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violentdelightsandviolentends · 11 months

Text

Web of Lies.

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.

Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count - 3750

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.

Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist.

You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.

That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.

In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.

But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.

It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Monday.

Spencer Reid has a black eye.

It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?

He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.

"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.

His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.

"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"

It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.

"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"

You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.

"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.

It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.

You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Tuesday.

Spencer Reid is a bad liar.

You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.

"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.

A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.

"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."

"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."

You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.

"Are you jealous?"

He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.

You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.

"Maybe a little."

Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.

"Wait... you are?"

"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."

You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.

You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.

It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.

"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."

He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.

"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."

And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.

You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.

You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Wednesday.

Spencer Reid isn't at work.

Spencer Reid is always at work.

Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.

Which is why his absence is making you worried.

The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.

You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.

"Come in."

You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.

"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.

"Where's Spencer?"

"What?"

"Emily. Where's Spencer?"

She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."

Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.

"Did he sound sick?"

"Huh?"

"Did he sound sick, when he called?"

"I don't know, really. I guess so."

"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.

"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."

"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."

You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.

"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.

"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."

Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.

"I'm always here for you. Both of you."

"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."

Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.

You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Thursday.

Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.

He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.

You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.

"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.

"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."

"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.

"You know what? Fine. Message received."

You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.

"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."

You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.

✵

You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.

Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.

"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."

JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.

"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.

"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.

"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."

"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.

"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."

"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.

When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.

"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"

Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.

"Well... kinda?"

You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.

"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."

"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.

"Reid, are there red spiders?"

All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are there red spiders?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.

Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.

"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."

"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.

"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."

Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.

"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.

You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Friday.

Spencer Reid is in trouble.

He's in too deep.

He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.

His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.

His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.

Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.

Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.

"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.

You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.

You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.

You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.

"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."

You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.

"Is everything okay with you two?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.

"I don't know."

"Oh, honey."

Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."

"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.

"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."

You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.

✵

After work, you try to relax.

You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.

Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.

Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.

You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.

A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.

The welcome mat.

You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.

You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.

✵

You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.

You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.

He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"

He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.

"Slipped in the shower."

You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.

"Stop fucking lying!"

Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.

"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.

"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"

He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.

"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"

"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.

Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convicted he can hear it shatter.

He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.

"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."

You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.

"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."

You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.

He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.

"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"What if we can't this time?"

"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."

He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.

"Promise?"

You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.

"I promise."

He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.

"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."

"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."

Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.

"I'm Spiderman."

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trancylovecraft · 10 months

Note

So, I just met you today with the Cherry Blossom Kokushibo fic and, you know, I just fell in love with your writing

I've had this idea in my mind for a while and when I read your fanfic I just knew you were the perfect person to put it into words

May I request an Oneshot with Muzan Kibutsuji/Fem reader? So, I've imagined for a while a fanfic where Muzan encounters a female reader who suffers from albinism, having very pale skin, white hair and natural red eyes. Because she was born like that, people rumored her to be a demon (sensibility to sunlight and red eyes aggravated that), and that caused her to be isolated from all and unable to wed. She is from a noble family and that is why she's still alive, but that doesn't soothe the wound since her family treats her like an outcast.

Bitter with resentment, under the moonlight of the bedroom, she curses all of those who waste their health living mundane lives while she suffers in loneliness. Her nihilism, indifference and hate makes her unafraid of Muzan as, if she thinks he will devour her, she asks for him to at least kill her family too. Little does she know that Kibutsuji already knows her, and he is infatuated with her. (If he wants to wed her and turn her into a demon she ain't complaining, especially if their engagement is celebrated with a bit of family massacre)

This idea was inspired by spider lillies, moonlight and the fact that I'd like to imagine Muzan with someone who resembles him when he was a human (Narcisistic King would only date those who remind him of himself)

I apologise if this request is too long for your liking, I am not very good with words and simplifying something I am excited about!

- the banana split jane doe

(KNY) YANDERE MUZAN x ALBINO READER: The Light Side of the Moon

(DW, I gotchu girlie. Hope you enjoy this one!)

The sun's rays shone down onto the overgrown field.

The rays seemed to reflect off of every grass strand and every drop of dew fell from the rain the night before.

It was a beautiful day despite the heavy rain last night, So much so that in the early hours of the morning the village kids had left early to run around in the grass and play dirty. Of course they would, It was getting into the colder months as indicated by the chilling breeze running through the valley. The children had to make use of every wake of sunlight before the snow came in.

So out in the field there was a good group of kids in the dozens play fighting and playing tag, Not giving mind to the dirtying of their kimono's and haori's. Their laughter rang out and bounced around like they were in a cave.

"Stupid.." [F/N] muttered, A bitter resentment lacing her voice like venom as she looked out at all the kids running wild in the valley.

She sat perched under the big zelkova tree overlooking the entire valley. It's branches were large and it's leaves were enough in number to filter out any sunlight passing through it, A perfect condition for the girl.

[F/N] sat right up against the tree for support as she brushed her hair with her fingers. Her locks were pure white, So was her skin. It wasn't like the kids who had pale skin nor was her hair light like the occasional person with a story, But instead something much more extreme.

When [F/N] was born she was diagnosed with albinism. According to the doctor who delivered her, Her mother had screamed in disgust at the sight of her while her father had demanded to know who she cheated on him with.

Her father wanted to kill her, He couldn't stand to look at such a horrid child. He wanted to throw her out into the river and hope nature took its course, However, He was fortunately stopped by the mere fact that they were noble blood and had already told the village-people the birth was successful. Killing her now would only severely damage reputation. Therefore letting her live.

From that day forward she was considered bad luck.

The local folklore was that albinism was a curse from an ancestor to atone for wrongdoings done in their time. It was an omen of death, Also known as: Something to avoid.

And the locals took it to heart. Every time [F/N] would walk down the street, Every time she'd go out to the market she'd get stares, Heckled and harassed her when she walked. Suddenly the prices at the market would go up, Just for her.

It didn't help that the consequences that came with the defect definetly made it seem like a curse. Due to the complete lack of melanin anywhere the sun scorched her skin like fire, Leaving her needing to take special precaution when leaving the house. Her eyesight wasn't the best either, Though it was much better than the normal person with albinism she still did have trouble seeing at times.

The past two months didn't help her case either, With the recent mutilations of the-

A rock slammed into the side of [F/N]'s head, Making her double over onto the grass. The sound of a couple children cheering rang out from down the hill. She hissed in pain.

"Take that, Demon!" One of the boys said, Having been the one who threw the rock. [F/N] clutched the side of her head where the impact hit. She could feel the early gathering of blood start to stain her pristine kept hair.

"The fuck is wrong with you?!" [F/N] screamed.

Pushing her body back up to look at the group of kids with an absolutely furious expression. The kids stood strong however, Only taking a few meek steps towards her.

"Leave our families alone!" Another one shouted, A girl this time. Her face was angry too, Only as much as a young child's could look. The other kids who weren't involved in the group stopped playing to watch the scene.

The mutilations, Of course. They started around two months ago with the Furukawa family. It was awful, One of their elderly neighbours had picked up a rotten smell and had asked her son to go check on them. Of course they came across both the mother and the father's pieces spread across the Livingroom.

[F/N] was familiar with the two, They had often been one of the more outspoken village people about their dislike of her and a few days before had shoved her aside while she was walking around.

She knew she should of shown some kind of emotion at the news of their slaughter, But to be honest, [F/N] didn't care. If anything, She felt a small tinge of relief.

They weren't there to harass her anymore, Or make off-hand remarks. For that she was glad.

"I never touched your stupid families!" [F/N] yelled back at her. Her deep vermillion eyes were filled with disgust like she was staring down an insect she could crush under the sole of her sandals.

"Liar!" Another one of the kids stepped out from behind the small group. He wasn't one of the bigger ones, He was in fact rather scrawny with unkempt hair. But [F/N] recognised him as the Furukawa's youngest kid.

"M-My parents died because of you.." He muttered, Looking down at his shoes unable to meet [F/N]'s eyes. His hands clenched into a determined fist, His body shook with vigour.

"They were great people! You had no right to take them away from me. Just because the other adults don't see you as the demon you are doesn't mean we don't!" He yelled back at her. The other kids joined in with supportive remarks following his speech.

"One day, When I get older I'll get revenge for them. I'll get re-" A rock slammed straight into his open jaw.

The kid screamed and fell to the floor with a loud thud!

The other kids yelped and backed away from the boy, Who was coughing up teeth and blood. He writhed around on the ground groaning in pain.

[F/N] was standing up now. She had picked up the rock that was thrown at her and flung it right back at the kid. She stood there seething in a fighting stance.

"Demon? I'll show you demon!" [F/N] yelled. She swiftly grabbed another rock and hurled it straight at the girl who chose to speak out, Hitting her straight on the forehead with a sick crunch.

The previously silent kids amplified into an uproar.

Screaming echoed around in the valley as all the kids tried to get away from the ensuing fight. [F/N] kept picking up rocks from the small hill and hurling them at the group. The kids who started the fight tried to haul away the two kids who got the worst of it, Picking them up by the arms trying to drag them away from the attacks.

"DON'T YOU EVER COME NEAR ME AGAIN OR IT'LL BE YOU NEXT! I SWEAR TO THE GODS IT'LL BE YOU!" [F/N] screamed, Her voice hitting high's that could be heard from the village.

The kids had gotten a good distance away from her now but that didn't stop [F/N] from throwing more stones.

"YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?!" She yelled after them, Raising another rock to throw.

But by the time she had finished they had all scampered away back home.

She was left standing on top of the hill, Under the shade of the big zelkova tree, Looking out over the now empty and desolate field which had such a lively energy before but now was cold and lost.

She was panting, Letting out heavy breaths of air that turned into mist in the cold climate. The rock in her hand she was about to throw lowered, Dropping it to the ground. She exhaled for a final time, Letting all the anger and rage dissolve into mild annoyance she finally relaxed.

"Dumb kids.." She huffed. Shaking her head she leaned down to pick up the thick birch handle of her parasol.

Grabbing it she extended the blue patterned canopy, Making sure it covered her form she dusted herself off. Settling the parasol handle on her shoulder she set off out into the valley, Dreading her walk back home.

☆♡☆

"That was a horrible thing you did"

[F/N]'s mother stood a few feet away from her, Circling around her like a predator yet keeping a good enough distance to test the acidic waters. [F/N] felt her teeth grind against each other and her palms get sweaty.

Of course, The kids from earlier had ran back to her house to snitch on her to her mother. Well, Not the kids but the parents of the girl and the eldest brother of the Furukawa family being rightfully angry.

[F/N] was made aware of this when she came home at the first sign of the sun setting. Her mother was perched on the large porch of their family home waiting for [F/N]'s arrival, From the first time [F/N] spotted her mother she could of mistaken smoke from coming out of her ears.

It was frustrating, While she figured her mother would find out eventually it didn't take anything away from the experience. Though, She supposed she was lucky.

Her father being a noble and very highly profiled swordsman meant he was disciplined, And it also meant he expected that from all his children. Luckily enough though he was out on a very long business trip. If he was here, [F/N] knew that she'd get more than a serious lecture.

"So what? They attacked me first, It's only karma what they got" [F/N] responded, Her voice trying to stay levelled and calm yet shook at the seams. Her mother scoffed at that.

"They're just kids, [F/N]! They don't know any better and you should have taken that into account" Her mother exclaimed incredulously, Taking a few prompted steps up towards her daughter with purpose.

"Well maybe they'd know better if they're parents were still around to teach them better, Not that its my fault like they think though, Right?" [F/N] spat, Her voice venomous and the sheer disregard for the weight of her words went through her mother like a static shock.

"How fucking dare you.." Her mother whispered, Her voice full of disbelief at her daughters words leaving her jaw agape and eyes wide.

"Well I mean, The parents were already shitty people to begin with so I suppose that whoever ripped them apart did the kids a favour-"

SLAP!

[F/N]'s monologue was cut short by the hand connecting hard to the side of her cheek. [F/N] yelped out and stumbled back trying to catch her balance.

The hit had landed roughly at the side leaving only a single burst of a painful red on her monochromatic get-up.

"Your ideology is absolutely disgusting, How bloody dare you speak about the dead like that? You don't have any right to say that about anyone, Young lady!" Her mother yelled at her, Only about a foot away from her face.

[F/N] blinked away the tears from the pain and instantly snapped back.

"I'm saying what nobody else has the guts to! Just because you're all cowards and ignorant bastards doesn't mean you get to take it out on me!" [F/N] screamed back at her mother, Getting up into her face.

"You kee-"

While speaking, Her mothers hand shot out to grab [F/N]'s shoulder but her wrist was snatched by the younger girl, Who held it with an iron grip cutting off the older woman's speech.

"Don't you dare lay another hand on me.." [F/N] hissed. Her face seemed to be etched with a wild kind of rage like a feral dog, The single action of her mother making the anger so clear to anyone who could see.

Her mother, Being a much older woman than her daughter had much more brittle bones. The grip on her wrist being sore and painful on her old skin as she tried to pull away from her daughters grasp.

Realising what she was doing [F/N] let go of her mother, Who staggered a good few feet back from her assailant.

[F/N] mumbled a small yet sour apology and marched off towards the door out of the main Livingroom.

As she opened the sliding door and stepped out she heard her mother call out back to her.

"Y-You go up to your room and stay there, Young lady. Only come down once your ready to apologise!" She heard her mothers weak voice call out to her as she shut the door.

"I know!" [F/N] replied without looking back at her.

The door finally closed to leave her in the dim hallway, The only light shone from behind the Livingroom door leaving the entire hallway almost impossible to see in. [F/N] stood still behind the door, Making no move to head to her room. She looked down at her feet to contemplate her situation.

"Really? Hitting our mother? You've reached a new kind of low, Haven't you [F/N]?" A voice called out a little way down the hall.

[F/N] jerked her head up to the source of the voice and groaned.

Her younger brother, Juro, Stood at the end of the hall seemingly just came down the stairs. His head was held high and the usual smug grin lay planted on his face as always, He had his arms folded across his chest and his entire figure radiated false superiority.

[F/N] was the oldest of the five children her parents had conceived. Juro was the second oldest by only about five years apart in birth. [F/N] supposed that the reason they had such a big gap in age was due to the looming fear of their parents producing another demon child.

Though when they did give birth to Juro and found out he was a regular child compared to their monster of an eldest, [F/N] knew how much he'd be absolutely spoiled rotten, Which matched his personality like a pair of gloves.

It gave him a rather annoying superiority complex, With all the spoiling and being the one destined to become the head of their families clan and wealth you could probably see how it got to his head.

However it didn't stop [F/N] from being distasteful in behaviour towards him, The nasty expression on her face evident of that.

"Oh get off my case, Like you really give a damn." [F/N] scoffed, Straightening out her back to reach her full height.

"Of course I 'give a damn'. It's our mother and one of the figure heads of this clan, You really should be more respectful to your elders. Why mother keeps you around elludes me" Juro replied, Making sure to drawl out every condesending syllable to its full potential.

[F/N] knew exactly why her mother and father kept her around: They couldn't get rid of her. Their original plan was to marry her off, It didn't matter if it was to a nobleman or a commoner to them. The only thing that did was getting her to leave.

Though it imploded on itself when they realised no one would take her, Both her attitude and her looks were a big enough deterrent. Great for her but bad for her parents.

"Ah, Right. Because she shows such an amazing amount of respect towards me, I honestly feel so awful about it" [F/N] gasped, Sarcasm dripped from every word and fell like acid making Juro's eyebrow twitch.

He moved forward a few steps, Sizing her up as he went.

"Well the difference is that mother has a reason to not respect you, I mean come on, It's obvious. Maybe if you do treat her with the right attitude then maybe she might start seeing you in a different way" Juro said the last part as if he was trying to contain laughter, Like he had just heard the most offensive joke in the world he just couldn't laugh at.

[F/N] felt her fists clench and tighten to bare her knuckles.

"But with such sour attitude I do suppose it would be impossible for you, Wouldn't it? Dear sister?" Juro whispered as he got up into her face. Only a couple inches away from her now he carefully eyed her down, Waiting for one single move.

[F/N]'s teeth grinded, Her tightened palms grew sweaty and itched for the offensive attack. She wanted to punch him, She wanted to attack him and wipe that disgusting, Grimy smirk off of his arrogant little face.

However, [F/N] just sighed and let her fist drop loose into straightened palms. She knew what he was doing, She wasn't going to give into his taunt. She's had enough for tonight.

"Back off, Juro." [F/N] simply warned. Turning away from his expression now filled with annoyed disappointment she headed off towards the stairwell at the end off the hallway.

As she got up the steps she heard his smug voice call after her.

