#maybe ill just use my memories of my old bedroom as reference

[beannary]

ok what do rich people rooms look like

[blueeyedgeorgie]

MCYT Royal AU (2)

A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short! I just knew it’d be the best for this chapter to end the way it does!

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.9k+

____________

"If you need her, she'll be preparing for bed in her chambers." Y/n smiled, looking to the blonde standing beside her. Niki was her nurse, yet she was also the princess's best friend. Throughout her lonely days, Niki was always there to make her days brighter.

"Alright, you're excused, you two," Schlatt spoke with a typical bored look on his face. Y/n had already gotten the chance to say goodnight to her fiance, they had spent most of the night together. It seemed like the only time they were apart was when Y/n had spent a few songs on the dance floor with the green-eyed stranger.

Even now, the princess couldn't help but think of the man. She hadn't seen him for the rest of the night, where had he run off to? Maybe he had only been a figure of imagination and she had easily gotten lost in her thoughts for a short time. It seemed impossible for her to come up with how attractive he had been, the green-eyed man had to be real.

"Y/n, what are you thinking about? You seem to have lost yourself in thought once again." Y/n snapped her head to the left as she walked, Niki had pulled her away from her train of thought.

"Oh, Niki... I can't decide whether or not I'm crazy." With a huff of breath, the h/c girl looked down at her hands. She began to pick at them again as they walked.

"What's going on? Maybe I can help decide if you're a madwoman or not."

"I could've sworn I danced with a stranger tonight. But I'm beginning to doubt myself. Maybe I'm just crazy."

"With a stranger?" A playful smile widened on the blonde's face, "Yes, you are a madwoman. I'm certain the king or Lord Technoblade would've ended a stranger's life tonight if they were caught dancing with you."

"He seemed to be too good to be true."

"He?" Niki raised a brow from confusion, "Y/n, did you not meet your fiance tonight?"

"I did-"

"So he's not a stranger."

"I... no Niki, I'm not referring to Prince George," Y/n shook her head, her stomach felt suddenly a bit ill. "There was another man... he towered over me, his hair was practically golden silk, his eyes were olive green. He seemed to be the type of man to only exist in fairytales."

"Wow, I'm not exactly sure what to say..."

Pausing, Y/n grabbed onto Niki's arm, stopping her pace. "Promise not to tell anyone?"

"You have my word that this will stay between us."

His grip tightened on the blade, this was the first step. When it came to pulling off plans like these, he had always been so careful. He would spend days plotting out destruction before putting it into action.

Techno was light on his feet as he walked, the last thing he wanted was to have an unwanted guest to appear. It had been weeks since he had last killed a man, but tonight he was going to get his hands bloody once again.

He had worked so hard to reach where he was today. He had been planning for one thing and one thing only: to overthrow the king and cause havoc for the Kingdom. It had all gone well until months ago when he had first received news of Y/n's arranged engagement.

But it was alright, he would be able to fix everything and go back to his original plan. All he needed was to get a moment to assassinate the one boy standing in his way from moving forward: Prince George. It would be quick and simple; a quick slash across the throat before framing it as a suicide. Schlatt may look for a new fiance for his daughter, but at least Technoblade would have a bit of time to play his cards right.

This was it. This was Prince George's room where he would be fast asleep. The door creaked open, wide enough for Techno to enter. As he passed through, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. A fire crackled in the corner of the room, the only source of light.

A be fit for a king sat on the opposite side of the room. There the prince laid, his chest falling and rising as he was fast asleep. It was all too perfect.

Staring down at the prince, Techno stood right by his bed. He could feel seconds running past him as he watched the brunette. He could've ended his life quickly, but it seemed like something was stopping him. Maybe it was the memories from earlier that night... the way Y/n smiled at her fiance, the way she laughed at his witty remarks, and blushed at his compliments. She was happy with him...

"Your highness?"

Oh no.

"I'm truly impressed with how you handled tonight, not one fight." In the middle of the party, Sap Nap and his much taller friend had become bored. Deciding to steal a bottle of rum and escaping from the ballroom, they had disappeared into the garden for a bit of light banter.

The green-eyed man couldn't help but chuckle at the knight's joke. "I know, I know. How strange was it to not try and chase me?"

"Just wait until the day I catch you."

"That day will never come, my friend. You know that." He glanced over his shoulder, looking to the garden walls. They were high, but he could easily escape if he wished. "Has the party come to an end already? It seems awfully quiet."

"Most likely, I-" Sap Nap paused, looking over his shoulder for a moment. He was the only one who had heard it. Laughter. For a moment, the pair glanced at one another. An unreadable look appeared on the green-eyed man's face, he put a finger to his mouth, implying it was time to be quiet. Steadily, he made his way towards the laughter.

As he followed the voices, he had noticed two different things; one voice had seemed so familiar. Meanwhile, a light had appeared on the path. There had to be a balcony or bridge of some sort.

Looking up he spotted the balcony. Two women stood by each other right on the edge. As fast as possible, the green-eyed man pushed himself against the castle wall, out of sight.

"I-" Y/n paused, interrupted by a noise from the garden. For a moment, the pair glanced out at the bushes. "Anyways, I think it's time for me to rest. I'll speak to you tomorrow, Niki."

The green-eyed man held himself against the wall, listening carefully for the door to open and shut. Just before he got the chance to move again, he heard a few footsteps follow back out to the balcony with a sigh. "What a night... the dancing, the drinks, all of it. But there is one thing left on my mind... I wonder where the green-eyed man is now, what a dream he was."

The green-eyed man tensed. She was speaking about him? Glancing around, it seemed the coast was clear. he pushed himself away from the wall, turning to look up at the balcony. "Your highness."

She jumped at the sight of him, he had appeared out of nowhere. "Am I drunk? Or is that really you?"

"It is me!"

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, making sure her bedroom was completely empty before looking back down at her new friend. "How did you get here? The walls are too strong and too high to be climbed, surely my knightsmen would kill you for trying to sneak through the castle."

"Let's just say this isn't my first time sneaking around," he replied with a sheepish grin and a small shrug.

"You never fail to make me swoon." The green-eyed man could feel his heart race from that sentence, his smile grew. "But please, tell me why you are here." She glanced down at him, returning the smile.

"I just wished to see you once again, your highness."

"Please, call me Y/n. But what may I call you, sir?"

"I..." He hesitated. Only two people knew his name, two people he had trusted everything with. His dear friend, Nick, and an old friend he hadn't spoken to since childhood. Would he be so willing to give his actual name to her? Usually, this wasn't a big debate for him, so why was it so hard for him to decide?

"Y/n?"

Turning to face the door, Y/n was face to face with her friend again. Niki.

"Hi Niki, what are you doing here? Not to come off as rude, but I thought I was going to be left alone for the rest of the night?" She stepped away from the balcony, entering her bedroom again. Y/n just wanted to keep Niki away from the garden just in case of the chance she would spot the mystery man.

"I just wanted to come by to collect the tea set, I know someone will be mad at me if I don't return showing I was doing something useful for you."

"Oh," the princess let out a brief laugh as a response. "I understand, if it makes things easier for you, don't hesitate to interrupt me. I know things can be hard with the head-house maid. She's never had a soft spot for you."

"I know, what a pain." Picking up the tray, Niki paused. Her eyes connected with the princess. For a moment,  the two looked at each other as a strange tension appeared from nowhere. It seemed like Niki was searching, for what? Y/n wasn't quite sure. Seconds of silence passed before it was interrupted by Niki speaking once again. "Are you alright, Y/n? You look as pale as a ghost."

"What? I'm fine, just a bit tired, that's all." Y/n was quick to respond, brushing a hand through her hair. "Need anything else, Niki?"

"No... you should really get into bed though, Y/n. It's getting late, I know you have to spend some time with Prince George tomorrow and you'll have a few errands on your schedule as well."

"Alright, goodnight Niki."

"Goodnight, Y/n."

As soon as the door closed and her friend was out of sight, Y/n rushed back out to the balcony. Her eyes scanned over the garden, yet there was no sign of him. She was only gone for a minute, how could he disappear that quick? It was a dark night, but he couldn't possibly hide away in plain sight that easily. After a few more minutes of checking over the garden, the h/c girl eventually gave up, returning to her room.

Letting out a sigh, the green-eyed man watched her enter her room once again. He knew if they were going to continue their conversation, there would be a chance of her wanting his name. He couldn't even give it to her. She was the princess, one wrong move and she could expose him to her father and he'd have his head on a platter.

Once she was obviously hidden away in her room, the green-eyed man stepped out of his hiding spot, beginning to head back to his friend. As he walked, one sentence played over and over again in his mind; 'I wonder where the green-eyed man is now, what a dream he was.' He couldn't stop thinking about what she had said. 'what a dream he was.' His gut would fill with butterflies as he thought about it over and over again. Out of nowhere, it had finally hit him. Dream. His name was Dream.​

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 8

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW for discussion of abuse and description of PTSD related flashback

Helping Gideon Lightwood visit old memories from his childhood was much harder than Alastair could have anticipated. Gideon did not know exactly where they would find the information they needed, so they had been visiting several memories where he thought he might have overheard something to do with his father’s dealings in the occult. There were several instances where Gideon had seen or heard something he hadn’t understood back then but did now. References to supernatural woman he was interested in mostly, it seemed like Benedict Lightwood had had an interest in sex with supernatural women.

So far nothing that might relate to what was happening to Thomas, though. There was an instant where Benedict Lightwood said something about a rival in business falling ill with an unsettling smile, where Gideon now realized that had been his doing, but they hadn’t yet figured out what creatures Benedict had made deals with beyond the women he’d bargained with for sexual favors. Alastair suspected the creature that might claim Thomas’ life had bargained for much more than sex. He couldn’t imagine giving up someone’s life for sex, whereas Alastair could picture a cold and heartless person such as Benedict Lightwood offering up someone’s life in exchange for money and power.

Part of the problem was that there were only so many of these memories Alastair could take and he was surprised Gideon was doing so well. It was a long time ago, of course, but Alastair couldn’t imagine ever being able to show someone else memories of his father. Not even those where he wasn’t drunk. He could talk about it, perhaps, but he could never show, he never wanted anyone to see just how defenseless he’d been.

Even seeing the memories of someone else’s neglectful father was difficult for him and the occasional racist comment brought back memories from school. Gideon surely didn’t agree with any of that, did he? Still, Alastair pushed through. This was important. This was for Thomas. He didn’t know if Thomas was right, if he was in danger, but Alastair knew he wasn’t going to let him die.

Gideon noticed after a while, it was getting difficult for him. ‘We can continue tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can tell it’s not easy for you.’

‘I’m not used to visiting other people’s memory,’ Alastair said as an excuse. ‘That’s why I’m getting tired.’

He didn’t want Gideon Lightwood to think he was weak and he couldn’t take this. Entering other people’s memories being exhausting was at least believable.

Over the next week, he easily fell into this new routine. Mornings he would go with Thomas and take a walk. They explored the different trails in the forest, and talked about books, music, history, art. Alastair felt like he was getting to know Thomas better, and the more he did, the more he fell in love. Thomas had grown up handsome, tall and muscular, yes, but he was also kind, empathetic, and conversation with him was so easy. He had many interests, and could easily talk about them for a long time. Alastair had never liked small talk much, but neither did Thomas, so instead they soon found topics they were both interested in to discuss.

He would eat lunch with Thomas and his parents, and then continue with Gideon’s memory, always careful not to take it too far. It had to be difficult for Gideon as well, to go over memories of his father, but he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was just very good at concealing his struggle for his son’s sake. Alastair could respect that.

‘Alastair, maybe we should take a break,’ Gideon said after visiting a particularly difficult memory of Benedict yelling at Gideon and his younger brother when they’d interrupted him in some occult ritual. They’d been going over memories for a week now, but so far they hadn’t found the answers they were looking for. Hints, yes, and this ritual could point them into the right direction but right now neither knew what exactly Benedict had been summoning.

They copied everything they remembered about the ritual and wrote it down, and Alastair suspected Benedict Lightwood had been summoning some creature. It was very uncommon for humans to be able to do magic, the ability Alastair had was a rare exception. He imagined Lucie’s ability was a similar exception, whereas Thomas’ sight was a little more common, but still rare. But humans could make deals with benefactors for power, something that rarely ended well. So far, it seemed Benedict Lightwood had made deals with multiple beings, some less consequential and mainly about sex, whereas others had given him the power to make opponents fall sick which must have cost. He suspected there were multiple benefactors involved, something Alastair didn’t think was common. For some people, enough was never enough.

‘Are you alright?’ Alastair asked. ‘Those memories must be difficult for you.’

Alastair was still doing the best he could to conceal how distressed it was. It wasn’t his father, it wasn’t his memory, but he’d been looking through the eyes of Gideon Lightwood with his father yelling at him, experiencing it as if he was Gideon himself. He tried his best to push back his feelings, to breathe. He narrated to himself, describing the room and its contents in a desperate attempt to not lose control. That was something his therapist had taught him, a method to ground himself in reality and assure himself he was safe.

‘I’m fine,’ Gideon said with a small smile. ‘But I can tell using your ability is difficult for you, and I don’t think it’s just because using the ability is tiring. I noticed you tensed up a bit more with every memory we visited. And the last one… I did not realize how bad that one really was before reliving it and I’m sorry for exposing you to that.’

Alastair guessed he now knew why Thomas was so annoyingly observant. It ran in the family.

The memory didn’t really take him by surprise. Nowadays, Alastair could often tell when it was coming even if he hadn’t learnt how to control it. He was thirteen years old and had come home after a particularly bad day at school and all he’d wanted was some time alone to cry and listen to some very loud music. He’d been badly bullied at the time, but he hadn’t dared tell his parents about that. Cordelia hadn’t been at home, fortunately, playing with a friend, Lucie perhaps. But his father had, and he’d noticed Alastair shaking, the tears in the corners of his eyes he’d tried to conceal. His father had been drunk, as he was always drunk, but he’d still noticed how upset Alastair was. He’d started yelling at him, calling him weak and pathetic. At the time, Alastair had still hoped he would carry cortana someday and fight monsters with it, before the sword had chosen Cordelia and Alastair had realized he’d never really wanted it anyway. His father had yelled at him that he would never be worthy of cortana, that he was weak and would run away crying at the first sight of danger, that he’d never be anything but worthless.

‘Alastair!’

Deep down, Alastair realized it wasn’t real, it was a memory and his father wasn’t here. It felt real though. He could hear Gideon Lightwood’s voice, even if all he saw was his father, stumbling drunk.

‘Alastair, I need you to breathe, alright?’

Alastair tried to take a deep breathe, in and out, like he’d practiced many times before. He always struggled with this, purposely breathing tended to make him light in the head. Still, it was better than not breathing at all.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Gideon Lightwood said.

‘I see my father, bottle in his hand,’ Alastair said with a trembling voice. ‘But that’s not real. It’s a memory. I am in the cottage, and my father isn’t here. You are here, and you’re talking to me.’

Slowly, the cottage’s living room returned and he was sitting on the couch next to Gideon Lightwood again, carefully breathing in and out in an attempt to maintain a sense of control.

‘I took it too far,’ Gideon said. ‘I am terribly sorry, Alastair. I truly didn’t realize how bad the last memory was.’

He felt his cheeks warm, ashamed to let Gideon see him like this. Most of the time, he’d been alone when such a flashback happened, or he’d had enough time to run to his bedroom or a bathroom or anywhere he would be alone. He knew rationally there was a good chance Gideon Lightwood wouldn’t think lesser of him, but a voice inside screamed at him that now everyone knew how weak he really was.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Alastair nodded, still focused on his breathing. ‘Not the English kind,’ he added.

He focused on his surroundings, told himself over and over that he was safe, that he was far away from his father and nothing bad would happen here.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Gideon returned with two cups of hot water and a selection of tea bags. It wasn’t his mother’s tea, but it would do.

‘This is not your fault,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s mine, and I’m sorry. I don’t think we should continue looking through my memories.’

‘But Thomas’ life might depend on it. And not all of them are as bad as that one.’

‘I do not remember enough to be sure a memory is safe for you and I cannot in good conscious expose you to more memories like that. We’ll find another way. Thomas wouldn’t want you to trigger your symptoms for his sake,’ Gideon said. ‘We got some information I still need to work out. I take it you haven’t often visited other people’s memories?’

‘I’ve known for some time I can enter other people’s memories as well as my own, but apart from with my family I’ve never done it,’ Alastair said. ‘It is very invasive. I can’t imagine how you could show your memories of you father to someone else.’

Sometimes he and Cordelia would watch movies in Cordelia’s memory, but beyond that he rarely visited other people’s memories.

‘It was a long time ago, and I can tell it hurt you much more than it hurt me,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s not easy, but for Thomas I can do this. I won’t ask more of you.’

‘I’m the only one I know of with this ability though,’ Alastair.

‘That’s not your fault, is it? Did you always have this ability? It was not given to you by something?’ Gideon asked.

‘As far as I know I’ve always had. I think I was seven, maybe even eight when I realized other people couldn’t revisit their own memories the way I do.’

The ability had always come natural to him even as a child, and he’d freely talked about it with classmates in primary school, leading to some very confused reactions. One time when he was five or six he’d tried to teach Cordelia how to do it, which had ended with her throwing a toy tea kettle at his head because she couldn’t do it and they were both getting frustrated. Back then his father had been very interested in his ability when he wasn’t drunk, and when he was eight he and his father had visited a memory of his father killing something monstrous in a forest in the United States, a horrifying deer like creature that had eaten a hiker. He still remembered the way it had gotten up on its hind legs, limbs all bending and twisting in the wrong way. How it had howled, the most horrifying sound Alastair had heard in his life. Alastair had had nightmares for weeks and his mother had been very angry with his father for showing him something like that when she found out.

In the years to come, his mother would yell at his father more often, but that never made him change, and she didn’t leave until Alastair was diagnosed with PTSD. She’d yell at him, beg him to go to a clinic. But his father had always refused, denied the problem, and Alastair had done the best he could to protect both his sister and his mother from him when he was drunk. He suspected even his mother had not truly seen how awful he could become when he was drunk, Alastair had made sure of that.. His diagnosis had been a wake up call for her. But at least she was safe now.

‘We need to know what being my father dealt with.’ Gideon sighed. ‘This would be much easier with his journals, but so far Tatiana ignored my calls.’

‘Perhaps if we look again,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes it helps to go over the same memory again, see if there’s something we missed. The details can make all the difference.’

‘No,’ Gideon said. ‘You just had a panic attack from my memories . It’s because of my father’s abuse, isn’t it? He brings up your bad memories of your own father. I won’t take you back into my memories, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I… I know what it is like to grow up in a broken home. So if you want to talk, I’m here and I promise I’ll keep your secrets.’

Alastair was tempted to retreat in his shell, to refuse to talk about it as he always did, but he felt oddly comfortable around Thomas’ father. He was kind and empathetic, like his son, and he’d helped him through a flashback. He suspected Gideon Lightwood understood that being told his father was a hero and being a hero came at a price wasn’t kind, even if it wasn’t the same for him. It was very clear that Benedict Lightwood was not and had never been a good person, whereas even Alastair acknowledged his father had done good things once.

‘It seems unfair,’ Alastair said after a silence. ‘To complain about my father to you. From what I’ve seen, yours was worse.’

‘It is not a competition of who has it worse, Alastair,’ Gideon said. ‘My brother and I have both found our way to move on from everything that happened. We had each other, we had friends, a support system that could help us through it. I think that until recently, you have been very alone, and that makes it much harder.’

‘Thomas has been kind to me,’ Alastair said. ‘During our morning walks the past week, but he was also kind when we went to school together. I appreciate that.’

He hated to admit it even to himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever had friends beyond Thomas. In his childhood they’d moved around often and he’d gone to so many different primary schools that he’d never been able to make friends, and when he’d gone to secondary school he’d first been bullied badly, then turned to bullying others in a desperate and hopeless attempt to protect himself. The other bullies at that school might have considered him a friend, but Alastair did not. He knew these boys would have picked him as a target if he hadn’t shown how vicious he could be with his words. And at his last school, he’d simply stopped caring and kept to himself, just cruel enough to make sure the bullies knew better than to bother him.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with my son,’ Gideon said. ‘Do you have any other friends?’

‘My sister, Lucie occasionally although we’re not close,’ Alastair said. ‘That is all. I never knew how to make friends, and it didn’t help that other children always thought I was weird.’

Alastair had always been one of the smartest children in his class, and other children could be jealous. Some thought it was impossible that a brown boy was doing better than them. Others simply didn’t understand the things he was interested in. Then there had always been children who made fun of the weird food his mother had made for lunch until he’d resigned to eat school lunches even if those were usually terrible.

Alastair considered for a moment, but then continued. ‘I did have one other friend, from when I was fourteen until recently. We mostly wrote emails to each other, texted after a while. He was about six years older than me, and at the time he was the one person I thought I could trust. But I was wrong about trusting him.’

He wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal his relationship with Charles, but at least this would give enough context on why he’d been so unwilling to trust anyone. Charles had done the best he could to isolate him, positioning himself as the one person he could trust. Charles had discouraged him from coming out to aunt Risa, which he’d considered at the time, citing that Iran was very homophobic as a reason. But just because the laws in Iran were homophobic, didn’t mean all Iranian people were and both his mother and aunt Risa had been open to learn more. And because Charles had seemed so trustworthy, so caring, Alastair no longer knew how to be sure he could trust someone. Even now he was wary, there was a voice inside screaming to run, to get away before this ended badly. It also felt nice though, talking to someone who had grown up in an abusive household and had survived. If Gideon had, maybe he could too.

‘What happened?’ Gideon asked gently.

‘I’m not sure…’ Alastair began.

‘You don’t have to tell,’ Gideon said. ‘I know it can be hard to trust someone after having your trust broken so many times.’

Alastair took a deep breath. He wanted to trust Gideon, he really did. It must be so nice to have father like him. ‘He wasn’t just a friend, we were in a relationship. I thought it was everything I could want, and for a time the illusion of being loved was enough to push away the pain. I thought that just what love was like. I left him some time ago when I finally realized what he did wasn’t alright.’

‘You said he was six years older than you?’ Gideon asked.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said. ‘I was sixteen when I entered a relationship with him. I didn’t realize at the time that it was creepy that such an older man was interested in me. I thought it meant I was mature and was so flattered by his attention.’

‘It can’t have been easy to leave him,’ Gideon said.

Alastair stared for a moment. He didn’t expect people to understand that. Cordelia was sweet and caring but he didn’t think she really understood why it had taken him so long to leave. She had a point, why keep going back when every dismissal was like being struck with a dagger? Why keep falling for his praise when Charles would mock him only moments later? Alastair didn’t understand it himself either, only that he’d genuinely loved and worshipped Charles.

‘I had help,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia spent some time trying to convince me to leave. But even when I started recognizing just how bad he was treating me, I think part of me still longed for his praise.’

‘I think you are very strong, Alastair, that you could choose what was right for you and leave him.’

They were interrupted by Thomas, who entered the room carrying a bag of groceries. Alastair was once again struck by how beautiful he was. In school, Thomas had still been small and skinny and Alastair simply hadn’t noticed him that way. But he’d grown up tall and muscular. Yet his features were still refined and handsome for someone so tall. And he was so different from Charles. Kind, empathetic, a little insecure. Thomas didn’t think emotions were a weakness that needed to be concealed, Thomas would not mock him for feeling. Back at school he’d thought Thomas must have it so easy, to be so kind, but perhaps he was kind because that was what his parents had taught him. Alastair had learnt later that sometimes, the worst people were the ones who had it easy, the ones who had everything yet wanted more. People like Charles, or like Benedict Lightwood.

He wondered sometimes if Thomas liked men as well. So far Thomas hadn’t mentioned it, but he hadn’t mentioned any past or current relationships with girls either. He wondered if he could have a chance with him, with someone who genuinely seemed to care about him in a way Charles never had. To Charles he had simply been convenient, broken and isolated and very much willing to do whatever it took to keep his lover happy and satisfied, scared he might be abandoned if he did not. He imagined it would be different with Thomas, who was closer to his age. A relationship with him would probably feel more equal, exploring both their desires and needs, and not just his partner’s. Thomas was interested in what he had to say, in his opinions, his interests. Thomas could make him laugh, something he’d rarely done the past years.

‘Did something happen, Tom?’ Gideon asked.

Alastair had to agree Thomas looked a little distressed.

‘Yes, but perhaps it’s better if I show you,’ Thomas said. ‘Alastair, would you be able to help? If you’re not too tired, that is. I know it can be exhausting.’

Alastair had used his ability much more than he was used to, but suspected he could do this. However, he preferred to know what he was getting into. He didn’t want to see something that would trigger another flashback and definitely not in front of Thomas.

‘I can do it, but since I’m tired it would be easier if you told me what you saw before diving in.’

He wasn’t sure why he kept pretending it was just his ability. It was easier somehow, a more acceptable excuse. He doubted it was believable though.

Thomas nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I saw someone, and I thought I recognized aunt Tatiana. But now I’m not complete sure, and since dad will be much more likely to recognize her I think it’s best to show. And there was someone with her I don’t know. It’s not the first time either, I think I saw her a week ago but she turned away too quickly then and I didn’t realize… It’s probably best if I show the rest.’

Alastair nodded, and he concentrated to bring both himself and Gideon into Thomas’ memory. He saw the town’s grocery store through Thomas’ eyes, and he tried to slow down the memory.

When Thomas exited the grocery store, he saw a woman enter, a girl behind her. He didn’t think either of them noticed Thomas, whose gaze was fixated on the pair. The first woman was around forty, he guessed, long brown hair and light eyes. Alastair didn’t recognize her, but had to admit she resembled Gideon. The girl behind her didn’t look anything like the Lightwoods. She was unearthly pretty with long silver blonde hair and she wore a long white summer dress that left her shoulders bare. She had to be in her late teens, a daughter? So far Gideon had mentioned Tatiana had had a son, Jesse, who died, but he’d never mentioned her having any other children, nor had Thomas mentioned anyone else. And he’d just said he didn’t know who the girl was.

‘I’m not sure it was really Tatiana, I thought maybe I was just jumpy from everything,’ Thomas said. ‘And I have no idea who that girl could be.’

Thomas turned around and took the car back to the cottage and Alastair reversed the memory, focusing on the part where Thomas had looked at the pair. Gideon has turned pale.

‘That’s her. That’s Tatiana.’

‘But who is that girl with her?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Gideon said. ‘As far as I know she had no children beside Jesse.’

Alastair took a good look at the girl, but couldn’t see anything unusual about her. Very pale blonde hair, a rosy pale skin, light eyes. She looked around sixteen, but had a perfect clear skin most girls that age didn’t have.

‘She looks kind of helpless,’ Alastair said. ‘The girl, I mean.’

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think she’s human?’

‘I’m not sure a supernatural creature could look so helpless next to a regular human woman,’ Alastair said. ‘If she was scared of something far more powerful than her, she’d probably look for another powerful being to protect her, not Tatiana. At the same time, there is something unearthly about how she looks.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to make of her, but tried to take in as many details as he could. She was dressed in a white summer dress, wearing spotless white ballerina shoes and it occurred to Alastair that if she walked around on these shoes often, they shouldn’t be so white. Alastair was glad he wore mostly black as it didn’t stain as easily.

‘I’m not so sure she’s human,’ Gideon said. ‘I’ve seen a succubus visit my father, she reminds me of her. She’s younger though, but maybe succubae and the likes were children once too.’

They left the memory, returning to the living room of the cottage the Lightwoods had rented. Gideon added some things to his notes, describing the girl.

‘At least we are sure now it was Tatiana,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think we should go talk to her, now that she’s here?’

‘If I can find out where she’s staying, yes,’ Gideon said. ‘But I think it would be best if I go see her alone, see if I can reason with her.’

Gideon left for the town to see if he could find his sister, promising he’d be back in time for dinner. Alastair hoped he would be safe, he didn’t trust Tatiana in the slightest. He understood why Gideon might want to give her a chance, he’d do the same if Cordelia turned against him. Not that he could picture that happening. She could be annoying, frustrated with him, but she’d never betray him.

Alastair decided to stay a little longer. Thomas wasn’t motivated to play chess anymore after a week of losing every game they’d played. Alastair guessed he made it too difficult, and instead opted for a game of ludo which led to much frustration on Alastair’s part. The dice seemed to favor Thomas.

‘I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re cheating,’ Alastair insisted.

Thomas threw his hands up. ‘How am I supposed to cheat. We both use the same die.’

Thomas threw the die and rolled another six. Unbelievable.

‘I’m done with this game,’ Alastair announced when Thomas had won.

‘You won at chess lots of times the past week,’ Thomas said. ‘I only won at this once.’

‘This game is stupid. You’re either cheating, or it’s just luck.’

Thomas smiled, and Alastair was very annoyed that his smile was so attractive. His lips looked soft, and Alastair very much wanted to know if they felt as soft.

‘I think you’re just a sore loser,’ Thomas said.

‘No I’m not,’ Alastair said indignantly. ‘I just don’t like it when games are solely luck based like this one.’

‘You didn’t dislike it before you lost,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘You really have to rub it in, do you?’

‘My sister Eugenia is worse,’ Thomas said. ‘Do not ever play monopoly with Eugenia, it will end in murder if she doesn’t win and she usually doesn’t.’

‘I never liked monopoly,’ Alastair said. ‘You know, the original monopoly was supposed to criticize capitalism. The modern version still does a pretty good job of showing why capitalism is terrible. Unfortunately, it goes over most people’s heads.’

‘In what sense?’ Thomas asked, and Alastair fell into a lecture on why capitalism was terrible.

Charles had been one of those people who insisted that capitalism wasn’t perfect, but it was the best system out there and modern society was only possible because of capitalism, which Alastair thought was stupid. Why assume any modern inventions were only possible because of capitalism and colonialism? When they were still together, Alastair had been very insecure in his own ideas and thoughts. Charles was so much older and wiser, he had to know better. After the break up, Alastair had realized that Charles’ ideas were stupid and mostly convenient to rich white men. He’d grown more confident in his own ideas since then, even if people tended to think he was radical.

‘You’re really passionate about this,’ Thomas said. ‘I like the way you light up when you talk.’

‘I hope you listened to what I said as well as how I said it,’ Alastair said.

‘I did, and you make some very good points,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I always thought we have to work within the system for change, but I admit I’m not expert.’

‘I’ve always been fascinated by political theory,’ Alastair said.

‘But you quit studying politics, right?’ Thomas asked.

‘Most other students didn’t take my ideas seriously,’ Alastair said. ‘Including my ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a student though, he’d already graduated by the time I started. And I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be a politician myself, having to deal with white right wingers all day is exhausting. I don’t know how to explain to them that you should care about other people.

But I spoke to some other students in the university’s multicultural association, and figured sociology might be a better fit for me, and I think doing research, figuring out new solutions and writing about them might be nicer. I’m not great at getting people to like me, let the people with better charm try to convince others I’m right.’

Alastair hadn’t socialized much, but he’d attended a couple of events hosted by the multicultural student association. Since many of the members of that association were Muslim, Alastair could be fairly certain there would be no alcohol there.

‘If it’s any consolation, I like you,’ Thomas said with another sweet smile that definitely made Alastair want to kiss him.

Charles had said the same thing at some point. With his habit of looking through memories, he tended to remember what people said word for word. But Thomas was so genuine in what he said, so open and honest, it wasn’t the same at all.

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’re clever and passionate and you never make me feel weird or stupid for my interests. And I’m glad you decided to come here this summer, even if the circumstances aren’t as great as we’d hoped. If I’m going to die, I’m glad I had the chance to know you.’

Alastair took Thomas’ hand. ‘You’re not going to die,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you.’

[leggomylino]

Sunrise | Hwang Hyunjin

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Comedy

AU: Beauty and the Beast au

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader

Word Count: ~26k

Warning(s): Minorly dark themes, vague mentions of suicide, sparse censored language

A/N: It’s finally done! <3 | For Kumi, my dear friend. <3

Playlist:

Lighthouse → Hope

forever rain → RM

Tag List: @hanniiesuckle17​ @distrikt9​ @hanstagrams​ @hyunsunq​ @smolboiseavey​ (let me know if you want to be added!)

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ 

  .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

| Zero ❧

It was no lie that Hwang Hyunjin was what he was. A monster. A crook. A fiend. 

But had that been his fault? No. Had it been his intention to piss off the old hag who showed up at his doorstep looking for shelter, who also happened to be a witch?

...Well, yes, technically. But in his defense, he hadn’t known she’d been a witch. He just assumed she was another ex-royal his father’s company had put out of business, bankrupt and seeking reconciliation. Another pawn knocked off the chess board. 

So then was any of this really his fault? 

Not in the slightest.

Late November was when colorful bouts of leaves piled in the corners and around the front doors of Everain Palace, when icy winds took hold from north arctic fronts and chilled all those who inhabited it to the bone, or at least, those unfortunate enough to end up imprisoned in the steely corridors below. Dank, gray shadows fell over the surrounding dark atmosphere of the cold stone walls, seeping in elongated coverage that fell over the once festering city of New Amber, now reduced to nothing but a sickly small town until the return of the harvest season. If anyone even bothered coming back.

It was no secret why no one ever wanted to come back. Everyone knew about the curse. Rumors spread fast, and as the head of his father’s company Hyunjin couldn’t hide his scarred face forever. Afraid of becoming infected, afraid it would spread, half of the town vanished within the first few days. Another half of what was left disappeared over the course of the following two weeks, and the number of residents continued to dwindle even after that, until Hyunjin couldn’t even tell you how many remained as of today, six years later. Ten, maybe twelve royals, some small groups of peasants temporarily settling in until they too were told about the curse, and the dark secrets of the young man who lived beyond its walls.

He was once beautiful until he ticked off the wrong old lady. Now he lives out his days staring at a reflection of who he once was.

The part he hated the most was that he couldn’t deny it was the truth.

“Mirror!” he called, clapping his hands once, twice, three times. “Where is my mirror?! Where the hell did you put it this time?!?”

Begrudgingly with a sigh a shadow cascaded down along the stone wall, manifesting into something three-dimensional only a moment later. Blue hair fluttered softly around smooth, rounded features, a lone earring sparkling faintly in the pale moonlight, accentuating ripped jeans and the confines of a pitch-black hoodie. 

The whole ensemble was tacky and incredibly outdated. “Here…” His shadow said, holding out the small ornate mirror. His contractor grabbed it with anxious greedy hands, claws already beginning to form far too early thanks to the autumn equinox.

He paced away eagerly, collapsing to his corner of comforting feather downs and soft silk sheets, as he stared at a reflection of who he once was, who he used to be. How he would look today had he just pretended not to be home that ill-fated night.

“Jisung!” He barked, glaring angrily over his shoulder. “Come here.”

The boy-shadow sighed once more, nodding slowly as he had no right to refuse the man who had complete control over him. So he slowly sulked over toward the bed, shimmering at the seams as he passed through the inanimate threshold like a waking dream. Carefully his edges began to dissolve, bit by bit, until nothing but a faint air of smoke remained, settling dispersedly around the dim-lit bedroom.

Hyunjin never took his eyes off his past-in-the-present self, who only stared back at him with vacant, mournful eyes. “Show her to me.” he demanded, gently leaning a few inches forward. “Where is she?”

With careful swirls like a rippling tide the mirror faltered, spiraling and transforming the glass picture until the prince’s face was gone, the image of a girl taking his place.

Then another one. Then another one…

The mirror suddenly cracked. His hands tightened around the steel handle, a low growl resonating from behind parted lips curled up in a snarl.

“I’m sorry…” the mirror muttered, Jisung suddenly appearing out of the cracks to stand before him. “She’s still not here. I don’t know what you want me to do abo--”

“I don’t want you to do anything!” Hyunjin snapped, throwing down the mirror and shattering it into a million more pieces. “I just want her here! What’s taking her so long? Where is she?!”

“I--” Jisung winced as a few stray shards transpired through him, the feeling still foreign even after all these years and past mirrors similarly broken. “...I think these things just take time--”

“Time?! TIME?!?” Hyunjin was beyond livid. The moment he stood his servant shrunk back, nearly folding himself into the safe confinements of the old chiseled walls. “Time is something I don’t have. You know this, Jisung. If this goes on any longer I’ll…” His voice trailed off and he gulped, snatching a fistful of hair in his sharp dark claws. “...Why isn’t she here yet? What are you not telling me?”

“Telling you? Wha--”

“Shut up and answer me!” He demanded, slamming the boy against the wall. The poor guy would have sunken through had he, again, not been under such a binding spell. Instead the only thing he could do was resentfully comply, doing all he could to spitefully avoid eye contact. 

“I’m sorry, Hyunjin. I don’t know--”

“You’re working with her, aren’t you?” Hyunjin continued with narrowed eyes. He began to shake him, tightening his chokehold around the boy’s throat. 

Jisung gasped a bit, nails gritting against the echoing stone walls. “I-I really don’...” He tried to choke out. “...I really don’t know. I swear. Honest.”

“Lies.”

The tightening intensified. Jisung felt like he was nearly going to burst.

That’s when he’d gotten the idea.

“Y-You’re right! I lied! I know where she is!”

The moment he was let go Jisung gasped for breath, grateful as the heavy sinking feeling of doom left his vacant bones. Hyunjin blinked once, twice before narrowing his eyes again, taking a careful step back. 

“...I knew you were lying to me. Where is she?”

After holding up his hand for breath, his shadow slowly looked up from his knees, straightening and readjusting his strange, stretchy cufflinks of the hooded cloak he wore. “She’s lying dormant somewhere. I can get her for you.”

“Where?”

“Under...erm,” He awkwardly coughed. “...O-Over that way...out yonder.” 

Hyunjin didn’t seem very keen on the way his servant waved his hand dismissively in the random direction of “out yonder”; but it was a risk he was willing to take. He was desperate. Three more days and...and…

“Fine,” he answered at last, lavishly turning his cape away from him to pace towards the half-opened window. “You have until sunrise to bring her to me. I won’t wait a moment longer.”

“Wha?! But she--”

“Fine! Twenty-four hours. And you better return with the right one, or else.”

