#no matter however much that last point may be related to the day and night balance shift

[nalver]

i think i should be moved to iceland for every winter here. just so i can keep my sanity through long days. and then maybe go insane from the endless days. but at least my brain will stop being overridden by the instict to go home as soon as it hits 4pm and it gets dark

[romance-rambles]

modern alkaid | the duality of pining

Alkaid's first night at in The Intermission goes badly. The next day, however, turns out for the better—as it so happens, the girl he loves might love him back.

6.3k, set during TE3, alkaid-typical anxiety + pining + happy ending, reader is mc, series: none

IF ALKAID LEAVES HIS ROOM and walks in a straight line, remembering to take a right turn before he crashes into the wall, he will come across an ordinary door.

It is blue in color, with a pop of silver provided by the cool-toned hardware. Many like it can be found installed in every door frame housed by Mrs. Santos' hotel; within Alkaid's suite alone, there are three examples to choose from—the front door, his door, and...

The door that belongs to you.

An ordinary door, made extraordinary by the girl staying in the room behind it—by you, the girl of his dreams. The one who'd fished him out of the snow and watched the aurora alongside him. The reason he'd chosen to go to St. Shelter Academia in the first place.

It's like something out of a dream, really.

To think you're sharing a suite with him—that he's separated from you by only a short trek to your door. There's a common area in between, and it would be so easy to waste the night away, chattering about something—or nothing—whilst sitting on the sofa.

How wonderful it would be to walk outside his room and be able to check up on you. To ensure that when you need someone by your side the most, you're not alone, even if you keep your secrets close to your chest.

He has some too, after all.

It only matters that you're okay.

And even taking into account their relationship status, the situation has all the markings of something that could be so terribly domestic that he can't help but want.

In the morning, you'll both walk into the lounge after, hopefully, a good night's sleep on your part. You might forget to brush your hair, and when he playfully points out your bedhead, you'll grouse about how perfectly awake he seems to be.

Alkaid will only laugh, painfully aware of how much he adores you. As you fix your hair in the bathroom mirror, oblivious to his longing glances, you'll strike up a random conversation with him—probably related to food. After freshening up, the two of you will head down together, and he will do his best to ignore Mrs. Santos' knowing looks.

And tonight, once you've relaxed a little, you'll probably go take a—

He pauses his thoughts there, before they can spiral to places he knows would make you uncomfortable, if you ever learned of them. After all, his keen gaze had not missed the flash of uncertainty that crept into your otherwise relieved expression that morning. Nor had he missed the way you'd locked yourself in your room the moment you entered the suite.

The daydreams he holds dear are likely the last thing crossing your mind right now. No matter how comfortable you may be with his presence, there are some concerns that aren't easy to shake off.

It is a fact Alkaid knows painfully well.

With a sigh, he sits up on his bed, legs still hanging over the edge. Considering the speed with which you agreed to spend the night with him—in the suite—he suspects you didn't want to trouble him with the task of finding a place for you to stay.

You must be regretting your choice right about now.

At that thought, his lips pull into a frown. Will you...will you be able to sleep well tonight?

You made it no secret that you enjoyed exploring this quaint little town. So much so that before they had returned to the homestead, the two of you briefly discussed your plans for tomorrow, vague and unfinished as they were.

A rough night is the last thing you need.

He could never forgive himself if you walked out your door, bleary-eyed and exhausted—with only enough energy to eat breakfast before you went back to your room to nap.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, as a plan forms in his head, Alkaid stares at his door.

It does not have the privilege of being made extraordinary simply because of the person residing in the room behind it—it is an ordinary door, as it had been this morning, and every other time he'd stayed in this particular suite. But it is through this door that he can make amends.

In that regard, he supposes it deserves some kind of credit.

THOUGH THE HOTEL DOES OFFER room service, he's always preferred to go down to the kitchen and grab the simpler orders by himself.

These days, Mrs. Santos only tends to sigh as she waves him back to his room. Sometimes, she'll let him make his order himself if she's busy. But when he'd first started this habit, after she'd offhandedly mentioned how exhausted she'd become after a day's work, he'd been met with some amount of resistance.

It had taken almost a year to wear her down.

"Here you go: a warm glass of milk," she says, handing him the glass. There's a knowing glint in her eyes, but it does not sufficiently prepare him for her teasing. "Are you having trouble sleeping? She's such a nice girl—I can see why you like her."

Alkaid flushes, instinctively spluttering out an unintelligible defense of his crush on you. Mrs. Santos only laughs wistfully and pats his shoulder. Her husband had died a few years ago—she's likely remembering him.

The thought helps him regain some of his lost composure. Unfortunately, by the time he clears his throat, she's already ushering him back to his room. He has no time to explain that the glass of milk is actually for you, or that he'd appreciate it if she'd tone down the teasing.

After all, he suspects her good-natured teasing likely contributed to your extreme discomfort at being alone with him.

He can still feel the lingering warmth of your hand from when you subconsciously held his hand, in order to escape Mrs. Santos' words. It is overshadowed by the heartache that comes with the memory of the distance you'd maintained early on in their day out, before you seemed to grow tired of your hypervigilance.

Alkaid makes a mental note to discuss it with her tomorrow as he climbs up the stairs, back to the second floor. It wouldn't do for you to be uncomfortable in your own suite.

But for now, all he can offer you is this glass of warm milk he's put on the table.

"Are you awake?" he asks softly, though the light seeping out from your room gives him a good idea of the answer.

When you first respond, your voice is startled and a bit shaky.

You repeat your words again. It still doesn't sound like the voice of someone comfortable with his presence outside her door. Instead, there's a hint of urgency in your words, one that screams at him to leave you alone.

The sound breaks his heart into such tiny pieces that it would take centuries to piece them together. Somehow, Alkaid manages to pull himself together quickly, carefully collecting the shattered fragments for his future self to deal with.

"I've ordered you a glass of warm milk. It's on the table," he tells you, keeping his tone upbeat and cheerful—just slightly above a whisper. "Drink up and rest well."

His hand is splayed out against the door's surface. Alkaid can't help but wonder: are you on the other side, holding out your hand like he is?

It seems almost disrespectful to ponder the thought.

After all, he knows it isn't true. That would imply that the respective situations they've both found themselves have any sort of equivalence, beyond the discomfort they both feel. And even that is different, in its source—you do not want to be here, and he wants what will make you the happiest.

Reluctantly, remembering he can't stay here forever, he pulls his hand away. You'll need to come out in order for his plan to be successful, after all. And the fact that you didn't open the door right away means you won't feel comfortable if you know he's there.

"See you tomorrow," he says, before returning to his room to grab a change of clothes.

All things considered, Alkaid's uncertain whether you'll take a shower. But just in case, he'd like to finish up quickly. The sun has long set, and though you aren't a stranger to staying up late, he doesn't want to impose on you more than he already has.

Quietly, he slips inside the bathroom—stares at the worried young man watching him from the mirror. He can't help but remember when he'd spotted you from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Not for the first time, he'd thought his senses had betrayed him.

Alkaid was in the middle of wondering if you'd like his quaint little escape back then. Then, you were there, observing the courtyard and telling him about how your accommodation woes. The spare room in his suite, he'd thought, was only going to rot.

After all, what good would the privileges at his disposal be if he could not aid the girl he loves in her time of need?

"What should I do?" he wonders out loud as he runs his fingers through his hair. How can I make things better?

The man in the mirror does not offer him a response.

THE LIGHT IN YOUR ROOM is still on when Alkaid walks out of the bathroom and into the living room.

His hands pause their gentle drying of his damp hair. The towel they'd been using—a light blue one, in keeping with the theme of the suite—droops, the bulk of its weight coming to rest atop his shoulders. Alkaid pulls at the fabric and, from the back, wraps it snuggly around his neck.

As he is, he must look like quite the sight. Lips parted in surprise, and bright green eyes transfixed on the siren song that is the warm light seeping out from under your door—

And oh, what a beautiful song it is, drawing him to its domain so skillfully that the memory of his short trek escapes him.

All Alkaid knows when he comes to is that he is standing at your door once again, loosely curled hand poised to knock. Uncertainty leaves it lingering in the air, a few painful centimeters away, right before it resumes twisting his heart into another painful arrangement.

That the warm glass of milk he'd brought up for you seems to have vanished from its place on the table provides little relief. How can it, when his mind seems insistent on playing round after round of its latest obsession?

(Are you awake?

Are you asleep?

Are you in the midst of a beautiful dream?)

And the only one who can free him for the never-ending cycle does not wish to see him.

THE NUMBER OF SPARKLES FROLICKING in the grass turns out to be nine. Twelve, five, nineteen, forty-nine—after a few rounds of the game, he turns to his side. A stray thought about his cat's friendship with Beanie distracts him from his counting, and he is forced to discard the results of the sixth game.

He soon turns to his other side.

Sleep does not come to him that night. When he moves on from counting ragdolls, Alkaid distracts himself by softly singing a lullaby. It does not work. He switches, instead, to wishing on some distant star, hidden by the half-darkened ceiling.

That does not work either.

Eventually, he gives up and opens his eyes.

The town outside is quiet. Only his breathing disturbs the silence. Somewhere beyond the foot of his bed, a blue nightlight glows softly. His phone, once he retrieves it from the nightstand, reads 2:00 AM on the lockscreen, above a photo of Sparkles.

A pair of arms—clothed in a familiar, baggy beige sweater—hold his beloved ragdoll in place, atop your lap. The peace sign your hand had been making is just barely visible, most of it having been cut off when he'd cropped the photo. Your braid happens to fall in front of Sparkles, who eyes it with ill-intent.

Alkaid's never asked whether you'd be okay with him putting you as his lockscreen, because you'd been the one to offer this one up. He remembers you smiling oddly once he showed you the finished product. You would go on to show him that same smile again—when, after mulling over your expression, he concluded it was some sort of test, where the correct answer was no, and made amends accordingly.

It goes without saying that he's never tried changing it after that. He can't, not when you have your own version of it with Beanie on your phone.

Glee had sharpened your smile into something teasing when he took notice of his inclusion. Just his arms, the same as in his own lockscreen. You made no effort to hide how much of it was motivated by some kind of spite, but the same went for how much you adored it.

Because whenever you'd look at it, your gaze would grow soft. It was as if you were watching something so incredibly precious—a treasure you would not trade for the world.

And like clockwork, a traitorous part of him would wonder if some of that affection was aimed at him.

"I'm sure—" Exhaling deeply, he traces the curved path your arms take with his thumb. Once, you'd mentioned the shape's resemblance to a heart; he hasn't been able to unsee it since then. "—whoever that ends up being instead will be the luckiest man in the world."

And perhaps Alkaid will get to reintroduce himself to him, if their friendship survives the night.

It has to.

After all, he hasn't gotten the chance to show you the pictures he took today, some of which, as usual, feature you among the sceneries of Mrs. Santos' hometown. His favorite is the one he took of you watching the sunset.

The warm colors of the sun had imparted a golden hue on your hair. Your back was to him; your hands were tied behind your back. A gentle breeze disturbed the serene moment at the same time you turned around.

With a press of a button, your welcoming smile became forever memorialized—and it will remain so, for as long as you want to keep it.

And he will remain by your side, for as long as you want to keep him.

MRS. SANTOS IS ALREADY TENDING to her garden when he comes down to the courtyard.

The moon is faintly visible in the sky, even as the lightened skies beckon the sun to climb out from under the horizon. As usual, Alkaid passed by only a few stragglers in the common area downstairs. You were not one of them.

Because before he left the room, your snoring could be heard from the living room.

Even on an ordinary day, when you don't have classes, there'd still be some time before you wake up. Today, he expects you'll need at least an hour more and—

Alkaid blinks as a yawn cuts through his thoughts. Unwilling to grant him the possibility of dodging the same accusations, his concealed eyebags remind him of their presence. They sit heavy on his undereyes; it is enough to have him contemplating a nap.

"Good morning, Alkaid."

That doesn't mean he'll go through with one.

When he pulls his hand away from his mouth, a polite smile awaits Mrs. Santos. He nods, returning her greeting as he would on any other day. Yesterday's vow remains fresh in his mind, quietly but insistently urging him to speak up.

"There's something I wanted to discuss with you," he says, his tone both firm and polite.

The older woman looks concerned. With some difficulty, she stands up, a hand on her knee offering her some support. Mrs. Santos puts away her gardening tools and observes him carefully.

"That's not something I hear everyday," she says, her tone humorous. He feels his shoulders relax slightly. "Why don't I brew some tea first?"

Without skipping a beat, he agrees. "Alright, I'll come with—"

She disappears inside before he can finish. Alkaid follows her. When they both return, sometime later, he is dutifully carrying a tray with three cups and a tea kettle, and Mrs. Santos is quietly grumbling about it.

They go through the familiar motions in silence—arranging the cups and pouring the tea. The third cup is left empty, though neither of them discuss why. It is their understanding, implicit, that if you come down stairs, you certainly won't say no to some tea.

When all is said and done, he begins to speak. It's a rather long-winded speech, something he's come to expect when it comes to you. You did not go out of your way to ask this of him—it would not be fair if you were judged for it.

"So, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tease us about our—" His mouth seems to have some difficulty sounding the word relationship out. Alkaid swallows with great difficulty. "She isn't interested in me, in that way."

Surprise registers on her face, eyebrows knitting together. She purses her lips, then opens her mouth. It closes before she can say anything at all. Her lips purse into a thin line.

"I see," she murmurs. A realization dawns upon her. "Has she—"

Cutting herself off, without prompting, Mrs. Santos shakes her head. Even so, he knows what the question on her lips was. Because Alkaid has wondered the same thing before.

Has she said that?

He brings the teacup to his lips. In doing so, he manages to cover up the downturned edges that speak of his thoughts on the matter—the hopes he once clung to, the ones he still can't shake off.

Have you said that?

You haven't.

You've never commented on how often he happens to be passing by your house, a box of cake in hand. Or how your friend Stella seems to be of the (correct) opinion that he's in love with you, a fact she makes sure to bring up every time she sees him. Or how you end up so often on his camera reel that it's much easier to count how often you don't.

What you have said is that you like spending time with him. That when you end up in a slump, he's the person you think of. And when you finish a painting, he's the first person you think of. And when you're doing nothing at all—

But they say actions speak louder than words.

Your actions last night can't speak any louder. The only way for him to reconcile your distant behavior with your general eagerness to spend time with him is simple.

You do love him, just not in the way he loves you.

"Alright, I suppose I got ahead of myself," she agrees. "It's such a shame. She's the first—you would've made such a good couple."

Alkaid puts down his cup, narrowly avoiding a catastrophe as he swallows down the rest of his tea, just in time. Zaph had told him something similar when he'd returned from his trip. That everything about him screamed he was in love.

He supposes time has only made it more noticeable.

"Thank you." Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, he smiles weakly at her. The moment he retracts his fingers, it slips back out. "I hope she'll be able to enjoy her trip fully."

Mrs. Santos only smiles sadly at him.

YOU COME DOWNSTAIRS EARLIER THAN expected.

The tea is still warm, and Mrs. Santos has yet to finish her usual rounds of the courtyard. When he asks about how you slept, whether your early rise is related to him in any way, you stumble over the only word that slips out.

"N—no," you say, discomfort flitting across your startled expression.

Alkaid doesn't get the opportunity to clarify your wording. Before long, you're sitting beside him on one of the white chairs, hands wrapping around your cup. He pours you some tea, carefully eyeing the steady stream of steaming liquid to ensure you don't get splashed.

You do not have the face of someone who would rather be anywhere but here. After taking a sip, you sigh happily. Eyes narrowing fondly, he smiles and pours you another cup when you finish.

It is with that same gaze that he watches you accept Mrs. Santos' flowers. You cradle them in your arms gently, their light purple color a lovely contrast to your cream cardigan. Then, you turn around and Alkaid forgets how to breathe.

Whatever it is the older woman says register in his mind as a jumbled mess of sounds, like a series of words he ought to be familiar with. The longer you watch him, the easier it becomes for his true thoughts to slip out.

You are, and always will be, the most lovely person in the room. You're—

"Beautiful," he says earnestly, his gaze lingering on your nervous smile.

By the time his mind catches up to his mouth, it is, in some ways, too late to worry about how you'll react.

A flush creeps up your neck, to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. On one side, the latter is made more prominent when you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear awkwardly.

You almost seem pleased with the compliment.

He does not think about it. Not now, not when Mrs. Santos ushers you back to the table and you set your flowers to the side, in a vase at the edge of the table. Dark purple meets green as you sit down, your lips curving into a gentle smile.

Last night's worries keep him from enjoying the sight properly.

In the background, Mrs. Santos is asking about something. Alkaid hears his name and yours—and the word together. The look the older woman sends his way leads him to believe she doesn't see the problem with her question.

It says, See? I didn't tease either of you.

Seemingly unaffected by the question, you take a big bite of a chocolate-filled croissant. Your blissful expression is perhaps the biggest compliment you could pay the older woman—second to only the way you reach out for seconds.

As you lick off the leftover chocolate on your lips, your hand hovers over the assortment of breakfast items before gleefully plucking another two croissants from its plate. Meanwhile, his plate remains untouched.

Alkaid chews on his lip, worried that perhaps you're doing too good of a job at being polite.

"Well, Alkaid here—" You reach over and nudge his elbow. "—promised he'd show me around town again. I hope that's still in effect?"

You say that as if he'd ever say no to you. He chews thoughtfully on a pastry and wonders if that might be a good thing. In that case, perhaps you'd feel less pressured to do things with him—

But your expectant gaze returns his thoughts to their normal direction.

"Of course," he answers, condensing all his longing into only two words.

The third one borders on a near-confession—an implicit acknowledgement of his affection—so he leaves the Anytime out of it. It does not stop Mrs. Santos from giving him a knowing look.

"Is that right?" She smiles pleasantly. "You two enjoy yourselves, then. I'll make sure to whip up something nice for your last night here."

Your face lights up in delight.

"That's—ahem." Coughing into your fist, you pretend to be unaffected by the allure of the older woman's words. You haven't known her long enough to find out she's already prepped the ingredients the night before. "You don't have to do that, Mrs. Santos. Last night's dinner alone was more than enough."

"Don't be silly," she says, waving your concern off. "I'd do the same for Alkaid—oh! That's right. Do you have any requests, Alkaid?"

He does not—but you do.

So, Alkaid smiles and pretends his motivations for putting the spotlight on you aren't selfish in nature. That he does not to do this to be able to see that same blissful expression on your face again, this time with the knowledge that he played a part in your happiness.

"I enjoy anything you cook, Mrs. Santos," he says smoothly, before nodding his head at you. "Since it's her first time here, I think it's only fair that she gets to pick."

The older woman laughs, not unkindly. You shove another croissant into your mouth. A silent understanding seems to form between the two women at the table, one that, Alkaid feels, has everything to do with him.

But they do not enlighten him on what that understanding is.

Instead, the conversation continues where it left off, so seamlessly that he can trick himself into thinking the interruption never happened.

You talk about food, then flowers, then your time at St. Shelter Academia. Mrs. Santos tells you stories about him, of when he was younger and would come with his family—most of them being decidedly embarrassing, particularly since you're the one listening to them. And you drink them up with the same eagerness that seems to consume Alkaid when it concerns you.

The matching lockscreens come up once, as well.

He finds himself being stared at—almost disapprovingly—by the older woman. It reminds him of your odd expression, on that day. But before he can ponder what it is she knows that he doesn't, you rescue him with an apologetic smile—one that'd have him forgiving you immediately, if there was anything to forgive.

(There isn't.)

And even when he backs away from the conversation with warm cheeks and the word beautiful rattling around in his brain—even though it is entirely your fault, there is nothing to forgive.

Even though he wonders, again, when you glance at him after your devastating blow—that is his own fault.

Because last night, he'd sworn he wouldn't do this again. Last night, you seemed like you didn't even want to see his face. Last night, it seemed so easy to think he wouldn't fall back into old habits again.

Is it about him? Is it about Beanie instead?

Alkaid swipes an assortment of fruits from the center of the table. Pretends those questions won't be eating into the time he could be using to sleep. He is nothing less than his normal, polite self, even as the hurricane called you tears up his sanity.

When you look at him and smile contentedly, he adds another cause to the list.

THE PAYMENT ALKAID REQUESTS OF you, when paid in full, takes the form of a flower tucked behind his ear.

It is your idea, something spur-of-the-moment that pops into your head when you rest your hand on the bike's rear seat. You close the distance between them, and only when he replays the memory at night can he pinpoint the exact moment his fate is sealed.

There, as he's laying in bed—kept up by a situation that is in every way the opposite of last night—the sight of your eyes, glimmering with mischief, engraved into his memory forever.

In the present, however, as your hand reaches out for him, Alkaid closes his eyes.

On the front seat rests one of his hands; the other fiddles with the back of his shirt. They curl loosely into a fist as your cold fingers carefully brush his hair out of the way. His heart, as it beats only for you, tries to jump out of his chest. The trail you leave behind on his skin feels unbearably warm.

You laugh softly, to a joke only you know of.

It loops around in his mind like his new old favorite song, silencing any thoughts about how close you are. Yesterday's worries seem to flee his mind, your easy-going behavior a balm for his soul.

"Alright," you say, the sound of your voice returning to an appropriate distance. He opens his eyes to find you admiring his appearance. "I've paid your price."

The smile on your face would've stolen his breath away—if only he hadn't already forgotten how to breathe.

IN THE HOURS THAT FOLLOW, Alkaid falls in love with you, over and over again.

And the truth is, nothing in this world is easier—that if soulmates exist, then his heart knows, whether he is yours or not, that you are his. Even the heartache that visits him every time he leaves the present to court the future cannot deter him.

The most logical part of him points out that few women would act as you did this morning. The rest of him chides it for being so presumptuous, wielding last night like a dagger—so resolute in their conviction to keep him in his place.

Their job is made harder by the fact that you've once more taken to acting as you normally do.

Right now, the two of you are at a souvenir shop in hopes finding a present for Mrs. Santos. The idea came to you when they were at a convenience store earlier. You wanted to find a way to thank her for the lovely experience—and the love and care she put into every interaction with you.

"Do you think she'd like something like this?" you ask, holding up a mug with a stylized design of a grumpy cat.

Though she is a lover of cats, Mrs. Santos is, rather unfortunately, allergic to cats. For that reason, ever since he was old enough to go by himself, he's always been a solo traveler. Sparkles is there with him only in spirit—and in the many photos he has of his beloved ragdoll on his phone.

Alkaid thinks the mug is a lovely idea. Both practical and aesthetic. It is only the words written above the cat that give him a pause, in fun, bubbly letters that hardly suit the design's star.

Rather than the always cheerful Mrs. Santos, he thinks it would suit you much better.

Seemingly reading his mind, you sigh despondently. "I'll keep looking. Come on."

This is only the second shop they've visited. This is only fifth thing you've discarded from your list. Alkaid stares at the long fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist and obeys.

The urge to grasp onto them doesn't entirely die when next you release his hand.

At that time, his watch reads 11:15. Thirty minutes later, you remain unsatisfied with the selections offered by this particular store. You drag him along to the next store, brows knitted in concentration as you mull over your possible choices. He mulls them over too, in hopes of speeding the process along.

