#my beloved the love of my lives my midnight feline my-

[gamma-squad]

The Ultimate Gamma Squad Fic Rec List

From Angst to Fluff to Reveals, fanfiction will make you cry :D

Adrinette

Double Blind Date -  Alya knows Ladybug and Chat Noir's identities, and now that they're finally in the same city at the same time, she is determined to get them to meet.

The Bravery of Adrien Agreste -  adrien ends up living on the streets for a while, it's extremely well written and has also adrien marrying marinette to emancipate from his father.  There's also a sequel, the Bravery of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, which the author is currently writing. 

Lovelace -  Convinced that he's unlovable, Adrien is quickly thrown for a loop when Marinette confesses her love for him out of the blue. An akumatization and reveal later, he changes his mind about being unlovable.

The Bravery of Marinette Dupain-Cheng -  After the defeat of Hawkmoth, Adrien and Marinette are strangers to each other, but somehow… married? - Sequel to The Bravery of Adrien Agreste

Soulmate Survey -  A brand new dating app hits the scene, giving you a percentage of how well you match with someone else. And it is taking the world, and certain teenagers, by storm.

Cats are Colorblind! - Reverse Crush AU - Ladynoir/Adrinette - Adrien is blind but he can... feel Marinette’s features? Which happen to be the same ones as Ladybugs (Reveal)

have the stars blotted out in a brilliant morse code - Fluffy Adrinette moments and reveal? beautiful

Strength - Crack/Fluff oneshot with a reveal

Marry That Girl -  Adrien finds Marinette’s plans for their wedding and just falls

League of Losers - Slightly Different Superhero AU with crack angst and fluff

You, Me & A Little Bit of the Future - future ladynoir asks adrinette to babysit and everythings cute

Practice Makes Purr-fect - Adrinette/Ladynoir + Reveal and kisses (all you need in life <3)

wish you were here - demon au, adrien is just really confused

The Moving Statue - AKDJSSD - Adrinette + Reveal

Operation Mega-Sleepover - Adrinette Sleepover Shenanigans

Butt Dial - Marinette butt dials Adrien and all his plans for a normal afternoon jumped out the window (Reveal)

The Wedding Plans of Marinette Dupain-Cheng - Adrien finds Marinette’s wedding guest list for their future wedding and he’s like ‘WHERE AM I?’ (boy you’re the groom)

Plagg Meets Marinette

i hope that fate will forgive us (for tempting the sea) - mermaid royalty au and arranged marriages - Felix x Bridgette and Adrinette - also the author is v nice <33

The Player and the Princess - Childhood friends turned enemies turned lovers <3

take me back- By marvelousmsmol

By Design - By marvelousmsmol (Still going!)

Graine de toi - By komorebirei (Still going? I’m not sure)

Smoulder - By midnightstarlightwrites (this is adorable and full of ships! Also, finished 36/36).

Lucky Us - By PrincessKitty1 (Sigh, it’s too cute! Finished 30/30).

Facades -   AU with dark!Adrien. Has even a short sequel (lovesquare but mainly centered around the two main ships)

 Kiss shy - By emsylcatac (This is a great one-shot!)

i don't have a latte but give me a shot - By marvelousmsmol (The one-shot, i wish was a series).

 Under Lock and Key - By EdenDaphne, Maerynn (the antics! Finish 10/10)

The Woman With Blue Eyes - By ghostgirl19 (One-shot!)

 Friends By Day, Enemies By Night - By Dristi5683 (This is 49/49, there’s also marichat and angst ladynoir)

A Bride for the Prince - by ChocoluckChipz (Totally_lucky) and TheNovelArtist

Penumbra - Adrienette hurt comfort, rated M for serious topics like implied noncon as a minor

keep me in your thoughts - adrienette soulmate au

Passionfruit- Adrienette soulmate au series with 3 parts

a chat in disneyland - pretty self explanatory, chat noir antics and slightly traumatized workers, everythings great

Finding Diamonds in the Rough -  A prince escaping the confines of his castle. A girl who saves a naive visitor. The connection built between these two of different worlds. Welcome to another Arabian night.

Out of Your Hair -  Adrien wants to support Kitty Section during their first large concert in the park, but dad says no. So of course there’s only one way this can go

Infatuation - Adrinette childhood enemies to ‘I hate you but i seriously want to kiss you’

Blindsided - Adrinette/Ladynoir - Ladybug gets hit by an akuma and goes blind but hey! Adrien/Chat Noir is literally the most amazing person ever and that helps (Reveal)

Just a Friendly Game Night -  The four teenagers arrange a game night at Marinette’s house. What could go wrong

Just Best Friends -  The sequel to ‘Just a Friendly Game Night’ where the teenagers deal with what went wrong

We’ve Got It Covered -  Marinette needs to create a concept album cover design for Jagged Stone, but when she can’t get anything, the stress builds…

Le Prix du Silence -   this is in French, by Etoile-lead-Sama, but it's so worth google translating! Especially her inverted umbrella scene where Marinette gives the umbrella back to Adrien because she wants to rid her feelings for him and in that moment he realises that he's in love with her…  *heartbreak* but it's all wonderful and her slow burn is exceptional

Shop, Bake, Eat... - Crack, mature humor and content

Having a Ball - Adrien and Marinette attend a Victorian ball without recognizing each other.

In Which Adrien Agreste Butt Dials Ladybug - Based on NY Special, what if Adrien kept the remote to the cat toy in his back pocket?

The Jacket - Marinette gives a black jacket to Adrien and he thinks she's figured him out. 

Stuck In A Bakery (With You) -  during the pandemic, Adrien gets stuck in the bakery with Marinette and family. 

MariChat:

Chat Got Your Back - Lila I don’t like you and neither does Chat

Burgundy and Blush -  Marinette needs a date for the dance, and Chat Noir is happy to help. But can the two teens in denial make it through the night without catching feelings?

The Trouble With Kissing Boys -  When an akuma handcuffs Chat Noir and Marinette together, true feelings are revealed… but only to get the cuffs off. Really

double jeu -  An injured Chat Noir leads to a frantic Marinette and frequent midnight visits neither of them had expected to get used to.

Lace or Leather - Sequel to Burgundy and Blush

Stand-In Journalist - MariChat being besties

spark - marichat dating app shenanigans

Forget-Me-Not  -  Marinette looses her memories a little bit (unfinished)

Jealousy - Onesided reveal and then it turns into a love confession and a reveal

When Duty and Desire Meet - By EdenDaphne, midnightstarlightwrites. (Still going! Its so romantic, the yellow rose hits me the most)

Selfless - By ghostgirl19 ( I wish this fic was still going but it’s not! It’s discontinued!! T~T)

The Cat, the Bell, and the Wardrobe (Malfunction) - ChocoluckChipz (Totally_lucky), Eizabet, KryallaOrchid, Maerynn, midnightstarlightwrites. (I know the embracement... It’s also a one-shot!)

The Wingman Visits - By NiuNiu. (This is completed with 16/16 and rated mature!).

I Won’t Hold You Back - THE BEST PROM FIC YOU’LL EVER READ. Adrien invites Mari to prom. In which Adrien Awkward Awkward Awkward Athanase  Agreste makes an appearance. 

A Gamer’s Pride - No miraculous but they’re video game partners and they hate each other but they like each other and HHHHHHHH

Diamonds never leave you... men do! - Marinette the cop and Chat Noir the criminal (they’re dating <3)

Kiss and Dash -  It starts of when Marinette kisses Adrien on a dare and runs off but it really spirals out of control when Chat Noir takes revenge with his own kiss and dash. Do all people kiss the same way? Adrienette/Marichat/Ladynoir/Ladrien. - I THINK I ASCENDED WHILE READING THE FIRST CHAPTER

No Longer Running From -  After an Akuma attack, Marinette runs off in order to avoid Chat Noir, but she didn’t count on him being so willing to come after her.

Chat Blanc - Chat Blanc fights with reveals and Adrien being a good person even when akumatized

Worries - Chat is very concerned for the well-being of Marinette who he has noticed, decides to run into akuma battles in a very much not safe way

Rooftop Tears and Gentle Hugs [Vent] -  Marinette goes mute for a week, and everybody is worried. It seems only a concerned Chat is the one to finally reach her.

Tendencies - (series) lots of good writing starting out as marichat and then a reveal

Just Chatting -  Chat crashes onto Marinette's balcony and continues to visit. Marinette finds herself impulsively getting closer to him, and then everything goes to shit.

Reves de Noir et Blanc - LISTEN. MARICHAT HURT/COMFORT AFTER A NIGHTMARE MAKES ME FEEL CERTAIN THINGS

Physical Touch - Chat Noir, my amazing child, is touch starved. Marinette is happy to help with some cuddles

It’s Okay to Cry - THE SUMMARY ALONE GOT ME FEELING SOME STUFF LET MARINETTE SHOW EMOTION -  Marinette feels the burden of not letting her negative emotions show, since Ladybug cannot let herself be akumatized, no matter what. A cat is there to let her vent.

heartstrings - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA - they frggin kiss and its dramatic and teenage drama and romace 

Crushed - Stuck under a collapsed building together, Chat Noir and Marinette have a heart to heart.  (Reveal)

Every Heartbeat: A Marichat May 2021 Story:  -   Reeling from a brutally difficult day, Marinette finds her life becomes amazingly complicated after impulsively inviting Chat Noir to spend the evening with her. But when the suave feline begins to weave his way into her heart, she realizes rather quickly just how conflicted her feelings for her partner truly are.

A Roll of the Dice - AVERT YOUR EYES INNOCENT CHILDREN - mature (obviously) Alya gives Marinette an adult dice set and at night time, Chat Noir dares her to use it. 

tell me something i don’t know - the infamous marichat soulmate au by the beloved carpisuns

Trading (Momentary) Burdens - UM. YOU HAD ON RIGHT?? I AM SAD??- Ladybug gets hurt mid-fight and Chat has to turn into Misterbug to save her

Miraculous Dupont -  Marinette finds herself attacked by Chat Blanc, an akuma at the orders of Hawkmoth. But before the akuma can do any damage, she's saved by Chat Noir, a superhero who is fighting the akumas. Chat Noir senses something in her and takes her to the magical school he attends, Miraculous Dupont, where Master Fu, the head teacher, agrees that she has potential to be a Miraculous holder. So Marinette is thrown into a world of hidden identities, akuma fights and mysteries and ends up by discovering that this whole world wasn't that unknown to her to start with, that the boy behind the mask, of whom she desperately falls in love, wasn't a stranger from her too, and it's all connected to two lucky charms, a seal and a mysterious magical potion she (and her friends) should never have been exposed to...

Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright -  chat noir gives the tiger miraculous to marinette. I love her concept of the tiger miraculous, so cool!

Terror on La Seine - Villains weren't supposed to help when there are others in need. But can Hawk Moth truly stand aside and do nothing? Especially when a young woman he knows personally is in danger? TW: implied trafficking

Madness Within -  If you want slowburn, feral Chat Noir and dark themes this is a great place to start and I’m super excited for what’s to come. Very highly recommend

you came to me with gold and i mended the pieces -  Adrien gets into a really ugly argument with his father, and as a result the poor boy gets a slap right across the face. In a daze, he runs away from home, transforms, and decides to seek comfort in a really close friend of his.

I’ll Be Your (Wing)Man -  When Chat Noir finds Marinette sighing over her failed love life, he decides to help her get the boy of her dreams. Nothing can go wrong here. Absolutely nothing.

The Tendencies Series -  HIGHLY RECOMMEND and will sure to keep you busy for a while

LadyNoir:

A Summer Treat - LadyNoir Icecream date in Shanghai and lovestruck adrien

TKO - LadyNoir workouts and they KISS

Doctor, Doctor, Give me The News (Your Lips Is The Only Cure I Could Use) -   Plagg’s sick, Adrien’s in love, Shit Happens™ 

 Of Yellows, Pinks and Blues - New York Special LadyNoir but with ROSES 

Long Live - LadyNoir based on the song <3

Letters of Lovers - LadyNoir writing down all their feelings on letters BUT THEN AT THE END THEY READ IT + Reveal

A Bad Dream - Ladybug tells Chat about a ‘dream’ where he was Chat Blanc (spoiler alert: it wasn’t a dream)

The Bug and Cat Show - ADKLJSASD READ THIS

You’re My Sight - Adrien is blind but with the miraculous, he can see and this is very much a wonderful thing to happen to him. One day he tells Ladybug.

United - OMFG - ladynoir established relationship (+Reveal)

a nine-year-old - i havent met anyone that hasn’t read this fic but still (im still sorry emsy, i believed you were 9 with my entire heart 😭)

Death By Ladybug - Flirty Ladybug and Flustered Chat Noir

Chat Noir’s White French Man Hitlist For Feminist Purposes - (THIS HAS A PODFIC NOW)

Liquid Luck - LadyNoir Banter + Reveal

Symphony - Adrinette/LadyNoir + Reveal (with the best ending ever omg)

 The Miraculous Tweets of @luckylady and @chatnoir - Internet Shenanigans

Problems - ladynoir fluff

Only a beat a cat can hear - Ladybug tells Chat when he finds out about her blindness that she scared about him leaving her. He’s having none of this self deprecating stuff and reassures her that he loves her a lot and nothing changes that. 

M’Lady - THEIR LAST DAYS AS SUPERHEROES :’’’’))) (Reveal)

It was just a cheek kiss! - Ladybug slowly falling for Chat and them finally getting together (my friends thought I was getting murdered when I readthis. So many screams)

Discordant Sonata - EdenDaphne (Still going!)

like poles of a magnet - By maketea (8/8! It's finished!)

From the Ashes - By MiniMinou (Finish! Btw this is angst and mature rated)

Ladybug and Chat Noir's Guide to the Rooftops of Paris - PipTheMagnificent (One-shot!)

 in the dead of night, your eyes so green - this ones by miraculouslycool so you know its good 

 Day 7: Interview - Chat Noir being cute with kids

Misunderstanding - LadyNoir Identity Shenanigans <3

Not Kitten Around, Badylug - the road to reveal, integrating parts of S4, all in mobile texts. Sweet, funny. The kind of pick-me up you need after an angsty ep.

Two Seconds -  perfect for a light morning read.

i think it’s time i told you (im a fan of your universe) - LadyNoir (AND THEY GET MARRIED)

It’s Not PDA If You’re Just Friends - They’re just friends! Friends can kiss each others shoulders and spin each other around, right?

I Guess That Makes Us Even - Chat Noir dying = REALLY SAD LADYBUG AND COMFORT - its by buggchat so you already know its simply superior

Red Strings and Markers - Soulmate AU my beloved

little kitty on the rood, wearing his lady’s boxers - Adrien in Ladybug boxers, Marinette in the pool with her pjamas, Adrien uses his one braincell and realizes some pretty shocking things (Reveal)

dont let me die alone - okay so you may get a lil sad but you know

Return to Base - LadyNoir laser tag baby, Adrienette laser tag with LadyNoir dynamic, reveal

The Ladyblog Comment Section - they like to annoy alya in the comments. and flirt. but they dont realize the last part yet

Irreplaceable -  Adrien is insecure. Marinette doesn't let anyone talk bad about her partner.

Where are you Chat Noir? -  As the final battle unfolds to their defeat, Hawkmoth and Mayura use plan b and withdraw in a 'Sentiworld', a parallel reality created with an Amok. What's worse, they drag Chat Noir with them. What's even worse, Ladybug can't say goodbye, or I love you. Guilty and desperate, what will she be ready to sacrifice to get her partner back? (Rated R for mature content)

Kitty Chat Kisses -  Give Chat more kisses please, this was so sweet and cute and sad and just...someone give Chat some hugs and kisses and tell him he did a good job

i’ll marry you - Chat Noir talks to his sleepy girlfriend about their future.

Upon the Eiffel Tower, They Reveal it All. -  Chat Noir spots Ladybug heading towards the Eiffel tower without telling him, and when he checks on her, finds out more than he thought he would.

Two Hundred and Fifty Four -  aspik angst :’)

Ladrien:

bang bang - KISSES

whose woods these are (I think I know) - FIRST OF ALL, its a cinderella au and its MAGNIFICENT - Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau.As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side.Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish.

The Tell-Tale Kiss - Adrien gets discouraged when Ladybug turns down Paris’ favorite cat every time. But what if Paris’ favorite model asks her?

The Cat and His Daffodils -  I adore Hanahaki AU’s and this was one was really good and wonderfully angsty.

Post/One Sided Reveal: 

Serendipitous Fate -  With Hawkmoth growing stronger, Chat Noir and Ladybug need to practice. And get teammates. And grow stronger together. Which means learning each other’s identity, no matter the risks. Unfinished, but worth it. Also, there is some smut near the end, but the author warns the reader on the exact chapter and it is very skippable

switch it up - Adrien uses the Ladybug miraculous and everyone simps even harder

Remember That Time When... - Marinette is ready to enjoy her wedding anniversary with her wondrful husband. Except when she wakes up, she’s not going to be able to celebrate her anniversary. In fact, she’s seventeen again.

Divide By Infinity - Post-Reveal Adrinette being adorable and looking at LadyNoir moments

Bad Day - Adrien finds out Marinette’s Ladybug on the toilet and everything just does downhill from there

Get Agrekt - Post Reveal + Drunk Adrien my beloved

Under The Stars - PROPOSAL

Do You Hear That, Love? - Post-Reveal angst and babies

Side Effects of Paw-esome Merch: Model Chokes on Air - Post Reveal Marinette making my poor boy adrien consciously try not to die by wearing Chat Noir merch

Serotonin Boosts - ADRIEN LOVES HIS GIRLFRIEND OKAY?

When the Wedding Bells Toll - Post Reveal Adrinette pretend to date to get free food at a wedding (ha ha guess who fell in love againnnn)

All You Had to Do Was Stay - first of all, OOF - Marinette and Adrien reveal their identities and he panics and Marinette, three years later, sees him again for Alya’s wedding with the urge to both kiss him and punch him in the face

Adrinette April Day 23: Sunset - CUTE FLUFFY PEOPLE (its by sketchy-panda)

Forget-Me-Not - written way before oblivio but basically, oblivio

The Wall Between Us -  Lukanette, Adrigami, Alya finding out, lovesquare reveal, Adrien finding out Gabe is Hawkmoth, then theres Adrinette being in love and MarcNath walking in them making out. Its a whole vibe. Two Seconds was written in response to this :D

Mari Me - CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS AND CHILDREN ARE BEAUTIFUL OKAY?

Trolling Alya -  After Adrien and Marinette reveal their identities to each other, instead of going right into dating, they agree to just be friends and take their time. Alya is not having it.

The Biological Imperative - excellent explicit story with an interesting concept about tikki being able to freeze the power of all miraculouses in her box in case of marinette's pregnancy. Adrienette of course. 

The Closest Thing to Love - god i love a good fake dating story - post reveal Aged Up - adrien decides that the best way to gain independence from his dad was to get married. To who you ask? Of course its his lady, Marinette Dupain Cheng. Nothing could go wrong! They’re just friends after all.

Not A Ship But Hella good Stories

Papa Bear -  In which Tom is the one to figure out Adrien’s home life is putting him in danger and helps Adrien escape.

Nooroo Uses a Swear Word -  He really, really does. But he has a very good reason, so... let's hear him out, shall we? Crackfic, one-shot.

Move to Safety - Sort of a longer take on the ‘ Adrien runs away and seeks shelter with the Dupain-Chengs’. Involves the final battle and Adrien knowing Gabe is Hawkmoth. 

I Know, Kid - Plagg has a very important conversation with his holder when they return home after defeating Guiltrip.

Chat Noir is My Science Teacher - When Mattheu Magan witnesses his chemistry teacher, Adrien Dupain-Cheng, transform into his favorite superhero Chat Noir, he becomes the Monkey Miraculous holder Monkid, going on adventures and learning what it means to be a hero alongside under his new meow-ntor. (OC, Adventure, Aged-up - Yall ive only known Mattheu for like, a month BUT I LOVE HIM WITH ALL MY HEART)

Won’t Tell a Soul - Nino finds out that Marinette is Ladybug and keeps the secret. Kind of. 

Motherfucking Superheroes - Directly following the events of the season 3 finale, Alya Cesaire decides to create a groupchat with all the known Miraculous holders, which sets off an investigation into Ladybug’s identity. (Crack, Groupchat/Text fic)

My Boy - Gabriel creates a sentimonster copy of himself to free himself from unimportant matters, but he didn’t expect it to become more human than himself. (Angst, Mentions of torture)

The Malicious Pavilin - Evil gay Emilie is a whole ass mood

Never Sing At Home - Based on that ‘hey, bad news and good news. Bad news, Hawkmoth knows my identity, good news, I know his!’ prompt on tumblr

Bite off more than you can chew and you’ll choke - Lila gets exposed fics my beloved

ouef, ouch, owie - Chat and Rena plan some Aspik-related shenanigans to cover up Chat’s secret identity when Ladybug decides to have all the Miraculous heroes train together. (Crack)

What the Cat Dragged In - MCU Crossover

the last day on earth - Chat Blanc angst is top-tier

Air Miraculous - Miraculous but with Basketball and Shoes

how the strings intertwine - MDC Fic - UNFINISHED BUT AMAZING

Nine Lives - Hurt/Comfort, Adrien Centric

In Good Hands -  in which Ladybug tells Chat Noir about her new confidant and Chat chooses his own.

