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strangemagicc · 6 months

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WADWSH | Chapter Two - The Date

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pairings: 2000s!actor!Steve x fem!Reader, 2000s!bestfriend!Eddie x fem!Reader, love triangle, (based loosely on the movie Win a Date with Tad Hamilton)

summary: your date with Steve Harrington 🩵

author’s note: Are any of us surprised that Steve won the poll? No. Does that mean I will reveal who steals reader's heart? Still no, we're on this ride together 😉 but you might get one final chance to persuade me

w/c: 6.4k - this one got away from me lol

warnings: pining / angst, mentions of parental death, living in poverty, let me know if I missed anything!

The trailer was warm, fans blowing high in anticipation of the nearing heatwave. Sweat clung to your chest as you paced your small kitchen, the microwave hummed, kernels heating in small spurts. You waited for the popcorn to finish, head in the clouds as the seconds ticked down. It had been nearly a month since you entered the drawing to win a date with your favorite Hollywood hunk and still you heard nothing. It felt silly to think you had a chance among the thousands, millions, of fans who had probably entered more times than you could afford. You were slowly coming to terms that your dream date was a figment of your imagination. The microwave beeped loud and shrill, the tone dying at the end of its last alert. The clunker was on its final leg. You shook the bag of popcorn, hoping the butter would stick to each kernel instead of the paper bag, and plopped the contents into a communal bowl. You grabbed more snacks, cherry Twizzlers for Eddie and mini-butterfingers for Holly who were both over for movie night and griping about what exactly the three of you would watch.

“Eddie we are not watching Friday the 13th again and plus you chose last time,” Holly rolled her eyes and made grabby hands for the remote that Eddie was holding just out of her reach.

“Excuse me for not wanting to spend ninety minutes watching Steve Harrington struggle through his lines,” he mocked, remote still lifted away from the blonde’s reach. You swooped in from the kitchen with the bowl of popcorn in one hand and grabbed the remote from his outstretched grasp with the other.

“Hey,” Eddie whined, head thrown back onto the couch.

“Sorry Ed, majority rules,” you stuck your tongue out as you climbed over his outstretched legs and settled into the cushion beside him on the couch, coils squeaking as you did. Eddie grabbed a handful of kernels and chucked them at you as he spread his legs wider, thigh brushing yours as he got comfortable. You returned the favor and watched the popcorn stick to his curls, tangling in his hair. He huffed a small chuckle, untangling them and plopping them into his mouth with an exaggerated crunch, eyes trained on you as he chewed obnoxiously.

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes and focused on the opening credits. Mood shifting as you anticipated the moment Steve’s face appeared on the screen. The movie was a period piece set during World War Two. Lovers torn apart by war and time, never destined to be. You held in your sobs as Steve’s character confessed his love before he boarded a train. A passionate kiss and a final goodbye. His character dead before the end of the war. Eddie watched you from the corner of his eye as you shed silent tears, wiping at them to no avail as they left splotches on your shirt.

“Oh brother,” he griped around a mouthful of licorice, watching you and Holly sob as the credits rolled.

“Wasn’t that so good?” The blonde asked, eyes jumping between you and the grump at the other end of the couch.

“The last twenty minutes were my favorite,” he nodded, a knowing grin situated on his face as he looked at the two of you. The last twenty minutes Steve was noticeably absent.

“You just don’t appreciate true talent,” you wiped the remainder of your tears as Eddie laughed at you.

“Babe, I have more talent in this little pinky than Harrington has in his whole body,” he argued, grin a little smug as he stared you down, pinky wagging for emphasis.

“Oh really, I don’t recall seeing your name in lights or in any magazines,” Holly chimed in.

“That’s because I won’t sell my soul to the Hollywood machine, baby girl,” and she scoffed at the nickname.

“Sounds a lot like an excuse Munson,” she said his name as though it were a swear word.

You hopped from the couch as they bickered, tiny jabs poked into each other while you cleaned their snacks from the coffee table. Their voices were muffled over the noise of the sink but you watched as they argued, animated hands emphasizing their opposing points and chuckled to yourself. The three of you had been friends since you were kids and every Thursday night since middle school played out the same. Arguments over what movie to watch, Eddie sardonic and a little condescending whenever your latest celebrity crush was the focus of that week’s movie night. He was into blood and gore, slasher flicks from the eighties. Anything that didn’t include Steve Harrington on the cast list.

“What’s that?” Eddie’s voice was loud above the sound of the sink, grabbing your attention. You looked at him first and saw the question in his gaze before looking to where his finger pointed. Bright lights showed through your curtains casting shadows along your walls. You turned the sink off and wiped your hands with a kitchen towel, eyebrows pulled inward as you walked closer to the window.

“I have no idea,” you muttered and pulled the curtains back. A news van was lined up in front of your trailer, rows of people facing your front door and you turned back to your friends.

“It’s the news,” you stated, still unsure of why they would be at your front door.

“Eddie, what did you do?” Holly accused, shooting a side-eye his way.

“What makes you think it was something I did?” He questioned, tone only slightly offended by the accusation but the conversation was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. You stood still, eyes bulging as you looked at the door unsure of what to do.

“Well, are you going to answer it?” Eddie asked and you looked at him, panic rising. He rolled his eyes, moved off the couch with a huff, and flung open the door.

“Good evening, I’m Alexa with Fox59 is (Y/N) home?” Eddie turned to you, nodding his head in the newscaster's direction and you stared at him with a slack jaw. Unable to move or form a sentence. He shook his head at you, moving the few steps it took to grab your hand and bring you to the front door.

“Are you (Y/N)?” The newscaster asked, white teeth framed by a bold pink lipstick. You recognized her from TV, nights spent watching the late-night news. You nodded rapidly at her question still unable to find your voice.

“Congratulations!” Her voice was loud, exaggerated excitement and you weren’t sure what she was congratulating you about. Eddie took in the scene, neighbors standing in your small slice of a yard and gawking at you. The newscaster with her big red hair and overdone face smiling at you waiting for your response. The lights of the cameras were bright, almost overwhelming under their beams and Eddie could feel the heat rising to his neck at the amount of eyes that were currently on the both of you. Not to mention all those who were watching from home.

“Uh, what is this about?” He asked Alexa quietly.

“She just won a date with Steve Harrington!” The newscaster explained and Holly screamed from her place on the couch, running toward you to celebrate. Grabbing your arm as she jumped up and down at the news. Eddie stood statuesque, face a mask as he processed the news.

“Oh my god, we are so excited!” Holly screamed once more but you were stunned silent, unable to process your fortune. You’d never thought you’d call yourself lucky. The world kept spinning, Alexa talking at what felt like a mile a minute detailing your prize.

“You’ve won a first-class flight to LA, all expenses paid suite, and a shopping spree to prepare you for your date night with one of America’s biggest stars.” Your eyes grew wide as you gulped at the news, realization finally creeping in.

You won a date with Steve fucking Harrington.

“Tell me why I have to go on a date with someone from my hometown?” Steve scoffed as he turned off his TV, eyebrows set in an angry scowl.

“We need to remind everyone that you are the boy next door, that you have blue-collar roots, and that you’re not just some playboy running around tinsel town,” Jones stated as though this were obvious.

“My dad worked as the COO for a Fortune 500 and my mom got to retire early, not exactly blue-collar,” Steve huffed.

“Details schmetails, all they need to see is a big-time star returning to his roots in small-town America even if that’s just a date with a girl from Hawkins, Indiana,”

“What’s her name again?” Dennis told him, patience wearing thin.

“Oh she sounds real cute,” Steve muttered sarcastically, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he poured himself a drink.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s the next Angelina Jolie or if she looks like something from the county fair, you’re going on a date with her and you’re going to be nice,” Dennis hung up before Steve had time to argue.

“H-hello?” Steve stammered into the dead tone before throwing his earpiece off and taking a large gulp of whiskey, wincing at the sting of the alcohol. He repeated your name to himself, checking how it felt on his tongue. Steve rolled his shoulders as he thought about your date, frustration settling into his muscles.

“You have to give me every detail, how he smells, how bright his eyes really are in person,” Holly grabbed your hands as the three of you stood outside of the TSA line.

“I’ll tell you everything,” you promised.

“I want a report so good that I can smell him too, and if you kiss-“

“I doubt that’s going to happen,” you laughed, nerves settling into your stomach.

“Oh please, he’ll get one look at you and have to.”

“Don’t go wishing hell on her,” Eddie scoffed and nudged Holly out of the way pulling you into his arms. His lips settled by your ear, warm breath fanning against your skin. He smelled of bergamot and tobacco, a small hint of the spearmint gum he was chewing so he could try to kick the bad habit.

“Just have fun okay? Don’t let him be a creep or try anything slick. I will drive to Hollywood and kick his ass if he does, I promise,” you laughed against his chest knowing that he was sincere, and nodded at his words.

“I’ll try my best,” Eddie’s eyes started to turn into saucers, “to have fun.” You corrected. The time to take off was ticking down and you still had to get through security. You turned to check the line and back to your friends.

“I guess I should go before I miss my flight,” you pointed a thumb at the throng of people.

“We’ll see you Sunday,” Eddie nodded and waved you off, looking at you with a gaze you didn’t recognize. Holly watched him as he watched you, a knowing grin finding its way onto her face.

“You loooove her,” she teased after you disappeared into the line, poking at his side and Eddie guffawed. Laugh forced as his cheeks blossomed pink.

“Like a friend,” he corrected.

“Friends don’t look at each other with hearts in their eyes, you look like one of those Looney Tunes characters. Heart practically hammering out of your chest,” she was on a roll and Eddie began to walk away.

“Do you want to walk home?” He asked, attention still trained on the exit and she immediately shut up. The click of her heels light against the linoleum floors as they left the airport.

You walked off the escalator, eyes trained on the sunny streets of Los Angeles. Smile wide and eyes full of excitement. You couldn’t believe that you were here, that this was real, and that you finally made it out of the Midwest even if just for one day. There was a line of drivers situated by the exit doors, signs with last names printed on them of their lucky passengers being driven around LA. You noticed a limo behind the line of them. Black and sleek. What a dream, you thought as you continued to walk towards the front door. You stopped in your tracks, your brain finally catching up with what you had seen. You turned back around and noticed your name on one of those signs. You looked up to the burly man who held the paper and pointed to yourself.

“That’s me!” Your voice was an excited squeal.

“Right this way, miss,” and he moved to the side, hand pointed to the stretch limousine parked along the curb, the same one you had been gawking at.

“Holy cannoli,” you muttered, following him in a stupor.

“Can I take your bags?” He asked you, pointing to the only one you had with you.

“Oh you don’t have to,” you waved him off and he chuckled.

“I insist,” and he moved to grab your belongings. Freeing you of carrying the heavy weight on your shoulder. The sun’s rays were warm against your skin, air mild and cool against your cheeks. The airport was busy, cars and shuttle buses scurrying by like a little city within a much larger one. The sounds of it all were nearly overwhelming. The driver opened your door and showed you in.

“What was your name?” You asked, not noticing a name tag anywhere on his blazer.

“Anthony,” he smiled politely.

“Thanks, Anthony,” you grinned and slid into the car. The dark roof was dotted with white lights to give the illusion of the night sky, black leather seats curved on your right with a small bar situated on your left. Fully stocked with snacks and champagne, a small TV with a built-in DVD player beside it.

“This is amazing,” you beamed and looked at Anthony through the opening between the front cab and the rest of the limo. He chuckled at your enthusiasm.

“Your first time in a limo?” He asked even though it was very apparent. Still, you nodded in response.

“And LA, I’ve never been out of Indiana before,” you mentioned.

“Well, welcome to Hollywood,” he greeted. “Looks like we’re going to Noell’s. Fancy place, you have a big event tonight?” Your heart fluttered at the reminder.

“A date,” you started, “with Steve Harrington,” you squealed and it was the first time you’d said it out loud. The driver whistled at the news, eyebrows perked high on his forehead.