"Such a lovely chat with you as always!"

☆♡☆

The sound of childlike laughter resonated throughout the house, Despite the muffled sound of it [F/N] could hear the weight of it even from behind the thick walls of her room.

The pale moonlight of the night had illuminated the unlit room and flooded the area with a subtle glow, The silk blinds danced along with the soft breeze lifting into the room.

Her bedroom was situated at the very top of the large family home, The third floor. The massive house was large and sat at the edge of the village they lived in, Overlooking the entire town yet having enough distance to be considered a private property separate from the other houses.

The house was home to three floors in total. The first was the main area home to the kitchen, Livingroom and general activities such as a drawing room, Dining hall and her fathers very own training room.

The second was housing all of the bedrooms. All of her siblings, Parents and even the guest sleeping quarters were located there. It also even held a small room for their families servants.

And finally, The third was by far the loneliest of the trio.

It was much smaller compared to the other floors and was the newest built. It only housed a single hallway and [F/N]'s own separate bedroom which made up the majority of the floor.

Usually the prospect of having an entire floor to themselves would entice and excite anyone. The privacy and spacious area would seem like a blessing.

And yes, [F/N] agreed. It was a blessing alright. She was granted privacy from the struggle that was her family, It gave her time on her own to be herself.

But she also had to admit: It had it's downsides. Another laugh sounded out from downstairs on the first floor. The movements of the hairbrush on [F/N]'s light locks halted, Just for a moment as she listened to the joyous voice of her youngest sister.

They were having dinner, It seemed. [F/N] didn't apologise and had no intention to, So she was forced to reside in her room.

She continued to comb through her hair, Feeling the tug of the movements as she listened to the laughter down below cease.

[F/N] scoffed at it and tried to take her mind away and focus on the strokes of the brush. Though she couldn't help but trail off to the infuriating scenario happening downstairs.

Since her father was away her mother was probably the one to cook the food tonight, She always did instead of the family servants, Her own personal recipe of a Sukiyaki stew pot that she made to comfort her kids while their dad was away.

Her kids.

A mother is suppose to "love" her kids unconditionally, And in that aspect she certainly did, All except when it came to her. [F/N] knew her mother had tried at least, But it came off in the way you'd treat an unwelcomed guest. Trying to give due respect yet wanting them out of your house as soon as possible.

[F/N] had figured a long time ago that it was better to be treated with ire than pity and had given up all sense of courtesy towards her mother, Continuing to this day.

A faint tug pulled in her chest as another roar of laughter came up from downstairs, They seemed to be having a good time.

[F/N] finally set down her brush onto the vanity. The small sound of the wood hitting the desk seemed so much louder in the large area of her room.

[F/N] supposed she did need to give her mother some credit, She was the one to let her have the single room at the very top of the house (Even if it was to keep her away from the rest of her family)

But the room seemed so.. Empty.

[F/N] stared into the vanity mirror, The light surface of the glass reflecting her own pale visage back at her.

She trailed a hand across her features to examine for any blemishes, Pushing back any stray strands of hair from her face and pulling them behind her ear. Staring deep into the clear colour of her cardinal rose eyes she assessed their problems, And she found none.

When times like these came about [F/N] often pondered about why people didn't like her more. She was beautiful, Stunning, Exotic even to the disgusting drunk men that passed her by on the moonlit walks.

So why even if some drunkards could see her beauty why couldn't the locals and her own family see that too instead of the cursed child from a close-to-god family?

It couldn't be her attitude, That was just a by-product of their own treatment toward her. So why? She was born this way, She couldn't change how she looked, She should of been adored.

Yet all the locals, All of her beloved family, All of the suitors that her parents had tried to ship her off to had only a single look at her before rejecting her whole.

One day, She promised herself. One day she'd get back at them, She didn't know how or when or even if she could but she knew that one day, They would regret treating her like a bug under their foot.

As her mind wandered she started to realise that maybe it wasn't the room that was empty.

A sudden knock echoed out, Crashing [F/N]'s train of thought.

[F/N] jerked her head over to the main door of her room. Getting up from the small pillow she sat on she moved quietly to the entrance. Turning the knob and opening the door she was met face to face with one of her families servants.

"Your mother has requested me to bring you your dinner" The servant said, Robotic and monotone in voice as he presented her a bowl of udon. [F/N] paused at the sight of it.

"..It's not Sukiyaki stew pot.." She mumbled.

"Correct, Ma'am" He replied in short.

[F/N] was silent as she carefully took the small bowl from his hands, She barely noticed the small bow and the closing of the door before it was entirely shut.

[F/N] examined the soggy noodles and small tempura bits in the bowl, A barely generous helping.

She 'tched at the sight but figured she was lucky enough to even get dinner in the first place.

Turning around she walked over to the other set of double doors at the end of the room, Food in one hand she pushed the door open to reveal the small balcony outside. Stepping out into the night's cool air she took a deep breath in.

The laughter was no longer audible once she shut the door, Only replaced by the sound of cicada hums and the clacking of tiles when she clambered up onto the slanted roof of the house.

[F/N] sat down on the tiles and looked out onto the sea of village houses down below, The faint lantern light from the village was warm and inviting in contrast to the inhabitants, Of whom were out doing their nightly patrol's in watch for another mutilation.

However the scene didn't interest her in the slightest, Instead it was the moon which seemed to hang over her entire world.

It glowed brighter than any lantern the village people could spark, Yet the light was never overwhelming or stung her eyes in the slightest. Instead the soft rays of moonlight had only provided comfort.

[F/N] didn't know why it brought such solace, Maybe its because it never burnt her skin like the sun did. The moon replaced it in that way, The night time became her daytime, When she felt most lively: Herself.

She often came up onto the roof to feel that way, Every time without missing a single night she'd climb up onto the roof and speak to the moon for hours like it was an old friend. Or maybe just to stare and admire the pale light of its beauty.

But to be fair, [F/N] never felt much at all.

When she did it was always a constant state of annoyance, Anger or resentment. The feeling the moon brought her was still very unfamiliar to her, But very much welcome. She barely understood anything other than the undying resentment, Maybe it was a sad existence but to be fair she barely understood sadness either.

She realised the udon in her hands was growing cold. Reaching behind her for the pair of chopsticks she noticed something else a little further ahead from them, Lying on the roof.

She raised an eyebrow and squinted her eyes to examine it closer, But they instantly shot out once she realised what it was.

It was a single bouquet of flowers, Red, Beautiful roses sprung from the carefully arranged bunch.

[F/N]'s breath hitched in her throat, Her whole body seemed to clench up at even a small sight of it. A bouquet of roses? Who could of left those here? They couldn't be for her, Could they?

She set down her bowl of udon carefully beside her, Eyeing the bouquet like it was bound to attack her yet it didn't stop her quick crawl over to its side.

Nor did it stop the almost desperate grab she made for the neck of the bunch, Pulling it close to her chest she finally noticed the small tag sticking out from the flowers reading: To [F/N] Shiratori.

She felt the concentrated joy explode inside her like bottle rockets, The absolute euphoria flooded her senses as she felt hot blood rise to her cheeks, Giving colour to them yet said no pain.

The roses were absolutely beautiful, Carefully handpicked as the petals seemed soft and fresh. She grinned wildly, They must of took great thought while preparing it.

She couldn't help but shove her face into the roses to inhale their scent, The sweet yet rich aroma circled in her mind. They truly were the best of the bunch.

But when she pulled away she noticed she had neglected a small envelope from where the bouquet was sitting before, Hiding the envelope below it.

Her lips quirked. First the roses, Now a letter? She giggled slightly, Imagining whoever it was is a real romantic.

Extracting the envelope and gently opening it's folds she pulled the paper from its cover and unfolded it to view the contents.

Dear, [F/N]. My one and only.

Ever since I saw you on this rooftop, I knew you were the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I hope one day we will get to meet, One day in the near future.

Love, Your admirer.

It was such a simple letter, Only two simple sentences of sweet but common flatter words yet once she had finished the final word the fireworks of a foreign emotion burst inside her.

She knew it was something akin to euphoria, An exhilaration that made her blood rush to her cheeks and heat up her entire system in the cold nights air, Yet no matter how hard she tried she couldn't identify the rhapsody of song inside her.

Though she couldn't deny, It felt good. Better than she's ever felt in a very long time.

[F/N] embraced the letter with her whole body, Curling up around it to try and squeeze out more of the intoxicating feel, An addictive high.

The letter and bouquet, Whoever may have left it there, Wherever they may be, They must really really like her.

☆♡☆

The yelling of her family woke [F/N] from her peaceful slumber.

Her heavy eyelids were wrenched open as she writhed around atop the roof tiles, Bothered by the loud intrusion.

Once she finally let the light hit her pupils she realised her mistake. She was in the light, The sunlight was touching her skin.

[F/N] yelled out and instantly scuffled down off the roof, Swinging open the door she almost lunged into the safety of her house shade as she fell onto the floorboards.

Her skin burned and tinged lightly. Examining her skin she found the beginnings of a mild sunburn on her arms, The red welts fizzling up into her hands all the way to her forearms. Her light kimono doing nothing to shield her from the UV rays.

She had fallen asleep on the roof and had neglected the danger of doing so, In her panic [F/N] chided herself for her stupid mistake.

Yet outside it seemed like it was just the break of dawn, The orange to yellow hues painting the sky signalled the early hours of the morning. She was lucky that the noise woke her up in time, Otherwise her problem would be much worse.

Scrambling over to her vanity mirror to examine the full entirety of her body she gasped on sight as soon as she saw her reflection in the polished glass. Her face.

At least a good third of face was covered in red hot boils and welts, The sore burn crept up from her left cheek over to her chin, Reaching as far as her right side too.

"No.. No, No, No.. Please, No!" She yelled, [F/N]'s eyes almost popped out of her sockets with tears starting to form at the corners. She trailed her equally burnt hands across the scorch marks in disbelief at what she was seeing.

A sudden rapid pounding at her door knocked her out of her stupor.

"[F/N]! Open the door, Now!" It was her mother's voice. The alarm in her voice seemed to resonate in [F/N] to give her a grasp of their unknown situation.

"Jeez.. Hold on!" [F/N] called out towards her door, Yet she saw the handle start to turn. A spike in her adrenaline shot up.

"I'm getting dressed, Damn it!" [F/N] screamed, Her voice as hoarse as a fourty-year chain-smoker. The turning of the knob stopped as soon as she let the words leave her mouth.

"Fine, But make it quick! And make sure to put on something nice." Her mother yelled back at her, A small tint of exasperation lacing her tone yet her footsteps leaving down the hallway sounded determined in their path.

[F/N] cursed. Bullets of sweat rolled down her face and stung the burns where they lay. She had no idea what she was going to do. Rapidly sliding out drawers in her vanity to find anything of use, To no avail.

Next she went to her closet. Swinging the old wooden doors open she shifted through her different coloured kimonos. Pulling through the silk and cotton she found nothing of use except for a thickly woven navy kimono that was oversized and could cover her body nice and neatly.

Despite that there was still the issue of her face, The burn marks were so noticeable you could see them from miles away. There was nothing that could hide her scorches from the sun-

Her hand bumped up against something.

[F/N]'s temple furrowed. Reaching into the back of dark, Spacious cupboard she gripped onto the object she felt was made of straw.

With a tug and a pull she managed to haul out the hefty object, Revealing it to be her old uchikatsugi.

It was a gift from the town's doctor before he passed away from old age a few years ago, [F/N] remembered him fondly even though he was never really around.

He still did greet her with a smile and a handshake every time they met, It wouldn't be wrong to describe him as a father figure either.

Though as always, Good things didn't last. They never did.

[F/N] had no time to dwell on that last thought, Her relief was a much more appealing distraction.

The uchikatsugi, A large straw hat for noblewomen with a large silky veil to cover her face. Back when she got it, It was way too big for her to use with her small body so she stored it in her closet for a later use, [F/N] supposed she just forgot about it.

She sat the large hat down on her head, And with a little shimmying to get it properly down it fit her head like a glove to a hand.

Once she finished changing into her dark cerulean kimono, She was ready to go downstairs and see whatever it was her family was making such a ruckus about.

As she took careful strides down the creaky steps of the stairs she saw her mother impatiently tapping her foot at the bottom. [F/N], Before making herself known, Fixed up her appearance to make sure nothing was showing free.

Once she was pleased, [F/N] cleared her throat to which her mother jerked her head around to her 'daughters' direction.

"Ah, Finally. I was wondering what took you so long." Her mother remarked, Letting her folded arms drop to her sides. [F/N] huffed at the passive aggressive tone yet felt alleviation, Her clothes worked, Her mother couldn't see a thing.

"Had to find a good enough outfit for such an important event, At least from the sounds of it. Why am I up this early anyways?" [F/N] yawned, Still not quite tuned in despite her earlier shock.

"There was another one." Her mother responded quickly, Turning away.

"Another what?" [F/N] queried, Tad annoyed at her mothers elusive behaviour.

"Another mutilation, [F/N]." Her mother exasperated, Swiftly turning back to look at her with an expression that just oozed the word obviously.

[F/N] stopped, Mulling over the information.

"Alright, Okay that's bad but why does this concern me?" She asked after a moment.

Her mother shook her head to her daughters persistence.

"This is a village matter, [F/N]. Something we are apart of" Her mother explained, Treating [F/N] like a curious toddler repeatedly asking why.

"Unfortunately.." [F/N] muttered.

"Just get a move on downstairs now, Swiftly now.." Her mother said, Quickly pulling [F/N]'s shoulder and hushing her down the second set of stairs. [F/N] shrugged of her mothers firm hand, Telling her she'll go down herself.

Settling her hat comfortably onto her head she headed downstairs, Dreading future events.

☆♡☆

The early morning air was cold and fresh as it weaved through the tall houses of the village.

Usually in the mornings with the first break of dawn you could hear the chirping of the crows harking in the early crowds off to work. You could see the townsfolk head to the markets and children run about in the streets, Laughing and roughhousing with each other like siblings together.

But today was different.

The echo of crows on the village walls were silent now. The children who use to run about in the streets buck wild were now pulled close to their parents, A worried smile replacing their usual carefree faces.

[F/N] stood away back from the large crowd gathered in the centre of the village, Everyone from the village was here. The elders, The working class to the babies were summoned together in the village, All quietly chattering amongst themselves.

She observed the crowd in distain, What mundane people leading such plain lives. They They wasted their lives in the sun, Taking the warmth for granted working nine to fives and coming home to their stupid little families, Accomplishing nothing big in their lives yet they boasted of grandeur while she stood standing away from them, Suffering from the pain of her sunburn.

She huffed at the thought.

[F/N] didn't stand with her family, She only watched them as they made their way to the front of the front of the crowd of which immediately quieted down at the sight of them

[F/N]'s father was considered the head of the village and therefore took care of all the important matters.

However since he was absent it was up to her mother to take care of her husbands duties while he was away

"Hello everybody, It's good to see you all out here today." Her mother called out her opening statement. She was backed by the other four of her siblings, Juro standing especially besides her.

Despite her hello's, Nobody answered her.

"I suppose you all know why you were called here, Regarding the death of the Hagihara family." Her mother continued.

Hagihara, That rang a bell in [F/N]'s mind.

Her eyes widened in recognition, The neurons connecting in her mind as the face of the little girl she had hit with a rock entered into her head.

"If you're not already aware of what happened, Early in the morning screams were heard from their family home. On investigation they were found.. Killed inside their Livingroom.. No survivors" Her mother announced.

A few shocked gasps ran from the crowd, The chatter from before sparked up like a lighter on the fuel of information. However their talking was calmed by her mother rather loudly clearing her throat.

"Yes, Yes. I understand this is horrible information, And I know a good lot of you were close with the family and I do offer my sincerest apologies." Her mother said. Her voice filled with a genuine sympathy, Showing it by giving a few select nods towards some of the crowd.

[F/N] didn't listen to her mother however, The information was still fresh in her mind.

This information should have left a lack of feeling in [F/N]'s chest, And regarding the deaths it did.

But the coincidence of it felt like a static shock to a dead heart. First it was the Furukawa's, They were particularly nasty to [F/N]. When they fell victims to the night veiled attacks she had felt glad despite how morbid it was, They weren't there to harass her anymore.

However now it was the Hagihara's, Only yesterday did they get negatively involved with her after the rock incident and now they were dead.

No. No, It was just a coincidence.

Even though they did hold hatred against her so did all of the other villagers. If the mutilations were connected to her then the mutilations would be targeted towards more outspoken villagers, Even if it was because of the rock incident other villagers would of been targeted before her. Her family would be targeted before them.

Even so, She needed to make sure.

