#we live and die without a beta or proof reading

[serensama]

Picker Wheel Fic

Grab an OC, any OC, then spin the picker wheel three times. Now write a paragraph or three about how the OC is using those things to either kill someone or seduce them.

Warning: Keanu Reeves is on the wheel, but you’re not allowed to seduce or kill him.

Thank you @thedissonantverses for the tag lovely <3

I have the wonderful task of now creating something that contains a broken flower pot, a tampon and a broken underwire bra. Here we go then O_O (It was meant to be a blurb but then became this because I have issues, clearly. Someone send help. A brevity coach… if they exist.) ((It was meant to be about Lucanis x Rook (Lilya de Riva) but blame me for not completing my Illario smut, which actually starts similarly now I think about it hahah oops))

Rating: M-ish? (slightly nsfw?) Word count: 2.7k (sorry... let's pretend it's 3 paragraphs long).

Tagging: @rookamell @jenn2d2 @nyx-de-riva @introvertedfangrl @woundedsoul12 @pixiedurango @apothe-cary @azdesertwillow @hightowerqueen Open tag to anyone who sees this, please tag me back so I can read your work <3

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Rook threw the door open, happy to be home after what was probably the worst day of her life. 

She had been living out of her suitcase for the last three weeks as she had been in Rivain for work, but thankfully she was going to be on a plane home in a matter of hours. Unfortunately, she realised that the last clean bra she had was her least favourite. It pinched everywhere, and the wire always tried to stab her- why the hell did she even pack it? Why did she even still have it?! Rook grumbled as she surveyed her final clean outfit and cursed her lack of planning. Her stockings had a run in them, and the garter belt she brought along was fraying- probably seen the last of its good days. Her shirt was the one that gaped at her chest, offering anyone beside her a free show if she buttoned up or left it undone. At least the evil bra looked cute; that was the one upside. 

When she went to turn her phone to airplane mode before take off, she realised she had missed a call and quickly listened to the message, it could have been from her stepfather’s doctor with news about their recent bout of tests. But no. It was her boss. Firing her via voicemail, even though she managed to secure the deal between the Nevarran Watchers and the Rivani Lords. She threw her phone back into her bag and scoffed at their “deep regrets”- yeah, they were so regretful they packed her belongings and told her that they could “be claimed from the security desk”. She groaned and readjusted her bra and shirt, when the thin bit of fabric holding back her left underwire snapped, allowing the metal to finally stab at her skin. Fantastic. 

Rook fought the urge to order every tiny bottle of alcohol the plane had.

… and to top off her run of good luck, of course, her luggage was the last one to come out on the carousel… with two missing wheels! 

Fan-fucking-tastic! 

Her right garter was unclipped, and her stocking had started to roll down her thigh; her tits were squished, and the band was starting to dig into her sides, the underwire moving and stabbing her as she held and balanced her suitcase uncomfortably throughout the terminal, otherwise, she risked scratching the floor. The one mercy she had was her ability to call the head of security, her bestie’s long-time partner- Taash, who spent 10 minutes (as the taxi fare kept running!) telling Rook how they were already looking for a new gig elsewhere after finding out what they did to her. ‘No one messed with their family like that.’ 

Rook was unsurprised to see that her office drawers had been unceremoniously thrown into a box with her favourite orchid, a bottle of aspirin sticking out from the soil, and a few of its leaves torn off by the items surrounding it. Perfect. Her mother had gifted it to celebrate her promotion the last time they were up, even though she was so disappointed that her daughter refused to join them in the family business. Her stepbrother was already running it; there was no need to worry… besides, she couldn’t imagine working with Viago. She had tried it once during university, and they almost came to physical blows. She had a company mug in her hand, ready to bash him over the head with it, and he had some window cleaner he threatened to pour down her throat. As if they weren’t already in their twenties when it happened.

She kicked her suitcase through the doorway and watched it skitter across the floor before following it and closing the door with her foot. Her handbag slid off her shoulder and fell to the floor, her shoes kicked off haphazardly as she walked through her wonderful but now outrageously-overpriced-now-she-was-unemployed apartment. She balanced the box on her hip as she opened her bedroom window to the fire escape to let in some fresh air. Rook shoved the box on the windowsill and started to remove her clothes, wanting nothing more than to slip into her oldest, most comfortable sleep shirt and curl up on her sofa to watch some trashy reality TV. Maybe order some pizza. And Chinese food. And some ice cream. 

Off came the jacket and the pencil skirt, but she took her time to unbutton her shirt, one by one as if she were in a trance. She had never been fired before… she didn’t even get the chance to fight or discuss why it was happening… that stupid company wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without her connections to begin with- 

A loud crash broke her out of her reverie, startling Rook, who jumped on the spot. She looked up and saw that her very carefully placed box of stuff had fallen into the fire escape. With a long, exasperated sigh, she shimmied out onto the landing, careful not to step on anything that may have fallen out of the box. She crouched down and let out a pathetic whine at the sight of the loose soil and broken parts of her flower pot that had covered almost everything she owned in dirt, laughing to herself when she found one loose tampon in the mix that looked entirely clean… if it were not lying on the filthy fire escape. 

“Is that you, Paloma?” 

Oh good god, no.

From below her, she could see her neighbour pop his head out of his window and try to get a better look at her. Illario Dellamorte. An infamous playboy from a rival company, but a close family friend. They had known each other since they were children, and the man still wouldn’t give up his stupid nickname for her, after seeing her at their first communion all dressed in white. It didn’t help that, in between all their years of pointless bickering, there was an undeniable attraction between them and that every time they got closer to crossing that line, something got in the way. Business. Friends. Her dating his cousin. Him dating her old university roommate. Then his cousin and her roommate got together, and for a second, they were on the same side… but it was just never… right. So they continued on with their stupid squabbles and harmless ribbing. It was tradition, it was comfort. 

But god, how she wished he wasn’t so damn handsome. 

“Yeah, Illario. It’s me.” “What was that crash? I was about to come up and check you weren’t getting robbed- thought you were getting back tomorrow?” she heard him say, his voice strained, probably from making his way out of his window and up to her. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she called back, rushing to put back all her stuff into the slightly warped box, promising herself she’d be back later to sweep up the soil after she had had some dinner. “Just a flower pot; you don’t have to come up-” 

A pair of shiny black shoes came into her view. Rook looked up his long legs to see the man with his hands in his trouser pockets looking down at her with the same smirk she always saw on his face. Damn him. White dress shirt unbuttoned to his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, it was as if Lucanis or Neve had personally told him her weaknesses just to torture her. “Let me help, Paloma,” he said without his characteristic snark, before squatting down and helping to clean up the mess. “But you hate getting dirty. Even when we were in the sandbox, you complained about the sand getting on you and your clothes getting gross,” she replied, dumbfounded, watching the man pick up her dirty pens and lip balm without complaint. 

“I’ve grown up a lot since playing in the sandbox with you, Paloma,” Illario smiled at her (actually smiled. Not smirked. Or Leered. Smiled!). He wiped his hands on his expensive pants and picked up the box, nodding his head toward the window to usher her back inside. He followed her easily, Rook cursing him for looking like the perfect gentleman cat burglar as he climbed through her window. After he placed the box safely on the ground, she picked up the broken flower pot and plucked the orchid from it, tutting sadly as she brushed away the extra dirt from its roots. 

“Do you mind if I wash my hands?” “Oh, no! Just head into the bathroom- second door to the left.” Rook headed to her ensuite and plucked a vase out from under her sink, filled it with water and hoped the orchids would take to their new home… or at least survive long enough until she got her ass out to the hardware store to pick up some soil for it. She washed her hands and caught a glimpse of herself, and gasped. She was still in her unbuttoned shirt, her pretty but sadistic bra and torn-up stockings… Ilario, the bastard, had seen her like that and said nothing! Pretended everything was fine! She desperately searched for a towel or robe in the bathroom and swore at herself for doing the laundry before she left and having nothing to cover herself with. And even worse, even if she did, Illario would know that she was embarrassed by the whole thing and would tease her relentlessly about it for months to come. 

Booze. She was going to order a shit ton of booze too. 

Rook mentally slapped herself for probably flashing half of the street when she went onto her fire escape. She took in a deep breath and tried her best to soothe her anxiety with the knowledge that he had seen her in a bikini before. For all intents and purposes, he had seen her naked when their parents put her and Illario in a bath together when they were babies. The stupid photo of them proudly displayed on her mother’s dressing table- both of them with matching bubble bath “hats” grinning up at the camera. 

Then, as if she hated herself, his damned words replayed in her head- I’ve grown up a lot since playing in the sandbox with you, Paloma. By the way his muscles rippled under his fine shirt, and his suit pants stretched over the breadth of his thigh as he bent down to help her… she had to admit those days were truly long behind them. 

Illario walked back to her room and knocked on the open door, keeping up the pretence of being polite. “All done. I was about to head out the front door, but realised I didn’t have my keys with me and would have to go back out through the window. You all good here?” She nodded and thanked him and followed him to the window to close it behind him. Before she could lock it, he pushed the pane back up and leaned on the windowsill, a look of absolute incredulity painted across his face.  “Are you serious right now, Paloma?” he asked, staring into her eyes. Were his eyes always that blue? 

Focus, Rook. God damn it.

“What?” she took a step back, not wanting to be so close to him that she could feel his breath on her skin. And there was so much exposed skin for her to feel it on. 

“You’re going to let me go, looking like that, looking at me like that- without a damn word? Nothing?” She swallowed and watched as his eyes traced the lines of her throat. “What did you want me to say? I already said thank you. You want me to say it again? Thank you, Illario. Goodnight.” He huffed out with a bitter laugh and shook his head, his immaculate bun still perfectly in place. How come her hair never did that? Ah, shit focus, Rook!

“How can you let me go, when you are so obviously trying to seduce me?” Rook snorted and laughed. Seduce? Seduce him?! The arrogant, self-centered asshole. 

She leaned forward, their fingers touching on the windowsill and their noses barely an inch apart. Her dark eyes narrowed at him as she reminded herself that she shouldn’t head butt him to teach him a lesson on humility. Last thing she needed was to be carted to the ER over his shoulder, dressed as she was. “Oh yes, of course! I am trying to desperately trying to seduce Illario Dellamorte. Yes, standing here in a pile of dirt, and a box of such sexy things like gum and my loose tampons, in my worst pair of stockings and broken garter belt, in a mismatched underwear with a bra that is trying to literally stab me in the heart as we speak… yes, you’re right. Take me now, Illario. My loins are all a fucking flutter for you.” 

“About time you admitted it, Lilya.” 

He closed the distance between them and kissed her, pushing further into her room so he wasn’t crouching at her window. Her mind was racing, telling her it was a bad idea, that whatever was between them should have stayed unexplored and they were going to regret it when they ultimately broke and couldn’t look at each other again- ending over 30 years of friendship, or whatever it was they had. 

“Illario-” “Whether in the finest evening gown or my old shirt that I know you stole and still wear, you are always seducing me. Whether you mean to or not. No matter how hard I fight it, it’s always been you and me in the end. And yes… even next to a box of tampons and dirt and old, delinquent underwear- you are every bit a vision and the woman I have always lov-”

“Ow- fuck!” Illario paused, his eyebrows raised at Rook’s exclamation. She wedged her hand into her cleavage and wriggled it around before pulling out a long, curved piece of metal, sighing contentedly as she dropped the offending underwire to the ground. 

“S-sorry,” she said, offering him a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was trying to stab me.” She pulled down the centre of her bra to show the angry red marks on her chest to show him. The youngest Dellamorte clucked his tongue as his eyes scanned her chest with something akin to concern, chased by a flash of hunger. “My poor Lilya,” he whispered, his eyes flicking back up to hers and holding her gaze to watch her reaction, to check for any hesitation from her at all. Finding none, Illario pressed his mouth to the sensitive flesh, dragging his lips along the line of red marks that started from just under her right breast, his thumb tugging at the cup slightly to allow him better access. Rook sighed and drew him closer to her, a new and very different type of embrace than those they had shared in the past. 

Bad idea. The worst. But Rook was really tired of pretending that she didn’t feel anything for him, lying to herself that only friendship or friendly rivalry existed between them. Weary of faking that she didn’t know that Illario had bought the apartment from the original tenant for an exorbitant price just to be able to live there when he had heard she moved out of the loft she and Neve once shared. She was over ignoring how she would go out whenever she knew he brought a new partner home, or act like she never heard him swear at her whenever she’d bring someone to stay the night. She was done trying to believe the days they would randomly meet out on the fire escape to watch the skyline, to share bits of their dinner or drinks or gossip meant nothing- the way she’d fall asleep on his shoulder and he would stay there until she woke up as he didn’t want to enter her house without her permission- until she wanted him to… 

Rook brought her left leg up onto the windowsill, Illario catching on to her silent invitation. With deft fingers, he pulled down the errant stocking, bending down to kiss the top of her thigh when he pulled her leg free from her hosiery. She pinched at the back of her bra to unclasp it, holding the damned thing up against her as her last means of cover.  

“I was just about to order dinner, Illario… would you care to join me?” 

He chuckled and grinned widely, baring his perfect white teeth like he wanted to eat her. 

… Maybe he did. 

“I thought you would never ask.” 

[thewinchestah]

"Good things come for those who wait" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: ,18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, BDSM, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, Possesive! Alastor, Jealous!Alastor, Protective!Alastor, spanking,degradation kink, praise kink, Angst with a happy ending, fluff, I didn't proof read this, english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here, etc etc etc

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: there's no point guys. I can't stop talking.

A/N: WOAH!! Hello everyone!! What the fuck?? I wasn't expecting my "debut fic" to blow up like that! Thank you so so much to everyone who took the time to read it and leave a comment! I'm truly flattered by your praise. So, I hope this sequel to "PREY" does it justice! (but it can also be read as a standalone). Let me know if you guys like it, and if you have anymore ideas/suggestions! I'm tagging everyone who asked me to, so if you want to be tagged on my next fics let me know! Without further due, here comes that mostrosity of a fic! Hope you like it &lt;3! (UPDATE: PART 3 IS NOW UP!!)

Part I  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist: @smallershorteranduncut @markster666 @jyoongim @stygianoir  @pepperycookie @fraspent @aether-th3-enby 

It all started, as many things do, with a joke and a simple misunderstanding. Dying and instantly going to hell is not easy. Being in hell and not understanding why the FUCK you are in hell is confusing, frustrating and sometimes drawright ridiculous. There’s no guidebook for the hellish afterlife, and more often than not you felt lost at sea, drowning. Until you found your questionable lifeline, the Radio Demon. 

Somehow said demon clocked really early on that you were completely infatuated with him, but too scared to act on it. And oh, how he gave you enough reason to be infatuated, enough reason to be scared. Luring you into the most delicious trap, Alastor had claimed you as his. His to breed during the height of his heat, his to care for, his to inflict the most heavenly torture. 

Being caught up in the middle of the living myth that was the Radio Demon was a dangerous thing, you had been warned over and over again. So of course that you had to almost fuck everything up in the silliest way possible.

The obnoxious TV set, also known as Vox, had just started another round of his futile attempts to win Alastor’s attention by airing the most absurd reality tv character assassination ever. You would put money on the fact that the obsessive flat screen was a deceased TLC producer. Usually, any of his pompous i-hate-alastor-so-so-much!!! fits would be met with enthusiasm around the Hotel. Everyone would cramp in front of the TV and make fun of the entire ordeal. Even Alastor would tag along and make a private edition of his radio show while he counter-narrated that nonsense. It became a fun bonding activity for everyone involved, it was a nice thing. But there’s a reason why you can’t have nice things.

Today the Hotel was mostly empty:, only you, Angel and a very on edge, sexually frustrated, irritated Alastor haunted its posh walls. Still, you and Angel carried on with the little tradition sitting side by side in front of the tv not knowing what to expect from today’s “My Strange Addiction - Alastor’s Version” episode. It was truly a laughable attempt of a character assassination, actors who could not act saying things like “Alastor isn’t even as bad as everyone says, his torture tactics are not that special either. My mom’s aunt was tortured by him and was going to work 10 hours later”, “i walked down the street today and alastor didn’t even try to kill me when he saw me crossing the street, he’s all talk” “i have video footage of the self-proclaimed cannibal eating a chocolate covered strawberry. He’s cannibalbaiting.”

“no self-respecting overlord would go out wearing those ridiculous out-of fashion clothes”. 

Angel was having the time of his life leading the daily Vox roast session, the spider was funny and you couldn’t hold the laughs. The camera cut to a close-up of Vox, babbling on about technology and the anti-Radio Demon speech you knew by heart at this point. As if on cue, Alastor entered the room. But the pair of you remained oblivious to his presence. 

“Toots, you totally should apply for this show! I mean it!. I’m sure Vox will buy literally anything you say. Anything! If you say Alastor likes to eat red nail polish cause it looks like blood he would believe it! You laughed at his words, what a ridiculous thing to say. You loved red nail polish, alastor drinking it because it looks like blood is absurd. “I mean, look at you!! Look at this face, these eyes!! This body!!!” Angel gave your thighs a playful slap. “If you say hell is actually cold using all that i would eat it right up. Vox will be too busy staring at your boobs to notice you dropping that even the oldest radio looks better than that fucking flat face”. The thought that you were the mind-numbing type of beautiful made you laugh. Sometimes you felt like your friends were being way too kind with the flattery about you. You were nothing special at all. It was nice of them to be kind to you, adapting to your new lifestyle was taking a visible tool, anyone could tell. Their efforts were honorable and sweet, but you just couldn’t let yourself believe what in your heart, you knew was a lie. A beautiful, comfortable lie, but still a lie. You weren’t much, you were just lucky. You started to laugh even harder, out of pure nervousness as your brain started to snowball into all the things you weren’t. 

“ Seriously Angel, you have the strangest ideas ever!” you tried to sound normal, putting up a confident facade. That helped, a lot. You had picked that up during your days with Alastor. 

Speaking of the devil, Alastor wasn’t amused by your little display. Standing on the corner of the room as you laughed, he made himself known by walking out of the room, in hurried steps. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t think much of it. But you weren’t anyone else. You were Alastor’s. 

And that’s why he was seething with rage. His rut always drove him, an already unpredictable man, to the brink of true, pure instinctual insanity. He had to grip his marvelous constructed self control painfully hard. Since your paths crossed, the most chaotic part of his existence seemed in control, your pretty little body always ready to take him, your eyes always holding his gaze in a maddening  comfortable way, the way you would push your limits just for him. 

Only for him.

And the worst part was your softness when it was all done. Alastor would fuck you rentless, for hours, making you take all the mess of his most animalistic desires without a second thought. Both of you would be spent, bathing in the afterglow, room smelling like sex, and you would ask him if he needed anything. Him, that just fucked you so hard so won’t walk straight for a week, that feasted on the blood of the love bites he inflicted, him that covered you in a painting of bruises. 

How could he not want to just lock you inside his lavish room and give you all the rings of hell? to carve his name deep into your soul? to dote on you? to make him the only thing on your mind as he makes you his time and time again in the most sinful ways?

It was simple really, why he was shaking with anger: how you, who was his, was even thinking of being in the same vicinity of that scum of creation?  LAUGHING AT THIS ABSURD CONCEPT. Vox thinking of you was already a crime punishable by painful death, but Vox looking at you was heresy, and the entirety of hell would pay for his transgressions. 

As Alastor stormed off towards the Hotel’s large room corridors, he took several calming breaths. Losing control like this wouldn’t do anyone any favors. In the troubled waters of his mind, Alastor could only think of 3 things: you, fucking you and murdering someone.

 So he didn’t even realize your hurried steps trying to catch up with his long strides.

“Hey sugartits! Don’t take too long doing whatever you need to do! there’s a woman going live after the break saying she saw Alastor eating an entire packet of PAPER TOWELS!!! HAHA! This shit is too good to be true!” you heard angel scream.

Adding insult to injury, nice.

Trying desperately to reach your demon lover gait, you could only think about how bad you had messed up. Alastor was your only true respite in hell. He was a blessing in a mist of the worst humankind could offer. He made you feel hope, more than making you feel alive, he made you feel glad you’re dead. The Radio Demon felt like coming home. You just wanted to make it up to him. You could not lose this, lose him. You were not sure you would survive it. And who knew where you went after dying in hell? 

It doesn’t matter where you go after hell, it doesn’t matter at all if Alastor is not there. Your brain added to your inner monologue. True.

“Alastor! Wait” you shouted. He stops dead on his feet.

Finally, those long long legs of his do not make chasing after your love any easier.

“Alastor, I'm so so sorry. Angel gets way out of line sometimes and I was nervous” he is perfectly still, ears pinned back, listening. But doesn’t say anything back.

“Al I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, at all. Look, let’s try to do something to make your day better. I know how hard this season is on you, I know you feel like you are losing contr-

Uh oh.

oh shit.

You used the two forbidden words together. The temperature in the room drops, Alastor snaps towards you. You feel something gripping your throat mercilessly, as you fall to the ground. Looking at the other end of the corridor Alastor has you on a leash of his magic. Eyes burning red, forehead marked “x” he grips your chains hard, pushing you towards him.

“That was a brilliant speech, little doe. Truly marvelous! I’m sure your television debut will be quite the show you were planning!”

His antlers were growing, his demon form showing itself as he becomes taller and taller over you. All bared teeth and flashing red eyes. This is what everyone warned you about. Don’t get in the Radio Demon’s way, he is dangerous and insane. You will regret it.

Hot. your brain thinks. He pulls your leash even tighter, and you feel wetness pooling on your core.

“Do you have any idea what I was about to do before I heard you so selflessly offer your services to that pathetic excuse of a demon?” Dragging you by the magic chains, his towering frame comes down to meet you at eye level. You can’t say anything back, your brain short circuits and goes AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“You know better than leaving me waiting for an answer at this point, pet” He grips your face using his sharp claws,the pressure threatening to break skin. “But you seem so hellbent on being a bad girl today, I shouldn’t expect your usually good girl’s behavior, should I?”

You are, once again nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes

“One should always know better than expecting their fantasies to be true”

His sclera goes black, only the tiny blazing red radio dials devouring you as he stares so deep into you, you feel feverish. 

“But since we are already here. I. Will. Tell. You.” static picks up around the room and surrounds you both, the corridor is illuminated by an eerie green light. You start to kinda fear for your life, but Alastor has you completely hypnotized by the radio dials on his eyes. You shiver in anticipation. 

 “I was coming to ask you, to please, spare me a part of your day, away from you friends. Because the only thing on my mind has been you. Fucking you. Sinking my cock so deep into your tight, wet cunt it would mark your soul. Because you are the only one who can take me like this, who deserves being bred by me, who deserves every drop of my seed”

You feel the wetness on your panties grow until it runs down your thighs. There’s nothing right about this, but your dear Alastor showed you long ago how the concepts of right and wrong are meant to be skewed.

“But oh well, you seem to have your affections directed elsewhere…” he tsks at you using that delicious mocking tone. “But, you can’t blame a desperate man for trying” he goes from 100 to 0 really fast, his voice softens so much in a way that’s almost too heavy to hear after all that. Even with his demon form still very much present  “Do you still want to make my day better, pet?”

you are at a loss of words, but you manage to nod desperately. The anticipation of what he is going to do to you makes you giddy. 

He manhandles your leash until you are on your knees in front of him, tugging on the chains so you look up towards his crotch. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his cock out. Hard, angry hot red coloured. Angry because of you, angry for you. 

“Open wide, little one” and without much more warning, Alastor is fucking your face, hard and fast. 

You position your arms behind your back as quickly as you can.  You know how hard it is for him to be touched when his rut is peaking. The overwhelming need for relief mixing with his ever present desire for control. This is about him asserting his dominance over you, making sure you don’t ever forget where you belong: In the warmth of his burning gaze, under him, on your knees, while he merciless fucks your throat into compliance. He’s taking it out on you, and you fucking love it.

He’s not saying anything, only growling like he’s about to murder someone. He grabs fistfuls of your velvety hair, but never leaves the white knuckle grip on your chains. You can only resist the urge of playing with your pussy while he thrusts so deep you feel his monster cock. hitting the back of your throat. This is about him, and you want to give him this so badly your cunt is throbbing with desire

Tears wet your cheeks, your lips around his cock are the definition of renaissance art to Alastor. He’s almost over the edge now, the head of his cock twitches on top of your tongue as a warning of his approaching orgasm. It’s hard, it’s hot, it’s fast and it’s angry.

Alastor cums, you swallow as much as you can, but he takes his cock out and spills everywhere, coating your hair,  your face. It’s so deliciously erotic Alastor can’t resist catching some of his cum and running his hands throughout your velvet locks, bathing you in his essence, marking you once more. There’s still a bit of cum on the tip of his claw, he feeds it to you, and your lips wrap around his fingers as you take as much of him you can take, gladly. 

“Oh how beautiful you are when you ruin yourself like this for me, my little doe” You look up at him with adoration and a lustful gaze, his eyes hold an equally lustful gaze and… something more. Something that you are sure will drive you insane. 

Alastor notices the pooling mess underneath your tights, he knows how desperate you are for relief, but he still wants to self indulge on you. He’s certain you still don’t understand the reality of what he is feeling. Swiftly he topples you down the corridor’s carpet and places himself between your legs, his crawled finger tearing your lacy panties away. 

Then, he feasts on you like a starving man, and he might be, because you taste like the ambrosia of the gods and he can’t get enough of it. Of how you make a mess of yourself for him and there’s still something for him to take. You just taste so sweet, what a perfect meal your nectar makes. His wicked silver tongue polishes you, aided by your whispered sighs, his name moaned like a prayer on your lips. You are so so close, alastor sucks on your throbbing clit you are already seeing stars, all you need is a gentle push.

 Grinning like a devil, Alastor looks up, tilts his head, gives you the most wicked-and-douchey look in existence. He gets up, your leash dissipating into the air and walks away in perfect composure, like nothing happened. Nothing at all.

“Well, I think that’s my cue!!” he says in his usually chirpy tone. You just stay there, flabbergasted. “I just remembered I still have a lot to do today! Work never stops when you maintain a facility like this in tip-top condition!” Already halfway across the corridor, Alastor’s head turns towards you “Still want to make my day good my dear? Be a doll and clean this mess up, will you?” you just stare at him, too fucking stunned to speak. You can’t believe it. That fucking devil. He’s about to make the turn towards the elevator and disappear when his eyes flash red as he warns you “Oh! and don’t you dare make yourself cum without my permission. If you cum before I say so, you won’t be cumming for a week. Choose wisely!Let’s see who loses control first Ha Ha! This will be fun!”