He gave a precise gaze over the slender curve of his princely shoulders, and that was all it took for his shadow to sink out of sight into the folds of stone-pressed cement below, the clouds blotting out the last rays of moonlight around them.

| One ❧

“Y/n~ Y/n, hurry up!! C’mon, we’re gonna be late!!”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming…”

Your friend Rei ran another ten yards ahead, impatiently stopping for the umpteenth time for your slow-leisurely pace to match up. “Uuuugh, c’mon already!”

“I said I’m coming…!”

...Sheesh. 

Autumn season. It was the time when the leaves changed their colors, one final requiem of individuality before fluttering away in the cool breeze, carried off somewhere to decompose and fall victim to the circle of life. It was also the time you and your friend Reiya, who you casually referred to as just Rei, spent all hours of the short-lived days travelling from village to town, in order to sell the wares of your fathers’ goods. They were both merchants, you see; it’s how the two of you had met, many years ago. But they were old now, the circle of life creeping up on them as well, and since all the men in your town were either taken or losers not worth your time, each of you vowed to take over the family business, carrying it wherever the wind decided.

...And anyway, neither of you were interested in the prospects of marriage; being tied down? And taking orders from some mustached buffoon? ...No thanks. It’s not that you hated the idea of settling down, just...not in your town. Not at your age. Not yet.

This way, things worked out well-- you and Rei got to travel the continent, avoiding arranged marriage and spending time in each other’s company selling your fathers’ wares and in turn, helping them out. They were free to enjoy a peaceful retirement while you added memories of wondrous places and escaped the evil clutches of a life tied down to a broomstick and a kitchen stove. It was perfect.

...Except for days like now, when you’d both woken up late and were at risk of losing a good place to set up shop. Your bad this time.

“Hurry up!!” Rei whined, doing her famous one-tap-two-step-hurry-up dance. The balls of her slippered feet hardly touched the stone pavement of the path leading to the city, her arms flapping like a chicken as she readjusted the triple-stacked backpack of goods from falling off her bony shoulders. “Let’s go let’s go let’s go!!”

“I told you, I’m coming!” You groaned, having been stuck with cart duty. It may have been nearly empty, but it sure didn’t feel like it. Normally it took two people to steer, in addition to horsepower by your trusted steed, Carrots, but unfortunately…

Carrots had too many carrots last night. And she wasn’t doing so well. 

It wasn’t serious, but it would be at least another few hours before she got it out of her system, so this blissfully unfortunate morning it was you and Rei having to wing it...with you having pulled the short end of the stick.

“Nnnneiiigh,” Carrots groaned from behind you. You gave her a gentle pat while trying your best to nudge the cart over the last hill. 

“It’s alright, girl. We’re almost there. Just a little farther.”

She let out a whine, almost seeming to nod in understanding.

“Ahh, hurry!” Rei called again, making haste for the city gate’s checkpoint line. All merchants and traveling businessmen (or women) were required to have their items evaluated and checked by city officials before being licensed a temporary warrant to sell.

When you made it to the top of the hill, already out of breath, you deflated-- then just about fell over when you saw how long the line was.

Oh man. This is all my fault. We shouldn’t have stayed up so late…

“You look like you could use a hand.”

You turned around to find a tall...ish, slender boy, with hair the color of chocolate and big, round eyes to match. A single silver earring hung from his right ear. “Oh, uh, that’s okay…”

“...Han,” he clarified, gripping one side of the cart. “Han Jisung. Just let me handle this. You should probably go help your friend; she looks like she’s about to fall over.”

You peered around the other side of the small wagon to see that, indeed, Rei was playing a game of balance, swaying a bit too far this way and that as she wobbled on flat calloused feet toward the back of the long line. But you? Leaving your father’s shop in a stranger’s hands? Even if it was in a populated area, and he did seem genuine…

“That’s okay.” You told him, grabbing tighter onto your side. “I can take it myself, I’m used to it. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“...” He blinked at you a moment, doing nothing at all but staring. Just when you were considering calling for Rei to come back, though, he laid off, tossing smooth hands in the air before shoving them in the front pocket of the strange cloak he wore. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to scare you or anything. If you insist, I’ll be on my way.”

He let go, and you felt the full weight of the cart pull your body downward, gravity affecting you in the worst way. ...Maybe…

“Um, hold on!” You shouted, and he stopped a quarter of the way down the hill, glancing up at you expectantly from over his left shoulder. Curse him. “Yeah?”

“...” You set your pride and suspicions aside. “...It would actually...well, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to help. Just to the base of the hill.”

His eyes did the smiling for him, and was back at your side in seconds, taking the right flank while you managed Carrots and the left.

“Mind if I ask you something?” He pipped just steps later, eyes peering at you from over the cart as he jumped like a small puppy trying to see over a counter space. You groaned.

“I suppose I have no choice, so, sure. What is it?”

“Well…” He was beginning to mumble. “I know this may seem kind of sudden but, I have this...friend…”

“No.”

“Huh?”

The cart stopped rolling, delaying your schedule that much farther. “If this is headed where I think it is, I’m sorry but, I’m not interested. I’m very busy and I don’t have time for...love. Or a relationship. Other than the one I share with my customers.”

“Oh! No, no! Hahah…” Han had let go of the cart as well, scratching his cheek. “I-It’s not that! Nothing like that...I…”

His explanation was cut off by your sudden gasp, lunging forward to grab the cart as it started to descend down the steep slope. But it was too late; it slipped out of your grip like butter in a frying pan. “Oh no!”

The cart raced down the hill, gaining momentum and speed the farther it went. Crowds of people gasped as well, jumping and throwing themselves out of the speeding wagon’s path, until…

It reached the bottom, but it kept going. And it was headed right for Rei. 

Horror-stricken, you jolted, racing down whilst cupping your lips to scream out a warning call. “Rei! Look out!!”

Rei turned around. Her eyes widened.

But she remained unscathed. In the blink of an eye something dark and ink-like had raced over the pavement and grass fields; it manifested beneath the wheels, and the cart just...stopped.

“Rei!!” You cried, letting go of Carrots to plunder to her side. She’d fainted, but Han was there to catch her.

Han…

You stared him down nervously from the other side. “...How did you get here so fast?”

He carried your friend to the shade of the forest surrounding the city walls, others whispering and already beginning to spread gossip. You tried to block it out and ignore the intense stares and glaring from eighty-or-so business-competitors, following Rei’s limp body and coming to rest beside it, pulling her head into your lap. 

Though you were out of earshot, the whispering and curious eyes still followed you; so not good for business.

“Hey. I asked you something,” you said again, making sure to keep one eye on him, and one on the cart. “How did you get down there before I did? I didn’t even see you move.”

The strange boy didn’t say anything, save for laughing a bit. He then proceeded to ask you the oddest thing: “A man, or a beast...do you think we have a choice? On what we want to be?”

“What?” Your brow furrowed to form one solid unibrow. “Don’t ignore me. I asked you first. How did you get down there so quickly?”

Still, he refused to answer. “Technically, I asked you first. So you have to answer me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” you replied, “but I will call for help if you don’t answer me right now.”

Seeing the anger on your face, the boy calling himself Han looked out into the near-distance, at the line steadily encouching forward and now forming a beeline around your abandoned shop. “Well, given that we are out of earshot...it’s not much of a threat, but...still,” he shrugged, almost to himself. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that.”

He set himself down criss cross applesauce, next to Rei’s spaghetti legs. You huffed, attempting to protectively heave her a smidge closer to you. “Alright, well, go on.”

He gave you the goofiest grin. “Well, it’s quite simple, really! I just swooped under the wagon, and jimmied the breaks! Worked like a charm!”

You frowned, not at all appeased with that answer. “You...jimmied the brakes?”

“Yep!”

“And it just...stopped.”

“That’s right.”

���...You dove beneath a speeding wagon and managed to attach yourself underneath?”

“That’s what it sounds like~”

“That’s what it sounds like?!”

“Look, we can point fingers all day at who-did-what, but if you don’t hurry and get back in line, you’re not gonna have any place at all to set up your little shop of knick knacks or...whatever it is that you sell. Is that a snow globe?” He asked, reaching for Rei’s bag. You swatted his hand away.

“...Fine, whatever. Thanks for saving her, I guess…”

“And?”

You pressed a kerchief from your pocket to Rei’s forehead, smoothing ebony locks from her face. “And?”

Han smiled. Again. “You gotta pay me back somehow, right?”

“For doing a good deed? Do I?” You scoffed. “And here I thought you were doing it just to be kind…”

“Well now you know~ ...I mean—“ He swallowed at the glare you gave him. “...What I mean is, I did do it. To be kind. But I’d love if it you could still pay me back by coming with me to—“

“I’m not going anywhere with you or your dumb friend, if that’s what you’re asking. Just save it for the birds.”

Rei was starting to stir, twitching slightly, her eyes squinting in and out of consciousness. You began patting her cheeks and calling her name, but unfortunately, she still wasn’t fully there yet. That, and the annoying man at the other side of her wasn’t finished. “I have a proposal for you,” he stated.

“A proposal?” You didn’t like the sound of that. “...I’m not interested. Look, I’ll just, give you something from my shop, and you can be on your merry way, okay? Here, what about that snow globe you were eyeing before?” You reached over Rei’s body, fishing it out and handing him the novelty. “Take it. It’s yours.”

The glass globe held the contents of a small gray castle, surrounded in a sea of red roses. Han took the globe from your hand, examining the structure and looking almost nostalgically somber as he watched the fake snow fall. “...Thank you, but it’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?” You groaned. “Look, just take whatever. I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. I have more important things to worry about right now.”

“...What I want,” Han said, ignoring that last part of your statement, “is for you to answer my question.”

“What? What quest— aah, I told you already, I’m not—!”

“A man, or a beast? As individuals, do we have a choice?”

The way he’d cut you off and stated his query so seriously made your head spin; it certainly caught you off guard, that was for sure. “...I’m sorry...I don’t understand the question.”

“Hmm…” Han thought. “...Imagine you were put under a...spell. A spell that turned you into a hideous monster, with fangs and claws and fur in places you’d never imagined...but it comes and goes, this curse of yours.” He tilted his head. “Are you still human? Or are you now a beast?”

Thoughts slowly circled your mind, not knowing what to think. You had no idea where any of this had come from, the only responses coming to mind countering questions: who is Han, what is he up to, why did he want to know what you thought of such a peculiar idea…

“Well?” He egged, leaning backwards.

“...I...I don’t know,” you confessed, listing your gaze aside. “I really have no idea where you got such a crazy idea from.”

“Okay...then let me ask you this. I’ll help you out.”

What? Help you out?

He leaned forward this time. “Do you think we have a choice? Is it possible to define ourselves as one or the other?”

“Well...yes, I would think so.” Your eyes met his, hoping that if you gave him an honest answer, perhaps he would leave. “We all have a choice— to be monsters, or men. It is not a matter of blood, or a spell, but a condition of the heart.”

You didn’t know it, as you’d turned away; but the moment those words left your parted lips, his eyes shone with the hope of a thousand suns, dawning the horizon after the longest winter storm. 

You’d turned away to shuffle for a bucket and some more handkerchiefs in Rei’s Bag of Wonders, holding out the bucket without turning your eyes away. “I changed my mind. Make yourself useful and get me some water from the nearby stream, or in town, whatever. Just—“

But when you cast your eyes back to where Han was sitting, he was gone.

| Two ❧

“You must have been having one hell of a dream to stay passed out for so long.”

“Ahaha…” Rei buried her fingers in her hair, entangling them in the sea of ebony that flowed behind her and came to a steady delta tied near the ends. “Sorry about that. It was like I wanted to wake up, but I just couldn’t. Like something...some kind of invisible wall was preventing me from doing so.”

“Hmm…”

The two of you had made it into town safely, with little trouble other than what you’d previously gone through with that strange boy, Han. After getting checked in and circling the shopping district three times, your luck finally began turning around when one of the vendors apparently felt ill and decided to turn in early; bad for him, but great for the two of you. The spot couldn’t have been more perfect, either: positioned right in the center of all the hustle and bustle, it attracted plenty of attention, and the moment you set up shop, customers came lining up at the window.

The two of you worked for hours to make up lost time, grinding your fingers to the bone, shuffling around each other to count coins, search for wares, and sign receipts of official purchase. By the time the lunch bell rang, you and Rei were about ready to fall over.

“I’m tired,” Rei moaned, collapsing to her knees and digging under the counter for your grocery supply. Woefully, her hand came back...empty. “Ah, we’re all out of bread! And apples…”

“What about that bag of trail mix you bought two days ago?” You asked while organizing receipts. Someone had to do it, and you knew Rei sure as heck wasn’t going to.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Carrots and I polished it off yesterday. ...Oh, carrots.” Her stomach growled right on cue, a forlorn sigh escaping dry lips. “...I’m so hungry...”

Something about that previous statement made you pause, inclining your head to the right in thought. …Carrots…Carrots…?

...Oh no. Oh hell’s bells, you’d completely forgotten about Carrots!

Without a moment to lose you dropped the stack of receipts you’d been tidying up onto the counter, hopping out of the wagon and running as fast as your boot-clad feet could take you. Your knees were still stiff and exhaustion weighed you down, but you couldn’t allow that to stop you. Not when that poor (dumb) horse was wandering and hopefully still waiting for you.

“Hey!” Rei yelled, her head leaning out the window. “Where are you going?! You forgot your coin purse!” She waved said object in the air, as if asking for a thief to come and swipe it. “I want lemons and some gum drops! I saw a candy shop about a block down!!”

“You can’t have candy for lunch!” You hollered back. “And I can’t right now, you’ll have to get lunch yourself today. There’s something I forgot.”

Her confused expression said everything else for her, but you didn’t have time to chat about lunch plans. You had to get that horse.

You ran with all your might (what little you had left) out of the shopping district, down three blocks, and past the city gate...that is, until a guard stopped you.

“Woooah there, little miss.” The man grabbed your arm, effectively pulling you backward; and he had quite the grip to boot. “I’m afraid you can’t just go hauling eighty out here like that. I’ll need to see some I.D.”

You cast anxiety-riddled eyes to the man, making sure each gesture showcased your anger. “What? To leave the city? ...But I’m leaving, not entering!” Your anxious gaze sought out into the trees, the pastures of bitter decay and spooky autumn silence where Carrots was last seen. “Please, I need to get out there. My horse is missing, I’m afraid I forgot about her after a...mishap...and ended up abandoning her. She’s sick, so I don’t have time to play games!”

“That’s all fine and dandy, ma’am, but rules are rules. Show me your I.D., please.”

“I…! …”

Reluctantly, you yanked your arm away, digging for…

...Nothing, because you’d forgotten your coin purse. The image of Rei waving it with pride and worry left a bitter taste in your mouth. And your vendor verification permit was left in the shop, as well. “...I don’t have any. My permit is with my co-partner, back in the shopping district.”

“Hm. Well, you’ll just have to go back and get it, then.”

“What?! I don’t have time for that!” You turned pleading eyes to the officer, prayerfully searching for understanding alongside a missing horse. “Please sir, she couldn’t have wandered very far. I’ll be right back! I’m only going--”

He shook his head. “Sorry miss, like I said, rules are rules. Because of the recent string of kidnappings, all residents and visitors alike are required to provide valid identification before coming in or leaving city walls. Mayor’s orders.”

You’d been thinking about making a run for it or finding another guard to reason with until the word kidnappings made its way into the conversation. Normally you would have been curious and not too concerned...however… 

...That’s considering you heard it from a local paper floating in the breeze, or along the gossiping grapevine from one vendor to another, one chatty socialite to the next whispering to each other among the lively bustle of city life. Why were you just now hearing about it here? From an officer? How long had this been going on?

In all the questioning silence, you basically forgot about...what was it you were looking for again? “Um, forgive me for prying, but...kidnappings?”

“...E-Er...that’s...” The officer flinched, taking a half step back. “...Um...well...dammit all…” He removed his thick uniform hat, scratching his head a moment before readjusting it to fit tall and proud. He cleared his throat. “...Please forget I said anything. If you wish to leave the city, I’ll need to see some valid I.D.”

“......”

He simply stood there, pretending as if nothing had happened. The only proof you had was the sweat swimming along his forehead, but surely he’d blame that on the nonexistent autumn heat and the fullness of his uniform.

You had no choice but to reenter the masses.

- ❧ -

When you return to the gates, the same officer approved of your vending license (still sweating from that “autumn heat,”) signalling for the men in the tower to let you through. It was late afternoon now, the skyline growing dangerously close to dusk; when you’d returned to shop a while earlier, you couldn’t admit to Rei that you’d lost her best friend next to you (though some friend she was having no idea about the whole thing...), so you were left with little choice but to play along and have lunch until it was time to work again. The late-day crowds were always far less stressful than morning shifts, so confident she would be fine on her own you took back off for the South entrance the moment the work bell rang.

“Carrots...Carrots...looking for a food-poisoned horse…”

Sigh. The words were a groan from your lips as you trudged about a floor of dead leaves and twisted bare tree branches. The skyline was starting to wear thin, every step you took noisy and either resulting in startling a field mouse or alerting a wandering bear out of hibernation of your whereabouts. Not an ideal situation to be in.

I’ve been wandering these woods for three hours now. Dang it, where is she?! ...Normally, Carrots was a good horse; she followed you around, did as told, and when you did lose her (...as this wasn’t the first time…) she stayed put and waited for you to return; like that time in Cresentmoon Harbor (for it was literally shaped like a crescent), when you and Rei had been so distracted by some dashingly handsome fisherman named Minhee and wanted to hear his tales of the rough blue sea that you’d, yes, left your horse astray, where a group of thugs almost snatched her. 

That had actually been a fun day, watching Rei throw apples and trinkets and club the ringleader with his own beatstick. This time, however, you’d known exactly where you left her. You were sure there were no gangs or thugs near a place like this; not a clean-cut, safeguarded place like Westwind...any yet, Carrots hadn’t been there. Not at the top of the hill where you left her, or beneath it, beside it, or anywhere nearby.

...Although...didn’t that cityguard mention something about kidnappings?!

That stupid horse. I knew I should have overruled Rei and named her Dumdum. She went and got herself kidnapped! URGH, I had to go pulling the short end of the stick today--

A sharp wind blew by without warning, causing you to shiver. Mournfully, you wondered if maybe you should turn back and enlist Rei’s help after all...have her summon back that courageous, beatstick-smacking frenzy… 

Oh, but how heartbroken she’d be to hear of Carrot's disappearance! ...It was all for naught, though... 

Carefully, you turned around and began walking the way you came, one step, then two...then stopped. Looking out into the moors, the forest beyond, the stretch of trees and forest decay that went on for miles and miles seemed...different, somehow. It went on for miles and miles and...miles and miles and miles. It didn’t seem to have an end.

I know I didn’t walk that far… Now now, Y/n. Can’t see the forest for the trees, hm? It’s no big deal, I just wandered a bit farther than I thought. I’ll start heading back now.

Because Rei was the fun-loving, clueless bubbly-type, you had to be the strong one (not including Wild, Pissed-Off Rei). You were the confident, analytical, and ambitious of the two. You prefered logic and data, and relied almost whole-heartedly on common sense, with few exceptions. And as any rational person of your nature would, you’d made sure to mark the entire way you’d come; so it was no big deal, wandering out a bit farther than you had intended. 

...Except...

...The first marker never came. Not after five minutes, not after ten. You walked in the opposite direction for precisely 1,000 steps and counting, and all that greeted you were the same exact scene of bare trees and dead leaves. In the same order. In the same tones and volumes and shapes.

It was going to start getting dark in the next two hours. You stopped, thinking. Running numbers. Fishing for data…...fishing…...fish…...Minhee...heheh…

No, no! Staying on track was crucial at a time like this…! 

But you ended up standing there, for another ten, twenty minutes maybe, not sure what to do. There was a strange vibe in the air, you could feel it. The way it wafted through the air and settled on your skin. Rattling your bones. It almost felt like it was bribing you in another direction. 

So you did an illogical thing unlike your nature: you kept walking straight ahead, ignoring it for as long as you could. But dammit, the scenery never changed! Not after an hour, not after two… 

You were tired at this point, collapsing hopelessly by the same tree you passed a hundred times...and then you got an idea, like a fog lifting from your brain (Why hadn’t you thought of this sooner?!). Grabbing a twig, you made a small notch in the tree. Then you took off running, jogging at a brisk pace. Never making a single right or left turn, not even in the slightest. Headed only one direction, following alongside the setting sun.

That same notch bid you a pleasant hello eight and a half minutes later. To make sure it wasn’t just a coincidence, you walked another eight and a half minutes; same notch, same place, same twig resting lifelessly to the right. Same tree.

It was getting dark now. Soon the sun would be completely gone over the horizon, tucked away for twelve hours of sleep before returning to shine light on a new day. And you had no horse to show for it; more importantly, you were lost. Trapped in some kind of...weird bermuda triangle of decaying forest with no sign of life anywhere. 

Great, just great. I hate my luck… wait… 

...Ah, yes. Conveniently, just when you’d thought to possibly scream out your frustrations into your work apron, rattling on about how much luck despises you, and how you despise her back, maybe shed a few tears since no one was around, a tower of billowing smoke caught your attention, a sign of life that hadn’t been there before. 

. . . 

You should have been more cautious. Normally, you would have been. But given recent events…

“Hello…?” You called softly, pushing the door open; though, let’s be honest, the door really seemed to just...open itself. “Is anybody here?”

The house was old and worn. A small cottage just big enough for one, it must have been at some point; now, it was practically all but decayed along with the surrounding forest. Another heap of dead wood and rotted roots among many. A faintly ripe and sickeningly sweet scent wafted about the torn chamber, wrapping around sagging furniture, torn drapes, and a half-caved roof that gave clear sight to the full moon, bulging and cackling in a clouded manner.

It was a stark contrast to the decrepit old woman beckoning you from within. 

“Yes, yes… Come in, my child.”

| Three ❧

A few hours earlier, Han Jisung had just been minding his own business, a faceless shadow of a dark hood browsing Westwind goods, humming a fiery tune, all while coming up with a plan for smuggling an innocent human girl into the cursed city of New Amber. He was pleasantly aware of the time; he had exactly ten hours left before he was due back at the palace, girl in tow, in order to keep his handsome blue-haired head and devilishly charming eyes.

He had time. The two cities may have been four hours apart on horseback, a diagonal stretch of twisted forest and steep valleys between them, but being a shadow he could just-- ...zip...and zig...and...zag...right beneath the… … … 

...He wouldn’t be returning alone. He was transporting a human girl. That had no magical curse or powers to speak. The only way to return was the old-fashioned way...which meant…

He only had half the time he thought he did. Balls.

Making his way through the afternoon crowds, he followed three winding back alleyways before making sure the coast was clear of wandering eyes, seeping into the broken cobblestone and dashing through history below, long forgotten structures and fossils of stories past: a mineshaft, a tavern sign, a snuffed-out bonfire. At just a block away he set out a brisk pace for where he last placed a tracking mark upon the one known as Rei.

It had been a simple plan; since Y/n was impossible to get near, he merely embedded a small tadpole of his shadowy spirit into the other. Since they traveled together, where one was found, the other wouldn’t be far behind. Find Rei, find Y/n.

But beside that fact, it was starting to itch; being without a part of him for too long caused an empty, nagging feeling to rise and fall through his bones like a waxing, waning tide, going back and forth, back and forth. It got downright maddening after a while, almost like an addiction, to the point where eventually, he couldn’t stand to be without himself any longer. If he wasn’t whole, what was he?

...For a shadow...being whole meant everything.

“I see you’re feeling better,” he greeted her, the girl whose life he very well saved. Rei turned around from her stockpile of cash, where she placed many bags of coins in the Candy For Me! ♫ pile and few in the Dumb Taxes :( pile.

“Oh, hey, I know you!” Her face lit up tenfold; an oddity given the fact she should have been unconscious for ninety-percent of their previous encounter... “You’re the guy that saved me before! I thought you looked familiar!”

She threw a tarp over the stacks of cash she’d been organizing before, as if that was going to...protect it, or something. She rested her chin in palm, elbows propped upon the counter space. Smiled.

“So what brings you by? What can I help you with? Oh,” she smirked, wagging a single brow. “Could I interest you in this love potion?” 

A bottle of perfume made its way between them from out of nowhere, dangling like mistletoe. It...Han couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for Y/n by chance, would you~?” Rei asked.

The proposed bottle had the painted label scratched off, where the replaced paint job read Love Potion No.9, along with a price tag of thirty-five coins. Han chuckled, doing his best to play off the awkward gesture. He had to tear his eyes away from it.

“Thank you, but no,” he stated, gently lowering her arm to the table. The sliver of his missing portion swam back into him, through his fingertips and up his arm, and this didn’t seem to go unnoticed by Rei, though he distracted her into shrugging it off. “I actually am looking for Y/n, if you happen to know where she is? I suppose you’re right about that part, actually.”

“Oh? Really?!” Rei’s face lit tenfold...again. She squealed. “Eeeeek, I knew it! Oh, I just love when this happens!”

Her face thrust straight into his, nearly close enough to kiss. It startled him into backing distance. 

“What is it?!?” She cried excitedly. “What do you need to see her for?! Oh, please tell me it’s to exchange letters! Or trinkets!” She looked like the shadiest business woman ever in the next second. “Y/n may have said she was organizing paperwork, but I knew what was really going on. Tee-hee!”

“...Ahh…” ...Shoot, what the hell was he supposed to say?! This girl didn’t seem like the type to appreciate being let down... “...There’s something I…” He gulped. “There’s something I wish to show her. Before setting out, that is.”

“Oh…” Her frown encased her disappointment. “I see...well, actually…” She twirled a strand of sleek black hair away from her tan complexion. “Y/n left about an hour ago...no, it has to have been longer than that…” Her frown deepened, looking off into the distance. “She took off as soon as lunch ended, and she hasn’t come back yet. I think she said she was looking for something…? But…” 

Now she was looking down vacantly into the counterspace. There was a dull sheen in her eyes.

“...I’m starting to worry. Y/n never just runs off for hours on end like this. It’s not like her at all. ...What if something…”

Han put a stop to that thought: one, because he hated seeing girls cry, and two, because he could tell she was the messy-crier that would get snot and tissues everywhere, including his hair and earring; also there was three: his ass on a silver platter, courtesy of His Angry-Cursed-Forever Highness. If he failed to secure Y/n…

He didn’t wanna think about it. Which is why he swiftly set Rei upright, patting her shoulders and promising that he would go out and look for her. She couldn’t have wandered far, seeing as her whole livelihood was on the line (and in the hands of someone like Rei…whom he didn’t know that well, but still…)

“Can you give me an idea of where she may have gone? Which way did she go?”

“Yeah, sure! She went that way, and, oh yeah, she took our vending license with her! Do you think she could have gone to City Hall, maybe…?”

It was unlikely. City Hall was in the other direction, to the north-east; and according to Rei, Y/n had ventured south. The only thing there was lower-class common folk and the city gates, meaning the only conclusion he could come to was that she needed to verify her legitimacy in order to continue business, or she needed out.

After questioning some guards under a guise of glamour and shade (which was necessary for...private reasons), he was at last directed to a middle-aged man who claimed to have allowed the girl to leave some three to four hours ago. Before they could get an answer out of him as to why he wanted to know, Han vanished into the shadows like a thief in the night, slipping through the straying crowds towards the nearest alleyway, where he plopped down, zipped below, and popped right back up on the other side of the great city wall.

Removing his hood, he looked around, scanning the area for any clues of Y/n’s whereabouts. But, of course, nothing.

Dammit, it was getting late! It was already late!

Han bit his nails, fuming. Pacing. He was going to be in so much trouble if he didn’t…!

...Sigh. Screw it all. He’d just have to look for her. If he found her fast enough, he could come up with some plan to make it back to Everain before sunrise.

He began his search heading South, into the clamour of trees. Past one tree, two, five, twenty. Deeper and deeper he traveled, gradually becoming one with the earth and expanding his search among the elements. Beneath the earth, brushing against roots of trees and flowerbeds, he could “see” everything-- as far as a twelve mile radius. 

His shadowed extensions stretched over the land, covering all ground within reach like the hands of a clock, time traveling faster and faster until…!

...He found it. Er, her. His senses zoomed in on a house, caved in from years of age and resentment, crumbling to dust even now outside the confines of Y/n...and……someone else…

...Someone he knew.

Out of breath, he nearly choked in the enclosure of his own realm, eyes wide and heart frozen stiff. It took every last bit of strength to push himself free, for he couldn’t escape fast enough; not when a demonic witch like her was around. 

Except...he’d started to run the wrong way. And then he stopped entirely, unable to move.

He hated that decrepit old hag. After everything that happened...the magic, the sorrow, the black fires of hell...he wanted nothing to do with her. He’d sworn that the moment he saw her again, it would be too soon. The witch that had taken his humanity.

It was she who had cast them all to hell in a handbasket, after all.

Standing there beneath the blotted night, gentle caresses of wind cascading and percolating through strands of brown and blue, he looked down to his bare hands, setting focus to the rivets of small scars where rivers of shadow flooded his veins.

A knock at the door. A sneer. A warning glare.

He tightened his grip on the air, so free and billowing carelessly in contrast to him.

A push. A harsh remark. A confident smile.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Anger… Resentment… Fire…

And…then…

He gasped for air once more. Not now. Now was not the time to think. He needed to act, to push all of this past him. It was the only way to break the curse and save Hyunjin, and in return, himself. The entire palace of Everain— the whole city, perhaps— was counting on him.

...Shadow. The only thing I remember...is black.

 Cringing, he threw caution to the wind, where fear was meant to reside with the birds.

- ❧ -

The house was as old and vile as the woman who lived there. Vines snaked and slithered their way around the entire enclosure like a brood of thorned vipers, between cracks in the wall panels and over the steps leading to a gaping front door, just asking to trip its prey into it’s dark clutches. Into her clutches; those wrinkled leathered hands dripping with metaphorical blood and darkness.

Han hated all of it. He’d known about the Witch’s home for a long time, but he refused to ever step foot on her accursed soil (...until now, that is). The problem was, her biome was always changing, shifting and teleporting all over the place. Few unlucky souls who had survived to see it dubbed it Howl’s Moving Castle.

That title entirely ruined the book for him. Not that he particularly enjoyed reading, anyway; but he refused to lift it or so much as look at the book’s spine resting in the lavish, dusty library back home.

“Hey,” he called, marching right in. There wasn’t time for cold feet or second thoughts; if he didn’t have Y/n, there would be no point in going back. Returning without Y/n meant certain death via Hyunjin, but going through the Witch’s Biome meant likely death via whatever disdainful plot the Witch could come up with. At least facing the Witch’s path, he had a slim chance of making it out alive. If he were fast enough.

He’d thought about it on the way over: before, he had no powers to speak of. He’d been a regular, average teenage boy just trying to make it up and through adulthood, figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. But with the Witch’s curse, all that changed; he was essentially one with the darkness; and darkness was everywhere. Especially here. 

Assuming Y/n was conscious and able to move, he calculated that with high enough confidence and self-esteem, he should have no problem distracting the foul old hag long enough for his last hope to escape. (And Lord knew he had plenty of that to go around...)

Darkness clouded the entire room, choking out all light save for a few small rays of moonlight. The temperature seemed to be dropping 10 degrees every second. “Hello?” He tried again, checking left, right. “I...I know you’re here. Witch.” He was already beginning to seethe. “Come out. Where is Y/n?”

There was no response. Nothing creaked, no one croaked. Not even the wind outside made a sound.

Then something darted behind him, to the right, and he parried the opposite direction, biting his lower lip. Here it came. The worst part.

A single field mouse made its way into the faint slivers of rooftop moonlight. And there it sat, perched on its hind legs, whiskers twitching and tail dancing rhythmically across the uneven floor.

“How do you like?” came a creaky frail voice from beyond. Her voice was a sour note to his ears.

Han gritted his teeth, tasting blood on the horizon. “I’m not here to rate your latest experiments,” he spat. “That better not be Y/n. Show yourself, now.”

A lingering moment passed before the fleabag chuckled, stepping ancient bones into the small pool of light. “Alright, alright,” she said, in a mockingly chiding tone. “No need to get so angry. That’s what got your friend into so much trouble, after all. And look what it did to you.”

Two minutes in, and she was already hitting a nerve. Nerves that needed to remain untouched were his plan to go smoothly. “Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t take orders from you. You already ruined me. What more could you possibly do?”

A dark foreboding thought brewed up a storm in her eyes, just lingering on the edge of sanity. “Believe me,” she rasped, “I showed you both mercy.”

Han flinched. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to explode, yet cower in terror, all at once. He was livid, yet terrified-- anxious-- and a little sick to his stomach. “Give me Y/n. Right now. I didn’t come here to chat.”

The old woman smiled. “I can’t,” she simply stated, not moving an inch.

“Why not?!”

“Because you’re standing on her.”

Horrified, Han shot his gaze downward. Corsarn, he didn’t think he’d been standing on anything but the…!

But there was nothing but paled wooden planks. The Witch laughed. “Ahahah, not physically on her, dear. Though this house is so old, you may as well be...I’m surprised the floors haven’t caved in to match the roof.”

After holding her gaze a moment too long, he took a step back, flitting his eyes between Witch and supposedly underground wardrobe. “Open the door. Slowly.”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to be taking your orders?” She scoffed, sighing at the end. “My, how times have changed…”

“Just do it!” he ordered.

The Witch gave a stern, slight scowl. “Oh, fine. I’m out of enough magic to put another curse on you anyway,” she muttered. Tapping her ancient walking stick once, twice upon the rotting floors, something clicked below, and the square space where Han had been standing swung open. “Just so you know,” she added, “I took the liberty of having a little fun, as you probably already guessed. She’ll be out for a few hours, but I don’t foresee death in her future; at least, not in the near one,” she chuckled.

“You--!” ...Rrgh. He still had to bite his tongue. His lip was already going to be busted and sore tomorrow. 

Trotting down steadily with caution, before the gaze of a putrid old smile he descended the hidden staircase, never once letting his guard down. The girl he sought was safely snoozing in one piece, lying like a waking dream...other than being unconscious.

He gathered her up, using shadow to cross the room, just in case a trap was lying dormant on the way over, and with Y/n in his arms, he almost thought about attempting to drag her into the Shadowworld with him, just so he didn’t have to face the old has-been again and make a clean getaway.

But it was too risky. And likely, it wouldn’t work; so carefully, he placed one nimble foot in front of the other, across the blank room, up the stairs, and into the familiar darkness from moments before. The Witch was still waiting for him, still as a statue in the exact location she had been. She followed him all the way to the door, tittering at his suspicion of the whole thing. 

She then watched as they made it off the porch. “Here,” she announced, sensing his urgency; for he’d just been about to make a run for it before she called him.

Nervously, he turned around halfway, holding Y/n tighter.

The bat continued her chuckling. She scooped down surprisingly swift, tossing something gray and furry into the air. It landed haphazardly onto his arm, clinging for dear life to his sleeve with a faint squeak! before scampering up to his shoulder. “Take him,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “I have no need for the pitiful thing. He can keep you company on your way back.”

Company? Oh, no no no. He didn’t think so. He wasn’t stupid; Han knew of her tricks. The rat was probably a spy, or some kind of ticking time bomb. Forcefully, he shifted his grip on the girl, snatching the creature from its place--

...Except, he meant to throw it back. He did. He would have tossed the wretched thing to the ground and stomped on its brains without a second thought.

But it’d cried. Shrieked. Wailed. He knew the sound of terror when it howled.

Glancing up, he saw that it was crying. Actually crying.

Something was off. It had to be human...or at least, have some sort of intelligent wit.

Loosening his grip, he allowed the creature to squirm and wiggle its way free, scampering up his arm and tucking itself fearfully in the pouch of his hood with a nosedive. Sensations of trembling fell against his upper backside.

“Take care on your way home; you may need it.” 

A twisted smile. Tch.

Glowering amongst the laughter, he left the darkness behind him.

| Four ❧

“How may I assist you, dear?” The old woman asked.

Your eyes scanned the area, dilating and adjusting to the faint light. “I’m sorry,” you began, giving a small, polite bow. “I didn’t know anyone was home.”

“Oh, now, that’s alright~” The woman insisted, beckoning you farther in. “Come, come, sit! Make yourself a home. I’m the one who invited you in, yes?”

“...” Carefully you nodded, moving with caution to take a seat at the dusty worn table. 

“Now,” she said, popping joints as she settled across from you. “What can I do for you today?”

“...Do for me?”

She chuckled. “Yes, yes…” Her eyes were impenetrable, boring into yours. You had trouble looking away. “No one comes here without a purpose. There are no happy accidents.”

“......” Again, you found yourself hesitating, having trouble forming the right words. Words were becoming a limited resource all of a sudden. 

“Well~?” the woman pressed.

“...” You swallowed dryly. Something just wasn’t right; but who were you to lie to an old woman? In her own home, nonetheless. “I’m looking for someone...my horse, actually.”

“Hmm, I see…”

“She wandered off...well, no, that’s not true.” You sighed. “I left her by accident. I abandoned her without meaning to, out front of Westwind city. We’d woken up late, my friend and I, and in our hurry and a near-death experience thanks to someone, I ended up forgetting all about her. When I went back to fetch her and bring her home, she was gone.”

“Oh, my…” The old woman was still smiling. “That sounds like some adventure the two of you had! Though, tell me…” She tilted her head. “Who is this “someone” that got in your way?”

“Hm? Oh,” You sighed, again. “Some strange boy that just showed up out of nowhere and offered to help me move the cart downhill. He’s no one special.”

The woman chuckled. “Well, he must be to have stepped up and offered you assistance in this day and age,” she replied. “What was his name?”

There was an intensity you didn’t like. As if she were interrogating you for answers. 

Dryly, again, you swallowed.

“Han-something, I think. Han...Jisung.”

That’s when it had been over. But you hadn’t known that; not yet.

“Han Jisung…” The woman repeated. She was clearly searching the archives. 

Then she found what she was looking for, and curving crooked fingers skyward, she beckoned your hands to be placed atop of her on the table.

“Give me your hands, dear. I know just what it is that you need.”

If only you hadn’t listened to her… 

- ❧ -

You were no fool. You saw what the witch had done to you, just before falling unconscious.

Stirring now, you curled into the weight of something dark and soft, something sheltering and warm against the cold night air. Whatever it was held you tighter, the world slowing down.

“Y/n? Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Ow. Yes.