How Nino Waged War with Gabriel Agreste - By ChocolateXMyMouth (Still going!)

The Inappropriate Touching Talk -  this is another pure crack. Gabriel finds out that Adrien "touches inappropriately" Marinette and decides to have "the talk" (or rather have someone else have the talk with him)

Broken - Cop AU with lots of angst :D

Informant - miracuclass group chat au with identity shenanigans 

Lucky Fox Paradox - Marinette gives succeeds in giving Alya the ladybug miraculous. And regrets it. Enter, the fox miraculous.

“I have plan” - based on the ‘Ladybug joins the fight as multimous and she and rena rouge won’t let adrien leave to transform and its just crack’

Sting -  Chat Noir mysteriously vanished, and as much as Ladybug hates it, she can’t do her job alone. Which is why she decides to give Adrien to bee miraculous until her partner returns!

Accidental Dates - The four friends make a group chat to plan game nights. Some people tend to take it further

Leave for Mendeleiev -  Marinette is in Mendeleiev’s class instead of Bustier’s, meaning new friends and different relationships

Ridiculous, Utterly Ridiculous - rejected one time too many, Chat Noir ends in tears on someone's balcony. No, not Marinette's. Chloé's. And no, it doesn't end with an adrikloe (or how it's called). Chloé actually ends up being a good friend (*insert ohhhh of surprise*)

I’ll Handle This - Adrien accepts a deal with Plagg for the black kwami to resolve his problems. And Plagg succeeds. 

let’s get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke -  1920s enemies to lovers soulmates au that makes me want to jump off a building in a good way

Ruffled -  Harry Potter AU

Passionfruit -  Adrienette soulmate au series with 3 parts

Repetition -  One day adrien stumbles upon hawkmoth’s lair. In response, Gabe wipes his memory and is done with it. until it happens again, and again, and again…

Bite Me. -  Vampire!Alya one-shot. Really good world-building in this one chapter alone!

“I have a plan.” -  Really funny one-shot where Marinette’s idea of going in as Multimouse doesn’t exactly pan out how she wanted it to.

Back to Us -  After a reveal so shocking it rocks the core of Paris itself, the villain Hawk Moth is finally defeated...at a great personal cost to heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir. With the city safe, they go their separate ways, returning to the lives they were forced to put on hold since receiving their Miraculous.

Free Falling - Fantastic story with amazing and well written themes that I really just adored reading. Beautifully written and wonderful plot/story

Other Ships (outside of Love Square):

The Worst and Best Thing - GabeNath, drama and angst with a happy ending

Operation Lovebirds -  DJWifi - Alya and Nino try and get Adrien and Marinette together, and get more than they thought they would

Phase Eight - Sequel to Operaton Lovebirds -  Three years after the failure of Operation Lovebirds, Alya and Nino’s relationship is tested when Alya comes across a startling secret.

Cola Date - DJWifi -  When Alya finds herself on a date with the wrong guy she searches for unconventional help to get her out of this. Luckily, the cute waiter doesn't mind to help her out with a favor.

Soundless - Lukadrien - Luka has the Ladybug Miraculous and can pretty much tell who’s Chat Noir

Hotdogs and Icecream - Lukagami - Luka and Kagami hanging out while Adrinette are being in love during the NY Special

#gamma squad #fic rec list #admin: inimoo and thesquipproject #we worked our asses off on this adkljsds

[dropsofletters]

do i even know you?

title: do i even know you? pairing: im changkyun/reader genre: aspiring actors!au/scriptwriter!au/best friends!au/forbidden love!au summary: The idea comes to them after one of their classes, making them widen their eyes as they scurry to start the first draft of the movie of their dreams. Changkyun promises to her that if this movie ever airs for the world to see, they are going to take part on it and how ironic it is that he does get a role in it once the script is accepted, but she is suddenly erased from his life. Will Changkyun pick fame or friendship? type: angst/fluff/humor/romance word count: 22,689 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

The most beautiful stories never happen.

As a recent graduate, she holds onto the words she heard at two in the afternoon once, cold coffee on one hand, a pencil on the other and when the professor said such words to a group of sophomores willing to give their lives out for the art of scriptwriting, she had to jot it down. Most people believe that, in some way or another, they have to pour their souls out into their writing—as if words are only meaningful when felt, but she wonders if when there is too much sentimentalism in a piece, it loses meaning.

The notebook that she used for that class now rests on top of her kitchen counter. Next to it, a recipe of lemon meringue pie reminds her that time has passed by, for she doesn’t even remember watching said recipe on YouTube. Whenever she has an idea, she likes to grasp that same old notebook and jot something down, in scribbled notes that will definitely be read in the future in complete confusion. She has never understood her handwriting when she’s rushing, and her mind just never connects with the feeling that once existed. Maybe, that’s what the professor was trying to say—that the best writers are the ones that can convey feelings that they haven’t gone through, while those who need to sense in order to inspire an idea will live with the doom of being detached from it with the passage of time.

Instead of trying to remember the good old times of being more youthful than today, she should really wake her friend up with a cup of coffee to continue the script that has been the cause of their issues for the past seven months. Or a year, because Changkyun was the one to speak the plot while in a drunken night, and she had been the sober one to make it into something bigger while he slept.

Changkyun is that one stain in her life, exact like the one on the counter, beside the notebook that she has now closed. He has always been there, sometimes faintly, sometimes strongly. In the bubblegum that once caressed her hair when she was thirteen thanks to a devilish smile from him, and the bob cut that followed soon after. In the days of high school in which they would write the worst of stories and make their theater club friends play them out for groups of people, nothing ever to big. In her university days, most of the time spent dating around, once even dating each other for the sake of not being alone, only to break up a week later. And now, in her room, limbs interlocked with her blanket as if hugging someone’s body, cheek squished to the plaid material and the curtains of his black hair make his closed eyes disappear from her eyesight.

Though, she could recognize Changkyun’s face anywhere, for the simplistic existence of him is just second nature to her. Even in the times in which he could have left, he stayed—and vice versa. A pull that brought the two of them together, like gravity, so strong that her mind liked to imagine that it could never be broken.

If she knows the kind of coffee he likes in the morning—more milk than coffee, mind him—, then she really has to have a grasp into the kind of person he is.

One smack of her hand against his thigh is enough to have him open one eye, only to stretch his legs, joints and bones cracking alike, before his feline-like eyes are closed again. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move, and after an all-nighter of re-writing the last scene of their final draft for their script, she is not surprised that tiredness seems to cling to him in his comfortable clothing. Around midnight, something of the like of the number two, asleep had ridden her to forget about the existence of their beloved work, the one that they had put their entire hopes into. Changkyun, however, must have fallen asleep later.

Resting the coffee on the bedside table, her weight fell on top of his, horizontal when reaching for the curtains next to her bed. Pulling them open coats her with the image of a city that holds her dreams, and yet seems too small for them. After all, making it as a scriptwriter is already difficult, but paying the bills is even more so. The tall buildings seem too tiny for her daydreaming, but the groan under her is loud enough to ground her and tell her that she is still, very much, tied by the wrist to the one man that has been almost crucial to her life…and that, clearly, none of them have made it.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asks, voice empty and with no feelings behind them. The light of that professor’s eyes, Changkyun used to be. He feels, of course he does, his body count is enough to say that the man feels with his entire heart—and in the depths of those, she likes to believe the fan of conspiracies believes in love—, but he has always been intelligent enough to differentiate his craft from his everyday life. She doesn’t.

With one hand resting over his face for the purpose of annoying him when she puts weight on it to bring her body up and straight, she answers. “Waking you up.”

“Don’t, then.”

And with his two fire eyes sending a look of despair towards her, he brings the sheets up his face to dim the sunlight that she had gladly welcomed him to. “Changkyun, we really need to finish this script today. Tomorrow’s Monday and you know I have to work—” No response, that is what she receives, to the point her hand has to bring another harsh smack to his thigh. It rings, probably leaves a red mark behind with the way he pulls the blanket away from his face, a frown painted on his features.

“Of course I do, I work with you.”  

She imagines it, then, conceives it from her reality as she always does. Two recent graduates from university that had, thanks to the power of unemployment, ended up as teachers in some high school for the dramatics and lovers of shitty musicals and TV shows. They are too young to be taken seriously, most of the time, and Changkyun loves that part of his job…but that is not what has been imagined by the two of them. Cheap costumes and Shakespeare lines are not less important things, but they are not her priority, much less her dream.

Every single morning since she was twelve, she has gotten to see Changkyun. Sometimes, she doesn’t even realize he has grown up along with her. However, growing up in one thing—growing is another. As artists, scriptwriters to be exact, they have gotten stuck. Perhaps, their ideas are not enough for consideration, or the industry is closed enough to leave them out, but each morning that she gets to see him…to work with him, she knows that they deserve better.

That, in reality, her professor was never wrong.

The most beautiful stories never happen…

But fuck, she will do anything to make their dreams come true.

Sitting down beside him, she really studies him. Changkyun has his eyes closed again, the black strands of his hair a bit lengthy, the shadow of some facial hair appearing if she looks at him from close enough. His gray hoodie has a mark on it, perhaps saliva if she is judging him from well-earned knowledge, and his hand reaches out for her. It rests on her knee, weights that part of her down to remind her that no matter how many times they argue, they will always be together.

That’s the promise life brought to them.

“If you want to keep working as a theater teacher for the rest of your life, go ahead, keep sleeping, but you know that Kwon told us that he has some connections to have our script reviewed by very important people so—help me finish it?” Kwon is more of a friend of Changkyun’s than he is hers. Older than them by a few years but not wiser, the man still keeps believing that he is nineteen even when he is nearing his thirties, but his party-going ways has led Kwon to have a name in the industry, albeit important. Less of a scriptwriter and more of a costume designer, it wouldn’t surprise her if he ends up working internationally in a few years from now.

Changkyun finally opens his eyes, pointing at the tablet on top of her bedside table, near the coffee cup that must be getting cold by now. “Finished it, now let me sleep.”

Her heart feels as if it has momentarily stopped. “Finished it? What do you mean?”

“That I finished it.” Changkyun’s deep voice gets rough, the lack of water getting to his throat when he takes matters into his own hands and picks up the tablet before giving it to her. “It’s in our shared document. I finished it at five…I don’t know, six in the morning?”