 Alastor can be a psychopathic demon in heat, but before all that he still is a psychopathic demon who loves torture. 

And he just left you all hot and bothered. 

–

Alastor knew better than believing in such things as heaven or holiness. In fact, Alastor was positively sure nothing was sacred. The concept of sacredness was non-existent in his book.

But his skeptic mind danced on the edge of belief when he touched you. To be inside you felt heavenly, heavenly in a type of way that should not even be allowed in this place. The way your lush body burned underneath his wicked gaze was sacred.The way you always presented yourself to him, with selfless abandon was sacred. Somehow, someone allowed him, of all people, access to a soul he frankly didn’t understand what was doing in hell in the first place. He never was the better man. He was never giving that up.

In all of his nature, Alastor felt the most sinful pleasure in defiling your sacredness. He wanted nothing but to take the heavenly thing you were and taint it with his darkness. 

He was well acquainted to torture and had no shame in inflicting the most delicious and depraved type of it on you ,until all of your holiness was irrevocably marked by him, down to the core of your soul.  Of course Alastor didn’t buy your soul. He didn’t need to use those means to completely own you. He did it effortlessly, because you craved it. Because he craved it.

That’s why the thought of Vox even looking in your way was heretic, and not in a good way. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to Vox. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Period. You were his.

 But adding that man into the equation just made everything more intolerable. The things he would do if he found out about you… Found out that not only you were his but how you could make someone feel. How precious and undeserving of anything less than good you were… 

You were made to be cherished and protected. Protected by him.

 In fact, it took all of the Radio Demon’s willpower to restrain from walking to the Vees building, and kill Vox for something he didn’t do. Because Alastor wouldn’t allow the thought to even cross his mind. All that, a messy display of his desperation and loss of control. Giving that prick the smug satisfaction of knowing somehow he got to him, in his last moments. 

Damn, his rut truly did make him on edge.

Suppressing his murderous thoughts, Alastor focused his mind into something he as actually good at: torture. Yours specifically. He still wanted to punish you for making him feel like this. He still wanted to make you understand.

And he just thought of the sweetest way to do it.

-

After cleaning up the mess on the corridor, and yourself (you did it all on autopilot, still trying to understand what the FUCK happened) you still had to give Angel a satisfaction about why you didn’t come back. You must’ve looked really miserable cause Angel just hugged you really tight and ordered you to bed. When in reality all of your efforts were now focused on masking your humiliating arousal. So you find yourself lying in your bed, trying not to think anything Radio Demon related. You’re totally not thinking about the way he looked at you while he fucked you. The way his eyes would search yours in a crowded room, winking playfully at you. An inside joke. A promise.The way you both playfully banter at the dinner table over silly things. You are also totally not thinking about how he takes you, how you love to hear him saying “good girl” to you after you push your limits again, only for him. Not thinking at all about how his cock fills you so perfectly, you truly feel empty without it. Who’s thinking about what hides behind his eyes when he his voice goes all soft in the middle of a rough fucking? Ha ha!! Definitely not you. 

You punch yourself with your pillow. 

C’mon don’t think thoughts of Alastor now…

You are so fucked, and not in a sexy way. The worst part is that you want to endure it, you want to be good for him. Your pussy is aching to be touched, your mind begging you to have thoughts of Alastor while your pussy is being touched. But right now you would give everything in this world to hear him praise you again. You know how hard his rut is on him… He already carries a lot alone, the Hotel, the doomsday clock of extermination ticking closer and closer everyday. Plus the other things… You know there’s something more, something that haunts his nights, but it’s not your place to ask. Hell, you are too scared to ask. You just hope, you just pray that when it happens you are beside him. You don’t ever expect the Radio Demon to ever ask for help, or open up. Or seek comfort. Oh, he’s anything but comfortable. But you like to think that in time, he would feel comfortable enough around you he could let something slip, a tiny detail to add to your “The Mystery of the Radio Demon” clue board. Something that would let you show him he doesn’t need to pick himself apart, carry all these burdens alone.

Great, you are doing amazing at the “not thinking any Alastor thoughts” game. 

You hug your pillow closer and look across you window as you start saying out loud a list of things you need to do around the Hotel. Maybe this will take your mind off the devil.

Tend to the Venus Fly traps of the gardens. (You could ask Nifty for the bugs)

Write the thank you letters to the new guests that agreed to help with hotel chores.

Tell charlie about your book club idea using cool flashcards 

It’s your turn to organize “Theme nights”, maybe Alastor would enjoy a “great gatsby” theme, right?

Great, Alastor again. You sighed. 

Suddenly a red note written with perfect penmanship flies next to your spot on the bed.

“My darling doe, I’m waiting for you in my chambers.

Don’t take your time, we have much to discuss.-

Yours, Alastor.

You take your time, though, to thank anyone who’s listening as you sprint towards Alastor’s lavish room. You feel dizzy, anticipation like butterflies in your stomach. You don’t have to knock more than once for him to let you in. 

He’s on the edge of the bed, looking like his normal self (as normal as it gets for Alastor)

The taps the spot next to him on the the bed

“Come here, you darling thing!”

you don’t waste a second, and as quickly as you are sitting on his bed, you are sitting on lap. Holding you close, in a vice like grip with one of his arms, Alastor starts talking 

“How was the rest of your day, my dear?” you open your mouth to start talking, you have so much to say to him. That you were a good girl, that you were ready to do anything to make up for laughing at Angel’s stupid idea of seducing Vox. You are ready to beg for your release. to ask how his day was. But you don’t get to utter a word. 

Alastor quickly and swiftly maneuvers you: now your feet are dangling from the bed, your ass and  legs sprawled out across his lap. A powerful arm locking you to him by the small of your back.

Holy fuck.

“Well my day was downright awful! You see I overheard my pretty pet laughing at the prospect of seducing one of my most infuriating enemies. I’m in the peak of my unforgiving rut ,and all I wanted was the shared pleasure of our bodies as I fuck the darling thing senseless!” he pinches the back of your thigh, hard. You blur out a soft, desperate sigh. 

“Of course, the good girl she is, she went begging for my forgiveness. I didn’t fully give it, of course. That was a harsh offense, what my little doe did. But I did have my fill with her” You try to spea-

Alastor audibly shushes you.

“I did leave her all hot and bothered after spilling my cum all over her maddening little body, of course. I contenplated murdering the bastard demon so he wouldn’t get a chance of even knowing about her existence and what she does to me. But I still suffered with the hellish need of fucking her into oblivion, and pondered a lot about divine justice. So, if I had to suffer this entire day because of her offenses I think it’s only right for that darling doe to get her fill of suffering and punishment hmmmm?

 You try to look back to his face, but you feel the familiar sensation of magic wrapping around your throat. The leash, you are so so fucked. You couldn’t be happier about it.

He tugs at the chain, so your skirt rides up and your ass is totally bare for him and your head is buried in one of his fluffy pillows. With a snap of his fingers your panties disintegrate.

You shiver at the thought of what’s happening next, a delicious sensation that flows across your back and ends up inside your cunt, beginning to turn into a wet mess. He’s gonna spank you like the bad girl you were. He’s not going to be gentle about it either. You can’t wait. It’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna sting, it will leave you bruised. It will be deliciously wicked, like all of Alastor’s punishments. 

You feel another surge of magic, behind the powerful green glow something materializes.

Your horsegirl days back on earth don’t let you down. You recognise it instantly. On his previous free hand he’s holding a riding crop. A big, leather pointed riding crop. 

He’s going to literally whip you into submission. You squirm inside his arm. You can’t fucking wait. You’ve made yourself come a few times after the thought of being literally tamed, broke by alastor. 

You whimper. Alastor’s laugh fills the room.

“So this is how this is going to go, pet. I’m going to whip you lovely ass like the ungrateful slut you are and you are going to thank me for it after every crack of the whip. I’m gonna do this as many times as I see fit. Until your ass is as red as my hair. Until you understand what you did. By the time I’m done you will be begging to be punished more. Are we clear?

You can’t look back at him, but you can feel how his red irises make your skin burn. You like to imagine that his eyes did the thing where they soften for a heartbeat, if you blink you miss it. Waiting for your permission, even now. You are able to muffle a “yes, oh please Alastor, yes”. 

“Lovely.” 

crack.

He didn’t even gave you time to process. The whip lands hard on the back of your left thigh. You let out a scream.

“Well?” he asks impatiently as he waits for your “thank you”. Seeing the way the spot where the whip landed turn a lovely shade of scarlet isn’t helping him hold his resolve either.

You wanna do this right, you need this as much as he needs it.

“thank-”

crack. the whip lands on your right thigh, a little lower.

“tha-” 

crack.crack.

 He whips you even harder, cutting the wind as it lands twice on your left buttcheek. Only four cracks down and you are a whimpering mess. You wiggle instinctively on his lap, seeking some friction, some relief. It hurts so bad, but it feels so good. You don’t know if you can take more. You want it anyway. “thank you, thank you” you whimper. Tears wet your face, arousal wets your core adding to the mess from before he even started.

crack. crack.

 He mirrors his movements to your right buttcheek. “thank yo- Holy fuck Alastor”

one more hit, now hitting both of your buttcheks. 

“I’ve told you many times before pet, there’s nothing holy about what I do to you. I’m gonna break you and then breed you. I won’t give you a moment of respite. And maybe by the end, when your legs are shaking from holding that orgasm you have been desperately chasing since this afternoon, I will be merciful and let you find your release. And we will know who’s really losing control here”

How can he do this to you with only his voice? You are not sure you’ve ever been so aroused in your entire life. You’re so wet, you’re staining Alastor’s pants. As close as you will get to marking him.

There’s a draft coming from the forest of his room, it softly kisses your abused skin, making it sting. You want to see the state of your lower body so badly. The way you’re submitting to him right now, the most sweet form degradation possible. Your eyes are clouded with tears, that line between pain and pleasure being blurred in ways only someone like the Radio Demon could cross. He tugs on your leash, to attract your attention from the sinful, unholy sensations you are feeling so openly, back to him.

Alastor drags the leather point of the whip across your throbbing cunt, collecting the obscene amount of wetness there. “By the 7 rings of hell, what do you have here? Are you such a slut that you are creaming at being whipped into compliance? I could do this all night long. Your ass is already red with regret for your actions but I’m not sure you learned your lesson yet.”

crack. The whip this time lands on your juicy cunt. Your hips trash with the sensation, your demon lover’s name escaping your lips like a prayer.You forget to thank him this time, despite your best efforts. 

“Are you so big of an ungrateful brat that you want this sinful punishment to continue? Not even bothering to thank me, in hopes it will end sooner. You know what you are. Nothing but a hungry greedy whore for the Radio Demon” 

crack, crack. One hit on each cheek. “But I already knew that” and with that mocking tone Alastor lands a  masterful final hit on both of your cheeks. He does have a way of proving his point.

You are fucking sobbing now. Tears coat your cheeks, now a colour so vibrant as the rich scarlet the covers your ass. Alastor knows everything that makes you tick. He knows how close you are to cumming. Cumming for only his masterfully inflicted punishment and his voice. Incoherent whimpers leave your lips “please please please” and soft “ohh and aaah, alastor”

He tugs on your leash again, he knows your body like the palm of his hand, and that you are probably entering the mind numbing phase of the pain and the pleasure. But he still wants your undivided attention. He has whipped you into submission, he still needs to fuck you into submission. 

“And you even made the mess of yourself stain my pants! My god, you are pathetic. Delightfully pathetic” 

Alastor gently runs his clawed hands across your ass, the sharp edges making you hiss. He looks in adoration at the masterpiece he inflicted on you. Your ass and thighs a shade of scarlet to rival his hair, the wetness between your thighs a heavenly invitation. Beautiful. Sinful.  Sacred. He will never forget this, and he will make sure that you never forget it too.

“Now, now, we are done with this my little doe” his voice goes extra soft because you can’t see him with your face buried in a soft pillow. “you were so good for me, you always are” 

The softness and sweetness of his praise makes you sob even harder. It’s maddening. 

He gently maneuvers you further into the bed, making space for himself. 

“But now I’m painfully hard, and I still need to bury myself inside that tight throbbing cunt of yours, so deep it will mark. your. soul.” static picks up around you, a delicious omen of what is about to happen. 

Alastor positions himself behind you, immediately entering you and bottoming out. 

His first thrusts are sharp and deep, as to make his promise of marking yourself from the inside real. He pulls your chains so your scarlet ass is presenting itself to him like the most sinful gift. 

Alastor picks up that breakneck pace of fucking, common to him, specially during his rut. He fucks you like he hates you. As hard as he possibly can, to make you know that you are his and his only. That even thinking of someone else, even as a joke, will not be tolerated. You wanted all of him didn’t you? You’ve made that clear, with words, with actions, with the things your body endures for him. So he makes sure to give you that. 

Moans drip from your lips in a crescendo, you are screaming now, you don’t know how long you will last. It feels so good. That delayed gratification drowning you in maddening pleasure. 

“Who do you think is losing control here?” he asks after a painfully sharp thrust. “Me, or the mess of a slut underneath me? That is screaming my name loud enough for the entire pride ring to know how she loves being fucked like a common whore for the Radio Demon,hmm?” 

One hand pulls your leash upwards, the other your hips. He’s even deeper now, you can feel him in your core.

You don’t reply to the question even though you want to, even though you know the answer. 

“Again, since you like being bred like that so much you are not hearing me” he takes all of his cock out and enters you at once. “Who’s losing control here? Me, or my little plaything with the scarlet ass from being whipped into compliance like the pretty little brat she is?” 

You don’t forget to answer him now, you need to cum, desperately. You withheld your building orgasm  for an entire day, you wanted to be good for Alastor. You wanted to be able to take everything he gives you. The pleasure, the pain, the sinful, delicious depraved torture. “Me, I am!” you scream out. 

Alastor’s pace is becoming erratic, you feel the shadows of his growing antlers cover you.

“Again” he tugs at your collars. Another sharp, deep thrust. 

“Me, i’m losing control” 

“And what are you?” his voice is filled with static now, he’s close too.

“Yours! I’m yours Alastor, yours to fuck, to break, to punish” you cry out in sweet pain and pleasure. 

Another tug, Another painfully sharp thrust 

“I’m only yours Alastor” you finish. 

“Good. girl.” he spaces the words out between thrusts, knowing how you relish in them. 

“You can come now” 

Your orgasm comes crashing down. You grip the sheets like a maniac, your legs shaking so hard Alastor needs to hold them in place. You scream so loud you are sure they can hear you in heaven. You hope they can, so they know. So they know this man owns you. So they know you love him. 

Alastor is not far behind, your cunt tightening around him like a vice. He fucks you specially hard and deep know, delayed gratification hitting all at once. He cums so hard inside you, he’s sure he finally marked your soul. The feeling of his cock twitching and spilling inside you, adding to the indescriptible sensation. You are completely over the edge now, you feel weightless, free falling. 

You know Alastor will catch you.

“Ah! There she is” you open your eyes and feel a soft kiss on your cheek. You are lying on top of Alastor’s chest, he cuddles you gently, making lazy circles on your hipbone but still buried to the hilt inside you. He still plans to give you all of his cum, all he has during his rut,after all. 

“woah, that was… amazing” you say after a while.

“Well, I did whip and fuck you to the brink of insanity my dear. And you came so beautifully for me, you passed out. You’re such a sight pet. I will never forget it.” you blush at his words. You feel so happy. 

Alastor kisses your cheek again, and with a final thrust he leaves you with a obscenely wet noise. You are dripping with his cum, it’s running down your thighs, staining the sheets. 

You whimper in complaint. 

“Ah ,don’t be like that” he laughs, is a genuinely happy laugh. “There’s still plenty of where that came from, but I need my darling doe to rest first” he says. He’s lying you gently on the bed as he gets up. “Don’t leave” you whisper. 

He’s out of the bed anyways, and seems to be on his way to do something. You don’t care, you want him back here, holding you. You don't want him to ever let you go.

“Al, i’m truly sorry about today. You know that, right?” You know that I love you, right?  You want to say, but you are scared that confession is a little much for today. You see where he’s headed now. He opens the bathroom door.

“Don’t even think about it, my dear. It’s all water under the bridge” he says in his usual chirpy tone, louder than the noise of the bath running. “Now you just need to promise me that you will never even let the thought of that pathetic demon cross your mind, my love”

my love.

“And if he ever does, you will let me know. So I can fuck those wretched ideas out of your mind” Alastor is walking back to the bed now. He picks you up bridal style and carries you across the room. You can’t help the hiss that escape your lips as your irritated skin touches him. “I know, I know my dear. We will fix that right up. I can’t have my favourite doe hurting. We still have a long way to go until the end of my rut, dearest” you don’t reply, you are just happy. perfectly happy. You could hear Alastor’s voice for days without complaining. “But you did look so perfect with that scarlet ass on my lap. Crying from how much you love what I do to you. I hope you never forget that” 

You both reach the bathtub, he drops you with all the care in the world inside the water.

“I’m so proud of you. I truly am” the water is warm. The soap smells so nice. He lit candles too. You give in to the soothing sensations. You might have tuned out for a bit, cause you hear alastor calling your name so softly… He says it again, slow, soft, gentle, pleading. As to catch your attention, he has something important to say. “You know how precious you are to me, don’t you my little doe?” “yes” you respond, trying to fight the tears that begin to spill down your face ‘

“Oh my darling girl, why are you crying? There’s nothing to cry about. You are here, safe with me. As you will always be, as is your place.”

“Alastor I-I-” your heart swells, you want to say something. You want to say everything you are feeling. How consuming, in the best way possible, your feelings are for him.

But Alastor is always 10 steps ahead. 

“I know, I know darling” he kisses your hand “I feel it too.” he says. It feels like a confession, it sounds like a confession. The look on his eyes is the one of that mystery that hides there every time his voice in the midst of your passion. 

When you,know you know. your mind reiterates. 

“Let me help you dry those tears. Save them for another day” He holds your face and kiss your lips. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is resting and recovering that luscious body of yours, as well as your brilliant, witty mind”

He hands you a sparkly fancy pink soap, and gets up to find the softest sponge he has stored. 

“Now, I hope you like the smell of these candles, cause I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least the next four days!” 

Alastor continues to chat away sweet nothings as he helps you bathe. Maybe it will take a while for the Radio Demon to say those 4 words out loud. He has enough reason for that, inside that beautiful, complicated mind of his. His actions always speak louder than words, your relationship was proof of that. 

Until then, you will always have sacred moments in crowded rooms, you will always have jokes that only the both of you understand. He will always keep sweeping you off your feet in the most deliciously wicked ways possible. 

Right now, you have him by your side after everything that happened, you have his heart too. You are sure of that. So you don’t mind waiting for him.

Good things come for those who wait.

[silverwolf1249]

No beta we die like...

Ok, I went through all of my bookmarks that mentioned "no beta", here's a list of the highlights(took out all of the no beta we die like *character(s) name* because the list got too long):

General/multi-fandom:

"no beta we die like mne" enough people mistyped that it became a tag lmao

subsequently people also tagged "no beta we grammar fail like mne" and "no beta we tpypo like mne"

"proof read/beta read" + "no regrets we live and die like my betas"

"no beta we die like...lmao y'all know who" + "no beta I'd rather fucking die" on the same fic series

"no beta we die like I did without ao3" i'm guessing this is when ao3 crashed for a hot sec or was under maintenance lol

"no beta we died like *character name*'s childhood" (ted lasso(jamie), bnha(todoroki), etc.)

"no beta we die like my will to follow any canon"

"no beta we die like my inability to stick to deadlines"

"no beta we die like my will to be a consistent writer"

"no beta we die like my potential"

"no beta we die like my mental state" man we all need therapy lol

variations of "no beta we die of sleep deprivation/die like my sleep schedule" etc.

"no beta we die like my faith in humanity" hilariously on a bakudeku social media crack fic

"no beta we die like my ap calc grade" I failed calc 2 in college, I relate

"no beta we die like i did this week because of exams" mood

"no beta we die like starving college students"

"no beta we die like dehydrated worms" creative and unexpected, j'adore

"no beta we die like things" ominous and vague, bravo

"no beta we die like *gunshot*" rip author

"no beta we die like my d&d character" may you roll 20s with your next one

"no beta we die like my rich husband" this was on a pjo fic and I have no idea what they mean lol

DC/Batman:

"no beta we die like the writers that made bruce an abusive piece of shit will when im done with them" mood, I'll provide the alibi

"no beta we die like dick did when jason told him his hairline was receding"

"no beta we die like bruce did last night" batman fic where he flatlined and got resuscitated in the fic oof

"no beta we die like bruces rep as a tough boi" brucie wayne my beloved

Marvel/Avengers:

"no beta we die by hotdogs" no idea what this means, i assume it might require context from the fic. I also bookmarked said fic back in like 2017, so I have no idea what it's about anymore

Hazbin Hotel:

"no beta we die like Lucifer's happiness" take that depression! oh wait... ):

"no beta we die like Niffty's sanity(if it ever existed in the first place)"

"It has been beta'ed so we don't have to die like Adam"

Miraculous Ladybug:

"no beta we die like gabriel's fashion sense" so true bestie, bro wore white on white on white and thought he ate. condom looking mf

Bleach:

"no beta we die like Ichigo's sense of security"

"no beta we (don't) die like our Lord and Savior Turtlehara"

"no beta we die like Aizen which is to say we only live to suffer" as he should

Boku no Hero Academia:

"no beta we die like the (wo)men kirishima wants us to be" heck yeah we do!

Haikyuu:

"no beta we die like NO ONE because people don't die in volleyball" and thank god for that

Case Closed/Magic Kaito:

"no beta we die like side characters" for those unaware, case closed is a mystery anime and usually at least one side character dies an episode. There are over 1000 episodes...

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint:

"no beta we die like [redacted]" an I oop

"no beta we die like these two fucking idiots" it's orv, you can prob guess which 2 lol

Trash of the Count's Family:

"no beta we die like Cale's slacker life" with how self sacrificial the guy is he stood no chance lol

Merlin:

"no beta we die like Albion in Season 5"

multiple variations of "no beta we die like literally every character in merlin like wtf bbc" RIP

Genshin:

"no beta we die like ascending to world level 6 with under leveled characters" felt this one in my soul

If you managed to read all the way here, let me know what your fav no beta I die like phrases are!

[autism-connoisseur]

what's your take on karkat now that you know his big secret?

genuinely amazing how his whole personality is a defense mechanism.... this guy cares he cares so much but his whole life hes had to push people away lest they Find Out.... living in constant alert ever since he had consciousness of how Different he was and how dangerous that was for him, knowing that everyone around him would cull him on the spot if they found out about It.... if im not mistaken trolls' tears are the color of their blood so he also had to repress himself to Not Cry. and for a person as emotional as karkat thats such a challenge!! not even out of sadness, or grief, but people also cry out of happiness, nostalgia, frustration, anger... those two especially i can see happening to karkat. and hed hate it.

he can be so Mean sometimes, perpetually angry... sure, it might be part of his personality, he is definitely easily irritated and prone to heat-of-the-moment decisions (like when he ran sollux's code and promptly exploded his computer and cast a curse on himself & his friends) but like i said, he's lived his entire life having to be Alert, not being able to let his guard down, because he would die if he did!! and at the same time he needs to prove himself, prove that despite being Wrong and Different he can do things!! he can be useful!!! maybe if he makes himself useful enough someone will even see him as a person and not just a mutant... thats why he is so dead set on being the leader. much like dave he has lived his whole life Needing To Be In Control Of Things (rose too, but shes more like she needs to Understand People, if she can read people correctly then she can avoid them flipping on her (no she cant that is not how it works babe)), but whereas dave is content with letting june be the leader (even if he wants to surpass her, hes very much doing his own thing anyways) karkat NEEDS to be the leader because that way he will prove that hes capable (to his friends in particular but to society as a whole, they are basically a mini representation of society anyways with each of them representing each caste).

but also he blames himself, he blames himself so much whenever anything goes slightly wrong and that feeling just gets amplified since he ran sollux's virus. it's a vicious circle for him since he needs to be in control and call the shots to feel like hes useful (defense mechanism, you wouldn't get rid of an useful pest even if he was a pest now would you?), but whenever something goes wrong under his command he freaks out (maybe relating it to his blood color? like he is Bad so this happened. also we know he takes sollux's virus's curse very seriously), he takes it as proof that He Personally Is Wrong and obviously everyone knows this, but since he doesnt want to be seen as that and he wants society to accept him without ever realizing there was a reason they shouldnt (see: also why he wanted to join the military or some part of it at the very least) he doubles on his efforts on Controlling everything.

and when he realizes they created our universe, it finally gives him a chance to be above someone. to be the powerful and not the powerless, the respected and not the shunned. its why he treats the beta kids as stupid, inferior beings, and why he constantly points out that he is their god even though he isnt (well he technically is but you get it). it mimicks the way some highbloods treat lowbloods, but where the highbloods are like that because society told them it's their natural right that they were born with, karkat does it to forget what that same society told him: that he was somehow intrinsically worse than anyone else. so bad, in fact, that he'd be better of dead. actually, he'd be so better off dead that they want him dead, that they will kill him as soon as they find him. so of course he takes the chance to not feel like that! of course he wants to feel superior! he needs to be the one above for once, he needs that control over someone instead of feeling like he needs to watch out for everything and anything. he sees a chance to not be the lowest link in the chain, and he takes it. sure, he may be a mutant, but theyre human... and not just any humans. the very same humans that doomed their session, the session karkat threw himself into because not only did it grant him escape from a planet that hated his existence (as much as he also idealized, trying to fit in, trying to not be seen as Abnormal even though all the beta trolls are Abnormal & don't fit in), it also gave him the chance to, like i said, prove himself.

he trusts his friends, he does, and he said he'd tell them his blood color eventually. but he needed to be ready and that's why both jack noir & terezi, or at least their reactions, are so important to him. neither of them shuns him, they don't attack him, they don't make fun of him of call him aberrant or do anything that most trolls would. fair, jack noir isn't a troll, and he doesn't even understand why karkat is freaking out. but when he shows him his own blood, the same color, karkat is suddenly not alone. even if red blood doesn't mean anything special to jack, to karkat it means the world to see that he is not some abomination, that the universe didn't signal him out to be different than the rest forever and always. and terezi, terezi is what really does it for him. shes somewhat high in the hemospectrum, she is someone that karkat likes (and apparently kissed! good for him because God knows the kid didn't let anyone in out of fear of being found out), she is a troll. and she doesn't mind. she even calls him adorable in the same log! the beta trolls are outcasts of the alternian society; and they are karkat's friends. that's why he was willing to tell them eventually: it was his secret to keep and his secret to share. and even if terezi found out when he wasn't ready yet, her reaction was absolutely positive. again, these kids are the furthest away from troll society as they can be, almost its opposite, which is why karkat thought about telling them, is willing to tell them. he knows hes safe with them.

ive seen people point out how his handle (carcinoGeneticist) references his sign (carcinogenesis is the process by which an organism gains cancer) and both these things represent how hes considered an anomaly & something to be rid of, something sick; i also think it's. ironic that he's the knight of blood, but i don't know enough about classpects yet to analyze that. it must have felt like a cruel joke to him, though, being told that his literal title was someone who fights for the same thing he's ostracized for. it would certainly piss me off that's for sure.

