek anyone. No, no...I made sure he’d be safe. Ev’ry day, I put a special charm in his pocket, a protection charm. When dey gave me his belongings, it wasn’t dere. I t’ink dat is what happened. De charm was lost, and den whatever got de doctor got Theo.” She sat the frame back on the table and sighed, “I don’t know what you boys really do, but you best be careful. Dere is somethin’ dangerous happenin’ in dat museum. Somet’in’ evil that shouldn’t be disturbed.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small charms, “Take dese, keep dem wit you. A lot of people t’ink I’m too old fashioned, and maybe I am...but it’s better to be safe dan sorry, and if I’m wrong, den not’in happens.” She held out her hand and both Sam and Dean leaned forward and took a charm.

Sam smiled gently at her, “Thank you, we really appreciate it. And I promise, we’ll take care of whatever this is.”

Dean nodded in agreement, “It’s what we do. I know we can’t bring Theo back, but we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Maggie smiled sadly, “I hope you do.” Sam and Dean stood and walked towards the door, and Maggie held it open as they left. “You boys be careful, now,” she shouted after them, and Sam turned and gave her a small wave. She watched as they disappeared down the sidewalk and into a dark car, her chest tight with worry.

*In this instance, couillon is to mean foolish. I linked it, but there were a few definitions.

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[amwritingmeta]

dean said cas to stop being their nurse. what’s wrong in that? this is how people show their love - for protect and support someone you are loved. it’s like dean with his sam - yeah, they are more codependent but the same reason - take care, show love. and dean has nothing like "this is wrong". so why he told that to cas? he doesn’t need his help bc cas blundered? Or he doesn’t care at all? I can’t believe in that tbh

Hello, my dearest darlingest Anon!

I believe that you’re referring to the scene in 12x19 when Dean tells Cas off for acting like their “babysitter”? 

This comment comes off of Cas explaining his reasons for not contacting them when –>

a) he went off piste and decided to bring Kelly to Heaven instead of shooting her with the stolen borrowed Colt

b) his truck broke down and he knew he needed help

And Cas’ foremost reason for not contacting them is that he believes Kelly and the baby - because they’re an extension of Lucifer being free from the cage - are his responsibility. 

A sentiment he’s stated more than once throughout S12. 

A sentiment rooted in his need to feel useful and to have a purpose. 

This need, in turn, rooted in the fact that, at this moment in time, he’s never felt more lost or uncertain of where he truly belongs, feeling like he doesn’t belong anywhere, like he doesn’t even know who he is anymore, loving Dean with all his heart and feeling no hope that the love will ever be returned he’s drifting, without any anchor whatsoever.

Of course, Dean then doesn’t help the situation when he negates Cas’ biggest motivator and dismisses it as though it’s really all in Cas’ own head: protecting them isn’t his job.

Dean is right, of course. It was never his job. He made them his job, he interpreted his orders to protect them in a way that would justify staying close to them and I think that’s underlined in 7x21 when he tries to stop Hester from hurting the brothers by saying “Please, they’re the ones we were put here to protect” and Hester replies simply with a “No, Castiel”. 

And that’s the truth.

Cas has extended his order to bring Dean out of hell and secure Michael’s vessel to protecting the brothers against all odds. Because he’s falling in love with Dean, and he can’t make sense of that emotion.

This has made him dress himself as the hammer and assign all his worth to that role because, again and again, it’s underlined the brothers only call on him for angelic assistance. The problem is, again, miscommunication, because throughout S12 Sam finally, and very vocally and earnestly, contradicts Cas every single time he says that Lucifer is his responsibility. Sam is the one to repeatedly tell Cas he’s wrong in S12, they’re in it together, and he should come to them for help.

But Sam isn’t the person who needs to say it.

Dean agrees, but he agrees in vague ways, like being pissed off - which to our literal angel is the same as negating Sam’s words or being nothing but hyper critical of Cas’ opinion, which for our as-stubborn-as-Dean-Winchester Cas more or less means he’ll just dig his heels down even deeper - or Dean agrees by saying stuff that only underline Cas’ belief that Dean can’t possibly see any real worth in him. That he’s a liability. And expendable. Only useful for the powers he brings to the fight.