Because there are still a few more places he thinks you'd like. But the sun steadily creeps up higher in the sky, constantly reminding him constantly of their limited time together.

Tomorrow, you'll return to Harp Island—and there's no word on when you'll come back here.

"I'll go take a look too," Alkaid says, after you make a beeline for the first thing that catches your eye.

"Would you?" As you put away a hairpin you can't seem to agree with, a relieved smile crosses your lips. "Thanks, Alkaid."

He returns your smile with one of his own—something he hopes will assure you that the end is in sight. Then, he leaves first, disappearing among the shelves with only a fleeting glance at your now distant figure.

ALKAID IS NOT A STRANGER when it comes to having eyes on him. Whether it's strangers on the street or the ghosts of his childhood, he's grown adept at hiding both his discomfort and his knowledge of them.

Still, when the topic of their discussion partially revolves around you, he feels compelled to step in and clear the misunderstanding.

"She's just a friend, I'm afraid," he says, smiling apologetically. "It's payment for a tour I'm giving her."

The culprits seems to be a pair of siblings, close in age. Over the course of their fervent but light-hearted discussion on whether men look good with flowers in their hair or not, he learned their names are May and Max—that May is the older one, and that Max is not infrequently teased for every possible reason under the sun.

They both startle easily at his interjection and glance at each other. A flush creeps up the girl's cheeks, half of which she manages to hide by giving herself a sidepart. Max only coughs politely.

The satisfied gleam in his eyes, despite his embarrassment, speaks volumes.

"Oh," she utters, clearing his throat. Max tugs at her sleeve, and May lets him drag her away—though not before she decides to offer him one last bit of advice. "I'd ask for more than one flower, then."

Alkaid merely smiles politely.

To charge anything beyond that would imply that spending time with you is not its own reward. To charge anything at all would, ordinarily—but he's found, more often that not, people tend to feel more comfortable when there's some form of reciprocity, when it comes to jokes.

If he insisted on going without pay, there was a distinct possibility of the mood souring faster than he can recite your birthday.

"What was that about?" a familiar voice rings in his ear, your warm breath fanning against his ear. He tamps down the urge to flinch, though he can do nothing for his warm cheeks. "I heard something about flowers?"

Carefully, so as to ensure you don't think he's running away from you, he takes a step back—puts his hands in his pocket. And when he looks back at you, you're doing a terrible job at hiding your smile.

The upturned corners peek out from behind your two fingers—but even if they didn't, he thinks your eyes would betray you.

"She seemed to think I should've asked for a higher price," he confesses truthfully.

There are three ways this can go. You can ignore his words entirely to show him the latest item you've pinned your hopes on. You can argue against it, with whatever argument you have on hand, and Alkaid will easily return the flower. And the third one, both the one most likely and the one he wishes for, is—

"She's not wrong." You nod, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. A plushie's leg peeks out from behind you as you walk up to him. "A flower isn't enough."

"What would you give me then?" he inquires calmly, as if his rapid heartbeat doesn't drown out all but the sound of your voice.

At first, it seems as though you have the answer already. Confidence drips from your tone for the first half of your sentence, but a distressed expression soon breaks out on your face. You purse your lips and cup your chin thoughtfully.

"Well, for something obtainable..." You mutter, sounding exasperated. He expects some of your next words to be a quip about how difficult it is to put a number on him. "Maybe a 100...maybe 200...300...? Your birthday is...so that many...?"

Alkaid hums, taking note of your wording. "And if it isn't obtainable?"

"It'd be hard to wrap," you caution him, having forgotten whatever plans you had for the plushie. As it swings behind you, he realizes it's a teddy bear. "But if I could, I think I'd give you the world."

The last of your words comes out softly, like a confession meant only for him. Your gaze softens, and though you seem like you're somewhere else, he can't help but think you're still thinking about him. And for the first time in a while, the contrarian in him remains quiet.

When Alkaid smiles softly, his heart feels lighter than it has in ages.

The girl he loves wants to give him the world—and though you keep your secrets close to your chest, you are not a liar. He will not make you out to be a liar, by wondering if you really mean it at all.

And it is easy enough. All it requires is framing last night's interactions with you a bit differently—that you were not afraid of him but of what he'd figure out. It's a thought he'd entertained on and off, but never with as much conviction.

In a way, the two of you are nothing less than birds of a feather.

"Just spending time with you is enough," Alkaid assures.

With a dramatic sigh, you hold the teddy bear against your chest and huff. His smile takes on a helpless tinge as he watches you shake your head. When you take note of it, your eyes narrow into what would be a ferocious glare if not for the faint pout on your lips.

"And we return to the crux of the problem again," you complain, shoving the teddy bear at him. "We'll come back to this. What do you think of this bear for Mrs. Santos? Doesn't it look like her?"

He takes a step closer. "Hmm, I think she'll appreciate it. Do you like it?"

Your nose scrunches up at his words. A sigh escapes your lips as you look longingly at the teddy bear, then at him. This time, you don't shake your head quite as vigorously as before.

"Alright, let's keep looking," you say, your hand wrapping around his wrist again. "You come with me this time, alright?"

The answer to that comes easily, even before you confide in him how boring it was without him. Alkaid chuckles warmly and quietly takes your hand, the way he'd wanted to earlier, with an explanation on the tip of his tongue—

"It's more comfortable this way."

Once the flash of surprise fades from your eyes, you grin at him. "You read my mind."

It takes some time before either of you are willing to let go.

[musamora]

Hello I hope your having a great day/night but I was wondering if you could do headcannons for Sigma and Dazai with an s/o with social anxiety disorder (like for me I get chest pains and nausea in social situations I’m nervous in, like being around alot of people or awkward situations and very shy to new people) thank you so much if you do end up doing this I love your writing so much btw! :D

𝖘/𝖔 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖔𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖝𝖎𝖊𝖙𝖞

content. gn!reader. social anxiety disorder, panic attacks, cuddling, hurt/comfort. not proofread.

author's note. this is my first time writing for sigma, so i hope it is not incredibly out of character!

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗠𝗔 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

He would probably initially panic himself.

You cannot tell me this man does not have his own anxiety problems (but it’s more general anxiety rather than social-specific anxiety). But at the very least, he could relate deeply to your pain.

His first initial response is to get you away from the social situation immediately (utilizing his casino manager persona). However, if he can’t get you out of the situation, he will be there for you both emotionally and physically. It’s displayed either by him holding your hand or waist and him constantly making eye contact with you to make sure you’re still okay.

If you’re at an event that you absolutely cannot leave, he’ll take you aside occasionally to a secluded corner to allow you to breathe with him. He is constantly checking up on you throughout the entire event, usually by observing your facial expressions and posture. And if someone is rude to you, that manager persona is in full force.

That man may be a complete nervous wreck (all the time), but it’s almost like the switch flips in his brain whenever someone treats you rudely. (Don’t let him touch the machine guns, though. You’ll have a lawsuit on your hands).

If the event becomes a big stressor, to the point of you having a panic attack, it doesn’t matter what obligations either of you have; you are leaving ASAP.

Once both of you arrive back at your shared suite in the casino, he will constantly question whether you’re okay.

You are absolutely having a little spa night with him – no choice. You’re gonna receive some good TLC to make sure you’re back to 100%. He’ll even order your favorite meal and desserts via room service. You won’t even have to leave the comfort of your bed.

When you head to sleep, he checks on you one last time, massaging any remaining tense muscles as he soothes you to sleep. After all, both of you are in this together.

"It's okay, love. I'm right here with you. Breathe with me, okay?"

𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨 𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

At the start of your relationship, this handsome dumbass probably dragged you into multiple social situations by accident (it’s the Osamu Dazai Effect). And honestly, he thinks it’s very cute with how shy you are.

However, once he realizes that these situations cause you actual stress, he starts to feel a bit bad for the previous experiences (this man would be thinking about each situation he had dragged you into, feeling more guilt when he remembered your expressions). He becomes a lot more watchful with the situations you both get involved in.

Don’t get me wrong, the Osamu Dazai effect will unavoidably drag you both back into another situation, but if he can prevent unnecessary stress for his baby, he will. In those inevitable situations, he makes sure to stay as physically close to you as possible (unless he absolutely can’t). For those who know him, it looks like he’s being his clingy self, but it’s all for the purpose of comforting you. 

He wants to make sure you know that he’s right there with you, that he’s not gonna let anything bad happen to you.

When the other people involved in the conversation are distracted, he’ll whisper reassurances to you in hopes that it’ll calm you down.

He’ll try to leave the situation as soon as possible, sometimes walking away from the other person mid-conversation.

Also, God forbid someone was mean to you.

There is a reason this man was called the Demon Prodigy—anyone who makes his lover uncomfortable or upset is gonna have a deep problem with him. After all, the saying is that the worst misfortune for Dazai’s enemies is that they are Dazai’s enemies.

Once you both get away, he’ll subtly check in on you in his typical Dazai way (which means mostly by being touchy and over-affectionate, unless you don’t like that).

However, you will receive a hug from this man.

And come on, I don’t doubt that he would be the type to give some of the best hugs when he is in a more serious mood. While he probably runs at a cooler temperature, the large jacket that he wears radiates heat. You’ll be snuggled up against him in no time.

Speaking of snuggling, if the social situation left you especially drained to the point of exhaustion, he would hands-down use it as an excuse to leave work early so that he could cuddle with you while you rest—after all, he needs to keep his baby happy and healthy :)

"Don't worry about talking, dear. I'll take care of everything."

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[malereadermaniac]

Bloodbender ~ Male Reader

Story driven fic with a small amount of avatar Wan x Gn Reader Image from @/jde.aep on tiktok!

Cw: war, death, blood bending, graphic detail of injury? word count: 2.3k

War is hard on everyone. After the closing of the spirit portals, Avatar Wan was trying his best to bring all people together - no matter their bending types. Inevitably, those who were benders of air banded together, those of fire had done the same, and the pattern carried on with water and earth. And while peace did last for a while - Avatar Wan's guidance helping everyone settle into their own nations and tribes in certain areas - the selfish and gluttonous nature of humans rid the world of peace very quickly.

You had met Wan during his early days as "The Avatar" as he is now known. He'd met you in the spirit wilds, a lonely water bender that was exiled from their lionturtle. The two of you clicked quickly, relating and sympathising with one another about your respective exiles - and so, you both decided to venture together. You had no goal in your life, wandering the wilds and befriending the spirits was as far as your achievements in life had ever gone, so you were happy to join the Avatar in his quest to defeat Vaatu. Spending many nights together, along with the few spirits which had either resisted corruption or had been saved by you and your spiritual water bending, allowed Wan and you to bond more and more. You two sympathised with one another over hard times and took care of one another after particularly difficult fights, your healing water bending skills coming in handy after hard battles. Of course, it was inevitable for Wan to find out about the reasoning for your exile due to your frowned upon skills; however, the Avatar felt anything but judgment towards you. He claimed that with how dangerous the world was, we as benders have to develop our skills in as many ways as we can, so who was he to judge you for simply mastering your craft. Your mastery of skills in waterbending had also helped Wan many a time - whether that be via your artfully created attacks and new skills, your healing or spirit bending, and of course, your affinity for bloodbending on a full moon. After spending many nights and days together, your relationship with Wan had even prospered further than a friendship; the two of you never being so in sync.

So, it made sense that you became Wan's right-hand after his successful sealing of Vaatu. For the first few years, you and the Avatar helped guide and create a new world of benders and non-benders without many bumps in the road - your relationship with Wan strengthening with every village you visited and helped build up and with every battle the two of you shared. However, as the two of you grew into fine leaders, the greed and feelings of superiority grew within certain people in their respective nations. You don't even know how it started, not a single clue on which nation or tribe attacked first, but within a few weeks, war ravished and desecrated lands. The Avatar did his best to help settle disputes and fights with your help, some being harder than others; the battle scars covering Wan's body being proof of that - but while the two of you may have been successful in some areas, war was still thriving in other areas of the world you both worked hard to build. After many years of small wars taking place, and land being stolen from one nation and then taken by another, certain benders of different elements banded together at one point, growing in numbers and building an army; and said group began invading and taking over neighbouring nations. Wan and you had sprang into action almost immediately, helping nearby nations that had weaker or smaller defences - however, you both could only do so much.

The Avatar and you, as well as some other of your appointed leaders, had tried to predict where this newly founded nation would attack next. And so, you all made your way to the early fire nation. Wan explained his plan to predict and outsmart the oncoming army to the firelord, who understood immediately and gave his army to you to lead. Luckily, just as predicted, a massive army had turned up at the fire nation's docks; but you were prepared, even if your army was almost half the size of theirs... As the sun was shining above both armies tension grew thicker with anxiety trickling through, as while Wan and you were confident in your makeshift army of mainly firebenders, you were most certainly outnumbered - but you had the sun to strengthen the firebenders, you'd be fine, right?

The sun was making its way across the sky, near to setting, the sky turning a stunning shade of pink. Contrastingly, the ground below the celestial body was starting to turn into darkening shades of crimson and maroon. While your army was certainly holding its ground, benders skillfully wielding the elements and non-benders well trained in using swords and bow n' arrows, you were no match for the opposing army. For every troop of the opposing army that was shot down on sliced to the ground, 3 of yours were brutally killed. Wan had been mainly holding down the Fort, masterfully bending earth to protect other warriors and firebending on the attack; you were also doing your best to protect Wan and as many troops as you could whilst fighting. Luckily, not only was the battle somewhat near the docks that were full of water, but the field of battle was full of grass and flowers and trees - so you had plenty of water at your disposal to shield yourself and others while using your own techniques to attack. You had drawn the water out of the grass below ten opposing soldiers and trapped them in a solid block of ice. You'd created slopes for Wan to slide off of to get the high ground. You desperately healed injured soldiers in while getting fired at, creating a cloud of steam in aims to hide yourself and the injured warriors. But unfortunately, while your efforts and Wan's were definitely notable, bodies were dropping like flies - good men and women gruesomely killed while the opposition had barely felt the effects of your attacks.

The sun was now setting, the light of the sky fading, as so was the power of your remaining firebenders. Bodies of soldiers from both armies littered the ground, your numbers dwindling even further as the few members of your army left fought desperately alongside Wan and you. Desperately clinging towards any hope he could, Wan ordered you all to split up into groups - each group containing a water or earth bender to help protect the remaining soldiers. And, while his plan mainly worked, the attacks from the invading nation were ruthless, more and more people were dying - the attackers not even thinking of the invasion anymore, simply driven by bloodlust. With almost all of your group left lifeless, you desperately hide around the docks with the two other troops left in your section. The screams of your army either falling on deaf ears or further traumatising you and your troops - you couldn't exactly tell which one of those it quite was.

'Just half an hour more... I just need half an hour, and then the full moon will be up' you think to yourself, desperately racking your brain to think up a plan to not even defeat but to merely ward off the invaders. As time passes, the field becomes more and more quiet; that is, until Wan's voice shatters the depressing silence. It wasn't a battle cry or some sort of declaration from the Avatar, but rather a pained scream - such a blood curdling scream that you couldn't sit still. Standing up, you let instinct take over your body - a mix of adrenaline and dopamine driving your body to work mindlessly. Before you knew it, you had leapt into the sea by the docks of the fire nation, and with the full moon finally showing its beautiful glowing self, you could feel your bending instantly build up in strength. The commander of the invading army had his attention snapped from crushing Wan's leg with a boulder via his earthbending, his gaze being drawn to you - a simple waterbender, about 70 feet in the air being held up by a violent vortex of water, with the silver shining full moon behind you and one hell of a look on your face. Onslaughts of high-pressure attacks of water rained down on the opposing army, spouts of water with ice shards within shot down some soldiers while others were taken down by their bodies getting inexplicably paralysed - their bodies becoming colder by the second until their turn into human icecubes, a skill you perfected on the last full moon. However, you attacks alone didn't stop the commander and his army, the wretched man earthbending a giant hill and Imprisoning Wan within it; his troops still attacking what was left of your army and shooting arrows up at you. So, you had to take things further. It pained you mock the deaths of your fellow troops, good people who had the bravery to fight for their nation now dead. However, you'd hope that they would understand your desperation. With the power of the full moon shining above you, its celestial and spiritual connection to the waves and its benders allowing for your bending to strengthen wildly, you performed an act of bloodbending you had never even attempted beforehand; Necrobending.

Folklore and tales of horror told to children tell of bodies coming back to life, spirits toying with humans to play with their emotions, and fear being something spirits are fascinated by. However, from the bloody horror screams that erupted from the opposing army, this was no mere folktale. You felt your body extend through your chi as it spreads. You had felt a feeling similar to this when bloodbending. However, never to this extent, it was as if your consciousness had multiplied by hundreds, being able to feel limbs that don't belong to you and being able to control them with such incredible ease. And what elicited such a terrified reaction from the invaders was surely a sight to behold - soldiers, killed by their own hand, people they knew for sure were dead, rising from the ground as if nothing was wrong. Every single fallen soldier had risen up once more, disfigured in their nature with pain evident on their faces - however, their bodies still going. Like some horrific conductor, you move your hands gently in rhythm with the moon, the waves, the pace of a heartbeat, and bend the bodies of the fallen to fight once more. The sight was graphic, fatally injured soldiers attacking with full might - some of them with vital organs hanging out of their unseemed stomachs, others who were crying blood and some with torn off and crushed limbs. However, no matter how many times the opposing soldiers fought back against your undead army, it was no use. Dead men can't die once more. The bodies of your fallen army disfigure further throughout their fighting, their bodies almost liquidating from the continual attacks on their flesh, the wounds not affecting their attacks - it was a sight straight from a nightmare. The sounds of screams adorned the roaring sound of the vortex below you spinning to hold you up, the moon glowing on such a grim sight as the invading army dwindles down to only a mere hundred soldiers. The commander of the army was long dead, six of your bloody puppets having torn into his body live, his screams falling on deaf ears as his well-deserved pain imprinted on his brain for the last few moments of his life.

The dazzling moon was beginning to hide away once more, your overwhelming power very slowly starting to fade - however, the battle had been won. With the commander dead, the rest of the invading army was left tired and with no more will to continue fighting; and so, they gave themselves up. The one earthbender amongst the 20 men and women brought Wan down from his makeshift prison, and one by one, each troop gave themselves up to being taken to prison in the fire nation. Having watched your impeccable display of skill and intelligence, Wan had never been more mesmerised - he couldn't tell if it was terror or infatuation, but he admired what you just did. The Avatar watched as you laid the fallen back down softly, paying what little respect you could to their bodies, whispering an apology as you lowered yourself back down to the ground. With the shining moon almost fully set, the sun was starting to show itself once more, the two bodies displaying their eternal dance in the sky; celebrating the end of the battle in a bittersweet way. The atmosphere was finally calm again, but from what you had just gone through, your mind had gone blank for almost the entire day, but Wan made sure to fill you in. The fire lord appreciated your help, of course remorseful of the many lost lives, but still appreciative; you did just save his nation from being fully invaded and taken over. A mass funeral ceremony had been held for those who had lost their lives and the Avatar and you were commemorated by the fire lord. However, the war isn't over. That fight had only been won due to chance - the full moon doesn't shine every night of the cycle. Many more battles were to come, and we all unfortunately know how they end.

[tayaalovsx]

𐙚°`so what? everyone's weird`

author here!: writting this for the second time since I'm a dumbass. may be a little bit crappy but come on guys, this is Donnie! he deserves sm

prompt!: '...you think i'm weird?' 'so what? everyone's weird'\| rise!donniexfem!reader

warnings!: none honestly, this is pure fluff, but maybe a bit...sensitive.

expect!: relatable!second choice

[ᝰ.ᐟsong of the fanfic!]

(ೀ/)

y/n was a handful of a child. nobody talked to her, no one found interest as in to what she liked or how she liked it. people used her, they never truly cared for her.

a lot of times when she would rely on someone, they would show her how hard humans words could hurt.

she had tried to be better, to not let herself get lost in the lines of between right and wrong but it never ended right. she would fall, she would die for the person only for them to choose her last.

she always wanted to be chosen, she was a maybe, sometimes a probably, even a definitely in good days but never the first one. the first choice. she never felt that. she never got to experience that

everyone called her weird and she got to feel it, wishing to be the girls surrounding her, to be pretty like them, to have the glass skin they all so craved and took care of.

it didn't matter what she tried, she would always be a little bit chubbier, a little bit with more acne then her classmates. even if she tried to cover it up, people didn't pay her attention.

getting into the online world was her only time she felt happy. to be alone, to not feel judged all the time. her thoughts to be voiced and heard. by random people who lived on the other side of the world but they still listened.

yet she felt empty. sending videos and getting replies back, or secret calls during the night was not enough. she needed physical attention, she needed to be touched for someone to crave what she felt like.

-

my eyes scanned through all the online texts. not a single one to catch my eye, exepct one. bootyshaker1000. who would name themselves that?

either mental illness was after them, or they were a good dancer. I noticed they were In a server, already playing so I decided to join, why not maybe see the moves.

the microphones were on and the yelling in my ear made me want to throw myself off my apartment so bad. how can people be this loud and not get complains?

I ignored the yells and did my part, focusing on more to the winning then the screeching in my ears. seriously, at some point it felt like I had blood, running down my ears.

overall we won, the details of how we're unneeded, but I did play a good part. leaving the server I focused back on my homework that I had left behind. yes, how much I hated chemistry. more like the material they gave us to be honest.

1am. great time for a snack. getting up I accidently moved my mouse and cursed under my breath and was ready to turn it off when a notification popped up on my computer

#!bootyshaker1000 had send a request

my eye brows shot up and shrugging I accepted the request and walked off to my kitchen getting myself some buldak. favorite brand out there.

-

getting back to her computer, y/n eye brows shot up as she sipped on to the noodle. however this good dancer was has texted her.

reluctantly she answered him, and text after text she found herself getting more found of that person. she learned his name was Donnie and he was sixteen, a year older then her. but the way he spoke was definitely not how a teenager usually does, which got her intrigued

weeks passed and she continued to text with him foundly. their conversations were on different themes, sometimes even he would offer his help with some of her homework.

overall their friendship grew, months tightened to a year and yet she had never seen his face. she was more into the calls, so usually she would be with her camera on, but he refused to turn on his own. she didn't make a deal out of it, but as more time passed, she grew impatient.

the small funny feeling in her tummy told her enough. she was falling for him, hard. and it frustrated her that she had never seen his face.

one rainy saturday day night she found herself way too tired to check her notifications and went straight to bed.

the covers barely covered her as she snored, laying on her stomach as her arms were sprawned on the bed like a starfish.

the sudden loud noise of window shattering made her get her head up as she looked over at the glass. it was shattered into peaces and there was someone else in her room

"you a theif?" she asked her voice tired as she refused to move out of her position, her eyes half open, half closed

"uh...no?" the other person answered and by their voice she could tell they were a male

"sure, fix the window later" she said before she closed her eyes ready to fall back to sleep

"you're just going to let me in like that?" the person asked and she groaned

"you interpretunned my dream, I was just about to marry and you ruined the wedding. so yes, I want to get back to more important manners" she scoffed as she sat up, but took a double take as she noticed her intruder.

a humanoid turtle, wearing purple bandana. her favorite color.