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Keep You Near - Tolya Yul Baraar

This one, this one was due to a car ride conversation and won't leave my mind so.

Content Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat, Violence And Injury. Not Beta/Proof Read, We Die Like Men.

The job was meant to be simple enough, especially given you were being sent on it with Tolya and Tamar, two of Sturmhond's finest, arguably the finest he has to offer, and the most adept to violence if the need arose. Each as much as a threat with their weaponry of choice as they are as Heartrender's.

You had boundless trust in the twins, not just from the way Tolya moved with such certainty despite the treelike stature, you cannot help but recall all the times you had known exactly whom anyone was referring to by the expression "the giant with the golden eyes."

It wasn't even the way in which you fully believed Tamar could and would likely take down the entire Fjerdan Army over as little as a spilled drink or out of line comment about her natural born gifts. A fight you had no doubt she would win.

It was down to the simple fact of trust, in the time you had spent with the twins, the eagerness to fight, the resilience of their nature and the power of their skills with both their gifts and weaponry was not what had you believing in them. But their unwavering loyalty.

One of the crew aboard the Volkvolny had described Tamar once as "the most trigger happy woman" he had ever met. You thought that sentiment did her a misjustice, for all of Tamar's willingness to fight she did not out of a sheer desire for violence, it was always with reason, maybe not always a perfectly agreeable reason her brother would often argue but a reason nonetheless.

As for Tolya, you had come to believe there was nothing he was not capable or willing to do in the name of his faith and his loyalty. You'd never known someone so fiercely devoted as the bare armed giant.

He had no death wish, that many of the crew you'd seen before have had, but he wasn't unwilling to die for what he believed in, and you admired that, even if it scared you in ways you could not express, to depths of your soul which whispered quiet concerns in the emptiness of conversation.

You would willingly lay down your lives for either of them, and you knew that to be true, but there was something in the way you feared Tolya coming to harm that made missions like this, with just the three of you increasingly difficult.

Tolya offers you a grin and you're brought back to the moment, for all his size and skill, Tolya possessed a softness and a kindness you would have never expected from such a man.

You understood why those who did not have the pleasure of knowing him as personally as you, would fear such a giant. His stature alone was enough to be threatening, and then his sword which remains unholstered besides the looming risk it presents. But knowing him as you do, it is the poet within the warrior that you see above all.

"This is where I advise we part ways," Tamar comments looking at the fork in the path ahead. "Not least of all because I can sense Tolya is about to start reciting and I cannot fathom a worse pastime right now."

This is the part of the plan you like least of all, the part in which for the remaining sunlight you shall part into separate groups.

Before you manage to get a word out Tamar just gives you a large smile. "Enjoy my brothers company, and try not to run into trouble, I hate to think of you having fun without me," she says.

"See you by dusk sister," Tolya says, watching her eager to get out of here. Once she is out of earshot Tolya gives you a small sideways smile. "She was right, I was about to start."

"I do not mind," you remind him. "I quite enjoy your poetry."

The stop at the boarding house was entirely unplanned, the journey should have been straight on until you two reached the market and likely had Tamar waiting for you both, acting as if she had won some imaginary race.

But things had not gone according to plan.

You knew Tamar had volunteered for the path in which she took because she believed it to be the most dangerous path of the two to take, meaning that if anyone was likely to get attacked during the mission, it would've been her and she could have had the joy of a fight for the first time in a while. But as likely as the odds had favoured that outcome, it was yourself and Tolya that had run into trouble.

A few Fjerdan's much further south than you'd ever seen them to be, and a few mercenaries looking to make a quick Kruge where the Fjerdan's failed. One of those would've been easy enough to deal with, between your combined skills and training, but back to back fighting the arsenal of the Drüskelle and then the numbers of the mercenaries, it was a unfair fight to say the least.

An unfair fight that had left you with likely broken ribs and a contemptible cut across your forehead that seemed to continue to bleed no matter how much you tried to attend to it. Which admittedly is not as much as it needed with your focus being elsewhere, for all your injuries you had sustained against the attack, Tolya had sustained worse ones in an attempt to keep you safe. A fact you were not letting slip by unnoticed.

With no Corporalki Healers in any kind of distance, and only the one Otkazat'sya at the boarding house that has remotely any knowledge of true healing, barely even a boy in age. There is no way to let Tamar know what has happened, and your only option is to allow Tolya, who despite the haze of pain and faded consciousness, is insisting you needn't worry about him, to have some time to heal in the way the body intended. Slowly.

Once you had paid for a room, and twice as much for silence on the two of you being there, you had gotten Tolya to lay down, which between the sheer size of him and his repeatedly insistence that he can continue to the ride, was no easy task.

Now lain with his shoulders against the bedpost, making it only comically more obvious that this bed was simply far too small to hold him, his eyes find yours again, as you are emptying out supplies looking for any kind of remedy or assistance that may have been hidden away inside the satchels you'd been carrying.

"You are worrying too much," Tolya insists, but you can hear the pain as he breathes in, the way it is a struggle to get the sentences out. You cannot help but worry that you must keep him away for at least a little while longer, to be sure that if he falls asleep he will in fact wake again.

"Tolya, tell me a poem," you insist, trying to keep him engaged, trying to keep him aware so you can focus on the task of treating him. Trying to keep your mind from wandering back into a memory, from how quickly and without thought Tolya put himself between you and the danger. Like it was nothing. Like it was second nature. Like there had been no other option but to do so. And just how quickly that had got him knocked to the ground. You try not to think of how your heart stopped in the moments where you weren't sure he would make it. How you're still not convinced he might make it. How if he doesn't make it, he will have died to save you. You try to push that thought as far from your mind as you can, but it is ringing out in your mind like the a message from the Saints.

"It’s time, my friend: it’s time! The heart wants rest –," he begins.

"Maybe not this poem," your voice cannot withhold it's tremble. But he doesn't seem to hear you through the fog of his own pain and the feeling of his mind slipping into unconsciousness.

"the days slip by, the hours take away

fragments of our life: and you and I," he continues. As long as it keeps him awake, as long as it keeps him awake, you tell yourself over and over.

"plan how to live and, – just like that – we die.

No happiness on land, yet there’s freedom, peace.

I’ve long dreamt of an enviable fate –

I’ve long thought, a weary slave, to fly

to some far place of labour and true joy," he finishes and he must be able to feel your eyes boring into him, and the sound of your heart threatening to tear its way out of your chest to aid him in any way you can. He laughs and tries to hide the wince as he does.

"You cannot die now, koja, because you cannot leave me on that poem," you don't even realise you've said it.

"Everyone mourns the first blossom. Who will weep for the rest that fall? I will remain to sing for you, long after the spring has gone," Tolya whispers, his voice so quiet is sends a ice cold wind of fear right through your blood and into your bones.

"Kebben’a," you say quietly, recognising this one. You pull out a small glass vial from one of the satchel pockets and thank the Saints that there was some kind of elixir to be found.

You recognise from the colour and the vials stopper shape that it was not exactly meant for injuries like Tolya's, being a low level assistant to healing and a medium strength painkiller, but your grateful for it regardless.

You hand him the vial and he drinks it. "Now that won't do massive amounts but at least it'll help," you say, more for your own benefit than his. You still cannot tell exactly how severe the injuries are, and Tolya is ever insistent on hiding it.

"I am not in need of your courage right now Tolya," you say, moving to sit beside him, "I am in need of your honour and your honesty, I cannot help you without knowing just how badly you are hurt."

"Not so badly," he says, but his voice is still quiet. It crosses your mind that with injury and pain like this he may not even remember most of it come tomorrow. The blanks in memory when it comes to injury are usually a gift, a measure to protect yourself from the intensity.

But you know even if he was to forget what he had done for you today, you never could.

"You needn't have thrown yourself towards the mercenary like that," you say matching the quietness of his voice.

"He was not unsteady," Tolya says between a laboured breath, "he likely would've killed you."

"He nearly killed you," you remind him, allowing your voice to carry more loudly with this sentiment. "And where would that have left me?"

"He didn't" Tolya reminds you.

"If you're improved by morning," you start, "then I will ride ahead and let Tamar-,"

"No," he whispers, the relief from the elixir taking affect but bringing some well needed sleep with it, "stay."

"I will return," you say.

"Please stay," he insists. "I want you to stay with me."

You doubt he is lucid enough now to be much aware of what he is saying, and you're almost grateful because if he could notice the way your heart was hammering in your chest there is no way you would be able to hide how you feel any longer. There would be no denying anything with the way your heart is calling to him now.

"You want me to stay with you?" You ask. "Now?"

"Always," he says, the whisper turning into a mumble, he reaches out and grabs a hold of your arm gently, lacing his fingers around you, as if to be sure to keep you near. "But especially now."

The room falls quiet as Tolya finally gives into the sleep. You do not rest, making sure to keep a close eye on him, his breathing, his heart.

It's a miracle you can hear it over the sound of your own. But you must stay awake, to be sure, to make sure he is healing, improving.

Not that you could sleep if you wanted to, with the racing of your mind. His grip on your arm is not tight but it also doesn't waver in his slumber even once. "Moi sol ye tselai," you whisper, "I will stay, for as long as you want me to, I will stay." Even though he is asleep you daren't say the last part aloud.

Eya fyela chi.

For as long as you shall live.

[hypnotisedfireflies]

Helleur my beautiful friend. Do you have practical advice for newbie writers? I am not a creative writer anymore. I’m all AP style, corporate fluff. I miss getting weird with my writing. Back in the day I contributed to some very cringe, very mouth-breather Twilight fanfiction (but it was for Carlisle/Esme because I’m ✨different✨) and while it’s objectively horrible it was lovely too.

How would one get back into it? I feel like I don’t have such a fantastic grasp on characters like you, and so many others, do! Also I absolutely cannot take criticism without wilting like a flower in the sun sooo that’s inconvenient for growth haha!

You’re my FAVE tell all of Australia they’re lucky to have you.

Hola, my lovely friend! 💛💚🧡💙

Oh heavens, it’s kind of hilarious and terrifying when we look back at old fic habits! Do you still have your fic to look back on or has it been lost to the years?

In my opinion, the best way to get back into it is to write the story you want to read.  (Sometimes when I get stuck, I walk away and go, ‘okay, if I was reading this what would I want to see now?’ And then I can keep going because I’ve kind of reconnected myself with the reason I write in the first place). 

Love to read that you are thinking of getting back into writing and I would love love love to read whatever you come up with!

So like, grab a pen and write a sentence on a piece of paper – “I want to read XYZ happening.” And when you know what exactly what you want to write, you can develop the story around that central column and start imagining how the characters would respond in that situation.

I also find basic outlines useful.  You don’t have to live and die by them, but they will help to keep you on track with the crucial beats.  If it’s a short story it can be as simple as, “This happens, then this, then this,” and then you can pace your story to those goal posts.  Or if it’s longer, the same thing but as individual chapter outlines.  This way you get kind of a roadmap of where the story is going, which is really helpful for pacing. You can make it as detailed or casual as you want.  Sometimes mine contain lines of dialogue or moments I want to include.

So I guess what I’m saying is planning can be really helpful when you’re dipping your toe back in so you don't get lost in your own story – and you can really use that AP corporate style stuff here in that organisational stage!  It’s more creative than it gets credit for!

Character stuff just comes with practice, I think! The more you write, the stronger the voices in your head become. 😂

As for criticism, I have found by and large people are very kind – especially on A03.  If it is something that gives you anxiety you can turn off comments altogether or restrict your story’s access to registered users only, which will give you more control over who can comment.  There are also people willing to be beta readers who can give you feedback within whatever arrangement you make with one another.  I have never used a beta, so I can’t really speak to this much, but I understand it’s really useful for many writers to have someone read/proof/provide feedback/whatever the arrangement is prior to publishing. 

I hope that helps.  But bottom line – write what you want to read, it’s honestly the most motivating thing, in my experience! 🧡💛

[felibrary]

╭──╯ THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM !

PAIRING: aventurine x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: if you’ve had a penny for all the times aventurine unknowingly confessed to you, you’d have three; alternatively the three times when aventurine unbeknownst to you has confessed his love for you.

WORDCOUNT: 2k | CONTENT & WARNINGS: fluff,mention of aventurines past, short mention of starvation, very light angst if you squint, not friends not lovers something in between ig?? not beta read we die like uh tingyun ; oneshot

AUTHORS NOTE: i’m sorry for the weekly updates 😭 i barely have time to study inbetween the week so writing during weekdays is a big no. just enjoy the weekly posts please 🤧

I. "i can be myself around you." 

“huh?” you look up from the velvet cushioned couch on which you're currently sitting and as you glance up your eyes immediately find his pinkish ones. 

your hand remains on the gray critter which is seated on your lap and can only purr as you continue to stroke it and smother it in affection. “what do you mean by that?” you let out a silent laugh - a huff of air, as you question the man whose chin is currently propped in the right palm of his hand as he continues to stare at you from the messy dinner table.

it’s not a short and temporary stare - no, rather it’s a lingering observation. his gaze continues to rest on you, not flickering away for a single moment. it’s as if he doesn’t want to look away yet - he physically can’t tear his gaze away from you. 

he’s like a small birdling. one that remains to nestle because it cannot fly yet, because it physically cannot open its wings to leave. because it wants to stay at the place which it feels at ease; which it feels at home.

he shoots you a lazy smile, as if satisfied with your response. “i mean exactly just that. i simply can act like a normal person with you - no façade no charade whatsoever.” he immediately regrets the last part, the words quickly slipped out of his mouth without aventurine properly processing, as if he spoke before thinking. 

aventurine’s nervous as he awaits your response - he’s never nervous, at least that was the case until he met you. you’re like a fresh breath of air, something new and exciting - something or rather someone worth living for. 

you’re a thrill to be around.

you’re like the snow, like a hill which is covered in white shimmering snow. aventurine stomps his way up, leaving deep footprints in the snow that’ll later on be washed away and ultimately will be gone. atop of the hill he swiftly sledges down and isn’t able to stop as he continues to slide down further with no end in sight. 

until he comes to an abrupt halt but before he knows it he makes his way up all over again, repeating the action all over and over again because it’s fun. this is probably what childish joy is supposed to feel like. 

and up until now he’s never known the feeling of being a happy and carefree child that has nothing to worry about. after all, his past haunts him in all shapes and forms. 

be it in his worst dreams - nightmares, that replay the downfall and destruction of his home planet. 

not to mention, his calloused hands that are scattered with light and healed scars, nevertheless they’re cold and empty, with no other hand to hold onto for safety and no other hand to interlock and share warmth with. 

or even his own self, specifically his face. every time he stares at his reflection he’s met with none other than aventurine looking back at him - not kakavasha. after all, up until the IPC infiltrated his home planet, kakavasha wasn’t the sole survivor of his people, he wasn’t the last avgin - unlike aventurine. 

his eyes are proof, there isn’t another pair of eyes in the whole universe that comes close to his ones. after all the people whom he shared the same eyes with all shared the same fate.

thus aventurine always makes sure to wear his glasses, to somewhat cover his eyes and his identity. his hands are hidden beneath a pair of black leather gloves which he only takes off  in the comfort of his own empty apartment. 

but with you he doesn’t see the need to do any of that, he continues to smile and stare at you with nothing to conceal his eyes as he cracks the joints of his bare left hand as a form of distraction, still awaiting your answer.

with you around his oh-so empty apartment suddenly doesn’t feel as empty as it used to (or maybe it only ever feels full with you around), you bring life to his apartment, you make his apartment a home - the home which he always yearned for. 

your colorful dishes that have flowers scattered along the edges are towering in his sink because you told him that his plain white ones, which he only owns three or four of, are boring. but aventurine doesn’t see the need to own more because he barely cooks let alone eats at home. 

(or elsewhere really. he sometimes goes days without eating, he enjoys (?) or rather is used to the feeling of hunger and malnutrition - it’s nothing new. after all, it's a memory of his childhood. probably the most bearable one among the other ones.)

your skillets, pots and nonstick pans fill the cabins of his kitchen aisle. when once it accidentally slipped him that he often doesn’t eat (later correcting it to sometimes because you scolded him that not eating isn’t healthy.) you immediately protested and started to walk to his kitchen to cook him a small meal only to be met with empty cabins and drawers. 

from that day on you started bringing your own pots and pans and ingredients to cook over, such as oils, seasonings, vegetables and fruits, meat and eggs, pasta, rice and more to make aventurine eat at least a little something. 

you never once forced him to finish his food, after all if he was full, didn’t like it (aventurine would eat anything you’d serve him, if he was being honest) so it be. “there’s no need to swallow food down your throat when you’re full or don’t enjoy it. no one’s forcing you.” is what you told him.

sometimes when you aren’t there, at your home or at work. aventurine tries to recreate one of the foods you cooked him, he’s not the best at it but it’s decent. 

(he sends you a photo every time he recreates one of your meals and you praise him with a small compliment that makes the corners of his lips twitch in happiness. no matter if the food is slightly burned or overcooked, it tastes delicious because you made it for him once and you complimented his version of it.)

and for once his apartment doesn’t smell like critter food only, the scents vary from fresh flower bouquets which you bought to pep up his apartment or the scented candles for both his living- and bedroom. 

with you aventurine feels at ease. for once someone looks after him and his reckless and selfish behavior, and for once aventurine feels like being taken care of. 

in your presence he feels like he’s able to live a normal life; with you it feels like normality settles over him.

(he’s not willing to admit it but he’d love to indulge in the feeling of being taken care of, though does he deserve it?)

upon seeing you open your mouth aventurine snaps out of his gaze and his eyes wander over your face. mesmerizing, breathtaking, gorgeous - they’re not enough to describe you and the smile that quirks at the corner of your lips.

“is that so? well if that’s the case i’m glad.”

II. "who was i before i met you? no one - strictly speaking nothing."

“what do you mean by nothing? how could you live and have no story to tell?” you hum in delight, interrupting him as you let out a sweet laugh. 

he has lived before you and even though oftentimes aventurine felt like he was utterly alone - entirely alone, he knew that he wasn’t. he had people whom he saw every day, whom he talked and interacted with every day but nevertheless he’s kept his distance from them - at least an arms length away from them. 

so no, he wasn’t particularly alone, but still he shielded himself away from other people, living and walking on this planet as a lonesome individual whose fate was yet to be decided by a flip of a coin, a royal flush or anything else that had to do something with gambling. 

aventurine was always lucky - he is lucky, after all he’s blessed by his mother goddess gaiathra triclops with an incredible amount of luck, although sometimes he feels that his luck is rather a misfortune. 

though he’d never admit that neither would he ever admit that he fears losing, he’s scared of losing everything in the beat of his heart. proof being his left hand which is hidden under the table. everytime there’s a wager he indulges in aventurine’s hand uncontrollably shakes on his thigh, his nails scraping against the expensive fabric of his suit pants as he shoots his opponents a lazy smirk.

that is the man called aventurine, but what is he to you? who is he to you? what is he without you?

it’'s like as if you’ve shaped him with your bare hands. him being a block of clay, awaiting the day it’ll be molded into an object - a statue. 

aventurine awaits the day he’ll receive his name by you, his creator. until then there is no name for him to bear, no traits assigned to him, no tasks for him to carry out. 

as your creation, him, your muse whom you shaped and formed with your bare hands, he patiently waits as your lithe fingers swiftly tracing across his wet and adhesive skin, leaving marks that’ll claim him as your creation. 

you leave behind dents in his smooth face, make his lips slightly pursed, brush over his eyelids to rub off some of the clay, making it crumble. just to make him seem more natural - more human.

who was he before you? kakavasha, aventurine? well it didn’t matter, both of these people have a burden to carry but with you he feels like there is none. the burden which he had to drag around like a chain which is tied around his ankle was gone when he was with you, it felt like he was free even if it was just for a single moment. 

and even though he’d later on have to be aventurine again, wearing the name that is as heavy as a ton of lavish jewelry, he knows that you’d remove them from him, unclasping the necklaces tied around his neck and loosening the bracelets on his wrists. 

uncovering the real treasure which is hidden beneath the pile of gold and glamor. 

“it’s as if you’ve made me a new person, making me a better man - making me feel like i’m actually happy.” 

III. "you're my exception.“(my only exception.)

it struck you like lightning. the previous words he’s always told you left a big impact on you, they were lingering in your thoughts for god knows how long. 

you always tried to brush them off, thinking that those were platonic remarks he’s told you because he felt comfortable around you, well he did - he still does, but up until now you’ve never thought that his words would have a deeper meaning. 

it’s not like you didn’t have feelings for aventurine, but you just weren’t sure if the feelings you harbor for him are the same ones as his. you wouldn’t dare to overstep the line of friends to lovers, because you weren’t certain if he reciprocated the feeling of something more deeper and intimate.

but certainty doesn’t settle over just yet, so you still need the reassurance that you’re not in the wrong. “how come, aventurine?” there’s teasing in your words but he can tell that your question is sincere.

“you’re special to me.” he admits. it’s not a casual confession but neither is it a big pent up feelings and being nervous confession, no, rather he says it like it’s a fact. 

you realized that this is probably the closest of what you’d get that’s like a love confession from aventurine and with the new obtained knowledge you desperately try to hold back that godforsaken lovesick smile of yours. 

“also  please call me kakavasha. ” he’s pleading, you realize.  “you’re the only one who’s allowed to call me by my given name - you’re the exception.” my exception, my one and only exception. 

and if you weren’t smiling already, you were definitely smiling now. 

“i like you too, kakavasha.”

*cough cough* we all cheer in unison for user @azullumi hi azull!! i hope this message reaches you in good spirits and you better be peacefully sleeping right now!! anyway i think it's been tough for the both of us in the last time, not like our relationship was rocky or anything but the both of us just had individual struggles and i know that i might not be the first person whom you turn to when you face a problem because i know that you have many amazing friends whom you're able to communicate well with (i envy your friendships if im being honest here haha) so i might not be your first choice, but please keep in mind that i'll always have both of my ears ready to listen to you. in all honesty i feel like you're the only one that understands me, the only one whose sympathy i don't perceive as pity but as empathy. azul, i adore you so much, i can't even put it in words. your messages never fail to make me tear up and smile and everything in between. just so you know that your words are different from the usual words of reassurance i receive from people that are like "you're one of the sweetest people i know." "i know love exists because you're full of it." "i love you so much." like don't give me that crap which you copied off tiktok or only give me in moments in which im vulnerable. (take this with a grain of salt to whoever feels attacked by this :) this is just personal preference) your words actually make me feel at ease because you always and immediately know what to say, it's like you always know what helps me. i suppose you really have that felicity sense like you always say and i dont doubt that now. (when have i ever doubted you or your actions before? - never, id never would) . but it's not only when i vent to you that you have the right words, no, you always express your love and care towards me and it makes my heart ache and thump in my chest, because im so not used to being loved like this, maybe its because im young but still. oh god im tearing up rn /srs. all the love which ive never received, all the love ill receive, i get it all from you and any future love i receive doesn't compare to yours, because you set the standard for me azul. you're my picture perfect embodiment of platonic friendship, id give you everything i have in a heartbeat. i love you so much azul. anyway how do you find my childe edits ive sent you???

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[ashley-face]

Note: For you, baby birds - an Egon Spengler x fem!reader (bordering fem!OC) multi-chapter fic that no one asked for, but I started typing out the moment Ghostbusters: Afterlife revived my hyperfixation for the first time since the 2016 film came out. 

I wanted to play around with different source material that mentioned Ray Stantz having siblings (mostly because Egon and he are god-tier comfort characters. We’ll see if I’m in a really silly goofy mood; I might do a Ray x reader one-shot, too), namely basing a lot of the reader’s backstory on Ray’s sister Jean from the novels. I mean, a polyamorous pansexual journalist? Please. So, used that as the foundation, then took a metric fuckton of artistic license for the rest. Drop me a comment if you like it. :)

Not beta’d ‘cause we’re gonna live forever - let’s goooo! (and happy holidays!)

Rating for this chapter: Teen

Warnings for this chapter: Some strong language, OCs, minor angst/mention of childhood trauma, my desperate need to pretend like I know diddly about physics and a criminal lack of our Egie himself. 

Already Dreaming | Chapter 1

Roman author Pliny the Younger claimed the specter of an old man with a long beard and rattling chains was haunting his house in Athens like a proto-Jacob Marley coming to torment Ebenezer Scrooge.

In 856 A.D. the first ever poltergeist was reported tormenting a German family in their farmhouse by throwing stones and starting fires.

Several millennia later Einstein posited that since all energy of the universe is constant and that it can neither be created nor destroyed - it can only be changed from one form to another - what happens to that energy when we die?

The energy in our bodies that releases in the form of heat goes into the wild animals that eat us, worms that digest the dirt we decompose in, and the roots of plants that absorb the nutrients we’ve left behind. During cremation energy in our bodies merely releases in the form of heat and light.

But what about those little ghosts Wolfgang Pauli theorized about? Those invisible neutrinos that once never existed in the realm of particle physics, and that he claimed could conserve energy throughout the beta decay process? Where does that energy go? How is it metered?

Why are we so reluctant to give credence to existence after death in physics?