[F/N] was barely listening when she quickly took off away from the crowd down an alleyway. Slipping away from the group with ease as their attention was still heavily focused onto her mother, Who was still continuing on with her speech. She couldn't bare to be surrounded by such waste of flesh anymore.

She picked up pace once she realised she was far enough away, Managing to navigated the rock base of the village with proficiency and quickly coming to a stop once she stood in front of the targeted house. Luckily it was located on the other side of the village, She could make as much noise as she needed.

Once she finally stopped she could notice the broken down door almost instantly. The village houses were regularly built together so this was striking to her. The shoji door was splintered into pieces of wood and sheet, Tiny pieces.

[F/N] swallowed a lump in her throat, Realising the weight of what she was doing. But it didn't stop her from taking strides forward, Past the destroyed bits of door and into the house where she saw the real carnage.

The Livingroom was absolutely destroyed.

Walls were shook and large scratch marks decorated them like paintings. Furniture was flung about and lay toppled across the entire main room like a wild beast was let loose, A bear, A rhino. Something of that size could of done this, Yet she could tell it was entirely human design.

The room was completely in the dark, No sunlight shown through which let [F/N] take her uchikatsugi off to get a better look.

Despite all of the wreckage its the fact that the room was coloured head to toe in red, That is what sent a feeling of dread crawl up [F/N]'s back.

The blood was stained on table cloths, Floors, Wooden walls. Anything that could be stained was drenched in the now-dry ichor of red. Thankfully the bodies weren't here anymore, Most likely hauled off to get cremated.

The singe of the scent of blood itched at the tip of [F/N]'s nose as she took a few more cautious steps inside, Carefully avoiding the debris as she finally made her way into the centre of the Livingroom.

The whole place just radiated fear and destruction, So much so that it felt like a cold hand was resting on her shoulder when she looked out at the scene.

Her eyes shot up.

She jerked her whole body around and stumbled back like a shock to her system, She lost her balance and fell backwards.

"Careful there." The smooth voice belonged to a man, Who caught her once she fell backwards.

His strength was commendable as he only laid a single hand on her back to keep her supported.

[F/N] was breathing heavily, Loud gasps of air from the sheer fright the man gave her. He gently lifted her up to her feet, Making sure to steady her.

"I apologise if I gave you a fright there, I do have a habit of being a quiet walker" He explained with a courteous smile.

"Yeah.. You do.." That was all [F/N] could say, Her breath still taken away but not from the fall as she laid her eyes on the mans face.

The man was pale, Deathly pale. While [F/N] was as white as a sheet from her condition it looked like he was sickly and withering, Yet the look seemed to compliment his bone structure. His dark wavy locks shaped his face and came down to his sharp jawline, Perfectly brushed and trimmed.

However it was his eyes that struck [F/N] the most, The same ruby irises that she had harboured stared right back at her. Even through the darkness of the room she could see the vividness of the red through the suffocating black.

"..Are you alright?" He asked. [F/N] didn't even realise she was staring before he snapped her out of it.

"Yes, Yes. I'm fine, Thank you." She said, A hint of practiced resentment laced her voice. A built-up tactic to protect herself. But the suspicion was warrented however, The clean cut black suit vest with golden coloured lacing was clue enough to tell her he wasn't from here.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, Resting her hands onto her hips. Her eyes were locked onto his own, Searching for any sign of deception.

The man simply let out a breath of air.

"I'm here to this village on business reasons, I was just passing through when I saw the door broken down. I'm just here to make sure everything is alright." He explained, A light carefree tone in his voice.

"My name is Tsukihiko, I travelled here from Tokyo" Tsukihiko added after a moment.

[F/N] carefully examined his body language for any sign of him lying, Any twitch of the hand or quirk of the lips but she came up empty handed. She had no reason not to believe him.

"Okay then, Tsukihiko.." She drawled, Still cautious of him "Well since you obviously don't know, There's been a string of murders going on in this village for a long while now. You really shouldn't be in here" She said.

"May I ask why you are here then? No offense, But you don't look like an investigator or any kind of authority, Miss." Tsukihiko said yet his tone sounded near playful if it wasn't for his dignified self.

[F/N] felt her tensed shoulders deflate, He got her there.

"..None of your business" She retorted, But her previous aversion had dissolved into a weak huff. "What's an investigator suppose to look like anyways?" [F/N] mused.

"Usually not like a beautiful noblewoman such as yourself, The one's I've seen tend to be a bit more.. Lacking in that department" Tsukihiko replied, As if what he said held absolutely no weight at all.

But that wasn't true to [F/N], The words held so much weight that it squeezed down at her heart. That same, Unfamiliar euphoric feeling she felt holding the flowers kept rushing out of the compressed heart and filling her system once again.

Did he really see her beauty? Or was it a way to strengthen out a deal with a noble family's daughter? If so then the joke would be on him. But he wasn't that far off from her, They were both pale and shared the same wine-stained eyes. Maybe he did understand her beauty. The mere thought of it seemed to clench her heart tighter.

However, It was stopped by a single missed heartbeat.

The sunburn, She still had the sunburn on her skin. Her uchikatsugi still lain slack in her left hand. [F/N] felt her hands suddenly grow clammy and her lungs take in a sharp breath, A quick spike in adrenaline made her entire body freeze up.

Tsukihiko seemed to notice her realisation, Somehow understanding her sudden panic he gently rested a hand onto the girls cheek.

"I mean my words, I'm not quite fond of the sun either." Tsukihiko said, That deep voice ringing soft in the girls ear.

The hand on her cheek should of been warm, But instead of the expected body heat coming from him there was a cold chill that ran down her from his touch.

It felt nice on her sunburn, It seemed to cool down the itchy feel of heat simmering in her skin and instead made it feel like a early summer breeze. [F/N] in response seemed to soften down and lean into the cold, Only a little bit.

"Seriously? People here seem to enjoy the sun a lot, You disliking it would be a first" [F/N] mumbled absentmindedly, Her gaze trailing off to some unknown point of the room. "How'd you know I didn't like the sun anyways?"

"A good guess, I suppose. You have albinism, Correct? It's only natural to have a resentment towards the sun when it sears your skin, I have a particularly terrible condition myself so I suppose I can empathise" Tsukihiko explained.

His words brought [F/N]'s eyes back to his own, Their shared eyes meeting together. Ones searching for any kind of lie while the others looked back with only the sincerest of truth's, At least from what [F/N] could tell anyways.

She felt a sudden sense of an unrecognisable feeling.

Not like the one she had before when it felt like fireworks, But instead one that felt like a rope was tied between the two. Like a single string had suddenly appeared just from his words, A sudden connection.

Connection? That sounded right, At least she thought so.

"..I see. You don't seem to have albinism, So what's your condition anyways?" [F/N] queried. While the man was pale and had the same red eyes she had, It couldn't of been albinism. His hair was a natural noir and his skin still held a very tiny bit of melanin.

[F/N] saw his lips quirk, It wasn't noticeable, Only a quick twitch before they were back to their usual smile. It almost raised an eyebrow.

"..It's not a specific illness that has been diagnosed however the symptoms do include a rather harsh weakness to sunlight." He said.

Thats strange, [F/N] thought. Tsukihiko was only wearing a suit vest, Black dress slacks and a clean white blouse. He had no form of sun protection like [F/N]'s kimono or uchikatsugi. It was weird, And [F/N] wasn't going to let it go for a second.

"Really? Then how did you get here without something like a parasol, Or any kind of protection?" She asked, Her guard raised up once again in light of the new information.

Tsukihiko's guard followed with [F/N]'s. His shoulders stiffened up and the smile on his face seemed just a tad bit more strained than it did before.

"Well luckily due to-"

"[F/N]!" A sudden scream cut through the start of his words. [F/N] gasped, She recognised the voice of which belonged to her mother.

She cursed under her breath and rushed past the man, Her attention fully diverted from him as she set the uchikatsugi onto her head and went out of the house and into the sun.

[F/N] finally stumbled out onto the rocky street road, Only to see her mother at the end of the road angrily making her way towards her. [F/N] sucked air through her teeth, She was in trouble.

She saw Juro stand behind her, Watching their mother make their way towards [F/N] with the omnipresent smugness drenching his face.

"Told you she was here!" He called out to his mother, But she didn't look back, She was way too focused on her eldest who stood there frozen like a frightened opossum.

The heavy sounds of her mothers sandals against rock and the single strum of a biwa echoed out into the wide walls of the village. Luckily no one else was around, Probably still making their way here from being dispersed only earlier from the town meeting.

"What the hell do you think your doing, Young woman?!" Her mother yelled. Finally closing the distance between the two her mothers hand lunged for her daughters wrist, Yanking her close to her [F/N] let out a curse under her breath.

"What? Can't I check out the crime scene?" [F/N] remarked with a practiced incredulous tone. Ignorant curiosity, It wasn't the reason she came here for but her mother didn't need to know that.

Her mother looked back at her, Incredulous, Just like [F/N]'s voice. However it was mixed with contorted expression of how one might look at spoiled food, Maggots and rodents already festering and all.

"..Do you even listen to what comes out of your mouth? At any point in your life do you even think about what you're about to do?" Her mother said, Only a single pitch away from a whisper.

"Either way it wasn't why I was here, I was talking to that man over there." [F/N] said, Lazily motioning her head under the hat towards the entrance of the house. Her mother quickly strode away from her daughter, But made the move to grab her wrist and drag her along as she went towards the entrance of the house.

"Hey! Hands off me-" [F/N] yelled. Despite her mothers old bones it seemed the sheer anger made her completely apathetic to her age.

"What man? There's no one there." Her mother hissed. Pushing her daughter in front of her to get a better look at the house.

It was true. Apart from the dried carnage and the destroyed insides of the Livingroom there was no sign of life inside. No noise nor presence to be found.

[F/N] felt her heart stop inside her chest, Her breath stifled. That was impossible, The only entrance inside the house was the main door. If he had left through the main door then there would of been no doubt that he would of been spotted.

"Good gods, [F/N].." Her mother groaned, Massaging her temple to soothe her irritation.

"He was here! I swear, I don't know wher-"

"Oh just be quiet, [F/N]!" Her mother exclaimed.

Turning to face her daughter she jumped back in surprise, The look on her mothers worn face was tired and so very angry.

"I'm so done with just letting you run about and do as you please, Someone needs to give you discipline to show you how things work around here" Her mother said lowly.

Yanking [F/N] forward they took off away from the scene. [F/N] couldn't keep up with her fast pace and stumbled around as she was pulled along in her mothers grip.

They passed Juro who didn't even turn his head towards her families squabble, Only side-eyeing [F/N] as they passed.

Juro, That bastard, An Ironic insult but it was the best she could mouth at him as she was dragged by. He was the one who had alerted his mother to her absence, He had to be. Mother wouldn't care if she had wandered off, Juro on the other hand would pick out any opportunity he could to ruin her day.

As she was dragged back to their family home she cursed him out under her breath. [F/N] would've wondered why he was like this to her, But she knew that there was never a reason apart from stigma with a streak of sadism and superiority.

She'd get back at him one day. That, She swore.

☆♡☆

Loud footsteps slammed against the wooden floorboards of the house making louds creaks in their wake.

Opening and slamming the door it shook the frame of her room with the sheer force at which it hit.

As soon as it shut [F/N] pushed herself up against the door and let out a loud cry. The tears she was holding back with a fierce determination now flooded down her face without a hint of resistance.

She slowly slid down the door until it was only her, Sitting on the cold floorboards pressed up against the door, Sobbing her eyes out.

[F/N] didn't know why she was crying, Maybe it was just the broken dam of a slowly rising tide. The house of cards that finally toppled once the slightest of disruptions knocked over its foundation, Causing the entire building to fall down.

What she did know however, Is the words of which her mother had told her.

"Punishment!" "Deserve!" "Finally!"

The words her mother had used when she confiscated her parasols and uchikatsugi swarmed her like a hive of insects. The one thing that protected her from the sun, That let her feel like a normal person even if only for a single minute was taken away by her mother.

She had called it a deserving punishment, Finally giving her daughter the discipline she needed.

What would she even achieve from taking them away? To teach her a lesson, Perhaps. Maybe she had thought it would exorcise the demon that was disguised as her daughter. Even if she did think that before, After seeing the sunburn ingrained onto her skin gave her a good reminder alright.

[F/N]'s breath came out in hitches. Rapid gasps for breaths as she desperately tried to wipe away the unforgiving tears coming out of her eyes. Everyone kept asking what was wrong with her when the only thing she could ask was what was wrong with them.

She didn't choose to be like this. She didn't choose the red bloodshot eyes nor did she choose the bright white of her hair and skin, It didn't mean she was a demon. What was wrong with this world? What did she do to deserve this?

[F/N] lifted her head to wipe away the build up of fluid on her face when she caught the vivid red in the corner of her eye.

It made her breath hitch once more, But not from the pain in her lungs or the sting in her eyes.

[F/N] didn't even bother getting up, Instead favouring to hastily crawl over to her bed. Once she lifted her upper body to see what it was her eyes widened.

It was another bouquet, Just as beautiful as the last. The red petals of rose were fresh and smelt as such, Purifying the air around her and drawing her in with the sweet scent. The colour of the roses seemed to give a hot kick compared to the coldness of her abode.

It was that feeling again. Fireworks. The feeling that brought the warmth back to her, The one she could never describe.

[F/N] took the bouquet into her arms, The softness of both the petals and the trimmed stems caressed her bare skin.

Her lips twitched. The corners of her mouth turning themselves into a new smile, Feeling foreign on her face. There was no letter this time, However that didn't matter.

The bouquet said everything it needed to. She pulled it close as the last of her tears dried, Turning only into small sniffles now and then.

Maybe things weren't so awful after all.

☆♡☆

In the following months, Slowly, A routine started to form.

[F/N] wasn't allowed to go outside of her house, So she had to make do with what she had inside her room.

In the mornings she'd wake up, Make her bed and get ready for the day. Afterwards she would go downstairs to collect her breakfast and make her way back to her room.

Then in the afternoons she'd make herself busy by playing solo games of old sets in her room: Shogi, Menko or Origami, Anything to keep her occupied and keep the boredom at bay.

[F/N] knew if she just apologised and promised to her mother she'd be good she could definetly worm her way out of punishment, However she decided against it. Her pride and dignity was worth baring a stupid little punishment from her mother.

At night she would get her dinner from the kitchens and make her way up to the rooftops again, Speaking to the moon as her only social output as long as you don't count the snide comments from Juro or the single syllable answers from her mother.

For hours she'd just spout out about whatever came to mind. Her day, Frustrations and desires would all be entrusted to the celestial body, A silent promise not to tell between the two.

[F/N] thought it was funny, She'd started to believe the moon could really hear her. It felt like that too sometimes, That someone was really there to listen to her.

And finally, Careful not to make her mistake again she'd close the blinds and make her way to bed. Only to start the cycle all over again the next day.

Though sometimes the cycle would break, Sometimes she would find another bouquet. Lying on the roof or sat tidy on her bed.

Sometimes the person in question would leave a letter too. The sweet words seeming sacred as the flow of the writing went through her, Touching the very core of her heart.

She'd soak up every letter, Every little word she'd mull over for hours at a time letting that feeling coarse through her blood stream. These letters appeared about once a week, Quickly becoming the only thing she had to look forward to.

It was good, It was very good. It hit her one day, Lying in bed while rereading the latest letter for the fifth time.

Was this love?

Maybe. Before the letter had started she had dismissed the concept of it entirely, Love was just a façade. A husband and wife was suppose to love each other yet her mother and father barely spoke when they were around.

A sibling was suppose to love their other siblings unconditionally, But instead hers had shunned her and at best gave backhanded remarks. Sure, Her mother might of loved her kids but even then it was just maternal instinct.

Love was just a construct, That was her belief. It was a way to explain how things worked in a mysterious world, It didn't actually exist. No, It couldn't. At least not for her.

But when she held the soft paper in her hands and finished the last letter of the note it finally clicked, This was love. It had to be.

The undying passion written in the letters proved it, The vowing to love her always said it. It made her blush like an alcoholic intoxicated onto the feeling it gave her.

It was so addicting that she never really took care into asking herself how they got into her room or onto her roof, How they knew exactly what she liked or how she wanted it. That wasn't important.

What was important was who it was. Was it a girl or a boy? How old are they? What do they look like? What's their name? She pondered over this often and to be honest, She couldn't care less about who it was. They loved her, That's all that mattered. It was the spark of light in a dark hopeless void.

Even the rocks thrown through her balcony window, Scribbled in ink with the word "demon" couldn't take her out of her high. Nor the continuing mutilations building up a body count in town could catch her now.

Nowadays the entire family was counting down for the arrival of her father. His business trip had came to an end and now he was making his way home, Due to arrive in a week.