One of the side-effects must have been a splitting headache…

“Yes...I can hear--”

Rrpt! Hold on a second. You knew that voice…!

In all haste you shot upright, only to collide foreheads with Han Jisung, the both of you growling in pain. Your headache just got ten times worse.

“Ow…! Sh*t, of all times and places…” After counting one, two Mississippis for the pounding to decrease, you sent him a glare, blurry vision mixed with clouded judgement. “What are you doing? What’s going on, where are you taking me?!”

The foolish boy snorted, ignoring you to continue walking. As your eyes cleared of drowsiness, you could see the two of you were alone, out in the middle of the forest. “A simple thank you wouldn’t hurt, y’know. I did just finish saving your life a few hours ago.”

“You…?” Hesitantly, you looked around again, pressing a hand to your forehead in feeble attempt to decrease anymore throbbing heartbeats. “...Where are we? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Put me down this instant.”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions for someone who was just cursed and knocked out.”

“I said, put me--! …” 

You paused. The whole world seemed to.

Carefully, slowly, you turned your face back towards the sunlight. “...Wh...What did you say?” 

Han snorted. Again. “You heard me. You waltzed right into the Witch’s Biome like an idiot, and now you’re one of us. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Hyunjin…”

...You’d stop listening towards the end. Everything just naturally tuned out, your eyes falling aimlessly to stare vacant holes into the dimensional rift of the traveling space around you. 

“In case you’re wondering,” Han’s voice cut through, calling for your attention once more. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m taking you to my friend; well, he’s really more of my...uhm…”

You waited vacantly for an answer.

“...Uhhh…”

You didn’t have time for this. Not that anything mattered or made sense anymore. Still, you weren’t going to idly sit here and listen to Tweedle Dee make dumb noises the rest of the night. “He’s what?” you pressed, aggravation clearly showing. “Is he your master or something?”

Han Jisung nearly dropped your hungover cursed arse. Which told you you were right, even if he kept insisting you were wrong. It was pretty funny to see him fuming and hot under the collar the rest of the walk.

Speaking of walking, you had fidgeted and demanded to walk by yourself, but after nine nos and a tenth yes, you found you had absolutely no strength in your wobbly, jelly-like legs. Resulting in Han carrying you like an unfortunate groom once more.

Yes, you’d argued for him to take you back. But no, he refused.

Which meant he had to be that kidnapper the city guard mentioned after all.

This lead you to be afraid, and rightly so; what if Han killed you?! What if he actually was dangerous, and he had been lying to you from the start. Nothing he’d been saying up until this point made sense anyway; and just look at the way he was dressed. Only crazy people wore such strange, unusual attire, so futuristic and bizzare-looking. 

And, you noticed, the closer you got to...wherever he was taking you...the more and more his appearance changed.

It was gradual, slow at first; just a random strand of hair, a speck of color in his eye that hadn’t been there before. Then, out of nowhere, it was like time sped up around him, and his eyes became a solid, bright blue, his hair a darker contrast, and that lone earring he wore shimmered with a paradoxical bright darkness, like shadows giving birth to light.

It was...insanity. Yet, regrettably, you had to admit he’d grown incredibly attractive. 

Han didn’t speak much the second half of your trip, and neither did you. You were too busy trying to process what was happening, and he was lost in his own world, eyes never leaving the road ahead except to occasionally check on you. It was a nonverbal communication: Are you still doing okay? / Yes, I’m fine. Quit staring at me. / Yeah, okay, you’re welcome.

About two hours later, the two of you arrived at the gates of an old, rustic castle, and a city that looked all but lost.

| Five ❧

Your headache had at last subsided by the time you arrived at Everain Palace. ...Or at least, that’s what the sign said it was called. You were barely able to read it through the layers of rust and vines, however. “This is the place?”

“Yep,” your entourage announced, setting you down beside him. “It’s been a few hours now, so you should have the strength to walk again, at least to your room. But I’m sure I can get some lackey somewhere to carry you the rest of the way if you can’t manage.”

“Hold on...what?”

“What?”

He finished setting you down, and you wobbled your way back a few steps, leaning against the gate’s archway for support. “I’m not staying here. I can’t. I have to get back to Rei and find Carrots, my stupid horse. Then, I’m renaming her Dumdum and we’re sweeping all of this under the rug.”

Instead of laughing, or perhaps getting a little angry even, Han Jisung stared at you with the most pitiful glance anyone had ever given another human soul. It was dreadful, but soft, somewhat loving, and oozing with regret.

And then he said those abysmal words you were scared of hearing all along.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. But I’m afraid you won’t be traveling anywhere anytime soon.”

You stared at him dumbfounded. This was it, you thought. The truth revealed. He really was a kidnapper; and now, you were his next victim. The whole charmingly dopey and idiotic act had been just that: an act. And you’d fallen for it.

So you did the next thing you could think of, seeing as fighting and running away were out of the question in your weak and disoriented state.

“KIDNAPPER!!!” You screamed. “THIEF! HUMAN TRAFFICKING!! HELP!!!”

But soon you remembered your surroundings, where you were at this time: a rundown city that appeared to have been abandoned for years, closed off in an eternal slumber. Everything was covered in vines and dust, and hardly anything made a sound.

You were doomed.

Han rushed over quick to keep your mouth shut while sweating at the seams, but a chomp to his hand did him right good, and while he was bouncing around and airing out his hand like a blubbering buffoon you tried making a run for it. Keyword: tried.

In the end, you only made it as far as the circle of trees isolating this town before something pierced the back of your neck, and you were a prisoner of sleep all over again.

- ❧ -

You aren’t quite sure; perhaps you slept for eight, nine hours. All you knew is that when you awoke, there was sunshine pouring through the curtain-laced window like the brightest waterfall.

A...curtain-laced window...and silk sheets… … … 

You hopped to it the next second that thought circled your mind.

No. Oh, no…

...This certainly wasn’t your room. Your room was with the stars, the ocean, the grassy plains and trees, Rei at your side. This was an actual room, complete with a bed, canopy, dresser and wardrobe, a nightstand, and an additional table with matching chairs, four to be exact; two large windows, standing side by side at opposite ends of the room to your left. One beside the table, one near the door.

There was a note left for you on the nightstand (to your left) as well.

Y/n -

I’m sorry I had to knock you out like that. But you’re one of us now, and I can’t afford to let you leave. It’s important. Lives are at stake. You have to trust me, please.

There’s someone I’d like for you to meet. More like I need you to. I’ll explain more later, when you’re awake. If you read this and you still don’t feel well, feel free to take another couple of hours to yourself, to get your bearings; but don’t sleep for too long. I’ll wake you when we’re more pressed for time.

Again, I’m really sorry about all this. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me, but I get it if you need more time. Just promise not to take it out on Hyunjin, if you happen to run into him first.

Signed, Han, your kidnapper

There was an additional piece of paper that fell from behind the original.

P.S. - That was just a joke. Don’t freak out. I’m not a bad guy, really. At least, not as bad as you probably think I am.

…

You didn’t know what to think of anything anymore. This was all just too much. What on earth had happened to you? How did you get roped into all of this? ...You’d just wanted to find Carrots, and bring her home so Rei wouldn’t be sad and you wouldn’t feel guilty and the two of you could save the trouble of having to buy a new horse, train him, yadda yadda yadda. Instead you stupidly and ill-fatedly stumbled upon the home of an actual witch, walked right in, and told her things you probably shouldn’t have. You didn’t like the way she’d looked at you when you mentioned knowing Han Jisung.

The Mark of the Rose, the witch had slurred, eyes wide with a sinister grin. A blessing, and a curse.

Then she’d spouted some sort of riddle:

When sunrise comes and all is lost, Look upon the oldtown cross There you’ll find just what you seek This aging woman’s prophecy But if yet still you manage to bend And find and seek what storm’s may rend May fortunes smile and bring you light For the many remaining days of your life

...She hadn’t told you what the heck any of that was supposed to mean. For one, how could plaguing you with a mark from some wicked sorcery be a blessing?! And, what’s more...how was it a curse…? ...Her strange chanting hadn’t made any sense, though that last part had sounded nice...maybe that was the blessing?

Something made a skittering, scuffling sound. Turning to your left, something small and fuzzy caught your eye, climbing up a chair leg and coming to rest on the cushion above. It was...holding a crumb of cheese. Sitting there like a person, flat on his bum.

It was some kind of rodent.

You bristled all over, hair standing on end. “A RAT!!!” You shrieked, leaping from bed to dresser. Thankfully it had been bare atop the surface, minus the unlit candle and some kind of ornate mirror, which was an unfortunate accident. Seven years of bad luck was just what you needed, on top of everything.

The moment you let out a cry of alarm, the mouse similarly screamed-- possibly louder than you-- spasming out of the chair and running in circles with sweat flying from its brow until it ran into another chair leg and clocked out, rolling into the path of sunlight.

You’d been about to grab that discarded candle as a weapon until the room became incredibly bright. Clouds parted from outside, sunlight magnifying to flood the whole room. 

And then, when the sunlight narrowed to pierce the unconscious vermin straight through its heart, he became a boy. 

Hair the color of sunset and cheeks flushed rosy pink, full of freckles scrunched his nose, squinted, and wearily stared back at you, upside down. Prayerfully, by some miracle, he was still wearing clothes.

That didn’t change the fact that you had no idea what to make of this sudden development. You stood there, hunched frozen atop the dresser, candle half off the floor and jaw nearly there.

“Hn-- nnnngh…” he groaned, sitting up with a hand to his head, much like you had leaving the Witch’s Biome-- that’s what Han had called it, right? “...Ouch...that’s the last time I go exploring on my own…” He glanced at you over his shoulder, giving a kind, tired smile. “Thanks for turning me back! I’m sorry I scared you, Y/n.”

Your candlestick went flying across the room. 

“OW!!!”

“WHO ARE YOU?! HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!” you yelled. An accusatory finger followed. “This isn’t funny, and I’ve been through enough now! I’m sick of playing games, give me an answer right now or I’m throwing this broken mirror next!”

The door burst open. “What’s going on in--?! …”

Han Jisung was staring at Mouseboy curiously at first, widen eyes unblinking, you on the dresser second, a careful blink there...but the moment his eyes landed on the cracked mirror, he fell to his knees, hands in his hair.

“OH SH*T!” He shrieked, panicstricken all over. His voice was more pitched than (should be) possible. “What the hell did you do?! Who did this?!?”

Innocently, Mouseboy pointed to you, as if he had any right to be part of the blame game. “It was an accident, though,” he vouched (like that was supposed to make it better!). “I did the same thing when I woke up and saw myself an hour ago; you should have seen it, I broke five of those things! Talk about unlucky!”

He laughed. Han screeched, looking like The Scream. “YOU DID WHAT?!?!”

There was going to be a river running through the room by the time he finished sweating, pacing all over the place while nearly showering the floor and furniture with strands of blue hair. Mouseboy scratched his speckled-cheek, shifting to rest on the calves of his brown-clad work pants (He’d obviously been some kind of farm or errand boy before all this). “S-Sorry about that...it was an accident, really…” He bowed his head. “I-I can maybe get my boss to cover any property damage, but man, I’ll be working forever to pay it off…”

He sighed. You almost (almost) felt bad for him. But it was gonna take a lot more than just looking cute and pitiful to sway your emotions.

When at last he’d finished his...episode...Han stood from where he’d kneeled in prayer on the pinewood floor, swiping a hand over his face, shaking it off, and placing determined hands on his hips. “Okay,” he declared. “It’s alright. I’ll just have to convince Jeongin to pull an all-nighter and fix everything. Good thing he knows a thing or two about craftsmanship!”

Jeongin? …

You faltered, repeating the name curiously as you hopped off the dresser, now that the vermin crisis was over. Thankfully, your absent-mindedness didn’t cost you any cuts or bruises, seeing as there very well could have been shards of broken glass on the floor…

Han smiled your way, nodding. “Yeah, that’s right. We have a lot of introductions to get out of the way, so if you’re ready...well, you might want to get dressed first.”

Even more curiously, you looked down to examine yourself.

An eggshell, lace nightgown greeted your eyes.

… … … 

Who changed you...?!?!

| Six ❧

“Right, so,” said Han, pointing to each stranger in a misfit-lineup. “This is Seungmin, Jeongin, and...Felix, right? ...Yeah, okay, Felix.” He smiled, gesturing to you next. “Family, this is Y/n.”

Everyone either waved or bid you their own form of greeting, some shy, others more open. Now dressed in a sea-green gown with white-lace trim and possibly the most gaudy over exaggerated bow in the back (smaller, matching ones on your shoes and hair), you did your best to curtsey, though it was awkward and embellished to say the least, and really you’d just used it as an excuse to hike up your quarter-calf socks that refused to stay put. “Yeah, alright...nice to--”

“And this...is Hyunjin.”

The air got a little colder all of a sudden; both metaphorically and otherwise. You glanced up from rebuckling the annoying Mary Jane’s on your feet. Froze.

A tall, slender man stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against the wall beneath the cloak of shadow in the hallway. Now, stepping forward in the light of a grand, deserted chapel, his dark hair combed back by rough fingers pressed for time, he was…he was… 

He was staring at you as if you’d hung the moon in the sky. His eyes were so round and...big. Practically moons themselves.

“......” Han cleared his throat, voicing everyone else’s discomfort. “Yes, well...okay, then. This is great! See?!” He motioned to you as if you were some kind of showcase prize. “I brought her back, just like you asked! Now there’s no need to do anything rash or bloodthirsty! Hahah…hah…! …”

Everyone was strangely silent. Looking at each face in turn, though many were staring at you, none could look you in the eye; and no one dared to so much as peek in this Hyunjin fellow’s direction. In fact, the red-headed boy, Jeongin, seemed...almost...rather afraid.

“Hang on,” you interjected (though there was nothing but silence for sometime now). The gears in your mind cranked back to the letter folded messily on the nightstand: Lives are at stake. I need you to meet someone. “So you’re saying you brought me here because...your friend wanted me here?” You huffed. “I don’t understand. You said that lives were at stake. Who’s dying?” 

Quiet. A somber aura fell over the small gathering; maybe that had been a little brash of you to ask outright…

But you needed answers! Why were you here? What was going on? “...Han,” you said, and instantly the boy looked up at you. “Why did you bring me here? What’s going on? …” You scanned the other four faces of boys around you. “What did you mean when you said...I was…” You shook your head. Doubts were flooding in like a dam had just snapped. “This better not be a set up.”

...More quiet. Han cleared his throat once more, stepping back in line. He had no answers to give; his features only hardened. The other three boys in line were looking anywhere else-- the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Oh, look at that beautiful glass window up there. And look at that one!

Hyunjin just kept on staring at you as if staring right through you; like he couldn’t comprehend your existence. He was completely locked in a trance.

After you’d carefully righted yourself, and had just begun turning away to get the heck out of Dodge, it was Seungmin that spoke next. “You’ll have to forgive him,” he called, scratching his head. You turned around. “It’s been a while since any of us have seen another human being before, nonetheless one that isn’t cursed--”

Han flinched, just out of the corner of your eye. Twitch. “...Oh, you mean…”

Your eyes locked with Hyunjin’s, still stuck in outer space. Seungmin nodded. “Yeah...and as for him--” He flicked his eyes on Han. “He’s just stupid.”

“Hey!” The man protested. Seungmin simply rolled his eyes. 

“Well it’s true! I bet you failed to explain anything that’s going on to this poor girl. Just look at what you made her wear!” He gestured rather violently to your ridiculously (somewhat childish) outfit. “She looks like she stepped out of a dollhouse. The cheap, tacky kind they used to sell down the street at Aunt Marie’s.”

“Um, actually…” You scowled. “I dressed myself. There wasn’t much to go off of in the closet other than old-era gowns and...well, that was basically it. Speaking of which, though…”

You stomped forward. Everyone (minus Trancy) jumped. 

“Which one of you changed me before?! I don’t recall wearing or even owning some fancy nightgown before getting the lights shot out of me.”

Seungmin’s jaw slacked. “You drugged her too?!”

“Only because she was trying to escape!” Han griped. “I didn’t want to have to shoot her! Besides, it wasn’t like I used anything heavy…”

“Still,” Red-headed Jeongin said, siding with his buddy. “What would Hyunjin say if he weren’t lost in his thoughts again? And did you even consider Y/n?”

Han scoffed. “I brought her back, didn’t I? I’m pretty sure that’s all that matters.”

“Regardless,” Seungmin spoke, “You still basically brought her here against her will. That’s kidnapping. I’m pretty sure the curse isn’t going to--”

“Hello?!” you yelled, waving your arms. “I asked you all which one of you changed--! …”

Your eyes landed on Felix. The boy blinked, innocently processing, then bloomed another shade of rosy pink. “O-Oh, no…!” He waved his hands. “It wasn’t me, honest! I’ve been stuck as a mouse since last Tuesday! A-Also, you were already...I-I mean, I suppose if it wasn’t you, someone else had already…”

His voice trailed off; too modest, and he had a solid alibi. It couldn’t be him. In the background, Han and Seungmin were still arguing, with Jeongin occasionally chiming in to support Seungmin’s case.

“Let me guess,” Seungmin mused, arms crossed. “You probably stole them from Lady Verena down the road.”

Han made an urk! sound. Seungmin sighed.

“I knew it...no wonder she’s dressed so gaudy…” He and Jeongin turned to you with kind eyes. “Listen, Y/n. We’re really sorry about all this. If you need anything, from now on come to me or Jeongin. We’ll be sure to take care of you. Heck,” he grumbled, “even the new guy Felix could have done a better job…”

Felix smiled awkwardly. You and Han both fumed; for different reasons. “That’s not what I--!”

A low growl cut through the lowly-chaotic atmosphere. Everyone ceased their bickering.

The assumed head of the palace had awoken.

- ❧ -

He walked circles around you. Circles and circles and circles… 

You were starting to get more than a little dizzy.

“Fascinating…” Hyunjin mused. It was as if he were the only one in the room, and you were merely a lifeless figurine on display. While he spun himself into further insanity and far too strong curiosity, Seungmin and Jeongin both sent you sympathetic looks to “hang in there” and “just go with it.”

But you didn’t want to go with it. You wanted to go out-- away-- back home to the caravan, to the wagon that had Rei and Carrots and all your useless junk people gave life to, and you a profit. “I’m sorry,” your voice cut the mostly vacant air, save for the headmaster’s mumbling and strangely heavy breathing. “Am I missing something here? If you like or...don’t like my outfit, just tell me and I can either say “thank you” or change and we can all move on to more important topics, like, say...why I’m here? What’s going on?!”

Hyunjin froze a quarter of the way to facing you from the left, his brown eyes strangely wide (though really, everything about this man was strange). In the back, Seungmin and Jeongin once again made faces attuning to the atmosphere; in this case, nervous frowning.

They were all treating Hyunjin like some sort of ticking time bomb. Han obviously feared and weirdly resented him, it was plain and simple on his face, and even Felix was picking up something about this guy that you couldn’t sense. When he wasn’t distracted by colorful art or the dirt under his nails, he was sending highly strung vibes his way.

...In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you didn’t just walk out. Nothing was stopping you...really. There was a clear path from here to the great big hallway Han had escorted you down, Felix in tow, and from there a million other doors, all leading to someplace that had to be better than here. One of them-- at least five, or ten-- had to lead to some winding hallway that would take you to the great outdoors.

Just when you’d thought to inquire further on that, Hyunjin finally began speaking, and not mumbling. “You appear to be real…but…”

He closed the (little) distance he’d given you in a single stride, and without warning placed both his hands on your shoulders...very...tentatively. Then, he trailed his fingers up to your cheeks.

You latched onto his wrists, on instinct. A synchronized gasping chorus filled the room like a daytime tragedy soundtrack.

But Hyunjin did nothing, if not for widening his eyes yet again to stare into the depth of your face like he was amazed at your reaction. Like it wasn’t normal or something.

“Hyunjin,” spoke Seungmin, “perhaps it would do you well to give the girl-- Miss Y/n-- her space. She is a human, just like the...er...ahem.”

...That was a sour note.

“Actually…”

All eyes were on Han except yours. Even Hyunjin snapped out of his trance to glare skeptically with concern, with Seungmin having to carefully pull him away so you could stop smelling his pungent breath.

“...Ahaha...ahahahahaha…” ...Han wilted. “I sorta...maybe...well, okay, I didn’t do it, but--”

“What did you do?” Hyunjin spoke. All eyes flew to him, then back at Han in anticipation. Like some sort of thriller novel. The daytime tragedy continued. Maybe you were in a tragic play of some sort, and there was a hidden audience just waiting to jump out and announce that you’d officially been pranked.

“………” He took a breath. “TheWitchcursedhertoo…!”

And then he covered his mouth, wincing moments too soon. 

The decaying chapel gasped. Hyunjin’s face turned hard, then slowly, bewitchingly, menacing.

“She did what?!”

Jeongin’s eyes went wide. “Y-You’ve been cursed too?” he asked, mournfully, almost with pity. Everyone appeared to display a sadness teetering on the edge between fear and hopelessness.

It was insane how quickly the airspace had shifted; though nothing normal had happened yet, everything had at least been more or less steady. Now, it was as if the room had been thrown off its hinges at the mention of the woman...the Witch. Which you were hoping had been a dream, but seeing as Felix was here, and Han bringing it up...definitely not.

Han whimpered; actually whimpered, like a child being scolded for breaking a vase. “I-It was an accident, honest!” He begged. “She didn’t know she was headed into the Witch’s Biome, and I lost track of her! BY ACCIDENT! When I found her, I swear I did everything I could to protect her, honest! Th-That’s where I met Felix, though I didn’t know he was really human at the time...and I brought them both back here.”

Seungmin made a curious face of urgency, almost seeming to sweat as he crossed diagonally forward to move you back, even going so far as to stand in front of you as a shield while Jeongin took care of Felix, tugging the mouse-turned-boy’s twine-sewn sleeve to take shelter behind some discarded pews.

What happened next wasn’t a dream, but surely a thing of nightmares. Right in league with the Witch’s hideout.

There was a swirling mass of black and deep red as something foreign and sinister took hold of the feared so-called Master of the House. Hyunjin began to grow bigger. Sharp, pointed fangs protruded from tight chapped lips pulled back in a snarl. His eyes told of hunger, bloodshot. Pitched daggers made of shadow and bone formed and crystalized along his fingertips.

You lost your voice. You could barely breathe. You weren’t even sure how you were able to stand.

“Hyunjin,” Seungmin warned, a sternness to his voice. “Think about what you’re doing. Y/n is here.”

Hyunjin growled, no longer a man anymore but some sort of...foul, hideous beast. He bore murderous eyes at Han. “I don’t care,” he growled, “I’m going to—!”

“You’re scaring her.”

… … …

That seemed to get his attention. Though the same couldn’t be said about yours; for though you stood still, frozen in time and space, your wandering mind was making a break for recalling the nearest exit. An empty, dizzying numbness choked your thoughts.

Hyunjin...if he could even be called that anymore...glared at you with wide, mournful eyes. Eyes full of fear and insecurity. Doubt. A horrible realization.

In the blink of an eye-- for you literally just had to blink-- he was back to normal. He stood apprehensively still, the rage and miasma gone, staring a hole into your Mary Janes. Perhaps staring at the reflection back at him.

Though he stood impossibly still, his voice gave him away in slight, wavering cracks. “...Forget what you just saw. It was merely an illusion. A trick of the light.”

“Uuuuh,” Felix interrupted. “P-Pretty sure that wasn’t-- mmph!”

Jeongin gave him a silencing, terrified eye. “Shhh!”

“......” With a passive grunt, Hyunjin continued. This time his eyes were directly on you; a wave of nervous energy pooled over your skin. “Dinner is at six p.m. sharp.” he said. “You will be there. ...We will have an encore of introductions, no...an entire reestablishment.” He turned his head viciously over his shoulder. The boy his eyes landed on squeaked. 

“Han,” he uttered. The said boy bit his lip. 

“Y-Yes…?”

Hyunjin deadpanned, in the most unamused, lifeless way. “Come.”

“Ahahahah, a-actually-- whAAA!”

A vase at the far end of the room shattered. Literally exploded, a few shards lodging themselves into innocently bystanding portraits and landscapes. When your attention strayed back, you could see Hyunjin had thrown something.

Han quickly bowed, visibly starting to sweat all over again. After a tense moment he stood, saying in the softest voice, barely a whisper, his agreement. 

Then, wringing the rings on his fingers, he nervously followed him out.

| Seven ❧

Dinner was set to be at six p.m. Attendance was apparently a requirement, given the formal invite Felix slipped beneath your door, turned back to a mouse once more (something about moonlight turning him into a...weremouse? ...The rules of his curse were rather complicated).

However, that didn’t mean that you had to be there.

“...And so that’s how I became a real boy again!” The mouse cheered, setting off a small party steamer Jeongin had granted him to lift his spirits. His tiny rodent eyes crinkled in delight as he beamed up at you from the dining table of your guest room, where the two of you were currently seated. You twitched your nose in timing with his, having stared at him and his life-story-since-last-Tuesday for far too long.

You shifted your weight to the other cheek. “So, really, all you had to do was make contact with sunlight. But you were too scared and kept to the shadows all this time.”

“Precisely! At least, I think that’s how it works!” He plopped down, digging some...cheese crumbs out of his coat. “That, and the old hasbeen wouldn’t let me leave every time I tried. Do you know when the last time I saw the sun was?! Go on, guess!”

“...Last Tuesday?”

He looked at you with wide-eyes, paws shoved up his piehole. He took a few minutes to chew and swallow. “...Oh, you’re good. No wonder you’re the chosen one to break everyone’s curse!”

You huffed, snorted really, leaning back to cross your arms in thought. A movie reel spun its way around your brain, projecting the late afternoon’s events on a white screen:

…Hyunjin’s retreating figure left some sort of impression in your mind, and Han seemed to vanish like ink washed off of a page. The moment they’d both gone, your knees buckled beneath you, hands hitting the cold pavement. Seungmin was down to your level in an instant, with Jeongin and Felix scurrying around pews, bits of rubble and broken glass.

“Y/n, are you alright? …” Seungmin asked, reaching out to you. He paused briefly to think. “...I’m going to check your pulse,” he announced.

As his fingers found their way around your wrist, Jeongin flanked to your other side with a first aid kit he’d salvaged from who-knew-where. Felix kept his distance, wringing his cap the way Han had wrung the rings on his fingers, but one look at his face told you he was just as concerned for your health as the others…he simply didn’t know what to do.

“Here, put this on her!”

“I’m alright,” you mumbled, pushing away an ice pack with sloth. Jeongin gave you a distasteful glare of sorts. 

“But you nearly fainted--!”

“I’m fine...really.”

“......”

Everyone laid off after that. 

Which you took as your cue to exit. In your retreating haste, albeit, you failed to see the sorrowful eyes that followed your fleeting back; but you could feel them, and it wouldn’t be long until they found a voice to stand upon.

“Come on, Felix,” you said. “I’ll see what I can do to get you home. I don’t know where you originally came from, but if it’s anywhere near Westwind, my friend and I can give you a lift.” ...It was the least you could do, after all. Felix hadn’t done anything wrong; he wasn’t the one that kidnapped you, or put a “curse” on you, which you weren’t even sure was real, by the way. Sure, some crazy stuff happened, but you didn’t feel any different. What if Han and the Witch and that Hyunjin guy were really all in kahoots, and this was just some kind of crazy...outrageous propaganda stunt?

Jeongin continued to stare, now in an incredulous manner. “Y/n…”

“Let her go,” Seungmin insisted, lowering Jeongin’s hand. The boy grasped the air weakly, the pulsing of his fingers mocking his faintly beating heart, breaths shallow and longing, feebly succumbing to trembles. It would have been painful to watch, had you known him better.

Felix, keeping a low profile as best he could in such tense situation, removed the beret he’d just finished placing back on his head, squeezing it before him. “...A-Alright,” he agreed after a moment. He paced over gradually at first, then broke into a nervous, jagged jog as he scuttled to your side. “Thanks…”

You smiled to hide the fear and insanity of what you’d just witnessed before. A man turning into a beast— a boy becoming like a shadow— everything that had happened up until now; it was just a dream, Y/n. A bad propaganda stunt. “Don’t mention it.” You turned over your shoulder. “...It was nice meeting you.”

Seungmin smiled, bitterly so, as Jeongin closed in on himself. “Same to you. Please, take care. I apologize for any trouble we caused you.”

With a nod, your footsteps echoed into the once-lavish corridor, Felix trailing nervously behind you. But then…

Those sorrowful eyes found their voice. “Wait, Y/n! Please, don’t go yet!” Someone was running after you. “Please stay, just for dinner at least! Please!!!”

...Your footsteps faded. Waiting.

“Please, Y/n…” Jeongin paused some ten feet away, falling to his knees to beg. “Cursed or not, only you can break the spell. I know how this must look to an outsider like yourself, but what Han said to you before in his letter...I’m sorry but I pried before he left it. He’s right. You’re one of us now. But you’re also you. And only you can save him. We…” His voice trailed off, eyes following, focusing on something in his hands...a locket of some sort? “...We gave up on ourselves a long time ago. But as weird and annoying and frustrating as he is, we made a promise to never, ever give up on Hyunjin. Like it or not he’s our boss, and our dearest friend. He’s been good to us for so many years...after all he’s done, we at least need to save him!” His eyes searched for yours, gripping his hands tightly, pleading, crying out with anguish and hope. “It might be too late, but we have to try! We can’t do anything like this...only you can save him. Please, Y/n…”

You’d been paying attention this whole time, but it was just now that you were starting to see: something dark and lively wrapping its way around Jeongin’s neck, then his right cheek. It was like a tattoo, only...alive. And moving. Black vines with thorns and heart-shaped leaves mapped their way across half the boy’s face, finally tangling into his bright, unnaturally red hair that sploched into ebony black, the color of Rei’s hair, only darker maybe, and then…

He began to fade. “...Please help him. He’s not as bad as he seems, honest! Please say you’ll stay and save him!”

...After that, Seungmin ran over and gave Jeongin some kind of shot that turned him back to normal and stopped him from disappearing, but…

What were you supposed to do when he started crying like that?! You weren’t expecting the waterworks…

Because you were both nice people, you and Felix hurried back to help, too, though all the two of you could really do was run circles around each other and agree to stay for just a bit longer. Just until dinner, you’d repeated. So we have the strength to travel.

...You would go to dinner. Really, the plan had been to just send Felix down. That wouldn’t do, though, now that you thought about it... Well, then, you certainly weren’t staying; you’d simply pop in to make sure that Jeongin kid was still alive, grab a roll or two, and then you’d be off to the nearest motel or campsite, because you certainly weren’t spending a night here. Come morning, you and hopefully Felix could hurry back to Westwind and after you took the boy home, or someplace close, you could get back to a normal life traveling and selling wares and running away from fate and customs.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just Hyunjin I’m supposed to fix,” you mumbled, getting back to the small conversation. You never thought in a hundred years you’d be sitting down in some old castle out in the middle of nowhere, talking to a rat (that was really a person, but still). Your eyes scanned the window beside you, out into the foggy gray beyond where nothing but trees and old abandoned buildings greeted you, lifeless along the horizon.

Mouse Felix was still stuffing his face with crumbs of cheddar and swiss. He seemed to have found some bread crust to pair with the former ensemble. “I mean, I guess. I think I heard that one guy, Seungmin, mention something about it being for everyone though? Or I could have just been hearing things…” He swallowed, stacking another small tower. “Wow, I’ve never had such an appetite until last Tuesday…”

“......” You rolled your eyes, counterproductive to your set jaw. How the heck were you supposed to save anyone? Why you, of all people?

That annoying chant the Witch had said replayed in your mind...maybe, if you could decipher it, you’d have some answers...how did it go, exactly…?

When sunrise comes and all is lost, Look upon the oldtown cross There you’ll find just what you seek This aging woman’s prophecy

Sunrise. So when the sunrise came...but, lost? What was lost?

A cross? You surveyed the area, but you didn’t see anything like that.

What you seek...was this you, or was you someone else? What was it you, or they, were looking for? You just wanted to go home…

...All you got from the last part was that this witch was crazy. Then, the rest went something like… But if yet still you manage to bend And find and seek what storm’s may rend May fortunes smile and bring you light For the many remaining days of your life

Okay, seriously, what were you bending?! This had to be metaphorical. So bend...what, your will? Heart? Find a loophole somewhere?

Were you finding what was lost? Would you find it if you found a loophole? Or had a change of heart?

Fortunes would smile upon you...something good would come.

For the rest of your days…

…You smacked your head against the table, startling poor Felix. Who were you kidding?! You’d already decided, that old hermit in the woods was crazy. Trying to translate some old ramblings was a waste of time…!

...And effective in giving you a headache. You groaned, massaging your temples as Felix detangled himself from your locks to scamper a safe distance away. 

“Y/n? Are you alright?”

“...Yeah. Fine.”

“...You don’t sound fine. You sound like Chan when he’s had a long night working on a new project and drank more coffee than he got work done. And I don’t think he even likes coffee.”

You turned your head. “Who’s that?”

Felix smiled. The only mouse that knew how to. “My boss, sort of. We both work for an entertainment company, at least...I did, before this happened.” He regarded himself sadly. “Ever since last Tuesday--”

You groaned again. “Urgh, I know, I get it already! Last Tuesday may as well be your catchphrase at this point.”

“...Sorry.”

“......” You peeked back at him, flicking a crumb of cheese his way. It seemed to take away all his problems like a one-way train. You sat up, grinning just a little at how cute he looked, nimbling innocently. The only rodent you’d ever find to be cute. “...Tell me more about it. About Chan, was it? And this entertainment company of yours. I honestly thought you were a farmer.”

“A farmer?” He thought. “Oh...yeah, my clothes! I grew up on a farm, and our company is relatively small. I just threw those on when I went exploring the woods.”

“And what were you doing exploring the forest on your own?”

“Uh...well,” he blushed. “I’ll tell you about Chan and the company first.”

His small, yet surprisingly bass voice carried on into the dimly-lit atmosphere. Maybe you just needed to take your mind off things. You were getting too wound up in something you weren’t even committed to being a part of. Once you saw Jeongin was okay, you’d be forgetting all about this place. So for now, you just needed to relax.

And who knew mice told such fabulous, intricate stories?

| Eight ❧

“Hyunjin, please…!”

Crash!

Another mirror. Terrific.

After their departure from the old art gala, Hyunjin had led the two to one of the many old studies that lied grungy and muted like the rest of the palace. In the circular room resided one dusty old curtain over a weathering window, a few bookshelves chalked with books likely to never be read again, a small table with various junk, a chair, another chair, a small loveseat, a slightly larger small grandfather clock...and a calendar with much angry scribbling, stains, and tears.

“Hyunjin, Jeongin can only fix so many mirrors at once...you know how this all works…you break a mirror, something in the castle vanishes. Then I take the heat for it!” 

The beast growled. “You don’t think I know that? Are you talking back to me right now?”

Han flinched. If he were human, surely he would have died from a thousand ulcers and the tight sensations of horrid anxiety by now… “N-Not by any means...Hyunjin,” With gritted teeth, he bowed his head. “Please, listen to me for a second. Let me explain.”

“Oh, that you will,” the beast grumbled. He gracefully spun himself into a red velvet chair, lifting another looking glass from the small table beside it in order to glare at himself broodingly. It made the small hairs of Han’s neck stand yielding, doing a little dance of anxiety. 

“V-Very well,” He said, standing back up straight. He gave an awkward glance at the broken mirror shards before deciding he’d better start talking his way out of another beating, and clean up later. “Our journey begins in the outskirts of Westwind city--”

Hyunjin raised his right arm, the mirror held precariously in the balance. “Too far.”

“NO DON’T!”

...Phew.

Removing the handheld treasure from the prince’s hand, his shadow took a few steps back, peering into it. Watching the door and bookshelf behind him, as shadows had no reflection. “...I traveled around...out yonder, just as you asked. Just like I said I would. I let the wind and my intuition, my hope, guide me, and within less than a day’s travel I came upon Westwind city. That’s where I found her, just outside the gates...she was accompanied by another, a young woman of close age. They looked too different to be related, so I assume it was a friend, or maybe a distant...distant relative. Anyway--”

Hyunjin sighed.

“...Anyway, I--”

“How did you know she was the one? And so close? So close to our village...it seems too good to be true. And I thought you said she was lying dormant somewhere.”

Han blinked, eyes flitting forward. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. It took all his willpower not to flinch or show anymore signs of weakness. “W-Well, yes, she was, but uh...she escaped?”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. And so, I put her to the test.” 

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “You put her to the test? What does that mean?”

“I quizzed her. I knocked on the door of her heart...and she ignored me quite a few times, but eventually, I got in. In exchange for a favor.”

“What favor?”

Han smiled with pride. “I’d saved her friend’s life. Or...distant, distant relative. After that, I asked her carefully, very seriously, of her thoughts.”

“...About…?”

“The curse.”

“You told her outright about the curse?!”

Seeing as Hyunjin was near fuming, Han turned on the sprinklers, fanning his arms about. “No, no! Not outright! I was very tricky! I used lots of metaphors and figuratively-speakings! She had no idea to the core of the matter, really!” ...And anyway, did it even matter anymore? Y/n was well aware by now she wasn’t exactly in Kansas anymore...

“......” Hyunjin relaxed back in his chair. “So, what did she say?”

Han searched the dusty floorboards for a minute, before slowly twisting the mirror 180 degrees. “Well, sir, it was what I said first. I asked her…”

- ❧ -

“A man, or a beast? As individuals, do we have a choice?”

“...I’m sorry...I don’t understand the question.”

“Hmm…” Han thought. “...Imagine you were put under a...spell. A spell that turned you into a hideous monster, with fangs and claws and fur in places you’d never imagined...but it comes and goes, this curse of yours.” He tilted his head. “Are you still human? Or are you now a beast? Well?”

“...I...I don’t know,” you confessed, listing your gaze aside. “I really have no idea where you got such a crazy idea from.”

“Okay...then let me ask you this. I’ll help you out.”

He leaned forward this time. “Do you think we have a choice? Is it possible to define ourselves as one or the other?”

“Well...yes, I would think so.” Your eyes met his. “We all have a choice— to be monsters, or men. It is not a matter of blood, or a spell, but a condition of the heart.”