Will we ever fully quantify the universe to its smallest components using our limited resources for testing fundamental particles at such a large scale, casting an enormous net to trap a fairyfly? 

“The poet William Blake wrote, ‘To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And Heaven in a Wild Flower / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And Eternity in an Hour’,” you gasped, unable to contain yourself as your brother Ray eagerly awaited your response, 20 July 1956 issue of Scientific in his hand and a school print out of “Auguries of Innocence” in yours.

Ray laughed, elated that you were employing critical reading of a totally different material to show proof you had understood what he had been talking about, and at the tender age of 13 years old. He rested his chin in his palm, listening with rapt attention.

Carl, the oldest of you three, had thankfully departed for basic military training (to the dismay of your parents and your relief.)

It had been so long since you could talk to Ray like this without Carl’s constant snide remarks sprinkled in. You were free to wax poetic about prose and protons, wraiths and Sylvia Townsend Warner.

Ray knew you, understood your quirks better than your own mother did. You weren’t "difficult” to him, you were his sister and he would always protect you.

Especially after your father, one of Islip’s beloved general practitioners, tested you for hypoglycemia and anemia when you showed symptoms of hypotension, bouts of vertigo and arrhythmia.

The weekend that Carl temporarily moved back to your parents after graduating from boot camp he found you in your room on your knees, swaying. You were clutching Ray’s old Dopey Dog stuffed animal in a death grip.

“Pops!” Carl shouted, dropping next to you, clueless as to what to do.

You immediately snapped out of your trance-like state, a deer in headlights and only a bit worse for wear, unable to recall when or why you had gone into the attic to grab a toy you hadn't touched in ages.

Ray, having heard Cal, rushed into the bedroom and joined you on the floor, taking your wrist so he could check your pulse like dad had taught him. 

“I’m okay Sunshine," you soothed, then assured your oldest brother earnestly. "Really Carl, I just get low blood pressure sometimes."

Carl's brow furrowed, frustration mounting as he became more aware at how out of the loop he'd been, squashing a writhing resentment that festered under his ribcage. 

Soon you started to daydream and disassociate constantly. Ray ruled out low blood pressure and suspected that the incidents were brought on by remnants of forgotten dreams being triggered by outward stimuli when awake - a familiar sight, sound, smell. Déjà vu. He’d be able to sense it, recognizing a particular far-off look you’d get, and acted as a tether to bring you back to earth. If anyone gave you grief or called you “space cadet” he’d gently put them in their place.

Ray was a Stantz, after all, and that name carried a certain reputation, no matter his uncanny resemblance to a large teddy bear. Carl had been a star quarterback (as well as a bully), simultaneously adored and feared grades 7-12, but Ray had not been on any sports teams. Yet he still towered over a good portion of his peers, broad shouldered and strong from tinkering in all manner of electronics, heavy equipment and car work. He was also unfathomably kind. The sort of kind that brought to mind, “Demons run when a good man goes to war.”

To make up for his absence Carl showed you how to shoot a rifle (badly), and tried to teach you how to perform basic maintenance on pedestrian vehicles, just like he had with Ray. You watched him work underneath the chassis of your father’s old 1960 Chevy C10 while holding an oil pan, providing the correct tools as needed. It was stilted and a bit awkward, but an attempt none-the-less.

Where Carl was impatient and hated too many questions Ray explained the science that went into a modern combustion engine no differently than your father would tell you a bedtime story, drawing rough figures on paper, thrilled to have such a captive audience.

The oldest Stantz sibling didn’t stick around too much longer once he got into the U.S. Airforce Academy, and not a moment too soon. More often than not he’d stumble in late three sheets to the wind drunk, picking fights with your father.

Mom always wrapped her robe tight, shuffled on her house slippers, fixed him the blackest cup of coffee a human could consume without it becoming sludge, and would let him unload. Her side of the family, the MacMillans, did not let bad blood come between them.

Carl coldly shrugging off a hug from either you or Ray before climbing into dad’s car on his way to the airport is the last you see of him for a while, leaving a void.

You were Ray’s shadow throughout your formative years as he encouraged your rants about  Pablo Neruda’s changing writing style or cryptozoology being labeled a pseudoscience, the implications of a soul, the composition of the spirit. He’d sneak you out in the middle of the night, tromping through wet farmland in oversized wellies and carrying heavy flashlights to unveil the Great Mysteries, owing that the Great Mysteries were located in the backwoods of Long Island. 

At some point you ended up wrangling a few neighborhood kids around your age to join the cause. 

They became your best friends and Ray dubbed you the Scooby Doo gang.

Victoria Ertl, the Daphne Blake of the group, wanted for nothing. Her father worked for an up-and-coming computer sales company by the name of Apple Computer, Inc. Her mother frequently went missing or excused herself to “go take a nap”, leaving Vicky to her own devices. Those devices being extraterrestrials and witchcraft.

Christine Marcu, who shared the unofficial title of Velma Dinkley with you, bothered Ray about invention ideas and had a particular affinity for spirit photography.

Tony Bacheldor turned out to be an odd combination of Fred Jones, Shaggy Rogers and Scooby as despite being highly intelligent his fervent desire to explore the unknown was usually outweighed by the fact that he suffered from acute nyctophobia. He also had a voracious appetite and attained infamy for eating 8 Vienna hot dogs (buns included) in one sitting.

The event was entered into a shared notebook utilized for miscellaneous experiments, simply titled 8TH WONDER OF THE WORLD(?).

Ray claimed he saw himself more as an amalgamation of all five, but you weren’t convinced - he was Fred Jones.

As you reached puberty your “episodes” were less and less frequent, unofficially filed under “unsolved” to your friends’ disappointment, chomping at the bit to see you in action for themselves.

A fateful trip to Queen of All Saints Cemetery irrevocably changed that.

Ray got a tip from a fellow paranormal aficionado about a ghost sighting there. Vicky, Chrissy and Tony meet you at the Railroad Ave entrance to sneak through an unrepaired part of the dilapidated fence.

Fog obscured the pathways that wound through the grounds. Chrissy switched on a headlamp she had found while dumpster diving for parts, signally for you to do the same with yours, then she huddled with Ray to verify the exact coordinates of the sighting.

"I will excommunicate you if your 'reliable source' is Sagar," Chrissy slapped a tree branch out of her way, heading off the gravel paths to a particular cluster of headstones. "He hasn’t paid me back the money that I lent him to buy the newest issue of Captain Steel. Stupid jerk."

Ray pouted, fiddling with a contraption he’d brought to assist them.

"Damn, I'd meant to pick that up for myself today."

Tony took great joy in debating Ray about Superman being a superior hero to Captain Steel and almost butted in. You subtly motioned for him to not interfere. 

Chrissy's button nose scrunched in irritation, but Ray missed it and persevered with his lament. 

"What a cliffhanger, too! Dr. Destructor was just about to--"

"Knock your block off if you don't zip it," Chrissy bared her teeth, braces flashing. 

Vicky diffused the situation by leaning over to Ray, overexaggerating her interest. "Is that an Atari controller?"

Bloodshed successfully avoided, Ray held up the controller-esque item in question, "Good eye, Vicky! It’s a modified electron capture detector, a device for detecting atoms and molecules in gas. Tried tweaking one of the multiplayer ones for a Sears Tele-Games Super-Pong IV console ‘cause it helps make finer adjustments for picking up heat signatures or cold spots--"

He rambled and the others hung on to his every word. Soldering the reconfigured wiring was no easy task, but--

Your vision went fuzzy around the edges, a spike of panic lancing through your stomach as the fog circling everyone crawled along the dirt, through the dark, alive. Tendrils coiled up Ray’s thigh and you blinked rapidly to dispel the hallucination.

Oh my god, oh-my-god, is this real? I’ve never been lucid like this before during an episode. Je-sus, Y/N, be rational, you spaz. It’s an actual ghost and-

You struggled to warn the others, paralyzed and powerless like a waking nightmare. Run! 

A faint figure formed in the mist, ethereal and evocative; a middle-aged woman in a Gilded Age gown staring at you, and you become fully cognizant that no one else can see her as she gets closer and closer. Suddenly you could hear her, slipping into the air, into your lungs, through your consciousness, an echo chamber of noise.

"Do not be frightened, I mean you no harm. I'm here as a warning, dear girl, and I must be brief.”

"Be not afraid," said the angel that was pure eldritch terror. Absolutely passed frightened and straight into pants-pissing hysterics, but that’s fine.

Ice ran through your veins, but you pushed on. You have to.

A warning? A warning about what? You concentrated, praying she heard you. “What is your name, ma’am?”

The apparition smiled sadly in acknowledgement, “My name is Veleda. At the turn of the 20th century a selfish, wicked man and his foolish sycophants attempted to knock on Hell’s Gate. They used myself and others like us to usher in an era of gods. His insidious plans have been unfolding long since after his death, beyond the veil, and–”

She was gone - vanished without a trace. The fog dissipated as swiftly as it came.

You collapsed like an unstrung marionette, dropping limply to the grass. 

The stars sparkled blindingly without light pollution above you, but the view was obscured by Ray as he pulled you between his legs, his chest a grounding presence at your back, frantically whispering, “breathe in 1-2-3, exhale 1-2-3.” Chrissy, Vicky and Tony joined in a circle around him, gasping as if they’ve overexerted themselves.

Wait, you’d stopped breathing? So you gulp in oxygen, heaving and clutching Ray’s knee. Breathe in 1-2-3, exhale 1-2-3.

“Y/N, we strongly believe you were under some sort of possession from a free floating entity,” Ray recited from Spate’s Catalog of Nameless Horrors for his own benefit so he wouldn’t unravel, hiding in the nape of your neck to block out the terrifying image of your limbs seizing in a rictus that he could only assume was painful.

Tony leaned back, heart rate gradually returning to normal, propped against Vicky whilst Chrissy lay half-sprawled in her lap. “Shit. Goddamn it,” he shakily wiped sweat from his brow. “This is what we wanted. What I wanted...To discover what goes bump in the night. To face my fears. But I…I thought...”

"It'd be like Laurel and Hardy's A Haunting We Will Go?" Vicky barked out a laugh, then groaning at the irony. "Not that we’d have to wrangle her to the ground and make sure she didn't swallow her tongue?"

Ray stopped matching your breaths once you could confidently resume on your own and said sincerely, “Hey, don't beat yourself up. We do this for for anyone that has ever been doubted and taken for granted in what they believe in, or what they’ve been through. We want them to know that we're ready to believe them. If it's too much, you tried. That's more than I can say about…a lot of people.”

At home you plead your case to Ray as he took your vitals, dad’s medical bag at his feet. You’re convinced that your parents will keep you apart if they found out about what you dubbed “Graveyardgate”. You'd been running around playing supernatural detective of your own volition and beating himself up wouldn't solve anything. 

Ray conceded, only because you agreed to research further into your situation together. And though you both barely fit in your full size bed you asked him to stay. 

He does.

Carolyn and Daniel Stantz don’t discourage your adventures owing Ray kept his promise. Your mother readily quizzed you both in the kitchen about the differences between gray aliens and little green men as she tasked you with chopping root vegetables for her great-grandmother’s neeps and tatties recipe. And your father may have been a small town doctor, but his medical zines were a proverbial kindle to the fire, fueling your fascination with the human body.

They nurtured Ray’s natural aptitude and excitement in whatever subject he applied himself to (math was another matter entirely - pairing mathematical problems to the correct formula was his kryptonite) from infancy, and in turn they made sure you received the same.

Unfortunately, a handful of cousins labeled him and you as the black sheep of the family. Aunt Lois, a matriarchal figure on the Stantz’s side, barred each person who brought such slander up in front of her from receiving her delicious Christmas korolevsky cake and she sent Ray a detailed account of the occult called Tobin’s Spirit Guide.

As the inevitable influx of college placement tests and applications begin to take Ray away from you in his last two years of high school you face the music head-on. You had mentally prepared yourself for him leaving the nest -  he was destined to do something great for humanity.

It was cruel to be greedy.   

During your sophomore year you started a book club with you as president, Tony as vice president, plus Vicky and Chrissy as treasurer and time keeper respectively. 

This is a temporary substitute for your paranormal escapades. “R & D” as Tony called it. Better to be safe than needing an exorcist.

Miss Scarlet, who was gracious enough to allow you the use of her English room, straddled her desk chair backwards at the first meeting and asked point blank if this was a coverup for a ghost and monster hunters club. 

Vicky shook out her curls, feigning aloofness, “I can neither confirm nor deny such an accusation Miss Scarlet.”

Miss Scarlet turned into a silent benefactor and sometimes provided great research material to show her support.

Eventually the club spiraled into a Ray Stantz fan club the second Vicky and Chrissy started to see boys as not just boys, or friends, but boy-friends. You and Tony (who firmly established himself as the "no socio-sexual contact or reactions" X on the Kinsey Scale) were glad that Ray was graduating. 

Attraction and hormones were a double-edged sword. 

However, you make the most of the girls’ adolescent infatuation by…well, pitting them against each other. 

For important behavior analyses, of course. 

Vicky and Chrissy cottoned on to your scheme and refused to speak to you or Tony for 48 hours. Hour 54 they approached you, swearing you to secrecy, and pursued other romantic prospects.

—

One day, during a gathering for your Aunt Lois’s birthday in her eclectic Victorian home, the same conservative and catholic side of your relatives who did not think highly of you reprimanded your parents for Ray’s wayward thinking and its influence on you over dinner. 

No one let you interject, holier-than-thou cousin Gav suggesting Ray join a seminary to answer life’s mysteries with the most reliable source mankind could ever need.

The Bible.

Oh great, goodbye Roman Catholicism, hello full-fledged 17th century Puritanical radicalism. They would’ve burned me at the stake.

Carl turned to his fiancée (a mousey, subservient woman named Mary-Lou he’d found who-knows-where - you curbed the urge to slip her a note asking if their engagement was a result of Stockholm syndrome - blink twice for no, scream for yes) and sneered that Ray hadn’t been disciplined enough, a mistake that would bite him in the ass.

Silence followed. 

Ray calmly laid his silverware down and advised if anyone had a problem with him they could hash this out some other time. Today was meant for celebrating Aunt Lois and everybody owed her, your parents and you an apology.

I cannot imagine how cathartic that felt. You had to bite your lip to keep from losing your shit at the collective wave of shame that went around the room, you and Aunt Lois sharing a look across the table whilst she sipped her merlot, hiding a coquettish grin.

Of course Carl had to get in the last word, baiting Ray on the sidewalk as you tried to go your separate ways afterwards. Your mom sighed, coming between her sons to keep the peace.

“You don’t give a flying fuck about me or anyone else! You’re all insane and you live in a house of horrors!” Carl roared. 

The moment he stepped forward and insinuated violence toward your mother an uncharacteristic surge of raw anger overcame you, consumed you, and you sent all six and a half feet, 230 pounds of Carl stumbling.

Your dad and Ray strongarmed Carl and Mary-Lou to the curb, hailing them a cab. Daniel Stantz stated in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome in his home until Carl checked himself into anger management or rehab, trembling from residual fear of finally standing up to his own flesh and blood.

Realistically, even if he was unsteady from drinking all evening, you should not be able to exert enough force to push him, adrenaline notwithstanding. 

Ray whispered your name, cupping your tear-stained cheeks as impotent rage was replaced with remorse. 

You wanted to love him. You wanted him to love you. Why was Carl such an asshole? Why was everyone against you?

Carl and Mary-Lou got into the taxi - Carolyn Stantz watched the car set off with profound sadness, heartbroken that she had failed her firstborn.

The family did what they could to erase the events of that evening and the toxicity that surrounded it.

However, to everyone’s astonishment, Ray did apply to the Union Theological Seminary alongside the Fu Foundation School of Engineering and Applied Science at Columbia University at the same time that he applied for MIT’s School of Engineering and the California Institute of Technology.

Of course he got into all of them and chose Columbia.

On the day Ray left for university, eyes bright like a G dwarf star and full of potential, he handed you his well worn copies of Phantasms of the Living and Tobin’s Spirit Guide - you nearly refused them, likening the gesture to him breaking off a piece of his incandescence.

Incidentally, his seminary studies were cut short. Ray rang home to tell you that even if he dropped out (you suspected the seminary asked him to leave) he had learned quite a lot and found a profound intersection between science, spiritualism and religion.

Your fingers tangled in the living room phone cord, disregarding how expensive the bill was going to be as you chatted to him until your body begged for sleep.

Yup, Raymond Francis Stantz was going to be extraordinary and you couldn’t wait.

_____

1978 April

It’s spring break of your senior year and as luck would have it Ray’s spring break is over. Vicky went on vacation to the Bahamas, Chrissy would be back from visiting her bună midweek and Tony went AWOL at a convention in Texas. You convinced your parents that Ray being a train ride away, and you being a responsible 17-year-old with a part-time job to purchase a ticket for said train ride, you should be allowed to pay him a surprise (unchaperoned) visit.

Daniel sighed at his desk, knowing you would not be denied, and ruffled your hair affectionately. You were smart, generally disliked most people, and would avoid strangers. There was no reason to worry.

So you threw a few favorite books into a messenger bag alongside your amateur star charts of Long Island and dad's pocket transistor, then walked to the Central Islip train stop. You boarded with your thoughts whirring and a soft soundtrack of rock playing, making the commute downtown fly by.

Arriving at Penn Station was akin to stepping into a macrocosm totally separate from the rest of New York - you had never been there by yourself outside of trips with your parents to see a couple of Broadway shows, Christmas tree lightings and museums, so your gaze bounced around in awe as you headed to the subway for the remaining leg of the journey, everyone a swarm of intensity like vibrating molecules. Once you get off at 116th St and head upstairs you are jostled so hard by a hasty business woman you start to fall, but keep your balance and recover, freezing when you spot the building in front of you.

Whoa, there it is. Columbia University, in all its Roman classical style glory. A possible peak into your future.

You crossed the street as ELO’s Mr. Blue Sky filtered out from your transistor, somehow not drowned out by the general din of the city. A crisp wind encourages you to hurry.

The steps to where Ray claimed to have a post-lecture smoke are mostly people-free, so you hunkered down for, per your watch, about 40 minutes. The time passed uneventfully as you got lost within The Haunting of Hill House.

“Y/N!” a cheerful, welcoming voice disturbed Eleanor Vance as she reminisced on childhood memories about encountering a poltergeist.

Ray had spotted you first, elated at your unexpected presence, leaving the lecture hall with someone matching his stride. An unlit cigarette is tucked back behind his ear.

You scrambled up to throw your arms around him, melting into his powerful embrace and the smoky scent that permeated his leather jacket. You could finally, properly breathe again and you whispered, “Surprise, Sunshine.”

His smile widened as he pulled away to introduce you to his friend Peter Venkman, a psychology major.

“Sunshine, what a cute nickname,” Peter teased, hazel eyes sparkling with simultaneous blackmail fueled glee and a hint of genuine amusement, then he snapped his fingers, “Because he’s Ray! A ray of sunshine!”

Peter is the type of guy who perpetually exudes an aura of “butter wouldn't melt in his mouth”, which you find out quite early on is true, only because butter wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near it.

There’s no reason to feel embarrassed about the endearment you’ve used for Ray since you were a kid, and your brother isn’t flustered by Peter’s remark as he explained the meaning of it in correlation to your passion for astrophysics.

You still feel your cheeks flush all the same.

Peter is relatively harmless and his teasing is unlike the sort of mocking or disingenuousness you faced in the past. But your skin still feels too tight and you’re unsure how you should handle this sort of attention. 

Romance wasn’t a complete stranger to you outside of stories, but unlike Vicky and Chrissy, you had turned down admirers throughout high school (excluding a platonic date with Tony to senior prom). Thus, engaging with professional lotharios like Peter was definitely out of your wheelhouse. In a moment of panic you compare the situation to being in a debate and try to match his energy in hopes that it’ll throw him off.

“Tell me Venkman, do you want to major in psychology to have a better grasp of the conscious and unconscious phenomena, or are you going tens of thousands of dollars into debt so you can be the one to answer Freud’s most pertinent question: ‘what do women want’?”

Ray’s brows shot into his hairline as he glanced at the other young man.

Peter's posture relaxed, hands shoved further into his jean pockets and lips turned up in a satisfied expression. How was it you got the inkling that you’d passed some sort of test and now he seemed handsome without the roguish façade?

“Thank God, I was dreading you being Francis's mini me. She’s got moxie.”

Ugh. Moxie? Are you Al Capone? Referring to you in the third person made you scoff in disdain, and then annoyance, “I refuse to believe you call him Francis like I call him Sunshine.”

“To be fair I also call him Francine. Gotta switch it up a bit, lest the honeymoon phase of our budding relationship grow stale.”

The honest confusion that puckered Ray’s lips as he lit his previously abandoned cigarette was comical. The soft utterance of, “we’re in a relationship?” that succeeded it was legendary. 

—

1978 September

If your relatives were the betting type they would have put money down on your following in Ray’s footsteps - and they would've been half right, as you were accepted into Columbia University's brand new computer science undergraduate course with the intention to pursue a masters in journalism. 

You are assigned to the ancient dormitories of Furnald Hall on the 10th floor. It’s a double suite and your roommate’s name is Azucena Olvera. 

On move-in day your dad insisted on dragging your sparse luggage filled with hand-me-down clothes and texts into the shoebox-sized space, ignoring your protests. Your mom ladened you with homemade sweets. 

They can’t stay long as traffic will be abysmal getting back and your mother is forced to drag your father out before you have more vitamin supplements to your name than sense. 

It turned out your roommate was there. Her bedroom door is open and you find her black-clad form curled up on a twin sized bed, buried in a novel you'd learned about a year or so ago called Interview with a Vampire. After introducing yourself you inquired about the premise, to which she regarded you blankly for a beat, mumbling it was pretty self-explanatory by the title.

Undeterred by her sarcasm you admit to being fascinated by the concept of some no name reporter taking a chance on such a strange tip, offering to lend her Carmilla as a trade when she was done. Azucena smirked as you started to unpack, initiating light conversation about how general classes will go, somehow segueing to the West Virginia Mothman, telling her about your friends back home and where they’ve gone to study or work.

You looked down at your watch - 7:46PM. Ray called before mom and dad dropped you off, saying he was touching base with a professor and would meet you in front of the dorms to treat you to "the best Chinese on the northeast coast" at 7:30PM. You tossed on a windbreaker, snagged An Elementary Treatise on the Differential and Integral Calculus, mom’s snacks, nearly forgot your keys (priorities), bounded down a set of precarious stairs and burst outside in record time. 

Ray just about spit his cigarette out at your grand entrance (or exit, really), coughing and chuckling. "Did you think we were gonna leave without you?"

You beamed at him, noticing that Peter was there and not out with his flavor of the week. 

This goofball. He'd be so smug if he knew how much he'd grown on you. 

Peter winked your way. "You're the lady of the hour, kid, and we would've just sent Spengs here to fetch ya. He's all about the history of some sketchy secret tunnels in the basement of this place. Which are dime a dozen in the city, but what do I know? I’m just a pretty face."

The aforementioned "Spengs” was what some may describe as an elongated version of Poindexter from Felix the Cat; the epitome of an academic or caricature of a genius scientist. Tall, lean, sensibly dressed, his eyes obscured by a nearby street light reflecting off his glasses. You easily imagined him in a pristine white lab coat, holding a beaker overflowing with some dubious concoction.

But as he approached you, posture stiff and hand outstretched to perform the globally widespread greeting of introducing oneself via handshake, his attention shifted downwards. 

More specifically, to your jacket pocket, where An Elementary Treatise on the Differential and Integral Calculus poked out. 

He remembered himself, large hand engulfing yours, fingers warm, chemical rough, but a nice weight as his severe mouth softened and the streetlights finally allowed you a glimpse of umber irises with a bilateral hint of evergreen.

"Dr. Egon Spengler. A pleasure. If you do not mind, after we’ve eaten, I would appreciate hearing your opinion on Babbage's calculations. Are you familiar with Ada Lovelace?"

An effervescent sensation spread from your stomach to your throat, and you know logically that you're not actually turning into bubbling liquid, but your brain has trebuchet logic into a blackhole. The pitch of his voice is so low you wondered if he’s ever used an oscilloscope to measure the Hertz.

You couldn’t help but stare, and it's your turn to remember yourself. The moment lasted a span of minutes, but seemed so much longer, stretched into decades as you replied, star-struck, “Y/N Stantz. The pleasure is all mine. But uh, yes, Ada Lovelace translated parts of Luigi Menabrea’s work on the Analytical Engine and collaborated with Charles Babbage. I apologize, Sun-” you caught Peter and Ray observing the entire interaction with varying degrees of curiosity, “Raymond said he’d met someone else he deeply admired in his field of study, but you’re–prodigious to already have a PhD or a doctorate of some kind. You can’t be much older than us.”

Peter took that as his cue to insert himself back into the conversation, pulling you into a one-armed hug, “Ah yes, our very own savant. Met him in a women and gender studies class he signed up for by mistake ’cause Dr. Spengler left us plebs in the dust testing out of every core curriculum and taking his ‘accelerated sequences’. Degrees are old hat to this guy. Also, kid, did you know they started a new parapsychology program this semester as well?”

No, you didn’t, but you’re pretty sure the question was rhetorical.

“Introducing a parapsychology class is a golden opportunity to capitalize on a niche as hell field. Imagine the funding for graduate research, the accolades. Naturally I thought, ‘I’ll introduce my favorite eggheads to one another so a: my ears stop bleeding, and b: they’ll go feral at the chance of getting in on this, too.’ Bless their nerdy lil’ hearts, they’ve been attached at the hip, to my everlasting regret.”

“That’s only because together we’re on our way to convincing you that the existence of manifestations and apparitions is scientifically viable–” Ray remarked in a sing-song lilt, coming around to your other side.

You snort, well acquainted with the fact that if your brother found anyone that showed a modicum of inquisitiveness in not only anything involving engineering, biology, physics, chemistry, etc, if they ever had a passing thought about the Fermi Paradox, the Arrow of Time, the location of the Ark of the Covenant or how the Nazca Lines were formed, he was in their life like an Alabama tick. 

Peter showed genuine interest in psychological phenomena, but his hard stop was Casper the friendly phantom. 

Egon headed down 115th St toward this infamous Chinese restaurant Ray recommended, and as the other two men continued to banter he glanced over his shoulder at you.