With fear, as if the world is too fragile for her astoundingly strong hands, she lets herself unlock his tablet and look through the document. Through the cracks of the screen, all caused by the disaster that is Changkyun, she reads the art that he has crafted. The scenery, the dialogue, the description, all powerful, spoken into existence for the characters that have been brought to life by them. Every breath taken by the main characters is harsher than the last one, stronger, leaving her speechless with every sentence given, every line that finishes it off with a bow and a twist that fits perfectly.

When she looks at him, Changkyun has one arm splayed on top of his eyes. His other hand still rests on top of her knee, though the fingers hold her looser, as if he’s off and very close to arriving to dreamland. Tired, perhaps too much so, she realizes that this idea that had been begun by him could have only been finished by Changkyun. He has always been a better writer, she repeats as a mantra, but he begs to differ. If anything, Changkyun defends it as saying that he simply sees the picture with other lenses and the different perspectives created something out of a movie. Something worth of being turned into a movie.

“Kyun…” She says, only hearing a faint hum from her best friend. Almost as if she is back to the days in which they were both teenagers, she launches herself into his arms. Her head looks for leverage on his bony shoulder, lips pressed into a tight smile the more she feels the warmth of him. Somewhere on the bed, the tablet blinks for her attention, and Changkyun can barely place his other hand on top of her back when she speaks again. “How the fuck did you even get that idea? You wrote such a beautiful ending—”

“Ah, you were sleeping and I was listening to music and it just popped inside my mind.” Changkyun says, seriousness in his voice when her hair cascades around his face, pulling her body away from his to look at him, their ribs connected while she remains seated on the bed, but still caging him into the mattress. “You like it?”

“I think—whew, I’m just surprised!” She speaks in a louder tone, realizing that a lazy smile has appeared over his face. His mouth parts the slightest and it wouldn’t surprise her if he’s breathing through his mouth, typical of him. “Changkyun, I really could kiss you right now…if you were another person, that is.”

Changkyun quirks an eyebrow at that, soon after doubling in laughter. “We’ve been there.”

“When we were twenty.”

His shoulders, wrapped tightly in that hoodie with the unknown stain, shrug at her retaliation. “Not too long ago. You can’t make fun of it when we were both all in for it at that moment.”

Thinking back of that day, she can’t help but feel her toes curling, her spine shivering and her neck folding the slightest to stop the motion. “We lasted one week, that’s enough of a confirmation that we shouldn’t do it again.”

“Most likely.” Changkyun chuckles, sitting up on the bed before tossing the hoodie up his head, throwing it somewhere in her room. The white t-shirt underneath clings to his slim body as he moves through the place, knowing it as if it was his. A sense of nostalgia may not cling to him, but it does to her—recently, her thoughts have been invaded with the reality that she will have to move away from this shared apartment soon. To find a life that is more fitted for someone that is not in university, and hence, should probably follow the societal rules of living alone. “I’m going to go pee. Check for spelling errors if you want to.”

Her back touches the surface of her bed, looking at the document on the screen per his request. “On it.”

For a moment, perhaps seconds, words merge into their own momentum in front of her—she feels as though she is reliving this last scene again, saying her goodbyes to the characters that oh-so-pleasantly had been crafted by her best friend and herself. Nonetheless, the sound of Changkyun’s feet jumping against the thin wood of her flooring has her looking away and towards the door, not surprised to see her small, yet incredibly extroverted roommate.

Jiyoung is one of her closest friends, as well, companion of her life since university, the source of the music around her house, the one to sing at the top of her lungs and to constantly have her dyeing her hair, because Jiyoung can’t do it herself—or doesn’t want to—. Something about leaving Jiyoung behind to look for another home makes her heart ache, but her roommate remains ignorant to her advances. Instead, her liking of Changkyun has inflated into one big balloon the last few months.

If Changkyun is interested, he doesn’t show it.

So, that leaves her to believe he really is not interested.

Not to say the woman is not attractive. Jiyoung, now with a bob in a blond shade, is just too pushy for Changkyun’s liking. Hence, watching her standing in front of his best friend’s door with a glass in between her fingers must have given him the clear sign that she must have been eavesdropping to whatever they were saying. It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if that was the case.

“Changkyun—”

“Sorry, need to pee.” But behind the complexity of Changkyun, he likes to play ignorant more than he likes to play with a heart. Not outspoken enough to sit Jiyoung back on her seat and ask for some privacy, he scavenges away to the bathroom, leaving her roommate with a pout on her lips and said glass in between her fingers.

“Do you think I freaked him out?” Once, she nods and that is enough to have Jiyoung sighing and pressing one hand to her forehead. “I just wanted to listen to what you were saying.”

“Did you listen to us?”

“No. This didn’t work.” Almost exuding rage towards the glass on her hand, Jiyoung tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll go make breakfast so I can make myself look better.”

Hiding a laugh on the depths of her throat, she nods once again. “Good idea.”

With one last turn on the balls of her feet, Jiyoung is away from her room, leaving her with an opened door, an annoyed sigh and a script to revise. Thankfully, the conclusion of such a prolonged project is enough to have her resting back on her bed and taking a sip of the cold coffee that must have been for Changkyun.

Her companion, the only person that artistically gets her, Im Changkyun.

###

For the past hour, she has been looking for one box in the colors of red and white. Enough to distract her in the party-obsessed crowd that she finds herself in, but also a way of fitting in that doesn’t get her out of her tracks. In between empty bottles of alcohol and people blowing smoke into her face, concentrating comes with difficulty, pushing through said bodies until her hand clutches the desired cigarettes and she is off to find her best friend, though an almost impossible task.

Not that she is much of a smoker, she has possibly had around four in the entirety of her life—to try them out and concentrate on something else when her anxiousness is up the roof. The taste is not the most tranquil one, the smoke does capture most of her attention, pushing it out in little rings that never come out as perfectly as Changkyun’s. Then again, a beginning is also an ending, and the first person to ever steal a cigarette from a party to try them out had been Changkyun, sharing it with her to have that first experience together, as well. One of many, and hopefully one in a million.

Once, she had taken the time to read some myths off of a book in the library in high school. She was bored, and it was around that time of her life in which reading came easier to her. In the back of her brain, she can remember saying that losing a friend is even worse than losing a partner, a soulmate, one’s life even. As if our hearts are tainted, deliberately looking for someone who is always there, something in a stronger presence, sometimes duller. Past kissing, past hugging, past presents…to be listened to intently and to listen with equal interest is more than anyone could ever hope for. And she has that.

Seated on the same place that she had left him in, near the entrance, his body dragged down until he is on the floor. No seats are left and the backyard of this big mansion smells like rotten egg and something of the like of puke, leaving them by the door with the need to have Kwon finally making some time for them. To spend time, however, she lets her weight rest back on his side, crossing one leg over the other to avoid flashing anyone and getting a good glimpse of Changkyun when he turns to look at her.

When she was twenty, she could have really fallen for him. Or not. She likes to believe that what happened was the best—them fearing and scurrying away from the possibility of being together and losing their friendship. Changkyun said that once everything became serious, it would be too difficult for them to keep it, and she had added that maybe, they were just curious to feel for the other, to kiss until their lips were sore and their hearts were aching for a break. Now, she realizes that there had been some kind of attraction in the past, a reason as to why Jiyoung wakes up earlier than usual to get ready when Changkyun comes by.

His black hair is pushed away from his face elegantly, a few strands out of place, matching the sweater that covers his body and causes a layer of sweat to rest on top of his forehead. He wipes it off, but the clothing may have been a bad option in such a packed party. Shoes scatter around him, around them to be exact, the walls bathed in the glow of lights that are far too artificial to settle well in her eyes and when she shows him the package of cigarettes, his lips quirk up in a recognizable smirk.

“Aren’t those the brand that we stole when we first smoked cigarettes?” Changkyun asks, his attention to detail often misunderstood—he remembers the most random of situations, just not anything special like dates or exact momentums that are more important for other people.

Back at the time, when they were seventeen, he had insisted on bleaching his hair and she remembers it because the image of Changkyun wearing a beanie on top of his hair to cover the disaster that he had made, even making some strands fall out in the process, can’t ever leave her brain. At the time, he had been better than her with smoking, even going as far as impressing the older kids with the rings he could blow into the thin air. On the other hand, the sound of her throat contracting when blowing the cigarette wrongly had been enough to dust her skin in embarrassing heat. “I thought it’d be fitting to have some cigarettes for good time’s sake, considering that you’re not balding now and we haven’t done this since we were seventeen.”

Changkyun rolls his eyes, perhaps mockingly, as he smacks his index finger on top of the closed box of cigarettes after opening it, the cig popping out at his motions. “So you can choke again, homie?”

“Don’t homie me.” Watching as Changkyun reaches for the lighter that she had almost managed to snatch away, the flames take over the cigarette in between his lips. The smell is horrid, and part of her wonders why she even wanted to craft that memory back to life, but watching him is more of a sight. His thin lips almost shyly wrap around it, taking his index and middle finger to push the cigarette away. “Come on, do the little rings.”

He lifts a finger from his free hand up in the air, putting his lips into an ‘o’ shape and almost as if he had never stopped smoking, he blows four rings into the air, dissipating into the crowd of people in front of them, not caring about their existence. In their little bubble, they are, when she cheers for him and Changkyun has to cough out the excess of smoke that he managed to swallow accidentally, only reacting when her fingers reach for the cigarette and puts it between her lips.

His eyes, windows to the soul, concentrate on her lips as they play with the cigarette, taking it away from her mouth before she could even let it burn the slightest. “You shouldn’t be smoking these.”

“It’s only one. I’m not getting addicted.” She replies, her chest coming in contact with his when she puckers her lips to reach for the cigarette, only to have him twisting it around and taking another drag himself. “Besides, I was the one that stole them.”

“You shouldn’t steal.”

“Well, I was bored.” Finally relenting, just when she rests her head on top of his shoulder to further accentuate her boredom, she feels his fingers slipping the cigarette in between her lips, grabbing it properly to have a taste. “It’s your fault that Kwon had us coming to this horrible, rich party just to check if he has gotten out script.”

But Changkyun is deep in his thoughts, as if the lights in front of them, the smell of beer and cocktails, the people dancing are the ones trancing him. He doesn’t pay attention to the smoke that appears in his line of sight, not when he lets out a fragile smile appear on his face. “I don’t think it’s a horrible rich party.”

“Why?”

“They have money.”

“Yeah, and?”