This is in 12x23, of course, where they’re together, TFW about to assemble, but instead of there being a sense of team spirit, Cas gets a Dean who barges in, takes over and then asks if he still has the immense power that killed a Prince of Hell.

In 12x19 they finally begin to open up the doors to open communication during the Mixtape Exchange, but that episode is titled The Future and I believe that cornerstone was placed there to show what they’re working towards. That scene is a beautiful study of body language because both of these actors are remarkably attuned to using it as a tool of expression. And that’s more or less the basis for the entire Destiel narrative because it’s so much in the subtext of how these two interact with each other. 

That’s how you build a will-they-won’t-they, btw. No matter the genders involved. There has to be a dance of long looks and glances when the other isn’t looking. There has to be stuff neither one says out loud. There HAS to be miscommunication because complete honesty takes away the obstacles and without obstacles there’s no character growth and there’s absolutely no fucking intrigue to following the progression of the love story.

But now I digress.

So if 12x19 gives a cornerstone to open communication, then why don’t they keep building on that? They are, and they will. Moments of misunderstanding - like this one in 12x23 where Dean is more or less hinging their survival on whether Cas still has the power up juices flowing through him (look at Cas’ face - it hurts him!) - are more or less essential at this juncture, and these misunderstandings stem from the fact that these two men care so much about what the other thinks of them that they can’t stand the thought of disappointing the other, or failing them in any way, neither understanding that how they feel the other can’t disappoint them or fail them no matter what they do is how BOTH OF THEM FEEL ABOUT EACH OTHER! 

(dance my pretties dance!)

There is all the love here, darling Anon, don’t you fret!

The reason Dean tells Cas that he isn’t their babysitter comes from Dean’s conviction that Cas still thinks of himself as their protector foremost, like he stated out loud and unequivocally in 7x21. That statement came as a horrified surprise to Dean back then, because that was Dean’s biggest fear, wasn’t it? That Cas was one of those angels that, when they try to care, it ends up breaking them apart? 

That’s how he views Cas’ choices and sacrifices by the end of S7: they’re breaking Cas apart and Cas made them because he cares.

The problem for Dean is that he’s wanted to humanise Cas - to make him CARE - almost from the moment their story began: giving him his nickname is just the beginning. Why did he do that? 

Because Dean Winchester is a control freak, plain and simple. 

I don’t believe it’s love at first sight with these two. It’s attraction at first sight for Dean (that I do believe), but Dean is out of his depth with Cas and he has an immediate need to bring him down to Earth. To make him feel like an equal. Possibly even an inferior.

Which is why, at least this is my interpretation of it, whenever he gets to put Cas in a tight spot doing human things - such as taking Cas to a den of iniquity - Dean is practically bouncing in his seat from having the upper hand completely and irrevocably.

S12, however, does a lot to tell us that much has changed since S7, including how the brothers view Cas and his choices and his sacrifices. 

In 12x10, after the whole Ishim incident, Sam tells Cas that Cas may have changed, but it’s for the better. And Dean voices support as well, telling Cas he’s not weak, like Ishim proclaimed him to be.

So for Cas, nine episodes later, to come off as though he still considers himself the brothers angelic protector rubs Dean the wrong way. He doesn’t want Cas to feel like he has to protect them because he’s not their defender, he’s not the hammer: he’s their friend and brother in arms and worth a helluva lot more than whatever responsibility he feels like placing on his own two shoulders. 

(Also Dean is completely in love with him and, I’d argue, is subtly terrified that Cas still, after all these years, is so much an angel that whatever that “I love you” in 12x12 was, it sure as hell didn’t mean Cas is in love with him, because Dean’s still nothing more than a mere ward for Cas, someone he feels responsible for, someone he’s formed a bond with, sure, but a bond that never could be romantic based on how they’re from two so completely different worlds - hence the mixtape from Dean, as he tries to over-subtly test the waters)

So, you see? Dean telling Cas off for acting like he protects them by excluding them comes from a place of love.