What the hell happened? Had he experienced the same subtle full-body shiver as you touched? The same sort of pins and needles caused by the compression of nerves, or static generated when cathode ray tubes bathed the inside of a TV with electrons, triggering the front glass to fluoresce and emit an electrical charge?

Out of your peripheral you noticed him flexing the hand you just shook.

You’d accidentally (other times purposefully) shocked plenty of inanimate objects and people, but–

“Ray, you gotta convince Y/N to let me do a full interview about Graveyardgate. She would be the best person to start as a control variable for–”

“Vex-man, I told you that in confidence,” you chastised Peter, introspection put on the backburner. Vex-man was a derogatory moniker you only used when he crossed a line. 

Peter squirmed away, ensuring he was no longer within punching distance.

Too late, you groaned internally as Egon fell back to take Peter’s place, his laser focus once again on you.

Despite not enjoying having to discuss it, and despite having just met Egon...these guys might be the best people to talk to about it.

My first day on campus and we’re dabbling in unauthorized behavioral experiments. You turned around and started to walk backwards, gesturing wildly and hamming it up, “Well doc, it was summer of ‘76–”

Peter clucked his tongue at you in mock exasperation for your brattish snark that he was solely responsible for. 

Ray rolled his eyes, but internally he was happy you were ready to exorcise a figurative demon - a part of him hated remembering too, even if it had solidified his motivation and purpose to keep doing what he was doing, skeptics and critics be damned.

And Egon.

Egon deadpanned, “I know where Venkman lives. And I work as a coroner part-time.”

“Alright H. H. Holmes, we’re gonna need to unpack that before I end up as a statistic.”

You tripped on uneven concrete, cackling.

[reidetic]

Letters

Summary: Spencer writes reader letters in prison. Loosely based off of Hey There Delilah. 

A/N: The poem in this work belongs to Erin Hanson. Thank you so much to @sunlight-moonrise​ for beta reading this for me. This was a one day brain child and I hope you enjoy it.

She hadn’t written back. That’s all Spencer could think of, the only thought running through his head as his mattress sunk through the bars and pressed into his back. Two letters so far, two weeks between, save the first week. The letters kept her in his memory, the pen dipping into paper the only thing that kept her perfume wound around his soul. When the ink smeared across his too quick fingers, he cursed, closing his unfounded emotions within the confines of the cheap notebook paper. 

She hadn’t written back. It’s not like the letters had been particularly interesting. Spencer had never been an interesting writer, never been the one to capture someone’s attention. That was, until her. Until y/n. He had met her at a writer’s circle, something his mom had suggested. 

“You used to write so often, when you were a little boy.” Diana had mused on one of her infrequent good days.  

“I was young then, Mom, nothing I wrote was well-written.” Spencer had laughed with her, both of them remembering the mother’s day haikus that should’ve never been sent home.

“I’m just saying that the life you’ve lived deserves to be written down.” And so he went, attending a small after hours circle at a local community college. He saw her first. Her hair slung up haphazardly, pens tucked into the tendrils, one shirt sleeve slipping off of her shoulder, and her tongue sticking slightly out her mouth in concentration. She was a girl who could steal your attention from the first glance. One pen slipped out of her hair then, and he had leaned forward, picking it up and extending it to her with a smile. 

“Spencer.” He had offered, his name a gift to the girl who sat before him. He thought they probably looked like a painting, with the lanky boy kneeling in front of the ethereal girl, one hand extended with a pen obscured by his own spindly fingers.

“Y/n.” She gave her name right back, grabbing the pen from his hand. And that had been it. That one moment was all it took for Spencer to know he would follow where she went. They had become inseparable, no longer one without the other. They promised each other they’d come every single week, filled notebooks in hand. They stayed far too long after the circle had been dismissed, reading in hushed whispers and bodies so still the motion lights went dim. 

Spencer had felt himself start to fall on one particular night, when they had slipped out to her car to read, their voices filling the cramped car and breath fogging the windows. She had written a poem, something soft and fiery, and he remembered thinking it felt like an autobiography and a love song all at once as her sweet and lilting voice filled the air. 

I wish that I could hold your heart, 

Cradle it gently in my hands, 

But my arms just are not strong enough, 

To hold what I don 't understand, 

My eyes have seen a lot of 

And I thought I'd seen them all, 

But the way your smile ignites my own, 

Makes me think there's so much more, 

These walls around this heart of mine, 

Have stood dust, 

But it's as though you've found the gate, 

That leads right to my trust, 

I've never really liked my name, 

But on your lips it sounds so sweet, 

And your voice is my new favourite song, 

That's forever on repeat, 

But even though I feel all this, 

I can never let you see, 

Because your heart deserves a whole lot more, 

Than a broken girl like me. 

Her trembling breath paused as she finished on the word ‘me’. He felt as though she saw right through him, he turned to glass in her sight. But she was still as opaque as the day he met her. The car had felt awkward then. The air too still, the streetlights outside too bright. They sat in silence, breath held, before y/n had blurted out a quick, “I should get home.” 

He still remembers the way her face fell in the moonlight as he agreed with her. He still regrets that, still regrets not pulling her in and kissing her right then and never letting her go. He dreams about that now, about the what ifs and what could have beens. He’s always been a coward.

He had written that night, pages upon pages of writings about her. Nothing but her. She filled his mind for weeks, and when he read his poetry on Thursday nights, she looked away. He could still feel the sting in his cheeks he felt that night when she called his work, “fantastical and unrealistic”. He could still feel the betrayal he felt that night as she ripped into him and left no trace. Despite her harshness, he felt her warmth, or so he thought.

She hadn’t written back. The letter he penned took days, but it wasn’t as if prison life was especially exciting. There weren’t enough words he could find to explain how he felt to her. He had never told her how he felt, not before his arrest. He had tried to write the letter in English, in French, in Latin. None of it made any sense, his cell filled with ruined and crumpled pieces of paper. He settled on an old song, the one he remembered playing softly in the car as she read her heart to him, changed to fit only her. 

  Hey there y/n, 

What’s it like in DC? I’m a thousand miles away, but tonight you look so pretty. I know I can’t see you right now, but it doesn’t matter. I know. Forgive me for the song, it keeps me sane. I don’t know quite what to do with myself right now. It’s not often I get arrested for murders I didn’t commit, but when I do, it’s you I miss. Thursday was strange without your words there to comfort the mass in my head. I find that when you’re speaking it’s the only time I hear silence. Silence is something beautiful rarely created that I don’t experience often enough, but with you, it finds its way to my ears regularly. I know if you were here you’d chastise me about the concept of hearing silence, but you’ll just have to read it in this letter. I don’t have many updates, but know that I am not enjoying myself. Suffice to say, it is hard to enjoy one’s predicament when you aren’t sure when it will be over. I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you, so I won’t. Please be safe. You matter to me more than you know.

Regards, 

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He had sent the letter within his second week behind bars. His life continued, slowly but surely, days passing and hopes of a response every day. And every day, nothing. It kills him,  but he can’t blame her. He doesn’t know that he would write himself back if he was in her shoes. Still, he sent another letter. He put just a bit more of his soul into the second, still not quite ready to confess anything he might have considered confessing that night in her car.

Hey there y/n, 

Don’t you worry about the distance, I’m right here if you get lonely. Not literally, you know that, of course. But you can always give this letter another read. Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side. I’ll always be by your side, whether or not you need me. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. But until then, I’ll stay by your side. Everyone needs a loyal friend, right? I know I could use one right now. I don’t blame you for not responding. You have no proof that I am not a guilty man. But I will swear to you every day until the day that I die, I am innocent. I am innocent. I am innocent. You don’t have to believe a word I say but I will write it, scream it, sing it until you do. Prison isn’t easy. I just want to hear your voice. The eidetic memory may help, but nothing is as good as the real thing. You don’t have to write back. I wish I could tell you everything I think. I love you.  Be safe.

Sincerely, 

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Y/n, her smile, her voice, her face. Her smell was burned into his psyche like a brand. He couldn’t forget her if he tried. And oh, he tried. Menial tasks and thumbing through books he’d already read, folding the laundry three separate times, and yet she still infiltrated his brain. No matter how fast his fingers moved, her voice lilted in his head, ‘Spencer, Spencer.’ She helped him escape, helped him remain who he is through and through. She still hadn’t responded. A month and a half after his arrest, three weeks after his last letter. He figured he had one last try. He knew his walls were closing in, his mind delving away into itself for protection. He knew he couldn’t be himself much longer, but she was the last thing keeping his feet on the ground. 

Hey there y/n, 

I’ve got so much left to say, if every letter I wrote to you would take your breath away, I’d write them all. I’d write you every letter in the world if it meant I got to hear your voice again. If it meant you didn’t hate me for what I’ve become. Prison life isn’t easy and I’ve had to do things to survive that make me unrecognizable. I don’t know that I am the person you knew. But I know you are. You get me through all of this. I think about us, what we could’ve been if I had been who you needed, who you wanted. I love you, you know. I can see you walking down the aisle, I can see you holding our children. I can see the house we buy, the cars we fight over. I can see the quilts lining our bed in stolen kisses in the morning, and I can see the light in your eyes. I love you. I am yours. If you want me, if you don’t, I am yours. 

Yours truly

Yours, truly

Spencer Reid

Truth be told, Spencer had assumed they’d never prove his innocence. He had grown accustomed to being in prison, protecting himself and others in ways he never thought he’d do. So when JJ showed up, simply stating they were here to take him home, he couldn’t believe it. His disbelief paralyzed him, shock bounding through his body as he froze to the spot he was in. The only thing that got him moving again was her. Y/n. He’d see her. Her. 

His second shock of the day was his greeting as he exited the prison, not bound or confined for the first time in three months. The sun felt better out here, somehow.. Garcia was there, taking him in her arms, and he breathes in the scent of her perfume, of lilies and coffee. That’s not what shocks him though, but what lies behind Garcia. Her. She’s here. Y/n.

“Y/n.” He takes a step towards her, tentative, watching the tears fall from her eyes and feeling his own dash across his cheeks.

“Spencer Reid.” And there is not another word but her arms are thrown around his neck, and for the first time Spencer understands that home is not a place, but a person.

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[blueoctobass]

The link between Rylie and Prisma

At this point, the comic has made it pretty clear that those two are linked somehow… They look extremely alike, Prisma recognizes Rylie and even knows her name.

Alright so, what do we know exactly ?

I’ve made a handy relationship chart, and I even included some more people that will be talked about when elaborating the different possibilities :

So why would Prisma and Rylie look so alike ?

The main possibilities are :

They are Family

They are reincarnation of the other

A mix of both

However, we know there are at least 1000 years separating them, so direct family might be tricky, unless…. 

But we’ll get to that later.

Here’s the list of all the theories I will explore in this post :

Rylie is Prisma’s reincarnation

Rylie is Prisma’s descendant

Rylie is Prisma’s reincarnated child

Rylie is Prisma’s child

Rylie and Prisma are sisters

I won’t address the reason why Yellow wants Rylie dead and why did Amadeus do that to Prisma because we simply do not have enough informations. 

Enough rambling, time to dive.

Rylie is Prisma’s reincarnation

From the looks of it, this is the most obvious one. They look like each other, they live 1000 years apart, and reincarnation has been ‘‘confirmed’’ in canon. It’s even part of Stratoverse’s culture.

Purple states that : “I assume me, and anyone else who changed color are somehow related to the Mancer’s servants”. He doesn’t say it’s reincarnation, it could be a bloodline “curse”, but going off what we know, reincarnation is very likely. 

Upon seeing Violet, Rylie’s first reaction confirms that they looks like Purple. That could be proof enough that Rylie is also a reincarnation, except the reincarnation of a Mancer instead of a Color. 

But there’s one detail that ticks me off.

Names.

Rylie’s name reveal is pretty important. Names in gloomverse, more often than not, have meaning pertaining to their magic abilities. Rylie remained unnamed, solely known as “Assistant”, until after she got her magic. But as opposed to the Colors, this is mostly for symbolic (and comedic) purposes, as she had a name before that, and it also started with R. Meanwhile, the Colors had their name overwritten after gaining magic. 

This hasn’t been made explicit in comic yet, and sure, some gloomversians have weird names like Triangle or Pi, but that would be an enormous coincidence, wouldn’t it ? Especially for the colors whose countries have particular naming trend (for example, if Orange was their birth name, wouldn’t it be Egnaro ?). 

Virga also mentions to Yellow that Madame President “has Red, Blue, Indigo and Violet… though he goes by Purple.” so Purple did change his name, yet he kept the color naming trend. Sure they could all have decided to change name after gaining magic, but like I said, that would be a pretty big coincidence.

Let’s go back to Rylie. Her name didn’t change to Prisma after getting magic. She didn’t change color, and she didn’t change names. Prisma even calls her ‘‘Rylie’’, not Royletta or Greenwitch, but Rylie. Her preferred name. For me, this seems like a statement that she is her own individual, and not a reincarnation. 

However, her middle name is ‘‘Greenwitch’’, and Prisma is a green haired and eyed mancer, a green witch. It’s quite possibly Prisma’s last name. Maybe only that name was passed down to her ? If that’s the case, it seems more like a “they’re family” than a “they’re reincarnation” proof.

Another point is that Prisma looks very much alive and conscious, albeit trapped somewhere. For a reincarnation to happen, you would need the individual to be dead. 

TL;DR : Rylie is not Prisma’s reincarnation, because Prisma is not dead, and Rylie still has her own name.

Rylie is Prisma’s descendant

Yellow has been seen with a baby during Rylie’s nightmares, and in the most recent chapter, she is currently in labor. There’s a lot of emphasis on that baby, it would be weird if they weren’t relevant to the story somehow (see Chekhov's gun).

We don’t know the identity of the other parent yet. Violet is a good candidate, they seem worried, they have the parental stress, it could make sense. But for this theory and the next ones, we’ll say that Prisma is the parent. She literally arrives screaming about Yellow, asking about her health, clearly upset that she isn’t at her side. (And like friends pointed out, it would make Prisma a transparent, a very good pun that i love).

 We don’t know if the baby survived Amadeus’ attack. Maybe they didn’t, maybe the same thing that happened to Prisma happened to them, or maybe they got to grow up and live their life, have a family and die of old age. 

Yellow has been tracking someone’s family line. There’s a lot of generations here, probably enough to cover the lineage of someone for 1000 years. We know she’s been tracking the Colors, and she’s been looking for someone, who happens to be Rylie. She recognize her instantly. She’s shocked, she’s sad, she’s nostalgic. She’s seeing the face of an old friend for the first time in many many years, photography being a recent invention in Gloomverse. 

But after this many years, and this many generations, why would they look so alike ?

Well, Purple looks like Violet, he might be their descendant like Rylie is Prisma’s. His face didn’t change when getting magic, he still look like himself as a kid. But in his case, he is most likely a reincarnation of Violet, and thus has the same face and features, while Rylie is not a reincarnation of Prisma, just a descendant.

One thing to note : 

Yellow learn Rylie’s name (Royletta) by looking at the journal : she doesn’t recognize the name, she hesitates when saying it. The journal calls her Royletta G. Biv, and not Royletta Greenwitch Biv, so we don’t know if she would have recognized the name Greenwitch. Meanwhile, Prisma knew that her name was Rylie. She has no ways of knowing this, except if she’s been spying on her or listening to some conversations. Perhaps Amadeus can still talk to her.

TL;DR : It’s very likely that Rylie is Prisma’s descendant from the same family line that Yellow is tracking. However it doesn’t explain why they look alike.

Rylie is Prisma’s child’s reincarnation 

This theory is based of the previous one, and the arguments are mostly the same. 

The difference is that instead of being Prisma’s descendant from a bloodline perspective, she is the reincarnation of Prisma’s child, the baby Yellow was holding, but not necessarily a direct descendant.

We don’t know what happens to Yellow’s child after Amadeus is done with Prisma. He just murdered some people, why not a baby ? In her first nightmare, the dark figures turns towards Rylie and says : “Now… It’s your turn.” and she feels as if it’s addressed to her, even though it was likely aimed at Yellow and the baby. 

Yellow is still here. The baby is not. 

If the baby is dead, then they can reincarnate, and just like Purple ended up looking just like Violet, Rylie looks a lot like her past baby self’s mom, just like a daughter can looks like her mother, just like the baby would have looked if they had the chance to grow up.

Makes sense right ?

Well I have an objection. 

The Colors changed hue after gaining magic, and the fact that they reincarnate might be due to how the alphas got their magic. Harold changed color scheme when the dark overlord gave him a hat and magic that weren’t “his”, so maybe that’s what happened to the Colors ? 

Because the baby was too young to have magic, I don’t think they would have reincarnated if they died like that, without magic. 

TL;DR : While it would explain how they look so alike, we don’t know if Prisma’s child could have reincarnated when dying as a magicless baby

Rylie is Prisma’s child

The simplest solution : Rylie looks like Prisma because she’s her direct daughter. No reincarnation shenanigans going on.

But how would it possible with 1000 years separating them ? Rylie is seventeen in the comic, and we even see her parents. 

Let’s start with the 1000 years problem :

Thanks to the recent appearance of Prisma, we know that she’s not as dead as we first thought. She disappeared without a trace, but Amadeus didn’t completely destroy her. She seems stuck somewhere, a timeless space, a dream or a memory. Amadeus can hide hats in shadows, he can summon lemon kids from shadows, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hide people in those shadows. 

After making Prisma disappears, he looks towards Yellow and the baby - its their turn now.

If he can keep Prisma alive in a timeless prison for 1000 years, he can do the same for a baby ! But why free her now ? 

Petunia ask him if its not “getting harder for you to do” and his answer is not very convincing. He could be getting tired, or weaker over time, and decided that keeping a baby prisoner like that was maybe an overreaction, and let her be. 

That turned out well, didn’t it ?

And this is pure speculation, but spending this much time in a pocket dimension made by a dark overlord might have changed her appearance. It would explain why she has black hair and eyes when Prisma and Yellow don’t.

What about Rylie’s parents ? She looks like them, there’s no reason to believe they’re not her parents. Well she could be adopted, it’s common for couples to adopt a child that looks like them. And if you’ve read beta gloomverse, you might remember that Assistant’s dad tells him he’s adopted. It could be a lie, it could have been written off, but its not negligible. 

TL;DR : Rylie is Prisma’s direct child, that Amadeus kept locked away for 1000 years before letting her go and she got adopted by her current parents.

Rylie and Prisma are sisters

This one is a bit more complicated than the others, but bear with me.

Let’s start easy with : Who would be the parents ? 

In this theory, Yellow would be Rylie and Prisma’s mom, with Rylie being the baby she was holding, the little sister to Prisma. Siblings tend to look like each other, and the 1000 years difference can be explained like in the previous theory.

Alright then, who's the other parent ? Amadeus, or Hobo as we’ve come to know him. Yes I know, this is a bit crazy, but I like exploring possibilities.

So we would have this kind of Family tree !

What are my proofs then ? This is kind of a crazy looking theory ! 

Well I don’t have any, really. We know Amadeus was alive at this time period, and that Yellow knew them by name. 

Rylie has some of Amadeus features, black hair, and her eyes even turn red on occasions, like his ‘‘dark overlord form’’. Rylie and Prisma’s skin color is an intermediary between his and Yellow’s, and Prisma’s green hair show that she has ecoversian roots despite coming from Stratoverse, which confirms that Yellow could be her mom.

It would also make Rylie, Harold and Wallis siblings, which has been alluded to already. In the dreamscape, Rylie imagine them as kids, sharing a childhood, like siblings. 

As much as I think it was worth mentioning, I don’t like this theory. Mostly because it destroys the meaning of the line “We may not be bond by blood...but we’re still family... no matter what.” by dream!Wallis. It throws the message of “found family can be more important than blood family” in the garbage by making them blood family.

Also at this point, Hobo would deserves the worst father award for his very bad parenting techniques. 

TL;DR : If Rylie and Prisma were sisters with Amadeus and Yellow as their parents, the found family trope would die.

And that’s the end of it ! Thank you for reading it all, it turned out extremely long. Don’t hesitate to add stuff, theories, opinions, or corrections !

[danny-chase]

Breaking a Promise - Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), The New Titans (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Koriand'r (DCU), Joseph Wilson Additional Tags: tw for self harm, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Canon Divergence, emotional breakdown, Broken Bones, description of injury, star crossed lovers, Flowers, Canonical Character Death, it's Joey guys, I'm Sorry, Swearing, lot of f bombs, POV Dick Grayson, Dick grayson centric, Dick Grayson is bi, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson is Discowing, Dick Grayson Needs Therapy, Dick Grayson Whump, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, a little bit of fluff near the top, Gardening, when your gf is poly and ships you with someone else, Heartbreak, Heartache, no beta we die like -sobs- Joey, Hurt/Comfort, and then hurt/no comfort to follow it up Series: Part 5 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Dick Grayson has his heartbroken twice.

Full story under cut

Two years ago:

“Dick, what about this one?” Kor’i smiled sweetly, positively glowing in the sun. She gestured to a little potted plant sitting in the shade of the bottom rack. Her hair fluttered in the wind, seeming to sweep up his heart as well. Crouching, he gently bumped her shoulder, and she nudged him back. Perfect.

 “Why don’t we look over there?” Dick asked, pointing over to another shelf.

 “But I like this one.” She pouted, puffing out her bottom lip slightly. He glanced at the little sprout she picked out, his mind happily buzzing as he identified it without looking at the tag – botany lessons with Alfred had paid off.

 “Lamprocapnos spectabilis.” He began. Kor’i nuzzled her head on his shoulder, reaching out a hand to stroke the leaves. He grabbed the little tag sticking out of the pot. “This one is of the Valentine variety.”

 “Mmm.” She rested her hand back on Dick’s thigh, warmth spreading from the spot. “Tell me more.” He swallowed and complied.

 “They’re a perennial – they come back annually. They like full or partial shade, and are native to Siberia, Japan, northern China, and Korea.”

 “How big will it get?” She asked, rising to her feet, carrying the plant with her.

 “About yay high.” He spread his hands two feet. “But Kor’i, uh, I can’t just give that to Joey it’s-”

 “Commonly known as the bleeding heart?” She smiled mischievously. “I don’t see why not, your heart bleeds all the time.” She innocently widened her eyes, batting her eyelashes. “Or is it because it symbolizes love? Do you not love him?” Doubt was as clear in her voice as it was in her face.

 “I-” He stammered; he would never cheat. “I love you.” Heat rose to his face. “Only you.”

 Kor’i was perfect, she was so loving, always building him up, never tearing him down. Always healing, nurturing, growing seeds of her own – not just in him, she seemed to bring out the best in everyone she met. People basked in her beauty, and he simply basked in the knowledge of her presence. In being loved so fully, so openly and honest. Dick didn’t know if he could ever love anyone more.

 “Oh.” Kor’i looked thoughtfully at the clear cerulean sky. “I wouldn’t mind if you… loved someone else too.” He frowned.

 “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did, but Kor’i, you’re the only one for me.” He stood, lightly pecking her on the cheek. She grinned, grabbing his hand, dragging him towards the checkout line.

 “I like this one, forget silly earth symbolisms, Joey would love it.”

 Dick sighed, following along anyways – she was right, of course, she always was – Joey would love the flowers, they were pals after all, he wouldn’t read too much into it.

   One year ago:

A cool breeze snaked its way over the hillside, finding its way around the rock at his back and through his hair – leaving him disheveled in its wake. A chill rain up his spine, goosebumps swiftly decorating his arms. He could feel his hair slowly rise up, standing in a desperate bid to retain heat.

 Dick wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, knees tucked to his chest, head resting on his crossed arms. Too long likely. He should be back to the tower soon – he didn’t want anyone to worry, but after the mess on Tamaran, it was best for him to be alone right now.

 He was just… so tired. He’d already destroyed half his punching bags trying to fight the emotion out – which had worked to some extent, leaving his hands throbbing and arms burning. He sprinted as far as he could go before his legs gave out. It had dulled the anger and pain, leaving him worn out and exhausted. The dull ache in his chest returned just as soon as it had left.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the night sky – he’d come out here for comfort – to watch the waves lap against the rocks from far above and gaze up at the stars. But the stars could never shine brighter than Kor’i, only serving to remind him of what he’d lost when he’d ventured too close to the sun.

 It wasn’t fair – Kor’i hadn’t loved Karras though they were together – legally bound, and he was here, light years spanning the distance between those bound by their souls.

 He never believed in love in first sight. Not until he’d met her.

 He’d always believed in love, though, from the time he was a child – his parents were living proof. It was foolish – his parents had died hadn’t they? Believing in their love until the bitter end, loving their lives, each other, him. It was love that kept them on the trapeze all those years, and that love had killed them.

 He sighed, maybe Bruce was right – love wasn’t something compatible with their lifestyle. He never shared himself so fully with others or lost himself so fully either. Always playing cat and mouse with his lovers, never committing, communing with another soul the way he had with Kor’i.

 He licked his chapped lips, tasting salt in the air. Light footsteps padded towards him. He curled further in on himself, not in the mood to talk. A rough woolen blanket dropped over his shoulders.

 It smelled like crisp green apples, mixed with a hint of cinnamon.

 Adeline Wilson had great tastes in laundry detergent – something she’d handed down to her son.

 Joey crouched next to him, wrapping an arm around him, offering warmth and comfort. Dick hesitated, mind screaming to recoil, run away – be alone and repress, but heart yearning for the warmth and comfort he always seemed to find in Joey. That same warmth reminded him of Kor’i.

 The desire for comfort won out, loosening up, he leaned against Joey’s shoulder. Joey’s chin nestled into the base of his neck; soft puffs of warm, wet air sent tingles down his spine. He raised his head a little dislodging Joey, feeling weirdly uncomfortable – but not displeased – just – he’d think about that later, now wasn’t the time.

 Joey quickly backed off, removing his arm. Dick gave him a side glance and for a moment, lost himself in kind emerald eyes. <em>He isn’t Kor’i</em>. Why was that so hard to remember?

 It took him a minute to process Joey signs. ‘Your hands.’ He followed his gaze down to his numb fingers. Upon seeing them he was hit by the realization they hurt like hell. He probably should have remembered to wear gloves, or at least wrap them, before taking his frustration out on punching bags.

 His right hand had swollen, both had bruises blossoming, his skin rubbed raw, blood freely dripping from busted knuckles.