“You be careful with them actor types,” he suggested and you nodded wondering exactly what he meant.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence as he drove through the congested streets and you gawked at the sights. It was the first time you’d seen the ocean and you watched fascinated as the deep blue glimmered with the reflection of the sun. Dogs wore costumes, kids were dressed to the nines, and everyone had a cell phone. It was the talk of the town when the first shipment arrived in Hawkins but it seemed the norm here, like no one batted an eye at the arrival, and it’d be more of an oddity that you didn’t have one. The car slowed to a stop, idling in front of a boutique with beautiful gowns displayed in the front window.

“I’ll be waiting out here until you’re done,” Anthony stated, looking at you through the rearview as you looked at the shop and the busy sidewalks filled with people. You slid out of the car, the bright sky greeting you again. You’d imagined the air would smell like the ocean or a floral breeze, but the reality of it was far from pleasant. The smell of tobacco and stale urine filled your nose as you walked the short distance and through the front door of the shop.

“Hi there, welcome to Noell’s! I’m Amy. What are we looking for today?” The associate was petite, her small frame barely seen above the front counter she stood behind. She had a heart-shaped face, vibrant green eyes, and brunette hair down to her shoulders.

“I have a date tonight and just needed to get something to wear,” you shrugged and played absently with your hair, suddenly shy.

“Are you (Y/N)?”

“Uh yes, that’s me?” You weren’t sure how she knew your name.

“They told me the lucky girl would be stopping by today. We already pulled a few choices for you,” she waved you on and walked toward the back, assuming you would follow. Your steps were quiet behind the clack of her heels against the hardwood floors. The store was massive, a rainbow of tulle and sequins that left you gawking as you followed her through rows of dresses organized by color. Amy stopped in front of a dressing room, a large rack of dresses situated next to it with what appeared to be a dress in each color.

“We pulled these for you, but feel free to look around. You can have anything you’d like,” your eyebrows shot up as you watched her walk away and retreat to the front desk. You stood in front of the dresses and ran your hands along the fabrics, the lace of the bodices, and the intricate details of each. You wanted something that would make Steve’s jaw drop and leave him at a loss for words. Be the hot, mysterious date you told Eddie you would be. You giggled to yourself in the silence, giddy with the prospect of shocking the Steve Harrington. You pushed through the dresses they provided, but none of them were quite you. You looked outside the dressing room to the sea of dresses to choose from and began wandering the aisles, admiring the purple and blue fabrics, until your eyes stumbled upon a dress that you knew was the one. You pulled it off the rack and admired the details. It was a long deep red dress that hung from one shoulder with a black mesh overlay and a high slit.

“Would you like to try that on?” Amy was walking towards you, brunette curls bouncing as she did.

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded and handed her the dress. She walked you back to the dressing room, placing the dress on one of the hooks inside the small space.

“Just let me know if you need anything else,” she stated as she sauntered away. You stared at the dress, a little intimidated by the high slit that would reveal your upper thigh. You shook your head and swallowed your fears away as you pulled off your jeans and your shirt. The dress was smooth against your skin as you pulled it on and closed the zipper. The silk and mesh hung over your curves and fit like a glove, accentuating the fat of your ass and the size of your boobs. It was more daring than anything you had ever worn, but you felt beautiful, and this was how you wanted Steve to see you.

“How’s that one working for you?” Amy asked through the door and you unlocked it to gauge her reaction. Her green eyes widened and she smiled up at you.

“That dress was made for you,” she commented and it didn’t sound like a typical sales associate spiel.

“I’ll take it,” you affirmed as the nerves unfurled and in their place butterflies took flight.

You sat on the edge of your hotel bed, a large king-size mattress situated in the middle of the suite you were provided. The room was dipped in luxury, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceilings, and a plasma TV placed on an intricate entertainment stand surrounded by cream-colored couches. You felt like Cinderella, like you were walking in a dream, and at any moment you’d wake back up in the four walls of the small trailer you’d always lived in. The butterflies were in your chest now threatening to strangle the little air you could get to your lungs as you took deep breaths and ran sweaty palms against the fabric of your dress. You’d have thrown yourself into the soft fabric of the blankets to hide if you weren’t worried about ruining the makeup you’d spent so long on. Your lips were a deep red that accentuated your pout, eyes framed by a dramatic smoky eye that made the color of them all that more intense. There was a knock at your door that broke through your thoughts and you craned your head towards the noise, eyes glued to the wood frame. Unable to will your feet to move. Another knock came, more urgent, a little less patient, and finally your feet moved. You rushed to the door, pulling it open a little klutzy and almost catching your dress on the handle. You looked down to pull it away, not even noticing the hazel eyes roaming over your frame.

“Wow,” Steve breathed, shocked by your appearance. How stunning you were. You looked at him, a small smile forming on your lips as the butterflies moved into your throat and cut your vocal cords from working. You were full-on malfunctioning.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” he extended his hand towards you and you nodded, nervous giggles erupting from your lips as you slipped your hand into his warm grasp.

“You look amazing,” he motioned to your dress as he pulled his hand from yours. Your cheeks turned a shade darker at the compliment, your smile widening.

“Y-you do too,” you stammered, having trouble not being star-struck. Steve was even more handsome in person. His hazel eyes were framed by the longest lashes you’d seen, freckles dotting his cheekbones and the line of his jaw. His sun-kissed skin was draped in a white dinner coat, a black button-up underneath only buttoned to the middle of his chest revealing a smidge of hair. You swallowed hard at the sight resisting the urge to run over fingers over the muscled flesh. Not wanting to look like one of those stalker weirdos. Steve tilted his head to the hallway, thumb pointing behind him and you finally noticed the security guards who were standing nearby.

“Should we head to dinner?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you breathed. The words were coming easier now as the two of you walked down the hall and to the back entrance of the hotel.

“I should warn you,” he started and began digging in his jacket pockets pulling out a pair of sunglasses and handing them to you. You looked at them curiously, unfolding them and looking up at him for an explanation.

“It can get a little bright, a little intimidating.” He slid a pair of his own over the line of his nose, eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. You didn’t know what he meant but you slid them on as you descended the stairs into the private parking garage. At the bottom of the steps you were met by a swarm of photographers, the bulbs of their cameras flashing and nearly blinding as you tried to maneuver around them. Steve grabbed your hand, pulling you through the mass of paparazzi and towards the waiting limousine. You slid against the leather seat, breath coming out in anxious spurts as he closed the door behind him. Still, the photographers continued, cameras flashing and pressed against the windows for a secret shot.

“Is it always like that?” You asked, listening to their muffled voices and watching as they swarmed the car. Steve removed his sunglasses, playing with the temples but not meeting your gaze.

“Yeah, it is. The sunglasses don’t really block the lights out but at least you can hide behind them you know?” And you understood, a little hedge of protection in a flood of people wanting to intrude.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized sincerely, just now realizing how the photographers got those candid shots of Steve you always gushed over.

“Don’t be,” he smirked and looked at you, “'s what I signed up for right?” And you knew that was the common consensus, celebrities took center stage so they wanted the nonstop attention right?

“Seems pretty intrusive is all,” you shrugged and looked at your fingers resting in your lap. Steve watched you, scanning the length of your legs and the way the material hugged your curves once again.

“Let’s just have fun tonight,” he suggested, not wanting to dwell on the downside of celebrity.

“Let’s,” you agreed with a broader smile.

The restaurant was fancier than any of the ones Hawkins had to offer. The ceiling boasted an intricate pattern of hexagons and copper chandeliers, the lights set dim to create an ambiance. On one side of the restaurant, there was a glass case of wine bottles stacked from floor to ceiling, and in front of the case was a large granite bar with bar stools scattered around it. The other wall was floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the lights of the skyscrapers like constellations. You were shown to your table by the maître d’, a private table in a room away from prying eyes. The two of you settled across from each other, a rolling table brought over with a chilled bottle of champagne and a flute filled for each of you.

“Compliments of the house,” the waiter stated and Steve smiled politely as he looked at you scan the menu with a creased brow.

“I’ll be back in just a moment to get your orders,” the man stated and walked back through the doors of the private dining area. You stared at a page of the menu, French words you didn’t understand, or entrees you’d never tasted. It was…a lot, and you felt like you were over your head.

“Not sure what to get?” He asked and you shook your head before placing your menu on the table to look at him.

“You know what I haven’t had in a while?”

“What is that?” You rested your chin into your palm as you waited for him to elaborate.

“A good burger.” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his cheeky grin.

“You mean to tell me,” you opened the menu, “that foie gras isn’t your cup of tea?” You looked at him over your lashes as he laughed and took a sip of champagne.

“Not really into eating liver.”

“That’s what that is?” You couldn’t hide the horror of his revelation and his chuckle grew louder.

“Want to get out of here? Get something that isn’t a filter?” You nodded your head, eyes big and full of alarm. Steve stood first extending his hand toward you to usher you out of the dining space and into the main restaurant. Just as he opened the door the waiter returned.

“Will you not be dining with us today?” He asked, concerned.

“Not feeling it tonight, but thank you for your hospitality,” Steve responded and placed folded-up bills into the guy’s shirt pocket before extending his arm for you to take. Anthony was waiting for you where you left him, a little surprised by your sudden reappearance.

“That was a fast dinner,” he commented, looking at you through his rearview to make sure nothing went awry.

“Fine dining just isn’t for me,” you assured and he nodded with a knowing grin.

“Where to?”

“Know a good burger joint?” Steve asked him as he poured the two of you more champagne from the bar.

“There’s the Seaside Kitchen right near Venice Beach,” Anthony offered with a shrug of his shoulder.

“Oh, the beach, I've never been!" You clapped excitedly.

“Let’s go there,” Steve smiled and watched your giddy excitement the entire drive.

The air smelled of salt, and the noise of the waves covered the sound of the lingering seagulls overhead. You took in your surroundings, noticing that there weren't many tourists roaming the sands with the sun long set. You spotted a bonfire in the distance, a small group crowded around it. The beach was dark and only illuminated by the nearby lampposts that glimmered a bright white. It was serene, the first quiet moment since you stepped off the plane. You and Steve wadded through the sand barefoot, feet sinking into the cold as you walked closer to the water.

“Sorry it’s not much of a view since the sun isn’t up,” Steve remarked setting a blanket he got from the limo down onto the sand as you held a box full of burgers, fries, and two cokes. Your stomach was grumbling, hunger roaring and making you queasy. You looked around once more and smiled to yourself before turning back to Steve.

“It’s perfect, I never thought I’d get to see it,” you told him and sat with your legs stretched in front of you, feet buried into the sand.

“You and your family never vacationed anywhere when you were young?” You shook your head as you chewed the bite of burger you took, swallowing it down to explain.

“My mom and dad passed when I was young so my grandma took me in. Not much you can get on social security let alone beach vacations,” you laughed and sipped on your coke. You were used to explaining and answering any child or adult when they questioned why your parents weren't at a school function or recital. Why your grandma was the only one in attendance. The sting of their deaths was now a dull wound, one that didn't make you choke back tears or want to hide behind closed doors like before.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered and you shooed his apology.

“Don’t be sorry, I didn’t have a lot but my grandma loved me and this is extra special since I’m experiencing it with you,” you took another bite and looked off into the waves. Dark blue, almost black, pushing against the white of the sand. Steve looked at you and traced the line of your cheekbones to your jaw with his gaze. A little struck. Entranced by how beautiful you were.

“Hawkins any different from when I lived there?” You looked up thoughtfully and thought of what was different.

“Well the grocery store is open until ten now but other than that I’d say it’s much the same since you left,” you giggled. Steve chewed on some fries and thought of his hometown. Thought of Hawkins High and his time as King Steve, the drives to Lover’s Lake, the nights spent at house parties or drinking by the golf course at the country club until the sun came up.

“You ever miss it?” You questioned, taking another bite as you waited for his response. He swallowed his food and took a sip of soda.

“Believe it or not sometimes this all gets old,” he waved around the scenery. “Sometimes I just miss being home in my own bubble, hanging out with friends without prying eyes and just the lack of sound. It’s so loud here.”

“It really is! I don’t know how anyone sleeps,” you chuckled around your food, holding your hand in front of your mouth so he didn’t catch sight of your chewed food.