“That’s all everyone needs, right?” Changkyun asks, perhaps a bit lost in the way he raises his eyebrows, looking into her eyes for the briefest second when he voices out something so…volatile. In a way, she knows that money is important, but even thinking about the weight of it makes her sick in the stomach. Another difference of theirs—she escapes, while he roams the world to look for his one light. She looks at the city from far away, wishing to have a bigger dream, while Changkyun makes himself silently known in between the buildings. “And wants, actually. If we had money, we wouldn’t be teaching a bunch of teenagers how to be or not to be. We’d be…I don’t know, you remember how Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were back in the day? Like the closest of friends but rich? We’d be that.”

She pushes the cigarette towards his lips, as if to shut him up for a second, and she tells him the truth from up close. “I’m happy with being your friend, no matter how much we earn or how famous we are. We may not be famous celebrity friends, but we’re amazing friends.”

And then, she switches her mind. Part of her begs for him to say something, to agree that there is nothing more than there shall be needed in between the two than relishing over memories and creating new ones, than knowing each other to the core. Instead, Changkyun hums, taking the cigarette from his lips and looking at it. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“…Life? Yeah, I know.”

With laughter from him relishing his lack of response to her previous statement, Changkyun shakes his head. “No. Smoking. You blow the smoke out too fast; you’ll never get to do the rings if you just spit everything out.”

“Teach me.” Fixing her posture, she twists until her legs are interlocked with his, watching as he takes the cigarette once again and like second nature, blows out three smoke.

“Put your lips up, like blowing a kiss, but control the air you’re letting out. In little spurts, you know?”

She doesn’t. Not when she gets to see Changkyun from up close and realize that there are angels in him, singing choirs, making it dangerous to get too close…but knowing that he’s the same man she has always known. Her friend. Growing up doesn’t mean he has changed, but uniting the past and the present made her realize that, in most occasions, there is never a future. The finalization of their script taught her that there will always be a perfect ending, and beginning to think of hers—hers alongside Changkyun’s, has a knot forming on her throat, not distinguished by the man that laughs when she, once again, can’t blow rings into the air.

To control his laughter, she says: “Shut up, you’d look hotter doing that little trick of yours if you had a lip ring, but you look dumb now.”

Pushing the cigarette onto the floor to dull its flame down and extinguish it, Changkyun replies: “At least, I get to do the party trick.”

“…You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m not!” He adds, grinning widely when he takes the package of cigarettes and tosses it somewhere on the dance floor. “Now, let’s pretend you never stole anything now that you had your fun.”

“Now that you got to make fun of me?”

“That, too.”

With light following after him, as well as a lover for the night, a particularly known head of brown hair appears in front of her. Long strands, a bit wavy at the edges, only pushed back by the fashionable pink sunglasses that are doing nothing to conceive the blessed-out look on his eyes. Kwon is a sight to see, someone that is made for fashion and has conceptualized it. The pristine red shirt with some buttons opened, paired with some nicely shaped pants already make him the highlight of the night, taking her by the hand to have her up her feet and away from Changkyun.

“Guys, you don’t have to sit on the floor. Come on, you’re my friends!” But this elongated slur on Kwon’s tone just lets her know that he has been drinking too much, and while she welcomes the hug by the shoulders that he gives her, his lover of the night doesn’t seem equally pleased.

Changkyun dusts the back of his jeans before speaking up. “Sorry, the backyard just smelled like shit and we decided to stay here.”

“As per usual. These parties get crazy.”

The interest on the situation perks up when she realizes that Kwon is in front of her. Growing rich Kwon, who has been an excellent friend to the two of them—more to Changkyun than her—but his pleasant personality is only the cause of a million questions inside her head. “Changkyun told me this is your mansion now. You’ve really made it big, huh?”

“My boyfriend helped me find it,” Kwon says, not caring that someone is holding onto his arm at that moment, or that he takes a sip of his beer right after he says it. “You know, he gave me all this to shut me up. It worked.” Yet, the laughter that leaves his lips sounds a bit strained. This fear of richness has always existed within her, and it may come from a place of deep, rooted jealousy that she has never explored in her, but fame, money and having everything in life is just too much for some people. Too strained, too fake, surrounded by people who rarely cared about them…and knowing about that destroys whoever is in that position, too.

“I like it!” She says, trying to change the subject, placing her arms over her chest just in time to have Kwon nodding at her words.

“Just like how I like your dress. Is it thrifted?”

In such a place, it may be a sin to say what she just did. “It is!”

“I like the whole putting a shirt under the dress situation. Makes it look more fashionable.” Kwon explains, swatting his companion’s hand away and wrapping his arms around Changkyun’s and her shoulders, the smell of alcohol dense in the air. It worries her, for no matter how close or not close Kwon is to her, he means a lot to Changkyun. His innocent face, rounded, going together with his pair of twinkling brown eyes and huge grin, has now transformed into something more somber. The typical smirk, a dark glance, and a tinge of pain beneath those eyelids. “How have you two been? Changkyun, you’ve been taking care of her, I imagine.”

“…Of each other, I guess. We’re always together.” Changkyun explains, walking towards the main hallway, much quieter than the rest of the mansion. “By the way, did you read our script?”

“Twice.” And that excitement that characterizes Kwon reappears, letting go of them to grasp his own hands together. “Couldn’t expect anything less from you guys!”

“So?” She asks, biting down on her bottom lip out of pure curiosity, only to have Kwon looking at her.

“I’ve sent the script to some of my friends. Connections, you know, I’d do anything for two of my real friends.” The pain behind that statement is brushed off by the man who says it, but she can’t help but stare at him in awe. How she wishes she could talk to him once sober, and make him feel as though he is more worthy than he lets himself on. Some stars lose their light, dulled in the skies and losing themselves in their darkness, and Kwon is one of them. “But it may take a while. Three months minimum. You know how big producers are, much more if they are companies, but I’m doing my best here.”

“That’s more than we could ask for.” Changkyun speaks, already patting Kwon’s back. “Man, thanks for helping us out!”

“I want to be in the speech when you win an award, that’s all I ask for.” Kwon says, stopping on his tracks. “And a drink, you guys want one?”

“How about…some tea? Just so you can unwind…and not get drunker.” She replies, a chuckle to her tone to seem more amicable, and the way Kwon smiled at them breathed all senses of hope out.

“I haven’t had tea in so long. Sure!”

Because Kwon may have earned a million friends, but none of them cared as much as a real one did. As much as she cared for Changkyun, and vice versa, the reason as to why she believes that it is harder to find a friend than for it to rain in hell.

And it may be hell for her to live without her best friend.

###

“You know that one movie with the pants and the girls?”

Changkyun lifts his eyebrows from his position on the couch, legs too parted in the cramped space, her knees pressed to her chest, heartbeat unmatched to the crickets making their noises outside. The wind blows on the window obnoxiously, far too old for it to stand upright with the commotion, trembling under its weight before falling silent and repeating again. However, her mind is off to one of those corners of her brain that goes unexplored, only opened when around Changkyun—the only person that brings a sense of comfort that only comes with the candidness of her favorite denim jacket.

His eyes don’t divert from the screen, instead speaking with that patience that characterizes him. “You have to be more specific,” But lastly, he decides to look at her. His face turns to her, eyes inspecting her quiet stance the more she tries to think about that one movie…now roaming her brain with images of watching it on a girl’s night with some friends that are no longer in her life. Nostalgia, what a curse for her, a lover of vintage things and then, some. “I am sure that almost every woman in movies wears pants. Unless we are talking about…I don’t know, The Little Mermaid? I doubt she wears pants, but that’s because she is not a woman but a mermaid instead.”

“You know the one!” She tells him, her fingers absentmindedly reaching for his arm, touching the taut and delicate skin there before tugging at him. “The one with the friends…and they have these pants that represent their friendship—”

“What?” Changkyun asks in a whisper. “What kind of movies are you watching?”

“I’ve watched it a long time ago, but it has come to me that maybe our friendship would be stronger—”

“With a pair of pants?”

“Jeans, to be exact.”

“…Don’t.” Changkyun has lifted his voice to an amused tone now, laughing to his heart’s content. Sometimes, she wonders why she is so sensitive to sound—the reason as to why she enjoys (and fears) horror movies a lot more than the normal person. Her ears can pick out the noise of him perfectly well, the ruffling of the fabric of his shirt, the sigh that barely leaves his lips as he rests his head on top of hers and gently lowers down her face to his shoulder. The spot that she normally takes. “We don’t need fucking jeans to strengthen our friendship. There’s nothing to strengthen there.”

But, perhaps, this is just the rom-com equivalent of a best friend—and while those friendships last a lifetime, and include memories of looking for that one love affair for the main character. Only that she is not worthy of being any movie’s main character, and this is reality that she is talking about. The harsh one that reminds her that there is a world of badness outside those windows, in streets and in houses alike. “Don’t you…? I want to word this correctly…” She says, pulling away from him to look towards the ceiling. “Don’t you wonder if we’re…going to be friends forever?”

“I never think that far ahead,” Changkyun says. “That’s one of the reasons why I haven’t even given Jiyoung the time of the day.”

At the sound of her roommate’s name, she perks up. Jiyoung had proclaimed to be out for the night to run some errands, and by errands it must be that she has gotten tired of chasing around Changkyun and to ease the stress of not being paid attention to, a man had fallen into the traps of her perfectly manicured nails. “Ah, she’s only like that with you. Feel honored that you have an almost sex goddess right behind you.”

“It’s not pretty when she’s eavesdropping on every conversation we have or when…when she tries to become this image of the typical girl anyone thinks I’d like.” Changkyun confesses…and those are the moments in which the wind almost whispers to her that Changkyun has standards. That slim, somewhat pensive, sometimes intelligent and unknowingly funny man has thought about real love, or at least, has made an image of it inside his head. “To answer your question, though—”

“Please, do.”

“If I had to think that far ahead, like me…all wrinkly…on the verge of dying…one of the people I’d see right beside me is you.” One would think that there is a hidden meaning behind his statement, that Changkyun laughing at his words soon after makes it lose its sincerity, but the image is so clear in her head that she cannot imagine it not happening. Not with hands interlocked, not with a band around her finger, but chuckling to her heart’s content at the mere presence of him. Dreaming of the youth they had once lived, and not regretting it once. That is the real future she expects to have.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t think the same thing.” She answers, placing one hand over his thigh when she goes stand up. For a moment, when she looks over her shoulder, his smile pulls her in. In moments like these is when irrational ideas make sense inside her head, like the one time in the midst of a conversation, they had opted to date. Something about Changkyun would always tell her to take a sip of life and let it simmer in her mouth, to breathe and relish in the feeling of having a new day to exist…and one new day with him. “I can imagine you as an old man. The one uncle that tells you about how he always knew about the existence of aliens.”