 “Fuck.” He’d be out of the game for at least a month, if he was right about his right pinky – that was a boxer’s fracture. Tendrils of pain crawled out from the spot, his hands throbbing in time to his pulse. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that – the Titan’s needed him!

 Joey squeezed his upper arm, ‘let’s go’, he suggested, rising to his feet. Dick bit his lip, internally cursing himself for being such a dumbass. He shakily rose to his feet, immediately hit by a wave of exhaustion. Which in hindsight – he probably shouldn’t have sprinted until he dropped either.

 Joey wrapped an arm around his waist, bending slightly to stand under his shoulder and steadying him as the blanket slipped over his shoulders. They left it were it lay – more pressing matters to attend to, but Dick shivered in the cool night without it. He took a few wobbling steps forward – and dumb – his knees gave out.

 He never came close to the ground, instead, finding himself lifted into a princess carry. Joey smiled apologetically, with a little shrug. Dick sighed; this was embarrassing. He was eighteen – he should know better – Bruce had taught him better!

 “It’s fine, thanks.” He ignored how rough his voice sounded, instead concentrating on the throbbing from his hands, using the pain to block out the ache in his chest. He focused his gaze forward, not thinking about how close he was to Joey, how Kor’i used to carry him this way, how Joey smelled like honeysuckle and lilac, how this was everything he missed – and he just prayed he wasn’t falling in love again – he couldn’t be, no – he just... he was projecting. He just missed Kor’i.

 He ignored Donna’s concerned eyebrow raise as they passed her on the way back to the tower. Gar’s whistle as they crossed the living room. The way Joey was so delicate when placing him in the passenger seat of the helicopter, so careful to avoid eye contact, so mindful of his pride.

 In the brighter lighting he noticed stark red against Joey’s golden curls. A flower from a bleeding heart had made its way into Joey’s hair. There were gardening gloves in his back pocket

 His heart sped up as they took off, he felt weirdly lighter than before – though perhaps he was just dizzy from pain. Joey stared at him, his eyes darker than before, brow set determinedly, but looking pained and a bit melancholic.

 “What’s wrong?” Dick asked, feeling guilty for ruining whatever gardening project Joey had evidently come from. A lot was wrong, he was wrong, was asking a stupid question.

 The tips of Joey’s lips curled into a frown. ‘Do not do that again’ he pointed at Dick’s broken hands.

 Dick shrugged, it was a dumb move, he couldn’t guarantee he’d never break his hand again. He shifted his gaze back through the window. Joey tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Promise.’ Well, if it would keep Joey happy, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

 “I promise.” He wouldn’t break his hand as long as he never broke his heart.

   Now.

He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t lack self-awareness. He knew how to bottle his feelings into a jar, create a vacuum seal, and tuck them away on a shelf. The thing was, he also knew eventually he had to deal with the things he compartmentalized.

 It had been a month since Joey died. He’d been putting it off. But today…

 The bleeding heart had wilted.

 The jar fell to the floor and shattered, his heart disintegrating into a million shards with it.

 A watering can joined the broken glass on the floor, before he knew what was happening, he was running from Joey’s garden, not knowing where he was going, not sure of his surroundings. His vision narrowed, relying on muscle memory and reflex to avoid crashing.

 Crashing was a good way to describe this.

 He was right there. Looked Joey in the eyes. Watched him become twisted and never even noticed that his beloved friend was going through things no one should ever go through, slowly destroyed from within, suffocating from a painfully sluggish death before Slade made the final move.

 “FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCK!” Birds flapped away as he screamed at the sky, at the world for letting this happen. Joey never knew – he never told him – was too scared that this would – that he would –

 WHY DID THINGS HURT SO MUCH HE SWORE NOT TO LOVE ANYONE LIKE HER AGAIN-

 *CRACK*

 He broke a tree, feeling bone snap against splintered bark.

 He froze, staring at his right pinky, and laughed.

 So much for promises.

 Laughs turned to sobs, knees buckling as he fell to the forest floor – sitting on his heels before flopping to his back. Staring up at the baby blue sky, cumulus clouds drifted by without a care in the world, laughing at him, mocking him from the high heavens.

 Tears flowed freely, nature as the only witness.

 His heart wasn’t supposed to break like this, he’d locked it away long ago, he wasn’t supposed to care about people like this anymore, that wasn’t in the fucking plan. He’d restrained himself, time and time again, turned down offers, avoided hanging out – he did everything he was supposed to do to not fall in love again.

 And absolutely none of it mattered.

 Love had mattered – fuck love for being like this – fuck Bruce for making him believe he could live like him – fuck the world – fuck Joey – fuck Kor’i – fuck everything. Fuck whoever he was supposed to be, his training, his painstaking control of his emotions.

 He pounded the ground with his good hand, promises could be broken, but he wouldn’t break – not today – he didn’t have time. He could be dead today, next week, fuck – half the Titans were dead, Jason was dead, he couldn’t waste time like this - his life was going to be short.

 His life was going to fucking short and he needed to pull himself together – he had family to get back to. He had people he loved – if his heart was going to break anyways – he was so FUCKING stupid.

 Drowning in regret, he slammed the ground again, hard enough for the shockwaves to jar his broken hand. Feeling pain was better than feeling this – because fuck – fuck – he loved Joey. He loved Joey and Kor’i and they were both gone and nothing was okay anymore. Joey never even knew. Never even knew – and it was all his fault – and he never knew how much he mattered – never knew how when he smiled it everything around him dulled in comparison or how when they talked it was like he had known him his all life.

 He never knew.

 And would never know.

 He focused on taking painful breaths sobbing himself silly, laughing till he couldn’t breathe, and crying until he couldn’t feel. Time passed in a vacuum, hysteria waxing and waning until he ran out of tears to cry.

 He rolled over, pressing himself up, wiping his face on his shirt, ignoring the familiar pain creeping up his arm.

 He made a new promise because well, fuck the last one didn’t work out so he might as well start over. Giant pines towered over him standing tall as silent witnesses. He swore on the living along with the dead, any that would listen really – he didn’t care - he couldn’t keep living like this.

 “Whoever I love will know.” He whispered the words as a sacred oath, finding an odd sense of solace. He paused, letting the words hang in the air as if imbuing them with some sort of power.

 Stumbling forward, he made his way back home.

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine - Chapter 13

Title: Strawberry wine

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Claire attempts to find Jamie while the war rages on and eventually ends.

A/N: Thank you so much for everyone’s patience while I finished this story! At one point I wasn’t going to, but I had an incredible support team that cheered me on. Without all of my betas, I would be nothing. The gorgeous mood board is by @veryfaintveryhuman​ and I am SO GRATEFUL. It’s beautiful, thank you!

Chapter 13: Like Leaves in the Fall

When the war ended and the fighting was over, I had no idea whether or not Jamie was alive.

What I did know, as I took stock on a train to Scotland, was that my uncle was dead, and I was alone.

Losing Lamb had been a blow to my heart, but I didn’t have the luxury of time to process the grief and sorrow while in the midst of saving lives. The telegram I’d received simply said he’d died in his sleep, and within the span of a single sentence, my last piece of family was gone. No more messy-but-organized flat to visit in the wake of my uncle’s retirement. No one to lean on as I recounted the horrors of war. When I woke from the nightmares, there would be no one to smooth my hair until I was calm. I had no one left in the world who loved me.

I had no one to help find the other half of me.

After losing contact with Jamie, each letter I’d sent to Lallybroch remained unanswered; nothing was ever returned. All of my letters were simply gone into the void—the same place prayers went to die when no deity bothered to listen.

Everything had gone to hell in July 1943. The night I left with a trio of Americans to help an understaffed unit five miles away.

I’d been sure the order from the commanding officer had been to leave in the morning at first light, but I was, of course, outranked by the soldiers escorting me. We’d left an hour after sunset and hadn’t been on the road more than eight minutes before there was an ambush, gunfire, and a fireball of explosion. I never could remember anything that happened after the initial blast. When I’d woken up, I was told I’d been in and out of consciousness for two days, and in that time, had been taken by truck to a field hospital twenty miles east of my own unit. Travel between the two camps had since become a blown-out, impassable mess, with no other way to get back. I wrote to Jamie as soon as I could, but with everything so chaotic, I felt before I knew that something was wrong.

I wrote each Sunday for a year to the last address I had for him, even if it was the final, bleary-eyed thing I did before collapsing that night. Some weeks it was only a sentence. Something simple.

I miss you.

Other weeks I poured my soul out to him, weeping over the paper until the ink was so blurred that even if he received it, he wouldn’t have been able to make out half the words. I began writing to Lallybroch, and my alarm ran deeper when there was no response from anyone at all. I had the phone number and attempted to call when I had the rare chance, but the operator could never connect. I felt helpless, and so I threw myself into helping others, trying to send as many boys and men home to their families as I could.

The last letter I’d sent was posted a month before the end of the war (though I hadn’t known it at the time) and was the first I’d written in a long, long while. I’d mailed it to Lallybroch, for no other reason than because I had no idea where else Jamie might be in the world.

I asked you to promise something impossible. I won’t ever believe you broke that vow to me, James Fraser. Not until I see proof with my own eyes.

You are not gone.

If you were, I couldn’t exist. So you must be out there, somewhere.

Now, the war was over. In the life we’d dreamed, we would have been settled with children by now. At least one or two. All of those nights dreaming felt like distant memories; plans two young lovers made before they’d ever stepped into the reality of the world.

How had we ever believed that our fantasies were untouchable?

I was going back to Lallybroch in the hope of discovering what happened to the Frasers. My heart ached for Jamie to walk out of the front door, healthy and whole, surprised to see me but eager to explain. Even knowing that wouldn’t be the case, I couldn’t have anticipated reaching his home only to find…nothing.

I knew something was wrong the moment I pulled into the drive. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys, there were no chickens roaming the yard. Getting out of the car (Lamb’s; now mine), I could see that the fields in the distance hadn’t been plowed, there were no animals grazing. I stumbled my way to the front door, recognizing the curling orange foreclosure notice for what it was before I could even make out the words.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

It felt as if someone had wrapped their hands around my heart and squeezed. I touched the fading paper and realized it’d been there for some time, then turned to sink slowly onto the front steps. I couldn’t fathom what had happened to cause Brian Fraser to lose the home his ancestors built in the name of love, and my mind raced with possibilities. The main question was where everyone had gone, and I knew my answers wouldn’t be found by sitting still. I left the property and drove into Broch Mordha, parking on the street and walking until I found the quaint little bookshop Jamie and I had enjoyed ducking into once or twice.

“Hello?”

A creaky old voice responded, and the proprietor, Mr. Gowan, made his way around the corner. I remembered him, a retired solicitor with a love of literature, and the way he smiled at me seemed to indicate he recalled me as well.

“Miss Beauchamp, was it? Oh aye, to be sure,” he answered for himself. “I hardly thought I would see ye here again with the Frasers gone from the land.”

It seemed we were cutting right to the chase, and I was eager to avoid small talk. “What happened? I haven’t heard anything in...years.” It hurt to say it aloud, to acknowledge that all of the time I was supposed to have with Jamie was slipping by.

Ned Gowan’s eyes went the sort of soft that meant he was to be the bearer of bad news.

It was in that dusty little shop that I learned of Brian Fraser’s death. He’d been at the plow when he collapsed. A stroke rendered him unable to speak or make final arrangements before he died, and so Jenny had been left to find a way to stay afloat—during a war, no less—on her own. She’d done the best she could, letting go of the farmhands who couldn’t go to war, first, then selling off livestock. Eventually, the burden became too much, and she’d been forced to take what she could stuff in a trunk and leave the rest behind.

“Do you know where she went?” I asked, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Ned reached over, patting my hand softly. “That, I cannae be sure of. I ken she stayed with the MacNabs for a spell after her father died, though she isna there now.”

“Do you know what happened to Jamie? Did he come back?”

At my questions, Ned simply squeezed my hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

For a moment, I simply held onto him, attempting to come to terms with the fact that Jamie had never returned home while my stomach tried to force its way up my throat.

The end of the day saw me no further than the start. The elderly Mrs. MacNab, while kind, hadn’t kept up with Jenny. With the mouths of children and grandchildren alike to feed and keep track of in a small, two-bedroom home, she’d lost the forwarding address. She assured me that when Jenny left she had at least seemed to have a plan, though she had no idea where Jamie’s sister might have gone.

In the days that followed, I spoke to various locals and realized that no one else knew, either.

I hit the final wall in trying to track down Jenny when I couldn’t locate her cousin, Jared. Leaving Paris had likely been the safest decision for him, but with everyone moving constantly during the war, nothing was familiar anymore. No one was where they were supposed to be.

I didn’t know where to go, and so, I went back to Lallybroch.

It was dark when I arrived, but the path to the river hadn’t faded from my memory. I knew, even in the faint moonlight, which branches to shove aside and could almost imagine Jamie ahead of me. As I broke into the clearing and the sound of water blended with the evening insects, I realized I’d been holding my breath with some sort of final hope that he would be there, reaching his hand out for me.

When I finally exhaled, it was on a sob as I sank to my knees.

He was truly gone.

Likely dead and buried somewhere I would never know. The war had chewed us all up and spat us back out in pieces, scattered and lost. I ached and cried, not only for Jamie, but for Jenny, Ian, and Brian, too. So much had been taken from us, and I wept for it all. I had no idea how long I laid there even after the tears stopped, curled in on myself in the mud. When I finally rose, I sat on the bank of the river, slightly damp, and watched the sky turn pink with the dawn of a new day.

I had to find a home on my own now.

Alone.

Over time, I slowly pieced together a life that was more or less what I’d told Jamie I wanted to do the first night we’d met. I took my skills as a nurse to places with little access to medical care, did what I could, and stayed as long as I felt necessary before moving on. My life hardly felt the way I’d thought it once would; I enjoyed helping others, and the call to take care of those in need was enough to motivate me each day. But I felt as if I were a spectator, watching the weeks, months, and years pass by in slow motion.

When my travels took me to North America, I eventually caught wind of a hospital in Boston looking to hire a dozen or so nurses. I’d thought about it for a long while, whether or not I should stop someplace and finally settle. I’d never longed for something permanent before, not until Jamie had put it into my head that we could have a life together, at Lallybroch.

Boston was about as far from the Scottish Highlands as anyplace else; an entire ocean stretched between what I yearned for and what I wound up with. I put all of my time and energy into the job, and even made a friend or two as I tried to put the war and life before it behind me.

But Jamie’s ghost wouldn’t go so easily.

He guided most of my decisions, the voice in my head that battled my doubts. When I debated whether or not to apply for a head nursing position, the voice in my head that whispered you’re just as capable as any other person at this hospital sounded suspiciously like Jamie, and I decided to try. He became my backbone when I stepped into an interview room full of men. When I was offered the job, I couldn’t deny my happiness at the accomplishment, and my colleagues at the hospital celebrated me in a way that was kind and genuine. But as I marked the time passing and settled into my career, I knew I had come to a point where I needed to let Jamie go.

Moving through life with a constant ache hurt too badly, and I’d never let myself accept that he was truly gone. If I was going to say goodbye to him, it needed to be done properly. That was why, five years after last receiving a letter from him, I took a trip to Scotland to leave a message in a bottle.

3rd of September, 1949. Come find me, Jamie.

When that fateful day finally arrived, I watched the sunrise from the front steps of Lallybroch for what I knew would be the last time. The sky was blue and birds were chirping, apathetic to my sorrow as I walked the property. I found the old, rusted truck that had taken us everywhere that summer, the back-half of it gone. We’d carved promises into one another in the bed of that truck, made love and held one another while we gazed at the stars. Looking down, I pressed my thumb against the faded scar before walking toward the front of the home. It still looked as sturdy as ever, but with no life within, the entire structure seemed dull, as if even the stones had given up.

I decided to make my way to the river through the woods knowing that if Jamie had found my note, that’s where he would think to look for me. I paused for a moment to gaze back at the house, finding his bedroom window. There was only broken glass now, and I closed my eyes, a quiet tear rolling down my cheek. I could still picture the first time I’d ever seen him perfectly: shirtless in a kilt, a bale of hay slung over his shoulder as easily as if it had been a bag of feathers. It wasn’t fair, that we’d only had a summer, that my soul had tangled itself with his in a way that was forever knotted. I would say goodbye today, but I couldn’t fathom finding another love like this in my lifetime.

To be frank, I didn’t know if I believed another love like his existed.

Looking up at the window again, I remembered that first night we made love, how warm it’d been. I’d stood in the window naked while we talked, welcoming the evening breeze as we’d made plans to escape to the water.

My only warning that the world was about to tilt on its axis was the soft crunch of gravel underfoot behind me. It was light enough that I didn’t bother to turn and see what made the sound. And then, suddenly, I felt as though I were in free fall.

“...Sassenach?”

The word (my name on his lips), unheard in years, made my heart skip before every ounce of air left my lungs. I turned my body slowly, but stared down for a moment before finally raising my head, afraid that I’d heard nothing at all.

He was there, standing straight and tall, staring at me in slack-jawed surprise.

Jamie was alive and whole, and it was the last thought I had before the world went black.

[kkulmoon]

SUNSET HEARTBEAT | KTH

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

genre: fantasy au, hybrid au, sci-fi (?), fluff, angst

word count: 5.1k

rating: pg

a/n: ngl i feel like the beginning portion is a bit rusty, by rusty I mean it may feel a bit slow but pls give it a chance 🥺, I struggled to write that 😭. I am also tagging two very lovely people who were excited about this, hopefully you like it uwu @blossomkoo​ @inkedxclouds​. This fic is part of Bangtan Scenery’s collab ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’, make sure to check out everyone else’s entries!

warnings: implied sex, other than that none, except for heartbreak and slight purple patches here and there cause I was in the mood hehe

beta read by: lovely angie @scvkjin​ and amazing emi @bangtiddies​ 💕 

synopsis: The time had come for the seventh sun to rise. For the seventh and last color in line to have its cycle. As one indigo supernova signified the coming of a purple nebula, you and Taehyung spent the remaining of your last day together creating something of your own. If it comes into fruition can only be known years in the future. A decade after you found someone unlike anyone. Truly one of a kind. Someone with a destiny they couldn’t outrun. It has been 10 years since the birth of a purple sun.

☁︎ masterlist ☁︎

It was in your final year of university, twelve years ago, that you met Taehyung. That same year you decided it was time to give up on the idea of becoming an astronomer. Quite frankly, you were just too dumb. However, it did not mean that you couldn't enjoy it all while living a life where pretending that you truly understood everything was your best bet, your only bet. They all say that interest and dedication trumps natural talent, right? For that same reason you decided to still attend as many astronomy lectures as possible even though you were studying to become an English teacher. You were always quiet and attentive so either the professors didn't notice you or let you be. Either way, what mattered was that you got to be there.

The first time the two of you interacted was a random weekday in April, near finals’ season. You were sitting at the back of the room as usual. The professor had handed out some papers to be passed back. A gold tinted hand with slender fingers, on which well groomed and shiny fingernails were present, reached out to you. You could all but wave away at the paper, trying your best to dismiss it. A pouty and confused expression was what you got as he continued to jab the paper onto your palm. You kept trying to mouth 'it's okay' but he was persistent. Not much of a purple characteristic but surely a sun one, now that you think about it. Finally you settled for a verbal response.

“I don't actually take this class, so really, i'm fine.”

He retreated his hand for a second, “Huh, don't we all wish that was true,” he said as he placed the paper on the small desk in front of you instead. “You've got this! We're almost done, hold in there.” You got a thumbs up before he turned back to focus on the class.

And every week from there on, whenever he got a short moment in class while the professor was writing on the board Taehyung would pester you with motivational notes filled with sayings. One particular somber April morning where you looked more tired than usual he even went as far as offering to help you with the class and your homework. You did your best to decline and yet that same night you got an email in your inbox that told you he obviously hadn't understood.

| Kim Taehyung     Chapter 15: Helpful Resources, (hang on there, you got this!) |

While you didn't take the class and had no official obligations to learn anything, you were still interested in astronomy so you decided to have a look. The links did clear up some questions you had during the lecture. However, you didn't want him to be wasting time helping a lost cause. As much as you loved reading about astronomy and learning about it, you were slow and having him help you was more than unnecessary. The definition of futile work. You decided to send him a screenshot of the official classes you were attending from the university's student portal. You made sure to censor your grades. He truly didn't need to think that you were any dumber, all he needed was proof that you weren't taking the class.

But once again, Taehyung's sun qualities shone through. Where it would have been expected for the person to drop the subject and for the two of you to go back to your habitual behaviour, he thought otherwise. He responded, but this time instead of answers he had questions, none of which you felt like answering so you left him on read. Well, the email version of read. You opened the email, read it, thought about answering it but ultimately left the email thread to die on the read pile.

A week went by. No Taehyung and you felt relieved. At least that's how you think you felt, the sleep deprivation might have been playing tricks on you. As yet another day came, where the indigo sun let its rays shine, Taehyung thought it better for him to act as the sun. You hadn't seen him in class, but it just turned out he changed his usual spot. He tried to catch you before you left the room but your daydreaming self was quick on her feet. He had a quick talk with the professor before he hurried to you.

“Hey!” The sound of sandals echoed against the cement floor. “Hey! You there!" 

You kept on walking, as far as you knew your name wasn’t you there'.  Someone grumbled behind you only to exclaim after a short while. 

“Y/N! Y/N! Hold up, I need to talk to you.” So in that case you were 'you there' and someone was Taehyung. 

You stopped walking and turned around. You couldn’t help but cock your head at him. You had only seen Taehyung from the torso up while in class. His attire surprised you for some reason. Maybe because he was a STEM student and you had expected him to look more uptight. He looked like one of the people from the pot dorm down your hallway.  Everything he wore was oversized except for the big knitted headband he had on now that he was outside. He looked devoid of colour with his muted clothes, but his cross body bag stood out with its patterned rainbow material.

"Yeah, what is it?" The quicker you could get it over with the better. However, Taehyung didn’t seem to agree with you on that aspect. He took his sweet time to fix the misplaced headband as you were left to witness the action. As much as you would have liked to categorise the scene as boring, it would have been a lie. His grey hair strands somehow managed to sparkle in the sun. They didn’t shine the normal way hair shines when light reflects on it. His hair literally sparkled as if it had recognised something familiar within the sun rays. But at the time you just thought you were being delusional or being tricked by the elements of his beauty.

"You didn't answer my email," he asked with curious eyes and an innocent tone. Right, that happened.

"Oh, that... uhm... I just haven't gotten the time to go through my email, things have been a bit hectic," you shot him a sympathetic smile.

Taehyung seemed like a pretty understanding person but he sure wasn’t dumb. You saw the way his tongue shifted to lick his lips as his teeth found their way onto his bottom lip. He trailed his hands on the strap of his bags as a pensive lip bite made adorned his features. Taehyung could have either been nervous or so irked by the bullshit you just spat at him that his body was reacting. Either way you felt bad for your white lie, but maybe not bad enough.

"It has been two weeks though," Taehyung stretches his back to stand straighter, "Also I take a chem class with Hoseok and you're always chatting in the gmail chat so..." 

What do you say to that? You lied and the worst part of it all was that you were caught right in the same moment. Your mouth opened and closed continuously as a hot flush made itself present on your ears and neck. You made note of the fact that Taehyung seems sweet but he actually packed a punch and was definitely ready to confront you on your bullshit. Classic STEM student approach, just face things head on. Thinking back at it, that was yet another instance in which his sun characteristics took the wheel. The sun's rays don't budge for anything or anyone and they certainly don't cave in to make others feel comfortable.

"Uhmm... right. But I am here now, so ask away!" Maybe your fake enthusiasm could make up for your little lie. Taehyung gave you a wondering look as he calculated  the pros and cons of continuing this conversation, You hoped the cons would win. 

“Uhmm, alright, fair enough,” He shrugged and the pros must have won because he kept talking. “Why do you go to astronomy lessons if you don’t take the class?”

Why did he want to get into your personal business? You could have very well told him that it was none of his business, turned around and left. But that seemed a tad bit too rude for you and for some weird reason you didn't want him to think of you as any more rude that you had been.

Would you paint yourself as an overly ambitious student that just had a general love of learning or would you tell him the truth? If you were to lie again you were sure he wouldn't manage to uncover this lie.

"I just like astronomy and find the class interesting, on top of that I've got time so like why not?" You felt good about your response, so good you were happy that you had made the choice not to lie to him, again.

"Oh okay, then how come you didn't apply for the program?" Wow, this dude was really trying to uncover all of your flaws during the first real conversation you've had. He should have become a detective instead, his focused and analysing eyes made it very hard for you to lie and not feel any residual guilt. He would, without a doubt, catch you if you were to slip up again.

"Uhm... I just felt like education was the right place for me you know." You shook your head with squinted eyes in hopes that he would just get you. Which he obviously didn’t if you had to go off of the way his jaw jutted out to the side. 

"Well, to put it simply, I am not the brightest of students and while actually taking the class would have been a nightmare, just being there and listening and learning at my own slow pace just makes me feel better about my shortcomings."

Taehyung's lips parted slightly. Okay, maybe you didn't have to give such a confession but he had been pushing and you wanted it to just end.

"Ohh, I see." Not the response you expected but how else do you respond to someone who said that they were too dumb to follow their dream. "But still my offer stands, if you need help trying to understand anything, feel free to tap my shoulder in class."

"But you changed seats to sit in the front."

"Nah not really, I was just bitter that you hadn't answered and didn't want to hurt you. From now on you'll see me at my usual spot in front of you."

The squeamish movement that accompanied the words ‘hurt you’ gave rise to a wondering look on your face. Hurt you? Why would he hurt you? Taehyung looked pretty harmless so you decided to not take his weird comment at face value. He most likely meant hurting you in a verbal sense.

The rest of the semester progressed in that same weird manner that characterised your relationship with Taehyung. A constant push and pull that kept being encouraged by your closest friends– Hoseok being the top player in the game. Inevitably, the more time you spent with him the more you warmed up to him. A month down the road the two of you decided to put a label on it. Or it was more so you who needed a verbal confirmation that you had somehow managed to catch someone's interest.

It took you awhile to reset the way you thought. Your wandering mind wasn’t only filled with personal affairs anymore, another individual had found their place in your day to day thoughts. All of a sudden being affectionate wasn't something you had to actively be, it was simply default mode whenever Taehyung crossed your field of vision.