"...not gonna scream?" he asked a bit hesitant. she narrowed her eyes at him, that voice. it sounded way too familiar.

getting up from her bed she walked over to him, looking up at the tall man. before she hit him on the back of the head.

"ow! what was that for" he asked his voice pitched hight as he rubbed the spot where she got hit him

"...donnie right" she chuckled a bit. his eyes widened as he looked back at her.

"...y/n" he said figuring out the identity of his friend pretty quick. she hummed and chuckled, returning back to the edge of her bed

"swifty swift. you broke my beauty sleep" she whinned and got up to lay in the puffiness of her pillows.

"..you don't find me weird?"

"pfft so what? everyone's weird" she shrugged his words off and got under the blankets. he cracked a small smile before looking back at the window

"I will fix it tomorrow...see you" he said and she waved him off already dozing off.

🎧ྀིxoxo lovergirl!

author!: boys and girls I did it! I finished it up, applause please. good night/good morning!

[asimplearchivist]

𝓒𝓗. 𝓘𝓥 — [𓈐𓊪𓇋𓇋𓅱] (‘𝓱𝓻𝓹𝔂𝔀’ | 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓭, 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu is an odd duck, you come to find. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 12.1k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ whew. only took two months to churn this one out. it’s a bit longer than usual to make up for it. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

While once it might have been relatively easy for you to pick up a new schedule in your younger years (as enduring nursing school necessitated rapid alterations of long shifts, forcing students to develop flexibility in times of intense stress to prepare for truly chaotic clinical environments), getting older, going through a divorce, having and raising a baby, returning from maternity leave to a full-time job, and pledging your servitude to an ancient lunar deity all just might excuse you from not adapting as well to such sheer changes of pace as you once might have. However, you couldn't fathom dealing with said situations, as they were, in any other stage nor context of your life—you'd gathered invaluable experience tolerating borderline unbearable levels of insanity in the last decade or so that had unwittingly prepared you for the near endless list of tasks you faced upon waking every day. And while your parents or your ex-husband may have assisted with babysitting much like Lizzie did (though doubtfully so on the latter’s part), their inquisitive natures and close proximity, respectively, would have inevitably resulted in them discovering the true nature of your 'second job' within days of you coming home late.

Lizzie, bless her soul, was as sharp as a tack, so you'd worried about her sniffing out that there wasn't something entirely right about your established half-truth—however, she valued privacy above nosiness, as she didn't get much time nor secrecy to herself during her childhood while growing up with three siblings in a very small home, and therefore she never pried for more information than was given to her unless she thought it to be a point of concern. You had always appreciated her candor, knowing she would not hesitate to let you know if she thought something remiss about anything relating to your general happiness and well-being, as well as her discretion by giving you ample space to breathe. It's part of what had drawn you to her in the first place upon moving overseas, meeting at a social gathering and introduced by a friend of a friend of your ex-husband’s—both her amiability and sincerity resulted in her being your unofficially designated confidant and longstanding best friend. There was virtually nothing she didn't know about you—your family history, childhood, adolescence, college, relationships...everything. You trusted her with your life, and in return she felt safe enough to impart the same level of information she'd never had an opportunity to share with anyone else. The two-way street of complete disclosure had run unparalleled and unblocked for the entire duration of your marriage to your ex-husband, and now beyond it. You didn't even consider your own family as close to you as she was, separated by both time and distance.

Therefore, to keep a secret from her, no matter how small, almost always caused you to feel physically ill—so something as noteworthy (and perhaps as foolhardy) as you sneaking around in the middle of the night planting punches in the faces of street thugs was eating you alive. Your actual whereabouts and the nature of what you were up to rarely came up, as she'd accepted your fib without question, but you feared her noticing the cold sweat that would crop up on your forehead every time she'd ask how your 'secondary shift' went, if anything interesting had happened, or about the increasingly darker semi-circles under your eyes.

It was a vigil of silence you were forced to maintain, however, as you doubted sincerely she could wrap her head around the finer details of your...ah, arrangement. She never had held a candle to anything even vaguely supernatural, despite her mother being an avid believer in tales of the fae folk (though now you wondered if even they weren't tales so much as they could merely be fractionated accounts of real events and interactions that peoples of old had misunderstood). Besides, Khonshu's existence seemed the muted sort—he only appeared to you, never even the ill-to-do ilk he pitted you against. He was your own private specter, but rather than haunting you for trespassing upon his original abode or for desecrating his resting place, he made remarks on how unintelligent your targets were at times, criticized their lack of form and training in whatever sort of blunt, sharp, or projectile-oriented weapon they utilized, and commented continuously on the constant source of perplexity the human race presented to him in general. You found it odd that he was so finitely fixated upon the idea of protecting humanity when he didn't seem to like humans themselves very much.

While Khonshu never griped about you, per se, nor anyone with whom you associated yourself, he seemed to view the general populace of earth with a plain, uncoated disdain that colored his tone whenever he spoke of your fellow man. He was never particularly venomous with his words unless speaking of those who had acted unjustly, but it still puzzled you that he seemed as adamant about humanity's faults in spite of their (admittedly few) positive traits.

Of course, even what little bit of cynicism you felt whenever you dealt with a temperamental patient, or while in the presence of a self-righteous retail client, after passing remotely near enough a news outlet to hear about the unending stream of malice demonstrated by the cruelest and most uncaring of people despite the world still trying to heal from the scarring wounds caused by the tragedy in New York City back in May, it had been frighteningly easy to slip into a similar callousness, which you had struggled with for quite some time—until Ru had made his way into the world and, subsequently, affixed himself into your life.

You could scarcely fathom the countless things Khonshu must have witnessed throughout the centuries. The wars, famines, pestilences—the innumerable dead and dying. It didn't surprise you that he could be jaded towards life and all of its fleeting, fickle graces. He had been dealt a heavy hand, to live as long as he had and forced to be a semi-passive observer—particularly over the kingdom that had risen from the Nile shores, from quarreling tribesmen to a vast, wealthy, and powerful empire all the way back down to a shackled, colonized, subjugated land. Khonshu's name and image had been uttered, inscribed, and rendered within the homes of the lowest laborers, to the palaces of the highest of kings, to the temples of priests who gave offerings, sang hymns, and recounted prayers for his favor. Nowadays, what vestiges remained of his influence were limited to what reliefs and descriptions had survived erosion from the sands of time, discussed as nothing more than myth and legend when once he had invoked hope and faith in those who called upon him. There was something inherently melancholic to that—a name echoed until it lost its meaning. It made you wonder if he missed his glory days, if he regretted the course of history that had led him to the present, wandering the dark, lonely nights while still clinging to the shadows of his former strength that he had cast against the earth.

...No, you couldn't quite muster any blame toward Khonshu if he was embittered by the current state of things. Not when you weren't entirely happy with everything, either.

Even if any of your idle speculations held merit, however, you still didn't understand why Khonshu remained steadfast in his creed. Humans sucked, yes, and did shitty stuff to other humans. If he were so disgusted with mortals (as it seemed he was), it would make more sense to leave them to their own devices, not continue to toil in the evildoings they wrought.

Your curiosity about your rather mysterious patron had only grown in the last few weeks, in part thanks to your introspection about the inexplicable contrasts of his character. He shared very little about himself personally—any history, memories, or thoughts he shared usually pertained only to the tasks he delegated to you as his avatar (mostly of the brawling variety). You resorted, eventually, to do some research on your own time, reading articles and entries either when getting a rare free moment with Ru during the day or catching up on paperwork in your cubicle at night. Many of the readily available sources contained painfully basic information that sated little of your desire to learn more about him. The more you dug, the more it seemed that there were few consistent, definitive records of him—of course, you realized the lens through which the majority of Ancient Egyptians viewed him would differ from yours as his modern avatar, with an added factor of their civilization spanning the course of over three thousand years, but part of you wished that there was more concrete information on him besides the trivia. He was so much more colorful an individual than that.

Khonshu was the god of night; of vengeance, of protection, of healing. He was an omen of doom to those who wronged others, and a warden of safety to those who had been wronged. He was the embodiment of death and life, of violence and peace, of hurting and healing; as forceful as a tempest and as calm as a breeze. Unforgiving, some had said, spiteful and grudging—others believed he was righteous, just, and nurturing. He was darkness—brooding, ominous, and silent—and he was light—unflinching, all-seeing, and stalwart. He had as many identities as the moon its phases, oscillating as steadily, as gradually, and as inevitably as the celestial body from which he manifested both his power and his identity. 

It was not a stretch to think him indifferent, caustic, and capricious—not by a long shot, based on his outward demeanor—but you felt that not many academics who drolled on about metaphorical epithets understood the most basic aspects of his role. He'd been forced to resort to outsiders' worship for the last two thousand years as the majority—Greece and Rome had absorbed and distorted the knowledge and close interactions with their celestial pantheon the Egyptians had gleaned and recorded over the course of their reign. Perhaps most viewed him with distrust and disdain based on early descriptions of him being a cannibalistic deity. But you had a gut feeling that there was a key piece of information missing, something that would bring into context every errant strand of information that didn't tie together on its own, something he had neglected to share with you. Whether it was an earth-shattering revelation that would rock the earth's perception and understanding of the Kemetic pantheon, however, or something comparatively insignificant...you hadn't the foggiest.

You couldn't find it in yourself to think of him as uncaring, however—not really. He did care, in his own strange, perhaps closeted way. And you knew that because he wouldn't spend any extra time around you—or Ru—otherwise.

His visits, while inconsistent, became increasingly common as you worked to find balance in your new schedule. During the day, you took care of Ru, went to the post office, bought groceries, and cooked supper, among other tasks you helped to conduct. In the evening, you maintained your rounds, charted for your patients, and helped the physicians when needed. During the night, you traveled rooftop to rooftop, stalking through alleyways and gliding over side streets in pursuit of the nocturnal criminals on which Khonshu sicced you. Once the throes of dawn started to tinge the furthermost horizon, Khonshu would direct you home. You would sleep through the early morning, sore and tired, but never injured. He made certain that the armor healed whatever wounds you'd incurred from your scuffles—so no one would question the bruises, you suspected. Avoiding an inexplicable topic of conversation was, likely, for the best.

And throughout the length of your day, Khonshu would occasionally appear. He didn't always initiate conversation, sometimes opting simply to observe whatever menial task you were doing with little to no commentary, but sometimes you were able to coax out a stream of thought from him that otherwise he would never have shared. You counted these instances as victories, even if they might have seemed insignificant. He was knowledgeable despite his infrequent petulance about certain subjects, brimming with stories he seemed reluctant to share. Was he uncomfortable with talking for extended periods of time? Or did he think it unusual that a mortal who'd only known of his existence for several months pressed for such casual interactions? Did he want to be revered and feared, or lauded and worshiped? He didn't seem to demand anything of you other than your service while the moon hung in the sky. Did he find it disrespectful or just too familiar?

There was so much you didn't know about him, about being an avatar, and about being his avatar that only produced more questions whenever he did deign to answer one of yours. You hoped that, over time, he would open up more—that he was popping in without an obvious reason gave you some hope that he might be seeking out your company for the sake of sharing the relative silence in the apartment.

It also became increasingly plain that he did not, in fact, know a damn thing about babies.

He is unable to speak?

"He won't really start talking until he's around six months old—and even then, he'll just be babbling,  not really forming words."

When will he start to eat real food?

"About six months, again."

Is he going to crawl on the ground forever?

"Until he's at least nine months, but not forever."

If it was some sort of undefined, implicit exchange of information—an eye for an eye, per se—he had never said so, but you didn't mind it. You doubted that, even if Khonshu'd had any children of his own (were demi-gods even a thing in Kemetic mythology like they were in the Hellenistic?), perhaps human children were entirely different, as he'd mentioned before. Of course, the myths weren't necessarily fact, as you'd learned—but he hadn't mentioned any offspring, nor any consorts. The numerous recorded translations from temples and the like never indicated any such connections either, other than his parentage and a different god whom he'd replaced.

It provoked conversation, if nothing else, and despite his prickly exterior, you found that you liked talking to him. He had vastly different points of view on the world within which you'd grown, and he offered insight into things that you'd never even noticed nor considered before. You found his cadence, tone, and vocabulary refreshing, his low rasp undeniably soothing (when he wasn’t shouting profanities in a dead language directly into your ear, anyway). Having him there, even if he stayed silent, helped to pass the time—and, incidentally, made you feel a little less alone with your thoughts despite having Ru, Lizzie, and your coworkers around you. You tended to focus on your paperwork and patients to stay on top of the time lost to emergent situations rather than gossip with the other staff members, Lizzie usually was already gone to her office whenever you got up in the morning and only had enough time to eat dinner with you upon returning home, and Ru wasn't exactly much of a conversationalist other than the times he needed food, changing, or a nap.

You kept yourself busy to mute your persistent, whirring mind whenever he wasn't there, however, feeling the need to keep up with every aspect of your life at peak efficiency after spending so much time off. Follow-up appointments with your OB/GYN and Ru's pediatrician to ensure both your and Ru's postpartum recovery continued to progress smoothly, lunch dates with Lizzie when she had particularly frustrating days and needed a break and an open ear, and maintaining the general state of the apartment (cleaning and meal planning, most notably), among other odds and ends, managed to keep you occupied.

All things considered, it wasn't entirely a surprise when failure inevitably arrived, unannounced and unwelcome, on your doorstep.

You should have known better, honestly. You'd long since learned the hard lesson of overloading your schedule back in college, after taking on too many classes in an attempt to get ahead—add in having to work part-time and trying to stay social, and it had bubbled over in the anxiety-riddled breakdown of a lifetime. You were smart enough to drop some of the classes and to cut back on obligations to your friends before your GPA had permanently suffered for it, but the mental and emotional drain had been enough to slow your progress for another year before you’d gotten your confidence back. To think that you'd become a superhero just because you were an adult was a severe miscalculation on your part.

It resulted in you oversleeping one fateful midweek morning, finally coming to with a start when Ru's wailing pierced the walls of the shadowy apartment. He was hungry, dirty, and very upset with the fact that you'd seemingly disappeared for two hours beyond your normal wake-up time. You weren't able to soothe him for another hour or so, pressing him to your chest and rocking him nonstop after changing and feeding him. Finally, after listening to your heartbeat and gentle lullabies, he stopped crying and proceeded to nap for another half-hour. You didn't dare set him down, opting to place him in a sling while going about your business. 

You were stiff all over, particularly in your back, after having wrestled with a man three times your size trying to break and enter a condominium via a fire escape. You'd ended up tumbling over the side into an open dumpster two stories down—with the man landing right on top of you. He was knocked out cold, at least. You'd placed an anonymous phone call to the police about a noise disturbance, laid out the equipment he'd been using to unlock the window as evidence, and limped a couple of blocks away to wait on a rooftop for the officers to arrest him. Whether they questioned the fact that the evidence had been arranged so plainly or that he had several cranial contusions, you didn't know—all you cared about was taking some painkillers once you got home to try to dissuade the headache he'd given you by slamming your forehead into the acid-eroded masonry.

You didn't think you had a concussion, but obviously it had rattled you more than you'd expected since you'd slept so heavily for so long.

An entire page of emails greeted you when you opened your laptop, most of them work-related, and it took entirely too long to address them, to make the phone calls associated with their subject matter, and to defer the ones impertinent to your job to your higher-ups. Two mugs of coffee later, your stomach was howling for lunch. You then proceeded to burn yourself on the stove while cooking, spilled an entire bottle of milk all over yourself and the floor, and in the process of cleaning up you accidentally scorched the food and had to start over entirely.

Ru couldn't bear to stay apart from you, either, once he reawoke. Putting him in the high chair for all of five seconds to get your thoughts together had been a mistake, as he didn't settle back down for yet another half-hour. You dreaded to think of how the evening would play out with Lizzie, prayed that maybe he'd tucker out from all the fussing and either sleep or stay sleepy enough to quieten down.

You hadn't had the chance to shower before collapsing into bed the previous night, so you were struggling to find time to get cleaned up while juggling a clingy baby, trying to keep the laundry circulated, and laying out the ingredients for supper to thaw in time.

At some point, after eating crow (and what was edible from the original meal's efforts, charred as it was) and settling down on the couch for a nap with Ru sprawled over your torso, you managed to get some more sleep. You'd opened the windows to let in some fresh air, and the lulling patter of soft rain helped to soothe your frayed nerves.

At least until the shower turned into a storm, thunder and lightning lashed terror upon the streets, and Ru became frightened thanks to his already agitated sensitivity.

By the time Lizzie got home, her umbrella, raincoat, and boots all vibrant and dripping and keeping her tailored clothes unfazed, you were holed up in your room with a barricade of pillows trying to keep the noise out. The meds weren't even touching your migraine anymore, and you couldn't stand to have any light on for too long. Ru had fallen into a restless slumber, and after your weary, teary-eyed explanation, she just about shoved you out of your own bedroom to go shower and get a few minutes to yourself before he stirred again.

Your guilt was unimaginable, and combined with your relatively unstable hormones, heightened stress, and the shame that only a newly tried mother could feel finally crested and burst. You sat in the shower and cried until you reached that familiar listless, hazy, absentminded state of serenity, and only then were you able to step back from the spiral of your thoughts, take a series of deep, steadying, and calming breaths, and allow yourself to rest under the steaming stream until your fingertips pruned.

When you emerged from the bathroom draped in the fluffiest towel in the cabinet, skin beaded with water and dampened hair bundled up on top of your head, instead of finding Lizzie and Ru in the dim, watery light rendered fuzzy through the thin curtains drawn over the window, Khonshu was perched in the middle of your bed with one ankle propped on the opposite knee, staff laid across his lap while he drummed his fingertips against his shin. The impression and recollection of the previous night's events made you wince as your head only continued to throb.

"I can't, tonight," you told him in lieu of a greeting. "I just can't. I feel like shit and I'm exhausted and after work tonight I am going to be useless."

The lunar god said nothing, merely tilted his skull and eyed you with one solitary socket. You shuffled to your dresser, gripping the fold of the towel over your sternum to keep it from slipping, praying that it covered enough of your ass to keep you from mooning him. You suspected that he had no desire to see the pimpled, stretched flesh untouched by the sun. You shimmied into your underwear and faced away from him while clipping your bra into place, but when you shuffled over to your closet to pull out your scrubs, Khonshu stepped in front of you.

You eyed him incredulously, propping your hands on your hips. "If this is your weird way of getting a free show, I'm afraid you're going to have to try a little harder—"

Elizabeth called your supervisor, Khonshu interrupted. She reported that you are ill and will be unable to return to work tonight.

You blinked in shock, then narrowed your eyes at him. "How do you know that? And why would she..."

You forget what I am so quickly, mortal, he rumbled, having the audacity to sound amused. You released the armor before it fully healed you, and your body has spent the day attempting to recover while you persisted in putting more strain upon it. You are in no state to tend to your patients, or to seek vengeance on my behalf.

You raised a brow. "Are you...giving me the night off?"

He rolled his shoulders back, beak twisting as he peered down its length at you. Would you rather me agitate your condition and cause you to require more time to recuperate?

Ah. He just wanted you to get better faster. Go figure.

"Not particularly," you muttered, dropping your head and rubbing at your burning eyes. "Is that why you've been gone all day? Avoiding having to watch this roaring dumpster fire of a mother I am?"

I had...other matters to attend to. Khonshu leaned forward slightly, stooping at the waist, to loom over you. He tended to do that more often than not—crowd you in, tread on your personal space, give you nowhere to go. From the average person, it would set you on edge. It had always bothered you how men used their size to intimidate or compel or beguile women in general, and since you faced confrontation with angry, ignorant, or downright aggressive people who attempted to belittle or criticize you on almost a nightly basis, your tolerance for it was very short. Khonshu never tripped that wire, however. You were uncertain whether it could be explained as simply as him being an otherwise incorporeal, unearthly being and therefore unrecognizable by your primal, primitive brain, or something as inexplicable as him just being...him. While he was almost unbearable to be around sometimes, you never felt that instinctual urge to get defensive, for whatever reason. And you are not a poor mother.

You scoffed softly, turned, and trudged back to the dresser to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. "That's easy for you to say, bachelor of the gods."

You would call me a liar so readily? Khonshu questioned, shoulders pressing back. If he had feathers, you were certain they'd be ruffled.

"You're not exactly forthright," you responded flatly, "—with anything, really."

I withhold information that is not pertinent, he told you. There is a difference.

"There is not a difference," you retorted sharply. "I appreciate transparent honesty above all else. Only telling part of a truth is still considered a lie. Or manipulation."

Khonshu regarded you for a moment, gauging. The venom underlying your words gave him pause, and you were grateful for the moment to take a breath and resettle your thinned nerves. Khonshu wouldn't know about the circumstances leading to your present contention about hiding things from people for whom you cared—again, keeping your service to him from Lizzie was a thorn in your side you worried would grow eventually vile. You shouldn't take out the threat of old wounds reopening on him when he had nothing to do with it.

And yet Khonshu rumbled before you could apologize, There is merit to your words. Forgive me my ignorance. I attempted to spare you the burden of knowledge I thought unnecessary when you already carry a great deal upon your shoulders, but I understand that it might have seemed unforthcoming on my part.

You blinked. An apology? From Khonshu? Really? Had you drowned in the shower? Were you so concussed that you were hallucinating?

It is also a new moon, he added when taking note of your speechlessness, thus why the armor was unable to fully heal you last night.

You frowned. "So the phases actually affect it?"

They affect everything, he told you, making a brief, sweeping gesture. My power oscillates with the moon. Why do you think the abilities my armor grants you were as enhanced on the full moon as they were? I am at my weakest when the moon does not shine, and you are at the most risk. Therefore...

"You don't want me out and about getting beat to hell." You sighed and rubbed at your face. All you wanted to do was to curl up under a weighted blanket and sleep. "Thanks."

While you are my avatar and under my auspices, Khonshu said, leaning back into your space, your well-being is also my responsibility. I will not lead you to harm intentionally. Last night's events were...unforeseen.

You rolled your eyes, but it only made your headache worse. "Yeah. I wasn't expecting to get thrown off a balcony, either." You squeezed them shut, dropped your head, and rubbed your temples with gentle circles. "Shit."

A resounding snap of long, nimble fingers made you flinch, but the familiar slither of linen around your ankle made you glance down. The intricately woven band of fibers was small, thin, and entirely dismissable—but the warm frissons that it sent up your leg into your aching ribs and throbbing head, just like how the armor felt while it healed wounds you incurred but subtler, were anything but.

You glanced up at the moon god with a questioning, quirked brow, but he said nothing. "Thank you."

What little boon I can give while I am at my weakest, he said. It will benefit you more if you rested.

"I need to check on Ru."

I know. Khonshu shook his skull. You will be better prepared for tomorrow.

You were uncertain whether that was premonition or command, but you didn't have the opportunity to question him because he was gone in the blink of an eye and the whisper of gauze.

"Weird old bird," you murmured, and trudged back out into the hall.

You found Lizzie at the counter next to the stove, chopping up onions on the granite countertop and adding them to the frothing base of what looked like a hearty, creamy soup. "I had a casserole in the oven," you offered meekly.