In a weeks time her father would be home, She dreaded the thought. So that's why she had carefully wrote a letter of her own and left it on the rooftop, A common spot for the person in question to leave their letters.

She wrote every letter with passion and folded the envelope with care, Waiting for the response she had went back to bed, Waiting for her admirer to take her away.

"When can I see you? I want to know who you are."

☆♡☆

Her letter had been answered.

The letter she had left on the roof was replaced with a letter of their own. The next day she had found it lying in the same spot, Bouquet of roses and all.

She read the words several times over, Just to make sure she was reading things right.

Midnight, Meet me outside on the pathway to the village. I'll be waiting.

Love, Your admirer.

They wanted to meet her, Her admirer wanted to meet her tonight. As soon as she read the last word she squealed like a little girl on her birthday and spun herself around the room with exhilarant joy.

She stopped dead in her tracks. She needed to get ready. Looking down at her morning kimono she realised she needed to wear her best, She couldn't go out looking like this.

The feeling of wanting to look your best while in front of someone was another new sensation, She'd been having a lot of new sensations lately. All because of her admirer. It was only right to look as good as she could.

She thought back to her experience a few months ago, That man, Tsukihiko. Maybe he was her admirer. The way he looked at her with those matching red eyes just spoke to her, It had to be him. Who else could it be?

Sifting through her closet she finally picked out a rather expensive kimono with a matching yukata. The design's laced onto the fabric were beautiful and made with care, When [F/N] looked at it she knew she had found the perfect one.

But looking in the mirror she knew her hair needed some touching up, Her makeup too.. And her nails and maybe she could find a cute hairpin? Maybe her hair needs touching up again..

By the time she was done it the sun had long set, Replacing the clear blue with a star filled winter night.

[F/N] knew she wasn't allowed out of the house, She knew when she carefully maneuvered her way down the rooftop. It never left her mind even soon as she felt her best sandals hit the ground, But nor did it ever matter to her. She was going to meet her admirer, That was much more important than her mother.

[F/N] moved hastily down the pathway from her house to the village, The letter never specified where about on the pathway they were to meet so she had just decided to walk until something happened.

She slowed down in her tracks to only a leisurely walk. The cold air hit the back of her neck and ran through her hair as she went. [F/N] felt her heart beating like a drum, The rhythm thumping at her ribcage felt like it was going to explode from her chest.

Her leisured stroll came to a stop, By now she could see the village lights and the rest of the stone-lined path. Her eyes followed it all the way back to where she was standing, No one was there. Not Tsukihiko, Not anyone.

[F/N]'s face scrunched up in confusion, She had went the entire pathway and no one was to be found. Could she be late? Looking up at the sky to see the moon dead-centre in the sky that ruled out the possibility entirely.

Then suddenly, She felt a rock hit her back.

The force pushed her over, Collapsing to the ground on her knee's.

The shock struck her like an ice-pick to the back, Causing a cold chill to wash over her. As soon as it hit her thoughts had came to a standstill, Trying to compute what just happened.

A few pairs of footsteps came running out from behind her.

[F/N] looked behind her, Eyes bloodshot and open to their limits as she finally spied the group.

"There! Told you she'd come." Juro laughed to the group of kids behind him, His friends, All carrying pouches of unknown fillings. They all looked down at [F/N], Their expressions all smiling wide and giggling along quietly to Juro.

Another feeling washed over, Anger only an aftertaste to the pain writhing around in her chest. Her arms shook as she tried to gather her Barings, However another quick jolt of pain went to her stomach. One of his friends who she recognised as the Furukawa boy had kicked her, Making her fall down again.

"Demon scum!" He exclaimed as he stepped back towards the group. [F/N] groaned in pain as she wiped away the red specks coming from her mouth.

"What.. What the fuck. The hell.. Are you doing here, Juro" [F/N] hissed, The truth of the situation going straight over her head.

"What? You don't remember? Meet me here at midnight on the pathway to the village!" He teased, The mocking tone in his voice made his group laugh. Juro looked at her straight in the eyes, The sadism shining through the dull overlay.

[F/N] stopped, Going completely still.

No, It couldn't be. Please, For the love of whatever god is up there. It can't be.

"You.. It was you?" She breathed lowly, Disbelieving eyes piercing into his. Pleading with him silently, Subconciously. Juro seemed to toss his head to the side and took a few lazy steps towards her, He had no care in the world as he stood only a foot away from his defeated sister.

"Of course it was me. I knew all about your little rooftop talks, I was the one to leave the bouquets in the first place." He announced it as if it was obvious all along, As if it was nothing but a throwaway joke in a play.

[F/N] felt her heart break.

She felt the culmination of that feeling built up over months, The growing flutter of her heart. The feeling she had even dared to consider love was shattered into a million pieces, Reduced to nothing but ashes.

This wasn't true, How could it be? It couldn't.. [F/N] felt her vision start to go blurry. She opened her dry mouth, She only had one question to ask.

"So.. For months.. You left me flowers.. Letters. All so you could bring me out here..?" She whispered. The blurryness in her eyes gathered and dripped down her face, Cold against her burning face.

"Well I mean, Not at first. In the beginning it was just a way to mess with you, It was funny for me but then.." Juro motioned over to his friends "When I told my friends about it we thought it was an opportunity we couldn't lose, Especially when you left a letter of your own." He finished.

The words devastated [F/N]. The entire world around her seemed so desolate, Like she drowning under the weight of the entire ocean unable to breathe or speak.

She didn't even flinch when Juro and his group raised their hands, The pouches full of unknown contents brought high. And when they threw it, She was glad that her tears blurred their faces.

She curled up into a ball and wished for this nightmare to be over.

☆♡☆

The dragging of slow footsteps echoed lowly in the dark hallway. The passage was dark and near lifeless as most of the house was asleep at this point, Only a few servants lay awake finishing their nightly duties.

[F/N]'s feet barely left the ground as she clutched the hot cup of tea in her hands. In the days that passed it was the only thing she subsided on except from the small bites of food she would eat during the day.

Her eyes seemed low and sunken, Like they were struggling to stay open. Along with her matted hair and chapped lips she appeared dishevelled similar to how an insomniac running on coffee would be, Though at this point that was basically what she became.

Gently pulling open the door to her bedroom [F/N] took a few short steps inside. Once she closed the door she was greeted once again by the emptiness of her room.

She let out a defeated sigh. Trotting over to her bed she set her tea down on the side table, Right before collapsing right onto the bed.

She sunk down into the mattress, Letting the temporary warmth and shelter of the blankets envelop her.

[F/N] was tired, Very tired. Right then and there she wanted to close her eyes and not wake up, Not for a long time. But she knew that no matter how hard she tried she wouldn't be able to sleep, Not as long as her mind was as conflicted as hers.

She turned over onto her back so she could stare up at the ceiling. Before all of this had happened she felt angry or annoyed, Always, There was no in-between. Maybe a splash of surprise here and there but apart from that there was no flux.

After she read the letters her palette had expanded, It felt like she was tasting a new wild variety of flavours for the first time after only eating bread for her entire life. She felt euphoric, She felt love and infatuation. It was good, It was so good.

But now after being hazed with flour and hit with rocks, Humiliated and embarrassed by Juro and his gang she just felt.. Nothing.

She wasn't angry nor was she annoyed, She's tried to feel those things, She tried to feel some sort of rage towards him but after everything she just couldn't.

Juro had even left an extra bouquet for when she got back that night, This one not of roses but instead spider lilies.

The only thing she could do was toss them out from the balcony, The flowers taking all of her anger with it.

[F/N] turned her head over to her balcony. The blinds were shut over the doors yet there was a small opening, A little crack that let moonlight filter through into the room. She could see the moon facing her through the opening, Gathering up what she had left she opened her mouth.

"Is this it..? Is this all there will ever be to my life..?" She whispered, Looking at the moon as her only friend.

She waited. She waited a good few minutes, Waiting for any kind of response from her oldest companion.

Yet nothing came. The moon just looked down on her, Just like they did, Just like they all did.

[F/N] huffed lightly, Turning away from the moon. It was stupid. She grew up to believe that the moon was always there for her, That it would always listen to her. It was her friend.

She knew how stupid that was now. The moon wasn't her friend, It couldn't listen to her. All this time she spoke to an unfeeling object, Something that couldn't understand her or provide any comfort.

"Is this all there will ever be to my life"

Her words rang out in her head. At every turn she was dejected back down into the dirt. While the healthy ran outside to live their life she was stuck at home, Unable to get a job or a husband due to her looks.

She hated them, If she had anything else left to feel it was hatred. They lived their lives free to do anything they wanted yet they wasted it on mundane jobs, Mundane lives while she was left here to fester.

[F/N] closed her eyes. Listening to the servant outside brush the hallways, She tried to use it as white noise. Something to fa-

THUMP!

[F/N] opened her eyes slowly.

The wall to her room that was shared with the hallway suddenly let out a large thump. Coincidentally the sounds of sweeping came to an abrupt stop right before the noise.

Everything was silent now, There was no noise coming from outside nor from [F/N]. Instead she just watched the door, Waiting for the next sign of life.

Another set of footsteps came, Not belonging to the servant before. These ones were heavier, Filled with purpose and stride.

She listened as they reached her door, Coming to a sudden stop in front of it. [F/N] listened half-heartedly along, Waiting for the next sound.

It came. The slow but loud creaking of the door echoed from the walls in her room. She didn't dare to look up into the dark void of the doorway, She knew what was happening. She knew what was going to happen. This was the demon who caused the villages mutilations, There was only one outcome.

The footsteps entered the room. From [F/N]'s limited vision she could only see what looked to be a mans body dressed in a suit jacket and blouse, The left arm stained with a fresh crimson. Her eyes moved up, She couldn't see his face however, The moonlight didn't reveal it.

[F/N] sighed, Maybe out of exhaustion or maybe out of relief.

"So it's you, You're the one whose been doing the mutilations I suppose.. I'm guessing you got to the servant outside right?" She drawled, Letting the syllables play out on her tongue.

The man didn't answer, He only stopped in his tracks. [F/N] could feel his eyes on her, Running over her body, Like a wolf checking to see if the fox could fit in its maws.

[F/N] didn't expect an answer, But she continued anyways.

"You're going to kill me now, Probably even before I've finished my sentence but just.. Just let me make one final request.." A sudden jolt came from inside her like the final remains of lighter fluid sparking out into the raging blizzard.

It felt like vengeance, If she was going down then she knew who was coming with her.

"I don't care if you kill me.. But when you do I want you to take my family too. I don't care how you do it but I want you to make it bloody, I want you to make sure that my father comes home to a slaughter house, I want you to make sure people remember this." She said, The liquid in the lighter drying with her words.

She closed her eyes, Waiting on her bound demise.

This was it. Her body relaxed to take in her final moments. The warmth of the blanket, The coldness of her room, The beating of her heart.

"Who said I would kill you.."

And the feeling of a hand over hers, Gripping it tight.

Her eyes opened wide at the voice, Her irises searched and landed on the mans face now illuminated by the moonlight, It was one she recognised.

"It's you.." [F/N] breathed, She looked over the mans features, Just to make sure.

"Tsukihiko" She whispered. It was him, She saw it now. It was the same suit-jacket, The same styled hair and red eyes. A gentle smile graced his face as he moved even closer than he was currently.

"Even though I may have told you so, Tsukihiko isn't my real name." He corrected. That same deep tone of voice he used all those months ago laced his voice, Resonating deep inside her.

"My name is Muzan Kibutsuji, I am the progenitor of all demons." He declared softly. The hand he had entwined with hers squeezed tighter. His hand wasn't warm, It was in fact cold to the touch but it didn't feel uncomfortable, It was instead akin to shaved ice during a heatwave.

The progenitor of all demons, This was the demon king. It raised more questions than answers but [F/N] could only ask a single one.

"Then, why won't you kill me? Why are you telling me all of this?" She whispered, Looking deep into his eyes for the answer.

He only looked back with the most sincere emotion a being like him could have.

"Because, It seems I've become infatuated with you."

The words left his lips with a finality, As if he was just as bewildered as she was looking into his eyes.

The words pierced her like a spear. [F/N] felt eyes expand and her jaw opening only a little. It was that feeling again, That same feeling, The fireworks.

"..How can I trust your words? How do I know you're not lying to me?" She asked, A small treble in her voice. How could she trust anything he said, Not when she could never trust anything anyone said to her.

"You can't trust me." Muzan finalised, Agreeing with her words. She felt disappointment start to bubble up in her before her spoke one more.

"But when I say that I have became smitten over you from the day I saw you on that roof top, When I say that I became enraptured by your beauty and charm I want you to believe that, My love." He spoke.

[F/N] was speechless, She couldn't believe what she was hearing but by the gods did she want to. Heat rose to her cheeks and she stumbled to get out a single vowel before she was pulled to her feet by Muzan.

"Everything I've been doing these past few months I've done for you, Everything. You are more than a mere human, You're someone I can call my equal" He whispered. And from his suit pocket he pulled out something that gleamed in the moonlight.

It was a ring of silver, A wedding ring. It was beautiful. A sapphire center piece for the gemstone, Crowned by the silver and another dozen gems surrounding it.

[F/N]'s breath hitched at the sight of it.

"You want me… To marry you?" She asked, The words foreign on her tongue. [F/N] still stood in disbelief, Shock, A flurry of new emotions invading her senses that made her need to conceal an excited grin.

"Yes. I see no one else worthy of being called my wife, Only you." He replied. Gentle smile still painted on his face.

The fireworks went off. In that moment, [F/N] knew the answer, One that she couldn't put into words but instead an action.

As soon as the fireworks exploded she took a step forward, Putting her lips on his and bringing Muzan into a deep kiss. Trying her best to make it as passionate as possible with her inexperience.

Muzan didn't resist, But instead seemed to expect it. He put an arm around her waist and took lead, Guiding her along.

As it happened she felt their bodies collide, His arms were wrapped around her body tightly while hers rested on his shoulders in the heat of the moment.

[F/N] barely noticed the ring slip onto her finger, A perfect fit. She could only focus on their lips mingling with each other, His fangs clashing against her bottom lip while she tried to figure out what to do with her tongue.

Muzan's hand slipped down to her neck. A single claw cutting open both his finger and a small part of [F/N]'s neck, Letting his blood mix with hers.

The motion made [F/N] pull away from Muzan, The feeling of her stomach turning interrupting her.

"What the.." She mumbled. [F/N]'s body started to shake, She felt weird. Stumbling back a few feet she was caught by Muzan, Smiling at her with that same gentle look.

He set her down onto her bed, Caressing her cheek with care.

"Rest now, Your transformation should only take a few minutes." Muzan said, Sitting beside her on the bed.

[F/N] nodded, She knew what he meant and she simply didn't care. Only smiling lazily as she let her heart circulate his blood round her system. She felt him close her eyes. And let his blood take her over completely.

☆♡☆

[F/N] followed Muzan down the hallway. Her movements were slow yet jerky at the same time, Like her entire body was numb and barely woken up.

Her mind was hazy, Like a sudden mist started to fall over her mind as soon as she woke up. Her stomach turning had turned into a sudden emptiness, A sudden hunger. She had a craving for something, She didn't know what. However all she knew is that she had to follow Muzan as he helped her down the stairs.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs onto the second floor, Suddenly she caught something sweet in the air, Enticing her on.

Muzan noticed this, An almost amused smile appeared on his face.

"Go on then, I won't stop you." He said, And that was all she needed.

[F/N] took off following the scent almost feverishly, Making her way down the hallways going around turns she finally came across a door.

Her mouth watered. The scent was stronger now, Even more so as she bust open the door.

Juro woke up with a start, The noise of his door slamming open almost off the hinges made him flinch. He got up so he was now sitting on his bed. Maybe another mutilation happened, It was probably his mother informing him so.

But as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes to see his elder sister leaning against the doorway, He knew that wasn't the case.

"What the hell do you want..? You still mad about last week?" He chuckled lightly, The sleep still permeating his voice.

[F/N] stood in the doorway, Not answering. However her breathing was laboured and she stumbled about, Swaying side to side. Her head was lowered to the ground, Eyeing only the floorboards.

"What's wrong with you?" Juro raised an eyebrow at his sisters movements, It was getting annoying. Waking him up in the middle of the night and she wouldn't even tell him why.

But he suddenly froze once she lifted her head.

Her laboured breathing showed off her teeth, Sharper than normal creating new fangs protruding from her mouth. Her pupils had slimmed and turned into something similar to a cat's, And they were eyeing him like a piece of raw meat.

His sweat dropped, This wasn't normal. Slowly getting out of his bed he made sure to never take his eyes off of her, To make sure she didn't pounce.