“I didn’t sleep for the first few weeks until I adjusted to the noise, now I don’t know how I’ll sleep if I ever leave,” he shook his head and the two of you continued to eat in comfortable silence.

“What about you? Do you ever wish you could leave?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t think I’d be away for long. There’s nothing like feeling at home somewhere and that’s what I have,” you thought for a moment, “but I would get something better than what I have if I could.”

“Something better?”

“I live in the trailer my grandma left me when she passed a few years ago, and it’s cozy but I’ve never had anything that’s mine. Everything has been passed down or thrifted. Always belonged to someone else first.”

“Ever thought of your ideal place?” You dabbed the napkin against your mouth and wiped your hands, squeezing the napkin as you gave a thoughtful nod.

“Pretty sure I’ve thought of it every day since I was twelve,” you sighed as you thought of those daydreams, “My parents used to have a spread of land, acres that seemed never-ending. I used to play all day and get lost in the trees. I miss that. If I ever got my own land I would fill it up with animals and have my own garden. Maybe a library if I was lucky,” you pushed your lips together as the silence settled over you, your dreams on display for him to see.

“Like little goats and pigs?” He shared in the picture you painted, adding his own details.

“Cows too. Heard there’s nothing like snuggling one,” he choked on the soda he drank, laughing at the image of a cow lying on top of him.

“I don’t know about the snuggling,” he dismissed the idea.

“Ugh, but the little babies? Especially the furry ones? How could you not!” He stared at you with a wide smirk, eyes glimmering at your enthusiasm. A wave of embarrassment flooded through you as to how you might sound to him. The big Hollywood star who had already experienced so much, things bigger than a farm with baby cows and goats. More than you could dare to dream. You rubbed awkwardly at your hair suddenly self-conscious.

“Sorry, I must sound so small town,” you apologized and he shook his head at you reaching for your wrist so that you’d look at him. You looked where you were connected, his warm skin against yours, electricity wherever his fingers grasped.

“Don’t do that,” he chided softly, “it’s refreshing. Like I said, this gets old. I have the same industry conversations every night droning on about the next project or award season. Even in interviews I’m asked the same questions but no one really cares about the answers anymore,” he laughed as he cut his ranting off.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, flashing an awkward smile in your direction. You placed your hand over his, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles.

“What did we say about sorry?” You chided and he nodded with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Plus, I care about the answers,” you added nonchalantly. He beamed, taking your hand as he stood and pulled you to your feet.

“Let’s dip our toes in,” he suggested and began peeling off his shoes. You kicked off your heels leaving them beside the blanket as the two of walked near the shore. The sound of the waves grew louder as you approached, the sand cold and wet but easier to walk through. You waited until the water drew closer and dipped your toe in squealing with the temperature.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing,” you turned to him but he was already watching you enthralled by your childlike wonder.

“You can’t just dip a toe in, got to go in feet first so you can’t second guess it,” he suggested but you were nervous. Afraid of the shock of the water and Steve noticed.

“Here, take my hand,” you looked at his outstretched arm, palm face up in an offering. A life raft before you plunged deeper and you took it, twining your fingers with his as you took the leap. Jumping feet first into the cold waves, squealing only slightly as they crashed over your shins and dampened the bottom of your dress. You jumped and Steve held you closer, your back to his warm chest as your toes sank into the ocean floor gradually. You could feel his heart hammering against you, felt the way his eyes were trained on you and you turned. His face was illuminated by the moon, bronze skin a little less vibrant in the evening glow. Eyes trained on your lips, face inching towards yours. Your eyelashes fluttered as you moved closer to him, your noses brushing, and his lips were a whisper against yours. He pressed fully into your pout, his lips soft and warm against yours as they moved gently. A small gasp escaped as he learned the shape of your lips, the way you liked to be kissed. Sweet and sensual. You tangled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, chest pressed into his and his warm palms traced the line of your waist until they rested just above your ass. Steve brought your bottom lip into his mouth sucking gently and releasing it with a small pop. You hummed against his mouth, kissing him deeper and swiping his bottom lip asking for entrance. He opened for you, tongue darting against yours as he kneaded the dough of your ass. The kiss turned needy, a different kind of hunger settling into your gut but you pulled away looking into Steve’s wide gaze.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked, hands moving back up to the middle of your back. You rubbed your nose against his fondly and shook your head.

“No, no. I just,” you sighed. You didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, a speedy hookup on the beach. You wanted more and you knew you had no right to it.

“It’s getting late, and I just thought I should head back to the hotel. Get some rest. Think your agent has me on the first flight out,” you grinned at him apprehensively and worried he’d be mad.

“Sounds like the bastard,” he shook his head and nodded towards the car.

“C'mon I’ll make sure you get back,” you cleaned up your makeshift picnic and settled into the back of the limo, sitting a little closer to Steve than when the night first started. His hand settled on the skin of your exposed thigh. Rubbing circles, creating goosebumps.

Anthony pulled into the private garage and it was a relief when you saw no sight of paparazzi around you. Steve turned his attention to you after scanning the lot, hazel gaze fixed on yours.

“I had a really fun time tonight, thank you,” and he meant it, sincerity written on his face. You smiled at him, less shy than before, and placed a chaste kiss on his pinked lips.

“Thank you,” you emphasized and turned to open the door. Steve squeezed your hand one last time and watched you walk back up the stairs the two of you had descended at the beginning of the night. He was wrapped in his thoughts and completely struck by you.

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 5 months

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Kaiju Week in Review (November 26-December 2, 2023)

I wasn't over the moon when Toho announced that Takashi Yamazaki's Blockbuster Monster Movie was in fact the next Godzilla film. I had seen a few of his works—none bad, but none spectacular either. Well, I've set my sights on watching the rest in the new year, because Godzilla Minus One is an unqualified masterpiece. A tagline from the original Godzilla, King of the Monsters! comes to mind (as it often does when you're me): "Mightiest melodrama of them all!" A lot of the post-Showa films suffer from an abundance of characters who just spout exposition and look at monitors; here, almost everyone in the small cast gets at least one close encounter with Godzilla, and the monster's backstory is conveyed with extreme efficiency. This tale of a war veteran trying to rebuild his life in the ruins of Tokyo, stumbling into a family, finding fulfillment in blowing up leftover mines, and haunted by what he perceives as his cowardice in combat, would have been plenty compelling without Godzilla.

Since it does have Godzilla, it's high on my list of the best movies of the year, and I only need one viewing to call it one of the best installments in the almost-70-year-old series. Yamazaki patiently waited some 15 years after Always: Sunset on Third Street 2 for his shot at a Godzilla feature. You certainly get the sense, watching one of the most brutal, pissed-off incarnations of the monster ever to grace the screen, that he spent every day of it in preparation. Watch it often while it's still in theaters, and watch it big.

Godzilla Minus One will gross about $10 million in its U.S. opening "weekend", a third-place finish that beat expectations. For context, Godzilla 2000, the last Toho Godzilla film to receive a wide release here, made about $10 million during its entire theatrical run here. Ticket prices were cheaper then, of course, and Minus One was helped along further by almost half of attendees going to premium-format screenings. Conversely, it had to overcome Americans' subtitle phobia, and the first weekend of December is usually a slow one. I was pessimistic at the outset, but now I expect larger theaters to carry the film into the new year, especially with near-universal raves from critics and audiences.

Yes, a third section for Godzilla Minus One; it's well-deserved, I promise. MyKaiju is risking life and limb by hosting an English translation of the film's novelization, written by Takashi Yamazaki himself. It appears to be at least partially machine-translated, but the Japanese text is included for comparison. Haven't read it yet, as I want to see the film a second time first, but quite a breakthrough given how mysterious this sort of thing usually is.

Monarch: Legacy of Monsters could never hope to compare with the opening of a stellar new Godzilla film; unfortunately, I also thought this week's episode was the weakest so far. It's bookended by Frost-Vark action, but the rest just drags. All's forgiven if the teacher and the hacker smooch though.

Toho and Legendary used to let each other's live-action Godzilla movies breathe; now the U.S. opening weekend of one is coinciding with the opening marketing push of the other. IGN released a trio of pics from Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire, showing Kong with his axe; Dr. Andrews, Jia, and Trapper (Dan Stevens's character) in uniform; and Godzilla "evolving into a powerful new form." The same article included an interview with director Adam Wingard. Naturally, he didn't give away much... besides the return of Doug.

Earlier in the week, Legendary put out a trio of posters featuring Godzilla, Kong, and the film's antagonist, now christened Skar King. The taglines ("Unite" for our heroes, "Bow to Your King" for SK) sound like kaiju campaign slogans. Makes me wonder if, like Godzilla vs. Megalon before it, the movie will improbably capitalize on the presidential election next year. To steal a joke from Titanollante: Godzilla/Kong unity ticket? They'd have my vote.

Godzilla's new form, meanwhile, has already been spoiled by a T-shirt on Legendary's own site and some dire-looking Playmates figures. It makes sense that Wingard would want to have his own spin on the character after keeping the design from Godzilla: King of the Monsters for Godzilla vs. Kong. Hard to cast judgment without seeing the real design in full, but there's one particular detail I really like.

The film also has a booth at CCXP in Brazil, with a panel later today, so I think a trailer is incoming (the main reason I hammered out this whole post so quickly).

I missed this one last week: Tsuburaya announced an anime project called Ultraman: DARKNESS HEELS. The DARKNESS HEELS branding has been around for a while, spotlighting prominent evil Ultras—and, of course, Jugglus Juggler. No details on the anime yet, but if the Juggleman's there, so am I.

The big toy reveal this weekend was Super7's ULTIMATES! MaiGoji figure. Previous Godzilla figures from this line haven't lived up to the official photos, but hope springs eternal. It's $85 (much less than the MonsterArts); preorders started Friday. Other highlights: a Super7 ReAction figure of the original Godzilla's skeleton, which comes with a little Oxygen Destroyer, and a plush Mothra from Surreal Entertainment that can flip to imago form to a neck pillow-shaped larva.

#kaiju week in review #godzilla #godzilla minus one #monarch legacy of monsters #godzilla x kong the new empire #ultraman darkness heels #kaiju

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tocupid · 9 months

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﹒peanut butter & tears

nonidol!beomgyu x gn!reader word count: 742 words masterlistwarning: use of substance (marijuana), substance abuse, cussing, undefined relationship, lmk if more synopsis: when things finally snap, what better to do than to get high in the flower field that you both met in? notes: finally got my ass up to work and since peanut butter & tears got released today and made me feel like i just had marijuana in me for days, i had to write SOMETHING!!! stan dpr ian btw. also i dont smoke weed so if it is inaccurate woops sorry drug addicts

inhaling parts of the rolled joint that you two passed around, fits of laughter and giggles came out your mouths along with the smoke. god you both needed this so badly, it was so nice seeing the colors of the pink flowers crowding around you and purple butterflies pop with no concept of time in your minds. everything felt so different, so right yet so wrong. beomgyu took another hit before letting it fall to the ground before rolling over to where you laid on the ground, zoning into the clear bright sky in your eyes and throwing an arm over you to catch your attention. turning to look at his brightly shining face, you simply admired the smile that crept onto his face while waiting for him to speak up. it was then that the seemingly sentimental smile turned into an innocent childish grin as he shouted out in a playful voice, "TAG YOU'RE IT!"

jumping up from the ground you chased after him as he ran away the field, stepping on some of the flowers, laughter and a few silly threatening remarks being voiced into the land for only you two to hear. after running around for a good 20 minutes, the two of you ran out of breath, leaving you to fall back onto the ground, getting another few puffs from the joint each. gaining beomgyus attention while blowing air in a pattern like you usually did when thinking prompted him to ask the obvious question after turning to you with half open eyes, "what're you thinking about?" you didn't bother turning to face him and instead continued staring at the vibrant sky,

"should we go back to the city later?" "night time?" "won't we get in bigger trouble if we get back later?" "who gives a fuck." "then we should leave soon, it'll take a while."

even if you didn't want to get up just yet, you didn't have a choice as beomgyu groggily got up and dragged you with him, packing up the few things you two brought. jogging over to the old rolls royce corniche 2000 that his father had handed down to him at 17 after buying himself a new 2018 lexus nx. throwing yourselves into the car, the engine started and soon you were both on the road, blasting songs, going at the highest speed possible, still taking hits whenever you wanted and helping him inhale whenever he wanted to as well while he drove. by the time you both got back to the city, it was 9:30pm and the sky had already darkened. this part of the city definitely wasn't the most luxurious, instead considered "underdeveloped" and "messy" compared to the rest, yet this was where people like them felt the most safe, even if it wasn't the most prioritized. everyone trusted everyone, knowing the invisible boundaries. leaving the car parked at the nearest spot he could find near the club they would be going to and jumped out along with you, not even bothering to lock the car.

entering the scene, the sight of smoke could be seen through the fluorescent lights and the scent of weed hit you both in an instant. walking through to the bar area, you ordered the usuals for you both, putting a little bit of cocaine you were able to get into them (with the consent of beomgyu of course) before taking a sip. the high feeling rushed to you both quickly, influencing you to stumble to the dance floor, dragging beomgyu with you before doing whatever you both wanted there. all you wanted to do was enjoy your time with your best friend, partner in crime, other half, lover (label or not), while you had the time to have no worries, worry about jobs, income, surviving. the same could be said towards you from beomgyu, not verbally, but just by being with you during these times, following along with you the whole time. it was never a burden and he was glad you both enjoyed the same things and going through the same things so you could understand each other. all he could wish was that it'd be over for you both together, where you wouldn't have to rely on drugs to feel free, and be stable enough to finally start the new chapter with an official title together. but for now, it'd just be eating creamy peanut butter & tears through the pain.