"It scorched a bit," Lizzie replied mildly, as though it were of no consequence that the whole dish had likely turned to ash in the wake of your scattered mind—she always downplayed your culinary blunders like the most patient of teachers. "I'm just throwing this together real quick so you'll have something on your stomach."

"I've eaten today," you said lamely.

Her look of incredulity made your face flush with immediate shame. "More than coffee and a couple of bites?"

You sighed, slumping into a chair at the table. A wistful glance towards the unoccupied high chair likely gave her enough explanation, as perceptive as she was.

"He's asleep in his crib," the ginger told you, returning her attention to her task. "Poor thing was tuckered out."

"He's been up all day," you lamented, dropping your face into your hands. "I overslept and he got upset. He never really settled down."

"I figured you weren't feeling well when I popped in to check on you before I left," she responded. "Usually you've at least gotten up to check on him."

"I slept through my alarm," you murmured. Your eyes stung with the imminent threat of more tears. "...Lizzie, I don't know that I'm cut out to be a mom."

She scolded your name with all the ferocity of a stern, knowing mother despite not being one herself—though being the eldest of five siblings would surely have given her some experience at some point. "...are you actively choosing to neglect him?"

You frowned. "No!"

"Are you not buying him all the things he needs?"

"Yes?"

"And aren't you doing your best in your present circumstances?"

"I..." You sighed. "...I'm trying. My best, anyway. It's not what I should be doing, but—"

"'But' nothing." She turned and pointed the knife at you with an arched, fiery brow. "All you can do is your best. He is one of the most spoiled, loved, and contented babies I have ever seen in my life, dear. You're juggling a full-time job—with one of the worst shifts ever—as well as working overtime, at the same time you're maintaining a household and raising a baby without a husband to support you. I couldn't do what you're doing right now. You are an astounding woman—I've always thought so—and how well you've endured all of this has only proven that tenfold. Badru is lucky to have you as his mum."

You swiped at your eyes as discreetly as you could manage. "...Thank you, Liz."

She scooped the onions into the pot before turning and stepping over to wrap an arm around your shoulders. "Don't give in yet, dear. Everybody has bad days. The fact you've gone this long without bumbling about is awe-inspiring." She patted your arm lightly. "I called your supervisor and told her you needed to rest tonight. She said she was shocked that you hadn't called in any days sooner."

You laughed quietly, nodded, and gestured to the stove. "Thank you. Is there any way I can help?"

"I've got a cake in the fridge that you could cut up," she grinned with a wink. "We deserve it."

And, yeah. You had earned it, hadn't you?

The cake was good, supper was better, and the fact that Ru didn't fuss very much for the rest of the night all combined into a balm on your worn nerves. You bathed him and put him to bed in the coziest onesie he had, taking extra time to rock and sing and hold him even after he fell asleep. You and Lizzie shared half a glass of the wine (nonalcoholic, of course—you were eternally grateful at how accommodating she was) that she'd picked up on the way home, tore through half the cake, then retired for the night.

When you woke the next morning ( before your alarm, oddly enough), you felt substantially better—less like the shuffling dead and more like the breathing living (a significant improvement, you felt). Your head remained tender to the touch, but all the bothersome symptoms of your concussion had dissipated. You took a hot shower, started breakfast, and woke Ru with a smile.

He didn't mind being placed on the floor while you tidied up around the apartment and cooked, nor did he whine when you were a little late on the draw for lunch. You were able to get everything together for the evening, and Lizzie got home without issue.

...That was where your short spurt of luck ran dry (again), however.

Torrential rain opened up when you left for work, and your raincoat couldn't keep you safe from the whipping, biting winds. The bus broke down in the middle of the city, so you were forced to call a cab and spend much more on fare fees than you had anticipated (and thus vanquished what was left of your cash until your next paycheck). When your foot hit the doorstep, you were immediately flooded with five patients all in labor at the same time and only one doctor on call trying to finish up her shift while the others were experiencing similar troubles in getting to the hospital on time. Two of the babies had to be placed in the NICU, one mother had to have a transfusion due to a nasty third-degree tear, and one of the new fathers shouted at you for having the gall to try to help one woman turn over into a different position and accidentally touching her bare backside as a result.

Paperwork from missing the previous evening stacked nearly as high as your shoulder, one of the nurses had gotten fired and thus you had to play catch up to patch together her charts, and the power flickered out for about five minutes before the generator had kicked on—resulting in losing all your work on a rather lengthy report for the mother of child number four experiencing some complications with the birth and ending up with an emergency cesarean. You had no time to eat supper until midnight, which was inhaled on your way out of the door and into the maintenance sector leading to the fire escape.

The only good thing was that Khonshu's armor still kept you dry and warm despite the rain and chill.

However, it being the first night of a waxing sliver (somewhere behind the mantle of black clouds, anyway) meant that the full strength of the abilities it granted was not yet returned—which became acutely obvious when, upon stopping a trio of thugs from robbing a small tavern trying to close up shop, one of them got in their getaway car and proceeded to plow over you at full acceleration.

Waking up to the sound of sirens peeling around the corner and the face of the owner looking rather terrified at the possibility that you weren't exactly human looming over you was not pleasant in the slightest. The fractured ribs, twisted ankle, and pounding head combined with Khonshu shouting in your ear to GET UP! did not exactly help matters.

The rest of the week quickly devolved into much of the same. Stressful nights caused overslept mornings and scrambling afternoons culminating into worse and worse performance—both for your employer and your eldritch patron.

Khonshu was going easy on you, you perceived quickly. As the nights wore on, he directed you to easier and easier targets—ending the week on a pickpocketer skulking around a nightclub. You didn't know whether to feel grateful for the easier quarry or insulted that he was giving you a lighter hand. He'd never held back his punches before (literally and figuratively, mind you). You'd rather struggle with his criticism than accept his pity.

(...You may also have been a tired, sore, angry mess and may be resorting to self-destructive tendencies, but you specialized in obstetrics, not psychiatry.)

Saturday morning rolled in as bleak, cold, and gray. You woke up with a migraine and a text from your supervisor that two nurses had called in and needed you to work overtime. You had laundry to wash, groceries to buy, and an apartment to clean. Ru's stomach also decided to stay upset well into the afternoon, resulting in extra laundry.

So, after a solid week of hell on wheels, it couldn't be a surprise that your luck would dictate Khonshu showing up in the absolute middle of everything.

He appeared in the dead center of the kitchen, and you nearly collided into him mid-turn of loading up the fridge with all the perishables. Ru was fussing into your shoulder, you'd pulled something in your back swinging around the gallons of milk, and the sudden rush of adrenaline at his silent, unexpected arrival spiked your irritability significantly.

You dropped the milk carton, upon which it burst upon the tile in a spectacular splash.

"What?!" you snapped at him, after recovering from a sharp, gasped curse and scowling at your soaked socks. "You really couldn't be bothered to give me some damn warning?"

Flustered beyond reason, you shoved Ru into Khonshu's spindly arms, already brushing past him to get the mop out of the utility closet in the corner. You ran hot water over it in the sink, rung out the excess, and started scrubbing the floor as though it had wronged you personally.

"It's enough that everything possible has been going wrong this week," you growled at him, eyes trained on the spill, "but the fact that you've been giving me special treatment doesn't make me feel any better. I know I'm next to useless, but you could at least pretend that I'm doing more good than tying up petty thieves for the police to find. You've always expected the most of me and that shouldn't change just because I'm tired. If you'll just give me time to work through all this, it'll go back to normal, and I'll—"

Gs, rqy Srit mwt.*

Your eyes snapped up to glare at him for his audacity—you'd had enough men curse at you in different languages for the week, thank you very much—but you realized that Ru was no longer crying. Khonshu had him tucked into the crook of one elbow, tiny in scale despite him taking up residence on your entire side. Ru had the moon god's free hand grasped firmly in both of his grubby ones, gumming at his gauze-bound knuckle with sparkling eyes focused upon the taper of his beak. You hadn't even been thinking, hadn't even considered whether Khonshu would be corporeal to Ru as he was to you, hadn't stopped to wonder whether the god would drop him. But for him to just so casually hold your son, as though he were used to it...the sight extinguished your anger instantly.

"He hasn't stopped crying since this morning," you said helplessly. "How?"

You forget so easily, Khonshu rumbled, shaking his skull. Healing infants is much easier and quicker than it is to heal adults. There is much less...mass.

You frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

Gas. He's had colic the last two weeks, and that is why it's been harder for him to settle.

Colic. Of course. You should've known that.

"Shit," you muttered, rubbing your face and leaning into the mop. You peered at your boy through your fingers. "...Thank you."

It will not be a permanent fix. You watched Ru wrangle with one of Khonshu's fingers, and the longsuffering lunar deity offered him the end of his thumb as a pacifier. A glimpse of unblemished copper disappeared into Ru's ravenous maw. But it will settle him for now.

"I don't guess I could hire you as a babysitter," you muttered, dropping your attention back to the spilled milk. (The irony was certainly not lost on you.) "I'd actually be able to get some sleep if he's like this."

It will get better over time. 

"I hope so." You let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know that I can last much longer like this."

You are doing well, all things considered. If this is the first time that you've truly questioned your capabilities, it has taken you much longer than most to admit to it.

You studied the moon god for a long moment, words brimming on the back of your tongue. Questions—you conjured so many questions when it came to Khonshu, you couldn't fathom having the time to ask them all, much less glean satisfactory answers from him that would sate your endless curiosity.

"Thank you," you finally repeated instead. 

His beak bobbed in a singular nod, and he turned with a sweep of his tattered cloak to stride out of the kitchen in all but two steps before disappearing down the hall. Finish your chores. Your incessant stress will only worsen his symptoms.

How the hell Khonshu would have any intuition about Ru besides what information you'd relayed to him was well past your knowledge—as well as your capacity to comprehend it, as frazzled as you were—but you weren't about to pass up free help by any means.

You did as he bade. You finished up mopping the spill, then got the rest of the groceries put up—far more slowly than usual, since you had to favor the tender place right below your shoulder blade. You started the laundry, sorting out the separate loads on the utility room floor. You pondered getting started on cleaning, but the thought of dragging around a vacuum cleaner over all the carpet in the apartment, as well as having to move furniture, made your back tighten by proxy. Deciding to take a break if nothing else, you wandered to the nursery to check on Ru.

Fast asleep. You lingered in the doorway, incredulous, lips parting as you took in the scene. Khonshu was far too big for the cushioned rocking chair in the corner, as disproportionate as an elephant in a dollhouse. Yet he seemed to have made it work: one ankle propped on the opposite knee, reclined, arms overflowing the rests, and skull braced against the pillow. He had the babe pressed against his chest, long hands clasped over the length of his spine to hold him securely in place, while his beak draped a long, dark shadow over him. The boy's fingers were knotted delicately into the fraying gauze wrapped over Khonshu's emblematic golden crescent—but something was different. Khonshu's overall dusty appearance, no matter the circumstances, rendered his bound body off-white at best, giving the impression of him having just walked out of a sandstorm at all times. However, submerged in the gloomy gray shadows from the lack of sunshine outside as he was, he still seemed to glow a crisper ivory than ever before.

Odd, you thought, but decided not to comment on it lest you rouse your restless son.

Khonshu either didn't notice your presence or didn't deign a conversation necessary, because he didn't move for a considerable amount of time. He couldn't exactly close his eyes, seeing (or not) as he lacked any in the physical sense. You decided not to disturb the pair, heart tightening in your chest as you fought the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Perhaps Khonshu had a soft side, after all.

Things did get better, after that—just like Khonshu predicted (because of course he was right; you knew he'd look all of a smug bastard if you admitted to it).

The odd crunch time of absences trickled to a stop as the weather stabilized into autumn proper, families got over their annual battle with the flu and the like, and kids started back to school. The holidays loomed ahead, but for the moment everything had settled.

You and Lizzie were able to take a weekend off with accumulated sick time in the heart of autumn, when the leaves had all turned into a vibrant array of cinnabar, rust, and ochre all over the city. The pair of you took the time to enjoy yourselves: sleeping in, going out shopping during the day, eating at restaurants that were new trials and old favorites. The apartment was spruced up to match the season coming into full swing, and you spent an entire morning baking cookies and pies for your favored neighbors and coworkers. It was a much-needed break, and Ru seemed to enjoy the cool weather and vibrant colors with how raptly he stared at them.

You gradually fell into a tentative rhythm with Khonshu, as well. He would explain your destinations as you would finish up your shift, then whisk you away on a crisp wind as soon as you donned his armor away from prying eyes. You grew accustomed to gliding over the city, cloaked in moonlight, swooping down upon evildoers both mildly mischievous and maliciously motivated like a bird of prey in your own right.

The most unexpected development, however, was finding Khonshu more and more frequently lingering around the apartment during the day. If Ru fussed for extended lengths of time, Khonshu would emerge from a shower of motes into coalescent shape to hold out a hand towards you—and once placed in the moon god's grasp, the babe's unease would lift, unerringly and instantly, every single time. While Ru napped, you would find the avian-headed deity looming over his crib like a sentinel, silent and still as he thumbed the grip of his staff thoughtfully. When Ru played, Khonshu would sit nearby, an empty and watchful socket trained upon the babe's gradually steadying movements at all times. He spoke little during these snatches of quiet, only responded in singular words if you addressed him directly, and you had taken to studying the scenes as subtly as you could manage. (Committing them with pencil to paper proved to be far more difficult, however.)

Khonshu's sudden interest in your son puzzled you to no end. Before, he had barely acknowledged the infant; now, it seemed, the latter could scarcely be found without the former somewhere nearby. Elsewhere, Khonshu behaved as he always had—impatient, capricious, and snide, always a rebuke ready on his incorporeal tongue. But seeing him so completely overtaken by a mortal as simple as a six month-old stayed your frustration many a long night.

As Ru grew stronger, so did you. As active as Khonshu kept you, you felt better than you had in years—no longer did you struggle to brace patients when needed nor to move heavier equipment; no longer did you get so short of breath when jogging across the wing, nor when you raced across rooftops in pursuit of your quarry; and no longer did you struggle to block the inevitable blows thrown at you in desperation, nor to incapacitate those Khonshu determined should be put away for their crimes. You couldn't seem to eat enough, especially after particularly taxing nights involving a lot of healing from Khonshu's armor or multiple conjurings of his weapons, though it never added to your figure. Sleep rarely was hard to come by anymore, as weary as you were by the wee hours of morning Khonshu returned you home. Despite all this, however, you didn't realize how much your lifestyle change had affected you until Lizzie pointed it out.

In the haste of a morning during the weekend, Lizzie had popped into your room with a question while you'd just gotten out of the shower and were getting dressed, Ru already propped on her hip and gnawing ravenously at a teething ring. Her fiery brows had inched halfway up her forehead, surprise clear in her pale eyes. "Good night, love, have you been going to the gym in the middle of all this?"

You glanced down at yourself, clothed only in your underwear, then into the mirror. The black athletic fabric contoured to your shape without clinging, and you paused to take in the subtle press of muscle just beneath your skin. You weren't jacked by any means, but you certainly appeared as fit as you had been while you'd boxed in college, if not more. While stretch marks still lingered, lacing like lightning along your lower belly and navel, your stomach had mostly returned to its normal shape. No wonder your bigger scrubs had grown too baggy to wear comfortably.

You looked...good. Very good. Even throughout all the hormonal hell you'd endured, you glowed.

Maybe something good came from being an ancient deity's avatar after all.

"I guess work has whipped me back into shape," you said nonchalantly, despite the pleased smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

Lizzie gave you a long once-over, appraising with her approval. "I'd say. They've been running you ragged."

The revelation of your improved physique led to several others in rapid succession. Though your OB/GYN had warned of potential hair loss, your hair was as glossy, thick, and full as ever. The other new mothers on your floor gave voice to their envy of your clear complexion, and when you caved to wearing more form-fitting scrubs, they could scarcely believe that you'd recovered from delivery in so short a time when some of them still struggled years after.

As a joke, you'd often responded to their demands for your secrets with, "I guess I've been blessed."

It gave you a boost of self-confidence unlike any off-handed compliments or half-hearted reassurances could have offered, to know yourself as capable. (Never mind the fact that you were regularly going toe-to-toe with men sometimes three times your size and knocking them out in seconds.)

Whether word had been passed around the entire ward or your newfound assurance simply exuded beyond your knowledge, you started to garner more attention from your coworkers—namely those who hadn't even noticed you before, or those you at least thought hadn't. (Namely one gentleman in particular.)

"Gideon asked about you again yesterday."

You looked up from your computer screen towards your office door, raising a brow at the NICU nurse leaning against the jamb—Riley, tall and thin and as tan as a penny against her bleached-blonde hair. "Did he really?"

Her perfectly red lips, consistently applied throughout the day, curled into a smile to display her fluorescent white teeth that didn't quite reach her icy eyes. "Oh, yeah. Looked all over the floor for you. Had to tell him you were home sick."

"With my son," you reminded her patiently, returning your gaze to the screen. "He had a mild reaction to the sweet potatoes I fed him for lunch."

"Right, right." She turned over her hand to inspect her bright pink, bedazzled manicure. (It was truly a wonder she managed to type even as few reports as she did with how inconveniently long they were. You'd thought it against regulation, but she never seemed to get corrected for her bent rules since she wielded such a sweet tongue around your supervisor. "Anyway. Just thought I'd let you know. Think he might stop by in a bit—he's been booked up with tests all evening."

"Thank you for letting me know," you responded, flipping to the next page of your handwritten notes. "I'll be sure to give him your lingering regards."

The blonde stiffened, huffed, and whirled on her (non-standard) wedged heel to disappear back into the hall of the administrative wing. You shook your head to yourself with a sigh, rubbing at your eyes. One hour into your shift and you were already exhausted—Khonshu had helped to settle Ru the evening before, but he hadn't been able to hold him the entire night, citing other responsibilities to which he must attend. (You could have imagined it, but the lunar deity had seemed a bit reluctant to depart.) The boy hadn't slept very well after, even with you holding him, therefore you hadn't, either—you were starting to wonder, idly, if you were his favorite person anymore.

About half an hour of silent, mindless data entry passed before another shadow passed over your lintel—perhaps when the devil spoke, the spoken of should appear.

"Is the coast clear?"

Gideon—Doctor Aumere to most, though he always insisted upon such familiarity even with strangers—was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Soft-spoken and a tad too muscular to have gained it strictly from his field of medicine, every woman in the maternity ward (taken or not) gazed after him doe-eyed and agape whenever he passed. His close-trimmed beard was speckled with a fetching silver, his eyes a matching mercurial gray, and he always had his silky raven hair combed over with product that emphasized his peppery cologne. Very attractive, you acknowledged, and very personable—even a brief, passing mention of his name used to incite intense envy in your ex-husband after having met him the first time at a Christmas faculty function—but you'd always kept a polite, friendly distance for the sake of professionalism.

Braced against the doorframe by his forearm, he made for much prettier eye candy than its previous occupant, anyway.

"All clear," you chuckled, folding your hands over your notes and giving him your full attention. "How can I help you, Doc?"

He shot you a look—your gentle refusal to address him as anything but his earned title was a joke as old as your residency there—but chose not to quibble about it. "I heard you were ill last night—are you sure you're feeling all right enough to work?"

Riley and her proclivity for withholding information while spreading gossip. You refrained against the urge to roll your eyes. "My son was sick," you told him, "but he seemed better this morning. He didn't quite agree with sweet potatoes."

"Ah, my little girl didn't, either," the radiologist agreed, bobbing his head. An errant cowlick fell free from its bonds and caressed one angular brow. "She outgrew the sensitivity eventually, but she still avoids them like the plague. She has a thing for textures."

"Understandable. I only really like them in pies, anyway," you agreed. "How's the start of her last year in primary treating her?"

"She's definitely excited," he beamed. "Loves her teachers, too. She's making perfect grades in maths and science so far, so she's getting to visit her Nan up in the country this weekend as a treat."

"I'm sure she'll love that." Gideon's wife had passed away from a terminal illness two years prior, but since his own parents presently lived in France he'd kept his daughter as involved with his mother-in-law as possible, as she was the only grandparent relatively close. "Tabitha's doing well, then?"

"She's running the whole town, as usual," Gideon scoffed fondly. "Giving them what-for since they've started construction on an old plot that was someone's homestead at some point. Spirited one, she is."

"Like her granddaughter," you teased with a smile.

"Apple sits not too far from the tree, indeed," he laughed, low and rumbling. His eyes glittered in the flat, cold white lighting—normally unappealing on anyone—but his swarthy tone kept him as vivid as a Rembrandt. He straightened, then, rolling his shoulders back and easing a half-step further into the office in a slow slide. "Have anything interesting planned for this weekend, or just keeping up with the little one?"

"You know how the teething stage is." You reclined in your chair, dropping your hands into your lap to fiddle with the hem of your scrub top. "No rest for the weary."

"Elizabeth's busy, then?" he queried conversationally, tipping his head to the side.

You quirked a brow, smile broadening. "Asking for a friend, are we?"

"Something like that." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, a nervous tic you'd never observed in him before—then he surprised you further by reaching up and scrubbing the back of his neck, eyes falling briefly away from yours. "So...think you could find out if she's able to babysit?"

Your brows furrowed. "You...want to know if she's available...to babysit?"

He blinked. "...Yes?"

"But you said Abeille is visiting Tabitha," you said slowly, confused.

"I...yes." He frowned, just slightly, just as perplexed as you were. "...I meant for Elizabeth to babysit Badru, so that you might be available."

"...Oh." Oh.

"If you want it," he amended hastily, dropping his hand and flexing his fingers, "that is, if you're free—I don't mean to impose...but if you don't want—"

"Sure," you blurted, sitting up in your seat. "I—when?"

Gideon blinked rapidly, lips parting—surprised that you accepted, or shocked at your enthusiasm? "Oh, ah...your shifts end at midnight, right?"

"Saturday I'm on for morning," you offered, then winced. Khonshu. "But I have something to do that evening, so..." On reflex, you glanced at your desk calendar—then blinked at the full circle upon that very day: a new moon. "Oh, wait. Sorry. I'm good." You flashed him a sheepish smile. "Give me a time and a place and I'll be there."

His brows rose. "I thought—well, I could pick you up, save you the fare. Five-thirty?"

"Oh, um. Sure!" You snagged a sticky note from the dispenser and jotted down the street corner closest to Lizzie's apartment—you never gave exact addresses, but it would be close enough he wouldn't wait long for you to walk down. "Here."

He accepted it gingerly—warm, soft fingertips brushing yours—with a grin so bashful it de-aged him by ten years. His ears were red. "Any food allergies, sensitivities, or preferences?"

"It's all good," you told him, touched that he'd even think to ask. "Believe me, food is my friend."

He laughed softly, then, the tension bleeding out of his athletic frame. "Mine, too—perhaps too close a friend, at times."

You nodded with a chuckle, and a beat of silence passed.

"Well," he said, folding the note carefully and tucking it into one of the numerous pockets lining his scrub top, "I've results to read before I go, and—"

"No, yeah, that's fine," you responded, breathless and flustered. "See you Saturday?"

"Yes," he beamed, the absolute happiest you'd ever seen him. "Don't work yourself too hard, choupinette."

"I'll try not to." You waggled your fingers at him as he stepped out of the doorway. "Give Abeille a kiss for me."