For that reason alone, finals season was filled with movie nights, whispered love confessions, enough takeaways from different cuisines that you felt you were now ready to become a food critic. But the most precious instances of that time was the afternoons where Taehyung did his best to teach you astronomy and you being too lazy to listen despite your interest. You can't help but ask yourself if you would have been more attentive had you known what astronomy actually meant to him.

You had now been with Taehyung for one entire year. One year filled with diametrically opposite feelings. The good, the bad and the ugly. But ultimately all of it was left at the door the moment the two of you decided to reconcile despite the drawbacks. You were happy. The kind of happy that you don't recognise until it's gone. That can only be acknowledged in the midst of incoming fury. You had never in your life wished for the ability to predict the future. To see what happens after sunrise before it is manifested. 

One particular day eleven years ago, you wished that astronomy was fake, that the sun wasn't real and that it never needed to rise or set, to be born or die. You wished the sun didn't exist, knowing very well that that would mean the most important person in your life wouldn't exist. But you could have dealt with that. 

Longing for something you know you could have hurts far more than craving for the unknown. In the latter situation there's at least hope, that if you search hard and long enough you could find that thing you so deeply want. In the former, you know where that thing is, it's in fact right under your nose, or more accurately right over your head, where you can feel it at least a little bit every single day. Except this time you can't have it, no matter how hard you wish for it or how long you choose to wait. The whole scenario was like a twisted marshmallow test. Made to incite cravings with no intention of ever quenching them.

This all started a year following the start of your relationship with Taehyung. At that time you took notice to how hot he would get at the most unexpected of times. A behaviour that was usually reserved for when he was irritated or angry. It wasn’t only him that was hot but he radiated the kind of heat reserved for an extremely sunny summer’s day. 

You overlooked those instances and decided not to pay them too much mind. It could just be you having the extreme hots from him. However on a particular night, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in bed with Taehyung. The sheets were drenched and the windows had fogged up. You had to leave and find refuge in your living room sleeping right by a fan. 

The coming morning you woke up to breakfast on the table and right beside it there was a thick pocket sized book. The Book Of Suns. That was the white title that was engraved onto the black cover. Taehyung was nowhere to be found but his belongings were still in your room so you assumed he had gone for his morning walk. 

You had to make a choice between the two. Would you read the book first or you would eat breakfast first? You knew that whatever you were about to find out would most likely curb your appetite. Your hand glided against the rough cover of the book. 

Wouldn't it be better to read it now, just in case something made you extremely sad? That way you could cry before he got back home. Whatever it was that you were about to find out was very important to him, important enough that he wanted you to form your own opinion of it in peace. He wanted in no way for his presence to taint your reaction towards the truth that he had been hiding. Or as he thought protecting you from.

You sat down by the table, knees to your chest as you brought the book onto your hands. 'The Book Of Suns' was, as you realised after reading it, just that, a book about suns, in particular Taehyung’s sun lineage. It was a story about your world’s suns, the rainbow sun family. A fact unknown to you before that very moment. You were surprised by your behaviour, you weren’t exactly known for having calm reactions. It must have been Taehyung’s scent on the sweater you wore. It tickled your nose and calmed your senses. The book served as a track record for the next person in line to become the sun. It had seven chapters. Beside each chapter title in the contents page there were small vertical lines. The first six suns had five lines while the last had four. Taehyung must be purple sun. You read silently or more so you attempted to read silently, the deep breaths you were taking in effort to digest everything couldn't be contained.

After a continuous hour of reading you got to what was perhaps the most interesting chapter. Where do the dead suns go? And most importantly what do the suns that have yet to be born stay? You were cautious about continuing your reading. What if you found out that Taehyung was in fact just the ghost of someone that didn't actually exist? Or worse what if Taehyung would cease to exist? 

Fear curbed your initiative to let your eyes continue their dance on the page. But fear also did its job in fixating your attention on the slightly faded black letters present on the off-white pages. Fear of the unknown is always worse than that of the known.

Deep in the forest, there was the garden of suns. Every time a sun died and resurrected as a human, their statue appeared in the garden, where their sun soul was kept, only to vanish on the day of their sun birth. In the middle of the pages there was a picture, at the back of it you could read Taehyung’s harsh handwriting ‘The garden of suns -15/07/39’. He had been there four days ago.

The statues of the first five suns were covered with vibrant collared moss equivalent of their sun pigment. The sixth and seventh sun’s statues were only slightly visible in the photograph. They seemed to be in an intermediary phase. Not quite gone, yet not quite there. It was hard to figure out whether they were emerging or vanishing. That’s until you remembered the previous week’s news report. A supernova was on its way and scientists believed it would most likely occur near the end of next year. 

The indigo sun is near its death, and a purple sun is nearing its ascent. 

Taehyung’s statue was the one vanishing. His sun soul was ready to find its owner and ascend to its rightful place amongst the other stars. Just as you were about to continue reading, ready to delve into how this whole sun birth situation went about, the sound of metal clashing against metal resounded in the dead silence. Clinging keys and heavy steps entered the apartment. 

No 'hello' or 'glad to see you're finally awake'. But could you blame him? It would have been weird to act as if it was like any other of your usual mornings. You wished you had mustered up the strength to get off the chair and go greet him at the entrance. In your mind you did that but in reality you stayed rooted right where you were, back squeezed into the corner between the table and chair.

Taehyung walked in to lean against the door frame that lead into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. Dark under eye bags decorated weary eyes. You thought you could hear a tentative squeak come out of his mouth. Maybe you should've said something, because he looked like he was hurting and trying to find the appropriate words to start a conversation he knew would only end with heartache and tears. You thought that talking about the small steps he made outside was a good way to segue into talking about the biggest step he would take in his life. One that he could unfortunately not walk back on. 

"How was your walk?" You managed to ask before Taehyung walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom. He stopped midway, standing in the living room, where sun rays illuminated his surroundings. You couldn't help but think that it was very fitting for him to become a sun. The rays may have been bright and hot but he was the only one able to make you feel as hot as the sun and make your smile shine brighter than the biggest star. He was already a sun. Your sun. Why did he need to leave and become everyone's sun as well?

"Pretty good, helped me wake up," he said and sat down on the bean bag present beside him. You put the book down on the dining table just to look back at him from your seat. You were just there, in the moment, sitting down and doing your best to have an internal conversation. Both of you knew that words would hurt too much. And they surely couldn't bear the complete weight of what your current predicament meant neither could they have illustrated the joint pain that was shared between two beating hearts.

Your conversation might have been dead but the emotion was very much alive. You stood up from your seat, Taehyung's knitted sweater fell back down to caress your thighs. The walk to the beanbag felt like an eternity, not because it was but because you made it so. You had felt his sour and vigilant mood and you knew that being playful at that moment was your best bet. You tiptoed back and forth all the way to the beanbag as the sweater shifted here and there to reveal skin that was highlighted blue by the sun.

He was upset but he couldn't manage to keep his mouth set. His lips would stretch and unstretch as small playful wiggles played at the tip of his mouth. Finally you had found your way to the bean bag. You stood tall as your body cast a shadow over his. You placed a foot on the bean bag as the material sunk under your weight and you found your place on his lap. 

Right there, that's the kind of pat in the back that Taehyung gave you as his arms enveloped your slouching form. You snuggled your head deep into the crook of his neck and inhaled all the way in. If he was really gonna be leaving you, you needed to make sure you could imprint the scent and feel of his flesh right onto yours.

You sat there, quiet, with synchronised breaths yet fighting thoughts. How in the heck were you supposed to manage this? Him just being gone? Sure, you had a year left before it was officially time, but a year is far from a lifetime, what he had promised you.

"You are sure you don't want to talk about it?" Long hand strokes continue to comfort your back. You move your buried head side to side, groaning in response. Alright is all he said. Things were far from alright.

While on that morning you decided not to talk further on the topic, the coming months were filled with explorative trips to the Garden of Suns, where you would spend hours listening to Taehyung tell you about the stories of him and his sun brothers. He talked about being particularly close to the blue sun.

"It's just because he literally has no filter," he said gazing longingly at the statue covered with flashy blue moss.

"Is that like, dangerous?"

"Well yeah for you, but I am a sun remember." He turned around on the grass to face your way.

"And that's probably why I orbit around you." The huge grin that found its ways to your face was uncontrollable and contagious as Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker at your corny joke.

Just like that, your months together flew by until it was finally d-day. You hoped that waking up wouldn't be a necessity but Taehyung refused to let you sleep through it. He refused to let you think that it was all a dream. Getting yourself off the bed and into the shower felt like an endless task. One that he was patient enough to help you with. In hindsight you feel bad about having put him through that on such a significant day. He was, most likely, having a harder time dealing with his destiny than you were. That day was one to remember, the most vivid of them all, the most cherished of them all yet the most sad of them all.

All of that happened in the past and you were currently in an unsure present. The indigo sun had faced its fate, to be extinguished in an equally coloured supernova that would give rise to the last one in line, a purple sun. One day they would all be back to the complete cycle. A day where you wouldn't be present.

It has been ten years since Taehyung became a sun. You could talk to him, well, not really but you could see him and most importantly feel him. It had been a decade since you asked him to leave you something to remember him by, a part of him, a living one. On the night of Taehyung’s sun birth he decided to take you up on the offer. Cuddled up, in each other’s arms that’s how the day progressed. While usually persistent yet gentle, that night Taehyung felt it was appropriate and maybe in fact vital for him let his sun like ferocity be expressed. How else could you have understood the intensity of his feelings, a muddy mix of grief and love. The remains of that one last heated night were left for you to admire and cherish.

You thought you would manage to stay up the entire night to witness the purple sun birth but Taehyung’s warmth, forehead kisses and soft singing lulled you to sleep before you could realise it. 

Nothing was felt. No heat, no cold. Nothing was seen. No light, no spark. Taehyung was gone into the void in the same effortless way he entered your life. You’ve now been waiting over a decade to know if the fruits of that night would come into fruition. Conception can only happen when eclipses take place. Eclipses happen every 126 months. It has been 10 years. Half a year is left.

That half year could not have passed at a slower pace. It was a Thursday, yet another tiring day at school. You loved kids but you were drained of energy. You couldn't wait for time to pass by so that you could leave. It was Thursday, which meant you could watch the sunset to its complete  end without being bothered. It was also Thursday, the day after you got your first ultrasound. Taehyung may have not been there but that didn't mean you couldn't share the remaining of your waking hours with him, whenever you thought it was possible. You looked out of the window from your classroom to see purple hues in the sky as the sun said goodbye to leave place to another night.

The clouds thought otherwise, for some reason they always felt the need to be there to cloud his presence. What right did they have to cover up his tint? If it weren’t for them you would have been able to bask in his purple light, let it colour you bare as your feelings went from blank to purple butterflies that made you lose sight as tears formed in your eyes.

So you did what any sensible person still in love would have done. As soon as the clock struck 4 pm you ran to catch the train that would take you from skyscraper views to wide flower fields. It took the train two hours. You did your best to enjoy the way he set along the ride. Once you arrived you were left with two entire hours to enjoy the last of him and say goodbye to Taehyung and hello to the darkness.

During that time you reached into Taehyung's patterned cross body bag. You truly hated it but it was his so you kept it. You pulled out the ultrasound picture and raised it to the little part of sun that was still left. You didn't actually think that he would, through some weird magical way, actually be able to see it. It was more so something to calm your conscience. But most importantly, it presented you with the opportunity to capture an unusual family picture. It was you, the ultrasound, your baby bump and the purple sunset all in one picture. One that had found its rightful place on your bedside table.

Years unmasked themselves to reveal the growth of your child. One that grew to inherit the intensity of her father. Every now and then you made sure to let her know about him. As young as she was she couldn't truly understand it all, but as a child your love story was something that was within imaginable grounds. So you took advantage of that and taught her all you could about him. Maybe if you started early she could manage to develop past your less refined genes with regards to learning.

You took your time to tell her all that she wished to know and all that you wished to share. Sugarcoating to the maximum, cause that’s what Taehyung would do, but still making sure to keep a coherent timeline. One specific day you are unable to answer her question.

"Wh–why did dad break the promish?"

You had to fight long and hard with your tear ducts. Never had you cried in front her and you didn't intend to do it anytime soon.

In fact in one way or the other, Taehyung hadn't lied about keeping his promise. He had omitted some important specifics but he hadn't completely been untruthful. He said a lifetime and he would give you a lifetime. It just happened to be one where he wasn't always there, present by your side. 

However he would always get up to see you rise, and always say goodbye as he sets down to give place for lonely nights. And on all of those goodbyes unlike the one where he left you for the first and last time, you could swear that in bed with your child pressed to your chest, you could feel and hear his sunset heartbeat as clear and strong as the rays of a certain purple sun, your only one. Sun rays filled with his most cherished truth: 

‘I will turn purple when i miss you and to say i love you’.

Posted: May 28, 2020

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Prompt: “they'll never understand how much i love you.”

For Tolya x Reader please!!



I thought to myself, I can't make this angsty can I? But hey-ho I surprise even myself.

All The Things I'll Never Say - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warnings: Pining, So Much Pining And Not Even In My Usual Font. No Proof/Beta Reading, We Just Die I Guess.

He couldn't tell you. He wouldn't tell you. There was no reason to. Besides honesty, and as honest as Tolya likes to believe himself to be, the honesty was outweighed with all the responsibility of his own feelings.

Tolya is a warrior, when it comes down to it, he was raised and made to fight. In another life, in another situation, with other fates and with the grace of Saints he might have been something else. A scholar. A poet. Maybe, even yours.

But Tolya chooses not to linger on all the possibilities of lives unlived. It wasn't his nature to regret who he might have been, when who he was is what brought him to you.

You.

You, who's smile brought light to even the darkest parts of him. You, who he could believe all the poems were written about. You who's words brought comfort and voice feels like home. You, who if he had never known, he doubted he would know himself as well without.

It's easy to love someone. It's a second nature that you never have to learn unless you're taught out of love. Even those taught out of love can recognise it eventually, disguised as other things, like loyalty, or duty. "That's what Zoya sees it as," you had said, watching her with Alina.

"I am unconvinced that woman has a heart," Tolya had stated in response.

"Everyone has a heart, even if it's icy, or buried, everyone is capable of love in some way," you had looked at Zoya with such softness that for a moment Tolya was able to see her as you did, someone who had gotten lost in the time between innocence and now, someone who surely once loved with her entirety, and now didn't know how, "she just needs to be willing to let it in again."

It's easy to love someone. It's especially easy to love someone so willing to love in return. It's easy to love when love is given freely. You smile at him and the love is so freely given. Tolya knows where he was built for defence you were built for welcoming, his guardship against your openness in perfect parallel. You do not let the darkness of the life around you bury the light you bring into it.

He never had to try to love you, loving you was easy, easier than almost anything he had ever experienced before.

But it's easy to love someone, it's not easy to know what to do with that love.

He can't tell you, not in the clear ways that would make everything understood and known. His love for you isn't complicated, it is the most simple thing in his life. But this life, is complicated. And things pure and honest and hopeful need space to breathe and grow and where you brought light wherever you go, you needed to do more of that.

Tolya knows if he told you, if you knew, you would not care about the war and the loyalties and duty Tolya upholds, you would not care about the fealty and the obligation. You would go where Tolya goes, you would follow him because there is no place he could go where you would not rather be with him.

He doesn't doubt even for a moment how easily you would love him in return, just like you already do, quietly, peacefully, carefully.

He doesn't doubt that there is no darkness that could overcloud the light you bring, and yet he doesn't want that for you.

He wants you to be free and not fighting, he wants you safe and seen and always with a reason to smile that smile you do when you see him across the grass in the early morning.

Eventually Tolya has to leave, and he cannot be the reason this place loses you, he cannot take you away because it will hurt him to be without you.

It's easy to love you, it's near impossible to not want that love in return.

It's easy to love you, but it's hard to know that loving you, truly loving you, means he has to be willing to let you go, and the only way he can do that, the only way you can let him, is if he doesn't tell you all the things that he wants to every time you look at him.

He cannot tell you that you have made his life inconceivably better from the moment you entered it, and every time he has heard you laughter it has filled him with love worth a life time. He cannot explain how he is eager for the sound of your voice, and hungry for your company that no amount of time will ever satiate.

He cannot tell you that he will not miss you when he leaves, but he will instead leave a part of him with you that you can never return to him without staying at his side perennially.

He has never wanted words of his own more than now, knowing that no poet he knows can give you the sentiments you need, nothing can make you understand without asking you to be beside him, to stay beside him and he wants to ask you to do that. But he knows better.

It's easy to love you, it's nearly impossible to leave you.

His name in your voice carried through the distance between you brings him back to the moment, you wave him over as you sit with more people Tolya had met but never really known before you. He is slow to follow your request, as each step that brings him closer to you makes it harder for him to take the steps away again.

Nadia gives you a smile as she leans in to your side, whispering words only you can hear. You shake them off with a chuckle and Tamar throws her brother a knowing look, but Tolya cannot help but think how little she knows at all in this moment.

“They'll never understand how much I love you.” His minds whispers like a betrayal he could not run from.

"Tolya," you say again, as he nears. You pat the space next to you, eager to have him by your side. You know he is leaving, and you're waiting for him to tell you, you're hoping he will find the words to say that will make it feel less like a desertion. You try not to take the idea of him leaving with the heaviness of the idea of being forsworn but it's hard when no one has made you feel as seen as Tolya, and you always knew he would leave, but a part of you hoped, quietly, privately, even naively that he would want you to go with him. The hope was guileless but it was honest, it was real. You were not holding it against Tolya that he had not said a word, you expected nothing in return for all you were to him, because love has never been about what you get in return, you knew that. But this large part of you was calling to him, not asking him to stay, because you knew he would not, but begging him to ask you not to stay.

"Where'd you go?" you ask. His eyes look into yours and you feel the pressure in your chest rise as you want to ask him, you want to know all the things he hasn't said. But you don't. And you won't. "It was like we lost you for a second."

"You'll always find me again," Tolya replies and takes one of the bread rolls from your hand. "I'll never go too far."

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 4, deadly life (Part 6)

Note of the author: Fuck this trial and fuck everything

Chapter 4: Dance, dance, hanged puppets - Deadly life

...

After a short silence, Shuichi took a deep breath.

"Perhaps... We should make a quick sum up of what happened?"

Kirumi nodded. "From my understanding, the blackened sabotaged the building at nighttime, messed with the traps, and made sure we couldn't get here. During the morning, they went along with us as we tried to find a way to enter the main building. When Tsumugi finally started making her way to her lock, Ryoma and Kiyo were in the main building as well. One of them activated the fire by connecting cables, but we do not know who."

Kaito shrugged. "Perhaps there are some things we missed?"

The violinist thought back at what they found in the building. It's not like they could use alibis, because both refuse to talk. He was starting to fully understand Rantaro's frustration but now was not the time.

Something they hadn't talk about yet...

"Hey, Kirumi... Do you remember the dried blood on the second floor?"

"I do, yes. Do you think this could be a clue?"

Miu frowned. "You two found dried blood?"

Shuichi nodded. "Yeah, according to Kirumi it had been here for at least a few hours before we got here."

Kokichi pondered. "But we didn't have access to the building this morning..."

"Which means it was before this morning, then!" Kaito exclaimed.

The two suspects remained silent.

"Hold on..." Miu leaned forward. "Kirumi, you had your shoulder injured at some point, right? Is it from there?"

She shook her head. "The incident was on the third floor, not the second. Rantaro can testify to that."

"Yup." the medic confirmed. "Besides, the injury was caused by a spear shot from a wall. There was no blood on the floor. It was only on the wall."

If it wasn't Kirumi, then what?

"Um..." Kokichi hesitantly raised a hand. "Maybe the blackened got themselves injured while preparing the traps last night?"

That sounded like a solid theory.

"Which means the culprit has an injury, then!" Miu exclaimed.

Rantaro put his elbows on the podium, head on his hands. "Considering Kirumi got a spear shot from a wall and no blood was on the floor, then we can assume the trap injured a lower part of his body. Most likely below the waist."

Then they just had to check-

Shuichi turned to Ryoma, who was adjusting his socks to cover his legs as much as possible.

As for Kiyo, his pants were covering his entire legs, so it was useless to try and check.

He didn't miss the glare Rantaro sent Ryoma.

"... Still not willing to help us, then."

The weapons maker stood back up. "Nope."

Did they have even something else to base their theories on?

It looked like they were out of clues.

He glanced at the others, still trying to figure out what happened.

The clock was still ticking. The noise was making Shuichi more and more nervous by the second.

They didn't know what the clock meant. Nor why the two were so stubborn. It felt... odd.

Perhaps they should think about something else? If the concrete evidence was missing, they would have to use their instinct.

That's what got them through the second trial, after all.

Not now.

"Maybe we should go back on this morning's events? I don't know how we can find any other solution otherwise..." he suggested.

"Agreed." Rantaro immediately replied. "Not like we got any other choice at this point."

Everything started when Rantaro and Ryoma went to the main entrance.

"Rantaro, was Ryoma acting strange when you two went out?" Miu asked.

He thought for a moment. "He was behaving normally, from what I had experienced. I did open the door because I was closer to it at the time. He didn't show any strange behavior when I did. We simply rushed out of the way, as normal people would."

Could this be a proof he was... innocent?

It was way too soon to give a proper judgment. Perhaps they should continue.

The others nodded and agreed it was indeed too soon to vote.

"Next was the dining hall, right?" Kokichi asked. "It was Kiyo and Kirumi in there..."

Kirumi tapped her finger on her arm. "Ryoma had suggested we go to the dining hall, but I do not think it has anything to do with the case. It was our only possible access at the time."

Kaito pondered. "Ryoma did insist on going there himself, though."

"And Kiyo insisted on the fact that he shouldn't go." Rantaro added. "Which doesn't help us."

"I did insist on going here. From my riddle, I knew there was a chance I could activate my lock." Kirumi continued.

Shuichi frowned. "But Kiyo insisted on going with you..."

The medic eyed the taller man. "Would it be to make sure his plan was going fine?"

The therapist didn't answer.

"... I don't even know why I asked." he spat.

Both insisted on going. Ryoma had backed down, but does it really prove Kiyo is the culprit?

They both tried to think about every single time the two had even said a word since this was all they could get out of them.

Both were acting normally, from what he can remember.

"Kiyo was the one suggesting we all get the locks before trying to get to the main building, right?" Kokichi noted.

Rantaro narrowed his eyes. "I do remember, yes. We may have all agreed at the time but I can see why this looks strange, now."

Once again, Kiyo didn't reply.

"Hey... Rantaro, Shuichi..." Miu turned to the two. "You two were with Ryoma and Kiyo when we went our own separate ways to get our locks, right?"

Rantaro nodded. "I was with Ryoma. Yes."

He pondered for a moment. "However his attitude was still the same as ever the entire time."

His eyes were kept on the weapons maker, trying to decipher even the slightest bit of emotion on his face. Kiyo was a master at reading people, so perhaps he could have done something if it wasn't for the fact that the two were working together.

Disgustingly ironic.

"What about you, Shuichi? Did you find something strange about Kiyo?" Kaito asked.

"Well..." He started thinking. "He did suggest how we should proceed but... Nothing about that seemed to have impacted the case. He recommended a path that would help us not waste time, though."

... Although that would be natural for him -culprit or not- to suggest the quickest solution. So that didn't mean anything.

He perked up. "But... Now that I think about it... When I mentioned the possibility that the pattern of the traps changed, he quickly dismissed it by mentioning the main door but... That probably doesn't mean anything either."

Rantaro glanced at his left. "I see."

His voice carried the same heaviness from before. The only difference was the fact that he composed himself enough to continue the investigation. But it was clear he was still affected by what happened.

Kiyo, much like Ryoma, was still silent.

"But... In the death road of despair I..." Shuichi continued. "... Nevermind. That's probably not important."

"Every single piece of information could be important. Even if it takes slightly more time, we need all the details." the mercenary advised.

He hesitated for a moment.

"... When I went down the ladder, Kiyo had told me he would be here just in case but... When I activated the lock, when the floor collapsed and when I came back up he was away... Even though he told me he would be right here." He nervously chuckled. "It's stupid, I know..."

There was a silence that made him even more uncomfortable. He knew it was stupid. He knew his hunch was just out of cowardliness. He was just-

"But still... Kiyo, the therapist who always offered his help, not being directly here..." Miu looked at the ground. "... It doesn't feel right."

Why was he even away? He had seen him approach the manhole from the back of the 'room'. What was he even doing?

...

Was he checking something? A part of his plan? There was no other possible solution, right?

Right??

"From what I'm seeing, there is more evidence of Kiyo being the culprit than Ryoma." Rantaro bluntly said.

And yet that evidence felt flawed. There was nothing concrete. Only assumptions.

"Do you think it is enough to proceed to the vote?" Kirumi asked.

The medic narrowed his eyes. "... It's not like we have that much evidence. So-"

"One minute."

Kiyo raised his hand, speaking for the first time in a while.

"Are you really willing to gamble your lives on such a bet? I know the situation is desperate, but this isn't like you guys."

"Who are you to talk? Do you have something to hide?" Rantaro glared at him.

"You are willing to put your lives at risk on assumptions, and no concrete evidence. I am simply saying it would be dangerous for you."

Why speaking now? What was Kiyo trying to achieve?

"He is right, though." Ryoma added. "Without any concrete evidence that he did it and not me, there is still 1/2 chances you vote wrong. Or more accurately..."

"2/3 chances you vote wrong. Either I am the blackened, he is the blackened, or we are both the blackeneds."

Shuichi's heart skipped a beat. He was right. 1/2 chances to make them all die was already a lot, but 2/3 chances was way too much.

What kind of evidence did they even have?

Shuichi thought back at all the evidence he had collected until now. He went to Kaito's lab, near the love hotel, in the dining hall, explored the main building and Rantaro's lab. Surely there was something he missed.

...

Hold on. A concrete piece of evidence... That's it!

"I'm not letting you guys bet your lives like that."

His attitude was strange. Way too strange. But with that, he perhaps can prove them all who the real culprit is.

He had to convince them. He can do it!

Argument armament start!

"All of you are willing

                                            to bet your lives

                                                                                on assumptions!"