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fenrir-wolf-of-gotham · 2 months

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Honestly my biggest issue with Batgirl 2000 is its ending. Cass just kinda walks off after everything. Theres no return to Gotham or anything. The latter third of that comic really seemed to be doing its best to push Cass away from the Batfamily which is my least favorite thing. Just let her be the batgirl and Bruce’s daughter. Of course then we have the Robin appearance and it’s striking to me how suddenly she becomes a completely different character. Immediately after an entire arc about how she chooses to be better than her mother, she gets turned into a near copy of Shiva…

… man fuck Dan Didio.

Edit: oh yeah how could I fucking forget Bludhaven exploding offscreen. I actually really liked Cass in Bludhaven y’know? She was figuring herself out and making her own vigilante identity and she had her own Batcave and she was making friends and enemies but then it had to blow up. Fuck the second half of this comic man.

#cassandra cain

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exvangelicalrage · 10 months

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Apocalypse Anxiety

6/30/23

When I was a kid, one of the excellent decisions my parents made was not letting us read the Left Behind books, even though everyone at church swore the books were the best thing they'd ever read (after the bible, of course).

If you're unfamiliar, the whole series revolves around a futuristic interpretation of christian eschatology, particularly the rapture and the tribulation. The series starts with a good chunk of the world population getting "raptured" suddenly, or taken to heaven by god, and then follows a group of people who didn't disappear. These folks try to figure out what happened and navigate the wild post-rapture world, and everything wraps up with the second coming of christ. The characters that survived the tribulation witness the millennial kingdom, where christ reigns for a thousand years, and then the final judgment day, and eventually, a new heaven and a new earth are created.

Obviously it's complete bullshit. It's not even biblical, as 11-year-old me wrote extensively about in her journal (I even included citations!). But the thing is, a lot of christians still believed it. And I think it formed a lot of mental images about what the "end times" would look like for people, which, as a result, meant there was a lot of conversation about prepping.

If you got left behind, what would you do? How would you survive? People talked about learning to grow stuff and sew. They bought generators and came up with secondary heat sources for their house. They talked about how prepared they already were compared to everyone else.

Keep in mind, we lived in a rural area where people already had to be quite self-sufficient. So it was more of a bragging contest than anything, with a few people beefing up the systems they already had in place.

The year 2000 brought with it a lot of apocalypse panic, fueled in part by that stupid book series (though I'm sure the Cold War, recent in so many memories, didn't help either). The Y2K bug was going to take down systems all over the world! We could be without power, without computers, without clean water!!! Our local morning show guys even did a parody of the YMCK song, where they sang, "Yyyy-2-K! What's the big deal about Yyyy-2-K! It's a real big deal / no it's not even real—" etc. Luckily for me I do not remember most of the lyrics.

Fast forward to 2016. By then, I was well and truly Exited from christianity. I'd made it through Y2K, 9/11, the recession, and college. I had a full time job and friends who weren't christian. I hardly ever thought about apocalypses, other than admitting that I occasionally enjoyed reading a good post-apocalyptic book series.

But the day after the 2016 election, I found myself crying under a tree in the cemetery near my condo. I was terrified that trump would bring about the apocalypse, even though I didn't even believe in the fucking apocalypse anymore! At least, not the christian version of it.

Someone made a meme that said "the end comes with trump-pence (instead of 'trumpets')" and it was all I could think of. Like a giant neon sign to my trauma-bent brain.

Fast forward again to 2020. You probably remember that fucked-up year.

It started with fires in Australia. And murder hornets. Remember those? Weird "signs and omens" of an impending apocalypse. Then came the plague and pestilence.

Truth be told, it feels like we've basically been mid-apocalypse my entire life. Y2K. 9/11. The recession. trump being elected. fires. famine. plague. pestilence. war. death.

And now, there are more fires. So many fires. I'm in an area with bad air. The canadian wildfires are filling the atmosphere with smoke and it's drifted down into my region of the northeast USA. Again. A couple weeks ago, we had air that had me and my spouse coughing and with sore throats, even indoors. Today, the outside is hazy and smells, and the new outlets are warning us all to stay indoors.

I know it's just smoke. I know it'll blow away. I understand what's happening. Not to mention, we're fine. We are safe indoors. We have an air purifier. We don't have to work outside or even leave the house if we don't want to. Though the dog might get annoyed if he doesn't get his daily adventure.

We have enough food to last us weeks, if we're careful. We have a tank full of gas. I have a boatload of back-up plans for what to do in a variety of catastrophic scenarios.

But I still feel the overwhelming desire to curl up in a hole and hide. My anxiety is sky high. It's a visceral reaction—not to the smoke itself, or to the knowledge of climate change, or even to a rational fear that one day, the fires might reach us.

No. It's fear of the christian apocalypse. Fear of the rapture. Fear of getting left behind.

I know it's all fake. I just can't quite shake it.

#xtian #exchristian #exvangelical #atheist #apocalypse #left behind #y2k #end times #anxiety #apocalypse anxiety #agnostic #indoctrination #exreligious #ex religious #ex christian #tribulation #revelations

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kithcrafts · 3 months

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Now for something completely different. Below the cut is a bit of ADHD poetry I mostly wrote a few years ago, found in my documents folder recently, still liked it, and gave an editing pass. There's a cut because of the format: it's a single sentence composed of more than two thousand (>2000) (2K+) words. Tumblr has compelled me to break it into several text blocks due to some character limit, but it's meant to be continuous.

If you like this sort of nonsense and want to see more, let me know!

Blueberry Muffins

Neither do I recall what compelled me to purchase an extra large blueberry bran muffin (now deceased) from that one little store on the southwest corner of the Center Square where, sitting in the slightly grimy window I would sometimes see a tiny and exceedingly creepy porcelain doll with bright, too-real eyes that seemed to follow you down the road long after you passed the place itself and that had you looking over your shoulder to see if the doll might somehow be back there with some sharp object stolen from the bakery in a fit of kleptomaniacal murderous intent, that object chosen for the particular way the light dripped in silvery darts from the steel blade and trickle glittering down the streets like liquid violence made solid and dangerous by the hellish forges beneath the land of Quilt where the flaming flamingo people carry strange luminous orbs that some rumors say hold their most precious memories but others claim are just another kind of weird folksy decoration with no real purpose except to establish the sort of communal identity that the Quiltish people so desperately needed after the last Textile War almost destroyed the entire country with those new Bass Drop weapons that came tumbling out of the bellies of the dreaded Duvetian planes,

plummeting thousands of feet through the smog-choked air before landing with a certain kind of thud that could vaporize any liquid water that happened to be close enough to get caught in the destructive radius determined by the size and volume of the device's "Drop Drivers", so called by the scientists who had the dubious privilege of naming the work that they never intended to be weaponized, of course, because no scientist ever wants to be responsible for a government gaining new destructive capabilities that they will invariably abuse by turning their shiny new weapons against some poor hapless group of people just because they have some philosophical disagreement or a piece of land they want or don't want or whatever motivates the enormous barely-conscious entities we carefully build out of the bones of ones that came before them and the ideals of the people whose descendants will eventually discover that the great machine created by their hallowed ancestors is now chewing them up wholesale and spitting out mindless corporate zombies with no creativity that operate not on rational thought or ingenuity or even instinct but only by playing back the pre-recorded programs that they have been carefully steeped in their entire lives like some perfect cup of tea (but horrible) but who will nevertheless eventually rise up to destroy that great machine, tearing its pieces cog from axle, mechanism from housing, and spring from escapement only to pack all those pieces up in neatly labeled little boxes and hide the boxes away in a cave somewhere on the west coast near the cliffs that catch the waves thrown by the uncaring ocean in the kind of weather where being out on the water is likely to result in the deaths of anybody unfortunate enough to have that sort of thing for a job since they couldn't get a safer job further inland like programming or data entry because all of those jobs were taken by the factory workers after the factories shut down when, after far too many generations had been exploited to exploit them, the mines finally dried up leaving only dust and cracked lives blowing in the wind like the leaves of the trees in the northern forest late in the fall after the colors have faded and the air has gone from pleasantly crisp to almost-painfully chill and dry enough that the moon and stars begin to stand out stark against the black sky like the bones left lying in the sun by the sanguine vultures that fly lazily though the sky day by day waiting for the sign of the flamboyant turquoise snail frog to appear writ in the sands of the place where the ruddy desert meets the golden beach to create an orange gradient like the one on the underside of the peach sitting in your grandmother's window because it wasn't ripe when she bought it and she thinks that putting it in the window well help even though so far it only seems to have attracted the fruit flies that plague every house from time to time regardless of whether or not there were any actually in the house before the fruit (that wasn't quite ripe anyway) came in on the backs of their riding sausages to conquer the sunbeams just so the cat is slightly less comfortable in the living room that is always just slightly cooler than she likes (owing to her tropical ancestry) so that she can never quite feel contented except when the sun spills onto the floor in splotches and shards stained to Technicolor brilliance by the glass of the window that was made to commemorate some long-forgotten event in the history of the old town where you grew up but can never go back to because of the entirely too personal way the people there treat you even though (and perhaps because) most of them haven't seen you since the day you graduated high school and left that place behind you - maybe forever - in the hopes of finding out who you are deep down inside where the squishy bits of your feelings (your hopes,

dreams, and fears) are keeping a constant vigil near that one closed door in the corner where the light has been burnt out for such a very long time and that now even the spiders have given up living in the borders between the light and the shadows, on those invisible lines where the dust motes wink in and out of visibility making you wonder briefly if it's really safe to breathe this obviously-polluted air if there's that much dust in it before you realize that you've been breathing it the whole time so it must be at least safe enough that you can live on it, unlike the sweet phosphorescent breezes that flow through the land of dreams whose effervescent vapors might draw you in with their spicy fragrances like fresh baked pineapple and piperine orange juice and trap you forever, not quite drowning you beneath the flowing waves of blue and yellow grasses on the hills behind the castle with those glistening banners whose threads come from the mysterious threadworm caverns beneath the lake on top of the mountain on the horizon to the west beyond the city of Baa'urg with the buildings whose roofs are tiled with a strange glittering stone that reflects the sun in three different colors depending on the angle of the light, and with the roads paved with a stone so black that light falls endlessly into it, warming it up so that even in the deepest part of the coldest winters the people never have to shovel the snow that instead simply melts away starting at any tiny bare spot of that wondrous road (which the people complain about so much in the summer) that happens to catch the light of the sun as it rises above the mountainous horizon bringing with it the strange music of the bird people whose fluting and trilling songs send cinnamon scented sounds along ancient and ancestral aerial avenues swirling and twisting the minds of some who hear them (or taste them with their ears, as it were) away from the subtle and carefully crafted dangers of their workaday working days and toward thoughts from wherein the mind swims swiftly among the stars and between the protons and becomes more vulnerable to other, even more insidious attacks from the many sources of psychic trauma that inhabit those worlds where such things prey on the innocent and unwary denizens who dare to wander out of their iridescent glass-domed cities and between the crystal spikes that in those places stand instead of the trees on other,