- ❧ -

Hyunjin leaned forward in his chair, eyes wide as saucers.

This time, he knew it, too. But he didn’t care how he must have looked. That fear died a long time ago, having stared at the many faces of Hwang Hyunjin over the years.

He simply couldn’t believe it. It really was true, then. It had to be her. The girl that would solve all his problems…!

...For the record, one should never put all their faith into one person in regards of “solving problems” or “fixing them,” but this was different. In this case, this girl really was the answer to lifting the curse plaguing his home and body for so many moons, so many long, hard-watched seasons…

And she was going to be having dinner with him. Not only that, but he only had a handful of hours left until it was all over, and everything set into stone.

The door behind Han slammed open, Seungmin entering the stage and stealing his spotlight like he normally did. Even before the curse, the boy who’d been his father’s auditor-in-training was always bursting in to bask in the limelight with his savvy knowledge, goody-two-shoes this and boring document question that.

He swears this was never the case, but Hyunjin knew better. “Do you mind? I’m having a discussion with--”

“Not now.”

“Excuse me?” Seungmin was rummaging around the room, spreading knick-knacks around, tossing books off shelves after quickly examining covers or flipping through a few pages, even going so far as to demand that Hyunjin stand so he could upturn all the seat cushions. “What are you doing?”

The boy genius frowned. “Jeongin had an episode after Y/n almost left. He—”

Hyunjin found himself shaking the boy in the next second. “Did he stop her?!”

“...Shouldn’t you be asking if he’s alright first?”

Hyunjin just continued to stare. Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I was going to say, he managed to stop her. I did say almost left. By the way, Jeongin’s in peril right now, so if you could be so kind as to release me, I’d like to get back to ensuring his safety as soon as possible.”

As soon as Hyun dropped him, the boy got right back to work; tearing the room apart. Han pursed his lips.

“He had an episode? Did you give him a shot?”

The boy sighed. “Yes, but I’ve told you both before they’re only temporary. I’m looking for lavender oil, and the vine clippers. I don’t remember the original recipe to stop the ebb and flow, but I think I can make a close replacement from what I’ve read in the past.” He glanced over his shoulder a moment. “What were you getting so hot under the collar about, anyway? Is this about Y/n? Being cursed?”

Shoot, by the day, that was right. He was still angry about that. What if Han had blown it? What if this Y/n was defective now because she’d been touched by the Witch’s mad hand?

Oh, he was so going to get it if…!

“Eeek!” Han shrieked, already knowing what was to come. “Dammit, don’t remind him of that! I had just managed to get on his good side!”

Seungmin rolled his eyes again. “You’re never on his good side. All you two do is bicker and fight and run from or after each other until you’ve become one with the walls and he passes out from anger or resentment or both. ...Ah!” He smiled. “Found the clippers. Now for that oil…”

“Forget the oil!” Hyunjin roared. “We don’t have time for this! Ahh…!” He gritted both hands in his hair, looking out the window, up at the old miniature grandfather clock. “Time’s running out. Since she’s the one, we may still have a chance. Cursed or not we only have three days...two days…!”

It was at this point that Seungmin made a quizzical expression, pausing in his endeavors to pace rather calmly over to the calendar, checking the date. “...The anniversary of your curseday isn’t until next month. You have a whole season, almost.”

A...season?

“Let me see that,” Hyunjin demanded, shoving the kid aside. He peered anxiously at the line up, the rows of weeks in the calendar month that said… … …

Seungmin was right. He’d misread the date, in all his anxious spite.

He had until the next season. Until the first snowfall. Starting tomorrow, his clock would begin.

...Oh, who was he kidding?! His clock started tonight; with dinner.

In a tizzy, his whole attitude changed. No longer was he a grumpy, repulsive, bitter soul trapped in a cursed body. Mindlessly resenting his father, his past actions, the old beggar who’d shown up on his doorstep. He was a nervous young man about to have his first date in what felt like forever, because truthfully, it had been. “What am I going to wear?! ...Oh my gosh, she saw me transform…!” Horror filled his lungs with a ragged breath, hands flying to sunken cheeks. “I can’t let her see me now! But I have to! I have to break the curse...I mean, she has to break the curse! But what if--!”

“Hyunjin!” Han clamped his mouth shut. A bold move for someone that was normally terrified of him. “Calm down! I think that’s step one!” He looked around while Seungmin continued his search. “Step two would be...uh…”

“Finding an appropriate outfit?” Seungmin offered. Han beamed.

“YES, finding an appropriate outfit! Genius!”

Again, the boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, who would have thought…?”

“C’mon!” The two flew past him, Hyunjin too preoccupied with his previous behavior, overwhelmed by too many truths, to even-- …

He rushed back into the room. “Did you say Jeongin was--?!”

“Let’s go,” Han ordered, yanking the househead by the collar. Leaving Seungmin alone to his bumbling foragery.

My, how times quickly changed.

| Nine ❧

Another spaghetti noodle found its way into Felix’s hair, alongside a half-eaten slice of garlic bread. 

In the great dining hall, chandeliers hung like clouds in a desecrated chamber, all covered in dust and cobwebs. A long, very long table stretched from one end of the wide room to the other, all set with dining ware meant to feed the entire Royal Family and their second cousins. A rainbow of food covered the crimson-draped platform, starting with English scones and biscuits on one end and ending with an Italian pot of gold on the other, complete with pastas, pizza, and a basket of garlic bread nestled to Felix’s right, who was seated at the table’s end. All along the walls sat candles lit with a hazy tint, casting shadows like lingering ghosts, light dancing across the faces of those present.

You slid your hand down one side of your face, safely hidden amongst the confines of two large chambers doors with one slightly askew. Good grief. You were simply waiting on Jeongin to show, to ascertain he was alright; until then, it was Felix’s one job to stall. What on earth was that foolish mouseboy doing shoving food in his hair?!

Seungmin, seated to the absent head’s left, and the only other soul in the room, cleared his throat loudly enough to be heard over the cultural expansion of what was meant to be one supper. “Felix!” he called, “Might I ask why you’re storing food on your persons? You’re...not a mouse at the moment.”

Unfortunately it didn’t reach far enough, as Felix continued to store and gobble down food. “Mm… What’d you say, cuz?”

Seungmin frowned. “I said,” he repeated, raising his voice, “you’re not a mouse anymore!”

Felix blinked, pausing red-handed while sliding a breadstick into his shirt pocket. “...Aren’t I?” He examined himself. “...Oh.” He blushed. “I suppose you did give me one of those fancy needles, didn’t you? I’m not used to being a real boy at this hour.”

Seungmin sunk back into his seat; a sigh.

Oh, but for Pete’s sake, where was Jeongin?! Seungmin could at least mention his current condition, so you could skedaddle your way to the nearest exit with a salad to-go. Better yet, some pasta and a pound of those chicken tenders sounded all the better…

No, no Y/n! Now was not the time to be thinking about food...even if it’d been a while since you last ate...more like a day…

...Ooooooh...pizza and...shrimp cocktail…

A pile of desserts rested center stage. Was that German chocolate you were seeing...?

“So,” Seungmin called. “Will Y/n be joining us this evening?”

Your attention snapped back to reality. Felix shook his head alongside tearing into a drumstick. “‘Fraid not,” he replied.

“Mm…” the other boy nodded. “...May I ask why? Is she feeling alright?”

Felix paused again. Forgetting the pasta and German chocolate, you pressed yourself against the closed door in order to be as close as possible, ear resting just next to the shaded chandelier and candlelight. 

Just like we practiced, Felix. Come on, just like we rehearsed.

“Uuuh,” Felix stammered. “Th-That’s…”

His head listed aside in thought. Ugh! No, what was he doing?! 

Felix chewed much longer than he needed to while racking his mouse-sized brain for an answer. Your fingertips pressed into old polished wood, silently begging the boy to remember what you’d just discussed twenty minutes ago.

Remember...think, dang it!

Suddenly, he swallowed. “Oh!”

Seungmin shook his head, as if waking up from a trance. “Yes?”

Felix grinned, probably with salad or something stuck in his teeth. “Y/n will not be attending this dilatory gathering due to a symptom...of her curse, that makes her quite drowsy at this late hour!”

Chink...! That was the sound of your hope cracking like a broken mirror. That sounded totally rehearsed! The lie was supposed to be that your curse made you tired and you didn’t want to be disturbed. It was perfect, since you knew one of them would insist on butting in to see for themselves, but surely would respect a young lady’s wishes to be left alone…

Though it was hard to see that far, Seungmin appeared to be grinding gears in his mind to make sense of such a suspiciously wordy sentence when, heaven’s to Betsy, the door at the far side opened, and in came a blue-haired shadow. It was the only way you knew how to describe him; he was simply put, like ink off a rain-washed page… “Wassup?!” He announced, swinging out the right-side chair.

Seungmin deadpanned, appearing to squint just slightly. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Ink-boy dropped a handful of rolls onto his plate. “...Like wha— oh!”

He leapt for the door again. Seungmin rolled his eyes (something he seemed to do a lot), dabbing the sides of his mouth before placing the cloth back over his lap. “Yeah. Oh.”

At the far end of the room, Han held both hands raised, as if he were a magician about to reveal a magic trick. “May I present to you, Felix, His Royal Highness, Prince of Everain Palace, Ruler of Finance, Master of Trade, Prosperer of...prospering, President Hwang’s birthright successor of the greatest industry of all time, Hyun— …”

Crickets. 

You couldn’t visibly see it, but you knew it was there: a single drop of sweat that rolled down the side of Han Jisung’s face, as he stood frozen, one hand hovering over the engraved door handle.

“Ha...hahaha…” He did his best to smile. “...Wh-Where’s Y/n?”

Felix bobbed his head, holding up a finger while finishing off a bite of lasagna. “Mm...one second mate…” He dabbed the corners of his mouth like Seungmin had done, taking his time to tuck and fold the elaborate cloth upon his lap. 

Han twitched. Felix surely smiled, taking a painfully slow inhale.

“Y/n will not be attending this dilabitory...dilatory gathering due to a...symptom?...yeah, a symptom of her curse, that makes her quite drowsy at this late hour!”

… …

“She whAT?!?!”

You sighed. While Han had another spastic encounter with the dust-coated floor, Seungmin hollered and tried beating the boy out of it with various hard-mattered foods, the two falling into the same bickering as they had before. Felix continued to happily stuff his face like nothing was bothering him. And you, idly residing in the cold hallway, still had no idea how Jeongin was. Not a word.

Sliding your back down the door, you pursed your lips, lightly smacking two fingers over your wrist; better check yourself before you wreck yourself, just in case.

Fifty-eight...fifty-nine...sixty. Yep, normal.

But the marking on your wrist wasn’t. 

You jumped back, hitting the door and causing the noise outside to dip for a moment before returning to...what was currently normal. You covered your right wrist with the opposite hand. Held your breath. Counted to three.

Removing your fingers, slowly, something sinister stared back at you. Something...elaborate, foreign, but distinguished. Some sort of...strange dome shape, a mark made of...ink, maybe, resembling a chapel window. Or a door, perhaps?  

Upon closer inspection, in the faint light from the other room, it seemed to pulse with...some kind of...energy… … 

...When sunrise comes, and all is lost… Hmm… 

Fwoosh!

You snapped your head back, peering through the sliver of dancing light. The far door ricocheted against its adjacent wall; an ambrosial aroma wafting through the air. The candlelight...illuminated...

...A beastly man with silky black hair.

- ❧ -

You’re pretty sure you heard a noodle slip off the fork wound tightly in Felix’s hand, who nearly dropped it all the same. 

There he was; the man who’d become a monster and nearly murdered Han just hours ago, right before your eyes. The black and red miasma, honed claws, sharp teeth; all of it came flooding back to your mind like a tidal wave. 

The sudden drop in temperature made you long for candle warmth, yet flee farther into the shadows of the empty hall. Seungmin paused with a scone held once proudly and threateningly in the air, now placed delicately on his plate as he nervously slid back into his seat. Han, once choking on a fistful of salad mix, managed to wash it down and did the same, quickly and quietly so after pulling out the beastman’s seat.

Hyunjin sat down with vigor, the legs of his chair scraping harshly to the floor. He made a peculiar face, something like embarrassment albeit just a second, before hiding it behind the fluffing of his napkin and folding it onto his lap. Then he made a fleeting...was that nervous?...glance straight head, to the far opposite end of the table.

The candlelight seemed almost hesitant to cast it’s erratic glow upon the prince’s face. When his eyes met a head of orange hair, he froze, glaring. Hotly. “Where is Y/n?”

“The million dollar question,” Seungmin mumbled. It managed to echo, along with the kick beneath the table and following hiss escaping his lips a moment later. 

Hyunjin snorted, turning his gaze back to Felix. “I said,” he repeated. “Where is Y/n?”

“Yes, I heard you loud and clear, cuz,” Felix replied with an OK sign. “Gimme just a sec...ahem!”

You (silently) banged your head against the solid matter before you. Oh, sweet stars, please no…

“Y/n will not be attending this—”

“She’s not feeling well, Your Grace,” Seungmin interrupted. Phew. “Apparently she’s rather ill as a side effect from whatever curse the Witch gave her. She’s resting in the same guest room upstairs.”

Yes! Now, someone mention Jeongin’s name so you could leave with a clear conscious!

Hyunjin blinked. “Go get her, then.”

… Huh?

Seungmin nearly swallowed wrong, apparently thinking the same thing. “I’m sorry?”

Hyunjin, again, snorted. “I said, go get her. It’s rude to keep everyone waiting, especially royalty.”

Felix, who had long started his meal prior to anyone’s arrival, stopped and hurriedly shoved any evidence under a spare napkin from the empty seat beside him. “Ahaha, yes, right! Waiting…! …” 

He awkwardly wiped his hands clean. Seungmin frowned. “Hyunjin…”He placed his fork down. “She’s sick. Resting. And after today, I don’t blame her for wanting to be left alone right now…” He eyeballed Felix a moment, leaning in with a hushed voice. “Remember, you have more time now...it’s better to be patient. Let her adjust first.” He turned back toward his meal. “I got the hint from Felix’s message, she wants to be left alone. Everyone’s already started eating, anywa—”

“That’s enough!”

The room swiftly grew colder. You shivered, ducking your head even if you technically weren’t present in the dining atmosphere. Oh, greif.

Hyunjin slammed his hands on the table, rocking himself upwards. “If you’re just going to back talk and give me excuses, I’ll get her myself!”

He made his way toward you, crossing the dining room on Han’s side in angry strides towards the vaguely slitted door.

Gasping, you bit your lip hard, frantically searching for a place to hide; but there was nothing. No furniture or randomly placed junk littered the path leading to the great hall. Could you outrun him, maybe? Would it make a sound? How good was his hearing? Did beastmen have the same sensitive hearing capabilities as a wolf, or a fox?

“Pardon me!”

You whirled around, witnessing the brave, possibly last, antics of Felix the Mouse...boy. His whole aura radiated positive, jittering energy, hopping lightly from one foot to the next as he put his old entertainment skills to use, all for your sake.

Hyunjin grunted, having been stopped in his tracks. He glared down heatedly. “What is it? You’re in my way.”

Felix saluted him. “Right on, bro! ...Except, that…”

You held your breath. Put on a good show, Felix. Or, better yet, ask him about Jeongin. That’s all I need to—

“...I need to pee. Mind showing me where the bathroom is?”

… … 

Oh…he just had to...go… 

You deflated like a popped balloon. Of course.

After staring almost incredulously at Felix, like trying to understand his existence, Hyunjin made some sort of irritated noise you assumed all beastmen made, shoved him aside, and continued his striding. 

You made it as far as a few paces from the first available turn before a cold voice stopped you.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

Urk! … 

...You really should have just looked for Jeongin yourself.

| Ten ❧

“Where’s Jeongin?”

The room had long ago settled into an uncomfortable silence. Bitterly, you shoved a stuffed olive into your mouth, letting the salty tang of the brined fruit coax over your tongue before shivering from the sensation.

You were getting drowsy. But that also could have been from the wine Han insisted on pouring for you, and you being stressed and unsure if an evening around a beastman would be at all possible without the effects of alcohol, accepted.

You were seated across from the beast now, in Felix’s place. The boy being forced to your right...until the effects of whatever had made him a boy again wore off. As of ten minutes ago, he was a rodent yet again, nested happily in the garlic bread basket. You squinted eyes at him over your wine glass.

You totally failed the mission. Be grateful I’m having a hard time staying mad at you. And that you can safely ingest garlic.

“Why do you wish to know?”

Hyunjin’s voice boomed across the grand hall, in no more than a calm rejoinder. How he could speak so lowly and yet fill an entire hall was beyond your drunkenly buzzing comprehension.

“I just want to know,” you simply replied. “Where is he?”

Hyunjin didn’t respond. Instead, Seungmin cleared his throat, excusing himself from the room.

“Wait,” You stood. “Where are you going?”

The boy awkwardly shifted his gaze from you to the door. Hyunjin suddenly stood as well. “Why do you want to know? Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Okay, okay,” Han dabbed at his face, easing the beast back into his seat, and motioning for you to do the same. “Everyone take it easy. Y/n, please excuse Seungmin, he has many responsibilities here. Hyunjin...Your Princeliness,” he corrected, “why don’t you have some more wine? I think we all just need to have a nice long drink and—”

“Be quiet,” Hyunjin ordered, scooting himself in. His shadow didn’t need to be told twice, turning back to his dinner with a small eye roll.

Steadily, with caution, you lowered yourself back into your seat, only able to watch as Seungmin gave a brief bow to you before disappearing behind closed doors. “Please excuse me,” his voice trailed behind him.

Great. He was likely the only one who’d have been bold and honest enough to tell you anything. Now you were stuck with a beast, a shadow, and a mouse that’d fallen asleep in the bread basket.

...Then this happened.

“Ahem,” Hyunjin swallowed a swish of sweet, fermented grape juice. “...T-Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said…” He swallowed again, for no particular reason this time. He kept a staring contest with his steak. “Tell me about yourself. What kind of...stuff do you like?”

“What kind of...stuff?”

A stifled noise came from Han’s lips, as he did his best to hide a smile. He spared you a polite grin before quickly whispering something to Hyunjin, like a lawyer to a client. “...Never mind!” The beastman awkwardly bleated, to which crimson coated his cheeks. He angrily picked at his plate, and the room once again fell into silence.

That was weird. Switching gears, you glanced down to your wrist. The mark from a bit earlier was still there, now lit up beneath the flickering light. Tentatively, you slipped a spare napkin, rubbing at the ink.

It didn’t budge. You tried wetting the cloth with a bit of wine when the others weren’t looking; thankfully, Hyunjin was too...enthralled in his steak, or something, and Han was too busy whispering to him.

The ink didn’t smudge, either. It was as if the markings were a part of your skin.

When sunrise comes, and all is lost… 

“What do you do for fun?”

“Wha?!” Your head shot up, focusing to see all four eyes on you. Han and Hyunjin glaring at you expectantly. You gulped, taking a deep breath to clear your thoughts. You just couldn’t get that old bat’s wacky slogan out of your head… “...What do I do for fun? Is that what you asked?”

Han gave a single nod, encouraging another conversation attempt. You lowered your head, thinking. It couldn’t hurt to participate in mindless chatter. Just until I get the information I want.

“I like...selling things. And making people happy.”

Hyunjin’s eyes grew just a little. “Is...that what you do for a living?”

“Mm-hm.”

Both men were silent. Hyunjin, in particular, looked like he may have been experiencing indigestion of some sort. Then he scowled. “Shouldn’t you be home with your parents? Taking care of them? Doing something more decent?”

You scoffed. What the heck? Where did that come from? “This is how I take care of them. Almost all the proceeds go back to them. What do you mean, more decent?”

Hyunjin had opened his mouth to speak when Han cleared his throat, jumping in on the conversation. “Does your friend work with you? Her name was…”

“Rei.”

“Yes, Rei! You both sell artifacts and collectibles, right?”

“That’s correct.”

Hyunjin blinked. “Oh…” He relaxed, indigestion cleared.

Placing both hands on your lap, you sat up a little straighter. “So where’s Jeongin?”

The beastman’s face resembled one of annoyance and grief. “Why do you keep asking about him?”

“I…” You took another swing of wine, swirling the contents afterward. Watching as your reflection altered. “I’m just curious is all. Is he doing okay?”

Something like...jealousy?...resided among the beast’s brow and set jaw. “He’s fine. Quit asking. I want you to tell me about yourself. Where are you from? How old are you?”

It was at this point that you’d at last had perhaps one too many swigs of sweet relief and numbness, for you placed down your glass after chugging the last bit. One out of...how many refills of this stuff have you had? “Can’t,” you stated, standing. “I got what I came here for. Now I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Hyunjin...the beast, regarded you incredulously. “Yes, leaving…” You giggled. “Leaving. Leeeeeaving… Like leaves blowing in the wind, leaf-ing.” It was a hop, skip, and a jump to the door some ten or whatever paces away. “I know that Jeongin is okay now...er, wait.” You frowned. Turned around. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

A brow was raised. “You think I’m lying? About my Jeongin?” He snorted. “Why do you care so much about him? Do you know him from a past life? Was he your lover? Do you like him now?”

“Hyunjin…” Han muttered, glaring. “Cool it...please.”

“I will not!” He rose to his feet with twice as much vigor as before, chair flying backward. Han eep-ed. “This dinner is supposed to be about you, and me. Why do you keep bringing up my blacksmith? Tell me!”

Because you were already pretty numb (good gravy what was in the wine?), you just laughed at the fact a beast was getting this angry over something so trivial to you. “Why do you care so much? Do beasts always get this angry?” You groaned, like it was all such a bother. “If you really wanna know, he had a nervous breakdown or something and begged me to come to dinner. But he got all weird...like...there were these moving images, and he started vanishing. I could see right through him!” You sighed, making your exit again. “I just wanted to know if he was alright. Turning into air like that can’t be healthy.”

“Absolutely not.”

You chuckled, nearly at the door. “Exactly, that’s what I’m say—”

“NO!”

Boom! Chik!

...You flinched. Gradually, bit by bit, you inched yourself to partially facing the dining hall.

A chunk of the table was missing. A decently-sized, pretty big chunk, torn right off the left corner. Han, on the opposite side but right next to the disaster, was twisted up like one of the noodles that’d been trapped in Felix’s hair, his face ghostly white.

Hyunjin was seething. “You are not going anywhere outside the confinements of these walls. That is an order.”

Han coughed, waving away dust and floating wood chips with minimal effort so as not to draw too much attention. “O-Okay, easy there, Hyunjin…technically…” He smiled. An apologetic one, voice skittishly squeaky. “Technically, you can’t order her to—”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want!!! This is my manor, my life, my curse!!!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to order me around!” You screamed. “How dare you raise your voice to me! Over something so stupid and absurd!”

His eyes narrowed to slits, head twitching aside. “What did you just say?”

You mirrored his image. “You heard me. Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear. Surely, as a beast, your hearing is as good as a dog. Or a bat. Or some kind of vermin.” Pushing open the door, you whipped your head around. “I said, I’m leaving.”

Hyunjin’s eyes went wide...then nearly vanished behind a curtain of vexed, enraged brows. “You wanna go so badly? Fine! Get out of here! Go to your room!!!”

“Who do you think you are, my father?!”

“Obviously, running amuck from your parents has left you with a lack of discipline.”

Your jaw went slack. “What did you just say?!?”

Hyunjin smirked, a sarcastically snobbish and mocking tone to his voice. “You heard me. Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

“Uh!” You raved. “Whatever! I’m going to look for Jeongin myself, since I can’t trust that you’d tell me anything sincere. Then, I’m out of here.”

“What does that mean?!”

“It means I can’t trust anything you say, because you’re a monster!!! Then, I’m going home!”

You couldn’t quite see it, but there was a hint of pain in Hyunjin’s eyes, mixed with scars and years of regret. But everything quickly flooded back to anger and bigotry before you could count to three. “...Get back here! You’re not allowed to leave the manor! I forbid you to go anywhere except straight to your room! Do you hear me?!”

“No!”

“Yes!!”

“No!!”

“FINE!!!”

“Fine!!!”

…Slam.

| Eleven ❧

The rain coming down that night was the only thing stopping you from leaving. Not that you were afraid of a little rain by any means; no, not in the slightest. Rather, it was that you weren’t going to kill yourself over a stupid argument just to get away from a beast. You couldn’t risk catching pneumonia or a silly cold and leave Rei to handle taking care of you and the fort. Plus, there was the matter of Felix...you’d be responsible for him as well. You already told him you would.

...All of that, and it was raining pretty hard.

So here you sat, out in an old web-infested barn, slack atop a stack of hay a few feet away from the open barn doors, just watching the rain fall. Praying it would let up so you could escape. Praying no one would find you here, out in some shabby old building behind the kitchen. And what a nightmare that had been, by the way.

From your left shoulder, Felix did a nervous little jig, spinning in circles twice before bridging across your back to the other side. “Y/n…I don’t know what happened, cause that cheese and wine got me pretty good, but…” He heaved a small mouse-sigh. “...Do you think you maybe overreacted? You don’t seem like a person who gets worked up so easily.”

You scoffed. Wasn’t that right. “Yeah...you’re right. I’m not.”

“Then what happened?”

“......” It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. What did happen? Why did I get so worked up like that? Sure, there was the alcohol. That definitely had an effect. But it wasn’t everything, because now that it was wearing down, now that your mind was clearing and you’d had some time to settle down, to breathe in solitude, you...knew it was something more. There was truth in the midst of all that anger.

Felix was waiting for an answer. So were you.

“I—”

Chunk! “Y/n!!!”

You took a startled breath, turning toward an old door you could have sworn was sealed shut. “Jeongin…?”

It was Jeongin. The red-haired reason you’d decided to stick things out, albeit a little longer. The boy greeted you with flushed cheeks and a lazy smile; he still didn’t look all that well. “Y-Yeah...I came because I heard...you…”

He hunched over, out of breath. The face of another appeared behind him. “Jeongin! I told you to slow down, you’re in no condition to be running around like…” He stopped, blinking into the darkness. “Y/n? Why are you here?”

Brown hair, matching eyes. Mr. Excuse-Me-From-This-Horrifically-Awkward-Dinner. You just smiled, lazily in response. “Hello, Seungmin.”

The young...caretaker nodded, acknowledging you before being swatted away by his patient. A flash of vacancy lit up the night sky as you turned the opposite away, facing the other two in a triangle. Jeongin hustled to shut the barn doors despite Seungmin’s protests, and pretty soon the three...four of you, with Felix taking a nosedive for the hay, sat in awkward silence.

It was almost an encore of dinner not but twenty or thirty minutes ago, though not as worse. It was obvious the two of them wanted to say something, but neither wanted to be the first to speak. Finally, after twenty-odd seconds of nose scratches, unnecessary shifting, and forced coughs, the only employee with a braincell sat up a little straighter.

“Listen,” Seungmin began, using his hands to speak. “About Hyunjin—”

The beast. No thank you. You swatted your hands before you. “I do not want nor need to have another conversation about that ill-mannered buffoon.”

“...I’m pretty sure this is the first one.”

“Second,” Jeongin inquired. “...Right?”

“I’m not counting the first encounter,” Seungmin...countered. “Those never count.”

Jeongin nodded. “Yeah, I can see why—”

“Enough!” You yelled. “...It doesn’t matter if this is the first or second or even the tenth time. I can tell you one thing, it’s definitely the last.”

Seungmin gave you a pitying look. “We all have to walk on eggshells around him.” His voice sounded pleading, borderline apologetic, and all-over exhausted. “...It gets rough, I know. I understand he’s not the easiest person to get along with. He’s very different and outcast and behind the times. But if you could just hear me out for—”

“Hear us out,” Jeongin corrected. He gave you the cutest, saddest smile a boy of his caliber could possibly manage. It made your heart melt; it didn’t help that he was still ill to boot. “I heard what you did for me, Y/n. I really appreciate your concern. No one has ever stayed, especially when one of us...has an...episode.” 

His gaze grew sad and distant. You could feel your heart sizzling in a pool of pity. “...This has happened...before?” you whispered.

Jeongin nodded, Seungmin averting his eyes. “...Yeah.” He said. “Twice to Jeongin, three times to Han, Hyunjin too many to count...and uh…” He scratched his cheek, holding up an index finger. Eyes peeking shyly under the hood of neatly-groomed bangs. “...Once I may have...had a bad day.”

“Wow…” Felix mumbled, head sticking out of the hay barrel. The boy looked like a stray whack-a-mole project. “That sounds rough. Been there done that.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him down with two fingers. He let out a muffled squeak on the way down. “So…” ...You sighed. “...What is it that you wanted to say, then? This is the last time I’m listening. I only went to that banquet to make sure Jeongin was okay.” Another crack of lighting pierced the sky, followed by the ominous rumbling of thunder. “You have maybe ten minutes, since the storm isn’t letting up anytime soon. But after that, I’d like to be left alone in peace until I can leave this joint. Go.”

Seungmin nearly beamed nonexistent sunshine. “That’s plenty of time.”

“Get to the basics. Just the essentials.”

“The company fell under a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry?”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair while Jeongin glanced nervously at the door. “The company, this place. The first thing you need to know about Hyunjin is that he wasn’t always this way. And I’m not just talking about the curse. He’s the son of a wealthy businessman; this is his estate. He owns the whole town...or at least, he did.” His eyes scanned the walls and dusty interior, as if checking to see if someone else was watching. As if taking in the entirety of the estate. “...Now it belongs to Hyunjin. Everything.”

You crossed your arms. “I could have put that together myself. He’s obviously a rich, spoiled brat.”

“There’s more. The people that know him personally know him for who he really is.”

You huffed. Unbelievable, really. “And what would that be?” You pressed. “A monster?”

A bitter silence flushed the room. You instantly felt a pang of resentment at that remark. Perhaps...again, that was a bit too harsh. 

“...I’m sorry.” Your arms laid in surrender across your lap. “Please continue.”

“......” Seungmin glanced to his left. “You wanna pick up from here?”

He leaned back, Jeongin lifting himself to take the lead. “...Hyunjin is a pain in the ass. He’s a pain in the morning, we basically play rock paper scissors to see who has the unfortunate task of waking him up and handling his breakfast, and to decide who’s turn it is to do laundry and lunch we place bets on when he’ll randomly combust in a daily rage or which book he’ll throw across the room first.” He counted on his fingers, listing them off one by one. “For dinner and his bath we usually draw straws or play an old board game, but Han often cheats, so…”

...His voice trailed off, eyes intently examining his mental checklist. You frowned. “...What does any of this have to do with…” Shook your head. “What are you saying again?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he bowed. Cute. “What I meant to say was that deep down Hyunjin is actually a very kind person, but...I just ended up making him sound like an overly-dependent...man...child.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, twirling a piece of hay around your finger. “Well he sure does seem like it. His manners at the dinner table were atrocious and incredibly beast-like.”

“But you don’t know him like we do,” Seungmin insisted...then smiled, apologetically so, sitting up straight again. “...Forgive me. But what we’re trying to say is, Hyunjin is really a nice guy, he’s just...stuck. You definitely didn’t help with that daily ledger,” he scolded beside him. Jeongin bowed again.

“Well, sorry, I was just trying to—”

“Stuck?”

That lone word rang out like a gunshot. Seungmin and Jeongin both turned to you with sour eyes, the former swallowing a bit uncomfortably. “...Yes, stuck.”

“In what? Time? Space? Adolescence?” You tilted your head. “Because he never learned to grow up?”

“Exactly! ...Sort of.”

You glanced down to the hay-riddled fabric adorning your lap. It’d never really occurred to you to analyze or care anything for Hyunjin’s personal life, mostly because you weren’t planning on staying and the moment you saw him transform, you didn’t want to know. Your instincts told you to run, to flee, to flood your system with a coping-mechanism gene and forget and ignore what you just saw. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you were scared...and who in their right mind wouldn’t be?

...But hearing this now...even given the smallest sliver of insight…

...Well, your mother had often scolded you for being nosy. “So you’re saying he never learned how to...grow up.”

Both boys nodded. “That definitely can be said.”

“And so, that’s why he acts out.” You looked around, questions popping up about the hedge maze in your mind from every direction. “How long has he been alone here? Where are his parents? …How old is he?” Your eyes focused on Seungmin. “What happened to him, exactly?”

“......” Seungmin and Jeongin shared a look. It all but drove you crazy how long it took one of them to answer. “...Do you have longer than ten minutes?”

| Twelve ❧

“Hyunjin was born to a wealthy mother and a poor, impoverished father in the year XXXX. No one knows where or how they met; Hyunjin is very selective and quiet on the matter. However, documents of his mother’s family buried in one of many attics claim they met at some time around the Summer harvest festival, an annual event that used to take place here in New Amber.

“It was the responsibility of noble families to uphold the annual harvest ceremony at the start of the season. As a part of tradition, many noble families and a few middle class families with connections to noblemen and their wives would use this great gathering to announce engagements and arranged marriages, in order to shift the power to new families and invite a sense of balance to the community. Hyunjin’s mother was reportedly sixteen years old at her time of arranged marriage, to the wealthiest family in New Amber next to the king; a family called the Song’s.

“The Song family oversought all affairs in the king’s absence; which he was absent a lot, given his aloof nature and uncaring attitude towards politics. The Song family basically ruled the city with an iron fist; many offers came to them from pushy mothers or greedy fathers who wished for their sons and daughters to tie a knot to the family name, connecting a chain to their own. A man by the name of Yun Jeongsun, Hyunjin’s grandfather, was one such parent. He weaseled his way into the Song’s good graces, and they offered their youngest son to be wed.

“Hyunjin’s mother, Yun Haerin, was against the marriage from the start. She had no interest in marriage, and instead wanted to craft her own trade to be of use to society. She wished to work alongside the Song family, rather than become one herself. As you can imagine, this angered many people; not only did it go against protocol at the time, but refusing an offer from the ruling family was considered a huge offense. And the Song family took it that way.

“As she was packing to leave the city one night— as she’d decided to melodramatically run away from her problems— she was met with Hyunjin’s father, a dirt-scratcher named Hwang Jihoon. The Hwang family had fallen on hard times ten years prior when their oil company snagged a few false investments, and the company went bankrupt and fell under. Having learned to fend for himself and adapt to life on the streets, Hwang Jihoon saved Yun Haerin from some typical back alley bandits, and finding her fancy offered to escort her to her new life outside of town.

“As you can probably guess, the two fell in love during their travels, and settled for a simple life outside of New Amber. However...Hwang Jihoon wanted more for his family. 

“No one in the Hwang family ever forgot or gave up resenting the hardships they faced. And no one especially more than eldest son Jihoon. To summarize and keep this short...Hwang Jihoon became a tyrant. He used Haerin’s maiden name to forge a new path for the Hwang’s, and eventually, the nameless city they had escaped to fell flat. It couldn’t withstand the intense amount of economic tyranny and inflation. The taxation without representation. Hwang Jihoon had swindled his family to the top and drained the entire community dry.

“So they went back to New Amber. For stability. For revenge. Now having the security and stability he needed, which he stole from others, the Hwang family came back with an iron fist of their own. Due to a current drought and a bad economic year, not to mention the king up and abandoning his people, not even the Song family could stand up to them. And promising a new resurrection of New Amber, Hwang Jihoon took the throne.

“He crowned himself King of New Amber and tore half the city apart drilling for oil. As luck would have it, the community had been sitting atop a natural oil reserve that flooded the country back into promising times. Things were actually quite peaceful for the first five years...until they ran out of oil. Taking the snag in stride, however, Jihoon used his deceit and backhanded tactics to manipulate the economy, trading and stealing from other cities. Because he was so crafty, no one caught on until it was too late.

“Hyunjin had been born just a year before. Upon his birth, Haerin and Jihoon began having marital problems, according to a diary entry by Haerin. In it she claims to have regretted her choice in marrying Jihoon, and that she’d fallen out of love with him. She claims that his only interest was power and revenge, tearing down the social hierarchy to make everyone pay— and the unfortunate effects it was having on everyone. 

“In her last entry, Haerin claimed to fear for her life. She wrote that Jihoon had violently threatened to forfeit her life if it meant continuing his reign. She was never seen or heard from after that…”

...Seungmin’s voice grew faint for a while. Tension in the air rose higher, the thickness suffocating.

You couldn’t believe such a tragic and long-rich history had occurred in such a wasteland. It obviously had fallen eventually, but…

You needed to hear more. “...So he killed her? Then what happened?”

Seungmin nodded, slowly. “It likely wasn’t him. Due to his constant appearance in the public eye, it’s more probable to say he hired someone to do the job.”

You shivered. How awful. 

As Jeongin fished out and dusted off an old blanket for you, his light coughs echoing around the barn, Seungmin continued. “With Haerin gone and the Yun family name no longer needed, Jihoon continued to thrive and plunge the city to new heights— and a harder fall. He manipulated the economy to continue spinning in his favor; meanwhile, as years flew by and he became older, he began having thoughts of the future, and who would succeed in his place. Because he was a man with no trust in anyone but himself, he summoned his only son— Hwang Hyunjin— to be molded in lessons of business and trade. How to lie, cheat, and steal.

“Supposedly the brainwashing began around the age of nine. Hyunjin had been a clueless child sent away to be cared for by a few nuns from the community in a remote location before; he’d grown up without any friends, never knowing the love of a mother or father. Only the required care provided by the Sisters of the Church. However, that does not mean he was never unhappy; the sisters did a fine job of raising him, and they truly did grow to love Hyunjin as their own.

“Of course that all changed when he was taken back to the palace. From then on Hyunjin spent his days locked away in the estate’s highest tower, like a prince out of a fairytale; forced into the education of topics he could scarcely fathom. Another maid who kept a journal of her own reported the occasional, almost frequent scream coming from the prince’s tower. She noted them as punishments for incorrect responses and behavior.

“Hyunjin was fourteen when his father died. Five years of torture and humiliation, along with a healthy dose of effective brainwashing, formed him into an angry and bitter soul. Originally, he wanted nothing to do with his father’s company. He wanted nothing to do with the position of king; but being outnumbered and powerless against the force of countless impoverished civilians forced him to make changes. 