"Listen.. [F/N]." He started, His voice shaky and carefully planned.

"I-I'm sorry for what I did.. Okay? I-I shouldn't of treated you like that.. It was wrong, I.. I'm so sorry okay?" He started. His entire form shook, His knees threatening to buckle under the weight of the situation.

She took a step forward, Making him flinch.

"I-I'm sorry! Please don-"

[F/N] lunged forward, Her body knocking into his as they fell to the floor with a thump!

Juro screamed, Loud and high pitched to make sure the rest of the house woke up as he felt [F/N]'s teeth lodge into his neck.

With a tug she pulled her mouth back. A chunk of flesh and muscle tore out from his neck, Making a spray of blood coat the room and [F/N] entirely painting her red.

Juro sobbed. His mental state reducing into that of a child's as he felt his sisters teeth tear at his flesh, Only to greedily shove the meat down her gullet, Pleased at the sweet taste she licked her lips to Juro's horror.

She tore into him, Again and again. Juro felt his limbs be pulled from their sockets and the blood burst from his arteries, Popping like candy and spraying all over the room.

He was barely conscious when the cold sweat of death wash over him.

The last thing he saw was the looming figure of his sister. His severed arm in her mouth and covered in red. Smiling at him, Wide and proud.

And the oncoming figures of the rest of his family in the doorway.

☆♡☆

Downstairs Muzan stood idly in the main room.

He waited for her, Listening intently to the noise thrashing around upstairs. He decided it was best to let [F/N] take care of it herself, She was hungry after all and as a new demon she needed her strength.

However, Muzan's attention was drawn to the main door, Which was flung open letting the cold nights air flood inside.

In the doorway was an older man. A katana around his waist and a yukata over his slayer uniform. Muzan felt the grin tug at his lips, This must of been [F/N]'s father, A slayer at that.

"..Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?!" He exclaimed, Yet his tone contained exhaustion, Obviously tired from a long travel.

"Who am I? I assumed you slayers would know a king when they saw one." Muzan remarked.

The mans eyes widened. The tiredness in his eyes before was now long gone and by now his sword was drawn, Pointing straight at Muzan.

"You.. Muzan Kibutsuji" He said. Despite his brave front, Muzan could see through it. He was terrified.

"There it is.." Muzan drawled, Now turning his full body over towards him. Her father made no move to attack him, Only keeping his sword at head level waiting for Muzan's next move.

"What.. What have you done with my wife, My children." Her father asked, The thought tearing through his mind, Scared of the possibilities.

Muzan entertained him, The fact that he had the guts to speak out in the first place spoke volumes.

But before he could answer, The sound of creaking steps and dragging thumps sounded out behind them, Interrupting their conversation.

The mans attention flipped over behind him. Alternating between Muzan and the unknown threat they both watched intently as the presence reached the bottom of the steps.

The mans eyes widened.

At the bottom of the stairs stood [F/N], Drenched head to toe in blood smelling of brass and iron.

But what she held in both hands, That's what made her father fall to his knees.

In both of her hands she dragged the mangled corpses of his wife and kids, [F/N]'s new strength granting her the capability to do so.

In her right held his wife, The corpse had several parts missing. Limbs, Flesh and organs all in various states of degradation.

In her left was the corpse of his second eldest. He wasn't even recognisable, Only the yukata being of any hint to his identity.

He fell to his knees, The sight seeming to defeat him entirely.

His nichirin katana fell out of his grasp, Slipping out with ease once he laid his hands on the corpses. [F/N] watched on at the scene, Gazing down at the broken mess of a man.

"What the.. No.. No this couldn't.." He choked out, Tears starting to form in his eyes and flow down his face. His wife and kids dead, He wasn't here to protect them, To do his duties as a demon slayer.

He moved his eyes up to the face of the culprit, Recognising her as his eldest disappointment of a daughter.

"You.. You monster.." He whispered, Piercing gaze going right through her like an icepick to the heart.

But [F/N] felt nothing as she looked at him, The haze from her mind lifted long ago at the first taste of her meal. This man for her entire life had been a overhanging figure, A threat to what would happen to her if she stepped out of line. His words were nothing new to her ears.

"..Do you have nothing else to call me, Or are you done?" [F/N] asked. She felt the rush of superiority come over her, She was the one in charge now. Not him.

Her father swallowed the lump in his throat. He had nothing else to say, Only choked sobs came out of his mouth.

[F/N] dropped the cadavers in her arms in favour of walking up to her father. Slowly stopping in front of him, Looking down at his weakened form.

Muzan stood only a few feet away from him, Watching over the events unfolding. He was amused at it, Watching [F/N]'s every move.

She raised her hand high, Her new claws spiking out of her fingernails ready to strike.

All these years of torment, Dejection and disgust funnelled towards her. The harassment and hate. Everything she had been through came down to this.

"Go on, My love." Muzan's voice called out, [F/N] glanced over to him "Finish this."

Muzan Kibutsuji, Her fiancée, Her stalker. He called out to her with that eternally caring voice, That same gentle smile edging her on to finish the deed.

She looked back at him and smiled.

And with a quick slash it was finished, Her father was no more.

His severed head dropped onto the tatami mat, She watched as it bounced a few times before rolling away.

Muzan appeared behind her, Wrapping his arms around her waist.

"You did such a good job, My love." He stated, Kissing the back of her head as he pulled her closer. [F/N] sunk into his hold, The coldness a comfort to her.

"T-Thanks.." She grinned, Fireworks continuing to go off. More so once he move a hand to her legs, Manoeuvring her so she was now being carried bridal style by her now fiancée, Not caring how much blood stained his blouse.

Muzan leaned down and left a small kiss on her lips, To which she returned.

"Are you ready to go now, My love?" Muzan asked.

"Always." [F/N] responded, Stars in her eyes.

Muzan smiled, Pulling her close. He looked up and with the single strum of a biwa, He disappeared into the night, Taking [F/N] with him.

Never to be seen again.

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flynnriderishot · 4 months

Text

screw up pt.2 - n.d

it had been a few days since yours and larray’s party and people were still posting pictures of the event.

you were lounging in your apartment, having just finished cleaning the entire place, when your phone started going off like crazy.

you had a ridiculous amount of people tagging you in something that nathan, the triplets friend, posted.

you didn’t get the opportunity to speak to the boy very much as chris was just too thrilled that his best friend was in LA and wanted him to meet literally everyone. you had spoken briefly with him after running into each other a second time, but that conversation was cut short.

you weren’t too upset about it, but you definitely wished you could’ve spoken more than just a few words with him.

you smiled at the post of you and nate that was no doubt taken by either chris or larray. you had an idea that if nick or matt took the photo, it definitely would have come out a little better.

your curiosity got the better of you, your thumb clicking the comments before you had the chance to stop yourself.

(if you aren’t white, i apologize. i’m not white either but it’s so much easier to find pics)

ynswife omg! they met ?!

sturniolosbae nathan knows yn? @/nicolassturniolo wtf?

>>> nicholassturniolo what’d i do?

mattswifey cool?? did he just call the yn ln cool? oh he’s def in love

>>> christophersturniolo 🤫

>>> nathandoe8 seriously?

matthew.sturniolo i’m cooler tho, right?

>>> nathandoe8 idk bro. she’s pretty cool

>>> matthew.sturniolo pretty or cool? 🙄🤨

ynslovely lmaoooo not them exposing him 😭

you hummed thoughtfully. quickly commenting a simple white heart under the post before exiting the app completely.

just as you were about to get lost in the dangerous world of your mind, a text message from nick startled you.

nicolas 🤓:

nate wants your number

huh?

nathan wants your number. are you hung over or can you just not read?

no need to be rude 😔

i was just confused.

why are you telling me?

it’s called ✨consent✨

do you just want me going around giving your personal information to anyone that asks?

id appreciate it if you didn’t 😘

but nathan’s your friend and i trust that you trust him, yk?

i don’t 😐

but if that means you’re ok with me giving him your number then ok.

okay :)

does that mean you’re ok with me giving him your number?

yes, nick.

while through text you could pretend you weren’t completely freaking out, on the outside, you were completely freaking out.

nathan was gorgeous, that much was obvious. so what the hell did he want your number for?

you weren’t given much time to respond to your own question before an unknown number messaged you.

hey, it’s nate

nick gave me your number. but i’m sure you know that already cause he refused to text me back until he got your approval.

lmao 😭

hi, nathan

hi :)

a word so simple, yet your heart fluttered as you imagined what it would sound like coming from his mouth.

im in LA for a few more days…

do you maybe wanna hang out before i go?

sure

just us, right?

if that’s okay with you?

i didn’t wanna sound weird 💀

it’s perfectly okay with me. what’d you wanna do?

i’m okay with anything

an indecisive person meeting another indecisive person

i’m from boston 😭 idk whats around here.

jesus, nate 🤦‍♀️

i’m sorry 😔✌️

it’s completely up to you. i’m willing to do whatever crosses your mind.

really? okay then…

we’ll go ✨thrifting✨

from the triplets couch, nate’s head fell back when chris read over his shoulder and gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder.

“good luck, bro. the thrifting world is crazy.”

#chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nathan doe x reader #nathan doe #nate doe #nate doe x reader

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forestshadow-wolf · 2 months

Text

The 141 have to go to some ceremony or like an international meeting that involves the 141 or something. So they're all in their dressing blues or whatever.

And the place gets attacked. It's an explosion that throws them all off their feet.

When soap comes too, after what couldn't have been more than a few seconds, his ears are ringing, the world seems like it's moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

He feels himself cough, as he looks around. Things are on fire. He has to check if he's hurt, he knows he does, his hands pat around his torso. Nothing that could be considered pain flared at him as sounds start to return to him.

He looks down at himself, he's dusty and dirty. Ghost is crouching in front of him, saying something, he's just as dusty, the half balaclava looks more white than it does black now.

He feels his voice more than he hears it when he yells "What?", his ears still trying to clear the ringing from his head. Ghost just yanks him up by the lapels, that seems to shake the shock out of him.

Everything floods back to him like a tsunami, then he's up and moving. Shouting orders he can barely hear, hauling officers up off the ground, trying to spot price and gaz.

He's ushering people away from the blast site when he finally spots price, helping a woman out the door and handing her off to someone else.

It's when he's almost reached Price does he start to hear gunfire in the not distance. That is not good.

He finally reaches price, Ghost by his side, having obviously had the same thought as him.

"Where's Gaz?"

Price and Ghost look around, at the very obvious lack of the man. The gunfire is getting closer now.

"You mean you haven't seen him?", Both he and Ghost give a negatatory. "Shit- shit shit shit. Alright Gaz is second priority. Staying alive is first. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

A second explosion rocks the building and one of the inner walls crumbles. SHIT. That is very not good, he thinks as the three of them duck behind a pile of rubble as lead flies into the room.

A hand automatically reaches for the sidearm that's not there. Damn these formal events. Damn them to hell. Old fashioned way it is then. At least most of the people here are trained for combat...

It's hard to say what happened between the three of them slitting up, and when ghost tackles him behind a slab of concrete just before a bullet whizzes past them.

"Solid?"

Price snaps his neck from behind, didn't even see it coming.

"Yeah"

"Anyone found gaz yet?" Price asked

"No sir. Not yet-" another explosion rocks the building and he thinks he can hear something in the walls straining to stay up. It must've been a pre-set charge because they don't hear anything other than more should as more of the building comes down. "Cap. These walls won't hold much longer, we have'ta get these people out. Now." He watches more of the wall buckle and a piece of the ceiling fell.

"You and Ghost get them out, I'll find gaz." The captain growls. They nod an affirmative.

They're rushing the last person out when price finds them, Gaz hauled over his shoulder. He can hear the walls groaning now. They have about no time at all, so he rushes price and gaz out first, then ghost. It's not a moment after he's following that he hears the structure supports coming down, and it'll take seconds for the rest to follow.

It's pure luck, and maybe a tiny bit of skill that has him literally barrelig ghost out as the entire thing collapses.

He lays on the ground panting. Ghost is groaning beside him.

"Okay. It's official. I hate these stupid ceremonies." Ghost laughs beside him.

When he pushes himself up he can see price crouched next to Gaz, everyone else is milling about, thankfully he sees no other threats.

It takes an hour to get contacts oht for air support. But they do get it eventually.

------

The debrief was a shitshow. As predicted. They still don't know the purpose of the attack, best guess was that it's might have been a distraction, but no other base was attacked, and they can't find any missing data or servers. Everyone is on high alert about the situation.

#it's shitty writing but I just wanted to gwt it done.#i honestly have zero idea what this was supposed to end with. it's been in my drafts since late November #so i just kinda threw some shit out #it's not good but I'm done looking at it #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #also I did not mean to leave Gaz out. i thought this would be longer but im tired of looking at it #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #el rambles

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

I've seen posts here and there about Steve being done up in drag for fun, but please consider Steve discovering drag pageantry.

Drag pageants have been around since the 60s, and we already know that Steve is competitive, he played sports and he got jealous from Dustin just talking about Eddie.

So imagine Steve being done up by a queen because he's "so gorgeous, your bone structure is to die for, darling" and maybe he enjoys it, likes how it makes him look, likes the confidence he has while all made up.

And then he finds out you can compete? In makeup and dresses and be bitchy on purpose? He'd be all over that shit, and he'd be good at it.

Eddie would be nothing but supportive, and when Robin moves out they turn the spare bedroom into a second closet just for Steve's drag. He eventually gets a sewing machine and - after much learning - starts making his own competition gowns because he has a Specific Design that he wants to wear and can't find anything close enough to satisfy.

(Side note: I imagine his style being something like Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, something classy and feminine, possibly influenced by his mother's sense of style (she may be an awful person but by God is she fashionable).)

When Eddie's band makes it big, they plan all of their shows around Steve's pageants because Eddie has to kiss Steve good luck before every single one. The one time he didn't, the zip on Steve's dress busted and one of his heels snapped and while Steve isn't superstitious, Eddie certainly is and "The only time I didn't kiss you good luck, everything fell to shit. It's not gonna happen again, baby, I promise."

They end up getting a shelving unit just to hold the crowns and scepters that Steve has won, the sashes get pinned to the wall and are quickly filling the space available. Steve takes a flower from every winning bouquet and presses it, has a little album where he keeps them, along with a photo of him and Eddie after each win.

Imagine Eddie proposing after a pageant one night. Steve didn't win, maybe he was second or third, but he didn't come home with the crown this particular night, and he's standing in the bathroom, scrubbing away at his face and working over where he may have lost points, trying to figure out how to be better next time.

And then Eddie is there, ring in hand and a lovestruck look on his face and all Steve can think about is that he's being proposed to while looking like a mess. His hair is sweat-slick from being under a wig for hours, makeup half-off, and still wearing the chunky earrings he'd forgotten to take out again.

But Eddie tells Steve how proud he is of him, how much he loves this side of Steve that only Eddie gets to see. That he wants to see it for the rest of his life and "Stevie, baby, if you don't say yes I might cry," and then cries anyway when Steve does say yes and kisses him, and then they're laughing at the bright lipstick smeared across their mouths and Steve completely forgets that he didn't win that night.

#this got away from me a little #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #joey writes #pageant queen steve harrington #i dont actually know a lot about pageants but lets ignore that #drabble

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strawberry-cowmilk · 2 years

Text

It happened a while ago, but me and a friend saw the cutest things at some random store. That's the inspiration behind this post.

mc gifts the brothers an alpaca plushie

-> brothers x mc

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: mild self-deprecation and a fish judging you

-----

Lucifer

he was very confused why you would give him a cute stuffed animal randomly on a tuesday afternoon

he's the embodiment of pride itself, he doesn't need a toy, regardless of that thought, he still thanked you for the gift

and turns out, the plushie does calm mr avatar of pride down after signing mountains of paperwork, it reminds him of you

Mammon

'...ya really think the great mammon needs this? uh, wait, no don't walk away! thanks, I mean-' mammon said, while his face felt warm and he kept avoiding your eyes

his awkward monologue went on for a good 15 minutes before he left with the alpaca plushie under his arm

mammon will also be prepared to fight anyone who comes a little too close to the plushie

Leviathan

congratulations! you broke leviathan

he actually nearly cries while thanking you, telling you how he isn't worthy of such kindness

you try to help him calm down a bit while henry 2.0 is judging both you and his owner

when levi is alone, he creates little cosplay costumes of hana ruri and tsl characters for the little alpaca plushie

Satan

'oh? a gift from you? thanks, mc'

satan might not get why you would gift him something so seemingly unlike him, but he likes the thought you put into it

the plushie actually motivates him to tidy a corner of his room up a bit, so it has a nice place to stay instead of being buried in a ton of books

Asmodeus

asmo loses it because of how cute the alpaca is, he clings to you while thanking you and declaring his undying love for you

the plushie becomes an important decoration item, if you were to watch one of his livestreams, you'd always be able to see it somewhere in the background

sometimes, when asmo is sad or frustrated, he'll take a look at the stuffed animal to calm down

Beelzebub

beel loves the fact you got him a little gift, he will actually give you something in return

and now, he carries the plushie with him wherever he can

that also means he takes it to his games, for good luck and support, he even places it on a separate chair

he will be very upset if something were to happen to it

Belphegor

he acts like he doesn't care for it at first, but thanks you either way

little do you know belphie sleeps with the plushie every night, one time beel even texted you a picture of the sight

he always holds it close to himself during sleep because one time it fell on the floor, and when belphie looked at it, and the plushie's eyes stared right at him, he felt horrible

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pedrisbanana · 1 year

Note

Hey how's it going? I hope you are well, my request and where Pedri asks the reading to go to the match for El Clasico, where he will return after the injury, she said that if she has time she will go, since she does not have time due to the recording of a film in who acts. Obviously Pedri is upset, but he understands. In short, she manages to go to the game and he scores a goal for her, if you want you can use obscenity. Thank you even if you don't respond to my request

Scoring on and off the pitch...