The infamous part of their friendship is that she knows him and that knowledge comes with the hindsight of feeling Changkyun trailing right behind her, just like she expected, when moving towards the kitchen. Jiyoung must have left some of her chicken leftovers somewhere for them to enjoy. “Let’s be honest.”

“Sure.”

“Aliens do exist.”

“They do.” She utters, hands already reaching for the refrigerator for something to pair up with cereal, for the leftovers are not in her line of sight, when the coldness of it all makes her feel…small. In a world in which she is simply one woman and her friend. Two people, two souls, only the two of them. For the longest time, she had wondered if there were friendships that felt as substantial as the one that has lasted her since the early days of her youth, and the answer is always inconclusive. Not a lot of friendships reminisce the most meticulous of things—she remembers the first meal they shared together, bowls of rice made by themselves, and still remembers the nights in which the conspiracies of the world were more interesting than homework. “I could be one, and you wouldn’t have known. Aliens are clearly more intelligent than us.”

Seated by the counter, waiting for his own serve of food, Changkyun answers: “That’s the reason why you’re not one.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

A glint on his eyes and a shake of his head are the answers she gets: “Maybe.”

The sugary treat enters her mouth thanks to her spoon, not concentrating on the taste when she speaks with her mouth full. “I’m not that dumb.”

“We’re equally as dumb, I’d say.” Changkyun unites them in a sentence, almost as if their friendship was meant to be, leaning forward until his mouth diverts another spoonful from her cereal to his lips, only chuckling when her hand comes in contact with his shoulder. “Hey, I’m joking. Are you unable to take a joke?”

Before she could respond to him, the sound of her phone ringing has her perking up. A pointed glare towards him does nothing to push him away from her meal, instead opening his mouth to take another spoonful. Struts are what bring her closer to her phone, catching one glimpse of the contact name before leaning against the counter swiftly. “Kwon, how are you doing?”

The pop of the man’s lips is the first answer she gets. “Much better now that I get to hear your voice. Haven’t heard that sincerity in a while.”

“Three months, you say?”

“You haven’t visited me.”

“Been busy.”

“With your students, I’m guessing.”

“Entirely. Also, with finding an apartment, I’m trying to move out soon…and grow up, you know?”

“Please, don’t.” Kwon adds in between a chuckle, perhaps leaning his head back, the sourness of his voice mixed with alcohol. “Growing up is not a nice thing.”

“I know,” She conquers, voice softened at the edges when she looks at Changkyun. Once smaller, shorter, much more innocent, with his eyes looking for the art in the shape of movies—for wanting to create stories of universes he has yet to explore. Given the chance of sharing a snippet of Changkyun’s mind, she could not be more thankful of meeting him. “How’s your boyfriend?”

“Ex?” Kwon asks, a tilt to his voice and then, the movement of curtains being drawn open captured her attention. “Forgotten. I’m in Paris, living the life of a single man in the city of love.”

Music blurs in the background, far too distant for her to catch when a smile spreads through her features. “I see, better lonely than with a bad man.”

“Exactly.” Kwon breathes out before chuckling to himself. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I actually have a reason to bother you.”

Taking the spoon from Changkyun’s fingertips, she takes a bite and lets the crunch fill the air as she speaks. “You don’t bother me…or us, really! Changkyun is right beside me, stealing my food.” The man in question sends a screamed greeting over the phone, warmth brought to her chest when she imagined reuniting—the three of them—in a place in which there weren’t as many people, in which conversations could take place better than at a party.

“Put me on speaker, I have huge news for you.” Back when she was younger, she had learned how to not get excited. Her heart is not beating rapidly, imagining that Kwon is going to talk about one of his rendezvouses while in Paris, but Changkyun’s face is glued to the phone, eyebrows furrowed when listening intently. “I got a few replies for your script, actually. Mostly no’s, and three yes’s.” Kwon indicates, her eyes widening at the image of producers—out of the best places in the world—thinking of their project as worthy of a positive answer. “So, I kept going. I reunited with a few of these people and I got you a contract with the best of the trio, and the one that gives you the most money, as well. They are in love with your work and would wish to meet you to go over the contract with their lawyers and the lawyers I’ve contracted for you.”

The generous soul of Kwon is the least of her worries when images flash through her eyes. Getting out of a limousine with Changkyun right behind her, cameras flashing, the posters on the red carpet showing the pictures of their film—theirs, crafted by their own two hands, actors and actresses in love with the film, the reviews coming in whether negative or positive. Reviews, nonetheless. This is what makes her let the phone rest on the table, soon after expanding her hands to cage Changkyun in a hug that is welcomed by him immediately, hands settling on her waist when he leans her back—enough to be considered a tango when her lips part in delight and let out the biggest of cackles, almost smiling at life and the beauty of it.

Changkyun is equally as excited, thanking Kwon from the top of his lungs as he twirls her around on the kitchen and it is the most beautiful of moments when her hair is tousled, his chest is heaving and Kwon is speaking in the background, the two friends staring at each other’s eyes. Two worlds that are now part of the huge universe of future stardom. “I’m so happy that you two are getting this opportunity.”

“It’s all thanks to you, man!” Changkyun speaks in his deep voice, moving over to where the phone is resting before laughing to himself. “Oh fuck, you really did not disappoint us one bit.”

“Wait until you see how much you’re getting paid and how in love they are with this film. They couldn’t believe they were written by two theater teachers.”

“They better believe now.” She replies, looking to the side to see Changkyun already staring at her, whispering in a low, almost unbelievable tone.

“We will make it.”

The word ‘we’ holds so much weight, two people united to the end of the world…but one will always be left alone.

We will make it, he says, and she chooses to believe that is the truth.

###

Her head is tilted down, chin resting on the crook of her elbows, both arms spread on top of the table as she stares at the other groups of people. Quite a lazy, yet somewhat childish, pose…but waiting for Changkyun always comes with its downsides. For one, he is late to this ever-so-awaited dinner they planned to have the night before they meet with the people that want to take their script to the big screen, and secondly, she can’t text him more times without getting blocked on the end. Intense, she is, and Changkyun is still very much late.

The restaurant is not quite as expressively elegant as one would believe. If anything, the cheering of children, the cackles of couples and that one alone costumer that is too occupied on their phone feels far too homely. She has been there before with Changkyun, plenty of times, sometimes deciding on something like a pizza, other times thinking that the biggest dish on the menu is their way to go. Adventures spoken in between food, she’d like to call it, and it is such an excellent contrast to be there to celebrate other than, obviously, eat. To worship the idea of finally getting to be just like the people they used to look up at when younger.

A woodened wall that covers half of her body is what separates her from the main area, instead opting for the one that carries most of the drinkers of this bar-restaurant. A man is shouting about the game that she couldn’t care less about, but with the boredom clinging up to her, she decides to rank the soccer players from most handsome to least. Something about athletes has always caught up to her, after all.

Her body perks up at the weight of someone’s lips pressing to the top of her head, turning around to scream at whoever has decided to break this barrier of personal space. However, Changkyun’s arm is already wrapped around her shoulder, their friendship bracelet caressing her shoulder. His reads the first two digits of the year in which they met, while hers has the last two. The white fabric of his t-shirt covers her vision until she decides to lift her gaze, watching his eyes from under the cap over his black hair, an apology in them.

“Sorry, I was getting ready.”

“I can tell,” She says, staring into his eyes before taking the fabric of his shirt in between two fingers and sniffing it. “You smell like you are a walking deodorant. Did you really want to get that dolled up just for me?” The teasing tone of her voice earns her a laugh from him, sitting across from her to take the menu from between her fingertips.

“One of the waitresses here is hot,” Changkyun starts, pointing with his shoulder to his left and indeed, there is someone right there that is—at the very least—a ten on his mental scale. A bit over six feet, the over-the-knees socks looking good on her, displaying the same soccer t-shirt as the men on the game and the ones screaming for them, long hair touching the edge of her shorts. “Do I really smell that strong? I think ladies like it when a guy smells like this.”

“We do,” She says, pushing her weight forward to squint at him. “Rapunzel over there is such your type. You really don’t change.”

“Ah, you know I don’t have a type—” Changkyun has already put the menu down, calling a waiter over and with a raise of his hand they order two individual pizzas, never able to share one without fighting for the last piece.

“You’re what I like to call the ‘book example of a guy’.”

With a cackle, he takes a sip of the Coca Cola he ordered ahead. “How so?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she spares another glance to the long-haired waitress. “She’s so attractive, for one. Two, you’re a legs guy—and she’s got some pretty strong pair, I may ask for her leg workout.” There is a bit of comedy in her tone, wanting to ease the night as something to enjoy. Two friends having conversations that are not rare for them. “And you have this thing for the ‘two sides of the coin’ girls. That can give you both the innocent look but with some spice.”

“Those are all pretty general things!” Always one to defend his point of view, Changkyun stared at the TV screen and almost like he read her thoughts from earlier, he says: “I’m sure you’ve checked out one of those soccer players.”

“I did,” She admits, shrugging her shoulders before quirking an eyebrow. “But since I’m so secretive about everything, I doubt you’d know which one I liked the most.”

Changkyun continues watching the game for a while longer, his ring-cladded fingers playing with the edge of his bottle of soda, the perspiration clinging to the skin and reddening it when his mind is made up in about a minute. “Son Heungmin.”

Much more knowledgeable on the sport than her, the name rolls off his tongue easily and she has to look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse or repetition from the goal he just scored. And indeed, shown in the screen in high definition is the man that she had deemed as attractive earlier, only studying his expression while playing, the layers of sweat on his face doing nothing to conceal the clear beauty of him. “Maybe…” But the way she bites on her bottom lip has Changkyun clapping his hands and pointing at her as he cackles.

“I knew it!”

“How?” Suddenly interested, she asks him. Changkyun leans back on his seat, quirking a smile up.

“Wouldn’t you wanna know, love?” He sings, only to have her kicking his shin from under the table.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Changkyun—” Whining, she continues. “Please, I need to know how you guessed that.”

Relenting takes a few minutes and only after a lot of insistence and when the food gets to their table, Changkyun finally surrenders. His mouth is already muffled with a big bite of his pepperoni pizza when his theory is spoken into the easygoing air in between them. “I based it off something you once told me,” His cheeks are dusted in pink thanks to his laughter, his lips coated in grease while the cheese parts ways with his slice, chewy in just the way they like it. “He has good hair, and styles it exactly how you like it.”

Hair? She doesn’t recall ever talking about hair, frowning deeply when she shakes her head. “I never said that…when? What? I never said that!” That doesn’t mean it is not true. While it is not the first thing she notices, nor is it a deal breaker, she loves a good hairstyle on men.

“You so did, I remember.”