“...I did the best I could to help him. As an advisor in training to Jihoon, I truly did what I could. Honestly, seeing him that one day...the day of his coronation...it fascinated me. There, I thought. Up there on the highest balcony. That’s the boy rumored to be the source of the screaming at night. That’s the boy who is Jihoon’s only son. His flesh and blood. The son of the late Haerin, a lasting survivor of the Yun legacy.”

Seungmin took a deep breath here, sighing out into the open space between you. Watching him flashback nearly took your breath away.

“...And so it came to be that Hwang Hyunjin took the downfall of his father’s handiwork. The moment he sat down at the throne, all the lies his father weaved came unraveled. All the shortcuts and manipulation tactics came back to haunt him. All the stolen time and resources were forced to be paid back in full. Hyunjin could hardly bear the weight of it all; the toll was almost too great. Many people saw him as cursed, and up and fled the palace to be with their families in poverty. But they hadn’t seen anything yet...”

“So…” You hesitantly reached a hand forward, then flinched, retracting it. “...I’m sorry to interrupt. But how did he...um…”

Seungmin gave a bitter half-smile, nodding. “Yeah. I’m almost there.

“One night at the head of a harsh Winter, an old woman showed up seeking shelter. Hyunjin was out stalking the palace halls lamenting his position, and upon answering, turned her away.”

Your eyes widened. “She was...the Witch of the Biome. Er, whatever her name is…”

Seungmin nodded. “Yes, that’s right. The Witch revealed herself to Hyunjin, and put a curse upon all who were present within these walls. At the time that was...well, there were a few others, but before you ask about them...they’re gone now.”

You listed your head a moment before realizing what he meant. “...O-Oh...I’m so...sorry…”

The advisor shrugged. “It was a while ago. There was nothing we could do about it. It was their choice…”

Sniffling filled your ear from down below. You bowed your head to find Felix with tears in his eyes, turning to you in need of comfort. Gently, you lifted him onto one leg, hovering cupped hands around him. “And then?”

“Then...well…” He gestured around him. “Here we are today. After the people saw what he had become, families and villagers left, some in hoards, others more sparingly. But eventually the whole city was left to erosion. Hyunjin couldn’t hide his curse forever; and neither could we.” 

He stood suddenly, dusting stands of hay and a few piles of dust from the atmosphere away from him. Outside, the sounds of clarity of nightfall graced your ears.

“So now you know. This is Hyunjin’s story...and our own.”

“So then, why am I here?”

This question seemed to catch Jeongin by surprise; but Seungmin smiled as if anticipating the notion. “The Witch tends to spout riddles about how her curses can be broken; it’s like some weird tick or bad habit while she’s casting them. Or maybe it’s just the incantation itself; no one really knows. However…” He scratched his cheek, looking to Jeongin for confirmation. The red-head nodded. “We were hoping you would be the one to break the curse. You see, the incantation, according to Hyunjin, went something like this:

“Lips to lips and mouth to mouth Calls the speaker of the shrouds Summon forth your courage and might In order to love and end within night But yet if still ye cannot fathom Ending here the chilling anthem Suffer still and face your demise For all the passing days of sunrise.”

The smallest gasp escaped your lips. Sunrise...sunrise. When sunrise comes, and all is lost...

“...Hyunjin sort of lost his way after the curse was cast. Well...no. He’d lost his way a long time ago. I guess what I’m trying to say is, he never found his way to begin with. So he really lost it after the curse hit, and he was forced back into hiding. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Everything was so...messed up. It was just a mess. His whole life had been a dark, night-infested wasteland...much like this town, almost...and then it was like someone came and dropped a hedge maze over it. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He was already lost. So he just...screamed. And cracked. He broke, like many of the mirrors you’ll find around here. Covering it up with a delusional fantasy. That’s why he acts the way he does; sort of like he’s just existing, and nothing is really wrong. Inside...it’s chaos inside his mind. Just an ill-chosen coping mechanism to disguise the front of war. So, Y/n…”

You flinched at the mention of your name, sitting up straighter. Seungmin looked down upon you with an intense fire.

“Now that you know the story, what will you do? I didn’t tell you all this to guilt you into staying, so I hope you don’t feel that way. Nor did I tell it to scare you. You have nothing to fear but fear itself; something we’ve been trying to teach Hyunjin for a long time…” He sighed.

You glanced around the worn-down barn. At the empty hay barrels, the decaying wood structures, the various puddles of rain seeping in. What were you going to do? It was a tough decision to make...and a lot of information to process.

Your eyes traveled down to the lone marking on your wrist, now appearing to have settled into something bolder. It was definitely a petal, or an ambrosial symbol of some sort. The Mark of the Rose… 

You swallowed hard. It would seem your destiny had led you here. Even if it was a sudden destiny, a fate you never asked for. If you were going to get your old life back, well, it looked like you were going to have to take a detour. “I think...I’m going to do what I have to.”

At the other side of the barn, Seungmin blinked, remaining ever calm and collected since the moment you first met him. Jeongin, on the other hand, bore his eyes into you as if waiting to hear the climax of the story. “And what’s that?” Seungmin asked.

You stood, placing Felix on your shoulder. “You’ll see. Just watch me.”

| End Act One ❧

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

[themissinggenius]

Part 2/2

Another conversation was coming, but it was avoided for the time being. Clarice showered in the guest bathroom; earlier, she had tried peering around the house—still mad but a bit embarrassed by the outburst. The door had been put back into place since she showered, and the water had been cleaned off of the floor. Hannibal was nowhere to be found. I really did it this time, she thought. Her body relaxed, and her face softened. She didn’t think it was appropriate to laugh, but the thought still surfaced, prompting a sad smile. I pushed around the violent centerpiece of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. And he just cried. Shithouse mouse. The smirk dissipated as she ruminated further... She had hit him. Being a domestic abuser wasn’t just rude; it was boringly common. 

She moved the thoughts about violence to the side and shifted her attention to the cause of the scuffle. I don’t know what he expected. Hannibal knows the depth of my old relationship with Jack, as much as he hated him. He told me to say goodbye to my father, so why not Jack?

Your daddy and Jackie Boy aren’t the same, she reminded herself. At this moment, she was both grateful and resentful that her internal voice of reason was that of her husband. At least it was helping her see his view. Okay, so the relationship isn’t necessarily comparable. But why would he think I wouldn’t come home? Did he really read my intentions so incorrectly?

Clarice laid awake in the guest bedroom for hours.

~~

Hannibal Lecter relies on his intuition; it may just be his most famous attribute. On rare occasion, though, his cunning will fail him. On the day that Jack Crawford died, it most certainly did.

However, he doesn’t know that yet. Instead, he is reclined in repose at the seat of his harpsichord which he does not play. As he is off in one of the ill-visited quarters of the home, Clarice would be unable to hear the notes carrying from her position in the guest room; even so, he does not play. Hannibal gleaned a look of disgust and frustration from her earlier, and thus, he was certain his Starling would take flight by the morning for reasons known but difficult to accept. There is no reason for him to play.

Poised on the bench, he disappeared to his memory palace without struggle. The difficulty came when he walked down the halls, closing each door that had belonged to her. Hannibal contemplated as he walked: There is a certain symmetry to this—an appreciable one. Clarice’s hotheadedness had been a defining feature of hers, whereas he relied on coolness. He chastised himself for his own emotional outburst; it was unlike him to breakdown, and though he had allowed himself to become vulnerable to his wife, with her likely departure, he had to withdraw from all this fragility. He had to shut down. He had to be the ice to meet her violent fire. 

Thus, he closed her doors, sealing the emotional ties within each.

~~

Hannibal emerged at the sound of her voice. He had not heard her approaching in nor had he smelled her. 

A few paces away from the harpsichord, Clarice stood. Hannibal had been contemplating whether to address her as Clarice (Perhaps too informal at this point...), Agent Starling (But even when she goes back, she won’t be an agent...), or Miss Starling (Ummmm, I don’t like this one very much...) when she interrupted.

“Hannibal,” she started. 

“Ah.” He paused but spoke again before she could continue. “I see you’ve finally decided to join me. Had enough tossing and turning up there, or did you come down to use me as your personal punching bag again?”

“No, no. I just think-”

He cut her off again. “You know what I think, Ex-Special Agent Starling?” Oooh. That works, he thought. “Well, actually I wonder. I wonder if that was how Daddy took care o’ Mommy when she wouldn’t shut ‘er yap.” His imitation of her accent—which she had long abandoned—made her flinch. “If Ma didn’t have dinner on the table at five-o-clock, yes siree, she’d be in some kinda trouble. And boy, does Clarice still wanna be like her Daddy! No matter what,” he emphasized with a drawl, “she’s gonna stand by him. It sure do seem that way tuh me!” Hannibal smirked, and his face betrayed no warmth.

The room had felt colder to Clarice when she had walked in. She had expected him to be upset, but she hadn’t expected this. The woman paused and considered the implications: her musings were correct. He really did misread her, and now he was trying to drive her away. Well fuck that. 

In their years of marriage, the couple had picked up on a few of each other’s traits. For one, Clarice was not going to allow a bit of intimidation break her. He came close to doing so in Baltimore, but he would not again. She steeled herself, adopting a bit of his icy demeanor.

“No, Hannibal. My father did not hit my mother. I think I would’ve told you by now, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away; rather, he just pursed his lips and smiled. 

Then, he began: “As you know, I don’t try to predict you because it often proves fruitless.” He looked off before setting his gaze squarely on her. “However, considering these... outbursts of yours and the contempt plain on your face, I have bought you a ticket back to Arlington in time for dear Mr. Crawford’s funeral. For my safety, I will also be leaving, but not to Virginia. I know how much you must miss Jackie; please, give him my regards when you go. Maybe if you scream and pound on his grave hard enough, someone will hear and they’ll finally find you... Three years after you were reported as a missing person.” Lecter’s eyebrows shot up, and he shrugged. “Though I doubt you’ll be reinstated, as you haven’t kept your resume up to date. It will be no problem for you, though, Clarice.” He gave her a kind, patronizing look. “You’re a very smart girl. When you rediscover that the FBI has no use for your intelligence, try showing off your trophies from the firing range. Maybe even tell them about your skills in hand-to-hand combat... I could write you a glowing reference!”

Hannibal was perfectly still in his seat with his wife just beyond him. He waited patiently for her to break. He wanted no end to be left untied when she left. Your turn.

“I see you still try and lick tears after you’ve tired of tasting your own.” Clarice took a slow step toward him. She needed to crack his facade quickly. “Fortunately or unfortunately, I have no intention of moving back to the States. I find that I’m quite happy right here.”

Only she could have noticed the slight twitch of the doctor’s right eye upon this admission. And she did.

Starling inched closer. “Now, about this ‘contempt plain on my face’...” She mirrored his voice and flat expression; her imitation was even better than his had been. “Did ya happen to consider that it’s because you just tried to tear me apart—unsuccessfully, I might add? Let me tell you what I know, Doctor.” She hammed up the formality in her tone. “I know you’re not comfortable feeling worried about another person. I know that you felt vulnerable when I was gone, and I know you didn’t like that.” 

She paused, remaining collected. She raised her voice a tad for this last bit. “Lastly, I know that you ASSUMED. And if there is one—just one!—good thing that goddamned Jack Crawford taught me over the years,” she laughed, “it’s that, when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME. Trust me, baby, you did just that. And despite what your intuition told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She did it. The true stoic’s face had broken, and Hannibal the Cannibal sat, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth and then closed it. She continued.

“I’m sorry that you misread my motivations. I spent yesterday reflecting on how I had gotten to this point, and I had come home feeling glad. I was planning on going upstairs to find you, drawing a bath for the both of us, and then dancing later on in the evening. Your assumption got us a bit sidetracked, though.” Looking down at her watch, it was 2am. Holy crap. She focused back on him and noted that he was still unmoving but appeared less rigid than before. The room felt like it had finally warmed up.

Clarice took a last step towards her husband. Now above him, looking down, she said, “I am sincerely sorry for hitting you, Hannibal.”

Finally, he stirred. “Clarice, I have not once so much as laid a finger on you in anger...”

“I know. Ironic, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

His wife smirked at that, and he returned the favor. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You know what else won’t happen again?” She held his chin and spoke softly. “You doubting us. I’m with you for the long haul. Where the hell did you even think I was going?”

“Ummmm. To be candid, I’m unsure of what I thought your plan was. I assumeddddd,” he looked up at her teasingly, “that you were leaving because of a change in heart.”

“My, Dr. Lecter, you didn’t have every one of my steps planned out before I could even think of them? What have I done to you?”

“I can now definitively say that you bring out the worst in me.”

Clarice laughed and sat down next to him. “Crying? And worrying?” She was feeling more relaxed, placing her hand on his leg as she started laughing harder. “Why am I not surprised that you consider that to be Hannibal Lecter at his worst?”

Her husband just smiled back at her. She saw his cheeks blush almost imperceptibly, which then prompted a further fit. It wasn’t long before they were both laughing.

“You had better... go back... into that memory palace of yours... and open up my doors ASAP,” Clarice ordered while catching her breath.

“And how did you—?”

“You were sitting on that bench for quite a while before I called out to ya. Try not to forget about me so soon, huh?”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.” Never again, he added silently. “But I must ask... Would I be incorrect in assuming you still want to dance?”

Clarice smiled widely. Hannibal shifted in his seat and began to play.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Tickled

A Rumbelle Dark Castle Fic

Summary: When Belle first hears Rumplestiltskin laugh, she’s determined to make it happen again. A/N: My @rumbellechristmasinjuly present for @silwenworld. I’m so sorry this is late, friend. I tried to weave some references in to Polish culture and hope it makes you smile. This fic is basically two Dark Castle Dorks squabbling like old marrieds.   On AO3

Rumplestiltskin laughed. It wasn't his usual twittering giggle or the short, falsetto snicker reserved for particularly irritating nobles who called upon his power. It was a low, rumbling laugh, deep and genuine. His sides shook and his eyes crinkled at the corners, the lines fanning out almost to his temples. Even the crimped mop of hair on his head quivered with amusement. As soon as Belle heard it, she wanted to make it happen again. The sound was so surprising that she almost dropped the heavy basket filled with bread balanced on her hip. She slid the rolls and baguettes to safety onto the kitchen counter and spun around to give him her full attention, waiting for more. But the laughter was gone, the sparkle in his gaze shuttered, and all traces of mirth wiped from his expression. And though the atmosphere in the kitchen had shifted, she couldn’t let the moment go by unmentioned.

“You laughed,” she said, astonished at the generous, happy sound. She could almost hear its faint, deep echo in the kitchen rafters.

“Stop gaping at me, woman, I did nothing of the sort.”

“Deny it all you like,” she said with a growing smile. “But I heard it.”

Rumplestiltskin affected a dramatic pose and waved his arms in his signature flourish. “I laugh all the time,” he said and punctuated the words with a maddening giggle. “You’ve never commented on it before.”

Belle crossed her arms. This had been different and they’d both known it. The panicked glaze in his eyes was proof enough. “You laugh in mockery or to protect yourself. Just now you sounded happy. Joyful.”

“What an impertinent caretaker you are.” He wagged a finger at her. “Did you trouble your father this much when you lived in his household? No, don’t bother answering. The hairs on my head are turning white even as we speak.”

Belle rolled her eyes. Rumplestiltskin was immortal and although he was somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 years old, he didn’t have a single grey hair that Belle could find. Besides, any grey hair he’d earned came long before her arrival.

“Always changing the subject.” She rewarded his discomfiture with a sassy grin, then sashayed to the other side of the kitchen behind the large island, putting a safe distance between them. Alongside her delight and triumph at hearing his laughter, there was a strange, unfamiliar sense of warmth overtaking her. Smoothing the skirt of her dress with damp palms, she watched a spider methodically weave its web into the corner of the kitchen wall while she thought up a task to soothe her jitters. She wasn’t sure why, but the sound of Rumplestiltskin’s laughter had made her pulse skitter and her breath quicken. And when he’d stood close, his breath fanning her face as he laughed, the sweet aroma of magic and straw had overwhelmed the yeasty fragrance of bread.

Closing her eyes, she tried to commit the sound to memory. A shiver chased up her spine. His laughter had been intoxicating. Primal and full of life.

Shaking herself out of her daydream, Belle opened her eyes. The nearness of her employer didn’t typically affect her this way. At any rate, dinner and dessert wouldn’t make themselves, so she needed to get back to work. She squatted down to peruse the cookbooks on the shelves beneath the countertops, searching out one filled with cake recipes. Something with peaches would do nicely. The village bakery usually delivered cakes for Rumplestilsktin’s tea with the bread, but today they were out. It was her own fault; the riveting story she’d been reading yesterday had so engrossed her that she forgot to place the usual order. Thankfully there was always plenty of bread.

Burned cakes, Rumplestiltskin often said, were tolerable. Burned bread, however, was an abomination.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh!” She stood up too quickly and narrowly escaped banging her head on the underside of the counter.

His voice had floated as though he was standing right behind her, but he was clear across the room, a wicked grin plastered across his face. One leather-clad hip leaned indolently against the molding of the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

She hated it when he tossed his voice. “Rumplestiltskin!” She stomped her foot. “Don’t you have a potion to mix or a nobleman to vex?” Raising an eyebrow, he snapped his fingers. A bialy from the top of the breadbasket floated across the kitchen island and into his outstretched hand. “What a peculiar little thing you are,” he said. And before she could respond, he disappeared in a poof of red smoke.

Belle peeked around the corners and opened the pantry door just in case he was still hiding. No sign of him. Her sigh of relief met the cool kitchen air in a puff of steam. Alone at last, she put the kettle on to boil water for tea.

Ordinarily, Rumplestiltskin’s grand exits were frustrating—most people couldn’t poof in and out of rooms and realms at will. He also had a distressing penchant for disappearing in the middle of an argument, and often right before she was going to make a point. Yelling into an empty room was both embarrassing and disconcerting. Today, however, his presence was an unwelcome distraction.

She needed a plan.

Something had amused him enough to inspire the most wonderful laughter she had ever heard, and Belle was determined to discover what it was. The kettle whistled and while she prepared some black orange peel tea, she mulled over the possible events that had led to his laughter. When the sweetness of oranges perfumed the room, she brought her cookbook and tea to the worktable and sat down on her usual stool.

They’d been here together in the kitchen. He was pilfering a sweet snack, and she was accepting the bread delivery from the bakery. When she sidled by him with the bread basket, he laughed like he was hearing the finest tale in half a century.

Most people considered him a monster and would sooner relegate him to the pit of hell than care about what could possibly amuse the Dark One. But after almost a year of living at the Dark Castle in his service, Belle knew there was more to Rumplestiltskin than he revealed to the world.

Hadn’t he gifted her with a beautiful room overlooking the castle gardens and outfitted her with lovely and comfortable clothes in every shade of her favorite color blue? He encouraged her to correspond with her father and even allowed her to visit with a friend a time or two. He fussed over her when she worked too much and tucked her into bed with soup and tea when she was ill. And then there was the sumptuous tower library built just for her. It was her room alone and no one else was allowed inside without permission, he said. When he sought her out, the library and her bedroom were the two places he knocked and waited for her invitation before entering, even when the doors were wide open.  

Rumplestiltskin was a dangerous person—she wasn’t oblivious. But beneath his otherworldly exterior and mystical trappings lurked a sad, melancholy man who had lost his son and faced more than two centuries of loneliness. From the scant handful of stories he had willingly shared, she knew the life he’d had before he met the darkness had been years of rejection and ridicule. Life, she suspected, had offered him precious few reasons to laugh.

While a future as an indentured servant wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself, living with Rumplestiltskin wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, if she were forced to choose between Rumple and her father, it would be a hard choice to make. Besides, she was here and she had promised to stay forever. It gave her a sense of purpose to care for someone other than herself. Perhaps if she could offer him more reasons to laugh he wouldn’t be so distant, so angry. Maybe he wouldn’t always choose to hide behind a mask. Now, how could she get Rumplestiltskin to laugh again?

A commotion from the ornate cuckoo clock spurred her to action. With only two hours until supper, she needed to hurry. Off to the pantry she went in search of the flour and sugar for the cake.

xoxo After the supper dishes were cleared away, Belle watched carefully from her perch on the settee as Rumple picked up a slice of her freshly baked babka and sniffed. “It’s Wednesday. I thought there would be peach tarts.” The remark drifted down the long table in the center of the great hall, his tone carrying a hint of accusation. She decided against telling him she’d botched the bakery order. “There are peach preserves in this,” she said, hoping to mollify him. “And I made it myself.” Shrugging, he gulped the slice of cake in two bites. “Not the worst I’ve eaten.” Belle hid a smile. Coming from Rumplestiltskin, that was a compliment. He slurped sugar-laced tea from the cup she’d chipped on her first day of service in the castle and ate three more pieces of pastry from the tray. Belle edged forward in her seat, knocking a pillow to the floor when she shifted. Now perhaps he would laugh again. But although he hummed his appreciation for the food, there was no laughter. Disappointed, she scooped up the fallen pillow and hugged it to her middle. Perhaps she should have slipped up to his laboratory and taken some laughing potion to stir into the recipe. Surely such a thing existed. “Aren’t you having any?” he asked, then filled her cup with tea without waiting for an answer. He set two slices of cake on a plate and walked the length of the room to deliver them. When she accepted the plate, their sleeves brushed at the wrist. He backed away as though her clothes were on fire. Belle chewed her lip. It wasn’t like him to be so skittish. “Do I have germs or something?” “No more than usual.” His gaze shifted to the discarded novel on the floor and he settled in the wingback chair opposite the settee. He steepled his fingers. “You’re quiet today. What ails you? Plotting my demise?” “Nothing ails me.” She mustered her sweetest smile. “Everything is fine.” “Indeed?” He harrumphed. “Take a bite of your cake so I know you’ve not a mind to poison me.” “You’ve already eaten five pieces and you’re no worse for wear,” she pointed out, but she bit into the sweet cinnamon-laced confection to appease him anyway. It was good. She congratulated herself on her most successful baking venture thus far, since it seemed no one else was going to. “Touché,” he grunted. “Keep eating, please, so you don’t waste away and force me to send you home to your papa as a bag of bones. You barely touched your supper.” It was true she hadn’t had much appetite. She had been too busy watching him and wondering how she could inspire more of this afternoon’s beautiful laughter. She sank her teeth into a massive bite of cake and lifted her chin. “Why Rumplestiltskin,” she said after swallowing, “I didn’t know you cared.” He left the table in another poof of smoke and maniacal laughter. Not quite the reaction she was hoping for, but she could be stubborn as well. The game had only begun. xoxo

Over the next few weeks, Belle tried every technique she could think of to amuse Rumplestiltskin. Jokes, stories, a feather duster to tickle his sharp nose. She even traipsed through the great hall while he was spinning with a basket overflowing with bread, the same as she did the day she first heard his laughter. Jogging his memory of that day in the kitchen would surely work. But she was so focused on his reaction that she tripped over her own feet and dumped the basket on the floor. Rolls flew in every direction--onto the carpet, into the fire, and under the display cabinets filled with treasures from other lands. One piece of bread even landed on her head.

No reaction from Rumplestiltskin. Not even a snigger at Belle's expense.

Sweeping up the mess took so long she got a cramp in her shoulder. The crumbs tangled in her hair had to be washed out. At least there would be plenty of stale crusts to feed the birds.

Turning to the vast Dark Castle library, she scoured the dust-choked shelves for entertaining comedies. Without question, one of these was bound to make Rumplestiltskin laugh uproariously. Each evening for a week she read to Rumplestiltskin by the light of the fire, producing book after book until her fingers had papercuts and even she wanted a break from words. She’d even gone so far as to translate the work of a Polish author from The Land Without Magic by the name of Elżbieta Cherezińska.

Rumplestiltskin had snorted a time or two and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t laugh at a single story. On the seventh evening of reading, he ordered Belle to her bedroom with a pot of hot tea and a dram of whiskey to soothe her raw throat.

“That’s the fifth time you’ve coughed in an hour and your voice is starting to resemble a giant,” he’d said.

Too bewildered by being packed off to bed with Rumplestiltskin clucking at her like a mother hen, it didn’t occur to Belle to be insulted. Next, she tried concocting a potion for laughing. Yes, she should have tried this on the first day, she’d thought as the burgundy syrup bubbled on the stove. Magic helped Rumplestiltskin achieve his ends and there was no reason it couldn’t work for her. If only she hadn’t gone into the laundry room to wash Rumplestiltskin’s aprons. But she had, forgetting that the contents of the spell required complete concentration. Most of the potion boiled over leaving her without a key ingredient—whitehaven petal—and it wouldn’t become available again until the summer. Chagrined, Belle looked between the mess on the stove and the snowdrifts blowing against the window. Four months was too long to wait.

Hoping for the best, she scraped some of the sticky gooey liquid off the counter and stirred it into Rumple’s lunch.

Once consumed, his platter of beef and rice cabbage rolls produced so many ridiculous high-pitched giggles that Belle wanted to throw a five-armed candelabra at his head.

Hardly the sort of laughter Belle had been hoping to hear.

After a month of trying and failing, Belle was growing impatient. How many harebrained schemes could one caretaker enact for the sake of a simple laugh? Rumplestiltskin was not only unfazed by her efforts he seemed blithely unaware of them.

For someone so fond of claiming he wasn’t a man, he was terribly dense. Belle began to despair. If she ever hoped to hear his beautiful, rumbling laughter again, drastic measures were required.

xoxo

“Go on,” Belle urged, pushing open the heavy door to the great hall. The shaggy grey puppy scampered over to the square dais where Rumplestiltskin was spinning and whimpered a greeting. He dragged some golden stalks of straw onto the carpet covering the platform and began to chew. Belle hovered in the foyer, watching and listening. The young Polish Lowland Sheepdog’s hair hung into his sweet brown eyes and he had the sweetest little pink tongue Belle had ever seen on a dog. Even Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t be able to resist laughing at such a lively, intelligent ball of fluff.

Or so she thought. Absorbed by his spinning, a full ten minutes went by before Rumplestiltskin deigned to notice his new companion.

“Belle,” he called without looking away from the wheel, “some vile little creature has wandered into the hall. Come dispose of it.”

She burst into the hall and inserted herself between Rumplestiltskin and the puppy before he had the notion to transform the poor animal into a less-than-pleasant creature, like a skunk or a beetle. It seemed to be the fate of most who displeased the Dark One.

Belle’s skirts swished against Rumplestiltskin’s thigh as she elbowed her way into his space.

He rocked back on the three-legged stool’s hind leg, his feet in the air. Gripping the creaking wheel for support, he rebalanced, his boots hitting the dais with a decided thump.

“Don’t topple me in your excitement, woman. It’s only a dog.” The words were crisp, dismissive. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. The twist of his lips was sour, his eyelids drooped in boredom. “I have work to do.” He glanced pointedly at the dust-covered shelves in the hall. “As do you.”

Belle shuffled backward, putting space between them, taking care not to pitch backward off the dais. He righted the stool and returned to spinning, but not before she noticed a slight tremble of his fingers.

Such large, strong capable-looking hands he had, those long, elegant fingers tapering into short black claws. Artist’s hands.

Heat filled her face while a lightning-quick shiver danced up her spine, and Belle quickly turned her attention to the puppy with an adoring coo. “Isn’t he darling? His name is Kacper. ”

At the sound of his name, Kacper barked his approval and stretched his scruffy neck, angling to be pet. Belle bent low to oblige, stroking his back and scratching his ears.

“Darling.” Rumplestiltskin’s sniff was aloof. “Not the word I would use.”

“And why not?” She straightened and brushed straw off her skirt. “What’s wrong with him?”

Together they watched the dog drag more bright yellow pieces of straw off the platform and onto the floor. After a minute of chewing and jumping in the little pile, he climbed into Rumplestiltkin’s gold-laden basket and fell asleep.

“There’s straw everywhere,” he complained. “You’ll go to the village to replace it, too. By sundown tomorrow.”

“Yes, master.” She dipped a saucy curtsy.

The wheel came to a squeaking halt and Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flashed, warning Belle she was treading on dangerous ground. “Where did this hell dog come from anyway?”

“He was in the side yard chasing butterflies while I was hanging sheets on the line.” The memory of the butterfly landing on the pup’s nose while he barked and pawed at them made her giggle.

As usual, she was the only one laughing.

“Most likely a trap sent by one of my enemies,” he mused. “Perhaps Maleficent or King George.” He frowned as he reached around the puppy for more straw into the wheel. “Too tame to be Regina. Subtlety isn’t that one’s strong suit.”

The dog snuggled deeper into the basket and let out a whiffling snore. “Yes, he looks absolutely terrifying,” Belle supplied. “Ha! This from the one who lectures everyone who will listen about judging a book by its cover.” Sarcasm hung in the air like thunderclouds before a storm. “If you recall, dearie, the last time you found a beast in the yard, it was one of those devil hounds Cruella de Vil is so fond of. Like a fool, you followed it. And like an even bigger fool, I found myself bargaining for your life at midnight on Demon’s Bluff.”

Belle chewed her lip. He wasn’t wrong. The dalmatian puppy she followed had been sweet, but as judgments went, it hadn’t been her finest hour. “I did thank you profusely for saving me. What did you need that ridiculous magic gauntlet for, anyway?”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” He pouted.

“Come now,” she said, trying to tease him out of his rising temper. Thus far, the puppy was proving to be her worst idea yet for making Rumplestiltskin laugh. All she wanted at this point was a bit of credit for trying. “Why not admit you would be lost without me?”

“Indeed.” The stool pushed back with an angry scrape and he shot to his feet, stalking out from behind the spinning wheel. “Where in all the realms would I find a housekeeper who reads all the day, allows the kettle to run dry whilst I wait hours for my tea, and creates more messes than she cleans?”

A slap across the face couldn’t have hurt worse. Every failing he’d listed was true. No, she wasn’t the best caretaker, but what she lacked in capability and efficiency she tried to make up for in spontaneity and heart. She cared about him, the cantankerous bastard, which was more than could be said of most people. It was sobering to realize she cared so deeply for someone who seemed to think so little of her.

Stung by the criticism, she approached the platform and bent down to scoop up the sleeping pup.

Rumplestiltskin stepped down off the platform. They stood in the middle of the hall glowering at each other, she cradling the slumbering dog, and he rubbing nothingness between his fingers. The picture of awkwardness and pent-up frustration.

Why, she wondered, searching his cold, closed-off face, was she so determined to amuse a man who was so determined not to laugh? Was it a game? A challenge? Her stubborn nature? Belle didn’t know the answer, but she was fed up with trying.

There was no doubt in her mind now--he was purposely withholding his laughter for no other reason than meanness.

Tears threatened, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking down. “If that’s the way you feel,” she said.

“Aye, that’s the way I feel.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Sounding as exasperated as she felt, he threw up his hands. Startled, Belle stumbled, the slight weight of the puppy overbalancing her. She tipped forward, falling headlong into Rumplestiltskin.

Forgetting about the sleeping puppy in her arms, she grabbed Rumplestiltskin around the waist, her fingers scrabbling for purchase, her head bumping against his chest.

With the first touch of her hands, he started to laugh. A great, guffawing, booming laugh so deep and loud it shook the rafters of the Dark Castle.

He caught her with one arm, the puppy with the other, pulling her up and drawing her close so they were pressed together from chest to toe. Her hands bracketed his waist, his leather and silk clothing soft and supple against her palms.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, the mystery finally solved. “You’re ticklish.”

“Rubbish,” he scoffed. “I’m simply giving in to your considerable efforts.”

“You can’t fabricate true, honest laughter,” she said.

To prove it, she wiggled her fingers against his sides once more. She was rewarded with more genuine laughter. Not a single trill or exaggerated snicker in earshot. To her amazement, the puppy slept through all the commotion, curled snug inside Rumplestitskin’s vest.

Who knew that one clumsy move was all it took to make him laugh again? Belle was so happy she could have twirled pirouettes the length of the great hall. But that would have required letting go of Rumplestiltskin. And she wasn’t doing that anytime soon.

She splayed her hands over his waist, and as she explored the contours of his torso she found his belly wonderfully soft and rounded beneath her fingers. He laughed again, his sides jiggling, and the sweet depth of it drew her deeper until she was swimming in the warmth of the sound.

Closing her eyes, she brushed the backs of her fingers along his hip, savoring each ripple of laughter and vibration of his body. She could have touched and tickled and listened to him all day.

“Enough now, Belle.” His tone was rough, vocal cords gravely from overuse. Moving the puppy to rest in the hollow of his shoulder, he gripped her hands and clasped them between his. His grip was firm but not unkind, and those beautiful hands she had studied so often were warmer and softer than she imagined.

Something more than mere humor glinted in his eyes, a tension between them that pushed the boundaries of their current arrangement. Friendship, attraction. The air in the hall was thick with both. And Belle realized that through these silly antics, she had more than an employer in Rumplestiltskin. She had a friend.

“Are you still angry with me, Rumple?” she ventured.

Those dark, fathomless eyes widened a bit at the shortened use of his name, but he didn’t object to the nickname.

“Try as I might, I cannot stay angry with you.” His voice was husky, the sweet thread of laughter still weaving through it. There was no trace of his usual artifice or pageantry.

“So that day in the kitchen?” she prompted, filled with wonder at all of today’s surprises and revelations.

“Aye, it was your touch that made me laugh.” He ducked his head, trying and failing to hide his reddened cheeks behind his shaggy curtain of hair. “ When you were lugging that basket of bread against your hip, you brushed against my waist. It was so innocent and you had no idea you’d done it. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be tickled and to laugh. I haven’t really laughed since…”

“Your son.” He was still holding her hands between his and she loosened his fingers to brush her thumb against the back of his hand. “I’m so sorry, Rumple. I never meant to dredge up a painful memory, to cause you hurt.”

“You didn’t. You made me laugh, Belle. You. Not fancy cakes or translating outlandish books or this little beast.” He patted Kacper’s head. “You brought light and kindness and laughter into this dull, dark place.”

“All that time I spent trying to figure out what would make you laugh.” Bells shook her head at herself. “Those crazy schemes. I felt like…”

“Me?”

Now it was her turn to laugh. Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not persistent. And he certainly excelled at patience. “A little,” she admitted. “But it was worth it.”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” he warned.

“Or what?” She blinked at him. “You’ll turn me into a toad?”

“Becoming predictable, am I?” He sneered, but it was without malice.

“You? Never.”

Releasing her hands, he stepped back onto the platform and settled down behind the spinning wheel. He carefully removed the dog from his shoulder and placed him into the basket of straw. “Kacper can stay here. For now. But you’ll need to find him a bed. This beastie can’t disrupt my work forever.”

“I understand, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Hmmm.” He began to spin and Belle watched for a moment as he easily slipped into that faraway place where he created and made plans, losing himself in the cadence of the wheel. “I’ll take my tea now.”

The words were said so softly, she heard them more in her mind than from his lips.

“Right away, Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered.

The faint smile on his face was the only indication that he’d heard her assent.

As she ambled down the corridor toward the kitchen feeling lighter than she had in weeks, the faint rumble of laughter drifted along with her. Belle wrapped her arms around herself to embrace the sound, her lips spreading in a smile of pure happiness. It was a beginning.

###

[bathunterofdevon]

Art/Animation/Video Update:

Good day everyone. 

You may or may not notice how quiet and inactive I've been lately - when I promised I would give regular updates about my renewed determination to practise art and learn to animate successfully. In the beginning, when I first started this new challenge, I was pumped up, and full of energy to start it. I made a promise that I would never give up no matter what, and always focus on getting better. And in the first 5-6 days, I did keep a level head and kept on going, with a clear goal at the end of it. But, over a relatively short time, -by day 5 I think- I became exhausted and couldn't carry on anymore. My own brain kept feeding and replaying bad memories over and over again, which left me feeling weak and spiritually broken. Eventually, I just burned out and collapsed. That was weeks ago now. Something I didn't expect to see again has returned suddenly, and with a vengeance. 

The past two weeks have been nothing short of hell for me. Realistically speaking, there is nothing wrong with me. I didn't have a rough or traumatic childhood. I haven't lost anyone close to me. I didn't break up with a long term girlfriend (never even had one to begin with). And yet, for some reasons which I feel are too complicated and awkward for me to discuss here, I've been feeling overwhelmingly cynical and bleak, like there is absolutely no point to me being alive. I feel like I have no future. And my brain is stuck in the past and I can't pull it out of there. 

 I remember feeling like this back when I was in Canada, and 3 years before that. It is strange. I don't think I have any legitimate reason to be depressed. There are so many people around the world who have really suffered terrible losses and come from real, hard and trying life circumstances. I know people who were sexually abused when they were children. I know someone who suffers from Schizophrenia, and regularly experiences headaches after being involved in an incident that gave them serious injuries in their childhood. I don't have either of those. I'm living with my family again - my Mum and Dad, and my family all love me and think the world of me. I recently started a new joj as a host and food busser for this new fancy restaurant in the town near where I live. And when people ask me what I'm feeling, I always tell them I'm fine. So everything should be okay. I'm doing all the things I ought to. I'm not old. I'm not ill. But for some reason, I'm just so sick and tired. Of virtually everything. 

I'm beginning to feel increasingly distant from my own life situation, like I'm on some kind of autopilot. Everything feels almost illusory and surreal. In a way, I wish I had some kind of real illness, like Coronavirus, or Cancer, with visible, manifest symptoms that everyone would notice. At least then there would be some kind of treatment for it. The past few days, my bedroom has slowly turned into a prison. I've become so lethargic, I haven't had breakfast in weeks. I've spent virtually entire days in my bed, and my dressing gown. I haven't even had the energy to take my dog for a walk. He is always sitting outside my bedroom door wagging his tail waiting for me to take care of him. I haven't spoken with my old school friends, or my extended family in ages, and I fear I'll never have the courage to break the mould and talk to them. And my bedroom is increasingly full of useless things that used to amuse me many years ago, but are now collecting dust. My piano is basically an ornament now - I haven't touched it in a very long time. My guitar's strings have long rusted and I haven't changed them in 7 years. I retrieved an old TV from the attic and hooked it to this laptop so I could use it as a second monitor to help with studying references while attempting digital art. But I've never even switched it on in months. My studio mic and audio interface - I suspect one or maybe both of them may be broken, but I can't even be bothered to investigate which - it just doesn't matter anymore. There are old songs from years ago that are half-finished that I wanted to finish and put on Soundcloud/maybe even Youtube, but music doesn't bring me enough joy anymore. Nothing does. 