more verdant worlds, and that shine with their strange internal glows that seem so bright to look at but still somehow fail to illuminate even the nearest of the shadowed divots wherein dwell the mind eaters who lay in wait with their slime-covered tentacles so like those of the intelligent squishbeasts that inhabit the deeps of so many oceans on worlds lucky enough to have such life-giving expanses of water glistening on their surfaces instead of just barren rock or deep gas wells bubbling their own sort of life-giving poisons into the thick noxious atmospheres of those places, reminding many who see them of certain industrial processes that used to exist on their own worlds before their ancestors, recently or long ago, began to understand the interconnected nature of their environments and, often after much denial followed by eco-wars waged by the last of the great corporate governments those cultures would produce, finally took steps to correct only to find that much of the damage that had been done was irreversible (or would take many generations to repair) and that the only viable solution left was to scatter themselves to the stars (worlds like theirs being scarce enough that there were none close by) and take their chances in their smallish black-tipped ships where they would spend dozens of generations without contact from any other sentient lifeforms until they no longer resembled or even remembered their planet-bound progenitors or even those who had left on other ships, some of which had been destroyed and others captured when their particular shard of the unfortunate species-fracture encountered by chance a more hostile species among the endless voids of the universe, while a very lucky few found new worlds that would service their organic needs well enough to make a home with its own set of wonders and dangers, and yet others abandoned their organic bodies entirely choosing to become fully artificial so that over the years they could not only preserve and repair themselves better but improve on the technologies that now sustained and produced their minds in new and terrifying and amazing ways that eventually led to lifeforms entirely unlike any others the universe had ever produced before or ever would again despite its vast and undeterminable span, nor did the flowers in the grasses of that place produce any scent but instead bloomed in a most amazing array of colors and took advantage of the wind by changing their stems to vibrate with each passing breeze, producing sounds all up and down the frequency spectrum that sounded like a pleasant humming in a zephyr, but during a storm could sometimes take on a more banshee-like quality that the people told cautionary stories about to their children who, after many generations, learned to selectively breed new flowers that made specific notes that were more pleasing to listen to which gave rise to several new forms of music but caused the flies that the flowers had been depending on to pollinate to be much less effective leading to population crashes throughout that particular part of the food web until the flies (and two species of finch) were extinct and the flower came to rely exclusively on artificial pollination provided by the people who had changed the flowers in the first place because they could not bear to lose the "Music of the Buds" that had caused their culture to cohere into a post-technological utopia before ultimately dying out from uncorrectable genetic defects originally promoted by exposure to the pollen of those very same flowers and a dose of irony that could kill off an entire colony of elephants in just a bit more time than it takes for a leaf to fall to the ground from the lowest branch of the big tree on top of the hill next to the pond where those ducks played as the sun glinted off the water in diamond lancets toward the back wall of the shop next to the one that had that tiny doll that actually just wanted to be friends but was driven mad by being surrounded all day by those terrible blueberry muffins.

#poetry #adhd poetry #long post

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thebadtimewolf · 7 months

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give me onscreen fluff no matter the cost

i think rtd2 should kill off dimemsion cannon-toting rose marion tyler. hey. im not saying its not gonna highly anger me if they kill her off doing something ooc because it will if they go down that route. make it make sense based on the material that is given. because this aint early 2000s now. its original and new. and not predictable and yt.

im saying so we can have onscreen scenes of then kissing and holding baby mia because i'll be fucking damned if you gave that to racist joan redfern but NOT TO ROSE????

this is because if meta crisis ten/tentoo does come back, there needs to be a reason why he is there alone. we saw what he does when hes alone and only one person attempts to stop him: he starts blowing shit up. doctordonna AND jackie couldnt stop him from basically being a bomber the whole time.

it'll mull him, not harden him or make him go evil like every predictable fanfic whenever rose dies and hes evil and blah blah. it'll ground him. and i dont want it to be like: oh rose passed away! Any way lets- no.

I want it to where the Doctor doesn't realize something is wrong beyond just tentoo being back. It would be the last thing he would think, the one thing they would never come to the conclusion to. I mean, for us it was decade or so ago but for the doctor, that was essentially billions of years ago. That was just plucked stray eyelash from two years ago in comparison.

And tentoo is keeping up appearences. Even says present tense verbs "she is doing great, she is currently so and so doing whatnot" but then it starts being noticeable. Bit by bit. He used 'did' or 'used to' a few slips. Here and there. Something that can brushed off as parallel world: different rules.

But then, near the climax, a gutpunch - you know rtd love his gutpunches of heartbreak - rose died and tentoo blamed himself for it. [mind you, there is a flashback of rose, teen mia, and tentoo just to establish that a comic or audio isnt now canon.] and its something mundane though not how danny pink initially died. at least mundane enough for it to happen but not too mundane enough to be ANOTHER FRIDGING DEFAULT TROPE.

tentoo and pete was there (yes surprise guest star shaun dingwall) and the look of horror on their face when they both rush out only for it to be too late.

but it gets tentoo to stop being trigger-happy. Yes, he gets hurt, but the reason the reveal happens is him saying something along the lines of 'i can't make my daughter into an orphan'

because if moffat gets a hold of that, he's gonna make stone rose a reality in the most cruellest way of killing off rose. Not send her back in time, just turn her into an irreversible weeping angel with no trace of anything that she used to be except her face and hair. I don't need that NO ONE NEEDS THAT!!! but as far as killing of fan faves go: thats your real motherlode there.

it shows no one is safe. tegan and kate stewart almost proved it to be the case. but killing off rose? rose tyler? dame rose marion tyler of the powell estate? that? that's a huge move. a big move.

but it explains so much in retrospect for 50th in film and novelisation. why the moment expressions are the way they are. why literally 10 and 11 could never see her but war and 13 and superpower companion from brooklyn, ny, gabby gonzalez can. why be a ghost haunting them? why be present yet also not at all to them? why be the yellow wallpaper in a burning room of gold? anyway.

give us what we got in one comic as a wandavision esque for empress rose's perspective but onscreen with the main girl! and we all saw i hate suzie fear ep i cried when her character died. let me repeat myself: i cried when billie's suzie's character in a fictional show within i hate suzie, the zombie show that doesnt exist, died. let her cook! i want my heart feel like regina mills in one of her ✨️always serving evil queen regality✨️came into my house, punched through my chest, crunched my heart like it was a simple wine glass stem and then emotionally tossed my body around like she about to audition for making me a new kind of muppet.

make us fear for EVERY 2005 COMPANION RETURNING (except jack because hes still immortal) make us actually clutch pearls and the fabric covering our stomachs!

[this is the same disney+ that now has uncensored punisher and the last time we had rtd writing in america was miracle day and that was gruesome in itself so 👀😬 the whiplash of heartbreakingly devastating opportunities is right there. especiall since rose is canonically established to be part of pete's world torchwood not unit so. yeah be afraid.]

#bw: out of ethos #tv: doctor who #tv: torchwood #{dont read allat. just know i want rosetentoo to get same tosh x owen treatment but for rtd to give us pete world torchwood spinoff}#bw: long post #{its established in various rosetentoo content that they are in pete's world torchwood instead of unit}#{so yeah jot that shit down because that torchwood was already existing before doomsday under a resistance group}#{and now rich boi pete who runs it: the same pete that is a counterpart to dead dad pete: and just added rosetentoo?}#{brace for the worse yall if we do get a double spinoff from rtd}

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vavandeveresfan · 9 months

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Re: Beetlejuice 2

I agree. I think it's going to be very much not good. Not everything needs a sequel, and this is one of those things. I feel Warner Brothers is banking on nostalgia to put butts in seats at the expense of something good. The fact that Seth Grahame-Smith's who wrote one script in 2011 that was rejected, saying this about it in 2021: "It’s funny, when I had met with Tim about it last, and we’re talking about five years ago at this point, the reason that it’s so hard to get going is because so many people love it and because there are 10 million ways to get that sequel wrong and four ways to get it right. It’s such a very fine needle to thread that I certainly like, didn’t get it there, on the script side. I didn’t thread the needle. There are things that were cool and some interesting ideas. I’ve certainly emotionally moved on from it and just said, 'If it happens someday, it happens.' Yeah. Michael Keaton is just as relevant as ever and, and Tim Burton is just as relevant as ever, but you have to have both of those people excited about something to do it. I couldn’t get it there personally, as a writer, but maybe somebody else can."

But he's credited as the screenwriter for the sequel? To me that does not bode well. Keaton's old. Maybe they'll de-age him with CGI. Burton hasn't done anything original (with the exception of two things: Corpse Bride and the remake of Frankenweenie) since 1994's Ed Wood; everything since then as been based on books or other source material. All in all, I won't be seeing this in the theater unless it really blows people out of the water. I think it will do okay opening weekend, but after that it'll fade away +/- be another example of "Hollywood is out of ideas".

Grahame-Smith's publisher, Hachette, sued him for half the advance for a manuscript he gave them because, in essence, it was so bad it didn't live up to the quality they expected.

Imagine your writing being so shitty that your own publisher sues your ass?

So I do not have any confidence in his ability to produce anything near the quality of the original, even working with other screenwriters.

That quote is great. Thanks for posting it, I've never seen it before.

I agree with you completely on both Keaton and Burton. And I also won't see it in theaters unless the reviewers are glowing.

But then, I've seen a movies with enthusiastic reviews and hated them.

Hollywood could walk into any decent-sized library and find material to adapt, if Hollywood knew what a library was. As for screenwriters with original ideas, my impression is young writers -- and I can speak for those I've met who have MFAs -- are taught how to write in very specific, pre-programmed formulas that are "popular." Screenwriters never seem to study classic movies made before 2000; never heard of "Sunset Boulevard" or "The Third Man." I tried to get a young screenwriter to watch "A Man for All Seasons," and he said it was too long and boring.

Anyway, I'm ranting now.

Thank you for the Ask and your reply, anon.

#Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice sequel #Michael Keaton #Tim Burton #things that should never be made

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homosexualrodent · 2 years

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

thank you so much for this!!! sorry i left this chilling in my inbox for so long

i only have 7 posted fics...and i'm kind of always tempted to delete them, but here are my top 5 :

5. it's far too deep for a bandage now

i actually wouldn't even say this is in my top 5 because of my irresolution towards it. i like the writing itself and i enjoy the characterization, but it's such a foul story to leave without an update. i don't have it in me to get up a new chapter for it in the near future, so it's just bleak as it sits without a more optimistic outcome.

4. blossoms from the garden of the moon

this one was really cute and there was pretty much no angst in it. i enjoyed writing it, and liked the way it turned out too. i definitely want to write more soft fics with endless happiness (april is adamant that i do so as well). i'd also like to write more one-shots. the peace of mind i get from not having to update something is absolutely wonderful.

3. look in his eyes and feel the fire drain out of his hands

currently chipping away at another chapter of this one while my pile of other wips watches me with disdain. i'm a big fan of my plans for this one, and i'm an overall shitty 2000's disney movies enthusiast even though i ran the movie plot through a bread slicer to come up with this.

2. you make me mad, I'm fire again

this is a fav. it will always hold a special place in my heart, seeing as it's the first multi-chap fic i've finished (so far hopefully). i didn't care as much for the grand scheme of it. it was something that has been done before for thiam, but i loved some of the little moments in it. honestly though, i didn't expect other people to like it as much as they did, but hey, i'm not complaining.