                       "You all seem to

                                                      have lost your minds."

         "Without any kind of concrete evidence..."

                          "You are simply marching to your deaths!"

"You are all assuming

                                                                          I did it because

                                 of my 'attitude'..."

                                         "When Ryoma could simply

           have been an excellent actor!"

                     "We both could have done the deed, not only me!"

           "You are dismissing way

                                                      too many parts in this!"

"We are accomplices,

                            we might as well

                                                       have worked together

                                                                                          for this!"

"There is no concrete evidence Ryoma never participated in this plan!"

                            Used      welder      in      Kaito's lab

"The welder in Kaito's lab!" he exclaimed. "Ryoma is an expert in engineering, right?"

Kaito's eyes widened. "You mean-"

He nodded. "If Ryoma really participated in the plan..."

"... He would have replaced that part of the welder you mentioned back then. But that wasn't the case."

Rantaro looked at the weapons maker. "Which means whoever did this was not a pro when it comes to mechanics."

"So Ryoma never actually participated in the plan, then..." Kokichi muttered.

...

They had it. The final piece of evidence.

He noticed Kiyo was eyeing the clock a lot. 8:20 PM.

They still hadn't figure out everything about this trial but... They had their culprit. And that's all that mattered.

"Perhaps... We should recap the entire case." he suggested.

-Closing argument-

The culprit started putting their plan in place yesterday, during nighttime.

Their goal was to make sure Tsumugi would not access any of her locks and thus get her executed due to the motive's rules. In other words, making sure she wouldn't be able to reach her lock before 3 PM.

They explored the entire main building to see which locks were available from here. I'm not sure if Tsumugi was supposed to be the victim or if she was simply unlucky to be the one with both locks here.

They started by cutting an enormous amount of wires in the main building, using the wire cutters from Kaito's lab.

They used the trap quota to their advantage. If they restrained the traps, then a lot of them would activate at once if they activated just one, like a chain reaction.

However, the culprit made a slight mistake when messing with the traps. They must have accidentally activated one, injured themselves in the process, and left a bloodstain on the ground of the second floor.

But that didn't make them give up. They were already way too far in their plan to stop.

They then proceeded to lock all the entrances to the main building.

To lock the dining hall, they used a crowbar from Kaito's lab to check which cables were linked to Kirumi's lock, because they couldn't enter the room due to the nighttime rule.

By cutting the right ones, they knew activating the lock in the dining hall would result in the door being locked, and making us unable to get to the rest of the building.

Then, they took care of the window at the pool area, since it was also a way to enter the building.

They couldn't do much to it, so they used the welder from Kaito's lab to fuse together two parts of the main structure, making it impossible to open. The only solution we had was to break the glass.

Ironically, that welder was the proof of the identity of our culprit, since they didn't know they had to replace certain parts.

To get to the window, they used the stepladder in the library. It was heavy, but not impossible to move.

They then trapped the first room in which Tsumugi would go to get her lock: Rantaro's lab on the third floor.

The culprit cut all types of cables in there and added gasoline- which was from Kaito's lab too, I suppose.

That was made as a plan B, in case we managed to get to the main building.

The culprit, wanting to put all chances on their side, also made sure nothing could be used as a way to get to the window.

Which is why they checked Gonta's lab. It did have a wooden ladder in here, so they took saws from Angie's lab to cut it into pieces and hide them in one of the barrels in front of Kaito's lab. Because surely, we wouldn't try to search through them.

The next and final step of their plan they had to do in the main building was to trap the main entrance.

Since they couldn't trap it using a lock, they had to proceed differently.

Instead, they put two cables on the ground and created a puddle of water.

One cable was in the water, and the other was dry and waiting for the door to push it in the water. The water would allow the current to pass between both cables and thus activating a lot of traps at once.

They then left the main building, having no other business here.

However, they went back to the pool area to use the same type of trick in the storage room. That way we would have even less equipment to use to help us get to the window.

They didn't need to use water due to the door having only one way to open it. They simply placed the cables to make sure they would connect once someone opens it.

Their plan was finally put in place, and they could go back to sleep as if nothing happened.

The next morning, today, we all went to get our locks, not aware the entire academy had been sabotaged.

First, Rantaro and Ryoma went to the main entrance. But just as Rantaro opened the door...

... The first trap activated. The cables behind the door connected, and the saturation of traps created an explosion due to too many of them activating at once, completely destroying the main entrance. We lost our first way to get to the main building.

Then, the culprit and Kirumi went to the dining hall to check if the entrance was okay for us to use. The culprit insisted to go with Kirumi to make sure their plan worked.

And it did. Once Kirumi passed her card, the lock activated another good amount of traps and thus locked this door. And that's how we lost our second way to access the main building.

The culprit acted as if they found the situation strange, although knowing full well what had happened.

The last way we had to enter the main building was by using the window in the pool area.

The culprit suggested we get our locks first just in case because they didn't want us accessing the main building. That was also a way for us to waste time.

There wasn't much to do at this point, so they went along with us as if they didn't know what was happening.

I was with them at the time, and I didn't notice anything strange...

When we got to the pool area, we checked the storage room to see if something could help us. However, just as Kirumi opened the door, the cable trap activated and ruined our chances to use anything that was here.

After she had managed to still get to the window thanks to the deckchairs, we realized we couldn't open it.

We then got on our search for tools to get us all in the main building. However, due to the huge amount of traps activated, it took Kirumi, Rantaro, Kaito, and Ryoma an insane amount of time to get back, which was exactly what the culprit wanted.

Once they got back, we managed to create a way to the main building, and Tsumugi was finally able to reach her lock. However, this was not over in the slightest.

The culprit had a plan B to make sure Tsumugi wouldn't get her lock.

They, along with Ryoma, went inside to help us find another easier way to get to the building.

But that was a ruse. They pretended to follow Ryoma for this cause, but that was not the case.

That was actually to connect the cables and activate the explosion.

They had installed everything in Rantaro's lab and knew which cables to connect to activate it. I do not know if Ryoma was a witness or not, but in either case, they managed to get this part done.

After the explosion happened, everyone rushed outside, Ryoma and Rantaro helping Tsumugi get out.

The culprit knew the monokubs would intervene to extinguish the fire, which would take an insane amount of time. And we were all stuck outside, unable to do anything.

3 PM arrived, and Tsumugi hadn't been able to get her lock at all. That's when Monokuma came to execute her.

The culprit had used Monokuma's execution to plan a murder, making them the real blackened, and didn't have to find any sort of alibi for the murder since they did not kill Tsumugi themselves.

Because their murder weapon was Monokuma.

And the real blackened...

... Is you, Korekiyo Shinguji, the ultimate therapist.

"..."

Everyone fell silent, staring at Kiyo.

"I'm... I'm right, aren't I?" Shuichi hesitantly asked.

"Now hold on a moment."

Ryoma got the attention back to him.

"I could have just not replaced the necessary parts of the welder because I knew it would incriminate me. That doesn't prove anything."

"Ryoma, please shut up." Rantaro spat.

Kiyo was starting to panic even more, that much was obvious by now. "That's right. That's what I meant by 'actor'."

"Still not giving up, aren't you? Just admit it already."

Kiyo slammed his hands on the podium. "I told you I am not-"

* B i n g *

The clock rang. Indicating 8:30 PM, and 36 seconds.

Kiyo froze, staring at the clock for a moment.

"..."

"It's... fine. It's over."

He turned to the others. "You are right. I am the one responsible for Tsumugi's death."

Shuichi's eyes widened. Why give up all of a sudden? Did the clock have anything to do with this?

"Kiyo, are you sure about this?" Ryoma looked at him, concerned.

"It's fine. It's not like I can do much by now. I do have to thank you for your help, but everyone knows the truth, now."

"I am the blackened."

Rantaro narrowed his eyes. "Prove it to us then."

"Show us the injury from when you messed with the traps."

The therapist nodded.

He put a knee down and pulled his pants up to show his leg. And true to his words, there was a bandage stained by dried blood.

He slightly took it off to show the injury to Rantaro. "... You can guess this is a recent injury."

The medic stared at the leg for a moment.

"... I believe you."

Shuichi could only stare at him with wide eyes.

Kiyo, the therapist who always volunteered to help them psychologically handle their issues, was the one responsible for Tsumugi's death.

He couldn't believe it.

The others were looking at him in both shock and confusion. This sudden change of attitude was... Not normal.

He had spent the last 4 hours defending himself and making sure no one discovers the truth, Ryoma helping him prove his innocence, and now, he gives up without complaining?

Ryoma looked unsure. Surprised even. Like he didn't even expect him to radically change his position.

What exactly was his role in the trial? If Kiyo planned all of this alone, why was Ryoma even helping him now?

He tried to think.

...

"Let's get this over with." the therapist muttered. "Monokuma, you can start the vote."

Shuichi perked up. He slammed his hands on the podium. "Wait, hold on-"

"One can do!~ It's... Voting time!" The bear cheered.

He panicked. Somehow it felt wrong to vote. But he didn't have a choice. The others seemed to feel the same- except Rantaro, who didn't hesitate.

He clicked on Kiyo's icon.

“Now then, it seems the voting has finished. Let’s see the result.”

The screen turned on, letting them see everyone's icons.

8 votes for Korekiyo Shinguji.

“Who’ll be chosen as the blackened? Will you make the right choice or the dreadfully wrong one!?” Monokuma exclaimed.

VERDICT

The wheel turned for a few seconds before slowing down… And landing on Korekiyo.

The coin machine let out its amount of monocoins and its distinct jingle.

"Well, look at that! You voted correctly! Congratulations, you guys!"

Korekiyo was looking at the ground, refusing to face anyone.

"The blackened who killed Tsumugi Shirogane is Korekiyo Shinguji, the Ultimate therapist!”

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 22: Proposition

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Proposition

Note: This entire chapter feels like a shitpost, and I love it. Also, dear god have I been busy working on things for a physical release of the fic! You’ll hear more about that next week on Wednesday, but if you are interested in beta reading, I have left a form below. Doing it myself is tricky, and there is a free copy in it for you bound in your choice of type (hardback, paperback, hardback with a paper cover, etc) and you will receive credit because I’m not a monster XD. 

I think I want to do it as a charity thing, so suggest charities the proceeds should be donated to in the form below even if you’re not interested in being a beta reader! The size of the charity is irrelevant. They just have to be credible (IE not a nightmare like Autism Speaks or the Salvation Army, or PETA, not to get judgy or upset anyone. They just have a very bad rep.) Anyway, enough of that! Back to the story!

(-~-)

By all accounts, the initial plan had been simple enough. They were going to eat dinner and then see where the evening took them. The only issue was that not a single one of them had really thought the plan through. That was typical enough, all things considered, but none of them really considered the fact that accomplishing that goal might be a little bit harder than they had originally expected it to be. Namely because of one major problem.

While Sirrus’s intentions had been pure enough when he had offered to cook, and V’s had been equally so when he had agreed to allow him to do so, the execution of those plans had left much to be desired. Making plans without knowing the full extent of their impact seemed to be something that ran in the Sparda family, regardless of the context of the plan, and while this was a minor occurrence in a sea of what had otherwise been huge high stakes situations, that didn’t change the fact that it was literally impossible to cook without food. And if it wasn’t, no one present wanted to know how that was done.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that you might be a little short on… everything at the moment.” Sirrus said as politely as he could, clearly amused by the utter emptiness that he was presented with when he opened the cabinet door. “Am I getting my hopes up by assuming that you have something in the refrigerator, or are we just going to have to make a run to the store? I mean, we’re probably going to have to for what I had in mind, but still.”

V felt himself die a little inside at his companion’s polite yet ruthless assessment of his current living situation. Sirrus was entirely correct, it was too much to hope for. He hadn’t really been home much recently, if at all since he had acquired the place, and as such, grocery shopping had been very low on his list of priorities. It had been easier to just grab something and call it a day in the two days that he had actually been in the house so far. He only wished that he had thought of that before he’d offered to allow Sirrus to cook! He could have saved himself a lot of unneeded embarrassment.

Was this what it felt like to be Dante? Because if it was, that was a tragedy. The only upside to his current situation was that Lucia, Nico, and Nero were in the next room talking, so they were not able to experience his deep loathing and shame first hand, not to mention the verbal beatdown that he had just suffered at Sirrus’s hands. Or should he say vocal cords? Either way, the point still stood that he did indeed need to procure food because the only thing available to consume in the house was peeling wallpaper, dried-out paint, and dust. And knowing V’s luck, Shadow had probably already consumed those already when he wasn’t looking. That was absolutely something she would do.

“I would say the latter is the most true, given the options at hand. That is not to say that the second option is not correct, as it absolutely is… but that’s not the type of narrative I’d like to weave at this juncture.” V “But the thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest, so it is probably best that I simply accompany you to the store so I can see to it that my cabinets are not as bare as Dante’s office is dark.”

Sirrus nodded as he closed a stary cabinet door, turning to fully face the slightly frazzled young man. “That seems agreeable enough. Hopefully my matter of fact, no-nonsense way of stating the obvious wasn’t as abrasive as it seems now that I am able to look back on it. Hindsight is 2020, as they say.” He straightened out his long shirt, adjusting his shoulders as he allowed his head to pull from side to side. He was slightly uncomfortable as, for the first time, he stepped close enough to V to notice that they were largely the same size and stature. What an eye-opening realization. “I’m sarcastic, some would even sardonic, but I like to think I’m not unfeeling. I’ve yet to lose my grip on the reality of the world around me and start to view the rest of the world with a sort of cold dissonance like so many around me have. What do people call that now? Being edgy? Somehow I am under the impression that that might not be the proper use of that term.”

V brushed him off, taking a step to the side instead of taking a step back. He wasn’t intimidated by the tall redhead despite the fact that he was sure that he probably had ample reason to be. There was a certain mysterious quality to him that was carefully outlined with a certain measure of involuntary menace that he couldn’t quite place, and his prior comments didn’t help in that regard. There was just something… feral about him, some sort of wild strength that he knew that his guest could reach into if he wished to do so and bring to bear against those he considered deserving of it. It was something that he could just feel in the pit of his stomach, a sort of primordial sense of strength and power that reminded him of his own family, but it was notably different in a way that was hard to describe. Was it darker somehow? Was that the right way to put it? 

But that wondering was enough to keep him grounded in a situation like this. He seemed trustworthy, but he would still keep his guard up until he was absolutely sure, even if he wasn’t actively trying to do so. It was simply instinct, and going with his gut had kept him alive this long, so he was going to continue doing so. If it wasn’t broken, then he wasn’t going to fix it. “Think nothing of it. I take no offense to you stating the obvious. I don’t think that there has been food in this house in at least a decade.”

“Probably longer than that, if I remember correctly. This place has been empty for about fifteen years. After the will was read, Magnolia’s side of the family cleaned the place out as quickly as they could before they went their separate ways. Quite a lot of bad blood between them, from what I could tell. It was a shame how that all played out, but grief brings out the worst in people, especially when the root cause of that grief is so… unexpected.” The man with the long red hair peered out of the back door for a moment as though he were expecting something or perhaps had heard a commotion of some sort. He seemed to study the bushes against the back wall for a long moment before continuing. “As per your request… that is more than fine by me. I won’t, then. I shall pretend that we never mentioned the food in the first place.”

“You say that as though you were personally there to see it. You seem too young to have witnessed something of that nature, but you have first-hand knowledge of it from a viewpoint that would suggest that you were a neutral party witnessing it from within the inner circle of what was going on.” V was admittedly curious as to how Sirrus would explain something like that in a way that made sense. Or would it make sense at all? Who was to say. He would simply have to wait and find out. “I had assumed that we were quite close in age. But then again, everyone knows what they say about assuming things. I should have known better than to think that I know everything about someone that I barely know. My mistake.”

“Looks can be deceiving, as I’m sure you know first hand. Your family is quite literally living proof of that concept. I assure you however that I was present. I just seem younger than…” He stopped, catching himself as though he were about to say something that he didn’t mean to, waiving off both his near mistake and V’s apology casually. V was clever, something that he had pegged about him from the very first moment that they had made eye contact. It was something intrinsic in the way that he held himself, and every time that he had opened his mouth since then had only served to strengthen that notion. But now his keen intellect was becoming troublesome, not that it changed anything in the end either way. ”That quote from before about the harvest… William Blake, if I remember correctly? I’m quite fond of his works, especially the illustrations. Quite the brilliant man.” He stopped for a moment, seemingly considering something before looking over at the doorway. He then nodded quietly to himself before redirecting his attention towards V once more, finding his companion’s silence interesting. He seemed to be waiting for him to continue. “Personally, Mary Shelly is my all-time favorite. Frankenstein and all that. I have a more contemporary favorite as of late, but telling you that might say more about me than I mean for it to, so I’ll keep it to myself for now.

Now V had more questions than answers. Sirrus was a walking mystery, and the more that he spoke, the more V questioned his own perception and his impression of him changed. It was as fascinating as it was confounding, but he couldn’t say that he disliked it. There was just something captivating about not being able to read him, regardless of how hard he tried. A part of him wondered if anyone else in his family had this issue. He would ask them when presented with the chance to do so. Well then, back to what we were discussing before.”

“We were discussing something before? I can’t say that I remember anything. But I do recall you saying to “think nothing of it.” The playfully smug, all-knowing tone of voice that he spoke in was enough to make V shake his head and roll his eyes, but he resisted. It was a welcome juxtaposition to the conversation that they had just indulged in, and they were both somehow simultaneously relieved that they didn’t have to indulge in it any longer.

He couldn’t help but snicker somewhat at that response. Sirrus was endearingly hatstand, wasn’t he? Despite the unintentionally tense conversation that they had just indulged in, the white-haired summoner couldn’t help but be amused. It was complicated, and yet so very simple. “Let’s go to the store, Sirrus. I’ll tell the others that we will return shortly. You may accompany me if you’d like.”

Sirrus nodded politely, using both hands to signal to him that he was to walk first as he bowed lower than what was needed and stepped back out of his companion’s way. V scoffed in amusement but went along with his slightly antiquated gesture, admittedly entertained by it. Yes, this had to be what other people felt like when they met him for the first time. He understood why they looked at him like that now. Slowly but surely, it was all coming together.

(-~-)

From what they could tell, the store was mostly empty. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night, and it seemed that everyone who wanted to buy groceries had done so by then. While it was understandable that most people in the city wouldn’t want to start cooking this late, it was still a little bit surreal to see just how few people were willing to make a midnight dash to the supermarket to stock up on general goods and necessities. One could only imagine that recent events in the region had made people more than a little bit jumpy, but this was an entirely new level of silent unrest that made an already somewhat eerie environment that much more uncomfortable.

As the absentmindedly browsed the shelves in relative silence, V shifted in discomfort. He couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that something simply wasn’t right, and that he should go with his gut and leave this place before something happened. Although it was basically impossible to predict something like that, V was convinced that the persistent feeling of unrecognizable dread that he felt brewing in the very pit of his stomach was something more substantial than he was allowing himself to believe. And under the guise of trying not to seem silently panicked, he couldn’t help but feel a nameless terror overtake him. This feeling that he felt was familiar in the worst way possible. It reminded him of the train ride back in Lucia’s homeland, the strange subconscious sensation that he was no longer in the driver’s seat in regards to his own cognitive feedback. And the idea that his enemy might be trying to do something, anything at all, was not good. He needed to do something fast.

“I apologize if my being around you alone is subconsciously offputting. I get the impression that you are disturbed, and you probably aren’t sure what that is just yet. Let me assure you that it is in fact, me, and that I am not doing so intentionally.” Sirrus casually reached up and took a can down from a shelf, turning it over in his hands absentmindedly as he studied it to see if it was something that he could use. “But the disturbance that you feel is most certainly tangible. I recognized your specific gifts and aptitudes a while back. You have a heightened sensitivity to certain things. Very useful if utilized correctly.” 

He paused for a moment to look at V, seemingly waiting for him to respond in some way. As he realized that his companion wasn’t speaking, he sighed with bated breath, looking slowly from side to side as he checked to make sure that no one was around them. Not that he needed his eyes to do that. It was more for V’s benefit than his own, in any case. “To someone with a trained eye, abilities like that stick out like a sore thumb, especially when the person in possession of them doesn’t yet know how to control them. But that is not to say that you don’t have amazing potential if only someone were to educate you as to how to do deliberately what already comes to you so naturally.”

“Gifts? What are you…” V paused as he considered what he wanted to say next. Sirrus could see something about him that the rest of the people he knew couldn’t? That was alarming to him for reasons that he couldn’t quite place at the moment. Was he that obvious? What else had he been doing that he just hadn’t noticed was a dead giveaway in regards to his true nature? Could anyone else tell, or was that something specific to Sirrus?

“Your grandfather is the Dark Knight Sparda, yes? I couldn’t help but notice your surname. He was a good man. And he was very powerful. I see things in both you and your brother that I do not see in your older relatives.” He seemed to be speaking carefully as he headed to the center aisle in his search for… whatever it was that he was looking for to cook dinner with. He seemed to notice V’s quiet, well-concealed panic, but the atmosphere had changed notably in the air around them. There was a certain latent hostility to V’s demeanor that hadn’t been there before, and for the first time since he’d arrived in town to carry out his mission, he felt genuinely threatened by someone. While he had indeed encountered resistance, nothing so far had felt so pure, so dynamic in its ability to utterly destroy him, and he got the impression that neither V nor himself truly knew what the young man with the white hair was capable of at that moment. And as exhilarating as that might be under most circumstances, this was far from the case at this moment in time. 

It was time to start explaining himself.

“... Sometimes things skip a generation, carried in latent genes by your forebears. This may be one of those cases. That’s what makes me as powerful as I am in some regards. And it is why we have what I like to call Dry Generations; instances in which nothing particularly interesting happens.” The hostility level didn’t decrease much, and Sirrus took a mental note of that, preparing himself should the worst happen. And he hoped with every fiber of his being that it wouldn’t. Something told him that if he had to resort to that, Vergil wouldn’t appreciate him having to explain it after the fact, and the last thing he wanted to have to do was pry Yamato out of his own chest. Vergil had quite the throwing arm. And as fast as he was, he wasn’t sure he was quite that fast. “But when more interesting individuals are born, well, they are most certainly more… intriguing. You and Nero seem to fit that bill nicely.”

“Are you threatening me?” V asked point-blank, his posture slightly more straight than it had been a moment before. Perhaps without thinking it, V had shifted into a readied stance, unwilling to be taken off guard by any kind of sudden attack. Resorting to this kind of public display of power had to be against some code of ethics or something, but he wasn’t going to stand there and take something like that laying down if it came to it. He needed to make that clear, even if Magnolia probably wouldn’t appreciate him bringing Sirrus to her in the middle of the night filled with puncture wounds from Shadow and several broken bones from a trip off of a local roof, courtesy of Griffon. He just hoped that he wouldn’t need to do that. And although he was somewhat sure that he wouldn’t need to, that didn’t change the fact that he might still need to defend himself.

In a moment of self-awareness, Sirrus shook his head, stepping back slightly as he allowed his head to rest on the edge of the center bin that he stood next to. There was some kind of meat inside of it with a sale sign next to it, but that would only become relevant if they made it out of this encounter in one piece. What a fascinating reaction. I would have never thought that he was capable of actually being overtly aggressive considering his physical state and general disposition. He normally has such a mild mentality.” He thought to himself as he let his arms fall to his sides, wanting to demonstrate as clearly as possible that he was not trying to intimidate V or cause him any harm. One could only imagine what he had been through in his young life, and he wasn’t going to add to that pain and suffering if he could help it. 

Maybe it was simply the demon side of him showing itself a little in that moment as a natural defense mechanism? He knew that they were not entirely human, after all, and he had no idea how much demonic blood ran through his veins. It mattered very little if he was being truthful with himself. His pedigree alone ensured that he was powerful, And that was something he could deeply sympathize with on an extremely personal level. He too carried his own darkness locked away deep within himself, even if it was a different form of it. He couldn’t judge him for the one time he slipped up. Hell, he’d give him a hug if he wasn’t so sure it would get him stabbed through the gut with V’s cane.

“Oh, perish the thought. Not even slightly. I wouldn’t dare. Though I do admit that it probably seems that way.” He watched V relax slightly, at least physically, sliding back into the comfortable leaning position that he was accustomed to associating with him. It made him wonder what the young summoner had been through that had made him this way, or if perhaps it was a one-off fluke reaction to this exact situation. Maybe he could ask him another time when he calmed all the way down. It seemed that he had at least a little bit of his father in him after all. “Quite the opposite though. I am extending an invitation. I would like to help you with that. Now, were you thinking fin or fang in regards to protein for this meal? It seems we have simpler choices to make this time around. But something tells me it won’t always be that way. Darkness looms on the horizon, and I have the feeling that something sinister might be readying itself just out of view.”

V gave him an apprehensive look, unsure as to what to really say to that. This entire conversation had certainly changed his outlook on a few things, to say nothing of how it had nearly taken a turn for the worst. He needed ample time to think things through. He was used to being the logical, level-headed one in situations like this. Something about that conversation had severely taken him out of his element, But at least a few of his questions had been answered, even if more now lingered in the back of his mind. And more importantly, there hadn’t been a public display of supernatural violence that could have destroyed both of them and the building along with them. 

Sighing gently as if to physically rid himself of the toxic experience he had just suffered through, V looked at Sirrus, the both of them somehow knowing that the other regretted what had almost just happened even without saying it. It was best to leave things alone for now and just leave this store. Maybe the building itself was driving them both insane. “Fang.”

(-~-)

Gosh, writing this chapter makes me want to work on the story that I’ve been wanting to write for so long now. But not yet! I don’t pick projects up easily after I walk away from them, so for now, I will wait. There is still much to be done with this AU, but gosh writing Sirrus gets me in the mood for that. Let’s just say he doesn’t originate from this AU universe.

Here is the link to the form! It’s only 4 questions and should take about two minutes to answer. Thank you! You’re a big help to me. I want it to be clear that I’m not making anything from this fic, I just want to do something neat for charity and give you something cool in return.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1jD0AKYiX3EfLjt-M_Rk8CapJ0GdzVqB-9oDMhV3SG2A/edit?usp=sharing

Sorry for my rambling this week! I’m just excited, I guess! Also, a special thank you to the like 2 people on Tumblr that like my chapters every week. I like your energy =^~^=