“When?” She whispers, trying to recall one of the drunken nights in which they would speak about various matters, but her thinking is cut to an end when Changkyun says—

“You said that once when we were dating.”

Oh, the one-week-trial that they had, of course it had been at that time. While recalling if Changkyun ever dolled his hair up that way while they were together, her mind makes out the image of a younger version of him laying by her side, her fingers trailing over his jaw and to his hair, gripping the thick strands that had been styled back, playing with the soft hairs that had slipped the hairdo and feeling the soft sigh that had left his lips at the time. Changkyun is one good of a kisser, but the memory comes to her because she doesn’t think she has ever seen Changkyun that dolled up around her since then. “Oh, right! We made out once because you had styled your hair like that.”

He shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza. “I got what I wanted, and ever since then I just knew that you loved hair like that. Without knowing, but you do.”

With a chuckle, she pours some sauce on top of her pizza, not putting it up to her lips until after she spoke. “You should style it like that more often.”

“So we can make out?”

“No! Gross!” But the tone of her voice is a bit too high. He may not have noticed it, neither does she think it is that important, because she knows that something like a relationship with Changkyun just wouldn’t end well. “Tomorrow you should do your hair like that. After all, we should be elegant when meeting these people…and we want to make the best impression.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” He answers, pointing his chin towards the waitress. “Do you think she would like it?”

“I think she is way over your league.” She sarcastically adds, only to have Changkyun throwing one of the slices of pepperoni to her face.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.” Changkyun finishes, only to have her doubling in laughter and throwing her head back.

Absentmindedly, she may have known that Changkyun was getting that number on the end…and that, of course, the waitress would send a smile his way in hopes of seeing him again. It is exactly what happens, the reason as to why she stands on the sides and watches him grow away from when they were twenty, from that one-week-trial that should not mean anything, and it never did.

###

This part of town is unknown to her, far too pretty to ever match her small neighborhood and her equally as tiny group of friends. The cars that pass by Changkyun’s seem to be fresh out of the shop, doors opened by buttons, the big wheels not once turning, looking as though they have not been used—ever. The houses, not to be spoken about, are on the hills far away. Mansions that are separated from each other, probably some pools to match the unnecessarily immense glassed windows. This is the way, Kwon said when giving them the address, but the more she nears the offices in which they are supposed to meet in, the more scared she feels.

Kwon would have made her feel more at ease, but the man beside her is equally as nervous, deep in thought and not once reciting the words to his favorite song of the month. Instead of paying attention to Changkyun, she plays with the edge of the skirt Jiyoung had given her. A sixties moment, she had called the flared skirt, dots on it scattering in delicate pieces, black and white to match the red of her shirt, snug to her body, long sleeved, paired with a necklace that screams faux. Probably a gift from some relative, if she can remember correctly.

It doesn’t feel better when getting out of Changkyun’s old Toyota, the sun touching their skins, the wind too strong as they move accordingly to the guide that they have been assigned. Buildings too tall, not differentiated by color but in a strong beige instead, almost caressing a shade of orange. The guide speaks and speaks, rambles too much and all she can think about is the expanse of the person in front of her, Changkyun, who had styled his hair exactly like that one night in their twenties, and while no romance was held in her heart, her hand extended to interlock with his.

Dropping his voice to a mere dance of his tongue, he speaks near her ear when she keeps up with his steps. “What’s going on?”

“I’m about to shit my pants.”

“Skirt.”

“Same thing,” She replies, selling a smile to the guide that looks over her shoulder to look at them. When opening one of the doors, her grip on Changkyun’s hand grows so strong that the rings on his fingers dig into her skin, breathing closely to his face, his lips parted when she says: “Don’t let go of my hand, please. I may pass out if I ruin this opportunity for us.”

And with the certainty of a man much older than him, Changkyun answers with a simple: “I won’t.”

These producers that Kwon had spoken about as the highest beings in the world are nothing but wolves, she realizes when she meets them. A screenwriter is there, as well as some director that she recognizes but Changkyun plays off as if he does, unknown to her best friend. The meeting room welcomes such few people in a big table, copies of the contracts given to the lawyers that had been waiting for them, and the lawyers of the company themselves. The host, the producer in this case, speaks with such mightiness, going over the most important parts that sound amazing. They sound as if they were taken out of a movie, quite literally.

Her hand is cramped, a bit sweaty, but still being held by Changkyun. Seated by her side with his black button down and some trousers, Changkyun has crossed one leg over the other and has let her own rest in between his thighs, near his knees. The contract is brought closer to his face, studying it with intent, while she tries to concentrate on her own. Instead, she looks at the director, then listens to the movies they mention, feeling as though her heart is about to burst with the excitement and awestruck of being given an opportunity.

Her own chance to shine—and not alone.

The producer, Byungho, stops in his tracks right in front of his seat, hands expanded over the black table when he points at the last part of the contract. “My lawyers can explain this last clause in further detail, but I personally asked for this one to be highlighted after Kwon gave me the pleasure of watching some of Changkyun’s performances from his days in university.”

Her best friend stops his ministrations, finally uncovering his face to the people at the table by lowering the contract down. His fingers untighten and had it not been for her, he would have let go of her hand when he leans forward and says a confused: “Pardon?”

“Kwon said you were an actor back in university, too. Never took it too seriously, but when I saw the talent you had—” Byungho stares at Changkyun dreamily, bills painted in his eyes to worship money. “I just knew you had the talent to be the main character of this movie.”

“Ah, Mr. Jo—”

One of the lawyers speaks then, a woman with a heavenly voice and a set of long lashes behind her glasses. “If I can further explain Mr. Jo’s intentions…he was not planning to originally have one of the scriptwriters as an actor, but Mr. Lee Kwon insisted. After watching the recordings, Mr. Jo concluded that it would be a revolution of the cinematography era to have one of the writers acting out the scene. Less complex, more understandable, raw and hardworking in a way. It’d be a story that magazines would love to talk about—give the press something to bite into and you can bet your movie will be a hit.”

At the presence of Changkyun’s silence, she speaks up for him. This opportunity shall not be dismissed, much less when Changkyun does have that talent for acting—one that he often only uses for one scene or another when preparing the theater students. “That idea sounds great. I think Changkyun could do justice to our troubled main character, as well as his features being able to fit into the physical portion of the character.”

“There is a catch, though.” The lawyer says, standing up and rounding the table, her arm resting under her crooked elbow. “It would be unbeneficial to this plan for us to just say…Changkyun and his friend wrote the script, because we’re looking to build an acting career here, but only for one.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want to be in the movie—”

“But the credibility of Changkyun as a mastermind or a hidden talent of both worlds, writing and acting, would be lost if we have you in the credits.” The lawyer finishes, leaving her astounded at what she is trying to hint at. Not being in the credits? “We offer you money for your work, of course, but you’re not going to be displayed in the credits, neither will you get any kind of exposure. We want Changkyun to have that light…since he’s the actor we want, of course.”

“That’s the only thing I ask for.” Mr. Jo says, his hand coming forward to pat Changkyun’s hand. “Think about it, son. We’d make you a superstar in a second, and we just need…that rawness. The public does not want scripted celebrities anymore, they want thinking beings. Woke individuals, one would say.”

Changkyun’s neck extends, looking towards the ceiling and his blank yet pensive stare is enough to break her heart. That dream that she had fought so hard to have is being given entirely to Changkyun, and while her movie would be on the big screen…she’d never get to see her name on it. In a way, she’d have to be that one woman that everyone would think is a liar when speaking about her experience with the famous actor and screenwriter Im Changkyun. “We’d have to see if she’s okay with it.”

“Kyun,” She whispers, only connecting their gazes when his head lolls to the side. “…Are you okay with this?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” He starts, and the weight of those words reminds her of the little plays they would have at school…or how Changkyun had been the one to have the initial idea, one that she had added herself into just because she had always thought they’d be the perfect Gemini. Two sides. One coin. But it is not always like that, holding him there, she realizes that there is so much more to Changkyun than just being her half. “But I’m not doing it if you are not okay with it.”

All eyes are on her, and the lawyer dares to prick at her recently opened wound with a comment. “Come on, it’s a lot of money if you think about it—and people in the industry will know that you had something to do with Changkyun. I am sure you’ll get a second chance.”

“But Changkyun just has one chance.” Mr. Jo pushes, patting his hand against the table. “So, I want an answer. Yes or no?”

The tip of her tongue comes wet her lips, swallowing thickly when she closes her eyes and lets go of Changkyun’s hand. The star, one bigger than she could ever be, the one rising celebrity that she needs to feel proud of. Some friends just deserve that much. The slip is almost symbolic, as if for the first time since she was around twelve to thirteen years old, Changkyun doesn’t need her…and she has to stop needing him. “I think I’m willing to do that for him.” She answers, opening her eyes to see the big smile on Mr. Jo’s face. “I’ll settle for the payment and an invite to the recordings, of course. I’d love to see him play that character that we’ve worked so hard for.”

We have.

We.

Changkyun and her are no longer a ‘we’.

“Thank you.” Changkyun says, sending a smile her way before turning to the wolves, the ones that are taking him in and making him one of their own, but eating at the flesh of her biggest insecurities. “We’ve got a deal, then. Where do we sign?”

The shivering of her hands scares her, her heart racing and pumping so harshly that it almost feels like she may die at that time. Why is it that it bothers her so much when she’ll have a big amount of money and the happiness of her best friend? The question roams her head when she watches the ink splay on the piece of paper, letting go of her dream to give it entirely to Changkyun.

His first chance and her last.

###

“Changkyun!”

Silence follows the call of his name and just when she uses her key to open his apartment’s door, her shoes knock against an empty box. The sound startles her, bringing one hand to her chest to look at the rest of the boxes sprawled on the flooring. One month of not going to his apartment and he’s already changed everything?

“Kyun! What are all these boxes for?” She asks, moving further into the room when hearing a shout of her name, somewhat excited with a screech at the end. The thought of seeing Changkyun again after a month of preparations for the movie shoot brings a sense of tranquility to her chest, only breathing properly again when Changkyun skips a few steps when getting out of his room, not knocking a few boxes over in the process, but greeting her with a half-hearted hug instead.

“You finally decided to visit your old ass friend!” Changkyun announces, sounding a little too much like something Kwon would say—and she would know, because this past month she has found more companionship in Jiyoung and Kwon than she has done on Changkyun. Something about script-reading and acting classes must be taking too much time on his agenda. “Just in time to help me move out.”