1. moonlit winter clouds the color of the desperation of wolves

this was a gift for some beloved people in the thiam fandom, but it was also a sort of a 2022 resolution fic for me for. i put a lot of effort into the writing, which i am really proud of. i also thought i was going to blow up when i thought of the plot for this because i just wanted to write it so bad. so i did. and i'm super happy with how the first chapter came out. i swear i've been adding to chapt 2 i just don't want to half-ass it.

again, thank you for the ask <33

#ask answered #my fics #attempted--eloquence

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blackrosesfanfic · 10 months

Text

Chapter 259

Amber

I exhale deeply. Mother father I'm pregnant. I lean my head on the table. My mother is packing her bags getting ready to go back home. I blow. She sucks her teeth looking at me. I sit up really fast trying to look normal.

"Are you on drugs?"

"Drugs?"

She walks away from the bag. "You are dating Chris... you know what has been going around about him for years. You didn't come to dinner. That's not like you. And you are slouched over on that table like a fiend. We can get you help. I promise I won't judge. He needs help too. The way he was acting at dinner was nerve wrecking."

"What?" I snap all late as it registers slowly.

"It's okay. I'll talk to your father. We put so much pressure on you just for the world to load even more onto your plate. We are proud of you."

I hold up my hand and shake it. "I don't have the energy to fight with you."

The hotel door opens. "I found this stranger."

"Who?" My mom snaps.

"Just me." Chris says walking in with his hands in his pocket.

I smile at him. He takes his hands out his pocket and shrug a bit. Did my father see him and talk him into coming up here? I look at my mom. She is looking at me look at Chris. I make my eyes big at her. She got fucking problems.

"I have to go to LA and see a doctor about my anemia. It's worst."

"I think we should go to LA with you." My mother says giving my father a look.

He gives her a crazy look back like no. "I've wore out my welcome."

"Good." I say.

"We have some news." Chris says coming near me a bit more.

My mama wasn't feeling it. "The engagement thing?"

"Huh." I ask.

"Oh you didn't know?"

I sigh. "Oh I mean... I forgot he told you. I have the ring already."

"More news?" My father asks lifting the bag from the bed. "Going on tour?"

"Me? Well neither of us are." Chris answers.

I roll my eyes standing up. "I'm pregnant."

"That's quick." My father says sighing.

"What's quick?"

He raises his eyebrows. "I assume you waited until you were engaged to have sex. Happened in a matter of days."

"Don't be funny. It's the 21th century. 2000s. Nobody does that stuff anymore. You'll be gray waiting."

"Heartbroken and waiting." Chris adds.

My mother was silent the whole time. "Is that why you are acting so funny? Are you bleeding? You just so happened to suddenly have anemia?"

"No." I shrug. "Never did nothing about when the doctor told me to take iron."

"That's a horrible way to start a pregnancy."

"Tell me about it." I stand up slowly.

Chris holds up his arms like he was gonna help me. I cut my eyes at him. Don't start treating me like I'm sick. He grabs something from by my feet. It was my bag. Oh yes that thing. He puts it on my shoulder for me.

"Pregnant." My father says. "Couldn't let that friend of yours have all the fun. What's her name? The one married April's son."

"Cammie." I smile. "I would never try to keep up with her. She's in a different league. Two boys... oh no. One and a grown man."

My father was more willing to accept it than my mom. "How does your baby feel about this?"

"We wanted to let you all know before the world. My daughter's mother would tell whoever answers her phone call. She won't wait to get paid."

"Dealing with baby mama's is..."

"I only have one baby mama." Chris says politely.

My father nods just a bit. "A married woman."

Chris blows. "I feel like I'm really going to regret that subconsciously."

"What's that? Your daughter?" My mother retorts.

Chris shakes his head. "Being married and knowing that karma could strike and some foolish man won't respect my marriage."

"Well if you weren't marrying my daughter maybe. But she was raised respecting the union of marriage. That you don't have to worry about. You just worry about yourself respecting your marriage. Making it last."

"Yeah." Chris pulls me a bit on the low. "I agree sir."

Dad nods. "Maybe we can meet your daughter next time."

"Definitely." Chris says smiling.

"Alright." I say catching Chris' hint. "I have to go. I really don't feel good."

"Call us baby. Keep us updated." My mom says.

I nod. "And mom... I'm not on drugs."

"Yes, Baby just pregnant. I'm sorry."

"You thought she was on drugs?" My father snaps. "Geesh."

She says something but Chris was closing the door. He sighs a big sigh of relief. I put my arms around him leaning my weight on him. He picks me up a bit walking towards the elevator. I feel so drained. I want to be excited about getting that off my chest but I'm so exhausted. This is extremely dangerous. No wonder I've been feeling like shit.

"Want me to carry you?"

"No." I say standing up slowly. "I'm fucking overwhelmed."

Chris kisses my hair. "Sorry, I should have came up from the start."

I look at him then turn his head to the side. "You got someone feeding you lines?"

"No."

"Remind me to reward your good behavior."

He licks his lips. "With what?"

Someone gets on the elevator with us. I lean my back against Chris' chest. He looks at me through the glass mirrors on the wall. I smile faintly as he wraps his arms around me.

"Damn I want a blunt." I whisper.

"Maybe if you weren't on your way to the doctor." Chris says kissing me then chuckling. "9 more months."

"Sounds like a prison sentence."

He kisses my temple again. "With me as the baby's father... most definitely a prison sentence."

"I will get Cammie to kill you. I swear she will do it."

He chuckles but doesn't say anything. I don't wanna jinx it but this is the calmest we've both been in a while. Was it the pressure of other people or us? Did it take me being sick to chill the fuck out? I won't bring it up. Just enjoy it.

Cammie

I tap Lane on his butt. He starts screaming running out of the room in a hurry to get sympathy. I'm on the phone with producers and writers talking about the show. Mainly the schedule and when we will begin training. Lane's bad ass wanted my attention to himself and wanted to interrupt my conversation. When I ignored him he head butted me. I didn't even pop him hard. I just tapped his butt like you would to get someone attention.

"Jayla, you..." Trey looks at me then holds his hand out stopping Lane from running back into the room for round 2. "Let's go find Ike."

"No." Lane falls to the floor. "Mommy!"

Trey stands him up nicely then turns him around pointing in the other way. Lane let's out a loud scream. Trey closes the door. My bad ass baby. I turn back to the conversation. This gives me flashbacks of all those times I talked to Chris with Lane right there and he knew nothing. It seems like life was simple.

"Cammie do you have social media?"

"Instagram but it's locked."

"Unlock it sweetie." Someone says. "We need you exposed for the world to see something about you. Makes you interesting if they can dig into your life."

I sigh. "Just don't want the drama."

"You are married to one of the top rated singers. Wouldn't be so without those fans."

"Yeah." I say rolling my eyes.

Glad they can't see me. I just feel like it's gonna be some shit. I go through my Instagram deleting anything with any bit of truth into my life. Nothing with my opinion or personal life in the background. It was ridiculous last time I had a public Instagram. I send my information to the group chat so they could see that it is opened.

"Jayla, could you just say something to him." Trey says sounding frustrated.

"Lane!" I say after muting the phone. "Come here."

He comes dragging himself into the room eyes full of tears and face all balled up. Looking like he so pitiful without being close to me. The moment he gets to me it's gonna be a different story. I help him crawl into my lap as he screams bloody murder. I rock him.

"Hush now. I need you to be my big boy until I get off this phone. Sit here and be quiet like a big boy."

He sniffs up his tears and sits there really still. I don't know how long he is going to do that. I missed so much of the conversation. I don't know what they are talking about.

"I know Cammie has her own PR agent. We have spoken to them. Who else?"

Lane twists in my lap laying his head on my chest. I rub his back. Now if he would have acted like this earlier we wouldn't have had a damn problem.

"That's this meeting. Any questions?"

"You said the schedule was emailed?" I ask.

"Yes."

I sigh. "Sorry and it's individualized?"

"Yes its all written out in the email."

I roll my eyes. I guess that's all I need to know. I wait for them to end the call. Nobody else had any questions. That sucked because maybe they could have asked something I need to know. Must not be much of nothing.

"Lane?" I say lifting his head.

He is knocked out. His head drops back on my chest. I sit there rubbing his little back. Why couldn't he say I'm sleepy mommy? He had to act like a damn fool while I'm on the phone. Trey walks into the room with a bowl. He pauses in the middle of the door and stare at us. He frowns.

"He sleep?"

"At the end of my call."

Trey keeps walking over. "He came into the room saying mommy whooped my butt. He said some shit like womped my butt. I said show me. He kicked his foot up and started crying."

"You know I ain't kick that liar."

"Yeah I know." Trey says eating whatever's in the bowl. "We all tried to calm him down but he wouldn't calm down. Jay, I can't handle him."

I try to give Lane to Trey. Lane wakes himself up and grabs me holding on like I'm dropping him. I suck my teeth and let go of him. He snuggles back into my chest. My baby only two. I hug him tight and rock him until he falls asleep again.

"April will have him Trey. She already planning it."

"She can't handle him." Trey whispers. "Just gives his ass what he wants no matter what it is."

I smile. "Caden is who you need to fear. Lane knows what no mean. You won't let me teach Caden."

"He don't do shit."

"He does. Like fight Lane and throw tantrums."

Trey sucks his teeth. "He 5 months."

I giggle. "We going nowhere. Tomorrow I'm going to feed Caden pears."

"Already?"

"He's rolling over and getting stronger. He needs solid food. He won't take a bottle for me to give him cereal."

Trey kisses Lane then me. "I love yall."

"We love you."

"Don't forget that." He walks away.

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seoultoseoultravel · 2 years

Text

Day 26, Seoul 8th Oct

It’s Jimin’s birthday on Wednesday so this cafe complex put on a bit of an event. I’m not even sure how I found out about this. It might have come up on Twitter. It was over in Seongsu near where I was the other day so it was easy to get the subway there. You have to go looking for these places as they are in backstreets off other backstreets but everyone manages to find them.

There were lots of photos of Jimin over the years. He comes from Busan and will be turning 27. It was his father’s cafe I went to in Busan.

It was fairly early and already there was a bit of a crowd. Upstairs the cafe was giving out Jimin things with a drink.

This flower box was set up for photos. Koreans and others like to take photos of themselves posing. Probably a lot go on Instagram.

From the Jimin cafe I could walk a couple of blocks and catch a bus across the river.

I thought I would check out the area around the Olympic stadium and Lotte World Tower. This area is in walking distance from Gangum. There were a lot of shady trees down Olympic-ro.

There are always interesting art pieces around.

This is the Lotte World Tower the tallest building in South Korea.

In the park, behind the tower is a statue, a copy, of Johann Von Goethe, a German literature writer. Lotte, the company name has originated from Charlotte the female protagonist in ‘Sorrows of Young Werther’. Lotte continues to strive to be trusted and followed by all, just as Goethe’s Charlotte was within Werther love letters. Lotte is all over Korea. They have huge department stores, hotels and apartment blocks.

This giant yellow rubber duck took Seoul by storm eight years ago and was back. The "Rubber Duck" series is designed by Dutch visual artist Florentijn Hofman, who is well-known for monumental yet temporary urban installations. The series made its debut in 2007 in France's Saint-Nazaire and has since traveled to 16 major cities around the world, including Sydney, Osaka, Sao Paulo, Hong Kong, Pittsburgh, London and Los Angeles. The installation attracted an estimated 5 million visitors during its month-long display in Seoul last time it was here. It was popular today.

It was a beautiful day so lots of people out and yellow duck balloons were everywhere for the kids.

The outdoor spaces are all so nice. Lots had come to see the duck.

The Seoul Olympic Stadium is also known as Jamsil Olympic Stadium. It is the main stadium built for the 1988 Summer Olympics and the 10th Asian Games in 1986. It is the centrepiece of the Seoul Sports Complex in the southeast of the city south of the Han River. It is the largest stadium in South Korea.

On this board were listed all the medal winners from the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. Koreans do well in archery, martial arts and gymnastics. They won quite a few medals all up.

Beside the medal winners there were the hand prints of BTS as they have had sold out concerts at the stadium. There were two Japanese women looking at the handprints, as well. They had come to Korea to go to the Fact Music Award show which is on tonight and BTS is performing. I said my family and friends think I’m mad and they said their husbands thought the same but they were still going to follow BTS.