You know–it's funny. My Gundham Tanaka video I released a year ago is becoming far more popular than I ever anticipated it would. I keep receiving new messages from newcomers telling me: 'My depression is cured' or 'this just made me feel so much better', etc etc. It's gratifying for me to hear people say things like that. But it's beginning to get a little tiring, all the same. It's a message that's just so out of tune with what I'm feeling.I just feel like a walking, rotting corpse. Even Kaede isn't making me feel happy anymore. Instead, I just feel lonely, and miss her. Speaking of which, a few weeks ago, I watched a video by Weebynewz about her execution, and I've discovered new information about it that I didn't notice before, which has made me feel a hundred times more uncomfortable. Now I feel quite sick, and even seeing the thumbnail for her execution video is enough to ruin my mood and break any focus and concentration I once had. 

I am lucky that I have online freerfs who I converse with regularly and who are always asking me if I'm okay. I'm grateful that they are there to make my daily experience marginally less shit. But these days, I rarely ever talk to them. I only respond now. I haven't got the energy to make small talk, or follow up on new developments or catch up with new memes. I know they're always looking out for me, but they are never going to get me out of this. The best they can do is stand well away from the event horizon and wait for me to force myself out of it.  

Fortunately though, for those of you who are worried about me, it's not completely bad. I have started taking medication again. You see, for a long time, I mistakenly believed you weren't supposed to take antidepressants while driving/learning to drive because they make you experience tiredness as a side-effect. Recently though, I learned that that's not technically true. You can take meds while you are driving, but the idea is that you are not supposed to drive if you feel tired, or your senses are impaired. In addition, I am looking to see if I can visit a counsellor and start having sessions. I'm kind of desperate for good news and a hope of recovery at the moment, but I guess it's still better than nothing. 

No matter what happens, I know this isn't really me. It's certainly a large part of me, but it's not all there is to my character. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of this, and I want it to stop. I want to keep entertaining all of you with silly videos. And maybe one day, I'd like to do a Q+A video/face+voice reveal, unprivate my old videos I made a decade ago, and introduce all of you to my real self. Then when that happens, I can finally move on, transcend my love of the Danganronpa franchise, and try something new. I'm not sure what that would entail. But it might be something that incorporates my love of music, anime, visual novels, and possibly writing/voice acting. 

Until that day finally comes, I'm going to remain stuck in this rut for who-knows-how-long. I won't know when the day will come, but I like to think I'll be fully aware when it has, since I'll feel totally different and refreshed. The only way I can come to terms with this long, dreary spell of melancholy is if it exists to serve some kind of purpose. And if this experience is to mean anything, then ultimately, my purpose is finally one day break free from it and discover a secret 'purpose' or 'why', or perhaps unlock a hidden potential I never knew I had all along. When that happens, then I can make my return and move on. Then my story could pick up from where I last left it. Or perhaps I can rewrite it altogether. 

I wish you all very well and sincerely hope NOBODY else in the world feels like this, 

 - Bat

[bangtancentricsblog]

○werewolf in the suburbs○

➣ just your friendly neighborhood werewolf trying to keep his secret, well a secret

❒ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

❒ genre: angst, fluff, slight humor, slight crack (maybe)

❒ alternative universe: werewolf

❒ rating: NC 17

❒ word count: 4.8k +

warnings/disclosures: no edit we die like men, angst but like mild angst, werewolves Jimin and Jungkook, mc is human, cameos from yoongi, Jimin is a dick, self deprecating thoughts, connected universe, Easter eggs keke, old people, fluff is at the end, I’m sorry this is such a mess, there’s nothing too bad in the one, can you spot the song references? clearly namu is my favorite

monster mash ml • main ml • AO3

The trees look beautiful today, Namjoon thinks as he sips his morning tea, but he can’t enjoy it as you bore holes into his head from across the street. He’s lived here for more than two years now and he’s familiar with everyone but you are a complete stranger. A new face in his safe suburban community, and it was a community when the only people who lived here were elderly couples. He didn't mind them after all he was friendly with all of them, hell he did a lot of work for them. Like Norman who owned the farm down the road, he helped with whatever he could and in return Norman would let him have fresh fruits and vegetables.

Lilian from the flower shop let him have his pick of seedlings from the nursery when he helped unload deliveries. Jack the local butcher let him have his pick of meats and cheeses for cheap, while their town's mayor offered his niece’s hand in marriage for becoming a positive member in the community. Youngest member of the community would be more accurate, Namjoon had nothing but time on his hands and so he helped where he could when he could. He liked his quiet life, that is until you showed up with your paint splattered overalls and messy hair. He won't even mention the cute oversized glasses and that infectious laughter of yours because he hated it.

What's more, you ruined his perfect little routine, the house you now lived in used to belong to a woman named Alice, a woman who had nothing but harsh words to say but was sweet even with her glare. He liked Alice, she reminded him of his own grandmother back home and she hadn’t mentioned leaving the last time he’d been over tending to her garden. So he wondered just what exactly you’re doing in her house. There were exactly four houses on the street, all decently sized with dense forest to their surroundings. Namjoon liked his home, the wrap around porch was something his friend Jimin had loved when he’d bought it. Most importantly he liked that the forest behind his home was a direct path to his pack's land 40 miles away.

Somehow when you’d introduced yourself you’d shown a little too much interest in him, and it creeped him out. Since then you’d come around so often he was alway ready to receive you, he’d offer you tea and sometimes you’d accept happily and other times you’d decline a stuttery mess of words slipping past your lips as you’d hurried away from him. Today however you’d just been staring at him from across the street beneath the shade of an old oak tree. The leaves long since changed color to a vibrant goldenrod. The air held a chill as it swept past bringing with it the soft scent that he knew came off you. It was like fresh mint, refreshing but tainted with the lingering of chocolate that always made him shudder. What a weird mix, he thought.

He’s tired of waiting though, so he stands making his way over to you ready to offer you tea. Though he’s surprised to see you fast asleep, your head tilted towards his direction. It’s cute, the way your brows furrow the slightest and the pout to your lips, but there’s something more. The scent of salt on you is strong, more so than usual and it worries him slightly as he drops down to crouch in front of you. He takes a deep breath catching something else, he’s not sure what though. Humans were such complicated beings, scents were easy to tell apart in his kind but with humans there were too many scents that lingered. To many possibilities, and unfortunately Namjoon hadn’t been around humans for long enough to really know.

His wolf whines at him, as he moves closer nuzzling your hair to really get an idea of what's wrong. You sigh eyelids fluttering slightly, leaning closer to him with a shiver. Closer, his wolf hums, but Namjoon moves away, hand going to press against your forehead. You’re warm, warmer than he thinks is normal for humans. Almost as warm as he is, and he’s a wholly different species, it worries him. He’s quick to haul you into his arms and towards his house, to his surprise you snuggle closer to his body, he pays no mind to how his wolf purrs at the contact.

*

The following day and a half he spends taking care of you, to the best of his abilities that is. Luckily enough for him your fever broke the following night (something he had to look up) and went into town to get human medicine. Delia from the pharmacy smiled politely and had laughed when he stumbled through his explanation for buying so much over the counter medicines. It had been mortifying for him to call you his girlfriend, but he’d rather not tell them it was you he was taking care of. If he’s being completely transparent he has no idea how exactly you’d gotten better but you had and he's happy for it.

“Hey.” he greets over the rim of his coffee mug as he sits at his kitchen island. You look better, even your scent smells better, more minty than chocolatey today it washes over him in an oddly refreshing way.

“Hi, thanks for taking care of me.” you laugh softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes are squinted, in the early morning light and the strawberry skys are just now giving way to the mango and blueberry that come after the near crack of dawn.

“You’re welcome, would you like some coffee, maybe tea?” he asks.

“No, I’m okay. I should probably head home and shower. I already put the sheets to wash. I hope you don't mind, thank you again.”

“I’ll walk you home then.” he makes to move out of his seat, meeting your gaze at the slight muffle squeak that comes tumbling from your lips.

“No, that’s okay you’ve done enough.” you quickly mutter shuffling your feet before giving him one last thank you and excusing yourself. That’s cute, he thinks leaning his cheek into his palm. The smile that tugs at his lips, is soft, dreamy even but Namjoon is none the wiser. He feels a bit woozy all of a sudden groaning slightly at the way the light irritates his eyes. It isn't often that he falls ill but he hasn't been feeling all too well for the last couple of days since he’s brought you into his home. He hopes it’s pre-rut symptoms but he’s not too sure after all there’s something different about this.

“Maybe I should go home for a bit.” he mutters to no one in particular, as he stands moving to rinse his mug before making his way to his bedroom.

The sun hangs high in the sky by the time you have showered and fed your poor cat Castiel. Who hasn't left your side since you’ve come home, which is odd in itself considering he’s a dick most days. He’s purring on your chest pawing at your face every few minutes to get you to kiss his head, and you do with a soft giggle. His fur is soft as silk as you run your finger through it absentmindedly. Your mind is elsewhere, sifting through the hazy memories of the last two days that you’d been away from home. Namjoon was very kind to you, and sure he was tall, broad, an absolute tree of a man that had your poor simple heart falling for him in an instant.

It’s too bad you couldn't be calm and confident like your cousin sometimes, she would know what to do. Though, you doubt he’d be interested in you either way, he seemed like the type who liked booksmart, ambitious girls. Girls who wore clothes of the latest season, with long legs and big brains, the put together type which was everything you weren’t. Who wanted a bubbly overly clumsy failed artist living off an inheritance in the middle of nowhere? You sigh heavily, heart aching as you realize the little crush you had has probably withered with the little bit of self deprecating thoughts. Well it was a nice little fantasy you supposed, but you really should do something to thank him. You briefly wonder if your cousin has time to help you bake Namjoon something.

To your surprise, your cousin does indeed have time to come help you. She’s at your house a few days later, her best friend in tow, Yoongi’s been a constant in both your lives you’d long since started treating him like family. Though you’re a little sad to not see Suga, her super cute and cuddly black cat, he’s nothing like your Castiel. She mutters something about him being a little too sick for the travels.

“So, what do you want to make?” she asks, tying her long hair up into a ponytail. You do the same though your hair is much shorter than hers. Yoongi goes through your cabinets pulling bowls and the hand mixer to help prep. You smile at him gratefully moving to pull aprons off the hooks in the pantry.

“Smells like a dog in here.” Yoongi says after knotting his apron, and you wince taking deep breaths to catch the scent he speaks of. You don’t find anything out of the usual, just the lingering scent of pineapple from the candle that sits on your coffee table.

“Maybe I should close the windows.” You offer, missing the shared look between your cousin and Yoongi.

“____, sweetie, what do you want to make?” Your cousin asks again as you fiddle with the windows.

“I don’t really know, maybe muffins, how about chocolatechip?” You say, tilting your head slightly, not entirely sure if he’ll even like them. Truth be told you're not sure Namjoon even eats carbs not with the way he was built, not that you were looking. I mean sure you looked, but like respectfully! It was hard to miss anyways especially when his boobs were just as big if not bigger than your own! Again, you had looked, respectfully! She hums in thought and Yoongi moves to stand behind her wrapping his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

“How about we make a little of everything, I know you like muffins so we’ll make enough so that you can enjoy them too.” She offers swaying slightly along with Yoongi who seems to have grown bored rather quickly. You smile, moving to wrap your own arms around her to squish her between you and Yoongi. She groans, muttering her discomfort but you know she loves it as cold as she may pretend to be.

*

Jimin and Jungkook are pulling on some shorts before walking out of the forest, beads of sweat shine in the low light of the evening as they move past the foliage and onto Namjoon’s property. They’d come looking for Namjoon who hadn’t answered when Jin had called to check in with the younger wolf, and had yet to return the call. Jimin still loves this wrap around porch, he thinks he could get used to this if he really wanted out of pack life but he doesn't, not yet anyways. They’re coming around the side when they spot you standing at the door a basket in hand, the glasses you wear are comically big on your face slipping down your nose as you mutter to yourself. Jimin takes you in, the chunky cable knit sweater dwarfs you significantly making your look so small, but the whole outfit you wear reminds him of a child.

The pale blue of your sweater adds just a touch of color to your outfit, the tights and booties you wear are black. He’s most drawn to the half pigtails that sit atop your head, cute he thinks. He watches you for a bit longer before your gaze darts up as Jungkook steps closer peeking over your shoulder like some overgrown pup. He sighs internally because of course the pup of their group would step closer at the scent of food.

“Hi, oh my god you’re naked!” you yell dropping your gaze again to avoid looking at their half naked forms. He stifles a chuckle so as not to offend you, humans were so very amusing.

“We’re not naked.” Jimin says watching as you try and shrink away from his gaze, however Jungkook still stands behind you. It’s almost funny how you look like a caged mouse between the two of them ready to be devoured.

“Your boobs are out.” You mumble bringing the basket you hold in front of your face to further hide behind. Jimin pauses, d-did you just say boobs? Jungkook’s eyes grow in size as he meets Jimin’s gaze he can see the way the other man’s body trembles with concealed laughter.

“Who are you again?” Jimin asks, noticing the peculiar way Jungkook has not so subtly taken to sniffing you. Not the basket in your hand but you.

“I’m a friend of Namjoon’s, ____, I live down the street.” you say cheerily.

“A friend you say? I don't think he’s ever mentioned you before.” Jimin quirks his head slightly stepping closer.

“Oh, that’s okay we uh, we aren't that close?” you murmur gaze falling to your feet once more.

“Then are you really friends? You’re kinda plain looking, you aren't too tall, I’d say you’re very average at best.” you flinch back from him after what he’s said. You gnaw on your lip to keep quiet because you know. You offer him a tight smile, eyes glazed over and Jungkook is the one to glare at Jimin, because the pleasant mix of chocolate and mint with a hint of something oh so familiar has soured.

“I should go, please give this to Namjoon.” you thrust the basket into Jimin’s chest, he fumbles with it almost dropping it altogether as you turn on your heel almost tripping down the stairs in your rush to get away from the two. You’re out of sight in an instant, Jimin looks a little smug as Jungkook stares at the space you once occupied.

“That was really mean of you.” Jungkook spits.

“Who cares, she’s human.” Jimin scoffs, narrowing his eyes at the taller boy. He shoves the basket at Jungkook moving to take the spare key from where it’s wedged above the door frame. There’s a soft click before the two make their way inside, the house smells almost the same a little stale but mostly the same. It’s unnaturally quiet as they move further into the house which is unsettling. Jungkook sets the basket down in the kitchen moving towards the lone bedroom on the first floor before something is darting past him. The giant taupe mass that zips past has his lips quirking slightly.

“Namjoon you had us scared!” he laughs as the elder buries his muzzle in Jungkook’s abdomen.

“Why didn't you check in?” Jimin asks as he enters the room, the growl that rips through the room is brief as the giant wolf’s ears flick to the side before he’s bolting out the open front door. The two yell after him running out to follow him but the elder is gone, and for the first time since Namjoon has moved out of pack territory Jimin and Jungkook are worried.

*

Yoongi stretches out on your rooftop yawning a bit as he watches the giant mutt sprint into your yard. A quirk to his head as he sits quietly and watches as it goes sniffing around the area, well that’s interesting he thinks as a single corner of his lips tilt up.

*

Your cheeks itch, you think as you rub at them with the back of your hands; your nose is runny and unfortunately you don't have any tissues. It’s not like you to cry over something like that, especially when it came from a virtual stranger, a really good looking one at that. You hate that he was so quick to see the things you didn't like about yourself almost as if he knew. It’s stupid really because you had worked past this, had gone all your life being ridiculed and compared to your near perfect cousin. The one who went to a private school, who’d won the gene pool lottery because she was gorgeous, she’d beg to differ but despite all that you don't resent her. Not when she cared about you as much as she did, she doted on you as much as she could.

Still you can't help but wonder what it would've been like to be a little more like her, it’s silly because you don't really want her life necessarily. You just wanted something to call your own, you sigh letting your eyes fall closed as you try your hardest not to fall deeper into those nasty thoughts. Somehow you’d ended up sitting in the forest behind your house back against a tree in hiding. Mostly because your cousin is fiercely protective of you, but also because you don't want her to see the tear tracks that stick to your cheeks. The leaves crunch not far from you, and you whip your head in that direction, heart racing. You shriek as a furry mass collides into your body knocking you over. It whines loudly nuzzling into you and you glance down to see a giant dog?

He’s beautiful, shiny coat of taupe fur shines in the low light filtering through the treetops, big beautiful eyes that literally shimmer as he blinks at you. This dog has stolen your heart and you wonder just where the hell he came from. He’s yipping, bumping his head to your chest, before dropping his weight to lay beside you, head happily nestled between your boobs. He huffs a breath, blowing it into your face and you giggle. The whine he lets out is low almost like he’s crying, it breaks your heart a little.

“It’s okay, big guy please don't cry.” you coo running your fingers through his fur, his rumbles happily almost like a purr but slightly different. The laugh you let out is involuntary as his tongue swipes at your cheeks, you push at his massive head in an attempt to get him to stop but he just won't. He really is beautiful you think as he growls playfully at you pulling at your hair before nuzzling close, but he’s a little too big for you.

“-onie!” you hear and the dog goes stiff, turning and growling at whoever has approached you two. You peek around the dog's massive body to see Namjoon’s friend, the mean one standing there hands out. His eyes dart towards you pulling more growls from the dog as he does so, the other boy comes to stand beside his friend.

“Is this your dog?” you ask shuffling to your feet with a curious stare.

“Yes, he’s very viscous so he isn't usually let out.” Jimin says watching as both you and Namjoon quirk your heads at him at the blatant lie.

“He seems friendly enough to me.” you say running a hand through the dogs fur again.

“He must like you!” Jungkook supplies quickly as if to cover for the elders poor lie.

“Monie, come here.” Jimin says motioning to Namjoon who just stands beside you, as he lets out a sad little whine. He doesn't move, you kneel beside him scratching behind his ears and planting a soft little kiss to his nose.

“Go, thank you.” you smile, and he bumps his head against your face for one more kiss before he walks over, turning to glance at you and sprinting past Jimin and Jungkook. Jimin curses turning on his heel and rushing after him. Jungkook however stays stock still staring at something over your shoulder.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m sure Namjoon will be happy to see you.” he smiles before turning and sprinting in the direction he’d come.

*

Your cousin stands at your back door, a frown marring her features as she watches Jungkook run off. What was that mutt doing here, better yet what the hell were you doing hanging out with a pack of wolves in the forest no less. This was interesting, she thinks heading back inside before you can see.

*

“What did you say to her?” Namjoon asks after he’s shifted back to his human form tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

“Why are you assuming I said anything, Jungkook could’ve been the one to say something.” Jimin huffs crossing his arms at his chest.

“I said nuffing.” Jungkook offers around a mouthful of muffin. Namjoon stares at the younger long and hard, because he didn’t have muffins.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Your neighbor brought them over earlier. She’s super cute by the way.” He says, watching amusedly as Namjoon growls at him. It surprises Jimin because Namjoon had never growled at anyone least of all his favorite!

“D-do you like her?” Jimin gags more than a little scandalized at the idea. A human, Namjoon liked a human. Maybe he needed to move back to pack territory, yeah that seemed like a good idea.

“I don't know. She’s different, she smells nice I mean. Like mint and chocolate which is weird already but like in a good way. My wolf likes her too and y’know that's good, maybe?” Jungkook is smiling extra wide, looking almost manic, while Jimin looks like he’ll be sick.

“Maybe you should come back home, Jin would love the help y'know. I’m sure you’re tired of the stench of denture cream and prunes.” Jimin sniffs.

“Not really, I like it here.” he murmurs rubbing at the back of his head.

“Jungkook stop eating and say something!” Jimin shouts almost hysterically.

“These muffins are really good, Namjoon you should have some since your cute neighbor brought them over. Jimin please eat something you can be melodramatic when you’re hungry.” He says waving the baked goodness at the two of them. Jimin is reluctant to take one from him while Namjoon is more than happy to load up on carbs after being stuck in his wolf form for almost a week. He bites into it groaning because this had to be the best muffin he’d ever had, his insides warm at the thought of you baking them and bringing them over.

“I think she might be your mate.” Jungkook offers, biting into a blueberry muffin, it’s his fourth of the batch.

“What?” Namjoon sputters, choking on the bit he has in his mouth.

“Why would you say that?” Jimin says, sounding appalled but still stuffs his cheeks full of muffin.

“I’m just saying, as someone who already has their mate I would know.” he says with an air of arrogance.

“Just because your mate is human doesn’t mean Namjoon’s is.” Jimin huffs with a pout.

“She’s a witch, not a human, and I mean he’s acting a lot like I did when I first met her.”

“Doesn’t her familiar hate you?”

“That's besides the point, what I’m saying is he’s acting like a wolf with a non-wolf mate would.” Jungkook glares at Jimin, for such a small man he sure likes to go toe to toe with someone much bigger than him in every aspect.

“Do you really think so?” Namjoon asks eyes wide in wonder. There’s a glimmer to them, a shine he didn't have before. His wolfs yips happily, the smile that splits Namjoon’s lips is very telling. Jimin groans because of course another one of his close pack mates would have a human mate, it only made sense.

*

You’re gnawing on your lip when your cousin walks into the kitchen the next morning. She looks slightly disheveled, a scowl on her lips at the way the shine literally blinds her. Yoongi comes in after her, looking no less awake than she does a pout to his lips that tilts your own upwards.

“Morning, coffee?” you ask as both of them nod their head once before sitting at the island.

“Why does the sun have to be up everyday, why can't it be cold and gloomy all the time.” your cousin groans into her palms as she drags them across her face in an attempt to wake up a little more.

“It can’t be that bad.” you laugh hugging her as you put a mug of the caffeine in front of her and repeating the process with Yoongi who whines when you move away from him. You’re quickly plating a light breakfast, nothing that requires a lot because truth be told you’re feeling a little frazzled today. The butterflies in your tummy have yet to settle, you almost feel nauseous, but in a good way. Toasted bagels with cream cheese, and fruit will have to do you suppose, you’re also a little sad that your cousin and Yoongi have to go home soon, because you really liked having them over, it beats living in a house as big as this all on your lonesome.

“What’s going on over there rainbow bright?” Yoongi asks, a hint of concern lacing his tone.

“Nothing, I’m just gonna miss you two.” you smile sadly at them.

“Why? It’s not like we can’t come visit or vice versa.”

“I don't know, I like having you around.” your cousin gags muttering about how it’s too early for all this sweetness.

“Your teeth will rot if you stay this sweet, but I don't think you’ll be alone for long.” she smirks into her coffee cup. You’re about to ask why when there’s a knock at your door, and you hurriedly wipe your hands to see who it could be. You pull the door open, and to your surprise Namjoon stands there a small bouquet of daisies in hand.

“Namjoon, hi.” you say a little too breathlessly.

“Hi, um can we talk?” he asks, scratching at his neck sheepishly. You nod, casting a glance over your shoulder and stepping onto your porch.

“What’s up?” you ask, heart fluttering in your chest as he hesitantly raises the flowers in hand.

“These are for you. I’m sorry if Jimin offended you, he has a way with words.” he winces because Jimin truly was a menace and the main reason a lot of she-wolves steered clear of him.

“Thank you, he was a little harsh but I’m a big girl and I can handle it.” His heart breaks a little and his anger simmers, he swears he’ll make Jimin regret hurting you.

“Still, he didn't have a right to, and thank you for the muffins they were really good.” he smiles a dimple winking out, that makes you internally sigh because gosh darnit he was super cute.

“I’m glad you liked them, it was a thank you for taking care of me.” you mutter warmth rushing to your cheeks.

“I, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out sometime?” he asks, skin flushed gaze glued to the floor. Your skin heats further, you must’ve heard him wrong.

“I’m, s-sorry?” you stutter.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” he asks again feeling embarrassed, maybe Jungkook had been wrong after all.

“Like, a, a, d-date?” you squeak, almost certain you’re about to faint.

“Yeah, like a date, I, I’m sorry maybe I should just -”

“NO! I mean yes of course I’d love to go on a date!” you scream, embarrassment washing over you at the sheer volume you’d used legs suddenly feeling like jelly.

“Great, how does Saturday sound? Seven okay?” he asks, excitement leaking into his tone as you stutter out a confirmation. His smile widens turning on his heel and tripping down your steps, barely catching himself before throwing a smile you way once more, saturday can’t come quick enough.

Jimin and Jungkook laugh in the bushes nearby having watched the whole ordeal. Similarly Yoongi and your cousin muffle their laughter belly aching at just how awkwardly comical the two of you were.

*

Six months later ~

“I can’t believe Jimin made me think Monie was a dog.” you laugh wrapping your arms around Namjoon.

“Please don't remind me, I will never live that down.” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s holding you close, the wall of his kitchen are painted the early morning strawberry of the sky, giving way to the mango and blueberry that come after the near crack of dawn, and everything feels perfect. You’re wearing his shirt, all warm, sleep still clouding your eyes but no less love drunk than yesterday. He takes a deep breath swaying the two of you to a silent tune, you smell of mint and chocolate, a weird mix but also of home.

[drwnng-ophelia]

Caught Between the Two of You | Richie Tozier x Female Reader / Pennywise x Female Reader

A/N: Listen, I’m definitely going to hell for all of this. This is the oddest love triangle I’ve ever written, but I just couldn’t overlook Bill Skarsgård. Next chapter will be exclusively Richie smut, because Bill Hader. (maybe I should add that there’s no clown sex here)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Female Reader, Pennywise/Female Reader

Summary: You own the Derry Town House and are caught off guard by a group of friends who check-in. You get closer than anticipated with one of them.

Warnings: explicit language, smut, unprotected sex

Word Count: 3,617

Find chapter one here if you want to refresh your memory or haven’t read it already...

   Chapter 2

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over you. It’s something worse than a serial killer, something evil. You should have known then, should have guessed that he was referring to this eons-old entity. This was what they were afraid of. Pennywise, who had been a part of your life for almost as long as you could remember. There had been a time when you had been vulnerable, when he had looked after you, had cared for you.

When you were only just a little girl, Pennywise had been awoken by you. His sleep had only lasted a few years when you had set something in motion that had shaken the very ground of Derry. Something strong enough to awaken a creature that was hungry for children’s tender flesh.

Pennywise had been the one to find you. Drool had been dripping from his crimson lips when he saw you, sitting amidst the bodies—those small fragile bodies, bones contorted, blood dripping from eyes, noses, mouths. It had been terrible. A nightmare come true.

That day, those bullying children had died because of you. Because of a power that had slumbered inside of you. A power that had only decided to stir when you had been in dire need of help. Children had always been able to tell that there was something different about you, something off. Adults had never seemed to notice, they only ever saw the sweet innocent child of a well-established, happy couple.

When you had just started kindergarten, your mother fell sick to a mysterious illness. Once she had succumbed to it, you had felt a strange sensation wash over you like a ruthless wave. But you could only tread water for so long until you sunk, dragged deeper and deeper by a forceful undertow. A power you still hadn’t fully understood.

Pennywise could have eaten you that day—maybe he should have eaten you that day—but he had been delighted by this little creature that had been cursed with something he found too fascinating to demolish.

Ever since that day, he had stayed with you. Hidden in shadows, under your bed, following you silently; the clown had always been there. With him, you had learned to subdue whatever it was that existed inside you. Over time, he had taught you how to turn that burning wildfire into a small, manageable ember. The blood on your own hands had always kept you from urging him to find another sustenance than human flesh. No one could guess that for you, to ease your conscience, he chose his prey wisely: the children that had gone missing had been terminally ill, the adults were molesters, murderers or other vile creatures.

After all these years, after all that had happened, you were bound to one another in ways neither of you dared to question. Mutual respect and fascination had kept you both alive and one fateful night, you had been bold enough to ask him what he looked like underneath that costume. Everything had changed once you had seen his preferred human form, had seen the beautiful man that still stood before you now. A man, you had grown to desire more than anything else. Or so you thought.

“Why have you waited until now to ask them to come back to you?” you asked, honestly curious. Pennywise shrugged, the movement easy and elegant. “I wanted them to believe that they had defeated me.”

They had been children. They had fought him when they were nothing but children. Pennywise had chosen this moment specifically to call them back home. He wanted to play with them, play with them like a feral cat with its prey. Just because he had nothing better to do.

“What do you want with him—with them?” You needed to hear it, no matter how much it horrified you.

His mouth curled up in a demonic grin and he slipped his hands into his pockets, sauntering towards you with lethal grace. “Would you mind if I kill him? If I eat him? Slowly?”

Your mouth went dry and you swallowed the lump in your throat. This was not just a question. It was a promise and a warning all at once.

Maybe it was time to put another player on the field. Even if it was just to keep a group of strangers from giving their life for something that was beyond their control. This was no longer their weight to carry—it had become yours. And you would gladly carry it.

“I want you to spare him, to spare them all.” You willed yourself not to break his stare.

“Not after what he just did to you,” Pennywise stated matter-of-factly, his eyes wandering over you slowly, territorially. “Why? How did that make you feel?” He grabbed your chin gently, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a ghost of a touch.   A lover’s touch. It felt as if your heart would jump out of your chest as you waited for him to say something. “Seeing you with him…” Pennywise paused and sucked on his teeth. “You can have anyone but him.”

You scoffed and swatted his hand away decidedly. “See, you’re lying. I can’t have anyone, now can I?” For a split second, his eyes turned yellow, revealing just how furious he was.

In all those years, he had never touched you. It was as if your feelings for him went unheeded, bouncing off an adamant wall. As you had gotten older, you had taken a string of lovers that had never been able to truly fill that void inside of you—until tonight. Richie had sparked a desire inside of you that had been similar to the need you felt for Pennywise.

Oh, the irony of it.

“Don’t test me, my sweet girl,” he hissed. With the ferocity of a snake, his fingers curled around your throat. “Then tell me what you came here for… Tell me it’s me,” you demanded, enjoying this rough handling a little too much. His grip loosened and you grinned triumphantly. Just because he had never given in to your temptation didn’t mean that he was unaffected by it.

“The way I see it I could just ask them all to leave. Maybe I will leave with them. You’re bound to this place. I’m not. Don’t ever forget that,” you reminded him. “Kill Richie Tozier or any of his friends and I will leave you. I dare you.”

Eyes turned yellow again and he pushed you up against the wall, the force of it knocking down a mirror which shattered on the floor. “Do you want to know what they’re talking about? What he is talking about? They want to kill me.” Pennywise leaned in, close enough to share breath. “Would you want me to die, [Y/N]?”

“Would you want me to leave?” you countered. His full lips pressed into a hard line. “Give me a reason to stay. Give me a reason to let that man leave by himself, while I stay here. With you. After all, it was you who called these people here. This might be your game, Pennywise, but you’re not playing it alone anymore. I’m right there with you, with all of you. And I think I’ve chosen my alliance. Enough innocent lives have ended because of us.”

His nostrils flared delicately. Rage, he was consumed by pure rage, those yellow eyes burning straight through you. “Remember what I’m capable of.” Remember the Deadlights.

“Remember that it was I who awoke you. I’m not that helpless child anymore, Pennywise. I’m not without my own weapons and I’m not scared of you.” He licked his lips and for a second you thought he might finally kiss you. Instead, his lips moved to your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he whispered, “Sometimes I think I may have taught you too well. This is only just the beginning. Let’s play.”

Just when you pulled in a breath to retort something, he disappeared, leaving you behind.

Pennywise hadn’t just left you because he wanted to leave you when you craved him most—he had left because someone had heard the shattering mirror. Richie was knocking on the door furiously, calling your name. You took a deep, steadying breath before letting him in.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes scanning the surroundings frantically. Nothing in your home would suggest that you were connected to Pennywise in any way. No one had ever seen you two together, not even in his human form. He had always made sure of that.

“I’m clumsy that’s all,” you assured him, “I knocked a mirror off the wall.” You made a mental note to keep the windows closed in the future, even if you knew that it was Pennywise who had assured that Richie would hear noises from your home. He wanted him to come over here so he could keep a close eye on you both.

“I take it that you’re checking out of your room after all?” Richie followed your gaze to the duffle bag in his hand. “If you would have me?” he asked, a sweet smile on his lips that melted Pennywise’s phantom touch away immediately. Instead of answering his question, you just kissed him. “Thank goodness, because I really didn’t want to pay for those ridiculous room rates.” He sighed with exaggerated relief.

“Who says you don’t have to pay for staying here?” you asked with an arched eyebrow. “Something tells me you’re not referring to money.” His throat bobbed and the bag fell to the ground with a soft thud. “Clever boy. I hope you’re not too tired yet.”

When you had lead Richie into your bedroom, you realized that the mirror was intact and hanging in its usual spot again. Your opponent was still here, hiding somewhere, too curious and too controlling to leave you be.

“How about you settle in while I freshen up real quick?” you suggested. It was time to tell this clown that he needed to leave for the night—your house was not big enough for this.

You sat on the edge of the tub, eyes staring into nothingness. “You need to get out. Now. I’m busy tonight.”

Unexpectedly, you could feel rising steam warm your back as if the tub was filled with another hot bath. Frowning, you looked over your shoulder, only to find a lovely specimen of man lying in your bathtub. Stark naked, not an inch of his delicious body obscured.

“Something tells me you want me to stay,” Pennywise purred and rested his hand on your thigh, the thin fabric of your dress soaking through immediately. “Don’t touch me. You had your chance earlier. Get out.” Determined, you rose—enjoying the view as you looked down on him. Wet hair hanging into his face, damp skin making his cheekbones appear razor-sharp, a body shaped to perfection. Every part of it.

“What part of ‘get out’ didn’t you understand, Pennywise?” you checked and pulled the stopper. Maybe your lust for him would wash down the drain, along with the water.

A muscle in his jaw feathered and he sat up, looking at you with a pout. “Your body betrays you.” There was no need for him to point that out, so you just gave him a look of annoyance.

“Yes, but someone else will take care of my needs tonight. Just imagining what Richie Tozier could do to me now that we have all night together turns me on more than you ever have,” you teased and a realization hit you. Pennywise had never seen you naked.

“Let’s play, old friend.” You bit your lip and shrugged off the cardigan. The eons-old creature blinked slowly, not entirely sure what he was about to witness. Why hadn’t you thought about this before?

“I think…I think I want him to caress my breasts first. I want him to take his sweet time, to graze my nipples with his teeth. I want him to mark my body with bites and bruises.” You pushed down the straps of your dress and let it fall to the floor, the fabric pooling around your ankles. Pennywise swallowed hard, blue eyes eating up every detail of your body—every curve, every freckle, every birthmark.

“He won’t have to be gentle with me,” you breathed, letting your fingers dance over your skin, “I want him to make me scream his name tonight. First, when his fingers slip into me, when his tongue tastes me. Then, when he fucks me. Hard. In whatever way he pleases. Because tonight, I’m his. Only his.”

Pennywise’s eyes turned yellow again and you looked down at him victoriously when you noticed that your words had had other effects on him too.

“Get out. Or I’ll make sure we put on a show for you tonight. Admit your defeat, I won this round. We can play again tomorrow.”

“This isn’t over,” he hissed at you, slowly fading before your eyes until he was gone. And this time, he wasn’t hiding anywhere in your house but had retreated to his lair for good.

You didn’t bother to put anything back on when you walked back into the bedroom, barefoot and hips swaying with confidence. Richie was sitting on your bed, flipping through a book when his eyes looked up briefly. He double-checked when he realized you stood before him in nothing but your birthday suit.

“You, Richie Tozier, make me do things that I shouldn’t,” you said and took the book from his hands, throwing it to the ground. “What, are you quoting Ariana Grande now?” he asked drily. You shrugged, straddling him. “I’m more of a dangerous woman than you might think.”

He didn’t have to know what dangers you were capable of. Not yet, not now. “Now stop ruining this moment with pop culture references,” you breathed against his lips before kissing him deeply, “I want you to have me whichever way you want.”

“Whichever way I want?” he checked, his lust-clouded eyes only adding to your arousal. You nodded. “Whichever way you want. I’m yours, body and soul. Defile me, caress me, use me. I don’t care, I just want you.”

That night you fell asleep from utter exhaustion, wrapped in his strong arms protectively.

   The next morning came too soon. You dared a peek through your eyelashes, at Richie’s naked body dipped in the rays of the burning morning sun that fell through the curtains. A content smile spread on your face and as you stretched lazily you felt sore from last night.

No past lover had ever made you feel the things that you had felt with Richie last night. It had been marvelous, every second of it—and you could barely wait for more. However, your wish for morning sex would have to wait for a little longer because your lover was still fast asleep. His breathing was so calm and even that you didn’t as much as press a kiss onto his skin before you tiptoed into the bathroom.

You hurried through your morning routine and while you waited for the water to run hot in the shower, you inspected your bruises and lovebites. Richie hadn’t been too rough with you last night and you knew that some of the bruises were from Pennywise. As that realization sunk in, you grimaced. You much rather wanted to focus on that very generous lover that was snoozing in your bed. Pennywise would find you sooner rather than later anyway.

Steam was already clouding the glass of the shower when you stepped under the water, savoring the warmth. After you had washed your hair and body, you stood, eyes closed, imagining what Richie would do to you once he had woken up. You felt like a love-struck, hormonal teenager.

He wanted you to meet his friends today. But that was later—you still had a little time until then. There was still a little time until Pennywise would be on everyone’s lips, until you had to seriously consider when you would have to reach into that deep well of power inside of you. Either to help those friends or to—

“Keep your eyes closed,” Richie said unexpectedly, cold air licking over your body when the shower door was opened. “Turn around for me, put your hands against the wall.” The instructive edge in his voice made your skin tingle with anticipation.

A finger brushed down the length of your spine, sending a shiver through you. Arms reached around you and a kiss was pressed against your shoulder. Far too willingly, you tipped your head to the side, allowing him access to your neck. Hands wandered over your curves brazenly as he kissed your neck. Skillful fingers pinched your nipples, coaxing a moan from you. A needy knot formed in your belly and you craved for his touch to wander down.

“Spread your legs for me. Let me feel you,” he instructed. Even though you were almost overwhelmed by arousal, his words seemed odd. Richie hadn’t been so dominant last night. This was…different.