"I will. Send my love and well-wishes to Badru, likewise."

His absence was as acute as it was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded beneath your breast, your hands trembling, your face hot—you forced yourself to take a deep breath to grasp at some semblance of calm.

Never had you thought Gideon would have been interested in you—out of all the gorgeous European women flaunting up and down the halls, he spied out the awkward, quiet American? Preposterous, surely, at least to his admirers once word got out (and it would, inevitably). Even with idle, harmless speculation while married, you'd always imagined him impossibly far out of your league.

To have been flirted with earnestly for the first time in close to a year, by someone admittedly far more genial and attractive than your ex, was scattering the cloud of butterflies you'd thought long dead within your belly in a flourish. You pressed your hand over your cheek, pulling in the fading remnants of his cologne as you reached over to tap your phone awake with pursed lips.

'Lizzie, I need a favor.'

Not even a minute passed before your watch chimed quietly. 'Whatcha need?'

'Would you mind watching Ru Saturday evening? If not, it's totally fine.'

'It's no trouble at all—get called in for another shift?'

'No.' Your smile finally broke forth. 'I may or may not have a date.'

Half a minute passed.

'A D AT E ?'

The following tide of 'who's, 'when's, 'where's, and 'why's forced you to silence your notifications with a giddy chuckle. 'Gideon, 5:30, not sure, and hell if I know. He just asked me out of the blue!'

'I TOLD you he was interested!'

'Forgive my skepticism—I am not worthy of your infinite wisdom.'

'Damn straight. We need to go SHOPPING!'

'You're lucky I'm getting paid this week.'

You turned your phone over with a chuckle, though it did take you longer than you'd like to have admitted to be able to concentrate fully on your work once more.

"I haven't gone on a first date in over five years, Liz. What if I absolutely fumble it? What do I even talk about?"

"Whatever he talks about. You're both in the medical field, you should have plenty of topics to cover. You only chat with him in passing, right? So you can skip the awkward small talk."

"Since I've been there, yeah. But what if he doesn't talk? What if he doesn't want to discuss work at all?"

"Then talk about his little girl and Ru."

"And if he's wanting to be distracted from that, too?"

Lizzie stared at you for a beat, sitting back in the kitchen chair and taking in your fretful fidgeting with the billowing sleeve of your dress. The makeup brush in her hand still glittered in the warm sunlight pouring through the kitchen window with the eyeshadow she was applying to your lids. She uttered your name with a shake of her head and a fond smile. "...you're overthinking it. Relax. If he didn't want to spend extra time with you, he wouldn't have asked you out in the first place. He obviously wants your company." She resumed her work and casually added, "Just text me if I need to vacate Ru from the premises."

"I—no," you assured her hastily, "there won't be any need for that."

"You say that now. From what I saw on social, he's a dreamboat—you could use a good roll in the hay."

"Elizabeth Kelly," you scolded, "I will do no such thing."

She shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt. I've got condoms in the medicine cabinet."

"Drop it."

"Okay, okay," she chuckled, gesturing for you to close your eyes again. She resumed her work, shading in the creases. "I know you're more careful with that sort of thing, I was just teasing."

"I know." You coiled the fabric around your knuckle and squeezed, fighting down the flutters of anxiety low in your belly. The last time you'd had sex was seared into your mind as the catalyst that flipped your entire world upside down—Ru was truly the best thing to come out of the entire ordeal, your newfound freedom aside. "...I didn't mean to snap."

"You're fine, love," Lizzie assured you. Her brush lifted and she set it aside. "All done. You look stunning."

"Not like a chronically exhausted single mother?" you mused, glancing at the small, round mirror she had propped up to the side. The billowing, rust, linen dress was accented by the shades of amber and honey she'd chosen, your blush a touch dark but not out of place in a brisk autumn evening. She had done well to cover up the imperfections, though not nearly as heavily as she decorated yourself (at your request), namely the dark circles beneath your eyes. You looked...put-together, for perhaps the first time in months. Lizzie did well.

"Not at all. You look like a lady ready for war." The ginger winked and began to gather up her supplies. "Now go get those cute, heeled boots and knock his socks off with that perfume that smells so good."

You rolled your eyes as you stood and shuffled into the hall. "Doll me up and send me out to break my neck. I see how it is."

"You need to show off those calves after whatever you've been doing to bulk them up!" she called after you with a laugh. "And I'm not going to bring up the fact your thighs could crush melons!"

You shook your head while slipping into your room, opening your closet, and stooping to grab the pair of boots in question: caramelized leather with braided straps, decorative buckles, and four-inch heels. It was the nicest pair of shoes you owned, and you hadn't had an excuse to wear them since you'd had Ru.

Speaking of—he was asleep in his crib in a post-dinner nap, but you wanted to at least kiss him goodbye before you left.

You stepped into the shoes, zipped them up your ankles, and straightened. You turned to your chest of drawers to spritz your perfume, cradling the bottle in your hands, but the rising of the hairs on your neck made you twist back around expectantly.

Where are you going?

"Out," you muttered to him, spraying your neck and wrists and rubbing the fragrance into your skin. Your gabardine coat, hanging on the back of your door, was next. "New moon, right?"

The lunar god, ghostly white even in the dim light peeking in from the open doorway, hunched forward to loom over you. His fingers tightened around the grip of his staff. Yes.

"Okay. I made plans." You grabbed your purse, downsized from your normal tote for the sake of convenience for the night, and slung the long strap over your shoulder. You reached for your scarf next, plaid in a warm, fall foliage palette, but the deity's shadow fell over you.

Where are you going? he repeated, standing so close that his wrapped, belted front brushed against the back of your coat.

You faced him again, squinting, looping the knit fabric around your neck and tying it over your throat. You fiddled with its tails to lay over your chest. "What does it matter?"

Why are you being difficult? he pressed.

"Why are you being pushy?" you shot back, brows furrowing. "What does it matter if I'm off tonight?"

Khonshu rumbled low in his chest, clearly agitated.

"You always know where I am anyway, right?" you added, stepping around the door to stand in the mouth of the hallway.

I do. The tension in his shoulders and hands eased, just a bit. His tone suggested he had wanted to say more, but he remained silent.

You eyed him for a moment, speculative, before giving him a shrug, turning, and walking across the hallway. He didn't follow you.

Ru was still fast asleep, huddled around one of the many stuffed animals Lizzie had bought for him on a whim (he had a veritable mountain piled into a basket in the bottom of his closet)—this one a raven, black as night, with shimmering silver eyes. You stood beside the crib for a long moment, taking a series of deep breaths to steady your nerves. He would be fine, you would be fine, it would be fine. It was just a date—not even a date, maybe, since Gideon hadn't specified the nature of this outing. Perhaps he was just trying to persuade you to work in his office, or buttering you up for a difficult favor, or just wanted to get drinks after work. He could have perfectly platonic intentions in mind, for all you knew.

Ru snuffled in his sleep.

...Who were you kidding? It was definitely a date.

You let out a sigh and stooped down to kiss his temple. He stirred only slightly, the flutter of lashes against the generous swell of his cheek, "I'll be back before bedtime, buddy," you murmured, inhaling the scent of lavender soap from behind his ear.

Lizzie was peering out from between the curtains on the kitchen window when you re-emerged into the main room. "You didn't tell me you've landed yourself a sugar daddy, love!" she breathed, not even bothering to tear her eyes away. "He's got a Jag!"

You refrained from the terrible urge to roll your eyes. "It's one date, Liz. He'll probably run for the hills after tonight. Hell, he might move back to France."

"If he knows what’s good for him, he'll snatch you up like the catch you are!" She turned and surveyed your completed look with a smile. "Or have those thighs as earmuffs in no time."

Your face grew unbearably hot. "Please stop."

"Alright, alright," she laughed, stepping over and shooing you towards the door. "I've already written down his license plate. Keep me posted. If you need me, call me—I don't care where or when."

"I know. Thank you." You gave her a pleading look. "Please let me know if Ru's giving you trouble."

"He'll be fine. He and I have a tradition now."

"Eating ice cream and watching Hallmarks is not exactly stimulating for an infant's developing mind."

"Pish posh, you're just picky. He'll need to know the finer points of romance for when he's having to beat off all the girls with a stick."

"That seems counterproductive."

Lizzie scoffed and began to shoo you toward the door. "Go on, have a good time! Keep me posted!"

"I'll try," you sighed. You turned as she opened the door. "Don't stay up waiting on me if I'm late—I'll wake you when I get home." Lizzie's brows waggled, and you batted at her face. "Stop that. I'll see you later, you brat."

Lizzie's exuberant laughter followed you down the hallway, even while she shut and locked the door behind you.

You trotted down the stairs onto the ground floor, quickly emerging from the building and rounding the corner that you'd given to the radiologist. True to Lizzie's word, Gideon stood under the lamppost with a sleek, charcoal Jaguar purring beside him. She had failed, however, to share the fact that he was cradling a brimming bouquet of spotless white lilies almost bursting from the paper and ribbon constraining the blooms. He smiled as soon as he spotted you, slipping his phone back into the inside pocket of his rather fetching navy sportcoat—his khaki slacks accentuated his long legs, but his pale blue shirt was unbuttoned to the top of his sternum. A hand-knit brown scarf was bundled around his neck and tossed over his shoulder. (Business casual? Should you have dressed up more?)

"Bonsoir," he crooned your name, stepping up to meet you and offering the bouquet gingerly. "You look stunning."

"You've cleaned up pretty nicely yourself," you returned, then inwardly cringed. You hid your flaming cheeks into the flowers under the guise of smelling them (though they did have a lovely scent). "You didn't have to get me flowers—thank you. What are they?"

"They're alstroemerias. Why wouldn't I? It's the gentlemanly thing to do," he returned with a chuckle. He cupped your elbow and gestured to the idling vehicle. "Please, let me get you out of the cold."

He steered you around, opened the door, and shut it once you were safely tucked into the passenger side. The scent of freshly-sprayed cologne, musky and warm, mingled with the clean air freshener plugged into the central vent into a heady mixture that you found yourself drawing full breaths to enjoy. Gideon settled into the driver's seat, quickly shutting the door against the breeze whipping up in his wake—the product in his hair loosened enough that an errant lock of raven hair fell over his brow.

"The forecast didn't say anything about strong winds," he muttered, mostly to himself.

You shrugged with a smile. "It enhances the look. Where are we going?"

Some color diffused beneath his cheeks and he gave you a bashful grin before slipping the Jaguar into drive and pulling out onto the street. "I know a nice place uptown," he said, "if you're agreeable to Asian."

"Perfectly agreeable." You tried to ignore the fact that your stomach gurgled at the mere sound of food—you'd forgone lunch in your rush to get everything done at work. "So long as I don't stick out like a sore thumb, anyway."

"You couldn't if you tried," Gideon chuckled, and pulled onto the road proper.

You didn't spot the glimpse of the stiff, linen-wrapped silhouette perched upon the streetlamp where you'd stood in the vehicle's rearview mirror.

[stuckinapril]

hey girl… may I ask for advice? sorry to dump this on you, feel free to ignore of course! I just don‘t know where to put this right now and it‘s been eating at me for the past two months

I met a guy around 8 months ago and we instantly connected really intensely and even fell in love in a really short amount of time (obviously all of that was based on very brief interactions and didn‘t have anything to do with actual love but it was still nice and i felt like something could grow from it), however due to our personal circumstances we decided to be friends. The last time I saw him was 7 months ago. We ended up making out that night. The next morning he made it very clear he didnt want a relationship and i didn’t either. We kept texting every day and i asked to see him again but when we finally managed to find a day to hang out he would cancel the same day because he wasn‘t feeling well mentally (which I would never judge or question because I have my bad weeks too) but this happened like 5-6 times and I felt like he just didnt want to see me again, or at least it wasn’t important to him right now. I involuntarily pulled back from our texting relationship over the summer because of work but still it was always me except for one time who was asking to hang out. Then I started actually pulling back because I was hurt from him rejecting me all the time. At this point it’s not even just about the romantic feelings, I feel like we’re not even friends anymore. I feel stuck, I feel myself wanting to pull back and I feel stupid when he rejects me being nice to him (we always tease each other but he used to be more caring and accept care from me too). I want to be there for him and let him know that I‘m not going anywhere (because i’m not, i want him in my life) but at the same time i notice myself falling into an obsession because of him being so inconsisent. Do you think I can take a step back without losing him and abandoning our friendship entirely? I don‘t want to make a big thing out of it because I know he‘s been very busy working but then again it‘s not too much to want to see him once in 7 months and I made time for him when i was drowning in work. I wonder what happened or what has changed for him. I just don‘t know where to put all of this care that I have for him

reading your ask gave me deja vu bc i went through every single phase you’re describing w my ex. hell, i was going through it as late as october. your feelings are valid. your feelings are really valid and raw and i deeply relate to every single thing you’re saying. but that’s why i need to bluntly tell you—there is no future friendship (or relationship, for that matter) to be maintained with this man. just trust me on this. i went through the “maybe we could be friends!!” phase too. i so badly wanted him to stay in my life too. it didn’t work. it won’t work for you either. you need to go no contact. absolutely cut him out of your life. you will not move on any other way.

how do i know this? bc that’s the only thing that really, truly helped me. you’re going to feel withdrawals at first. it’s literally like a dopamine fix. the moment you remove him from your life, the chemicals in your brain will go crazy. they so badly crave the presence of this person. but is what he’s giving you even a presence? y’all have literally not seen each other for 7 months. imagine all the other guys you could have met in that time. imagine the opportunities lost. 7 billion people in this world, and you’re stuck fixating on this person who’s giving you breadcrumbs. literal breadcrumbs. it’s seriously time to consider you.

but this is not sustainable. it’s damaging. it’s hard to believe, but this man is neither the cause nor the solution to your pain. even if he were prevalent in your life, this would not fix the root issue—which is that so much of your happiness is attached to this person. you’re dependent on him. you can’t need a person. you can want them, but you can never need them. you need to detach and find yourself. that’s what i had to do as well. back when i was going through the thick of my breakup, it seemed crazy to me not to have him in my life. i genuinely thought he enriched it. but if he was truly the only source of enrichment, did that mean i was living a full life to begin with? a person shouldn’t be the only reason i find my days exciting. i should be the only one responsible for my emotions—and if a person walks out, i should be fine. it shouldn’t consume me. that’s not healthy. that’s a problem.

i reiterate: it wouldn’t even matter if he was the best companion you could’ve asked for. the simple fact of the matter is you’re relying way, way too much on another person for happiness and fulfillment. this is something you need to go through alone.

you need to cut him off. i was in denial about this too. you may be for a while as well. but all keeping him in your life, in any capacity, will do is hurt you. this is not the behavior of a man who cares or wants to be helped. and people simply can’t be fixed. only they can give themselves the permission to be better. your only option—for the sake of you—is to walk out, endure the pain, grow from it, and fulfill yourself without needing someone else. i swear. i have been there so many times. that’s the only thing that will help.

[elementalladymallorie]

Small Moments and Small Gestures that Make a Home-Chapter 6

Coming Home to a Warm Meal

We're up to Sanji now on this little adventure!

Word Count: 1K

AO3 Link

There's nothing quite like a homecooked meal to get your spirits up, and to refresh you after a long day. There's just something about it that you can't find anywhere else.

Sanji, while maybe not the most open about showing it, loves his crewmates. He really does.   

However, sometimes they drive him to smoke almost a full pack in one day. Never Robin or Nami of course! They could never cause the amount of stress the rest of their friends do, and never intentionally.  

If he’s being entirely honest, Chopper and Jinbei are close in that regard and most of the stress they cause him is the same unintentional kind that everyone causes. But, regardless of who causes him the most stress all of the crew were causing him a level of it.  

Somehow, they’d been convinced that he needed a break. Chopper’s last diagnosis of a sprained wrist was the biggest factor in that decision, and it caused Sanji to kick himself even further for that mistake. His crew decided to help with that by taking care of at least dinner that night. Because Sanji was too damn stubborn and got to his kitchen well before any of the others were awake, and because Chopper hadn’t been able to make a scene about it the wrist until after lunch.   

The gesture was sweet, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it on some level. He also logically knows that until they got him, they’d managed to survive, but that was still such a short time for those that joined before him, and none at all for the ones after. Their two-year separation didn’t entirely count because it seemed that everyone landed somewhere with people that would help them.   

He doesn’t want to think about the other time the crew was without him.  

Regardless, all those points do nothing to ease the anxiety he has about the matter, or the small creeping sense of trepidation related to it.  

He’d been effectively kicked out of his own kitchen, wrist tied up in a way to ease the strain, and under Franky’s watchful eyes as he got a barbeque started.  

The only comfort he had is that he knew Nami and Robin wouldn’t let anyone actually wreck his kitchen. There’d probably be a bigger mess than usual, and he’ll have to triple check his stock after the end of this.  

Another comfort was watching Luffy getting kicked out after whatever attempt he made. He was apparently assigned the task of catching fish for someone’s meal instead. Something he took to after only a few moments of pouting.  

The only thing that meant to Sanji over all though was that he knew that Franky was making barbeque and someone else was making fish. Which was not making for a pretty picture of what the menu may look like for this dinner.  

It soon became apparent that multiple people were making fish related dishes given the amount Luffy was catching and taking back to the kitchen.  

Sanji was probably on his fifth cigarette by the time someone else came out of the kitchen, finished their own meal as well.  

Of course, it was the shitty moss head who took to his usual spot on the railing and settled in for a nap.  

Chopper was next, zeroing in on Sanji and taking the time to check his bandages and the state of the sprain before seeing if anyone else would need help.  

Not long afterwards everyone else started to trickle out until everything was done and the table was set.  

It did not ease Sanji in the least, even as everyone was called in for the meal to finally start. Taking a look at the assorted dishes, he realizes why so much fish was needed.  

Zoro apparently made sashimi, Usopp had made fish and chips, and Jinbei had made Bonito Tataki.  

On the other side of things Frank had finished his barbeque and Brook had made Churrasco. It could almost be called a take on surf and turf, but then Nami had made a chicken roast with orange sauce, and Robin had made Paella which did take away from that idea just slightly. Rounding the meal out was a mixed juice made by Chopper.  

And not a single thing made by Sanji’s own hands.  

None by Luffy’s either, but apparently his specialty was raw meat on a plate. Though, that wasn’t exactly far off from what Zoro had done either. Those two really were on the same wavelength.  

Still, they put forth all this effort and Sanji never was one to waste food, so he bit his tongue and squashed down his own gnawing anxiety on the matter and made sure to at least get a piece of everyone’s dishes.  

Nothing was inedible or ill-prepared, but after so many years working in a kitchen it wasn’t hard to notice small things in a dish that would’ve been done differently elsewhere.  

Zoro’s knife cuts were consistent but a bit thick, Usopp’s batter was a little thin for the fish, and Chopper’s juice was more citrus forward and tangy than probably intended. Small things that could be corrected easily enough when caught early enough.  

Brook’s Churrasco was little over charred, and Franky must have used a new source to cook over for his barbeque because the flavor was a bit more intense than usual. Jinbei’s Bonito Tataki doesn’t have an even sear across all the pieces despite looking similar in appearance. Harder to catch without constant supervision, something harder to do when in a kitchen of eight people who are also trying to cook when you’re not used to working in a unit.  

And as loathe as he is to admit it, the orange sauce for Nami’s chicken is a little over sweetened, and the rice in Robin’s paella is just on the under cooked side.  

Regardless of all of that, it’s still one of the best meals he’s ever had. The others don’t appear to have any complaints as well and there is just enough food for everyone, even with Luffy’s voracious appetite. So, he can take comfort in the fact no one will go hungry for the night.  

There’s something about food made by people who love you, and who are trying to show it through their food that just can’t be replicated by even the greatest chefs in the world. Sanji can really only hope that he’s as good at showing that through his cooking as his friends have.  

[oftarotandnoodledragons]

Sixty-Three: Page of Cups (Reversed)

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. - Steve Jobs

It's the last day of September as I begin to write this, though possibly my calendar on the blog is still set to Australian time. The equinox has been and gone, and this onset of the greater night has seemed to provoke a greater application of the esoteric with me in the past: March through May in the southern hemisphere was when most of my blog posts were made in the past, and now that I'm in the northern, it seems that has also taken to the reversed season. However, it is also this time of year, regardless of season, that I've associated with being more emotional, and this increase of spirituality and emotion does play hand in hand with the Cups. But why, then, has the Page emerged Reversed?

For this question to be relevant, let me start the analysis. The Page of Cups is the third to appear so far, and just like the other two, it's templated, as will the Page of Swords be. Bunning and Thirteen implement them; arguably Bunning moreso, as she uses the same basic structure for her analysis and changes words in and out. This isn't a negative, though, as I've come to appreciate: these templates seem to be the way in to the Court Cards because they can be somewhat hard to understand otherwise.

Thirteen's templates are more discrete, and forms the basis of my analyses of the Court Cards. So, in the case of Page, it represents three things: a child or child-like person, a message, or a time/environment. Bunning, despite her brevity, focuses on the message aspect of a Page, and interprets the message to be one to act upon a suit's energies, or an Ace's promises. This is like I said for the Page of Wands, but in this case the message is to be "emotional", "intuitive", "intimate", and "loving". Thirteen is more pragmatic with his approach to the message, keeping it to the themes of the Cups: family matters, matters of the heart, intuition or creative endeavours. The last point is very much in Brigit Esselmont's views (and given that I use "Bunning" rather than "Joan", I'll try to remember her surname), with creativity being at the heart of her interpretations. She doesn't break her cards into quite as blunt elements like Bunning and Thirteen does, but even she mentions similar messages to Thirteen. The time/environment aspect really filters through much of the rest of her interpretations, though, with creativity being a focus of much of it: undertaking creative pursuits being a major part of that thread. Bunning, though, is far more broad with an interpretation of "suffuse with the spirit of love and emotion", and to "express and enjoy one's feelings"; however, Thirteen focuses purely on the love and romantic aspect, saying "puppy love and crushes". Fairchild talks about things not going as one hoped and to be open to alternatives and changes of plan — an environment perhaps relating to the volatility of water, but not exactly something that I would associate with this card. Paschkis follows the romantic bent: her page is on one knee proposing with a flowers and a Cup in their outstretched hand.

I want to go back, though, to the core message of Bunning's interpretation: to be emotional, intuitive, intimate and loving (although not necessarily all of those simultaneously), and a common, perhaps traditional, way of viewing a Court Card, and that's representing a person. So, an emotional, intuitive, intimate, loving person; but, as Thirteen cautions, this is tempered (there's that word again) by this card's "immaturity". Even Fairchild mentions "beware of childish behaviour". Bunning just glosses this over (someone with whom one's "interactions involve emotional needs, moodiness, love, intimacy and spirituality"), and Esselmont says nothing at all, which leaves Thirteen to unravel this personality. He describes an "airy-fairy" adult who isn't taken seriously, or a daydreamer that's hard to motivate with the mundane, or someone who is touched by the suffering of creatures, or who gives creative gifts to others partly out of great care of their opinion, or a great storyteller with an active imagination that could be over-active. Viewing these, I definitely see a child-like person: my own childhood. I had a very over-active imagination, I told stories, and believed in my own video-game inspired fairy tales long after others my age would have given these things up; yet, this put me in great stead for my own creative works of fanfiction through my later teen years and my early twenties. Just the other day, an old friend contacted me and showed me a vignette of something he wrote in honour of that time.