Enjoy 🍌

El Clásico

„Do you really not have time ?" Pedri pouted, laying his fork on his empty table.

He invited you to his favourite resturant tonight. Pedri was really sweet, after having met during a adidas event, you and him got introduced. You liked him, maybe even a little more than just friends and by the signs he was sending, the feeling was mutual.

„I told you already, we're starting the rehearsals in that week. I can't just skip. This is a really big opportunity for me." You frowned.

You would love to watch Pedri play, but this movie could boost your career to the next level, making you an established actress and not just the telenovela star.

He reached to hold your hand on the table, playing with your fingers. „I know. I would've just loved to see you cheer me on. Celebrate with me. Especially after this big injury."

His touch was calming. Your heart fluttered.

„I will be right here-„ You pointed to his chest where his heart is. „-supporting you. You won't even notice I'm not there."

Pedri smiled. „I have something for you." He dropped your hand to reveal a wrapped gift. You took it from him and began to rip the wrapping open.

„You don't have to take it if you don't like it..." he seemed nervous.

It was a Barcelona home jersey. You unfolded it and held it up. His name and the number 8 sparkled in golden letters. Something dropped into your lap.

„Thank you, Pepi. I love it." A special feeling spread warmth in your chest. He really wanted you to wear his jersey.

You folded the jersey to see what had dropped into your lap. A small golden chain. A sparkling 8 charm was dangling from it.

„I really like you and I hope you feel the same way, so I wanted to ask you if you would be my girlfriend."

The blush that crept upon Pedri's cheeks made him look cute. Your heart hammered in your chest.

„Yes. Pedri I would love to be your girlfriend." You practically jumped out of your chair to hug him. His hands pressed you close. He felt warm.

You couldn't help but grin. He pulled you into a kiss. All the unresolved chemistry mixed into your lips moving against one another. Pedri made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

„Will you help me ?" you handed him the necklace and turned around so he could put it on you. The 8 charm fell right above your cleavage.

"It's beautiful, thank you."

His lips were plush and warm against yours. You could definitely get used to this.

That night you fell asleep in your boyfriends arms.

Smiling, you clipped your ticket pass back to the top of your skirt. You wanted to surprise Pedro with your visit.

The rehearsals were surprisingly delayed to next week. You were glad, so now you could be here and support Pedri for the El Clasico.

For the past ten minutes you had been trying to talk the security into letting you access the mixed zone and when he finally broke, you nearly did a little happy dance. Sadly it was only five minutes before kickoff so you needed to find your boyfriend as soon as possible.

The players were already lining up when you spotted him.

"Pedri !"

The midfielder turned around and flashed you a big smile.

"Mi amor. You've made it."

His hug spread warmth through your body, making the butterflies flutter. Your lips found his cheek after you told him the change in your schedule. Wishing him good luck you separated from him and he mixed back into the pool of players.

Finding your seat on one of the VIP balconies, you saw that Aurora, Gavi's sister sat next to you. You were glad to see a familiar face and smiled at her.

The match was as heated as expected. After the first half the score was 1-1. Lewandowski and Benzema scored.

The last three minutes went on and both teams tried to seal the deal by scoring a last minute goal. Gave passed to Pedri who stood next to the line of the penalty box. He nutmegged the defender and Balde took the ball inside. Passing back to Pedri, he shot the football into the top left corner of the net, making Courtois look like a fool.

Pedri ran towards the bleachers were you were seated and blew a kiss towards you. He dedicated the goal to you.

You cheered and Aurora hugged you.

After the match Pedri joined you in the VIP lounge. You both ordered dinner and chatted. This time you sat next to him.

You felt the need to be as close to him as possible, arms and legs touching, hands brushing, a kiss on the cheek, neck or lips once in a while.

It was addicting. He was addicting.

Walking to his car, he offered to take you home. A friend had dropped you off earlier so you accepted.

He put his hand on your thigh during the ride and you intertwined your fingers. You felt happier than ever.

"Pepi, that's your house, not mine." you said laughing.

He leaned over to give you a kiss. "I know, hermosa, but I want to keep you close. Stay with me tonight ?"

You giggled. "Of course I will."

He lead you into the apartment. You remembered the familiarity from your last visit.

"I'll give you my clothes to sleep in. You can change in the bathroom." he said and disappeared into the bedroom.

You put your handbag on the small table next to the front door and took your phone out.

"Here you go. Do you need anything else ?" he asked.

"No thank you, Pepi. I should be fine." you replied.

After changing you joined Pedri on his bed, cuddling into the duvet. He held you to his chest, legs entangling.

He leaned forward to kiss you. It was chaste at first, then his tongue asked for entrance, which you gladly granted. You fell back into the pillow, pulling Pedri half on top of you. His tongue explored your mouth and massaged yours.

You moaned as he pulled your hips closer, your core brushing his soft bulge in the process. Electricity shot through you and your hands slid up into his hair. He started to grind his hips against yours, seeking friction.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath. Pedri lit your whole body on fire.

He continued to kiss down your neck, finding your pulse point. You wanted to contemplation how far this would go, but Pedri easily took that decision from you.

The feeling of his lips on your throat fogged your mind. Usually you didn't move this fast in a relationship. With Pedri it was different. He made it easy for you to trust him. The connection was deeper from the beginning.

You knew Pedri wanted to be respectful, so you started to lead this further by moving your hands down and pull the hem of his sleep shirt up. He pulled away to look at you. His eyes were clouded with lust.

What a sight.

He removed the shirt and you scratched your nails against the defined muscles of his V line.

What a sight indeed.

He sucked in a breath at the feeling and took hold of your wrists. You looked at him with surprise. In this position he kneeled above your hips, trying not to crush you.

"If you want to tease, you have to go all the way, princesa." His voice had your panties dripping wet with anticipation. His bulge grew bigger.

He wanted this as much as you did.

"I always finish what I start." you said, making eye contact.

Having your consent, he started to move your hands down the trail of hair peeking into his briefs. Leading your hands past the waist pants, you held your breath.

His cock was big and warm and his balls were heavy. You wrapped your hand around it and started to pump a few times, making Pedri hiss and swear in spanish.

"I need you, amor." he moaned and thrusted into your hands. You bit your lip and removed your hands from his pulsing member.

"I need you more." you replied and pulled at the waistband of your panties. Pedri removed his briefs and kissed up your thighs. When he reached your core, he kissed you above the thin fabric and pulled it down with his teeth, which made you giggle.

Pedri continued his journey until he could remove his shirt off your body. Your lips found his again, connecting in a passionate battle for dominance.

His hands encircled your waist as he entered you. Your bodies found a synchronized rhythm, embracing each others lust. Being this close didn't feel like enough. You dug your nails into his bag pleading for more.

His thrusts sent you into oblivion. Pedri whispered sweet nothings into your skin, clarifying his own pleasure. The pleasure you gave him.

His fingers found your pulsing clit and your nipples rubbed against the hard pecs of his chest. You clenched around him, bringing him closer to his release.

He held you when your body rode out the orgasm he gave you. His hands caressed your arched back when he pumped his seed inside of you. Pedri stroked your hair when you fell limp against him, tired and exhausted from the impressions.

You felt cold when he stood up to clean you up. He urged you to go to the bathroom before falling asleep with him.

That's all you needed, falling asleep being surrounded by his body warmth.

He whispered you into sleep with declarations of love.

A/N: I'm doing very well thank you !

A more cute fic. I know I said smut at Camp Not, but I rewrote the smut part bc I didn't think a locker room smut fit into the vibe. Sorry.

I'm kind of disappointed with this after the last two fics. I also didn't have the motivation to proofread.

Let me know what you think !💕

#pedri gonzalez #pedri smut #pedri fanfic #pedri fluff #pedri one shot #pedro gonzález lópez

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silverbladexyz · 1 year

Note

hello! i saw that you just opened your requests, fell free to ignore this btw.

are you able to do a dazai x gn reader where reader is really quiet but their actually just bottling up anger and they accidentally explode their anger onto dazai?

have a good day/night 👋

Linn is that you? Hellooooo!!! Tbh reader kind of sounds like me sometimes... anywayssss hope you enjoy! ^-^

The image does not belong to me. It belongs to it's original owner.

TW: Dazai being Dazai, anger explosion (?), toxic family

Dazai with a gn!reader who accidentally explodes their anger onto him

-So you worked at the Armed Detective Agency, and things were tough

-Your family came from a financially unstable background, and this caused lots of fights between your parents about money. Many times, your parents had let their anger out on you

-Over the years, your anger was bottled up inside of you, never exploding, but it threatened to spill. You were very good at staying silent, but you did that because it was the only way of keeping your anger in

-Many people noticed how silent you were sometimes, but they mistook it as shyness. And this caught the attention of the Agency’s suicidal maniac

-Dazai liked to tease you a lot. You brushed it off every time with a cold face, hoping that he would stop, but he didn’t. In fact, your ambivalence only encouraged him more, and soon you found yourself being teased by him at least once every hour

-Normally, you just kept silent and continued working. His teases made you feel a bit annoyed, but you always managed to make it go away. Sometimes, Kunikida came to your rescue, but only if he sensed that you were on the verge of exploding

-One afternoon, you were just having a very bad day. Your parents had another fight, and your mother had shouted at you and called you a burden. You had said nothing, but the bottled-up anger in you burned brighter than before

-And it was just your luck that Dazai decided to tease you, seeing how quiet you were all day. It was just a silly jab, but it was just enough to make your contained anger overflow

-‘Will you just shut up! I’ve had enough of your teasing, and I hope that you’ll #%^&@#$%^!’

-Dazai was not expecting that. He was aware that you were sometimes on the verge of being mad at him, but he never suspected that you had this much anger bottled up in you

-He immediately is analysing the situation. After he has made a few deductions, he will very quietly ask you if you needed to let it all out

-Dazai will listen to you and be silent when you do let it all out. He may not be the best therapist, but he is a good listener. When you’ve finished, he will offer a few words of comfort and advice, maybe even giving you a pat on the shoulder if he saw that you were very distressed

-Definitely lays back on the teasing. Even when he does playfully banter with you once in a while, it’s totally harmless. Dazai even becomes an expert on reading your emotions, and if he sees you on the verge of bursting, he will smoothly handle the situation and afterwards draw you aside to calm/comfort you

-Your bond with him certainly has grown deeper, and there might be something else there, who knows 🤭

-But please do remember that Dazai is there for you, and he will never tell your secrets to anybody else. Even if you don’t want to tell him anything, Dazai will always offer his support, even if it’s so small that you don’t notice it

-If it gets worse though, Dazai will have a talk with your parents, and trust me, it will work very well

-In return, please be there for him as well. His mask rarely breaks, but when there’s a small crack in it, indirectly let him know that you’re there for him. He might laugh it off on the surface, but deep down he is glad that he could also rely on you

Sorry that this was kind of bad ;-;

@pixyys @ashthemadwriter @nekokinax @the-mourning-stars @pianotross @yuugen-benni @xxelfmamaxx @lakeside-paradise @catzlivedforbsd

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd angst #bsd comfort #dazai x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #silverbladexyz

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noellie-writes217 · 3 months

Text

Word Diary

Chapter one: Whelve

Summary: Tom comes back from a hectic year to find his ex from his teens in his parents’ house. She’s got big plans for herself and all of Tom’s brothers know, he’s a risk for her.

Series warnings: Smut, exes to lovers, pining, additional warnings per chapter

Tom came home for the holidays on December twentieth of 2020 but was not expecting to see what he saw in his childhood home on that day. His mother sits there indulging in conversation with a friend she’s had since Tom was born.

“Tom! Honey! Look who’s here!” She points to her friend who’s been playing with a puppy.

“Hello Holly. It’s good to see you.” But it’s still really awkward given the history… but then again, Holly doesn’t know the history.

“Tom honey, come see Rosalind’s new puppy! His name is Cerberus.” Tom’s brows raise a little more when he hears the name.

Instead of kneeling and playing with the puppy immediately, he stands there for a second wondering if this is real or not.

He hears laughing from the kitchen, and then his younger brother Sam walks out with Holly’s daughter, Rosalind and a few dishes for dinner.

Once he sees Rosalind, everything stops for him. She’s wearing that smile she used to wear around him when they were alone and no one knew. The one he hasn’t seen in years. The one he’s dreamt of. The one Harrison has made fun of him for fantasizing over. The one he’s had no luck finding in any other girl. The one he fell in love with right before he left for carpentry school. It still hasn’t changed.

She looks up for a moment at him and her smile fades so she quickly leaves with Sam as he tells another story.

Harry of course notices and texts the brothers group chat calling an emergency meeting.

BROTHERS GROUPCHAT

Harry:Meeting in Paddy’s room. ASAP

Sam:why?

Paddy:Yeah and why my room?

Harry:All will be explained. Just get there

Tom:I just got home. Can it wait?

NON FAMOUS HOLLANDS

Harry: Tom’s still in love with Roz. He’s either gonna be a dick or a loser if we don’t talk to him about it. That’s why we need a meeting.

Sam: Seriously? Still? He was such a dick last time they saw each other.

Paddy: Agreed

Sam: If he starts acting like that again she might not just leave for Paris for school, she could leave forever

Harry: Thus why something. Needs. To. Be. Done.

Paddy: Meeting in my room

All of the brothers get to Paddy’s room in a short few minutes. And Tom is told to sit on his bed while the twins get ready to interrogate him and paddy guards the door.

“I saw the way you looked at her Tom,” Harry starts.

Tom tries (and fails) to bullshit through this conversation, “what are you talking about?”

“We’re talking about you being awkward about Roz being here,” Sam chimes.

“Roz is like a sister to us, and we’ve seen you fuck it up with her to the point where she left the fucking country,” Harry says, “so whatever your thinking about her, stop. She’s too good for you and everyone knows it but you apparently.”

Tom gets angry at his younger brothers for trying to tell him what to do. He has since they were all little… well, little-er. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Rosalind left so she go to ballet school in Paris. That had nothing to do with me.”

Now it’s Paddy’s turn to speak up, “Oh yeah? When was the last time you talked to her?”

5 years almost. Right before he went to carpentry school.

“Exactly.” “We lost a sister because you were a fucking asshole.” Sam crosses his arms. “And she probably wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t for that other dick.” His twin copies his gesture.

‘Does Roz have an ex?’ He wonders. She does not. The dick that Tom’s brothers are referring to is Rosalind’s father, who just got his mistress pregnant. Rosalind moved back to England to support her mother during the divorce.

“Look, mates,” Tom starts, “do you even know what happened between me and Roz?” It’s silent for a moment. “Exactly. So don’t assume that just because I used to like her, I’ll automatically still be in love with her. I’m not. Nor have I ever been!”

What Tom didn’t know was that Rosalind heard everything that just happened.

Instead of busting in on them, she just goes back downstairs and decides to text Sam that his dish was ready.

“Shit, my foods done,” he states, “let’s call this a wrap for now and follow up later.”

The lot of them sit at the table eating the food Sam made.

Most if the conversation is made up by Tom’s parents and Rosalind’s mother. She compliments Sam on the food.

“Thank you so much, Holly. Roz made desert too, and it looks absolutely delicious. What’d you say it was?” Sam asks the girl.

“Lavender vanilla bean beignets.” She informs.

“My mouth is already watering with anticipation! That sounds lovely.” Tom’s father comments.

Roz has always been bashful when someone compliments her. Tom has always found it adorable… which is why he would compliment her any chance he had when they were teenagers.