“You, me, and Sam - we’re just better together.”

Dean tries to convince Cas with this statement, but the Mixtape Exchange is a Destiel scene, and Cas is done now, after having said “I love you” out loud, no matter how vaguely, to pretend like he doesn’t want more. That’s why he gestures between him and Dean when he says “We?” and Dean ruins it when he says “Yes, we. You, me… and Sam.” Unable to give Cas more than his little finger and leaving Cas thinking that, after all is said and done, Dean Winchester does not love him back. And again, neither is stating the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help them Chuck - dancing around each other for this fear of rejection, this fear that stems in the feeling that they’re really not worthy of the other’s love.

There is a complex web of emotion that these men are stuck in, and I, for one, cannot wait to watch it slowly detangle.

And Dean cares. Oh, he cares.

Looooooook at his faaaaaaaace! :)

xx

[markoftheasphodel]

Shadows of Valentia Top Ten -- #1 Lukas: The Messenger

Well, I am who I am. I imagine I should stop hoping for more.

Sometimes canon gives you a character so precisely attuned to your biases that you can't believe it's actually real.

Lukas. The name means "bringer of light" so it's fitting he's the one who sounds the Call to Arms for Alm's particular Hero's Journey. My assumption regarding Lukas headed into the remake was pretty simple-- he'd be, like, Alm's surrogate-brother guy. His death quote in OG Gaiden references Alm, he was in the Team Alm banner for FE Heroes along with Clair & Faye aka Alm's fangirl squad, so I figured he and Alm would be bros. Or, you know, "bros" with the usual wink-wink stuff.

Yeah, well, they're not bros like that. Everything about it is way more complicated, from the position Lukas holds as the younger son of a noble but not-very-illustrious house to what's going on inside of his head. On the surface, he's this incredibly pleasant and reasonable guy. Take the scene where he agrees to bring Alm & Friends back to the Deliverance and Lukas assures Tobin that it's fine to have a not-idealistic motivation like money for joining the army. What a cool guy! So open-minded and reassuring to the village kiddies! What a great Team Mom he is.

Three base conversations later, we find out Lukas himself had zero motivation to join the Deliverance or any other army and was in fact sent there by an elder half-brother who plainly didn't care whether Lukas lived or died and most likely would've been A-OK with his little brother coming home in a box. And Lukas relays this with a small smile and no emotional shading whatsoever, like he's discussing the weather. On the one hand, it comes out of left field, but on the other hand, this was set up from the moment he recruited Tobin: "It's OK not to have heroic motives for being here. I don't. :)"

This happens a great deal with Lukas, as pieces of characterization flow forward and backward across the main game script, the support conversations, and the Rise of the Deliverance DLC. That big confrontation he has with Fernand at Deliverance HQ turns out to have a massive and meaningful backstory. Any alarm bells that ring when he gives Alm advice on conducting a "good-hearted" invasion of Rigel that's bound to have casualties rise to a crescendo at the finale to Rise of the Deliverance when Lukas uses civilian hostages as a bargaining chip in dealing with Chancellor Desaix. He seems more than a little irreverent towards Valentia's gods and the “old children’s tale” of a prophesied hero even as he acts out a self-aware role in fulfilling said prophecy-- emphasis on the self-aware part as I don't think that can be overlooked. And that perpetually even-keeled niceness turns out not to be a front for something more troubling but a result of his central conflict as a character.

Lukas doesn't feel things like other people and he's not happy about it. Deep visceral emotions like rage, envy, and romantic passion are outside his experience. I'm not going to digress into the root cause of his state of being, whether he's good or bad representation of whatever it is he's representing... assuming the writers didn't get lucky when assembling him. We don't know if this is an organic disconnect or something that developed from how he was treated by his father and half-brother or a combination of both... or if someone on the writing staff wanted a character "like that" and didn't think too hard as to why and were just savvy enough not to use "magic" as a reason. But it's the through-line of his one in-game support with Clive and the big reveal of his DLC support with Python and it manifests in everything else from the glimpses he gives of his ungood family life to his final battle quote. Killing a god? That could potentially be exciting.