And were this card Upright, that would be my conclusion of the current energies. Like all of my cards that I've pulled since reviving the project, though, it's Reversed. So what does it mean, really? Is it something, or someone along the lines of Thirteen's immature emotional energies, of someone who brings others down with their depression, over-exposes their vulnerabilities and emotional sensitivity, throws tantrums when they don't get their way, or an adult with Peter Pan syndrome with unrealistic dreams about the future? Part of these descriptors have been modified with Esselmont's interpretations, as the Reversed aspect is where she talks about the personal aspect of the Page of Cups. That aside, while my more (very) self-critical eye would point this out and say, "yep, that's me alright", I don't feel that's necessarily grounded in reality and thus not what I feel is right. Esselmont also mentions keeping creative projects to oneself or doubting one's abilities; no, not that either.

Is there something from my Page of Cups childhood coming to the fore here that's being Blocked, then? Quite possibly, but not the whole picture. A big aspect of this card's energies that I've paid little mention to has been that of intuition, rather of being intuitive, and I think that's where it feels right. Upright, Esselmont talks about curiosity and the weirdness of following one's intuition, signified by the fish in the Cup; Reversed, it's a block to one's intuition, putting that into the light of being unable to tell if it's one's ego talking instead. That's kind of what I'm feeling at the moment. I mean, I probably could have done this blog sooner and moved on to the next card, but "what if it's The Tower" is what I was thinking, especially with Hurricane Ian passing through Florida — for sure, I would have had an even worse sense of dread were that card in my mind. So that was my ego coming into play for sure; but I feel there's more to it than that. Much of me writing this analysis has been my intellect rather than my intuition, and it's been very dry — I mean, discussing the templates, for example. Yet, this link to my childhood energy that was prompted from my writing, is also something from another Tarot reading that I followed thanks to Ediya, where she discussed dealing with feelings — emotions — from childhood of not being enough, of not being good enough. And I feel that, and that's part of the big Gordian Knot that I'm trying to untangle to move forward with my life. While I feel like I am getting somewhere with this self-examination, I feel like there's something in the way of the intuitive messages from that reading. What it is, I don't entirely know, but it's signified by this card.

Perhaps Fairchild has the last word here: amongst encouraging independence, others not understanding feelings and not letting emotions overpower, he says: "Patience wins in the end". And that's the lesson I'm going to take away from this card: to remain patient, and to not go for "the easy win".

Thus we head on to The Empress. And like the other cards of late, it's Reversed. Something tells me, my intuition perhaps, that I'm going to find some answers here.

[goddess-of-green]

Hi! Could I request a Professor!Komaeda breeding the reader as punishment for dozing off in his class..? 👀

AHSDSFHDJfhHSDHFSF

[Everyone is of legal age, this isn't condoning actual student/teacher relationships, blah blah blah on with the show]

Warnings: Fem!Reader, NSFW, student/teacher relations, overstimulation, unprotected sex, praise kink, semi-public sex, creampies, pet names, (dear, darling)

As there was a lull in Professor Komaeda's lecture, you couldn't help but rest your head down on top of your arms.

You closed your eyes and sighed, not wanting to open them again.

Had a table ever been this comfortable?

Your sleep schedule had been pretty out of sorts lately. You weren't getting nearly enough sleep at night and now your body wanted to shut down and rest right in the middle of class.

Professor Komaeda started talking again, but instead of rousing you from your sleepiness, it only served to lull you further into sleep. The soft tones of his voice carried across the room and you were powerless not to immediately fall unconscious.

__

As Professor Komaeda's lecture ends, people are shuffling about, putting their things away and getting ready to leave for the day, but what wakes you up is his voice right over you.

"L/N, if you aren't here to learn, then what are you here for, may I ask?" His voice was soft and unassuming as ever, but it got you up faster than anyone else could have.

"Ah-! Professor Komaeda! I'm so sorry! I- I've just-!" You hurried to defend yourself, nervous and disappointed that he'd witnessed you being anything other than a model student.

"Ah." He held a finger up with a patient smile, silencing you. "Let's talk after everyone files out, hm?" He adjusted his glasses.

Desperate to redeem yourself, you nodded without a second thought- hoping to get back into his good graces.

He hadn't said anything rude or even frowned, but you still felt like you disappointed him somehow.

As the last few stragglers left the room, you looked to Professor Komaeda expectantly, hoping for him to understand and leave you with a gentle scolding, and have that be the end of it.

He had something much different in mind however, as his smile became a little more smug.

Turning around to walk over to his desk, you quickly followed him, standing on the other side as he walked around to sit in his chair.

You tried to keep your mind from wandering, realizing you were now alone with Professor Komaeda.

Depraved fantasies started to run through your head but you forced them away as he began to speak.

"Has anything been keeping you up at night, lately?" He asked, smiling. "Ah, please don't worry. I don't intend to chew you out or give you more to worry about. I understand how stressing these things can be, and I simply want what's best for my students." He added afterwards, as he looked at your worried expression.

That's right, I'm just one of his students.

Ugh, if he knew what you were thinking of he'd probably want you to drop his class... Get a hold of yourself!

"U-Uh..." You started, as you realized he'd stopped talking. "I mean...yeah, I guess you could say that..."

You couldn't even count how many nights you'd stayed up thinking about nothing other than him.

It wasn't even just attraction or a crush at this point. You'd had dreams of living with him as his partner, waking up to him everyday and kissing him good morning. You wanted to be able to do things with him that no one else got to do.

Though, those were just silly fantasies that would never come to fruition.

Your main focus here should be not coming off as weird while you imagined your dear professor twisting you into various positions and having his way with you.

You bit your lip, averting your eyes to the ground in what you hoped he couldn't read as shame.

(He could.)

Professor Komaeda smirked. "Well, I won't inquire on what specific matters have been taking up so much of your valuable time, but..."

He waved you to walk around his desk and stand in front of him, and he rose up from his chair to stand over you as you did.

Slowly, he put a hand on your cheek. "Perhaps some...intervention will benefit the situation. Hm?"

His movements were very gentle. The touch was so light you could barely feel it. Was he implying what you thought he was? And was he trying to give you an out?

So many thoughts ran through your head at once, but the main one was, 'Is this really happening!?'

Professor Komaeda's thumb brushed gently against your cheek, but at your lack of response, he withdrew his hand, as if just realizing what he'd been doing.

"Ah, I apologize! Was that too forward of me? How inappropriate! I am...truly an incompetent instructor, aren't I?" He smiled, but you could tell he felt like kicking himself.

Why are you just sitting here gaping at him!? You're letting this opportunity slip away!

Quickly, you grabbed his retreating hand and brought it closer to yourself. Your mouth opened and closed for a moment as you tried to formulate a response.

"Please," was your grand statement, "I want this..."

Professor Komaeda looked slightly unsure, but the look in your eyes made him give in.

"...Well then...where was I?" He smiled.

__

Professor Komaeda's hands were on your waist as he kissed you, squeezing appreciatively.

You shyly met his tongue with yours, and he nearly chuckled, his hands moving down to grasp your thighs.

You gasped quietly as he pressed himself against you, and you could feel his arousal through his pants.

"P-Professor-" You moaned, but he cut you off.

"Please, call me Nagito, dear." He murmured into your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Uh- y- right, yeah. N-Nagito..." You stuttered, flustered and turned on beyond belief.

He seemed to be affected too, a pleasant tremor racking through him as his first name fell from your lips.

"What a good girl..." He praised, pressing you against the desk, your back leaning against it as he locked lips with you again.

You were having a bit of a hard time keeping up with him, and your head was spinning, but you were loving every second of it.

One of his hands came up to rest on the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you.

Needy, you pressed yourself against him, and he chuckled, pulling away.

"As lovely as you taste, my dear, I'd say it's time we get on to the punishing, hm?" Nagito smiled and looked to you, but you knew the question was rhetorical.

Nevertheless, you nodded, wanting to please him.

Smirking at your submission, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "On the desk then, go on."

A slightly embarrassing request, but it was too late to back out now.

You wanted this, after all.

Obediently, you turned and bent down to lean yourself stomach first over the desk, hopping up a little to situatiate yourself on it.

Your breasts pushed up against the desk from this position, and your feet hung slightly above the floor; and bent at the 90 degree angle you were, you were sure that Nagito had a rather unhindered view of your panties.

"Good girl..." Nagito murmured praisingly, pushing your skirt up so his fingers could come up to rub at your clothed sex through your underwear.

"So wet for me, does this turn you on? This is supposed to be a punishment you know." He tsked.

You bit your lip. So far, this didn't seem like a punishment at all.

"Well, I suppose being filled with my disgusting seed will be punishment enough, hm?" You could hear the smile in his voice and nearly moaned from the thought alone.

Filled with his...?

From behind you, Nagito slipped your panties off, snapping your thigh high against your leg as he did.

"Such cute little things... Do you tempt me on purpose? Or are you simply this way by nature?" He asked, voice smooth as ever.

Your voice was shaky, however, and you were barely keeping it together. "W-what way...?"

He gave a small laugh, and leaned down to your ear, his chest pressing against your back.

"Absolutely ravishing, darling." He whispered.

Nagito brought two fingers up to your lips, and without a second thought, you welcomed them into your mouth, sucking on them and coating them in your saliva.

He moaned at the display. "It would be a lie...if I said that I did not want to ravage you."

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he redirected them to your pussy, slipping one in and quickly following it with another.

You were already so wet, but he took the time to stretch you out anyway, scissoring his fingers and curling them inside you.

The action forced a moan out of you. His fingers reached much deeper than yours.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, trying to ground yourself as he abused that spot, curling his fingers into your g-spot again and again.

"Mm! N-Nagito! Fuck-" You groaned, and he watched your reactions carefully, moaning at the way you cried his name.

Just as you felt an orgasm start to build up in your abdomen, he pulled his fingers out, and it was all you could do to whine at the lack of stimulation.

Nagito only giggled at your discontent. "Forgive me, darling, but I can no longer help myself. And besides..."

You twitched at the sound of him undoing his belt.

"This is a punishment, after all." You felt the head of his cock press against your cunt.

You took a deep, shuddering breath- mentally preparing yourself for your professor's cock.

Though it seemed he wasn't quite done teasing you yet, as he pressed his tip against your clit instead of entering you.

You wiggled up against him helplessly, trying to get him to take you, but he only smiled.

"Well, my dear? Aren't you going to express how much you hunger for me?" He teased. "Come now, I want to hear you beg for the pleasure that I can offer you. Beg for me to ravage you."

You moaned pathetically, quick to give in. "Please! Please, please fuck me, Nagito! I need it so bad! I want your cock more than anything... Please, give it to me...!" You whined.

You were sure you'd be embarrassed about it later, but at the moment all you could think of was his cockhead pressed against your clit.

Nagito moaned at your ready submission, abandoning all pretense and thrusting into you.

Your pussy burned at the stretch, but it quickly faded to pleasure as he set a fast pace.

"Fuck." He groaned, "You're so tight...nnngh-"

Hearing such vulgar words from your soft spoken professor only served to turn you on more, and the position you were in let his cock fuck as deep into you as possible.

You bit your lip hard, fingers clutching tight at the desk as he seemed to effortlessly hit your most sensitive spot with each thrust.

You couldn't believe that you were doing this. That Professor Komaeda was fucking you over his desk.

And he was damn good at it too, his cock was big and his pace increased deliciously as he pressed his fingers to your clit.

Nagito groaned as you clenched around him, rubbing your clit in tight circles as your moans started to get louder.

"Fuck-! N-Nagito! I'm gonna- I'm so close!" You whimpered, back arching as he fucked you faster.

He pressed his chest to your back, not stopping his rough pace as he fucked you through your orgasm.

He still didn't stop, however, and you began to whine at the stimulation against your sensitive clit.

"You've cum already... I really am lucky, haha...but just a little longer, okay?" Nagito smiled, still fucking into you brutally, even as you came down from your high.

You nodded, whimpering slightly at the overstimulation.

He retracted his fingers from your clit and pressed you into the desk, eyes rolling back as your pussy continued to clench onto his cock.

You had little more warning than the throbbing of his cock before he creamed you, groaning as he filled you up with his hot cum.

You moaned shakily at the feeling of his seed spurting inside you as he fucked his cum into your womb, though at a much slower pace than before.

You both breathed heavily, but Nagito stayed inside you as he came down from his high.

"Thank you..." He murmured into your neck, after a moment.

"Huh...?" You were really tired, so it took you a second to comprehend his words.

"You're so gorgeous, and such a talented student. To think, you let me taint you like this..." He trailed off into a breathy laugh, soft and disbelieving against your neck.

"I l-loved every second of it." You admitted, slightly embarrassed. "You were really good, Pr- Nagito..."

He chuckled, and you felt him start to harden again inside you. "Is that so...?" He whispered into your ear.

You bit your lip.

This was going to be a long day.

[boyfhee]

🗗 THE REVENGE PACT | 11. you're so funny yn

w. one mention of animal abuse ( 2.2k ) there are 3 screenshots at the end !!

“your favourite flowers are lilies, caramel latte as preferred coffee order and uh— what’s your favourite movie again?” heeseung asks, waiting for you to get inside the car before buckling the seat belt.

“heeseung,” an exhausted sigh escapes your lips. “you’re overreacting.”

“just tell me. i won’t forget again.”

“anything that's a thriller,” and then you hear him repeat everything all over again, from your favourite flower to coffee order etcetera etcetera. another sigh rolls off your tongue as you shoot him a pitiful yet reassuring gaze. “taehyun isn’t as bad as you think.”

heeseung pauses for a brief second before starting his car. “you said he’ll feed me to bats.”

“i, uh— i may have been joking?” honestly, you didn't expect him to take your words seriously. “he has a temper but wouldn’t feed you to bats, i think.”

“you think?” there's a latent shift in the air, one that compels you to avoid his eyes deliberately. “better safe than sorry.” and with that, he drives off towards the location.

you thought today would be a good day. the weather is nice, you're meeting your friends, and most importantly, going out with heeseung. you don't know why the last past mattered so much, but a part of you had always found him 'cool' enough for you to seek a friend in him.

however, much to your disappointment, your day has been anything but good. you woke up late, spilled tea on the dress you planned to wear and ended up discarding it in the laundry bucket; and heeseung, he's panicking, internally.

he wears a relaxed expression but his eyes tell you otherwise. you saw him fiddling with the car keys earlier while waiting for you to come downstairs, something you've never seen before. then the repeated questions about your interests and dislikes constituted the base of all the conversations you have had with him since the morning.

as funny as it sounds— because who would've expected lee heesung to be like this— you find it a little tiresome knowing that there's someone in the world who believes people actually feed humans to bats.

the rest of the car ride is silent with occasional queries about taehyun, his major, and other stuff. you and heeseung decided to not make up a lie about first meetings and other related things. 'it makes everything sound less credible' — he reasoned, and you know he's right. 'lying is all about credibility. give as many details as you can, in fewer words. you should be able to convince the other party without giving them a loophole to question you upon.' — he continued, and you find it extremely eccentric how he possesses such a logical knowledge about lying, but you didn't dare question.

after a brief discussion, you both decided to tell the truth if they asked how you both met, which they wouldn't if they're smart enough. heeseung advised you to avoid any questions about falling in love and all, excusing it as private topics.

'if it comes to a point where the questions are unavoidable, give a vague response and counter it with another question, preferably something that both you and your friends usually talk about.' — heeseung explained, and you felt like you were taking a lesson to learn the exquisite art of lying.

heeseung didn't get out of his car until ten minutes later after arriving at the destined cafeteria. a soft chuckle escapes your mouth as you remember another set of his words from the conversation last night. 'leave it up to me,' — that's what he said, and now he's knee deep in the ocean of worries and nervousness.

you somehow manage to drag him inside before he delayed even more, greeting your friends as soon as your eyes settled on the table they were sitting at. though, unknown to you, a frown settled on heeseung's face as you leave him behind before running off to your friends.

the next fifteen minutes were dripping with awkwardness. heeseung has seemed to relax after taking the seats and getting over with the introduction. you notice a sour look on niki's facenand before you could've asked, seungkwan's words interject though.

“so, since when have you been dating yn?” seungkwan asks, taking a sip from his drink.

“since the day she told you?” it's a nonchalant reply, or rather, more of an assumption. “which was almost a week ago, i suppose.”

a pause. you let the silence take over as you consider the look on taehyun's face. it is not convincing, yet he doesn't look repulsed either. jungwon seems to have taken up heeseung's answer as the truth but taehyun doesn't look like he bought that. after all, what heeseung said was just a small assumption about the two events.

“what’s with the silence? i thought you all wanted to meet him?” you laugh, directing the words of mockery towards them. perhaps, this way they would give up on questioning further, if they have the plans to.

“what do you expect us to do, prepare a questionnaire?” jungwon sneers before shifting his gaze to your supposed boyfriend. “by the way, do you work?” and somewhere inside, you are glad he asked that because you have always been curious about heeseung's work life.

“yes and no?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “i do have a job but i don’t have to work everyday.” that sounds exactly like the work you would apply for.

another string of silence follows, though it's disturbed almost immediately as niki steals the last piece of short cake on the table, causing a ruckus between him and jungwon.

you'd be lying if you claimed to not miss this. you got so caught up with moving out and part time jobs that you forgot what it felt like hanging out with your friends. riki sends you pictures everytime they go out, seungkwan's posts are captioned about how they miss you, in contrast to which, jungwon replies how your absence is actually a good radiance for him.

you can't help but smile at the boys, a smile that doesn't go unnoticed by heeseung, as seungkwan pretends as if he's no longer related to jungwon and riki. amidst all, you fail to notice the silence that engulfed taehyun in its blanket.

“do you love yn?” and the silence settles once again as taehyun directs hisnwords towards heeseung. “love, like— whatever it is— do you?”

“hyun, don’t you think this is—”

“a bit private? yeah. but i don’t want this to turn out like your previous relationship.” he cuts you off immediately. there's a hint of annoyance evident in his voice and you're sure heeseung knows that too. “so tell me, do you love yn?”

a long drawn pause follows. you tell heeseung that he doesn't have to answer because, in the end, you don't expect any answer from him.

it's a fake relationship. there's no love, he doesn't even like you, maybe, and perhaps, when this ends, you'd be strangers once again. strangers who only seek each other when it's about rent. so, after all, taehyun's question was invalid, and you would love to save heeseung from the trouble but he decided to take the matter in his own hands.

“i don’t know about love but, yes, i do like her." you scoff internally, surprised at how confidently he lies, as if it's the truth. “i like yn enough to fall in love with her, if that’s what you’re asking. i’m not sure if this is the answer you were expecting. yn never told me about her previous relationship but, i can assure i would never hurt yn.”

you feel his hand slide into yours from under the table as if taehyun is able to see that too. you're not repulsed, of course, anything to present a credible lie. however, you know this is fake, and you don't understand why your heartbeat accelerated as those words left heeseung's mouth.

“if i do, you can feed me to the bats.” heeseung mumbles and you swear you saw the look of confusion and disgust on jungwon's face.

taehyun chuckles. “where does that come from?”

“uh, someone told me you feed people to bats—”

“he does.” niki intervenes. “and i feed them to my chickens.”

“guys, can we not abuse animals?” you thought it was better to stop them before the two teamed up against you for spreading eeod rumoirs. “anyway, hyun, i appreciate your concern, but heeseung has been the only one by my side when i moved out.”

“of course, i had you all, but i could only depend so much on my friends, right? my mom stopped caring, i couldn’t ask you to help me navigate through the new streets or settle down, because you were all busy with studies. that time, heeseung was the only one who helped me.” there's an unreadable expression on heeseung's face. without giving it much thought, you simply continued with your words.

“yeah, he was a bit annoying when it came to rent, but that’s just every other landlord, isn’t it? i know, i complained a lot about it, called him names, but he was the only one who helped me; he helped me more than my own boyfriend.” heeseung doesn't know what he hates more; the fact that this is all fake, or the way you know this is fake and yet chose to tell the truth.

because out of everything you said, not a single word is a lie. heeseung recalls the day he was at your door to tell you to turn down the noise from whatever you've been doing, only to find you unpacking your boxes and moving the stuff around, all with a bunch of assignments lying stray on the tiled floors as you took your turns with studying and settling. that was the first time heeseung helped you.

and he swore it would be the last as well until you got lost on your way back from the supermarket and called heeseung as it got even darker. that day, you treated him ice cream as he explained you the way around the confusing streets through the map on his phone.

he thought it was useless, for you wouldn't owe him a thing. you don't even pay your rent in time, let alone owing him one for all the favours. all because he didn't know you remember them and place him above everyone else in your life, despite claiming to hate him with all you've got.

“just, trust him, okay? you may have your doubts, i have too, especially after what happened with junhwan. i’m scared to fall in love, but i trust heeseung with myself; and i think you all should too.” once again, it's the truth and you hope heeseung knows that. above all your differences, you want him to know that you do trust him, and you'd like it if he'd trust you a bit as well. “that’s all i’m asking for.”

“that sounded like your wedding vows. are you sure you aren’t in love?” jungwon gags after the deafening silence that followed after your little request.

“shut up.” you deadpan.

“i will run you over if you make her sad,” that's riki, and you don't know why he's being so cold, because the riki you know would never leave the opportunity to befriend your boyfriend and narrate all your embarrassing moments to him. at least, that's what he did with junhwan.

“suit yourself.” heeseung shrugs, a faint smile dancing on his face. “but, i’m sure you wouldn’t need to.” you don't know why your heart fluttered at those words.

the next hour went by in useless tasks. studies, families, you learnt that heeseung has an older brother, which is a surprise because he often acts like a spoiled kid. your friends spent a good twenty minutes talking shit about both your and heeseung's mom, and you're glad there's one thing you all agree with.

'i think both of your moms would love each other.' — seungkwan joked.

'but wouldn't that make yn and heeseung siblings?' — and jungwon took it in a whole another direction.

it's nice, you had never seen heeseung smile so much, and you realise that behind his now good-for-something handsome face was an adorable smile, even though you're shy to admit it publicly that his smile is cute.

“hee," you call, and god, a part of heeseung ascends as he hears the nickname you had for him. he doesn't think it's the first time someone has called him that, but for some reason, it always sounds more saccharine when you say it. "can we stop by the stationary on the way?"

heeseung nods, not bothering enough to voice his reply, for his eyes were fixed on the youngest one amongst the group. “is it just me or does niki look mad?”

“he’s always like that.” actually, he isn't, and you don't know why but you don't feel like explaining it to heeseung— not like you know the reason behind his peculiar behaviour. “oh and kwan, send me literature notes from yesterday.”

“see, you should start attending classes instead of getting raile—” seungkwan went home with a broken nose that day.

PREV | NEXT | MASTERLIST

PRECIS. lee heeseung is the handsome yet good for nothing mysterious boy living a floor below you, who dropped out of college and is living quite a lavish life. when you get fired from your job, ending up struggling to make your ends meet and failing to pay the rent, heeseung offers you rather an eccentric proposal : pay the rent or be his girlfriend.