“My friend’s mother taught me the recipe. She said it was a family recipe and I’m not allowed to tell anyone… so please don’t ask.” She jokes.

“Damn. That sucks. I was gonna ask for it.” Sam says.

Rosalind smiles lightly.

“So, Rosalind,” Nikki calls for the girl’s attention, “do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Moving into my new flat, meeting up with some old friends, and then I have a date.”

Holly’s mother peeps up, “be careful, darling. Unless you’re lucky enough to marry a Holland, men tend to disappoint.”

Holly doesn’t know about Roz and Tom. That they used to see each other after the sun went down, sneaking out of each other’s windows to mess around.

Holly was a nurse who usually worked nights and Rosalind’s father was just an idiot who didn’t notice Tom taking the condoms.

“Trust me Mum. I know.” Rosalind’s eyes shift up to Tom for less than a second but it’s enough for the other boys to notice. Harry kicks his shin.

“Actually, I should probably get going now. There’s a lot of stuff I need to unpack. And Cerberus is getting sleepy. But I do hope you all enjoy desert.” She politely gets up from the table.

Nikki clicks her tongue, “Oh, darling! I was so hoping you could stay so we could discuss our plans for Christmas! And Tom just got back from filming. It’d be so lovely if you’d stay.”

“Love, if it’s just unpacking I’m sure one of the boys could help you tomorrow.” Dom says.

It’s true. All four boys would be more than willing. But it would be far too soon for Roz to be ok with it.

“No no. It’s ok. I also have to figure out some choreo for some clients.”

“Well let me help you with your stuff.” Sam offers.

“So what exactly is your new job?” He asks once they’re alone.

Rosalind clips Cerberus’s collar and leash, “I’m a new ballerina for the royal ballet company. And when there’s time, I choreograph for musicians.”

He nods and grabs an umbrella. “You might want this.”

She smiles at the nostalgia, “I can’t believe you’ve had this in your umbrella bin all this time! Thank you Sammy.”

“You know you’re still the only person who gets to call me that.” He laughs

“What? Not even your girlfriend?”

“That’s still pretty new.” He explains, “you would have met her tonight, but she had her own family thing.”

“Well I’d love to meet her.” Rosalind pulls the strap of her bag onto her shoulder before opening the door. “And thanks for setting me up on that date.” She calls out before patting her thigh for Cerberus to follow her. She waved one last time to the boy before leaving on her way.

Little did either of them know that Tom heard the entire conversation between them.

“What the hell, Sam!” He claps his brother on the back once Rosalind is out of eyesight and earshot.

Sam shrugs, “You know, for a guy who said he was never in love with her, you seem to care an awful lot. Maybe I should set you up with someone too.” With that, Sam walks back inside.

#tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #spiderman #enemies to lovers #tom holland #ballerina #young love #exes to lovers #peter parker #harry holland #sam holland #paddy holland #brothers trust #peter parker angst

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gatheringfiki · 5 months

Text

The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, T.

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

By Any Other Name…

—

Long-haul freight trucking isn’t for everyone. Days, sometimes weeks, away from home; a lot of gas station coffee, leaky motel rooms, and diners with sticky floors and dead-eyed waitresses whose smiles reflect lifetimes of missed opportunities.

Fíli fell into it after uni.

Unlike the majority, he loves his time on the road. Appreciates the peace the job offers. Of course, he misses his loved ones when he’s away for lengths of time, but he’s always been a bit of a hermit. He’s better at listening than engaging, which is perhaps why he considers the radio perfect company.

In particular, a mid-morning radio show that he maybe-sort of-but not really schedules his day around.

“—And that was Last Christmas by Wham!. Sorry to those of you who almost made it this year!” The DJ cackles, not sorry at all. “Better luck next year.”

“You’re a menace.” The cohost snorts before introducing the next song, something from the Top 40 to keep things moving.

Kíli Oaks is an incredible radio personality who makes the time pass quickly. Fíli deeply enjoys listening to Kíli’s show whenever it’s on, be it when he’s hauling freight or at home in his kitchen. And while it could be said that harboring a crush on a celebrity is a waste of energy, Fíli is content to indulge it.

His mother worries his interest in Kíli Oaks is hindering his chance of finding someone, “what with dedicating your attention to a disembodied voice.”

It’s a point of contention between them, but Díssandra Durin is a good mum and does her best to be supportive.

Exhibit A:

“Doesn’t that man on the radio live in Pelargir?” She asked Fíli before he left.

“And?”

She shrugged as if to say not that it matters, but “Aren’t you going to Pelargir?”

“Mum, even if I lived near the radio station, the chances of ever meeting him are slim to none.” Fíli said, trying to keep his tone light despite it being the third time she’d made a remark of that nature.

“You never know.”

“Trust me, ma, I know. It would be weird, wouldn’t it?” Not that Fíli was angling for an answer. Of course it would be weird.

“Or it could be a funny story you tell your kids one day.”

Fíli eyed his mother suspiciously, “Or it could be a traumatic story he tells the police.”

He expected her to drop the issue but, instead, she jutted her chin toward the coffee table and said, “Either way, that’s for you.” and carried on knitting as if she didn’t just blow the top of Fíli’s head off with surprise.

Fíli’s stomach clenches in excitement, glancing at the envelope on the dashboard.

While his mother doesn’t endorse his crush on Kíli, she found out about a Christmas special Kíli and his cohost are putting on to raise money for a Christmas charity. In front of a live audience.

An audience Fíli now has a ticket to be a member of.

He doesn’t know how she did it, considering Kíli has more fans than there were tickets (the show sold out in minutes after the tickets went live), but Fíli’s infinitely grateful.

He listens as Kíli reads a listener’s text aloud, adding an anecdote of his own before both he and his cohost dissolve into fits of breathless, soundless laughter.

“—That’s not what I said!” Kíli wheezes after his cohost accuses him of defiling a snowman.

Their producer urges them along, trying to herd the chaos into something manageable but Kíli and his cohost keep bantering.

“Boys,” The producer says sternly, “The next song, please.”

Fíli imagines Kíli wipes the tears from his eyes and composes himself, “Right, right, right,” It seems that what’s cued to play isn’t what Kíli expects because he barks another laugh, “Nooo!’

His cohost squeezes the title of the next song out between giggles, “Here’s Snowman by Sia.” And off they go again, their laughter cut off as the song starts to play.

Fíli grins like an idiot, as if he’s part of the silliness. The adolescent, world is my oyster, everything is possible part of him would love to exchange funny stories with Kíli, watch him laugh until his eyes are glassy, cheeks ruddy and wet. The realistic, adult part of Fíli understands that such things can only happen by divine intervention. Which, in his experience, doesn’t actually exist.

Thus, he’ll go to the show, have a good laugh, respectably ogle Kíli from afar, and then end his evening reading over a cup of mulled wine.

Brilliant.

***

“He’s so … sad.”

“Are you sure he isn’t too—” Finding the correct words to say ‘serial killer’ without actually saying ‘serial killer’ is difficult. “—antisocial?” Is just as bad, really, but better than ‘maladaptive’ or ‘socially awkward’.

A long, tired groan sounds from between the other two voices. “Don’t either of you have anything else to do?”

“No.” The first two voices say in unison.

Meet Divine Intervention.

Thranduil peers into the Palantír, silvery hair curtaining his expression, though Gandalf guesses it’s one of disdain. Thranduil has a type; usually six-foot-four and Doriathen, with yodeling accents and donning colorful knitwear.

By contrast, Fíli Durin is a combination of broad strokes and blunt shapes, and a penchant for more subdued seasonal layers.

“He isn’t too far away, is he, Gandalf?” Radagast wonders, hovering over Gandalf’s shoulder to watch Fíli’s image in the milky glass, “Will he make it on time?”

“If you two leave me to my work, I can see to it that he does.” Gandalf puts as much emphasis behind his words as he can muster around the bit of his pipe.

Thranduil and Radagast are deliberately trying to sabotage Gandalf’s progress, he’s certain. It isn’t his fault he has the reputation of casting some of the most intricate and everlasting Tapestries—or as Belinda from HR, in an attempt to rebrand the realm into the 21st Age, calls them: Love Stories.

Gandalf puffs his pipe grouchily at the idea.

As long as there have been a moon and stars, there have been Weavers tasked with the choosing and care of the roses from Lorien’s garden. Each rose contains within its petals a communion, some more momentous than others, but all serving a significant purpose in the lives of those selected to sustain them. A Weaver’s sole responsibility is to match a pair worthy of a rose’s influence and have them meet before the final petal falls. If things go well, the rose blooms anew, radiant and golden, until the span of the—Gandalf shudders—Story is complete.

Otherwise…

Well, nothing happens. Some roses aren’t meant to be epic tales worthy of Shakespearean prose, mild in colour and force. Other roses burn too bright and fizzle out before a Weaver can say Tom Bombadil. It depends partially on the rose and partially on the Weaver’s capabilities.

And Gandalf’s capabilities far exceed those of many Weavers, a fact highlighted by the shelves of thriving roses encases in their glass cloches.

He has full confidence that the pair he selected are absolutely perfect for each other.

Fíli may be content in his aloneness, but he is strong and patient and has so much love to give. And Kíli? Kíli is—

***

“You’re being obnoxious, Kee.” Boromir says, slingshotting another rubberband at Kíli’s forehead.

It hits with a dry snap and falls into the mounting pile in Kíli’s lap, leaving behind a blossoming red spot right between his eyebrows.

“Am not!” Kíli wails through a wide smile, gathers all the rubberbands and lobs them in Boromir’s general direction.

He isn’t. He’s being prudent; a word his grandmother would never use to describe him, but there he is, being just that. Someone’s future happiness rests entirely in the palm of his hand and he will not risk ruining it.

“You are.” Boromir insists, ignoring their producer, Merry, as he frantically signals for Kíli to prepare for the interlude. “You’ve got that glassy-eyed look you get after a good shag.”

“I don’t like that you know that about me.”

Boromir bobs his head in consensous, “Nor do I.”

And they’re back on air. Kíli dutifully lists the titles of the songs they just played and introduces the next queue, promises he and Boromir will return for their typical Wednesday slot of Say It or Spray It—a game their old producer concoted to embarrass the shit out of Kíli on his first day hosting the midmorning show.

Needless to say, it had only fueld Kíli’s fire, and look at him now, several years later and a staple at GBC Radio 1.

As soon as their mics are muted again, Kíli whips out his phone, presses his thumb to the print verification button and opens his professional TikTok account.

Boromir rolls his eyes.

Kíli sticks out his tongue.

“See?” Boromir points toward Kíli with his hand, “Obnoxious.”

Kíli scrolls past hundreds of unread DMs to the thread he’s revisited about forty times in the last hour, swipes through the thread until he reaches the picture attached.

It’s of a man, close to Kíli’s age. Kissable lips swept into a gentle smile, square shoulders and a barrel chest accentuated by the thin, visibly loved band t-shirt worn when the picture was taken. A candid shot at what appears to have been a cookout, hinted to by the long twig he’s hold with a marshmallow speared through the tip.

He’s handsome—very handsome—exactly the sort of bloke Kíli topples head-over-heels for.

“Your love life is so tragic that someone’s mum is taking pity on you.” Boromir teases, nudging Kíli’s foot with the tip of his shoe.

Kíli wants to sling a comeback at him, but finds he can hardly disagree. Besides, Kíli wouldn’t mind taking the man’s mum up on the offer.

Tragically, she isn’t offering.

She messaged Kíli hoping to get a ticket to Kíli and Boromir’s live audience Christmas special. When Kíli asked his producer about available tickets, he was stunned to discover they’d sold out faster than a Taylor Swift concert.

“We reserved some for family, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Merry told him.

Kíli replied to the woman, Dís Durin she called herself, with the good news, happy to offer one of his personal tickets to Dís’—very handsome—son, Fíli.

“You’ve got that goofy look on your face again.” Boromir announces. “New update on your boyfriend?”

“Naff off.” Kíli kicks Boromir’s shin under the table. Boromir oufs in surprise, fixes his face into a glare and retaliates by swatting the top of Kíli’s head.

“Don’t start, you two, the song’s almost over.” Merry warns, crossing his arms sternly. He slants his gaze toward Kíli, “But Boromir has a point, Kee, you might want to work on that dopey face you make before you meet him. Bit unattractive.”

“Oi!”

***

Draped across Gandalf’s armchair, where he retreated when he and Radagast were shooed away from the Palantír, Thranduil indicates to Kíli, “I like that one, he has passion.” Then he slides a bored glance back to Fíli, “All that one does is drive around in a big truck.”

“He must have something up his sleeve,” Radagast says in defense of Gandalf as if he’s not there to do it for himself. “The old rascal wouldn’t risk losing.” That is, the bet Gandalf made with Elrond, a Spindler from the third floor who specializes in forks in the road.

A bet made because, to be frank, Weaving loses its charm after a Weaver’s third millennia performing the task. Sometimes, they need incentive, and high-stakes gambling is the motivation Gandalf requires to ensure he doesn’t wilt a rose into lost opportunity.

“Quite right.” Gandalf lifts his chin proudly and reprimands Thranduil, “How dare you question my artistic process.”

Thranduil meets his stare flatly. “So,” He says, his tone suspiciously matter-of-fact, “All he has to do is get to Pelargir by the strike of 6?”

“Yes.” Gandalf says cautiously.

“Very good. And how exactly do you plan to get him there through an avalanche?”

Gandalf whips his head back to the Palantír, alarmed. Although an avalanche is a mighty exaggeration, the scene unfolding in the glass isn’t much better. Wiggling his fingers in a rapid, deliberate pattern, Gandalf hunches over the Palantír with fierce concentration.

Fíli’s truck rumbles merrily along in the cloudy image to the left. In the image to the right is an unholy dumping of snow. Fíli’s still far enough away that Gandalf has time to maneuver a solution, but the window is narrow.

The situation may require—

Thranduil and Radagast watch Gandalf intently, look at each other and then back to Gandalf.

Slowly, his face set in determination, Gandalf raises from the ether a shovel with a wide, metal blade.

—Drastic. Action.

***

The trouble starts just as Fíli leaves Minas Tirith. Snow falls in sheets, thick and sticky, forcing Fíli to slow his speed and call Central.

“I stayed ahead of it for awhile,” Fíli explains of the weather, “But it finally caught up to me.”

Bofur snorts, “Guess that luck of yours is finally running out, ay Durin?”

“Not a chance. Just a little bit of delay. I’ll still make it by this evening.” Fíli reassures, “Just let them know, yeah?”

“I’m on it. Drive safe, lad!”

Fíli smiles, “Cheers.” and disconnects the call.

Unfortunately, Bofur might’ve been right about Fíli’s luck running out.

Things get worse by Aglarshire, a road closure forcing Fíli to take the exit into town for an impromptu break. After eight hours at the wheel, he’s due one anyway, but he’d hoped to get as far as Karaborough before making the stop.

The snow is really coming down now, and the townships between Minas Tirith and Pelargir aren’t equipped to handle removal like the big cities.

Still, Fíli tries to stay positive.

Almari’s café serves the best stew and crusty bread this side of the White Horns. Almari herself is the motherly sort; a short woman of stout figure and a kind face, somehow able to discern what Fíli needs as soon as he steps through the door.

The café is quiet apart from two men arguing about livestock. A traditional, rustic ambiance of dark wood and brass accents, mismatched tables rubbed in places of their stain and chairs that creak when occupied. An impressive oak bar stretches the length of the wall across from the entrance, hosting a row of tall stools with worn leather seats.

From where she’s polishing silverware, Almari indicates with a blunt knife to a snug corner at one end of the bar. Fíli obliges, pinching off his gloves on the way. He has to remove his coat to sidle between the wall and the counter, and plants himself on the lone stool at an awkward angle before he can maneuver his legs under the bar. Once he’s situated, he turns to hang his coat on the hook above his left shoulder.

It’s a questionable fit, but the space offers a sense of cozy privacy; just what he needs to settle his nerves after driving through nasty weather.

Almari appears and sets a steaming cup of strong coffee in front of him, smiles warmly, and pats his forearm with the affection of an old friend.

“Bit nippy out there.” She says, brushing snow from his beard with the towel she’d been using to polish the silverware. “Wouldn’t go out there for all the money in the world.”

“It’s not so bad.” Fíli assures, “At least it’s not icy.”

Almari looks skeptical, “I’m just happy I don’t have far to go when I close up.” Her apartment being directly above the café. “Would be a nightmare trying to find my car after all this snow.”

Fíli agrees. “A real archeological dig, ay?”

Almari considers him sympathetically for a moment before she breaks the news Fíli feared when he was redirected toward Aglarshire. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. The plows might not get to our neck of the woods for awhile yet.”