From the stadium I could get the subway back to the hotel. I do a lot of wandering and looking each day. The shopping malls blow me away with the high end shops that are in them. There seems to be a bit of money around. But you still find the smaller more basic shops in the back streets.

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Text

𝙎𝙐𝘾𝙆 & 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙒 ☆ 𝙨𝙖𝙥𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

∘ request:

goddamn your writing is so good 🥵 any chance you’d be able to write something with sapnap where you’re both at a party and know each other through friends but not well and you’re both a bit tipsy and he just can’t control himself and drags you into a bathroom? kinda fluffy where there’s lots of kissing but also desperate and accidentally rough (because the idea of someone wanting me so much that they lose control is a major thing of mine)

∘ pairing: sapnap x fm!reader

∘ warnings: nsfw (18+), party scene, drinking, crude language

∘ links: ao3

∘ word count: ~2000

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I literally have the exact same thing so i think we’re soulmates or something. I hope you enjoy!

For the duration of the day, you’d been waiting for this moment. Your hair tangling amongst itself as you danced to the music with a group of your friends was almost a baptism for you. No longer were you restricted into your business casual attire and socially acceptable behavior. Now you were free to forget your name and responsibilities as mashups of different genres of heavily bass boosted music pulsed in your ears.

The large house was swelling with people, melding together as if their lives depended on the superficial human connection the beat could bring them. Many of them you recognized from some of your lectures; it had been a day where your classmates had planned a party for someone’s birthday. You hated to admit it, but you didn’t know or care whose party it was, you were just happy to have an excuse not to study.

You’d already lost one of your rings and your clothes were sticking to your body from the layer of sweat glistening against your skin, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. As cliché as it sounded, going to random college parties had equated to your own kind of religion. These senseless addresses were homes to a different kind of worship, but one you had quickly become devoted to. The smell of another girl’s perfume rubbing off on you and the nameless identity of the boy that offered you hard liquor were your new sacraments.

As the song died out, beginning a new string of beats to thunder around the room, you found yourself out of breath. You gestured to your friends that you were refilling your drink, but really you were in search of air that was a bit fresher. You wove through the heavy crowd, ending up in the kitchen and beelining for the fridge. There was a small group of boys standing around the keg, one of them filling his cup as they discussed something a few of them were getting heated about.

You tucked a cold water bottle against your side and grabbed a clean solo cup. As you got closer, you would hear what they were talking about. “I don’t know how you don’t remember that. It was like a big thing a few years ago?” One of them grumbled as his eyes narrowed at the liquid streaming into his cup.

“Sorry, Nick. I forgot they were selling kids on eBay. I honestly don’t see-” They continued on into overlapping ramblings that you couldn’t help but laugh at. One of them, that had been referred to as Nick, looked almost too familiar to you. Yet as you stood there, you couldn’t remember even if your life depended on it.

Nick’s eyes drifted to you as if just realizing you were standing there. “Sorry, do you refill?” He asked, mustering a somewhat shy smile. You snapped out of your train of thought, handing your cup to him.

“I didn’t mean to seem like a creepy, sorry,” you stated, sending him an awkward laugh. His lips parted in a smile. His dark hair was slightly ruffled, probably just from the weather earlier in the day. You weren’t sure if it was your slight buzz or the close proximity, but God, he looked good to you.

“No, I was hogging. It was my bad,” he answered. You brushed your hair off of your warm forehead and he looked up at you from what he was doing, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I think I know you from somewhere,” he mumbled before something clicked behind his eyes as he handed you your cup back. “Oh, you’re Clay’s friend, right? I’m his roommate, Nick.” At his words, your brain clouded with embarrassment as memories of him finally fled your brain.

You smirked slightly. “Oh! Yeah, sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look…” You paused for a second. Where were you going with this statement? Hotter? “Grown-up,” you wheezed, making him chuckle again. “- I mean, since freshman year English, I guess.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, attempting not to grin wider. “Yeah, you look… grown-up too,” he offered, sending you a slight smirk. “It’s weird how close you and Dream are and I never see you around anymore,” he continued.

You chuckled a bit, wetting your lips. “Yeah, I told Clay I had a crush on you and he kicked me out,” you joshed, making him laugh. For as quiet as you remembered him being, you were shocked he was engaging with you in the way he was. Maybe it was just the atmosphere and the alcohol that had him loosened up. Whatever it was, you found yourself partnering with him in beer pong and spending most of the night at each other's side.

You sat closely to him on a couch in one of the several living rooms, your heads set close together as you listened to what he was saying over the music. “Hey, you too found each other,” a deep voice bounded, making you jump slightly, almost spilling your drink on Nick. Clay plopped down on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your section of couch to tug on Nick’s ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me Nick was a stud now?” you joked, slightly cringing about how bold you sounded. Nick chuckled at your words, swatting Clay’s hand away from him and taking another sip from his cup.

Clay setted further into the spot beside you. “You guys wanna play ‘suck and blow’?” He stated, more to the group of people around you guys. You furrowed your brows at him, almost wanting to roll your eyes at Clay’s blatant mission to set you and Nick up together. But who were you to avoid his attempts.

The card was passed successfully around the group, until it got to Clay, whose breath you could practically feel on the other side of the thick paper. You turned to give it to Nick but dropped it at the last second, making his lips press against yours. It was almost like he was expecting it because he was utterly calm at your action, nearing leaning in on his own accord. There were cat-calling noises made from the group as the kiss ended briefly. “Ope, looks like you guys are gonna have to leave the circle,” Clay stated with an almost sing-song tone in his voice. You were thankful that you had turned towards Clay enough that Nick couldn’t see your jokingly scornful look.

“Well, that’s just too bad. We were so good at this,” Nick chided as the two of you stood to leave. You ruffled Clay’s hair as the two of you left, following Nick into another room. “Would you want to… go somewhere quiet?” Nick asked, his eyes flashing to yours. Your eyebrow perked in his direction before you wordlessly slipped your hand into his.

You found yourself in the bathroom, Nick's hands settling on your hips as he pressed his lips against yours. You let out a sharp moan as he ground his hips against yours, yearning for more friction. Your fingers dug into his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth, hungry for your taste. His breath was like a drug for you as he groaned into your mouth, moving against you.

His lips left your mouth but only to caress your jaw before settling against your neck, sucking on the skin with a slight sting. You tilted your head back, giving him more access to you before wrapping a leg around him, begging him to go further with you. He chuckled at your neediness, his warm breath fanning over your neck. He tugged the strap of your dress down your arm, pressing his lips against the newly exposed skin, grinding against you. The taste of cheap beer passed between the two of you.

One of his hands slipped beneath your dress to squeeze your ass, pulling you tighter against his jeans, encouraging you to ride his thigh. "I want you," he moaned unevenly in your ear, sending heat straight to your core. You wanted him to completely ruin you, to show you what was hiding beneath the surface of his reserved nice guy barrier.

You answered his words by attending to his zipper, slipping your hands into his jeans and stroking him against his boxers. A moan broke through his teeth, his lips crashing against yours as you egged him on. His erection grew stronger with each of your movements. You could tell he was becoming desperate to ravage you with each of his restrained breaths.

Your teeth dug into his bottom lip, your fingers pushing his pants to the ground as he pressed himself against you. He pushed your underwear aside, answering your silent pleas. Pressing his lips against your neck again, he drove himself into you, earning a blissed out moan from you. A breath of pleasure and relief escaped his chest at the feeling of you instantly tightening around him.

He thrusted into you, as if testing the waters as you moaned his name against his skin. One of your arms tightened around his shoulder as he held you in place, setting his pace. The mix of alcohol and pleasure you were feeling with each snap of his hips was sending your head reeling. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned against his lips, sending him to speed up his movements. A sense of roughness came out in him as he pounded into you harder, and you were eating it up. You fingers dug into his hair, pulling tightly to earn a groan from him.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, raking against his back, urging him to use you like a flashlight. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, voice husky with some type of forced restraint as if he wouldn't let it come out evenly. You tightened around him, moving in what little space he'd given you to grind against him.

With that, he began to thrust into you harder, as if he was finally giving into whatever he was attempting to hold back. His teeth dug into your shoulder with each pulsing movement, driving himself deeper into you. Ungodly moans left your lips, only confirming his actions as he hungrily chased his high, dragging you with him.

His paces became less rhythmic and more sloppy as he gripped onto you, your fingers digging into his skin as you felt your orgasm was just within reach. You tightened your leg around him, your head swimming as he began to hit your sweet spot repeatedly. With a nearly choked out moan of his name, your body flushed with relief, your climax ripping through you. Nick succumbed to his own as if he'd been waiting for you, the two of you leaning against each other for support as you rode out your highs.

After you caught your breath, you reapplied a layer of lipstick, eyeing Nick through the reflection of the mirror as he stood behind you, straightened his clothes. "Let's not tell Clay about this, purely because he'll make it weird," you stated, turning and evening out his hoodie strings.

He chuckled slightly. "Oh, I agree completely. Don't tell Clay." His sly smirk nearly drew you in as you pressed your lips against his again, a promise that you'd definitely be seeing each other again.

#sapnap x reader #sapnap imagine #sapnap x y/n #sapnap smut #sapnap fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut

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dollfacedoe · 2 years

Text

<3 xiao my beloved <3

warnings: smut, fight scene but its not graphic, fluffy

moments like these were cherished to you. hands gently weaving themselves in your hair with the wind softly blowing. even though Xiao wasn't mortal, and he had a karmic debt to pay, he still craved the attention and affection from someone.

he used to be ashamed for wanting such desires, his being too corrupt for something like love. that is, until you came into his life.

you've heard of the vigilant yaksha and his doings during the archon war. you also learned that he was usually near the wangshuu inn in liyue.

the first time you saw him, he was on the terrace of the inn watching over the land. he turned around before you said anything, like he knew you were there.

ever since, he knows you as that annoying and persistent person who kept trying to befriend him. he pretended not to care, but he never pushed you away.

it all came to a peak when he kissed you. you were fighting an enemy that was too strong for you, when you called Xiao's name. he heard your call and saw your exhausted and unconscious form on the ground, and rage filled his body.

he wasn't going to let you die.

after he quickly defeated the enemy, he came to your side. he checked for any injuries before carrying you back to the inn. when you woke up he hugged you.

it was weird, considering Xiao didn't know the first thing about affection but as soon as your eyes opened he practically pounced on you. he obviously scolded you for being so reckless.

"you mortals are so fragile...be more careful next time! I dont know what I would do if you died!"

"well, I didnt die thanks to you, Xiao. thank you for saving me."

he didn't let go of you and stayed there for a while.

"I didnt like seeing you, all beaten up like that...please, don't scare me like that again."

his voice cracked, indicating he was breaking down. you hugged back just as tight, neither of you wanting to let go.

his lips traced your neck, tickling you. he looked up to meet your eyes and leaned in. it was a timid kiss, but as you slowly leaned into it more, it was sweet.

his hands slid down to your hips, with a gentle grip like you were made of glass. your own hands on his shoulders bringing him closer.

his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, and his tongue slipped into your mouth. it grew more and more intense, his grip on you getting tighter and his lips getting rougher.

pulling away and panting, he pulled you onto his lap. his face was stuffed back into your neck. sucking and biting, he left little marks along the side of your neck.

his hands wandered over your thighs and waist. your own staying solitary on his chest. his head perked up to see your face, and kissed you again, a little more gently this time. you could feel all of his feelings in the kiss, his fears, his love, his desires.

his hands reached under your shirt before looking you in the eye. he waited for you to nod so he could continue. his breath hitched at the sight of your bare skin, and his hands inching towards your chest.

his hands were inexperienced, groping and feeling at any flesh available to his eyes. he was especially fixated on your chest, and he squeezed a little harder.

"h-hey, be gentle.."

"s-sorry."

he reached and took his own clothes off to expose his toned body. his pants didn't hide his growing tent, a testament to how much he wanted you. he took his gloves off, showing off his calloused and rough hands.