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

[damiano-mylove]

Members of Måneskin with a mentally ill/disordered S/O

Illnesses included: Depression, ADD, Tourette's and PTSD (so warnings for that and SH, drug usage, isolation, and heavy topics in general) *Masterlist*

This was a collaborative effort between Nik, Lina, Lute and two unnamed but very appreciated people - all of us afflicted with the varying illnesses above

Vic

Vic would take an empathetic approach to your illness/disorder (relating to you, researching, never pitying)

Depression

Vic would take a more of a nurturing role to your sadness

On the more sad days, Vic would nap with you for a little bit but she'd get to a point where enough would be enough

She would coax you out of bed in ways that appeal to you more than you'd ever care to admit, starting out with just getting you to eat somewhere else than in bed, then eventually moving up to showering, etcetera, etcetera

Vic would be very acutely tuned toward your needs, and she always fulfilled

It broke her heart that you were so sad, but she could relate and that made it a lighter burden on your back

When you first told her, Vic just went silent, then hugged you for a long time

ADD

Vic wouldn't be as supportive in this, but not in a neglectful way

She had a way of getting your attention back on the topic at hand, but sometimes she was just as bad as you for getting away from the main point

The impulsivity, she wasn't the biggest fan of, but you two worked through it like adults

When you'd forget things, Vic wouldn't get annoyed - but she would always remind you when you forgot what you needed to remember

Also, she was the best for finding misplaced things

PTSD

Vic would be very careful to avoid your triggers, however she never felt as if she was walking on eggshells

Before you were able to fully tell her what happened, Vic would never force you to tell her anything you weren't already ready to tell her of your own accord

There was no way she couldn't feel a bit sorry for you, but she never showed it, and she certainly didn't pity you - she just was sorry that something happened to you to give you PTSD

She would be mindful to never act as if she would be able to fix you

Tourette's

It didn't annoy her as much as you thought it surely would - especially since you had been trying to keep the tics at bay in the beginning of your relationship

Vic usually went on like nothing happened when you'd tic, but sometimes she'd laugh if your tics would hit her

Vic would proudly go out with you, even though you were scared about the looks you'd get on the street, but she never minded because she loved you and she wanted to show you that she loved you

Thomas

Thomas would take a supportive approach to your illness/disorder (reminding you to take your meds, making appointments for you if you'd ask, doing anything he could to make you feel better)

Depression

Thomas would always be the perfect person who would just shut the fuck up and cuddle you, but he would only do it if you'd ask because he knew sometimes you didn't feel like being around people

Wasn't really trained in any of this so he just cared for you like he'd like to be cared for

He was doing his best, and it was apparent, but sometimes you'd have to tell him what not to do and what to do

Of course, Thomas wouldn't bat an eye to stop or start doing anything at the raise of your finger - whether it be rub your back or let you be alone for a bit

He understood that he alone could not cure your depression, but he understood that he would be around for the ride, if you would have him

When you first told Thomas, he was silent, just nodding. He asked you a few very respectful questions but would never dream of pushing you. He would rub your knee and assure you of his love for you, no matter what

ADD

Honestly, Thomas didn't know what ADD was, at first

He googled it, then thought better to just ask you for a primary source

During nights where you couldn't sleep, Thomas would be right beside you, not sleeping either, which wasn't healthy for either of you, but it sure as Hell made you feel less lonely

Thomas lost shit and things all the time, so he never judged you for that, and his memory was potentially worse than yours so who was he to speak on that

But he was extremely good at getting you to finish tasks before moving on (sometimes just finishing them himself)

PTSD

Again, didn't exactly know what it entailed at first, but asked you a few questions to clear the air

Thomas would lead you through deep breathing exercises (unless you told him not to) when you were triggered and started losing control

Would always do anything and everything he could to avoid triggers with you

He would he more than patient with you

Tourette's

He would find some of your tics endearing (not harmful ones)

At one point, you'd even developed a verbal tic saying Thomas' name, which he always chuckled at and responded to you every single time as if you'd requested his presence, each time with a new pet name and a smile

If your tics would hit him by accident, you would apologize profusely, but Thomas would always laugh and brush it off

During tic attacks, he knew to just let you be, unless you would stop breathing, then he would certainly step in

He would ask his doctor a "hypothetical" about how to help someone through a tic attack, then used that advice forevermore, and it usually made a helpful difference

Ethan

Ethan would take a companion role (letting you take the lead, showing him what would happen and what to do to help, always listening to you before making his own move)

Depression

He'd dealt with depression before, but thoroughly understood that everyone is different in how they display mental illness

Ethan would recognize what to do, but would ask you for confirmation before acting upon anything that had potential to make a difference

On days where you couldn't leave your bed, he would bring you food (not a steak dinner, but he would definitely bring you soup or toast or a sandwich)

On days where you couldn't shower, he'd either be in the shower with you, or he'd draw you a bath instead, or he'd buy dry shampoo and sanitary wipes (those would be the last case, because he didn't want to throw off your pH)

He would assure you of his love and that you didn't burden him whatsoever

You were suffering, and you didn't make him suffer, but he did take some of that suffering from you

ADD

Certain times, I regret to say, he may get slightly annoyed, but not for long and not to the point of icing you out or anything

Ethan always found things to keep your mind occupied (watching Monty Python (actually a great programme for AD(H)D people), intricate games, new books, etc)

The best at finding lost things, and also has the best memory under the sun

Your symptoms wouldn't bother Ethan, save for constantly speaking (which can get a little annoying during a film or something)

PTSD

Would basically just go one with life - he would avoid all things relating to your triggers and PTSD - but otherwise, it would be business as per usual

If you got triggered, he would be by your side and on your side

He would do anything; deep breathing, distractions, grounding, getting your meds, anything

Ethan would always let you speak about it, when you'd want to, but otherwise treated you the exact same way as he had before you told him

Tourette's

He's always looking for something to joke about, and sometimes your tics provide just the material

He wouldn't dream of taking the piss out of the harmful or mean tics, but if you were laughing, then he was sure to be laughing as well

If your tics involved a bird whistle, he'd call you his 'little red bird' but wouldn't anymore if that upset you

Tourette's are a tough subject to joke about, but Ethan would always listen if you told him it was offensive, unfunny, or just a bad joke and Ethan would always take it in good humour and apologize

Most of the time though, he could make some funny fucking comments

Damiano

Damiano would take a nonchalant approach (not explicitly talking about it, never take the spotlight off you (if he could help it), try his best to help you through any challenges without making you feel like you were an inconvenience to him

Depression

He was your best friend before he was your lover

As such, you were always able to talk to Damiano about your depression anytime you felt it getting bad, as to warn him

Damiano would never leave your side, unless you told him to, but he'd always have a film on in the back, or he'd play with your hair, or distract you by brushing your hair or having you help him pick out an outfit

He enjoyed cleaning, so your bedroom would never become a depression room, and that helped get you out of your slumps most of the time

Dami was also swimmingly good at getting you up, even if it be just for a dance in the moonlight then back to bed, or a walk around the block then on the couch

He understood wanting to cope, but if you were prone to drug usage, Damiano would totally discourage it and stop you from using as best he could

ADD

Not everyday is a trip to Disney, but with Damiano, it is

Damiano always had new records to catch your fancy, he'd always have some home project lined up for the two of you, he'd always let you do extravagant things with makeup on his face

It seemed if you lost something, Dami would find it, but if Damiano lost something, you would find it (good system actually)

Would always have reminders in his phone so he would add reminders for you on his phone (appointments, birthdays, events)

Damiano seemed to always have just the trick to get you to sleep, even when you felt like you physically couldn't

PTSD

After you told him, Damiano would immediately avoid the topic in future conversations

He would support you fully during any trigger or episode, but he never treated you any differently at all just because you have PTSD

It hurt him that something hurt you so badly, but he took it all in a deep breath - after all, he signed up for you, all of you, so he certainly wouldn't give up on you just because of a disorder

Damiano would be in your corner 100%, and you knew it and you knew you could always go to him

Tourette's

Some tics would get that beautiful smile on his face, but otherwise he continued conversations like nothing ever happened

He didn't bat an eye at a physical tic, not a verbal tic

But he was the man to go to during a tic attack

He wouldn't treat you like a science experiment, or like an insane asylum patient - he treated you with love and support, like no one else ever had

Damiano had read about a dozen books on how to support people with Tourette's, and he'd also talked to other people he knew who had Tourette's - Damiano was thoroughly educated on how to help you, the love of his life

headass this was hard to fuckin write and i know its shitty and the cw’s are a bunch and i cut it but im sorry and hope its good enough

[ink-on-the-brink]

Out of all the mercs, which do you think would be the easiest to befriend and gain all their trust and which one would be the hardest??? And also, I really love your writing :D keep it up and have a nice day/night!!! ^^

Happy to know you enjoy my work! It's good to know I'm doing something right!

This one's going to be super quick since I've been a bit busy recently, but it should be fun. It will go in order from easiest to hardest to befriend. (Also there won't be any editing so excuse my spelling mistakes)

Pyro

You so much as smile at them and they are your best friend. Not kidding. They can and will make you a best friend after only the first time meeting you.

All you have to do to gain their trust is be kind. They won't notice if it's fake or not so even a sarcastic or strained tone won't matter as long as you're smiling and saying nice things.

Pyro is super bubbily and energetic and if you meet that energy you two are going to get along tremendously well.

You may not understand them, but they are telling you their deepest secrets all the time. Their trust in you is very noticable even after only a week of meeting them.

They are a bit- well more like extremely childish. So being their friend automatically makes you more of the adult no matter how immature you might be.

Overall they just want to be friends with any and every person they meet and you are going to be their bestest friend no matter if you want to be or not.

Scout

This man is a pretty easy friend to make. You make even a half attempt and he's your best friend on day one.

Trust is earned when you play fair. He doesn't really like cheaters, so if he challenges you and you make it a point to be as fair as possible he already believes you're a good person.

I hope you like some friendly competition because that's basically your guys' friendship is based on.

Now while you two might become great friends quickly, that doesn't necessarily mean you're going to know his deepest insecurities. That will problably take about a half a year and a loy of awkward conversations to get to.

He can be a very annoying person so being his friend takes a considerable amount of patience.

Overall he just likes having friends, even if he tries to stay macho about it.

Demo

Being his friend is pretty easy as well. He always likes to have a few drinking buddys on hand and he won't hesitate to invite along people he might not know very well

He'll gain immideate trust for you if you help him while he's drunk. Most people will leave him in a corner to wake up in so he'll take your act of kindness as a reason to keep you around.

Most of your friendship is based on achohal. Drinking together, gifting booze, encouraging others to join, you two will most likely not even remember most of your more trusting moments with eachother.

As bombastic and outgoing as he is, he's rather private about certain topics. That is unless he's black out drunk. If he's not as drunk as he usually is he won't answer questions about family or anything about the future until he feels he knows you well enough.

Demo is a bit of a handfull most days. He never turns down a dare and bar fights are common. You'll likely have to pull him off the floor a lot and he is notorious for invading personal space. So as long as your up for the challenge, he's up for being your friend.

Overall he's a drunk idiot, but he's your drunk idiot. He will be sure to make each day a little interesting

Medic

Becoming Medics friend can be...an interesting expirence. It's going to involve blood, guts and conscious surgeries and he's not going to care for those who are faint of heart.

You want to gain his trust? Well here's the thing, there is no surefire way to do that. Help him out one day and he'll appreciate it, another and he might become suspicious. The best way is probably to find some interest in his expirements. He prefurs to surround himself with like-minded people.

The biggest part of your friendship is most likely a shared interest in crimes against humanity. Two mad scientists testing on the bodies of dead 'patients'. What could go wrong?

Medic tries to hold a professional tone most of the time but will drop all of that when in battle or when expirementing. It can be hard to keep up with how quickly he switches from one to the other so try to stay aware of what's happening.

Medic doesn't have secrets. He has no shame and will tell you the most horrifying things in an upbeat tone. That, however, doesn't mean he fully trusts you. It will likely take a while before he trusts you enough to leave you alone with any of his expirements or projects. It's his life's work after all, he's not going to allow just anyone to mess with it.

Overall he doesn't mind having friends, but he isn't very open to close friends. It'll take a bit of time and prying to get him to fully trust you.

Soldier

This dude is extreamly parinoid. He's consistently second guessing his friendships and looking for double agents. So becoming his friend isn't exactly easy. You are going to have to seriously impress him for him to even think of you as anything more than a possibly traitor.

Gaining his trust can vary on many factors. Military backround? You're already up a few hundred points. Love for america? He's open to listening to you. Care for raccons? Okay maybe he isn't as hard to befriend as he tries to be.

Violence. So. Much. Violence. If he thinks you might be a good friend he's going to put you to the test. Rigorous training, sparing, tests on your patriotism, anything that he deems as important will be something he tests you on. All of them will most likely involve some sort of physical endurance. Even after you two are friend these will still be a constant in your life.

He's not good with secrets but there are a few things he keeps silent about and getting him to talk about it will likely end with you on the floor. As stated before he's a rather parinoid person and if it's something he's not willing to say out loud, it's something that you're going to have to spend years gaining enough trust for him to open up about it.

Soldier is extreamly loyal. If you're his friend he'd happily bleed to keep you safe. He'd never believe a single negative thing said about you and will side with you one everything, no matter how wrong you are. If you remain just as loyal he will become your right hand man in an instant.

Sniper

Overall Soldier's a loud, obnoxious, patriotic and still somehow very lovable person. When he cares about someone he tends to be extremely kind, be it in a more abrasive way then others. So as long as you can see past his militaristic exterior he's one hell of a friend to have.

You wanna be friends with Sniper? Yeah, good luck with that. Not only is the dude a loner, but he has hella trust issues and he sure as hell isn't here to make friends. Becoming his friend is going to take time. A lot of time. And maybe some coffee.

There isn't a singular act you could do to gain his trust. You can defend him all you want, side with him on every issue, pull him out of a near death expirence, its not going to change how little he trusts you. It's going to take all of those and a few long coversations (good luck getting him in a conversation in the first place) before he even attempts to trust you.

Your friendship relies heavily on practically. He's only going to think of trusting you if he feels you give some advantage. It will take a few heart to hearts for him to look past seeing you as someone who can help him and instead as someone he cares about.

Sniper has a lot of dark parts to him and it is only once he fully trusts you that you'll get to know that side of him exists. Secretly he really just wants to spill about his insecurities and problems but he doesn't trust that people won't use it against him. Once he does trust you his cold exterior will fade away and you'll get to know a lot about the demons he fights with.

He pulls off the calculated killer rather well. Most people believe he knows of nothing else. To anyone who's close to him however, he's quite honestly a mess. He needs someone that grounds him and if you can provide that type of friendship then he will appreciate it more that any type of heroic act you could preform.

Overall he's guarded and quiet but desperately wants someone to relate to. It will take a persistent attempt to earn his trust and even if he's your friend he still tends to keep to himself.

Heavy

Ah yes, the silent behemoth. Befriending him is going to take more than just patience. It's going to take a certain amount of willpower as well. He doesn't trust easily and you'll have to work hard to prove yourself to him, most likely on the battle field.

His trust is gained a few ways, none of which are easier than the last. First you must have some care for family. That doesn't necisarry mean that you have a family, but one of the first things he looks for in a possible friend is whether they have any strong familial values. Next you will have to prove to be strong enough to fend for yourself. He might be a human meat sheild but that doesn't mean he likes being one. He appreicates someone who can help rather than hinder him. There are many more steps afterward and you will have to pass with flying colors for him to consider it.

Your friendship will rely entirely on having eachothers back. He needs to know you are willing to stick with him no matter how dire the circumstances. You fuck up or betray him once and he will most likely never trust you again.

Heavy doesn't talk much. Whether that is because of his lack of english knowledge or simply choosing to keep his mouth shut really depends.

He doesn't hold many secrets but he does hold many dark memeories. He usually would only trust his family enough to talk to them about it but once your close enough to be considered family he will open up to you, if only a little bit.

Heavy keeps to himself most of the time and doesn't prefur to say much, if anything at all so getting to know his isn't easy and gaining his trust is even harder. He's got a family to take care of and he's not going to risk their safety by trusting someone he shouldn't have.

Spy

Ah yes, the backstabber himself. Guarded, mysterious and an annoying bastard. The path to his friendship is fog covered and honestly it can be hard to tell whether he cares for you or not. He will never announce his care or show it in any way, so good luck finding out if you're on his good side.

You want his trust? You'll have to prove you're worth trusting. Getting him out of a tough spot or siding with him is likely to earn his respect at the very least. It won't get you all the way there though. He doesn't associate with anyone that doesn't hold his type of class. You'll have to be rather poised and polished when around him.

His friendships usually end up in a love/hate dynamic. He might enjoy your company, and in doing so open a weak point for others to exploit. That's where the hate comes in. He doesn't like having people close, it makes his job harder, so no matter how much he cares he sure as hell isn't going to let it show.

Spy will never, ever, trust anyone with the knowledge of his past. He'd sooner die then let someone know anything that happened before he met them. No matter how much he trusts you, no matter how close you get, you will never have enough trust for him to tell you that.

Spy his one hell of a prick. It might all be in good fun, but he can be a little too good at getting on your nerves sometimes. It's best if you keep him in check by returning his remarks with equally devistating comebacks. He might even respect you more if you're able to match his level of prickery.

Overall he's going to remain mysterious no matter how much he may trust you. He will try to not befriend anyone, so you making an attempt to do so will likely be met with less than favorable reactions at first. Give it time and he might just consider you not as annoying as everyone else.

Engie

You thought he was a trusting guy didn't you? Well that's just what he wants you to think. Becoming his friend is a complicated process that you most likely wont even be aware of. You'll think he's your friend when really he's the farthest thing from it.

Gaining his true trust is near impossible. He has nearly everyone convinced of his friendly exterior so he almost can't afford to trust anyone to know the truth. In every case that it is possible it's entirely on accident. Maybe you seem to genuinely care for him and the guilt leaves him a bit more open to caring about you. Or the opposite can happen. You see right through his act and in a bid to keep you silent about it he becomes honest with you. Either way it's not going to be on purpose.

Engie grew up in a life where you weren't supposed to trust everyone but you damn well make sure everyone trusts you. This can make it hard for him to be an actual friend, considering he's always kept people at a distance. He will often fall into habits of keeping his friendly exterior instead of being more genuine with you.

Engie has a lot of secrets. A lot. Most he will take to his grave. If you do, however, manage to earn his trust and especially if you earn his care, he'll share a few. There are very few circumstances that he will and most time while doing so he can be very visibly uncomfortable. You don't get raised in a mercinary family without a few demons following you.

He's only cared for very few people in his life and he's trusted even less. So there are times when he either seem distant and uncaring or caring to the point you feel patronized. It will take him a while to find out if he should trust you and the moment he does it can seem almost like you have become the most important person on his life. His once empty gestures are now entirely genuine and he feels safe with his back toward you. This is by no means an easy point to reach and will most defiantly have taken literal years to get to.

Overall he's used to not genuinely connecting with people and is extremely hesitant when doing so. You may not even notice this conflict, but it's most certainly a large part of his life.

[venusiangguk]

may we see the fight tae oc scene pls pls please!!! u can delete later🤔🤔🤔🤔😳😳😳😳 i’m really curious. i mean ofc u don’t have to. still 😧🙃

idealizations concerning real life relations: deleted scene

>>pairing: jungkook x reader / icrlr!couple

>>genre: fwb, angst, rated PG

>>word count: 2.5k

>>warnings: alcohol, implied smut

>>notes: this is a deleted scene from icrlr, that i omitted simply because of the length of the final fic!! feel free to skip or ignore, it doesn't change anything, but since u guys are curious about it, i'll post it as a lil ty for helping me hit that milestone <3 it takes place after the tattoo party scene, and before the lecture scene.

this does NOT provide an alternative ending.

>>summary: taehyung tries to make you see things for what they really are, but it's hard to see through the rose colored glasses.

Winter break has been long awaited and it is finally, finally here. The snow has coated the ground thick, making the town look like a winter wonderland. The air is sharp and cold but not to a miserable extent. Just chilly enough to bundle up, to hold a hand a little tighter and soak up their warmth.

Your favorite season is fall, but the later months are a close second. You love seeing the way everyone’s faces get red when snow flurries come down to kiss their nose and cheeks. Love the way pom poms bounce atop little hats as children play and have snowball fights. Winter is surprisingly one of the warmest, sweetest times of the year. Like the hot coco Jeongguk has been swapping your regular macchiato with lately.

There’s a greatly anticipated party tonight- a mashup of Taehyung’s birthday and New Year’s Eve. Anticipated for the simple fact that said birthday boy has steadily been ignoring you for weeks, and tonight was a night where he couldn’t evade your attempts of reconciliation. He hasn’t returned a single call or even sent a text back. You can’t even be mad at him really, you know it’s justified. You know you fucked up. The coffee date you had with Yoongi last week let you know what you did.

Over an iced coffee, you learned that you had unintentionally skipped out on your best friend's Winter Showcase. The important one that he mentioned multiple times. The one you promised to attend no matter what.

It wasn’t on purpose; you wanted to go, to support him. But you just got caught up. In life, in school, in Jeongguk. It happens.

When Yoongi asked you why you had missed it, when he told you how hurt Taehyung was by your absence, your heart dropped, sank deep within your chest as your mouth fell open before closing, a small pursed frown on your lips. You didn’t have a good excuse. You went to get tattoos with Jeongguk and then to a party where you fucked him, and then home after that? You were too tired to make it? You just simply forgot? Those excuses weren’t good enough for you and you knew they wouldn’t be good enough for Taehyung.

Whereas Yoongi was okay with distance, long periods in between hanging out and talking, Taehyung wasn’t. He was the kind of friend that needed support, reassurance that you cared. He liked quality time and hangs outs that were planned ahead so he could look forward to them. He was looking forward to you being at his showcase.

The party is packed, even more so than usual. Students, drop-outs, alumni, and randoms alike, all congregate to bring in the new year, to celebrate the end of finals, and a certain art majors birthday. Bodies are on bodies, music is loud and deafening. Cups, bottles, and small baggies litter the floor and the smell of weed is nauseating.

Jeongguk’s hand in yours is sweet, though. Enough to ebb the distaste in your mouth as you watch the stereotypical disaster that is a college party.

“I’m going to go find the drinks, okay?” you lie, squeezing Jeongguk’s hand lightly.

He squeezes back, kisses the side of your head as he says, “Bring me one back too?”

You nod, and slip out of his view. Scanning the crowd until you see a familiar face.

Jimin is laughing, red cup in his hand, eyes curled and happy. He’s sitting on the arm of a couch, legs swinging as he laughs with a group of people. He takes a drink from his cup and let’s his eyes roam the room like he’s looking for someone.

The way his face changes when he sees you approaching is like a punch in the gut. It goes from happy, and carefree to stony- only a small, irritated, close-lipped smile on his face. Eyes harsh and cold, no longer holding the mirth they were just seconds ago. He says nothing when you step in front of him, he just looks you over like he’s bored and waiting for you to get on with it so he can be done with it.

You shift on your feet under his scrutiny. “Where’s Tae?” you ask.