Your eyes flashed open and you whirled around. “You filthy shapeshifter,” you hissed and shoved Pennywise away from you. A smirk appeared on his wicked lips. Lips you had wished to kiss you for so long.

“I told you we would play today. Don’t act surprised.” He chuckled and reached out to push against one of his bruises, the dull pain reminding you of his words. “I must admit, when I saw you, truly saw you last night…I desired you.” He licked his lips, hunger burning in those ancient, cunning eyes. “Do you still want me to play with you? To play this game?”

Suddenly, you felt the urge to turn the water on cold. Should you tell him off? Should you give away your loyalty just like that?

“Yes.” The word blurted out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Yes, I want you to play this game with me.”

“Good girl,” Pennywise purred and cupped your face, “I will show you now how only I can make you feel. I will give you a reason to rethink that alliance.” His lips finally met yours in a sensuous kiss that made you burn like the wildfire you had learned to subdue.

You allowed your arms to snake up around his neck, pulling him closer to you, relishing in the sensation of his warm skin pressed against yours as water poured over you both.

As he kissed you deeply and thoroughly, a hand dipped between your legs, brushing against your throbbing core. Oh, how you wanted this.

“What would you like me to do first?” he asked and you could only moan when his finger slipped inside of you. Grateful for his support, you didn’t reply at first but just savored how he explored you for the first time. You angled your hips slightly, grinding yourself against his touch, wanting more—needing more. “Do you want me to finish you like this? Or do you want something else?” He just wanted to hear you beg him for more. “I want you to—” You pulled in a breath when he started to rub your clit with his thumb. Such clever, clever hands.

“Your wish is spelled out in your head. Ask me to fulfill that wish,” he urged, rubbing harder. “Please,” you finally panted, “Please.”

Pennywise removed his hand and licked his fingers clean of you. “Then turn around. And put those hands against the wall.” This time, you did as instructed. Hands held onto your hips when he finally thrusted into you deeply. His size made you yelp with pleasure. “Is this how you imagined it to be?” he asked as you adjusted to every glorious inch of him.

No, this was better. So much better.

“Tell me,” he urged as he eased out of you only to push into you, harder this time. “You feel better than I imagined,” you admitted and moaned as he found a rhythm, pounding in and out of you mercilessly.

You might have cursed his shapeshifting abilities before, but as he moved you learned to appreciate them. He could fill you in ways that shouldn’t be possible, creating friction that drove you crazy. A well-known sensation started to build inside of you and you prepared yourself for a violent orgasm.

When it finally crashed over you, your eyes rolled back, and it took all of your self-control to not call out his name in pleasure. Pennywise slammed into you one more time until he found his own release, his chest pressed against your back.

“Let me know when you need another wish fulfilled,” he whispered into your ear before he moved away from you, as if completely unfazed by what had just happened. “Remember this today. Remember this when you’re with him.” You were still catching your breath, leaning against the slick tiles of the shower when you realized he had disappeared again. With shaky limbs, you allowed yourself to sink onto the floor. You barely registered that the bathroom door opened.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Richie said and leaned in the doorframe nonchalantly. “While you seemed to enjoy that shower just fine without company, make sure to invite me next time.”

Yes, you would invite him next time—you would try to invite him anywhere you went. Because otherwise he and his friends might not get out of Derry alive. And you might get lost in a tangle you could never free yourself from.

Read Chapter 3 here.

Tag List:

@psychoredpanda @shockwavee @itssmaugtheterrible @ggclarissa @okokbucky @chillcan

[chelsfic]

Chapter 11 - Inherited - Dracula/OFC - Dracula 2020 fanfic

A/N: Hi guys. Thanks again to everyone who has commented and liked and reblogged and interacted with this fic and with me! It means the world. Here is the promised smutty reunion! I think that Chapter 12 is probably going to wrap this up as the final part. I’m sure there are some who would prefer that the story keep going and going and going, but I’ve always intended to finish this with the Count turning Emilie. So depending on how it paces out I’ll have one more chapter to post after this one and *possibly* an epilogue, but we’ll see. I have at least two other plot bunnies scampering around my head right now just begging to be written.

Summary: The Count’s visit with Emilie turns fluffy and then distinctly raunchy!

Rating: Explicit!!! 

Count Dracula, in his flowing dark cape and richly tailored suit, looked positively exotic sitting in the worn chintz armchair surrounded by the Andrews family’s aggressively feminine decor. The parlor was a charming mix of floral patterns, old lace, china knick knacks and displays of the girls’ various attempts at pastoral landscape watercolors. Dracula, with his long, lithe form and aura of dark monstrosity, tucked into the little chair and looking about himself with an expression of polite curiosity was enough to break through the miasma of Emilie’s sadness. She giggled in delight at the picture he made.

Dracula raised his eyebrows at her laughter and smiled softly. It was strange to see him here in her family home. But it felt so pleasant and natural to see him looking at her with that crooked smile on his face.

“Shall I make tea?” Emilie asked automatically, shifting into hostess mode in the absence of her mother and sister who were both already asleep upstairs.

Dracula huffed a laugh as he replied, “If you like.”

Emilie felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment almost as soon as the words had left her mouth.

She stammered an excuse, “Oh--I...sorry, force of habit. I think I will make some for myself if that’s not terribly rude?”

Dracula waved a hand dismissively and Emilie vanished into the kitchen where she could privately melt at her own stupidity while she waited for the water to boil.

When she reentered the parlor she found Dracula standing with his hands folded behind his back, inspecting a brightly hued watercolor hanging over the mantle. She set down the tea service tray and went to stand beside him.

“My sister, Anna, painted this one,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the brilliant splashes of red, orange and violet. The painting showed a line of birch trees on the horizon, a little village nestled safely in the foreground as the sun rose into a crisp, blue sky.

“It’s wonderful,” Dracula whispered in a tone of sincere awe. Emilie looked up at him, his lips parted and his eyes moving over the image as if to memorize every detail. She felt her heart clench at the look of boyish longing on his face.

“You miss it?” she asked hesitantly. “The sun?” 

She was unsure of how familiar she was allowed to be with him now. Was he here as her friend? Her lover? Her employer...her landlord? She pushed her insecurities away, unwilling to lose this moment of connection with him after she’d so longed to see him again.

Dracula tore his eyes away from the canvas and looked down at her, a sad smile crinkling his eyes, “Yes, very much so. Appreciate her, Emilie, while you have her.”

They moved away from the mantle and took their seats. Emilie pondered his words as she poured herself a cup of tea. She supposed he referred to her mortality, the limited number of days she would spend under the sun. After his anger, his rejection, she couldn’t assume he meant anything else. Even if she’d come to think...to hope...he meant to take her as his dark wife. That was all over now.

She sat back in her seat and cradled the cup of tea in her scarred hands, taking comfort in its warmth, “She is radiant and lovely. And I’ve seen her in a new way since...well, since you showed me how. But...you know, I did come to love the night. For a while…”

She held her breath and felt her heart beat in her throat as she watched his face for a reaction to her words. Dracula’s expression was a mask of stoicism but his eyes burned as he leaned forward and reached toward her, cupping his hands around hers over the tea cup. His gaze fixed on the red, cracked skin of her fingers and he let out a sympathetic hiss.

“My Emilie. Your poor hands. What have you done to yourself?”

Emilie stared down at their joined hands for a moment, transfixed, before answering in a firm tone, “Only what I had to do. For my family.”

Dracula came fully forward, kneeling before her to stay at eye-level. He clasped his hands around her too-thin waist and looked up at her in silence for a moment. Emilie could feel his emotions through their bond. She felt his fear, his shame, his anger...and love. She still felt the bright jewel of his love shining out at her and it felt better than the warmth of the sun ever had. 

“Emilie,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, “I have not forsaken you. Or your family. I won’t let you starve or turn you out of this house. Do you understand? You don’t need to work yourself into ill health. Please...don’t.”

Emilie choked back a sob at his words. She felt relief, gratitude, adoration...but also the echoing pain of betrayal and rejection. Only a few weeks ago Vlad had turned his monstrous cruelty against her. He’d hurt her and insulted her because she had the audacity to make him feel vulnerable. And now here he knelt before her like a supplicant, avowing his devotion and loyalty? She’d dreamed of this, but the actual event felt like being suddenly knocked about. She couldn’t keep hold of her emotions.

“What was I supposed to do, Vlad? How was I to know if you would continue to support us after...after…”

She couldn’t speak the words to evoke the final scene between them at Carfax. It was too painful a memory. 

“I’m sorry, Emilie,” Dracula whispered. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her cheeks, laying chaste kisses across her face, each one a plea for her forgiveness. “I was afraid, Emilie. I’ve never...I wanted to make you my bride. You knew that, didn’t you? I wanted to make you like me and I’d never come so close to succeeding before. I was afraid...I am afraid that I’ll fail. I never planned to get so attached...for there was always the risk that you might not come back...in the end. And when I felt that you had finally staked a true claim on me--on my heart and soul--I panicked and I was...unforgivably cruel to you. I--I love you, Emilie. I’d forgotten that I was capable of the emotion…”

Emilie set down the teacup and took his face in her hands, leaning forward to press her lips to his and letting her tears finally fall to stain his cheeks as well as hers. She was passionate and energetic, finally allowing herself to let go of the hurt and mourning she’d been carrying these past few weeks. She nipped his lower lip and delighted in his deep, rumbling purr of pleasure. Her fingers twined in the hair at the nape of his neck. Every detail was vivid and arousing with her heightened senses: the feel of his soft lips gradually warming from the heat of her own, the restrained strength in his hands wrapped around her waist and pulling her closer, each silken thread of hair brushing through her fingers. She broke away from him, panting and clinging to the collar of his cape with all her might.

Dracula let out an intentional breath and stared up at her, capturing her with the deep pools of his liquid eyes with ease, “Emilie, I want you to understand what this means. You’ve belonged to me since before you even realized it. I own you: your soul, your blood, your life. But...you own me, too. I’m yours, Emilie. Now and always.”

Emilie breathed heavily, overwhelmed by lust and emotion. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she responded, “In that case...I think I’ll take you to my bed, Count Dracula.”

They crept soundlessly up the stairway and down the short hall to Emilie’s bedroom. She led him by the hand over the threshold and shut the door delicately behind him. Count Dracula, her dark lover, her master, her slave, was standing in her childhood bedroom. The contrast of his presence in this sacred space was deeply compelling to her. She stalked forward, standing before him and reaching up to unclasp the cape from his shoulders. In a stroke of playfulness she wrapped it around her own shoulders and smirked up at him.

“You know...this is where my sister and I would whisper stories to each other at night. About the terrifying Count Dracula and his dark powers.”

He reached up and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, gradually revealing his dark chest hair and starkly pale skin. 

“Is that so?” he asked in a tone of bland curiosity.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, dropping the cape to the floor and reaching around her back to loosen the fastenings of her dress and slowly let the material drop over her shoulders. “I’d have nightmares about the evil creature I would one day serve. His devil horns, his cloven feet….his power to transform into a wolf at will!”

Emilie’s soft laughter was interrupted by a sheepish look from the Count, “Well...yes that last one is true, I’m afraid.”

Emilie’s mouth dropped open in shock, “You can turn into a wolf!?”

Dracula suppressed a smug smile as he discarded his shirt and undid the buttons of his fly, “Does that frighten you, Emilie? Or excite you?”

He stepped out of his trousers and moved forward with inhuman speed, grabbing the waist of her petticoat and slipping it over her hips so she stood naked and exposed before him. 

“I don’t know...maybe both,” she whispered, leaning forward so the points of her nipples brushed against the taught skin of his stomach. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, reveling in the perfect feel of his naked skin against hers. 

“My big, bad wolf,” she grinned and pulled him toward the bed. 

She fell backward and tugged him down with her onto the tiny mattress. He had to curl his legs up in order to fit but he was happy to wrap himself around her little body. He enveloped her in his arms and ran his hands down her back and over the rounded flesh of her buttocks, squeezing gently and eliciting a squeak of surprised pleasure from Emilie.

“Shhh, little one,” he admonished bringing a finger to her lips and then pressing it forward, dipping his long digit into her mouth and watching with hooded, lusty eyes as she sucked obediently. “Do you need me to keep you quiet?”

Emilie’s eyes fluttered shut at the suggestion, envisioning her master taking her on her childhood bed as he gagged her with his own fingers. She felt herself nodding in response to the question, still sucking his finger and laving it with her tongue.

Dracula smirked and added another finger, pressing down on her tongue and watching as saliva pooled and spilled over her lips. He ran his other hand over her breasts, playing with her nipples and teasing them with his sharp nails.

“Good girl,” he praised her as she stayed perfectly silent, muffling her little sounds of pleasure by wrapping her lips around his digits. “I’ll always take care of you, sweet Emilie.”

He continued his attentions to her breasts, flicking, licking, biting and teasing until Emilie was near tears at the over stimulation. She struggled to form words around his fingers and he finally relented, pulling them out and looking down at her with brows furrowed inquisitively, “What is it?”

She took a deep breath and nearly sobbed her words, “Please, Vlad, I need you now.”

Dracula’s lips spread in a leering grin and he crawled over her, caging her with his body, “I’m yours to command, sweet Emilie. Always.”

He palmed her hips and lowered himself until he was just waiting at her entrance, teasing her by running the thick tip of his member through her soaking folds over and over again. He looked up at her, expectantly.

“Vlad!” she admonished him, unable to form much more in the way of coherent words. He took pity on her and plunged forward, thrusting himself inside her and hissing at the beautiful, tight, hot feel of her wrapped around him. 

Emilie cried in joy and relief as he finally entered her. The sound was jarring in the silent house and Vlad whipped a hand up to her mouth, pressing his palm over her lips to keep her quiet as he pounded inside of her. He ramped up to an inhuman tempo that Emilie was powerless to match. She could only arch upward in needy wantonness, seeking to maximize the friction and deepen his reach inside her. If he’d planned this at all he would have taken her slowly, tenderly, injecting his devotion and apology into every movement of his hips, his hands, his mouth. But he was just as powerless as Emilie in the face of his reaction to her. His blood sang at their closeness as if it flowed in sync with hers. He could read her feelings in the touch of her skin. Her love, her passion, her wanting. It was everything that he felt and more. 

He surrendered himself over to her, pushing his intent through their connection and dipping down to bury his head in the crook of her neck, laying sweet kisses over her jugular. He wouldn’t bite her. The next time he gave her his vampire’s kiss it would be her last. The joy and terror of his decision coursed through him as he felt his hips stutter chaotically as his orgasm washed over him. Emilie threw her head back and bit into his fingers as the sensation of his pleasure reached her through their bond and pushed her over into her own climax. Her legs shivered and trembled around his hips as they both relaxed their bodies and clung together. 

***

The next morning Mrs. Andrews entered the dining room to find two sealed letters sitting on the table. One was from Emilie and it was a goodbye. The words were simple but heartfelt. The Count had proposed marriage and she had accepted. They would be away for some time...honeymooning.

The second letter was written in the Count’s own severe hand. It explained that his solicitor, Mr. Renfield, would be in touch to discuss the transfer of ownership of Carfax Abbey, along with a substantial sum, to Mrs. Andrews.

A/N: P.S. The “I own you and you own me” thing--I’ve used that little idea in fics before and it’s entirely owed to the sexy negotiation between Claire and Jamie in Outlander when they finally reconcile after he physically punishes her for putting the clansmen in danger. 

Tags:

@girlonfireice​ @charlesdances​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @dracula-s-bride​ @haleyea​ @irrelevantwriter​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @festering-queen​ @kaddis-world​ @leah-halliwell92​

[tacittherapist]

3 AM

You gently shake your girlfriend awake, rousing her from her peaceful slumber. The two of you are in her room, your various knitting projects scattered about along with her gadgets and plushes. Admittedly, half your knitting projects are clothes for her plushes; heaven forbid Mr. Snagglystache go without proper winter attire.

ROSE: Jade. Jade, wake up. JADE: muh ROSE: Wake up. JADE: whats going on :0 ROSE: I want to show you something. JADE: its so early though >_> ROSE: I know, it has to be this early. JADE: ok ok im up! ROSE: Good. This way.

You lead her, bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, towards her observatory. The place smells much of citrus -- likely because of all the lemon and lime trees planted about the room. Supposedly they like this room better than the others, including the garden or the greenhouse. The coordinates in the telescope are locked, making sure no errant wind or metal warping might accidentally tear the sight away from the lens.

ROSE: Look into the telescope. JADE: what are you showing me? ROSE: Just look.

The telescope peaks into Paradox Space, glimpsing past the immediate celestial bodies and into the very fabric of reality. Past the dreambubbles, past the alternate realities, past the waning and unused memories still yet to be collected by the Furthest Ring and condensed into more bubbles... lie stars. Perhaps not heavenly bodies, not stars in the traditional sense, but simply twinkling obfuscations of pure matter floating within the ether of the unknown.

JADE: its a bunch of stars?? ROSE:  Yes. Take a good look. Once you have them in your mind’s eye, look here. JADE: hmmm?

You unfurl Jade’s 3 AM dress, its slight-green hue almost glowing in the darkness of the observatory’s dome. The stars on it twinkle, not unlike the ‘stars’ outside the bounds of Paradox Space.

JADE: theyre both stars ROSE: Yes. But look deeper. JADE: hmmmmmm ROSE: See any familiarities? JADE: i ROSE: Hmm? JADE: i think ROSE: Yes? JADE: i think i see it ROSE: What do you see? JADE: theyre twinkling at the same rate ROSE: Yes! JADE: wait ROSE: Yes? JADE: what does that mean ROSE: Ah, forgive me. I forgot you weren’t much of a gamer growing up. JADE: ohhhh wowwww i see how it is ROSE: No no. This is pointless bullshit, only relevant now due to arbitration. ROSE: The stars on your dress twinkling at the same rate as the uncategorized data beyond Paradox Space means we’ve discovered the tick rate of SBURB’s engine. JADE: what!! >:O ROSE: Yes. For those observing narratively, I’ll explain. When developers create a game that doesn’t follow a turn order like chess or checkers, there must be some internal mechanism keeping track of all events that may or may not occur. Actions follow this mechanism according to its ‘tick rate’, which allows for things like invincibility frames during attacks, and clipping through walls during collision checks. JADE: i cant believe you just explained tick rate to absolutely no one also rose are you trying to break the game again ROSE: I cannot break that which is already broken. JADE: im serious!! the last time you tried to break the game there were a lot of bad things that happened ROSE: It isn’t so much ‘breaking’ SBURB so much as it is... using it in ways the developers didn’t intend. JADE: like ROSE: Like clipping through walls. Like invincibility frames. Like infinite items. Like shortcuts to the Reward. JADE: dont we already have a lot of those things ROSE: We do, but not according to class or aspect. The ways we engage with SBURB and its mechanics, I must assume, have all been intentional by the developers. But breaking SBURB down into its parts –- ticks, allocated memory, location of game assets, even comments the developers may have left in –- are not. JADE: this is sounding a lot like your funny gamefaqs guide now ROSE: It is, somewhat. But I’ve graduated. No more GameFAQs guides, we’re in hacker territory now. JADE: ohhhh my god ROSE: You have nothing to worry about. Look. JADE: hmm?

You present to her a medium-sized gift box. Inside is potentially one of the most beloved consoles of the 90s and even early 2000s: an N64, plastered with goth anime stickers, as clean as the day your mother had purchased it. Included are 4 separate controllers, coded for each of you. An entire library of classic games are included too, especially the ones whose very limits were tested and stretched by speedrunners of the era.

ROSE: Normally such a niche item wouldn’t be available via abstraction-based alchemy given ‘brands’ are such an obfuscated, arbitrary, useless concept, they simply don’t exist within the game’s array of constructable items. But... through a bit of data manipulation, I was able to access its pattern given the contents of my home were stored within the game assets even before the Earth was destroyed. JADE: wow.......... JADE: this mustve been buried pretty deep if its from before earth blew up ROSE: It was. But now we can all relive the joy of wishing Gay Bowser a farewell. JADE: ehehe i cant wait to get these references JADE: wanna go play right now?? ROSE: Only if you’re Player 1. JADE: oh im r ROSE: Wait. Don’t. JADE: im ready p ROSE: Don’t you say it. JADE: im read ROSE: DO NOT. JADE: im ready player one B) ROSE: Maybe this was a mistake. JADE: pffff cmon you goof ill go hook us up! ROSE: Happy birthday, Jade.

You chase her back through the halls back to her bedroom, where the two of you spend the morning playing old games and destroying the computers in racing. It’s a fun day until the two of you invariably pass out just after dinner since you woke up so early.

[fire-toolz]

My family's beloved 16-year-old Siamese cat, Webley, died in my arms last year. He'd been a sleek fat kitty before he got ill, but he'd lost weight and lost weight till he was little more than a bedraggled shadow. At the end he could barely lift his head, and then the vet gave him the shot and he couldn't lift his head at all. I was scratching his ears as I'd so often done before, and suddenly they dropped, and whatever I was petting wasn't Webley anymore. It's one of the worst memories of my life.

I've been thinking about Webley a lot while listening to the new Fire-Toolz album, Rainbow Bridge, which comes out May 8 on local label Hausu Mountain. Angel Marcloid, a Chicago musician who records as Fire-Toolz (as well as under several other names), made Rainbow Bridge about her 16-year-old cat, Breakfast, also a Siamese, who died in December 2018. The album is an idiosyncratic collage of guttural death-metal roars, electronic bleeps, and vaporwave ambience. Bleak, sweet, and quietly unflinching, it slides back and forth between two emotional poles: one boils with rage and grief, while the other is steeped in a comforting lyricism as gentle as a cat rubbing its chin against your hand. "It's been a while, but I think about her every day," Marcloid says. "I still have moments where I feel her close and I just cry a whole bunch. I've got her ashes two feet from me right now. I have a tattoo of her on my chest. So yeah, I'm happy to honor her in my music."

From as early as she can remember, Marcloid says, music made her feel things "that are just so abstract and visceral and hard to put your finger on." She was born near Annapolis in 1984 to a music-loving family; her parents constantly played CDs of hair metal, the Beatles, and her all-time favorite band, Rush. Marcloid started making little drum sets out of pots and pans almost as soon as she could walk.

Her first public performance was when she was seven. Her parents knew a local bar band, and she sat in with them to play drums on a cover of the Black Crowes' "Hard to Handle."

"This is a smoky bar, women showing their boobs and stuff—it was not an environment for kids!" Marcloid says. "But I sat down with the drum kit and we played the songs, and they were just amazed. They were looking back at me while we were playing, like, 'Holy shit! This kid's actually keeping time!' I'll never forget walking off that stage, and all these drunk, smelly adults cheering me on, and a couple of people just gave me money. 'You're awesome, kid! Here's 20 dollars!'"

Marcloid soon taught herself to play guitar and bass too, and her musical interests expanded. As a child she had a formative late-night exposure to Morbid Angel's 1993 video for "Rapture" via MTV's Headbangers Ball, and soon she was also listening to jazz and electronica. She performed in several short-lived bands, and in the late 2000s she launched her own label, also called Rainbow Bridge. Through it Marcloid released cassettes and CDs by other musicians, as well as a blizzard of her own music under various names—including ambient acoustic music as the Human Excuse, punky dream pop with the trio Shadow Government, and electroacoustic noise as Water Bullet.

Marcloid came to Chicago in 2012 to move in with a girlfriend, who owned several cats and had just adopted Breakfast. Like most Siamese, Marcloid says, Breakfast "has always been a little strange." She was neurotic and disliked the other cats, and she never really warmed up to Marcloid's partner. In fact she only had one clear favorite. "She took to me immediately," Marcloid says, "and always wanted to be on me and just wanted to spend all her time with me." When Marcloid and her partner split up, there was no question who Breakfast would go with. The kitty ended up spending most of her life in Marcloid's bedroom to avoid other cats. "The rest of the house was just scary for her. There were too many other cat smells," Marcloid says.

"On the one hand, it may seem weird or maybe even borderline cruel to keep a cat in a single bedroom for their entire lives. But that's what she wanted; she was happy."

Marcloid has featured Breakfast in tracks throughout her oeuvre. "Spirit Spit" from the 2017 album Drip Mental (Hausu Mountain), for example, is a short wordless suite in which Marcloid imagines the usually shy Breakfast grown adventurous enough to go exploring in the house during a storm. The track opens with Breakfast engaging in some Siamese vocalizing and squawking, with thunder in the background. The rest of the narrative unfolds through auditory cues. "She comes down to the basement and turns on her ancient computer, which dials in to AOL," Marcloid explains. "Then she puts on a Telepath CD, which is a vaporwave artist that I absolutely love. You can hear the CD drive opening, you can hear the Telepath song start. And then she types some stuff and is meowing. And then she turns off the computer and goes back upstairs."

In 2018 Breakfast began to go into kidney failure. She was constantly peeing in Marcloid's room, and she wasn't eating. Eventually she was so uncomfortable and miserable Marcloid had to euthanize her. "And that was just so fucking traumatic for me, and so emotional," Marcloid says. "It really energized the search for truth and meaning that I had already begun years ago."

Marcloid began making Rainbow Bridge during Breakfast's illness. The title isn't just a callback to her record label (which she folded around five years ago) but also a reference to contemporary folk mythology about a rainbow bridge that, in Marcloid's words, "our pets either cross when they die to go to the other side, or they go there and they wait for us." The cover art, by Marcloid and Jeremy Coubrough, shows a Siamese cat sitting in a green field with her back to the viewer, looking at the prismatic steps of a bridge that leads upward into a kind of bloated growth of exploding colors.

The chaos of different hues fits the Fire-Toolz aesthetic. As Hausu Mountain cofounder Doug Kaplan puts it, "There's just nobody else that sounds like this, and there will never be another. Each track goes a billion different places but has a strong sense of oneness." Marcloid's other projects often follow particular rules or fit into particular genres; Mindspring Memories, for example, is mostly slowed-down and otherwise manipulated smooth-jazz samples. A recent album under the name Path to Lobster Believers is tape-collage improvisation. But with Fire-Toolz, Marcloid says, "Anything goes. It's a no-rules catchall; everything reports to it. It's the top of the pyramid."

The violent shifts in tone and genre on a Fire-Toolz track often feel exuberant and playful. On Rainbow Bridge, though, they create splatters of emotion: nostalgia, confusion, loss, hope. The opening track, "Gnosis .•o°Ozing," starts out as ranting death metal, with Marcloid screaming distorted, virtually indecipherable lyrics: "Arms wrapped in neon like a warning / A rainbow bridge unfurling / And now I lay listening to nothing / I feel my organs locking up."

By the second verse, she's superimposed smooth-jazz keyboard flourishes atop the noise, so that it sounds like the metal is battling easy listening, anger struggling with happier memories. "Layers in grief not unlike stages of passing / There are many / Not too many / Not so much."

The video for the song "Rainbow ∞ Bridge," created by Marcloid with Armpitrubber (aka Christine Janokowicz), provides an intense visual analogue for the music's smeared palette. This song too starts with a death-metal feel, pairing double kick drum with Marcloid's throat-tearing vocals. "Please don't be mad that I cut your cord / Fear lodged in my gums / Pressing into my face with fingerlike force / Breakfast!" she yells, as images of the kitty strobe and dissolve into colors, lights, emojis, a door opening, SpongeBob screaming. Tinkly new-age keyboard ambience plays over purple clouds and the on-screen words "Heaven! They say I can sit and soak you up." A guitar solo fit for a classic-rock ballad cuts through the shifting landscape, and then the song briefly fades into ambience as Breakfast romps across the screen and dissolves. It's a vision of a loved one disintegrating, perhaps into nothing, perhaps into memory or heaven, while pain and happiness alternate in spasms of glitches.

"Heaven has no location," Marcloid howls near the end of the track. That's a statement of spiritual hope; heaven is everywhere, Marcloid believes. "It's not any particular place. It's something that is all-encompassing," she says. "I think that it's everywhere and everything. It's the flow of life." You can hear that hope on tracks such as "⌈Mego⌉ ≜ Maitrī," which is all gentle surging keyboards and pattering electronica, encouraging you to gently drift into an ether of soft fur and purring.

A heaven without location can also simply be a heaven that doesn't exist, though, and that fear and doubt is also part of Rainbow Bridge. On the jittery "Microtubules," a throbbing beat loops around and around as Marcloid asks, "Were you afraid of crossing?" It's an unsettling question: of course she'd worry about a cat who never wanted to leave the bedroom going off on a long journey alone.

"When Breakfast was sick, anxiety was a huge, huge part of it," Marcloid says. "And even after she passed, and I knew that there was nothing to be done, there was still so much anxiety. I became frustrated because I wanted to know where she was, if she was anywhere. I just want the truth. I don't even care what it is, even if the truth is we're all just dead, and that when my body stops working, it's completely over."

Marcloid finished Rainbow Bridge months ago, and of course she didn't know it would be released at a time when anxiety, uncertainty, fear, and isolation would be so pervasive. In the context of a pandemic, the album seems even more relevant, not just because of its grief but also because of its prescient reminder of the importance of pets: during the stay-at-home order, animal adoptions have broken records as humans turn to cats and dogs to keep them company, and keep them sane, in isolation.

Marcloid adopted another cat herself after Breakfast died, and she now has three. "It's incredibly comforting to have them during a time like this," she says. "They're a solid rock for me to lean on. Especially lately, because they just don't fight with themselves. They're just such simpler creatures, and they're so much more connected to reality than any human could possibly be because of how complex our lives are. When they're in pain, they'll react—they won't like it, but they don't conceptualize and theorize about it. They don't get into this existential dread. They're just in pain, and they just want the pain to go away. That's all it is. It's that simple. We are just hopeless cases in comparison."

Marcloid's music, for all its genre shifts and chaotic oddness, can also reach for that kind of simplicity of thought and emotion. The six-minute instrumental "Angel (of Deth)" is elegiac, oceanic Muzak—a soundtrack to play while the waves roll in, or while watching a kitty sleep. At its conclusion the track breaks up into electronic blips and warbles, as though the world were coming apart and something else were wavering into existence behind the static.

"It's a mystery because we don't know," Marcloid says. "So I have to love and honor that mystery. I don't even know what God is, or if God exists, but whatever it is, that's what I love." Marcloid's tribute suggests that cats may know more about love than we do. They trust you even at the end, to help them die. Rainbow Bridge is not just a eulogy but an expression of hope that they'll lend you a paw in turn when your time comes. It's a comfort to think that when you start up those stairs, there will be a small someone to show you the way.  

[gwoongi]

ways to say i love you (07)

jung hoseok / reader genre: ghost au, angst rating: mature words: 2.5k warnings: character death, reference to a past suicide, mental health mentions, ghost hoseok, it’s a big ball of angst and i’m really sorry :( a/n: ways to say i love you has come to an end !!!! thanks for joining me on this painful angst series :’) please read the others on my masterlist + listen to the songs/vibes attached to all of ‘em :D (the end is super inspired by goblin)

➸ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Like, properly say it; because they’ve said it before, but today they say it one last time, when it’s the only thing left to say.

⚠️ this story is NOT intended to glamorise mental health or suicide, and this story should be approached with caution if topics such as those offend or upset. thank u sm for following this series <3

It started with a median.

There had been a time where you prided yourself on your disbelief in an afterlife, dismissing medians on television, laughing at ghost hunters and paranormal movies depicting demons and ghouls climbing out of screens. Although now, those times seem to long ago, phantom memories - even the person you were in those memories seem to be different, as though looking into the mind of a stranger, disconnected and vacant. 

Seokjin had told you that was a coping mechanism. Hyojung assured you it was normal. Your sister said it was mental illness.

After the loss of Hoseok, you didn’t know what to think anymore. After the loss of the love of your life, thinking just became pointless.

When the news of Hoseok’s passing had reached you, it had reached you last. At least everybody in your close circle of friends knew a few hours before you, Hoseok’s family and Jeongguk who had found him being the first who found out almost a day before. The absence of Hoseok for those long and tortuous hours were ones you misjudged. You thought he was going back to Gwangju to see his family for the weekend. Seokjin thought he was with you. Jeongguk had returned to his shared flat and found the truth hanging.

The only reason as to why you were last was because nobody knew how you would react. Amongst the chaos and shock that was Hoseok’s death, the reaction that would be drawn from you would change everything. Looking back at it, you even remember where you were and when it had happened, when the pin dropped. Originally, they wanted Jeongguk to tell you, but, overcome with grief, he sent Yoongi instead. You will never, ever forget the look on Yoongi’s face as you opened the door, and the news followed a cup of tea and an unexpected, clueless, and genuine smile had settled on your lips. “What are you doing here?” you had asked, “is everything okay?” He’d said nothing, and then broke down when you asked if he’d heard from Hoseok this weekend. He’s missing my calls. Has he contacted you?

Even after the funeral, after the original shock and after the news had been broken out around University, people still didn’t know how to act around you. The Hoseok Subject was never spoken about or touched upon. Pictures of Hoseok were turned over or taken down when you came over, his name buried with him in the pretty cemetery by the river. It took some time, a real long time, but eventually, the pain began to ever so slightly fade; only to come rushing back again like the sudden pull of the tide when Seulgi had approached your booth in the dorm common room with a leaflet about a median.

You don’t know why you went.

Hyojung had come, too, as emotional support and because she wanted to be there to see if it was as real as Seulgi and the leaflet were making it out to be. You hadn’t even booked a session, turning up unannounced and anonymous for the meeting in one of the older lecture rooms on campus. The question of why and how a median was permitted onto campus was never addressed - you just had to see and hear it for yourself. Nothing had come out of it, and you were glad to keep it that way. That was until the median called out for a Y/N, and your heart sank.

“There’s a Hoseok in the room, and he’s asking for a Y/N...is there...a Y/N here?”

You had no reaction other than paralysed silence. Hyojung was scandalised, angry and confused. The median surely must have heard about Hoseok’s death here and that’s why the session was on campus. She said all of this accusingly, crying in hysterics, this is wrong, how can you do this to someone in grieving?

You left the lecture hall, leaving a piece of you behind with it.

Since that day, you’d returned back to the comfort of your bedroom, leaving for your lectures only. Seminars were skipped in silence and the teachers understood, sending emails to cover for it, and the notifications piled up like the tissues in the dustbin. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that the event with the median was a scam, something set up as a sick practical joke, you couldn’t shake it off. What if’s and buts whirled around in your head, chaotic, loud, invasive and sad.

Hoseok was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. But what if you had stayed -? What if it was true? What if you just missed your last, and final opportunity to say goodbye?

(Presently).

“Why are you here? All of you?”

“We never left.”

You blink.

“Does it...does it hurt? Dying?”

You close your eyes slowly. “Quicker than falling asleep.” And exhale.

Something deep into your apartment bumps. 

The noise is quiet whilst still being loud enough to bounce off the volume of the movie, playing quietly on your television screen sitting on top of your desk. Lately, your living room has been pulled into your bedroom, all rooms besides the connecting ensuite now in one. Phone calls from worried friends and family were set to silent and on days where the front door rang, it remained closed. Like you did many months ago, all you need right now is the space. Hyojung had told them why. They didn’t blame you.

Sniffing and wiping your eye with the side of your hand, you push the covers folded up around your breasts down and kick your feet to the floor, staring towards your bedroom door as if probing it for answers. Silence, and then another noise. On a normal day, this might alarm you, but your body is numb, aching and tired, and so you move towards the door without thinking and pull it open, stepping out into the hall. A glance in either direction shows no immediate threat, and you’re too lazy, too tired and too unbothered to step out to investigate. The noise is likely somebody upstairs or down, and if it is an intruder here to kill you, then what do you have to lose?

You move back into your bedroom, shutting the door gently. The bathroom rope-light swings in the breeze from the door moving and you slip into the bathroom quickly. Light floods the box room, illuminating the exhaustion on your face. You look ghastly, sunken and stale. You feel it too. Depression clings to you, life moves outside but stills in. God, you feel so ugly, so worthless and disgusting and alone - splashing your face with cold water, you gasp in the air like you’re depending on the taste, passing up looking at your reflection in the mirror in fear of what you’ll see staring back. When the bathroom light is turned off and you shut the door behind you, you turn to shuffle back into your bedroom and pause.

There is somebody by the window. It’s undeniable, real and solid- but you blink several times, wondering if it’s just a dream. Nothing registers in your body, no reflex to scream or panic. Instead, you simply stare.

The silhouette against the window shuffles, anxious, and then steps into the light. For a while you say nothing, staring in a stunned silence as the figure reveals itself. It has to be a dream. This is a dream. You’ve dreamt it a hundred times. You’ve dreamt Hoseok stepping towards you. You don’t know what to think.

“Hobi,” you say, lifeless. “Am I...dreaming?”

“Baby-” Footsteps across the carpet. Moves like him. Sounds like him. “Oh, my baby girl.” Something cold touches you, but something familiar. Old friends. Old lovers, fleshy hands. Feels like him. “My beautiful girl.”

“Hobi. Hobi?” you stumble. The Hoseok before you watches your eyes fill with tears instantly, and the tightness in your throat he can visibly see causing your hands to tremble. “Hoseok? Am I. Am I dreaming? Am I sleeping?”

“Mhm, yeah,” he settles with. Maybe that’s for the best, maybe that will calm you down. His hands engulf your own, massaging the shakes to sleep. “You’re dreaming, baby.”

“You. You feel so real,” you choke. “Fuck. Hoseok, fuck, what’s happening, why does it feel real-”

“Please-”

“I’m scared, wait, what’s happening, Hoseok-?”

The hands you felt on your hands move to your arms. A tightness follows, like he’s holding you. He did this, he was good at calming you down with his hands on your arms and lips on yours, whispers in mouths. This time he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not now. Not again, never again.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you insist, tears pouring out of your eyes. “You’re. You. Baby, you died, you left me, you left us, why did you. Where did you. Baby, Hoseok, what...?”

“Calm down, Y/N, calm down baby, okay?” Hoseok whispers comfortingly. “Capture your breath, and then we’ll talk okay? I don’t have too long left.”

This repeats for a little while, as Hoseok follows a method he used to when he tried to calm you down. After three long and amazing years of dating, Hoseok had learned what worked and what didn’t, what to say and what not to. The crazy thing about love is how you dedicate everything to getting to know that other person inside and out, learning their secrets and exploring interests, making memories to remember and frame and tell kids about. There was a time when Hoseok thought about all of that, and a time where he could have had it.