"i haven't done this before, Xiao.."

his face erupted in a red blush. at first, he didn't understand the concept of virginity. he didn't see a point to it because he's lived for over 2000 years.

but he did know that it was important to mortals. he knew that humans didn't live for too long, and he decided he would try his best to please you.

hes done it before, when he wasn't corrupted and he still craved affection, but now it was different. because he loved you.

his fingers pulled down your pants and his own, spreading the folds of your pussy with his eyes locked on it. he stared so intently, mesmerized by the slick leaking from the small hole.

he eased a slick finger inside while he weaved his other hand in yours tightly. the small whimpers and moans excited him, making him more and more eager to be inside.

he wouldnt be rough for your first time, but you just made it so hard not to ravage you.

he eased another finger inside, scissoring them to stretch out your walls.

"haah, x-xiao..feels good.."

he went a little faster, spurred on by your plea and moans. he knew he was forgetting something, and remembered that there was something that felt really good.

"x-xiao, put your thumb right here and- nggh! keep going!"

his thumb kept rubbing the small bud, bringing you closer to cumming.

he didn't realize you came until you tugged on his wrist to stop him, and your disheveled face pleading him to take his cock out.

he pressed the tip against your sensitive cunt and slowly entered inside your cushiony walls. it was so tight and hot, archons, was this waiting for him?

he hasn't experienced this in centuries, but your wet walls clenching around his cock made all of his debts and karma worth it to experience something as mindmelting as this.

your face covered your hands, embarrassed by the amount of sounds and noises coming out of your mouth, but when he pulled your hands away, the look on your face was sinful.

his hips rocked in and out in a sloppy pace, desperate to finish inside. the animalistic growls and groans tumbling out of his mouth and the squeaks and whimpers from your own would alert anyone of what was happening.

his pelvis gently grazed your clit, bringing you closer to cumming. his pistoning hips and his finger rubbing your puffy clit brought you to a high, making your vision spotty and your back arch.

your walls clenched around his cock, triggering his own release and letting his cum flow inside. he twitched, and grinded his hips to ride out his orgasm.

he put his head in your neck, softly kissing and ran his hands up and down your sides.

"...xiao let go of me I have to go pee."

"no."

a/n

my first fanfic 😩😩 i hope yall liked this one it was cute to make and I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort

#genshin x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin xiao

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littlemissnoname13 · 3 years

Text

I have always known (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!reader)- Part 1

Summary: what happens when you find Draco Lucius Malfoy standing on a ledge at the Astronomy tower, ready to pitch himself off

Pairing: (Draco x Hufflepuff! Reader) HBP era

Warnings: mentions of suicidal tendencies, angst, no smut though (as of yet...anyway)

Word count: 2000

A/n: I got a bit carried away with this one. Sorry . Let me know if y’all want a part 2.

* this was one of the first fics I ever posted on tumblr.*

~~~

And there he was.

Standing on a ledge at the Astronomy tower as he inhaled deeply with his eyes squeezed shut—terrified by the thought of losing his balance if he looked down at the ground scarcely scattered with students clad in robes accented with red, yellow, and green and blue.

He could hear the loud thumping of his own heart mixed with the sound of the howling wind as the crisp and cool evening air harshly hit his face making the tip of his nose feel as cold as ice.

Would the drop hurt or would he die instantly on impact?

His already pale knuckles turned paper white as he gripped onto the cold metal of the railing behind him waiting for just the perfect moment to let go.

Draco Malfoy wondered if his entire life would come back in flashes in front of him as he pitched himself off the tower.

His childhood—lazy summer afternoons of running around the manor gardens with Theo and Blaise, playing with Dobby the house elf when Lucius wasn’t around, his first broomstick.

The thought about his mother’s warm embrace and Lucius’s disapproving glares.

The handshake rejected by Potter.

The hippogriff and the ferret debacle.

The vanishing cabinet.

The task.

There were things he’d have done differently if he’d been given the chance to do them all over again.

Maybe he would have been a tad bit nicer to people—just a tad bit only if necessary.

His lips slowly curled into an ominous smile and he deeply inhaled the air around him once again for the very last time.

Color slowly rushed into his knuckles as he slowly loosened his grip on the railing.

This was it.

There was no other way.

This was final—

“Malfoy?!!” He heard in an unfamiliar voice that startled him to the point where he’d almost fallen off the tower accidentally.

He slowly opened his eyes and turned around to look at just who had decided yelling out at someone standing on a ledge was a remotely good idea.

He’d never seen you before. You were sporting Hufflepuff colors and you had a horrified expression on your face making your eyes look as big as saucers.

“Malfoy, what are you—just—just get down from the ledge. Please.” You pleaded.

“Just go back to giving unsolicited hugs and prancing around near flower beds—or whatever it is that you Hufflepuffs do and leave me the fuck alone.” Draco snarled with his voice shaky.

Ah. The Hufflepuff Slander.

Given how frightened and helpless he looked standing on the ledge, you had briefly forgotten just how cruel Draco Malfoy could be if he wanted to. Especially when he was surrounded by his cronies.

“Please Malfoy.” You spluttered struggling to form words with your mouth because you knew.

You knew he’d let go of the railing if you said the wrong thing.

“It’s going to be okay. Whatever it is that made you get on that ledge, it’s going to be alright. You—you are going to get through it.” You said carefully, taking a step towards him.

“Don’t come any closer!”

“Let me help you. Please.” You said taking another carefully planned step towards the Slytherin with your hair blowing wildly in the violent wind.

“You can’t help me!” He cried. “No one can.”

“Maybe I can’t.” You said softly as you placed your hand on top of his hand that held the railing. “But you won’t have to go through it alone. Please just get down from the ledge and we’ll figure it out.”

You slowly slid your hand around his body from behind and held him with all the force and energy you could muster.

You held his frail frame tight until his breathing steadied.

You held him till he agreed to get off that ledge.

You held him even after he got down from the ledge.

~~~

Harmonia Nectere Passus.

Draco had spent countless fruitless hours working on the vanishing cabinet and as the days morphed into weeks, Draco knew he didn’t have much time left.

He tilted his head causing his carefully combed icy blonde hair to fall over his forehead as he observed you.

You were sitting quietly in a corner with a book opened on your lap, blissfully unaware about why he was fixing the cabinet to begin with.

Even though your hair was gathered up into a knot on the top of our head, wavy tendrils fell on your face and at the back of your neck making him want to reach for you and tuck those stray hairs away.

Weeks and gone by since the day at the tower and you had stayed true to your word.

You refused to leave him alone even when he told you there was nothing you could do to help him.

And even if there was, he wasn’t gonna let you get your hands tainted.

At first it started with you giving him a smile at potions class.

Then, you were outside the Slytherin common room with chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes for him causing many slytherins to raise their eyebrows suspiciously at you.

“You look like you could do with some food.” You’d said before dashing off towards the kitchens.

Soon, you were spending late nights together at the astronomy tower. Even though you did much of the talking, Draco didn’t mind.

He learned about you, your hopes, your dreams, about what made your tick.

He accompanied you to the library when he had a little time to spare. (Not like he had any time to spare. He didn’t he just liked having you around) and couldn’t help but notice that little monarch butterfly tattoo below your neck when you pushed your hair away to one side when you studied your books.

“It’s getting late y/l/n.” Draco cleared his throat. “You should head back to your dorm.”

“Or you could just let me help you fix that rickety old cabinet and we could both head back to our respective dorms.” You suggested walking towards him and the vanishing cabinet, placing a hand on your hip.

“I’ve told you already y/l/n.” Draco muttered. “There is nothing you can do to help me.”

You rolled your eyes at the seething blonde and took out your own wand from the back pocket of your jeans stepping between him and the cabinet.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.” You said mimicking the gestures Draco had been doing for Merlin knows how long.

“Don’t.” He hissed grabbing a hold of your wrist and turning you around so you were facing him.

“Why won’t you let me help you Draco?” You asked, lifting your hand nervously and placing it on his cheek as you lightly caressed him.

From where you stood, you could feel the minty freshness of his breath and the smell of his expensive cologne was omnipresent in the air all around you.

You stretched on the tip of your toes and pressed your forehead against his as you cradled his face in the palms of your hands.

“I’m here for you Draco. You know that by now don’t you?” You whispered softly.

His grey eyes held a raging storm inside of them as he looked into your eyes—silently begging you to turn around and run.

Run when you had the chance to.

Run before things get out of hand.

“I am never going away, Draco Malfoy. Never.”

It only took a split of a second, Draco had somehow managed to have you pinned against the cabinet he was originally trying to fix. The palm of his right hand now rested firmly on the cabinet behind you while he used his left hand to point his own wand right below your chin.

"Malfoy.." You whispered, not being able to tear your eyes away from his eyes that mimicked the grey hues of the cumulonimbus clouds.

"Let me help you."

"Stop it." He hissed, pressing his own wand onto your neck like he was going to hex you then and there.

"I have told you time and again. I do not need help—especially from a Hufflepuff."

"Well too bad." You said softly, still refusing the relent. “You cannot make me go away—I am here for the long haul Malfoy. Don’t try and convince me otherwis—”

But before you could reach the end of your sentence, his lips crashed onto yours.

His body collided with you with so much force that for a brief second, you thought you’d fall to the floor. That is, until one of his hands held you firmly by your waist while the other found the cabinet behind you balancing the both of you.

Before you could process what was even happening, you brushed your lips against his with equal intensity and desperation like it was your natural instinct to do so.

He let the wand fall on the floor as both of his hands trailed to the back of your thigh. In a swift motion, he hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his slender body.

He paused briefly and looked into your eyes as if he were asking for permission and the second you bit your bottom lip and nodded, he hastily unbuttoned the top half of your shirt and peppered kisses along your jaw and your shoulders as you sighed and raked your hands through his icy blonde hair.

"This is wrong." He murmured against your skin while his hands undid the remaining buttons of your shirt and let it fall to the ground.

You whimpered and dug your nails onto his shirt as he started to leave marks on your flesh.

It was like his actions and his words were contradictory to one another.

He quickly found your sweet spot and started to nip on it as you sighed his name over and over again.

"This isn't right y/n." After the words left his mouth, he slowly opened his eyes and gently let you down,resting his forehead on yours. His hands pushed strands of hair away before cupping your face.

"Then tell me why this feels right?" You said with your breathing all jagged as you slowly worked on the buttons of his black shirt. Everything felt right as you stood there with him. You couldn't tell why it did but it just did.

It felt like one of those things that didn't need an explanation.

"y/n don’t." He stammered suddenly breaking the kiss when he realised you had made your way to the very last button on his shirt.

"Did I do something wrong Draco?"

“No. It's just—I just—I have to go.” He said in this voice now terrifyingly shaky as he clutched onto his left forearm while he backed away.

And you understood.

He was trying to hide his mark from you because he was oblivious to the fact that you had always known. You went back to check on him in your Animagus form the day you found him at the ledge.

That was the first time you’d seen it. Draco’s dark mark.

“I-I’ve always known.” You whispered with tears now threatening to fall from the corner of your eyes.

He looked at you with nothing but utter confusion and horror for a few seconds before it all sunk in.

The monarch butterfly that had landed on the palm of his hand. The tattoo.

It had been you.

~~~

part 2 is up. You can read it here.

#slytherin #draco malfoy x reader #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #draco angst

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leviaju · 4 years

Text

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down.

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down.

They held no remorse.

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you.

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him.

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction.

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day.

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye.

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you.

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely.

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach.

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation.

There was silence, followed by a sigh.

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple.

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented.

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause.

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently.

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment.

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE

PELASE

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby.

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake.

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy!

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips.

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!”

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door.

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too.

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!”

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room.

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!”

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight.

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips.

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player.

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?”

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to.

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do.

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now.

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears.

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants. For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time.

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning.

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest.

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed.

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile.

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you.

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless.

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation.

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue.

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close.

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body.

There’s one beat,

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality.

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment.

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly.

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him.

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers.

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope.

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him.

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness.

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers.

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living.

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do.

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more.

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.”

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips.

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes.

Almost fearlessly.

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches.

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine.

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own.

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now.

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air.

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words.

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously.

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further.

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--”

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks.

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders.

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch.

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on.

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath.

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak.

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission.

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

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