Fíli’s heart leaps to his throat, but he arranges his features into a neutral guise. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

Almari straightens and smooths down her apron. “The usual, then?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Never, when it comes to you, boy.” Almari leans over the bar again and pinches Fíli’s cheek softly. Then off she sweeps into the kitchen, barking Fíli’s order to the cook, Randolf, her husband of thirty years.

Fíli glances outside, brow knitted. He can hardly see the road through the curtain of snow. He slips a hand in the kangaroo pocket of his sweater and gently holds the envelope he tucked in there for safe keeping, contemplating his options.

At best, he’ll be late. At worst, he’ll miss Kíli’s show altogether and have to apologize to his mother for money wasted. Not that she’ll mind. Nah, she’ll probably take it as a sign from the cosmos that Fíli needs to plant his attention in reality.

No sense fretting, Fíli resolves and fishes his book from his coat pocket.

Whatever happens, happens.

…And say it again, with feeling.

Fíli huffs through his nose, molars grinding, and flips his book open to where he left off.

***

This is wholly unorthodox, Weavers traveling through the curtain into Arda, but Gandalf’s mind is made up. Why Thranduil and Radagast join him, he doesn’t know, their motivations none of his concern.

They land as a unit, dropping like stones into the snow from above. Gandalf and Radagast disappear for a moment beneath the plush white, while Thranduil’s head and shoulders pierce the snow, his long, dainty legs the only bit of him now visible to the world.

Gandalf and Radagast pop up, pull themselves free and brush themselves off. Thranduil’s legs kick frantically before either notice he’s stuck. Together, they yank Thranduil free and resume orienting themselves, scanning their surroundings for anything that can help them on their journey.

“Aha!” Gandalf sees it first, the depot the town uses to house their massive machines.

“That’s what you have in mind?” Thranduil sounds incredulous, “I thought we shelved your idea to shovel three hundred kilometersofroad.”

Radagast wrings his hands, worried for Gandalf’s sanity.

“Not shovelling,” Gandalf corrects with a wicked glint in his eye, “Plowing.”

“Oh my…” Radagast squeaks, as Thranduil erupts, “You cannot possibly think that’s a better solution! You’ve never even used one of those ghastly contraptions!”

Gandalf waves him off, “How hard could it be?” and trudges forward, carving a path for Radagast and Thranduil to follow.

As it turns out, it’s incredibly hard. For three whimsical beings of the Otherlands, anyway.

Once they locate the right machine, one boasting a large, yawning blade at its front, they struggle to bring it to life. Gandalf and Radagast fiddle with levers and buttons, pressing and pulling things at random.

“What about this one?”

“No, no, no, it must be this one.”

“Or this one.”

Thranduil rolls his eyes, content not to participate. No, he’s a being of acute intelligence and has a better idea than pushing and prodding everything like toddlers in an elevator.

Without saying a word, he marches toward what a sign specifies is the Main Office. He enters and slips behind the front desk to study a corkboard filled with rows of keys, all labeled neatly for convenience.

At least these Gondorian neanderthals are organized, he muses.

It takes less than a minute for him to locate the right key. Just as he wraps his fingers around it—

“Hey! Who are you!?” A man shaped like a star demands. He’s round in the middle and thin everywhere else with a head of stringy black hair. The stench of self-importance radiating from him suggests to Thranduil he’s the one in charge of the fleet of machines.

Thranduil groans dramatically, completely put-off by the whole situation, “Well, shit.” In a calculated act of defense, he grabs the computer off the front desk and brings it down on the man’s head.

He crumples into a heap instantly.

Thranduil takes the right key, steps over the man elegantly, and marches back to Gandalf and Radagast.

***

“Looks like it’s your lucky day,” Almari tells him, watching through the snow the silhouette of a snowplow thunder down the road at speed. She frowns, “Can’t always believe what they tell you on the news, can you?”

“‘Spose not,” Fíli chuckles, fishing a Ꞓ201 note from his wallet and dropping it on the bar. “I’d better be off.” He shrugs on his coat, flashing a bright smile at Almari, “Thanks for lunch, it was delicious as ever.”

“Stop in on your way back.” Almari instructs, “I’ve a special Christmas menu that I think you’ll enjoy.”

Fíli nods, walking backward a few steps, “Will do.” He salutes playfully then spins around and pushes through the door. The wind and snow hit him like a brick wall, almost forcing him backward. Thankfully, he’s made of stronger stuff, and shoulders his way toward his truck.

Though the road has been cleared, the car park is still covered in a blanket of white that reaches halfway to Fíli’s knees. Not ideal, Fíli thinks, but doable. If he leaves now, he’ll make it to Pelargir and complete his delivery by early evening, as intended with the mild delay.

He only hopes things go smoothly from here.

***

Kíli squints against the stage lights, but it’s impossible to distinguish anyone in the audience. Both he and Boromir are already in their places, microphones adjusted to their preferences, muted until the broadcast starts.

He kept an eye out for Fíli while backstage, peeking into the auditorium as often as Merry would allow (which wasn’t often, between frog marching Kíli to hair and makeup, and debriefing Kíli and Boromir on their lineup of special guests and the playlist).

Never in a million years did Kíli think he would be this dedicated to making a fan happy. Usually, that’s PRs job, fussing over giftbags and food boxes, when and where fans can meet the DJs, and so on. This time, Kíli forced his involvement, questioning Rosie about Fíli’s seating arrangement and whether or not he’ll receive a one-on-one with Kíli after the show ends.

Rosie massaged her temples, said in a clipped tone, “Kíli, please, let me do my job.”

“I just—”

She raised her hands in a gesture parents use to calm their children, “I understand this is important to you, but just worry about the show. I’ve taken care of everything. Your guest will be treated like royalty, just like the other invitees, alright?”

Kíli swallowed and nodded shortly, “Alright.”

Now, he fiddles with the ungodly Christmas blazer wardrobe forced him into. The pattern is bright green-and-red plaid embroidered with sparkly gold thread. Beneath he wears a thin sweater in a crisp white with the image of a fluffy Christmas tree on the front, and, under that, a red, collared shirt.

Boromir dons an equally as gaudy combination, though he seems far less uncomfortable, sprawled in his chair like a king at a feast, texting his wife who sits in the audience only meters away.

“Two minutes.” Merry announces, coming up to them. “You two ready?”

“Yes.” Boromir says at the same time Kíli says, “No.”

“Well, pull it together, man,” Merry insists as he grabs a handheld microphone and prepares to deliver his welcome introduction to the audience. “Don’t forget to smile!” He urges, tracing an exaggerated U over his mouth with his forefingers, before trotting to the front of the stage and signalling to the sound booth.

“Mate, you’ve never been nervous a day in your life.” Boromir reminds Kíli, “You’ve got this.” He reaches forward and squeezes Kíli’s shoulder. “Right?”

“Right.” Kíli says and, for the first time since he started a career in radio, he doesn’t believe it.

***

After abandoning the wreckage of the snowplow in a ditch for the town to deal with, Gandalf, Thranduil and Radagast stomp through the door of Gandalf’s office, dusting snow off their shoulders and shaking it out of their hair.

“That was the worst thing you’ve ever done.” Thranduil says, plopping into the armchair. “I can’t believe we weren’t killed.”

“Close enough,” Radagast winces, rubbing the lump at the back of his head.

Gandalf grins, pleased with himself. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Fine and well,” Thranduil flaps a hand toward the Palantír, “But what about that? You want to plow through a bunch of civilians, too?”

Deflating, Gandalf watches the image shift from Fíli’s truck to the kilometers of bumper-to-bumper traffic heading into Pelargir. Construction lights and road signs herd cars into one of five lanes, the other four closed for repaving.

Because of fucking course it is.

“He’s not going to make it,” Radagast laments, hand over his heart. “Even after all we’ve done…”

“Mmm.”

Thranduil pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but: you are aware there’s a whole city and many hours of night at your fingertips, yes?”

Gandalf stares at him inquisitively, inviting Thranduil to continue, “They don’t need to meet at the show.”

Radagast brightens, “They don’t need to meet at the show!”

“I’m surprised how much you care.” Gandalf admits to Thranduil. “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

“Oh, shut up. I just don’t want to see you lose your bet. Elrond is insufferable enough as it is.” He amends and stands, holding out a hand for Gandalf to take, “Now, let’s see this shitshow through to the end, shall we?”

“Indeed.”

***

Fíli didn’t make it.

The traffic into the city was worse than Fíli’s ever experienced in all his days hauling freight. It crawled ahead by inches for close to two hours, during which Fíli listened to the Christmas special with a broken heart.

He knows better now than to get his hopes up about this sort of thing. Not that he expected much out of the evening, at most an autograph or a handshake.

Still…

Fíli shakes his head, hellbent on turning the night around.

The delivery successful, albeit an hour later than scheduled, he takes the underground downtown and roams the busy streets. Pelargir looks like something out of a Hallmark movie, glittering under strings of gold and coloured lights. Storefronts are decorated with garland and baubles and tinsel, all arranged to evoke Christmas cheer.

It works, the chill of dismay lifting ever-so-slightly from Fíli’s chest.

Fíli plucks his way through the bustling crowd, keeping an eye out for somewhere to eat. He’s decided to treat himself to something fancier than he’s used to. Somewhere with cloth napkins and unique cutlery for each dish.

He spends twenty minutes wandering up and down the maze of streets, reading menu displays and peeking in windows at restaurant floors crammed with guests. Turning another corner, Fíli’s just about to throw in the towel and find the nearest fast-food joint when he, quite literally, stumbles upon a small sidewalk a-frame that’s chalk lettering promises Festive Fancies Within.

Fíli scans the area, hoping that no one saw him trip over the sign, and sets it to rights.

It’s as good a place as any, less busy than everywhere else, though still hosting a fair amount of people. Fíli is greeted by a cheerful looking older gentleman with twinkly grey eyes and a beard to match.

“How many?” The gentleman inquires.

“Just me.”

“Ah, for one. I can only offer a seat at the bar, I’m afraid. Though, rest assured, the service is exceptional.”

Fíli shrugs, already unwrapping his scarf and shoving his gloves in his coat pocket. “Suits me just fine.” He says and allows the gentleman to escort him to a seat near the middle of the bar.

The bartender casts him a smile, indicating he’ll be right with him, and continues to expertly shake and prepare multiple drinks at a time. Fíli watches the bartender pour the contents of one shaker into a chilled martini glass with a flourish, while bouncing another shaker from his elbow into his hand before emptying it into a rocks glass filled with a single, large cube of ice.

Fíli doesn’t bother to hide his awe, never having been anywhere the bartenders perform tricks. It’s obvious the bartender appreciates Fíli’s open admiration since he slides Fíli a drink with three discernable layers— seasonal red, white, and green—in a tall glass, garnished with a spear of dark cherries and lime, and a sugar-frosted rim.

“Thank you.” He says when the bartender approaches to drop a menu in front of him.

“My pleasure.” The bartender smirks, “Just signal me when you’re ready to order.” And off he swans, plucking a long chit from the machine behind the bar and filling its order in an intricate series of movements not unlike a ballet.

***

Kíli feels like he’s being followed. He’s not unfamiliar with the sensation. Since being on the radio and hosting a handful of televised events, a few enthusiastic encounters occurred on behalf of fans. Normally, he invites the adoration, wanting to accommodate those who support his career; they’re responsible for his success, after all.

Tonight, however, he’s not in the mood.

He wasn’t expecting to feel such crushing disappointment when Rosie informed him after the show that Fíli hadn’t been in the audience. The show itself was a resounding success, deserving of the standing ovation it received when the broadcast ended.

Only, Kíli can’t bring himself to be proud. He was looking forward to meeting Fíli, had a plan to invite him out for a drink—maybe a meal—get to know the man whose mother loves him so much, she’d slipped into Kíli’s DMs.

The tingling at his nape increases, the feeling of being followed morphing into something ominous.

Not wanting to be axe-murdered, Kíli picks up his pace, striding around a corner as quick as he can without drawing attention to himself. As he’s about to break into a full-out run, he trips and crashes into a restaurant a-frame, ill-placed in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What the shit!” He cries, hurrying back to his feet. It’s then that he notices a crooked figure rounding the corner. “Vala—” He bolts up the cobblestone path to the door of the restaurant and practically falls inside.

There are a fair few people (witnesses, Kíli thinks, relieved) conversing over expensive looking meals and bottles of wine. The place has an old-world charm about it, stone walls and exposed beams, the waiters donning bowties and polished shoes.

“Hello.” The host greets him, startling Kíli.

“Hi!” He chokes out. The host looks ancient, sort of wizardlike. “Hi, yes, sorry.” He tries again, surreptitiously glancing behind him to see if the crooked figure has followed him inside.

The doorway is empty.

“For one, please.”

The host picks up a menu, “The bar is open for full-service, tonight,” he explains, “Unfortunately our tables are reserved for parties of two or more.”

“Sounds great,” Kíli follows the host to the end of the bar, unzipping his leather jacket and pulling off his scarf. He’s so focused on getting himself sorted that he doesn’t notice the bartender delivering a pint of Guiness he didn’t order until a coaster is placed in front of him.

Kíli’s about to say something when the bartender, a dazzling man with silvery hair, informs him, “From the gentleman at the end.” and hooks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction he’s referring to.

“Oh,” Kíli slopes to the side to see around the bartender and his jaw drops. “Oh…!”

He can’t believe it. There, sitting alone, slouched over a book that has his full concentration, is Fíli Durin. Kíli can’t help the airy laugh he lets out and quickly gathers his jacket and scarf.

“Thank you,” He says to the bartender, who sports an oddly conspiratorial grin, “I’m just going to—yeah.” In his excitement, Kíli almost forgets his pint, grabs it at the last second, and scurries—not too eagerly, lest he present himself as a wanker—to fill the vacant seat beside Fíli.

Fíli, so enraptured by his book, doesn’t notice.

Kíli clears his throat, “Um, hi there.”

Fíli’s head jerks up, eyes wide, and slowly turns to face Kíli, face slackening into pure shock. Kíli’s heart is in his throat, palms suddenly clammy. Fíli is more handsome in person than in the picture Dís sent.

“I—you don’t mind, do you?” He asks about the seating arrangement.

Fíli blinks, seeming to come back to himself, “No. No, please, go ahead.”

“You’re Fíli. Fíli Durin, right?”

Visibly confused, Fíli answers slowly, “Um, yes. How did you—?“

Kíli cuts in quickly to avoid being mistaken for a stalker. “—Your mum sent me a message a few days ago.”

He’s never seen anyone look so delicious when processing the shock and horror of a mother’s good intentions. Fíli makes it work.

“Oh, Mahal, she didn’t.” Fíli drops his head into his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as he chuckles through the embarrassment.

“I thought it was adorable.” Kíli admits and catches Fíli’s gaze, holding it for a few seconds before casting his eyes downward.

Fíli barks a laugh, a sound that sends a jolt of heat to Kíli’s gut, “You did not.”

“I did!” Kíli shifts closer to Fíli and winks, “I really appreciated the picture she sent, too. I didn’t know Nibin Noeg had any fans left after their last album.”

They banter back and forth; the way Kíli doesn’t know Fíli always imagined they would. The conversation swells and eases by turns, the two slowly losing themselves in one another as the world around them trickles away.

Fíli is interesting and funny and more than Kíli assumed, and Kíli doesn’t want to be anywhere else ever again.

From the look Fíli gives him, Kíli thinks Fíli feels the same.

***

Collapsing into various seats around Gandalf’s office, the three Weavers heave sighs of relief.

“We did it.”

“Understatement of the century, Gandalf.” Thranduil retorts, summoning a cup of elderberry tea. He directs his next statement to Radagast, “I can’t believe you got him—” that is, Kíli, “—there on time.”

Radagast shrugs helplessly, “I didn’t. I lost him outside the theater.”

They allow the information to marinate between them for a minute before Gandalf snorts and then erupts into booming laughter. Thranduil joins him next and then Radagast, though somewhat less enthusiastically.

There are three things a Weaver understands intrinsically.

One, Weavers aren’t miracle-makers.

Two, Weavers can’t force love to happen where it doesn’t want to.

And three, Eternal Love is a rare gem that will bring two people together.

With or without a Weaver’s interference.

Gandalf flicks his wrist and catches a stein of lager that appears, takes a deep drink, and says thoughtfully, “What a bloody waste of time.”

“At least you get to keep your hat.” Radagast points out.

“Very true, old friend, very true…”

***

END

1 – I wanted to incorporate Castar currency, but there obviously isn’t a symbol for it so…this is what I liked best XD

#submission #Gathering 12 Days 2023 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit

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