“Is it really you?” you ask quietly, after several long minutes of Hoseok holding your head in his hands and bringing you out of the storm onto the calm shore. “I’m not going crazy?”

“It’s me,” Hoseok promises, smiling as best as he can. You’re crying, maybe you can’t see his face. His throat feels hot, tight and firm.

“I miss you.” You rasp out your words, gasping for air every few seconds, “I miss you so much, Hoseok. Why did you leave me, what happened?”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I. I thought you were going to your parents for the weekend, but. But Jeongguk found you and- why did you lie to me? Hobi, why…? Was, was it me?”

“No.” Hoseok grabs your hands tightly. “Don’t ever say that. It was never, ever your fault. Not at all, okay? Don’t think that.”

“Then why?”

Hoseok can’t think. “I don’t want you to think it was your fault, okay? You were- you are, everything to me. You were the light of my life. But, fuck, I was so unhappy. And I didn’t know how to stop being unhappy. I hurt. It hurt me. I was hurting everybody around me in my own little way. Every time I would tell you that I was doing extra readings at the dorm, all I was doing was struggling, thinking about how unhappy I felt even though I was surrounded by people who made me feel worth it. And you all deserved so much better. Still, you deserve so much better.”

“Jeongguk found you. None of us knew you were hurting, Hobi, I didn’t know. We should have noticed the signs, I should have been more careful.”

“No. I was good at hiding it, I never wanted you to worry.”

Suddenly Hoseok’s eyes widen, his hands stroking your hair pausing. With a quick exhale of breath, his smile tightens and he lets out a shaky sigh. “I haven’t got long left. I need to go soon.”

“Go? No, go where?” you frantically ask. “No, please Hobi, don’t leave me again. You can’t leave me again, please.”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay. I tried to call for you the other week, but you left,” Hoseok explains quickly.

“The median? That...that was you?”

Hoseok laughs quietly, “Yeah, baby. But, I get it, you never believed in all that stuff, huh. I should have known better. I had to come here, come to see you. I had to.”

I had to one last time.

“Please,” you whisper, grabbing his hands. “Please don’t leave me again. Please. I love you so much, please don’t leave me alone again. I need you.”

Hoseok shakes his head, attempting a curly smile that you can’t even see past the blur of his own tears. “Y/N L/N, you have been the love of my life. I have loved being your boyfriend and you are my best friend. I will never, ever forget how amazing you are.” Nodding, sniffing his tears back, Hoseok kisses your forehead. His lips are cold and wet, ghostlike and light. “I love you. I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry, for everything- none of it is your fault, okay, honey? Mmm?”

You feel his hands in your hair as you nod. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry too. I could have helped you.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Hoseok says. “You being happy, and you knowing that it was never your fault, will help me now. Okay?”

Sniffing loudly, you nod again. “Okay.”

For a long moment, Hoseok just stares: “I’m gonna miss you so much.” You mumble something in reply to him, and he sighs shakily, “but now, I have to go.”

You grab his hands as he tries to pull away. “Don’t leave me, you’re leaving me.”

“I never left. I’ll always be here, watching over you. Always, and forever.”

Whether or not Hoseok’s appearance was a dream or not to you, you wake up the next morning with a headache and the memory of him, his voice saying I love you on loop with an echo in your ears. The sun shines into the room, frost outside. On the desk there’s a glass of water, and a letter. He was right. He never left. Not really.

(“All is said and done?”

Hoseok steps into the long hallway and smiles at the hooded man. He’s seen who he needs to; several stops around to his family, one to Jeongguk who had it the worst with finding his body. The final one for you. Y/N, the love of his entire life, remembered in memories and gone in touch.

It’s okay.

“Yeah,” Hoseok nods. Death nods, his hood falling slightly as he points down the hallway with one hand and with the other, passes Hoseok a small cup. Hoseok reaches for it, exhaling gently. “Just like falling asleep.”

He drinks the contents and hands the cup back to Death, heading down the hallway. For a moment, his hand hovers above the handle. He’s said his piece on Earth. He’s done what he needs to do. Now, he can move on in peace.

He turns the handle. The hallway fills with white.)

disclaimer: the choice not to explicitly state a reason towards hoseok’s suicide is because i understand the subject is already touchy enough. with the anniversary of a close friend coming up, unfortunately during a time of my life where i’m going to be stressed due to university, i decided to store my feelings into the final piece of this series. in a way, this is to deal with my own grieving. i’d appreciate consideration into this fact + i also hope that everybody is doing okay with their own issues. please don’t be afraid to speak to somebody about your feelings- a friend, a stranger, me. please stay safe. please stay happy. thank u for everything

[kyle-valenti]

the doctor is in ill

kyle/alex

also on ao3

.

Alex Manes tried not to think about a lot of things lately, repressing more and more confusion and emotions than he probably should. Having a father hospitalized in coma due to him attempting murder (after actually having murdered his victim’s father) was hard enough. On top of that he had a friend who had been magically brought back to life by an alien, a best friend who was trying to stop her grief over her alien boyfriend dying for her sister, and then, most of all, he had an ex-something alien cowboy who had left him for his best friend.

All in all, Alex was ready to leave Roswell and never look back. There were multiple Air Force bases he could leave for, but he had stalled. Maybe for Michael. Maybe for helping Liz and Rosa. Mainly to destroy his father’s attempt at a legacy of torture, murder, and fanatacism.

And Kyle Valenti had helped him through all of it over the past few months.

At first things had been prickly, then slowly better and better, and after the catastrophe of Kyle being shot and the intense scrambling to create a cover story they had all but fallen back into their original dynamic. A team.

Which meant that Alex, who tried very hard not to notice things about people anymore, still noticed the way that Kyle’s eyes had bags under them the past few weeks and had seemed to lose the very little weight he had that wasn’t muscle. Now, while they poured over seventy years of studies on aliens, Kyle was also coughing and looking pale. He could pretend he didn’t notice, of course. Let the doctor handle himself.

Unfortunately his worry got the best of him. “Are you sick, Valenti?”

Kyle startled a little at the break of silence, looking a little slow to the take before he put on a fake smirk and confidently replied, “Doctor’s don’t get sick.”

Of course. “…As a doctor you should know that’s incorrect.”

All he got in return to that was Kyle shaking his head. “I’ve been exposed to everything under the sun. My immune system is iron.”

The bravado that was being put forth made Alex want to roll his eyes, but instead he replied. “Your immune system is compromised. You sleep what, three hours a night lately?”

Now his face turned serious, bordering on threatening. “I’m fine.”

“You need some rest.”

“And what, be a resting target? I’m fine.”

Alex froze, unsure what to do with the implication that Kyle no longer felt safe alone. Of course any logical person wouldn’t in Roswell, especially someone who had attacked the father of three very angry war hero sons. Afraid to think further about how this was his fault for dragging Kyle further into things, Alex didn’t push further.

Kyle started throwing up two hours later.

“Come on.” Alex told him firmly, shutting off every computer monitor in one combination stroke of keys so Kyle can’t fight him. “I’m taking you home.”

“Alex.” he grumbled angrily, trying to be stubborn. He had stopped the habit of referring to him as “Manes” after everything had gone down, and Alex had tried to ignore the twinge of intimacy that brought back.

“I’ll be your bodyguard for the night.” Alex told him, not condescendingly. “But I want our bunker to be sterile and not the breeding ground for your flu.”

Of course he got a rather severe glare in return, but Kyle did resentfully follow. Alex grabbed a trash bin, that proved useful during the twenty minute ride back into town and Kyle’s house.

“Hey, least i don’t have to hold your hair back like Liz or Maria,” he teased, trying to make sure that the doctor was still coherent.

Kyle moaned into the bin.

When they finally get to his apartment it took a minute for Kyle to unlock things, including the security system that seems new, but when they finally got in Alex was left to shut the door while Kyle made a beeline for the bathroom. He came back out a good fifteen minutes later looking just as bad but chugging a good four ounces out of a bottle of Nyquil.

“Whoa, okay there,” Alex said, slightly worried that he should take the bottle away even if Kyle would know what he was doing way more than Alex would. “Don’t think it will cure you if you chug.”

“Of course not,” Kyle responded after dropping the bottle. “10% alcohol though.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile a bit at that, shaking his head. “I’ll grab a beer from your fridge then, make it even.”

Kyle gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, instead going down the hallway to what Alex assumed was his room. It was weird, being in the space of adult Kyle. Part of him wished that Kyle lived with his mother so he wouldn’t have to be doing this, but also so that the awkward feeling of seeing a new side to an already new Kyle wouldn’t be knocking down on him.

The overall western feeling to the tone in wood flooring and stone countertops of the kitchen doesn’t make Alex miss the fact that everything is very, very clean for a bachelor. Opening the fridge, all he found were fresh vegetables, fruit, and nothing pre-packaged or left over. More to himself, he still couldn’t help but say, “God, you’re weird now, Valenti. You live like some instagram model.”

There wasn’t a response, so Alex grabbed the one beer in the fridge door, and came back out and into Kyle’s bedroom with cold wet towel as well. Still completely clothed and not having removed one blanket, Kyle was lying face up on the bed. Alex would rather not admit it, but he was almost getting worried, at least until he proffered the towel and Kyle grabbed it.

Alex leaned against the night stand, still standing a foot away, and sipped on his beer.

Kyle groaned, moving the towel not more than two minutes later, and Alex touched it to see it was now hot. “You sure you don’t want to go see a coworker?”

“Fever is good,” Kyle argued weakly. “Fever means fighting off sickness.”

Or burning brain cells, he sighs, but left to replace the towel. This time on the way back he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge as well. After he opened it and gave it to Kyle, replacing the towel, he sat on the end of the bed.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Since there wasn’t guarded hostility in his voice, like there had been months ago, Alex decided to give a vague answer. “My family has been putting you through the ringer.”

“Still.”

Kyle wasn’t moving very much, other than to groan. The water bottle was only half touched after it seemed to have threatened another stomach turn out of the man. Alex gave in to a kind statement. “You’ve been there for me the past few months.”

“Not enough.” he replied, sitting up for a tiny second only to decide on lying back down against his pillow, his eyes mostly closed. Groggily, but with emotion still, he went on. “I’m sorry, Alex. For everything. For high school and your dad and Guerin and loving you–,”

“What?” Alex interrupted, all too quickly standing up from the bed and moving toward Kyle’s dresser behind him.

Kyle only repeated himself, clearly not noticing. “Sorry for everything.”

It really wasn’t ethical to continue the conversation when his former best friend wasn’t coherent and instead clearly all but dying of the flu. What was ethical in Roswell anymore, Alex wasn’t sure. Guiltily, he prodded. “Including loving me how exactly?”

He doesn’t like how his own voice cracks with insecurity, but Kyle doesn’t notice. “Selfishly. I know I don’t get to, but–” Coughing, the all too pretty words stop before Alex tells him to.

Not expecting to be heard, he weakly said, “Maybe I should call Liz if you’re sick enough to say you love me.”

“I’m just a coward, Manes.” Kyle said. His eyes were definitely closed now, instead of the fluttering they’d been doing, and this is starting to be a worse idea than Alex had expected. “Always been in love with you. Always been a selfish coward.”

Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, he barely replied “I’m gonna replace this. Drink more.”

Alex wished there was some deniability here. Surely there was, right? But Kyle had mentioned Guerin, he had said “Manes”, he clearly was talking at Alex even if he was far too sick to realize exactly what he was saying.

Which was infuriating, because how the hell was he supposed to yell at Kyle when the man was drunk off of Nyquil, head deep in a trash bin vomiting, and sweating through a fever?

He debated yelling anyway.

Instead he went back with a towel to see that Kyle is sleeping now. Alex groaned, swore a few times at his sense of responsibility, and took Kyle’s shoes and socks off. Despite what is clearly sleep, Kyle started undressing further, reminding Alex of how used to being tired the man must be. Sixteen hour shifts with blood all over him at the end sounded all too familiar to Alex, even if one experienced it in a hospital and him on the streets of Baghdad.

With the brief memory of war, Alex took the good excuse to be away from a stripping doctor and stepped out and did perimeter walk. Idly, he checked the security system for its efficiency, observed all windows and exit points. While his brothers hadn’t made a strike yet, it wouldn’t be unlike them to wait until they were less suspect before they went after Kyle. He went back to the bedroom hesitantly at the thought, glad that Kyle still had boxers on (as well as a shirt that was caught hanging off one bicep), splayed out on the bed and now snoring loudly.

Everything in him told him to just leave. Kyle had a security system. Alex had an out.

He stole a pillow after a moment’s debate and rolled it against his neck to sleep against the wall for old time’s sake. He had promised to guard.

.

Alex woke up to the smell of breakfast food and the view of an empty bed. Getting up took a lot longer than he wanted; having slept against the wall with his prosthetic still on had been a mistake. Pain weighed more currently on his mind until he walked into Kyle’s kitchen to see him fully dressed and almost cheery as he cooked.

“You’re back to normal?” he asked, an undercurrent of anger clear in his voice. “Just like that?”

“Immune system of iron,” Kyle said, looking unable to help himself. Turning serious, he turned off his stove burner and apologized. “Hey sorry, man, you didn’t have to watch over me like that.”

“I understand the fear.” Alex said shortly. With Kyle’s wary look, he realized he hadn’t been clear enough. Maybe Kyle had remembered everything said last night, or maybe he hadn’t. “The aftermath of being shot at.”

Kyle stayed quiet, standing over the skillet, and wordlessly offered the egg scramble.

Honestly, Alex should go. He knew this. If he wanted them to stay friends, he would. But hesitantly he agreed to breakfast instead.

The cooking wasn’t that great, which does relieve him a little in a vindictive way. With how much Kyle had changed, he would have been pissed if ‘chef’ was added to his overall now perfect image.

Clearly, Kyle hadn’t even made breakfast for himself anyway from the looks of his untouched plate. Uncomfortably, the man looked up. “I promise I’m not going to revert back to sickness if you blink.”

“That’s not it.” Alex said.

“Ah,” Kyle replied, looking a little pale again. “So it wasn’t a weird fever dream.”

Alex found himself tensing. Was it anger coming back up? “Confessing your feelings? No.”

“On second thought, I’m definitely still sick. Please go and leave me to die this time.”

“Kyle.”

The doctor’s hands went up to stop the conversation, necessary since he wouldn’t come close to meeting Alex’s eyes, instead staring at cold eggs with a tight jaw. “I would never have put that on you if i was coherent.”

“Put that on me?” Alex couldn’t help but ask, both offended and caught off guard.

Still not meeting eyes, Kyle continued in a rant like fashion as if Alex hadn’t even spoke. “It’s not your responsibility to deal with my feelings, it’s mine.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose. “Responsibility?”

“Telling you puts you in a shitty position you don’t deserve and–,”

“Valenti.” Alex cut through. Kyle startled finally and stopped, brows furrowed and dark eyes definitively troubled. “So you were just going to keep that bottled up until you died?”

Kyle coughed. “Pretty much.”

They sat in silence for a second, but only that, because before Kyle could continue his nervous backtracking, Alex stumbled into realization. Surprising himself a little, he admitted, “You were my first crush.”

Kyle shook his head, looking away again. “Don’t, you don’t have to. I know Guerin–”

“This conversation isn’t about him.” Alex cut across again. Kyle paused. “You were my first crush. I felt so crazy thinking there was something, and then high school happened on top of it. And I know why you didn’t tell me, I grew up in this town too. But I wish you had.”

“Back then,” Kyle said with dejection, having listened to him aptly only to give up.

“I didn’t say that.”

For the first time since they’ve become friendly again, they stare at each other over something that isn’t alien related. Before it can sink in how maybe that barrier had led to this, Alex kisses him and Kyle kisses back, fervent, before pulling back. “It hasn’t been a full 24 hours for contagion–”

“If I get sick you’re a doctor,” Alex huffed and shut him up again. The strangeness to kissing Kyle of all people didn’t get past him, in fact halfway through the part where the dining table and chairs were starting to become a cumbersome barrier stopping them from doing more than kissing, Alex pulled back. Kyle all but froze, as if he was terrified that Alex might take everything back. He wasn’t about to, but he can’t help but say, "Not how I imagined this going.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “What did you picture?”

“Well I would have had two legs, for starters.” Alex deadpanned. Nerves brought out his sarcasm every time.

Kyle pursed his lips, looking away with a cocktail of frustration and insecurity, and Alex huffed. “Honestly, Valenti, I meant I thought I would have said something first. Cue first time in a treehouse story.”

A pleasant laugh escaped him, the kind that reminded Alex how much Kyle had styled into himself with grace.

Well, grace mixed with, “You know, doctors used to prescribe orgasms as a cure all before modern medicine.”

There it was, the same flirty deflection as always. Alex surprised himself with his own laugh. The general bizarrity of having Kyle Valenti ask him for sex was too much. “A shame you have an iron immune system.”

“Do I? I think I’m feeling a fever come on again.”

[seraphineroze13]

My Semi-Charmed Mental Breakdowns

Mental illness refers to a wide range of mental health conditions — disorders that affect your mood, thinking and behavior. Facing off with these disorders is a challenge especially when you don’t know what you’re doing. I use to think I had to defeat my mental illness on my own in one day. Throughout my life I have realized it’s an ongoing battle. You don’t just get to wake up one day and be like yay I’m happy and never going to feel that way again. Writing about these experiences has opened up my eyes to the fact that it’s a lifelong fight to deal with your mental illness. Sometimes you can’t defeat it, you just have to learn to live with it.

They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. Over and over in my head I repeat those three words. If I say it in my head maybe I can wish it out into the universe. They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. I said these last couple out loud because maybe that would strengthen the meaning behind it. Maybe it would make it more believable for me. Unfortunately there is still that nagging voice in the back of my head. They do not care. They do not miss you. You are forgotten. You are nothing! It screams over everything in my head telling me not to listen to the voice. All of the good memories, all of the phone calls, the texts, all of the kind words falling onto now deaf ears since all I can hear are the words being shouted at me from inside my head. You do not matter. You never mattered. You will never matter. It adds a dark film over all of the memories I use to look at with such happiness and shows me every mistake I made up until this point in my existence. It taunts me every day of my life. It has popped up in different forms throughout my entire life but it does have one quite general name: mental illness.

Depression; it is the first and most consistent form of mental illness that has impacted my life. It did not start with me. I watched my mom struggle with depression for years before I even knew what it was. When I was around the age of 4 or 5 I remember thinking my mom was a Disney princess because of how well put together and happy she seemed. She always had her make-up done perfectly, and when she was with my dad, they lit up the room.

. When I was about 9 everything changed. She stopped putting on her make up every day and caring how she looked. I could hear her arguing with my dad when she thought my sister and I had fallen asleep.  The most vivid memory that sticks out in my mind though was from when I was 11 years old. I came home to find my mom in bed. It was odd because it was 4pm and my mom did not get home until usually 7 or 8pm. When I walked into the bedroom to make sure she was okay my stomach dropped. Her eyes seemed so far off, kind of glassy and dead, and she had tears streaking down her face. The sight of her scared me but I figured maybe today was just a bad day. She had a couple of bad days here and there throughout the years so maybe today was just a really bad one. It turned out I was wrong because that bad day had turned into two bad weeks. She stayed in bed for two weeks, calling off work, barely wanting to leave her room. I could hear her in the room crying with the door closed but when I would knock and see if she needed anything she would yell out “I’m fine!” and “Mami will be all right sweetie”. Her hiding away in her room, denying her emotions, ignoring the breakdown is something I know she was taught. Always put on a brave face. Don’t let anyone see you break down; they will perceive you as weak. It is a lesson that my mother unknowingly passed down to my sister and me.

I noticed around 13 that I did not feel as much like myself as usual. The things I loved became boring and tedious. Learning new things in school became such an unsatisfying task that I had to be bribed into learning the coursework so I could pass. I was just barely getting by and I did not understand why everything changed. That is also around the time the voice started. Where no matter what I did right it found something wrong. Where a good time happened it would point out the bad. I started to put myself down and find the bad in any situation so I could have a reason for being so sad, so unlike myself. I waited for someone else to notice that something was wrong, because obviously if no one else sees anything wrong maybe I am just being melodramatic. How could I feel so out of place without anyone noticing a difference in me? Well I got my wish of someone noticing the minute I came home and told my parents that I never wanted to sing again. Singing was a passion of mine and I had done everything in my power to improve my voice up until that point. I had been in choirs, sang almost every song in the car, and even took voice lessons. The day I came home and told them I wanted to quit singing was the day I broke my parents’ heart and made them see just how different I had become. I broke down crying in the middle of the doorway, telling them there was no purpose to singing. “I’m not even good enough to do anything with it,” I exclaimed. “Why waste the time and money on me?” I told them there was nothing special with the way I sang and then I just shut down. I sat on the ground, wrapped my arms around my legs, and just sat there waiting for them to say something. Nothing they said would make me feel better but I knew they were trying. I heard there words like they were far off in the distance. “You are an amazing singer”, and “You are so talented”, and “Everything is going to be fine”, were all sentences that I can remember but I did not believe a single one of them.

 Spiraling through the depressive states left me a little worse for wear but when the anxiety and panic attacks started it made everything ten times worse. I was in sixth grade when I had my first panic attack. I did not even realize it was a panic attack until years later when I thought about what had happened. I remember the day was a haze where all I could think about was getting home so I could curl up under my blanket and hide from the world. I ended up leaving school two hours early due to the fact that I was in the nurse’s office unable to breathe. My dad worked at the elementary school down the block so he picked me up and took me home. I could tell he was extremely worried by all the glances he kept casting my way on our walk to the house. When the door opened I immediately felt better. I walked to my room, changed into my favorite pajamas, and went to the living room to spend time with my dad. Being near him has always made me feel better and I hoped today would be no different. Before I made to the living room I heard him on the phone with my mom. I hid in the dining room trying to listen to what was happening.

“She told the nurse she was having a hard time breathing Raquel.” There was a pause which must have meant my mother was talking now. It was a long pause and when I took a peek around the corner my dad’s head was in his hands.

“No she’s fine now. We are going to hang out until you come home then we can talk more about it.” Another long pause and then a sigh. “I understand that but we can’t force her to talk to us. I don’t think she needs to go to the hospital but she does need to talk to someone. Honey we can talk more when you are home. Maybe I can try and figure out a bit more while we watch tv. I love you.” My dad set his phone down and I finally decided to come out from my hiding spot. I sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall down my face. I sit down next to him on the couch, wrap myself in the blanket, and lean my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around me and starts to rub my back.

“Sweetie, are you really okay? This doesn’t seem like a breathing issue since you are breathing okay right now. Did you want to talk about something?” When I looked into my dad’s eyes I broke down. I held onto him and started to sob.

“I just haven’t felt good all day. I had to present to the class and I messed up. Then I almost started crying in front of everyone. After that my chest started to feel tight and like I wasn’t getting any air. I almost passed out in class so then I went to the nurse. I was so scared you were going to say I couldn’t come home because I know the rule is if you aren’t bleeding or dying you need to stay but I really felt like I couldn’t make it.” I rushed through the story like my life depended on it. I felt like I was being so melodramatic but it was the only way to get away from school. I needed to leave that place so badly. It was so hard to have to face all of the people I thought were friends. I thought they were my friends and I am sure they made fun of me; I am sure none of them cared I left. Why would they care? I am just a place holder friend. As these thoughts spiraled through my head I started to get that tight feeling in my chest.

All I wanted was to be left alone and some peace and quiet. I thought pushing everyone away would give me time to work on me and make me better. I tried therapy, meditation, medication, and everything in between. Nothing made that empty feeling inside me go away. Sometimes I was able to distract myself from it. When I was younger I would use basketball as my get away, then I started high school and theatre was my new big distraction. I was still feeling that nagging, empty feeling but I focused all of my energy on the distractions instead of what was wrong. Senior year of high school it spiraled out of control.

I was walking home from school late one night after theatre had ended and decided I would take the long way home. I only lived about two miles away and it was nice to have some time alone. I was fine for about 5 minutes before the weird thoughts started. I would glance out into the road and the first thought that popped up would say “Just take one step out and it’ll be over,” or “How fast do you think a car would have to be going to just hurt you?” After about 3 more instances of comments like that I decided to put on my headphones and blast my music. I hoped it would distract me from the horrible thoughts I was having.

“No one would visit you if you got hurt. Who would care about a girl like you? All you do is whine and complain and nothing bad has ever even happened to you. You are a spoiled brat.” The music wasn’t drowning out the thoughts it was just giving them a backbeat, making it easier to remember them. After 15 more minutes I was hyperventilating and needed to sit down to count. One tactic I had learned to shut up the voices in my head was to count up to 4, tapping each finger on my thumb. On a good day I just had to tap but I days like the one I was experiencing I was practically shouting the numbers while digging my nails into my thumb.

Why isn’t it working? Why can’t I make the voices stop?!

“It’s because you deserve every bad thing that has ever happened to you. You deserve to be tortured like this, to know that everyone hates you even though you try your hardest to fit in. You would never fit in because no one could ever accept a piece of trash person like you.” The voice kept getting louder and louder, more horrible things being hurled at me as tears fell down my face. “You are pathetic. You are a waste of space that doesn’t deserve to take up other peoples’ time. Obviously no one cares about you. You are sarcastic, loud, and force yourself into other peoples’ lives when they don’t need or want you. Why do you think everyone keeps leaving? Why do you think-?” The voice finally shut up. I didn’t understand why until I felt the pressure on my forearm. I glanced down and saw that I had begun to dig my nails into my skin. I removed them only to see little drops of blood traveling down my forearm. I decided then that hurting myself was the only way to get the voices to stopped.

It worked for a bit, that was until my best friend noticed. I started to wear long sleeves and pants all the time since I had started to lose room on my arms to mark up, my legs were the next area to be attacked. It was a week before graduation when my best friend, Crystal pulled me aside and mentioned the change in my wardrobe.

“Yazmin, you hate pants. I don’t think I have seen you wear a pair unless it’s below 30 degrees. Now you’re wearing long sleeves AND pants. What is going on?” She looked at me with concern in her eyes. I couldn’t tell her what I was doing but I also couldn’t look her in the eyes and straight up lie to her. I was fidgeting with the sleeves when she lightly punched my arm.

“Hey dork. What is it? Is everything okay? You’ve been kind of distant lately and it’s scaring me. We can’t go off to college with you being all in your head all the time.” I took a breath and told her what I had realized.

“It makes the voices stop,” I muttered under my breath, rolling up my sleeve, “and sometimes they don’t start at all because I can sense when it’s about to start so I do this first.” I started to show her how I would dig my nails into my skin when she grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“Yazmin, you do that one more time and I am going to beat your ass.” I looked up to see a glaring Crystal and pulled my arm back.

“I just wanted to stop being told I was a piece of trash. I feel so worthless sometimes and the voices hurt more than the actual pain in my arm so I figured I’d choose one evil over the other.” I shrugged my shoulders, sat down on the ground, and stared at my feet. She sat down next to me and hugged me super tight and didn’t let go until I pushed her off.

“We all love you stupid. That voice in your head is not something you should listen to. Listen to me. I am your best friend and I will always be here for you. I will make sure that I tell you as much as I can how much I appreciate you. You are one of the best things to happen to me Yazmin and I can’t imagine my world without you in it.”

It dawned on me then all of the things that people had been trying to tell me throughout the years. Things including how important I was, how special I was, how worthwhile I was, and most importantly how much I was loved. My depression and anxiety have not gone away and that little voice in my head is still saying those horrendous things to me but I have learned to live with them and hopefully someday soon I will learn how to defeat them for good

[yazminnoemi-blog]

My Semi-Charmed Mental Breakdown

Preface

Mental illness refers to a wide range of mental health conditions — disorders that affect your mood, thinking and behavior. Facing off with these disorders is a challenge especially when you don’t know what you’re doing. I use to think I had to defeat my mental illness on my own in one day. Throughout my life I have realized it’s an ongoing battle. You don’t just get to wake up one day and be like yay I’m happy and never going to feel that way again. Writing about these experiences has opened up my eyes to the fact that it’s a lifelong fight to deal with your mental illness. Sometimes you can’t defeat it, you just have to learn to live with it.

Thanks for joining the breakdown  

They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. Over and over in my head I repeat those three words. If I say it in my head maybe I can wish it out into the universe. They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. They love you, you belong. I said these last couple out loud because maybe that would strengthen the meaning behind it. Maybe it would make it more believable for me. Unfortunately there is still that nagging voice in the back of my head. They do not care. They do not miss you. You are forgotten. You are nothing! It screams over everything in my head telling me not to listen to the voice. All of the good memories, all of the phone calls, the texts, all of the kind words falling onto now deaf ears since all I can hear are the words being shouted at me from inside my head. You do not matter. You never mattered. You will never matter. It adds a dark film over all of the memories I use to look at with such happiness and shows me every mistake I made up until this point in my existence. It taunts me every day of my life. It has popped up in different forms throughout my entire life but it does have one quite general name: mental illness.

Depression; it is the first and most consistent form of mental illness that has impacted my life. It did not start with me. I watched my mom struggle with depression for years before I even knew what it was. When I was around the age of 4 or 5 I remember thinking my mom was a Disney princess because of how well put together and happy she seemed. She always had her make-up done perfectly, and when she was with my dad, they lit up the room.

. When I was about 9 everything changed. She stopped putting on her make up every day and caring how she looked. I could hear her arguing with my dad when she thought my sister and I had fallen asleep.  The most vivid memory that sticks out in my mind though was from when I was 11 years old. I came home to find my mom in bed. It was odd because it was 4pm and my mom did not get home until usually 7 or 8pm. When I walked into the bedroom to make sure she was okay my stomach dropped. Her eyes seemed so far off, kind of glassy and dead, and she had tears streaking down her face. The sight of her scared me but I figured maybe today was just a bad day. She had a couple of bad days here and there throughout the years so maybe today was just a really bad one. It turned out I was wrong because that bad day had turned into two bad weeks. She stayed in bed for two weeks, calling off work, barely wanting to leave her room. I could hear her in the room crying with the door closed but when I would knock and see if she needed anything she would yell out “I’m fine!” and “Mami will be all right sweetie”. Her hiding away in her room, denying her emotions, ignoring the breakdown is something I know she was taught. Always put on a brave face. Don’t let anyone see you break down; they will perceive you as weak. It is a lesson that my mother unknowingly passed down to my sister and me.

I noticed around 13 that I did not feel as much like myself as usual. The things I loved became boring and tedious. Learning new things in school became such an unsatisfying task that I had to be bribed into learning the coursework so I could pass. I was just barely getting by and I did not understand why everything changed. That is also around the time the voice started. Where no matter what I did right it found something wrong. Where a good time happened it would point out the bad. I started to put myself down and find the bad in any situation so I could have a reason for being so sad, so unlike myself. I waited for someone else to notice that something was wrong, because obviously if no one else sees anything wrong maybe I am just being melodramatic. How could I feel so out of place without anyone noticing a difference in me? Well I got my wish of someone noticing the minute I came home and told my parents that I never wanted to sing again. Singing was a passion of mine and I had done everything in my power to improve my voice up until that point. I had been in choirs, sang almost every song in the car, and even took voice lessons. The day I came home and told them I wanted to quit singing was the day I broke my parents’ heart and made them see just how different I had become. I broke down crying in the middle of the doorway, telling them there was no purpose to singing. “I’m not even good enough to do anything with it,” I exclaimed. “Why waste the time and money on me?” I told them there was nothing special with the way I sang and then I just shut down. I sat on the ground, wrapped my arms around my legs, and just sat there waiting for them to say something. Nothing they said would make me feel better but I knew they were trying. I heard there words like they were far off in the distance. “You are an amazing singer”, and “You are so talented”, and “Everything is going to be fine”, were all sentences that I can remember but I did not believe a single one of them.

Spiraling through the depressive states left me a little worse for wear but when the anxiety and panic attacks started it made everything ten times worse. I was in sixth grade when I had my first panic attack. I did not even realize it was a panic attack until years later when I thought about what had happened. I remember the day was a haze where all I could think about was getting home so I could curl up under my blanket and hide from the world. I ended up leaving school two hours early due to the fact that I was in the nurse’s office unable to breathe. My dad worked at the elementary school down the block so he picked me up and took me home. I could tell he was extremely worried by all the glances he kept casting my way on our walk to the house. When the door opened I immediately felt better. I walked to my room, changed into my favorite pajamas, and went to the living room to spend time with my dad. Being near him has always made me feel better and I hoped today would be no different. Before I made to the living room I heard him on the phone with my mom. I hid in the dining room trying to listen to what was happening.

“She told the nurse she was having a hard time breathing Raquel.” There was a pause which must have meant my mother was talking now. It was a long pause and when I took a peek around the corner my dad’s head was in his hands.

“No she’s fine now. We are going to hang out until you come home then we can talk more about it.” Another long pause and then a sigh. “I understand that but we can’t force her to talk to us. I don’t think she needs to go to the hospital but she does need to talk to someone. Honey we can talk more when you are home. Maybe I can try and figure out a bit more while we watch tv. I love you.” My dad set his phone down and I finally decided to come out from my hiding spot. I sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall down my face. I sit down next to him on the couch, wrap myself in the blanket, and lean my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around me and starts to rub my back.

“Sweetie, are you really okay? This doesn’t seem like a breathing issue since you are breathing okay right now. Did you want to talk about something?” When I looked into my dad’s eyes I broke down. I held onto him and started to sob.

“I just haven’t felt good all day. I had to present to the class and I messed up. Then I almost started crying in front of everyone. After that my chest started to feel tight and like I wasn’t getting any air. I almost passed out in class so then I went to the nurse. I was so scared you were going to say I couldn’t come home because I know the rule is if you aren’t bleeding or dying you need to stay but I really felt like I couldn’t make it.” I rushed through the story like my life depended on it. I felt like I was being so melodramatic but it was the only way to get away from school. I needed to leave that place so badly. It was so hard to have to face all of the people I thought were friends. I thought they were my friends and I am sure they made fun of me; I am sure none of them cared I left. Why would they care? I am just a place holder friend. As these thoughts spiraled through my head I started to get that tight feeling in my chest.

All I wanted was to be left alone and some peace and quiet. I thought pushing everyone away would give me time to work on me and make me better. I tried therapy, meditation, medication, and everything in between. Nothing made that empty feeling inside me go away. Sometimes I was able to distract myself from it. When I was younger I would use basketball as my get away, then I started high school and theatre was my new big distraction. I was still feeling that nagging, empty feeling but I focused all of my energy on the distractions instead of what was wrong. Senior year of high school it spiraled out of control.

I was walking home from school late one night after theatre had ended and decided I would take the long way home. I only lived about two miles away and it was nice to have some time alone. I was fine for about 5 minutes before the weird thoughts started. I would glance out into the road and the first thought that popped up would say “Just take one step out and it’ll be over,” or “How fast do you think a car would have to be going to just hurt you?” After about 3 more instances of comments like that I decided to put on my headphones and blast my music. I hoped it would distract me from the horrible thoughts I was having.

“No one would visit you if you got hurt. Who would care about a girl like you? All you do is whine and complain and nothing bad has ever even happened to you. You are a spoiled brat.” The music wasn’t drowning out the thoughts it was just giving them a backbeat, making it easier to remember them. After 15 more minutes I was hyperventilating and needed to sit down to count. One tactic I had learned to shut up the voices in my head was to count up to 4, tapping each finger on my thumb. On a good day I just had to tap but I days like the one I was experiencing I was practically shouting the numbers while digging my nails into my thumb.

Why isn’t it working? Why can’t I make the voices stop?!

“It’s because you deserve every bad thing that has ever happened to you. You deserve to be tortured like this, to know that everyone hates you even though you try your hardest to fit in. You would never fit in because no one could ever accept a piece of trash person like you.” The voice kept getting louder and louder, more horrible things being hurled at me as tears fell down my face. “You are pathetic. You are a waste of space that doesn’t deserve to take up other peoples’ time. Obviously no one cares about you. You are sarcastic, loud, and force yourself into other peoples’ lives when they don’t need or want you. Why do you think everyone keeps leaving? Why do you think-?” The voice finally shut up. I didn’t understand why until I felt the pressure on my forearm. I glanced down and saw that I had begun to dig my nails into my skin. I removed them only to see little drops of blood traveling down my forearm. I decided then that hurting myself was the only way to get the voices to stopped.

It worked for a bit, that was until my best friend noticed. I started to wear long sleeves and pants all the time since I had started to lose room on my arms to mark up, my legs were the next area to be attacked. It was a week before graduation when my best friend, Crystal pulled me aside and mentioned the change in my wardrobe.

“Yazmin, you hate pants. I don’t think I have seen you wear a pair unless it’s below 30 degrees. Now you’re wearing long sleeves AND pants. What is going on?” She looked at me with concern in her eyes. I couldn’t tell her what I was doing but I also couldn’t look her in the eyes and straight up lie to her. I was fidgeting with the sleeves when she lightly punched my arm.

“Hey dork. What is it? Is everything okay? You’ve been kind of distant lately and it’s scaring me. We can’t go off to college with you being all in your head all the time.” I took a breath and told her what I had realized.

“It makes the voices stop,” I muttered under my breath, rolling up my sleeve, “and sometimes they don’t start at all because I can sense when it’s about to start so I do this first.” I started to show her how I would dig my nails into my skin when she grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“Yazmin, you do that one more time and I am going to beat your ass.” I looked up to see a glaring Crystal and pulled my arm back.

“I just wanted to stop being told I was a piece of trash. I feel so worthless sometimes and the voices hurt more than the actual pain in my arm so I figured I’d choose one evil over the other.” I shrugged my shoulders, sat down on the ground, and stared at my feet. She sat down next to me and hugged me super tight and didn’t let go until I pushed her off.

“We all love you stupid. That voice in your head is not something you should listen to. Listen to me. I am your best friend and I will always be here for you. I will make sure that I tell you as much as I can how much I appreciate you. You are one of the best things to happen to me Yazmin and I can’t imagine my world without you in it.”

It dawned on me then all of the things that people had been trying to tell me throughout the years. Things including how important I was, how special I was, how worthwhile I was, and most importantly how much I was loved. My depression and anxiety have not gone away and that little voice in my head is still saying those horrendous things to me but I have learned to live with them and hopefully someday soon I will learn how to defeat them for good