Setting aside the issue of whether or not it takes deicide for Lukas to get his rocks off, instead of being bros with Alm, reboot!Lukas has clearly imprinted on Clive (the only character whose death Lukas mourns post-chapter) and their dialogue at the end of Rise of the Deliverance is a wonderful scene that evoked memories of reading about historical generals dealing with the aftermath of real-life battles like Shiloh. Yet their support chain goes pear-shaped immediately as Clive praises Lukas for his cold and analytical nature aka the very thing Lukas doesn't especially like about himself. This is not your standard senior knight/junior knight mentoring here, as Clive steps in it during the C support, causing Lukas to stew and then unleash (by his standards) an outburst in the B support, and then Clive makes a transparent and clumsy attempt to make it all better in the A-support at the end of the war. Sounds like they haven't talked much about anything deep in the interim. And the way it wraps up, with Lukas saying "Why do you keep me around if not for my greatest virtue?" is probably self-deprecating humor, but who knows?

Then too there's a sense of containment in spite of his network his friends in the Deliverance (and both his Clive support and his Heroes dialogue show a clear-eyed and unsentimental take on said friends). Everyone thinks well of him but should he die, no one person takes a time-out to mourn him. His ending, though fitting and satisfying, is fixed and the loss of Clive or the others won't change it. Doesn't sound like he finds value in his background as a middle-tier noble, which he's basically repudiating by Act V anyway. Oh yeah, and even before the main game he's rejected his blood family, declaring he has no home with them anymore. One can only assume the lady he was courting (as referred to in the Python supports) never hears from him again.

Back to the prophecy. If Clive gets the Dorias role in this as the voice of flawed traditionalism and a certain strain of idealism that goes with it, Lukas takes on the role inhabited by August (and then Soren) as the pragmatist who gets shit done, the one willing to metaphorically and literally dirty his hands-- while both of them were in on the hostage plot, Clive’s the one affected by their actions. Lukas doesn’t appear to have any qualms. In another possible echo of the way August groomed Leif for his role, Lukas appears to grasp well before the Big Reveal that what they're all doing with Alm isn't giving a kid an army and turning him loose, but actually making a hero. Despite his skepticism of the whole “hero prophecy” thing, in trying to shape the narrative of the invasion of Rigel, in saying what he does and doesn't when Alm picks up the Royal Sword, possibly all the way back in Ram Village when he recruits five teenagers instead of the veteran leader he was sent to collect, there's an undercurrent of craft to what Lukas is doing. How curious that this deliberately literate character is the one speaking in terms of "taming myths" and of messaging while Clive (who also knows about the prophecy) is fretting over bloodlines and whether not he bet on the wrong colt. 

I've seen some speculation that Mycen tipped off Lukas to the grand plan during the failed "recruitment" and I don't think that's entirely true because the Royal Sword scene is the rare moment where Lukas sounds shocked, but even if Mycen didn't give him the crib notes I think Lukas pieces together enough that by the invasion of Rigel he is trying to make sure hero suitable to the prophecy shows up at Rigel Castle. Why else establish that he and Clive are actively thinking about the identity of the hero? For lulz and irony, maybe. Maybe, but there’s all the other stuff above to take into account..

So, Lukas. Coldly competent, sweetly fucked-up, calculating as hell, genuinely nice, turning a dry and unsparing eye and a polite smile upon the world. He uses my favorite FE weapon class and he really just wants to lose himself in a book. And hanging above him is that undefined and seemingly unattainable "more" that we never can know for sure if he actually finds, or at least finds peace in the lack thereof. And we never do find out what his "ambition" was referred to in his retreat quote even was before he apparently (?) let it go. Don’t pity him, though-- he’s not asking for pity, and he’s not allowing himself regret.