Jimin narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head. “Now you want to know where he is? Haven’t been concerned with his whereabouts for months. Definitely weren’t worried about it last week.”

You wince but carry on swiftly. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I’m here to apologize.” You look at him expectantly, but he holds his ground. When he doesn’t falter, you resort to begging, “Please, Jimin. He’s my best friend… I miss him.”

You must look pitiful, because Jimin’s indifferent facade fades, and he clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself for giving into you. “He’s getting us drinks in the kitchen.”

A smile takes over your face as you rush out a ‘thank you’, quickly turning on your heel to head in the opposite direction, before Jimin calls after you.

“Yeah?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“If he’s your best friend, maybe treat him like it, yeah?”

You continue to the kitchen without replying, and you can’t help the little simmer of annoyance that bubbles in your chest. Taehyung has been your best friend for years. And even though Jimin had a point, who was he to tell you anything about yours and Taehyung’s friendship?

Before the thought can fester, however, you see the boy you came looking for, two bottles of vodka in his hand like he’s trying to decide which to use. You see the little party hat atop his shaggy hair before anything else and your heart aches a little. You really did miss him. He lets out a small annoyed sound, and knowing him, he’s probably trying to figure out which has the highest alcohol percentage. You come up next to him, and say his name gently. He jumps, but when he realizes it’s you, the ghost of a smile curls on his lips like he’s happy to see you.

Until it’s replaced with resentment just as quickly. His sharp eyes squint at you before turning back to the bottles in his hands, scowl still in place.

“So you decided you could pencil me in between getting your heart toyed with and your back blown out?” He gives you a side glance and sees how your jaw drops in surprise. He carries on, unbothered. “Or did this just work out because it coincides with New Year’s and because he was invited? Only because he’s Jimin’s friend might I add.”

“Tae-” you try, doing your best to keep the hurt whine out of your tone.

“Save it, __. I don’t want to hear the excuses you have. Just-” he looks at you again, and you think that maybe he softens when he sees your crestfallen features. He sighs like he’s tired. “Just leave me alone. Just for a bit, okay? I’ll get over it eventually,” he finishes, finally deciding on the vodka he wants.

You know his request isn't unreasonable. But it’s already been so long that the distance in your friendship has been eating away at it, that you’re scared ‘eventually’ might take too long and by the time he comes around, there won’t be much of a friendship left. That the damage done, will be irreparable.

“Tae… It’s already been months, can’t we-”

Like night and day, the softness that you were able to pull out of him is immediately replaced with that resentment and anger you were met with when you first stepped into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he seethes, strong brows furrowed. “And whose fault is that?”

His words are sharp and the sting from them makes you take a step back. That is, until you feel anger of your own creep up your throat like venom. “You’re one to talk, Taehyung. You could have reached out to me, too. You’re no better than me when you’re in a relationship.”

He groans, gives an exasperated laugh before shrugging. “You know what? Maybe I am just as bad as you, but at least I’m actually in a relationship,” he spits, “You’re just fucking someone that doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

You know he’s hurt because of the distance. That he doesn’t intend to be so mean. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it doesn’t stop the angry tears from pooling in your eyes.

And although you’re angry, almost shaking with rage at the feeling of being cornered and blamed, your heart aches at hearing his words.

Jimin, who started seeing Taehyung after you started seeing Jeongguk, had already made your friend official. Had given him the title, the commitment, the relationship that you had been patiently and understandingly waiting for with Jeongguk. The bitterness that bleeds into your heart makes you feel gross and ugly.

You know what they say; that labels are superficial and don’t mean that much. But when you don’t have them? It makes you wonder. If a label really isn’t that important, like everyone says, why is Jeongguk so reluctant to give one to you?

“Jimin’s your boyfriend?” you whisper.

Taehyung gives you a short nod. “Month and half ago. You would’ve known if you got your head out of Jeongguk’s ass.”

Almost like he was summoned, the topic of debate waltz into the room, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He nuzzles into your neck.

It’s instinctual now, the way your body responds to him. The way you melt into his chest like second-nature, how your hands settle over his like they are keeping them in place. How immediately in his presence you feel calmer; the panicky, hurt feeling you were experiencing moments ago vanishing as if it were just a fleeting thought and not something that’s always in the back of your head.

Not in a possessive, ‘I need him to be mine’ kind of way, though.

More like, ‘Why won’t he be mine?’

“Hi,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Hi, baby,” you respond softly, out of habit. The room shirks around you whenever he’s near. Makes you feel like you’re in your own bubble with him.

Jeongguk’s about to reply, ask where the drinks are, but then he hears an annoyed scoff sound in front of you both. Jeongguk bristles as he looks up and sees Taehyung taking a big swig from his cup.

“Uh- am I interrupting? Should I go?” he asks hesitantly, looking between you and your friend.

“No-” you say at the same time that Taehyung says, “Yes.”

You cringe, and turn in Jeongguk’s arms, hands resting on his chest. “Just give me a couple more minutes okay? I’ll bring the drinks.”

Jeongguk searches your eyes, before looking at Taehyung one last time before giving you a stern nod and a quick kiss.

You turn back to Taehyung, ready to apologize for Jeongguk’s interruption, when he talks over you.

“You’re pathetic,” he starts, and you roll your eyes with an irritated sigh before he continues, “but I know you love him. And that you can’t help it,” he shrugs. “But as your friend, I have to tell you that it’s not going to end well. You probably don’t even need me to tell you that. You probably already know and are choosing to ignore it for the sake of the delusions you’ve made up in your ‘pretty little head’.”

You pout at him quoting you, and your brows furrow. “He cares about me. And he’s Jimin’s best friend. He’s a good person, you don’t even know him,” you argue defensively. Though you know your arguments make little sense and are flimsy at best.

Taehyung frowns. Pauses like he’s thinking.

“I didn’t say he was a bad person, and maybe he does care about you in his own messed up way. But he doesn’t care about you in the way that you want him to.” His lips are still down turned when he speaks again.

“And the difference between him with you and him with Jimin is astronomical; it shouldn’t even be a comparison, but I will humor you,” he rubs a hand up and down his face like he’s tired. “The dynamic is completely different, for obvious reasons. For one, Jimin is a safe relationship. You are not. Jimin isn’t in love with him, Jimin isn’t sucking his dick, and Jimin doesn’t want things from Jeongguk that Jeongguk cannot give, or does not want to give,” he says with a raised brow as he takes a sip of his drink.

It seems that the anger has died down some between you both, a semi-civil conversation finally being had. You wrinkle your brows in confusion at him. “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes. “Cmon __. Why do you think he hasn’t made you his girlfriend? Why do you think he literally has not been in a serious relationship since high school? Why do you think he never agrees to anything more than 2 months out?” He waits for you to answer but you just purse your lips stubbornly. “He’s scared. Dare I say terrified of commitment, and that’s exactly what you want from him right?”

You stay headstrong and quiet for a moment longer, ignoring his question in favor of asking one of your own when you finally do speak up. “If I’m so scary, why hasn’t he left?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Fuck if I know? Maybe he does care about you like you say he does. I don’t think so, but hey,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, like he is throwing in the figurative towel. “Maybe you’re right and maybe I‘m wrong. Or maybe there’s some fucked up codependency fermenting between you both when you copulate. I genuinely have no clue, and frankly, I don’t care to find out. Don’t text me until you come to your senses. And don’t get mad when I tell you ‘I told you so’.”

And with that, he turns and leaves you to make your own drinks. You hope the smile you give Jeongguk when you find him is believable.

That night when you go back to his place, you voice your concerns to him in between sweet, heated kisses that taste like hot cider. You tell him hesitantly how Taehyung voiced his concerns about Jeongguk not caring about you and Jeongguk got a little irritated, a little miffed as he unlatched his lips from your neck. He asked what Taehyung knew, how he even came to that conclusion when he’s not around you both.

He assured you with gentle touches and tender words that of course he cares about you. He reminded you that he always makes time for you, he always answers your calls and your texts, he takes you out every now and then, too. He asks you what you think and when you contemplate your answer, going over what he said, you can’t really argue with him. Even if an uneasy, dismal feeling settles in the pit of your tummy.

~~~

hellooo!! again, this is just a scene and part of the plot that i chose not to use because i felt like the fic was already so long. i wish that i had ended up including it tho, so i hope you enjoyed even though its nothing special <3 feel free to do the things if you liked it: like, comment, reblog, send an ask~~ love u, ty again for helping me reach that milestone <3

[supernovafics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

pairing: dylan o’brien x best friend fem!reader

summary: in which dylan has been your best friend for as long as you could remember. your busy lives and schedules may have pushed both of your lives in vastly different directions as you’d gotten older, but somehow you two would always be led back to your hometown, and each other, during the holidays. however, one moment causes all of that to change. 

warnings: angst (what else is new), some fluffiness, mentions of past trauma (the maze runner incident), existential crises, explicit language

word count: 3.6k words

author’s note: idk why i decided to write something christmas related in the summer but it happened lmao (also i feel like it’s slightly important to mention that this takes place in 2016)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The rocks being thrown at your window were not what woke you up. Instead, you had been lying awake for hours; getting little to no sleep was something that you had become used to at this point.

However, on this specific night— or morning, depending on how one looked at it— you were glad that your sleep had been restless once again because it made it easy for you to get out of bed and walk to your window when the rocks began hitting it.

There was really no need for you to push open the curtains and check who was doing the throwing because, of course, it was Dylan. Ever since he moved onto your street in Hermosa Beach in middle school and the two of you easily became friends, he was the only person that would ever wake you up in the middle of the night with the soft pings of rocks, especially on this specific day at this specific time.

You waved at him and gestured that you would be down in a moment. You slipped on a random pair of sweatpants along with a hoodie and then placed the Christmas gift that you bought for him in the pocket. The item was small enough to fit in the not too big pocket of your hoodie; however, it did awkwardly protrude a bit.

All of this was a sort of unspoken tradition that the pair of you had developed over the many years you’d known each other. Meeting at five in the morning on Christmas day, walking to the beach that was only a few blocks away from your respective childhood homes, and exchanging Christmas gifts with each other as you both watched the sunrise. It started when you were in ninth grade, and you hadn't missed a year since, not even when the ending of high school pushed your lives in vastly different directions, especially since Dylan graduated a year before you and was almost immediately thrust into his acting career.

But, it didn't matter that Dylan's career took off, and you eventually decided to go to college in Santa Barbara, because, no matter what, you both would always come back for the holidays.

When you opened your front door and saw Dylan lingering by the sidewalk no more than ten feet away, you were quick to go toward him and pull him in for a tight embrace. It actually hadn't been too long since you’d last seen him, maybe only five or six months, but for some reason, it still felt as if the last time he was in front of you was last December.

"Hey," Dylan breathed out in a short greeting, his arms wounding around your waist.

“Hey to you too," You responded, a small smile gracing your features when you both pulled away, and you looked up at him. "How have you been?"

It was quiet for a few moments as you waited for him to answer the question, but eventually, you were met with no verbal response, and instead, Dylan simply shrugged. The short action made your heart constrict in the most painful way, and it was then that you noticed the light remnants of a scar peeking out from behind his dark hair that covered the majority of his forehead. You were quick to peel your eyes away from the scar and instead cast them down at your Converse-covered feet, but that didn't stop the memories from quickly coming back.

The Maze Runner accident had happened back in March, but to you, and you knew to Dylan as well, it felt as if it was just yesterday, especially considering the fact that he was still dealing with the unavoidable repercussions from it.

"Wanna walk?" You asked, finally looking up at him once again.

Dylan nodded. "Yeah."

A silence that could only be deemed as comfortable lingered between them as the two of you took the five-minute walk to the beach and sat down side by side on one of the random empty benches.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Dylan said as he handed a present over to you. The present was messily wrapped, something that was not at all uncommon when receiving gifts from Dylan, and the sight of it made you smile.

Before you unwrapped the gift, you pulled out the one you had for him and handed it over. "Merry Christmas, Dyl."

The nostalgic sound of wrapping paper ripping could be heard as you tore into your gift. A simultaneous shocked and happy yelp emitted from your lips when you held up a Harry Potter t-shirt. But, it wasn't just any Harry Potter t-shirt; it was one with a version of the Goblet of Fire movie poster on it, which was your all-time favorite movie in the series.

"Holy shit."

"It's the original merch that was sold when the movie came out," Dylan told you. He hadn't opened his gift yet, and instead, he was playing with the green bow placed on top of it; he always liked to see your reaction first.

You looked at Dylan and then back down at the shirt as you processed his words. "Wow, double holy shit. I would put it on if it wasn't freezing right now."

Dylan laughed a bit. "Very understandable."

“Why haven't you opened yours yet? I'm dying to see what you think of it," You said. You were now holding the t-shirt to your chest, genuinely feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning again.

Dylan finally began unwrapping your gift to him, and when all of the paper was peeled off, there was a square box. "Aw, a plain white box. Thank you so much. This is what I've always wanted."

You rolled your eyes and playfully bumped him with your shoulder. "Ha ha. Please save all of these bad jokes for your stand-up act; I can't wait to boo you off the stage along with everyone else."

"So, what I'm hearing is you don't think that becoming a comedian is going to be the next best career move for me?" Dylan asked. He attempted to make the question sound as serious as possible, but there was a joking undertone to his words.

You bit back your laughter. "Please just open the box already so I don't have to hurt your feelings by truthfully answering that question."

"Okay, we'll circle back to that topic later," Dylan smiled and then finally opened the white box to reveal a slightly faded baseball. When he picked it up, he ran his thumb over the black signature written on it. "Now it's my turn to say holy shit."

You could feel yourself smiling at his awestruck reaction, and you wondered if that was what you looked like when you saw the Harry Potter shirt. The baseball was signed by one of the players of the New York Mets that had been Dylan's favorite player when he was younger, and he'd even caught a ball hit by him when he went to a game before he moved to California.

"I've had this idea for years, but I could never find a baseball signed by him," You began explaining, the excitement clear in your voice. "But, last month, someone named Paul Todd posted this on eBay and I immediately bought it. God bless that old man. It's completely authentic and everything."

Dylan was quiet for a few moments as he simply looked at the baseball in his hands, a small joyful smile on his face, and it made you happy to see him so genuinely elated with the present.

"This just made my gift look like shit," He finally said, a light laugh falling from his lips.

"I have always been the superior gift giver. I think that's my hidden talent," You responded with a playful smirk.

Dylan placed the baseball back in its box and then looked at you. "Next year you will receive the best gift ever from me. It will completely top everything that you have ever given me."

"You're saying that as if I should feel upset about receiving a trip to Italy as a Christmas gift."

"A trip to Italy?"

"In my strong opinion, that would be the best gift ever," You said with a smile and then looked down at the t-shirt, which was now in your lap. "But, anyway, I don't think this gift is shit. I'm in love with this shirt already."

Dylan let out a joking, overexaggerated sigh in relief. "Phew, okay, since you think this gift is great, that means I don't have to do the trip to Italy next year."

"What? Did I say I like this t-shirt? I hate it! Harry Potter actually su— Fuck, I can't say this with a straight face," You laughed, and Dylan was quick to join in with you.

The joking statements leading up to the laughter hadn't even been the funniest things ever, but it didn't matter because this was probably the hardest you had laughed in a while, and you were both glad and unsurprised that it was with one of your favorite people in the entire world.

You missed joking around and laughing with him. You missed simply being with him.

Eventually, the laughter died off, but there was still a smile planted firmly on your face. You looked ahead at the darkness in front of you and the ocean that looked completely black; it was still kind of early, so the sun hadn't begun to rise just yet. Your back pressed against the wooden bench, and you let out a small sigh, your head finding Dylan's shoulder as you leaned against him.

"How have you been?" You asked him, your words coming out both soft and slightly quiet, and before the mood became too serious with your question that was nothing but serious, you attempted to lighten it. "And please no shrugs as a response this time. I don't wanna get a headache due to my head bouncing off your shoulder."

Dylan let out a breath of a laugh at your final statements but refrained from answering the question for a few moments.  

After what felt like forever, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I honestly don't know. My mind has felt so fucked lately, thinking about everything. I swear I've been feeling every feeling known to man these past months."

"What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

"I'm really happy with you. This is probably the only normal and familiar thing I've experienced in a while. But, of course, there's still that confused feeling in the back of my mind revolving around everything else." He paused for a brief moment before continuing, his next words came out quieter. "I don't even know if I want to go back to acting."

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him as you pulled his hand into yours and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze.

"No matter what you decide. I'll be right there to support you," You told him and then added a "bro" at the end of her sentence along with a small smile. Whenever things became too deep in a conversation you two were having, one of you would always throw a "bro" or "dude" in there to bring some playfulness to the mood.

The corners of Dylan's perked up a bit. "So, you'll support me when I decide to become a comedian?"

You were unable to stifle your light laughter. "Yes, fine, fuck it. I'll be the loudest one laughing at all of your shows."

Dylan squeezed your hand back because he knew exactly how reluctantly true your words were. "Don't worry, I promise not to put you through that."

"Thank you."

"So, how have you been?"

"No."

"Oh, come on," Dylan said as he playfully poked your side. "I'm not gonna be the only one exposing my feelings."

You sighed and then hesitantly nodded. "Okay, okay."

The truth was you had been far from good lately. Your life was moving, but for some reason, you felt like you weren’t moving with it.

You felt stuck.

Stuck in a confusing mindset where you had absolutely no idea what you wanted to do with your life. You thought that identity crises usually happened in high school, but apparently, yours had come five years late. But, you knew that this delayed identity crisis had been your own doing because you had convinced herself that you would figure everything out once you were in college; and you were both lucky and smart enough to receive a full ride to UCSB.

And although you were finishing up your Master's degree in Creative Writing and had a TA job at the university with the department, which was the reason behind why you could even pay for the Master's program, something in your "should be great" life simply did not feel right.

However, you felt absolutely terrified to say any of that out loud because admitting it would only finally make that statement a wholehearted truth, instead of just a spiraling thought in your mind. And even though Dylan was your best friend and you knew you could tell him anything and not receive any sort of judgment, it still felt hard to let the words leave your lips.

You thought about the way to perfectly word everything, but nothing felt right. You pulled your hand away from Dylan's and covered your face as you let out an exasperated breath. "I can't figure how to say it all."

Dylan placed an arm around you and then mimicked the same question you had asked him not too long ago. "What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

You would have both laughed and smiled at the fact that he was using your exact words if the current circumstances were different.

"Scared," You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what the fuck I wanna do anymore, and actually, I don't think I really ever did. I only went to college because of the scholarship, and I convinced myself that I would figure my life out when I got there. And for a while, things felt right because I found creative writing and genuinely enjoyed it, but something doesn't feel right anymore. And I actually do like school. Because it's stable, and I am doing things, even if it's taking a dumbass test. But, it's about to be over soon, and I have no idea what I'm gonna do."

Your words were coming out like vomit, and nothing could stop it because finally, everything you had been feeling for so long was out of your head and put into the open.

"And don't get me wrong, I do love to write, but I don't know, I just can't see myself doing it for the rest of my life," You admitted and then let your next words come out quietly. "Honestly, I can't see myself doing anything. I'm so unhappy here."

You did not say it aloud, but you didn't think you were ever fully content there. Aside from Dylan and your parents, you never truly liked California. You had grown up there all your life, and although there were millions of people that adored the state, you felt the exact way someone from a state like Wyoming probably felt.

Dylan did not verbally respond to your long confession at first; instead, he simply pulled your confused and stressed self in for a hug, and you let out the simultaneous sigh and breath that you had been metaphorically holding in for years at this point.

"Maybe you should take a break," Dylan finally said; his arms were still around you, an action that made you feel completely comforted. "Right after high school, you went straight to college, and I don't think you've ever really taken a break to really think about what you actually want. Like, maybe, it's becoming a zookeeper."

Your laugh was slightly muffled by the fact that your face was pressed into the warmth of Dylan's chest. "Zookeeper?"

"I don't know," He laughed too. "You said you would support me in whatever the fuck I decide to do, and I'll do the exact same for you."

Somehow a smile found its way on your face. "A zookeeper and a comedian. What a fucking dream team."

Another laugh fell from Dylan's lips. "The best fucking dream team."

"But, honestly, I wish I could've known sooner that this is how you've been feeling. I would've been telling you to slow down so long ago, but you seemed content with everything," Dylan told you and gave you another light squeeze. "Please take a break and don't stress yourself out over the future when your next semester is over. Just relax for the first time. You can even come stay with me in LA for a little bit if that's where you wanna take your break. I'll be here for you, Y/N. Always."

Something about his words hit you hard. The wholehearted honesty and sincerity behind his statement shouldn't have surprised you, but it did. And the worry he had for you resembled the same concern you had for him when the accident happened. You two were best friends, so it should not have been a shock that you would worry about each other, but still, in that moment and for you, it was shocking because it felt like so much more than just that.

"Me too," You whispered, finally responding to his previous statement.

The long embrace came to an end with you being the one to pull away; however, you did not pull away far enough for you both to become completely detached from one another. Dylan's arms were still around your waist, and yours were still around the nape of his neck, and your faces were dangerously close. Your hand somehow took on a mind of its own as it reached around and cupped Dylan's cheek. The miniscule confusion and tickle of panic that began to prick at the back of your mind because of the action were not enough to make you pull away.

The slight way that Dylan leaned into your soft touch was the catalyst for you to take the leap and lean in the tiniest bit to close the small distance between the two of you, your lips almost too easily finding his. The inward sigh of contentment you emitted when Dylan almost immediately kissed you back made you realize that kissing him was the one thing currently happening in your life that actually felt right.

Later, when thinking back to that specific moment, you would wonder if that "rightness" had always been there between you both.

However, that right feeling, which was both comfortable and familiar, was quickly replaced with dread and angst, at least on your part. Your mind was beginning to fully catch up with your actions, and it immediately told you that the current action was both bad and stupid, and there were many, many reasons that proved that.

Maybe there were moments where a younger, and even present-day, you did want more to happen between you and Dylan, but you would always push that thought away because you knew that your and Dylan's friendship was so much more valuable.

And then it was the fact that your lives were nothing alike. Even though you were immensely confused about where your life was going, you could say for certain that it wasn't going in the same direction as Dylan's; an acting career that he genuinely loved and enjoyed too much to truly give up. Something deep down told you that, and you could feel the truthfulness behind the thought. The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect.

You abruptly pulled away, not just from the kiss but from Dylan's body entirely, moving to the edge of the bench you were on. Your hands covered your face in nothing but pure embarrassment and regret, and you wished that you could take back the last minute and a half of your life. And you also absolutely hated that you couldn't help but notice how much colder your body felt now that it was away from Dylan's.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. Fuck. That kiss— it was a mistake. I'm really sorry." Your words came out rushed and fumbled, and it probably did not make much sense, but you just hoped that there was at least a little bit of coherency with them.

As much as you wanted to look at Dylan, you refused to do so because you knew that you would only see the regret you were feeling written clear across his face.

"Hey, it's okay, Y/N. Everything's fine. Don't worry," You heard him say but could hear the uncertainty in his voice as if he really didn't know if everything truly was fine. And you knew that it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect, and you had just completely ruined that.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts <3

((((already potentially thinking about doing a part 2 to this….. but idk…))))