Time freezes at that moment, but it really doesn’t. Instead, she paralyzes herself like a picture as she watches Changkyun write ‘clothes’ on a box before taping it securely with quick motions. This apartment has been Changkyun’s home since he was around twenty-two, when he decided that roommates were not his thing and he was in that time of his life where hooking up needed to be more private and mature. Nonetheless, the single-man home never lost its meaning, the pictures of his friends that must be saved in some box and the scent of him that is now changed for the smell of old and dusty furniture. “M—Moving out?” She asks, taking a seat on the plastic-bag covered couch and extending her hands when hearing the rustle. “Since when are you moving out?

“If you had visited me, you would have known.”

And there he goes with that same bullshit again, the smile on his face irking her because she had visited him, just that he was not there or he was occupied at the time, and whenever they texted—often, to be exact—, he had never mentioned moving out. “Stop with that, I did visit you. A bunch of times, but you were either asleep or out.”

Changkyun tilts his head to the side at that, quirking up the corner of his mouth in confusion. “I was?”

“You were,” She adds, placing her hand over his after standing up, stopping him from closing another box with duct-tape. “And you could’ve told me through text. Also, why are you moving? I thought you told me you wouldn’t be moving out any time soon even as I was looking for an apartment.” It still takes a toll on her to find the perfect home and leaving Jiyoung in this time in which she spends less time with her friend—and her partner in class that is no longer working at the school—is almost impossible. Heart-wrenching, if anything.

“This new place is huge, and closer to the recording studio. I managed to pay it with a bit of my payment, nothing crazy.” Changkyun concludes, continuing his ministrations with the boxes. “And I am sorry if I didn’t tell you, but the moving truck will be here anytime soon and I would really appreciate it if you helped me.”

She does as he says, sadly this is what she has come to, believing that Changkyun needs to grow and become more of the man he has always wanted to be, and if she has to be in the sidelines for it, she will—but not without complaining. “Changkyun, this is not about me, this is about you. You’re almost never around and when you are, we don’t hang out anymore.”

Carrying one of the boxes, his delicate muscles popping out with the action, Changkyun answers as he moves towards the door. “I’m just busy.”

“I get it but—”

“You’re not getting it. You’re using that tone on me.”

“What tone?”

Changkyun may not be angered, face stoic when he returns to his actions of finishing with packing, but her blood starts to boil when he continues speaking. “The tone you use when you’re being petty. I just have more responsibilities than hanging out at the moment.”

“Oh, hanging out with me.” She tells him, correcting him when he tries to move towards the door, and she realizes that her grip on the duct-tape he had given her becomes stronger. “I don’t see you having any issues to hang out with your little cast, because they’re famous and that’s all you fucking wanted—”

“What?!” Changkyun asks, his voice rising when he hears the sound of her voice, and he finally spares her a glance when he stops working on the boxes and pays attention to her. His steps are slow when he nears her, as if he is afraid he cannot tame the beast that now exists thanks to betrayal, envy, or abandonment. She doesn’t know which. “I have to hang out with my cast because I will spend the next few months recording with them, and I don’t want to be the weak link. This is not about me wanting anything, you’re still as much as my friend as the first day.”

“Then, why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“Because you’re clinging to material things, it’s like you’re missing someone when I am right here!” Changkyun announces, taking her by the shoulders to shake her out of her thoughts, and her hands loosen up at the realization of it all. Maybe, nostalgia had played with her—she had judged the new version of Changkyun when in reality he had just grown up. He is becoming a successful man, one of pride, with stars in his eyes and zeroes in his bank account, with new friends to enjoy and possibly love affairs better than some waitress at their favorite restaurant.

“I do miss you,” She can’t help the softness of her tone when her arms wrap around his waist and her head rests on top of his shoulder. “I’m just afraid that you’re going to stop talking to me or something. If you do that—”

“I won’t.” Changkyun tells her, holding her with delicacy, taking one of the pieces of duct-tape in between his fingers and sticking it to her hair, earning a well-deserved smack and laughter from her. “I can promise that much. I may be moving, but this apartment is not who I am. That job I had at the school? That’s not who I am. I’m your friend, and that you have to be sure of.”

With those promises she clings to Changkyun again, happy to have her friend even when it is a new version of him. Perhaps, this may be a push for her to finally continue with her life and stop depending on other people. When seeing the apartment rid of all the utilities, she realizes how many memories she had there—but maybe, she will make more of those in Changkyun’s new home. Pushed to the back are the days in which she would wake Changkyun up, or when they would watch movies while seated on that old couch.

Because Changkyun is the person beside her, not the memories that she clings onto.

###

“Party at my place tomorrow. 9pm. You’re invited.”

Reading that text, she knows Changkyun must have mass-sent it. Not surprising, three months into his little stardom life and Changkyun had more friends than she could ever count. More than when he was in university and the word had spread around about how much of a cool guy he was, but money and importance must have taken some part on it, as well as connections. Something more interesting, he must have found, in the apartment that is far too huge for her—yet to small to have her around, or in the groups of people that he is now clinging onto.

In a miniscule second, she really does think of not going. Changkyun, this one that exists right now, is just too busy for her to tag along to a party that will have too many people all gathered together thanks to him. But then, when looking up at the ceiling of her own room, now completely alone in a place that looks like a shoebox in comparison to Changkyun’s, her mind trails until her eyes are landing on the picture by her bedside table. Framed. Two best friends from when she was sixteen, wearing uniforms that were loose on their bodies, big smiles on their faces as they held each other with the beauty of naivety and youth.

That is the friend that she has tried to reach out for in the past few months and while she has not been able to voice it out, far too afraid of losing the little minutes that are given to them when talking on the phone, she has wanted to. Scream at him? Maybe, that is something that has passed her head a few times, when she suddenly sees Changkyun in pictures on the internet, articles read about him…and there is this sense of pompousness that comes with his silence that does not settle well on her stomach. Sealed are his lips, just like his feet at the floor, unable to move to where she is, but definitely willing to go around with his group of famous friends.

The bass vibrates through her body when she enters the apartment—being honest, it may be bigger than some people’s houses—. A nice set of stairs that are chic and gray, the railings made out of silver and glass, matching the spacious windows that she has always complained about (sue her, they may be perfect for interior designing, but for someone who has lived in poor neighborhoods, they just call out robbers). The white walls do not hold lights to indicate a party to be exact, but the atmosphere is enough to make it feel more expensive than a club, but not far away from its recklessness. People there are begging to have a good time, some at the terrace in the apartment, others in the center of the room and some at the kitchen doing body shots, from what she can guess from the cheering and the small glimpse she had of two people making out on top of Changkyun’s counter.

Kwon is by her side, thankfully. She would have probably run away in fear at the rich people around her, but his hand settles on her waist, laughing joyfully at the image in front of him. It may have been a while for him—after going to Paris, he settled on working on perfecting his craft as a designer and moving out of that huge mansion bought by his ex-boyfriend, he moved somewhere else. Tranquil, away from the party lifestyle he oh-so-bluntly misses.

Not drunk like the last time she saw him partying, Kwon has styled his hair back, a few pins placed in his hair to match the button down that he had picked to color-contrast with her dress. Yellow and red, made to stand out. “Whew, I’ve been to parties like these before.” Kwon says, moving her along the groups of people and sending some waves to a few of them.

“Are they bad?”

“Well, I wouldn’t really say they’re bad. The last time I was in one of those typical rich people’s parties, I ended up having a threesome at three at the morning. Commemorative, you know.” Kwon speaks with facility, talking about those memories that have her laughing sometimes. If he ever gets to the day of his oldest days, he will surely have stories to tell the younger generation. “They’re even worse than normal parties. You see, most people here have access to anything they want, so why not use it to their favor when partying?”

That may be more interesting to Changkyun than their usual movie nights and their talks about cinematography. Hell, even more important than planning some high school students’ prom as a theater teacher. When they reach the small bar, cramped in between a few groups of people, she juts out her bottom lip as Kwon orders. Whatever cocktail he chooses to have is heaven in a cup, a man of nice tastes. “…Oh hell, tell me why I am not surprised that you were in a threesome.”

“Because no one would be surprised to know I was in a threesome,” Kwon clinks his martini with her, the taste caressing the back of her tongue, letting it simmer before pushing it down. The drink may help her ease into this night. “But you know…just a heads up, parties like these get crazy.”

Worry settles over her, and she doesn’t know why. Changkyun is fully capable of taking care of himself—an adult, he is, for fuck’s sake, but something inside her heart just tells him to keep him away from such a world. As in she doesn’t trust anyone in that room, all strangers that appeared in the blink of an eye. “One question,” She takes a sip of her drink. “And don’t call me dumb for it.”

Kwon lets his weight kneel against the counter, licking the edge of the cocktail before scoffing. “Depends on what you’re about to ask, love.”

“Kwon!”

“What? I just know that I’m bound to call you dumb if you ask something stupid, that’s all!”

With a shaky sigh, she looks down at the drink on her hand. The only reason as to why she is there is to prove a point—that she can, also, join this life that Changkyun is now part of. The other reason reads on the fact that she hasn’t seen Changkyun in well over a few weeks, and even then, the greetings were short, the conversations even duller. “Why does Changkyun prefer all these strangers over me?”

Something that characterizes Kwon is that he is so unfathomably himself that she just knows every word that leaves his lips is the truth. For a moment, his innocent expression lets his smile drop little by little, inspecting her features before downing the rest of his drink, barely a hiss coming soon after. “Because he has a chance that he’s never had, but all these years he’s always had you.” Kwon answers, as if it was that simple to comprehend, interlocking his hands and keeping his elbows upright. “And it’s your choice to feel betrayed, but Changkyun is just trying something different out. You two have been glued by the waist ever since you were like…I’d say fourteen? I think he just needs some space.”

“He’s having a whole universe, sometimes he doesn’t even talk to me.” She plays around with the word ‘space’, rolling her eyes and taking another gulp of her drink. “Look at this! We got here and he’s nowhere in sight.”

“Or we just aren’t where he is,” Kwon replies, taking her hand in his and once again using his own body as shelter for her, the fabric of her tight yellow dress making it a bit comfortable for her to walk without it riding up. So much for Kwon giving her something to match him just to fit in. Expensive, it may look, but it sure as hell is uncomfortable and too shiny for her taste. “He must be somewhere around here. It doesn’t seem like people are fucking upstairs at this hour, it’s only ten.”

Sighing deeply, she tilts her head back. “I think I should just let him be, he probably—”

“Changkyun!”

Looking over Kwon’s shoulder, grasping the man’s forearms in the progress, she watches the man that he had just called. His hair is not pushed back, but definitely done a mess, a bottle of beer dangling from his right hand, his other fingertips letting go of the waist of a woman right beside him. A few buttons of his shirt were open, the glimpse of a choker around his neck shown when he moved—but it was made out of gold, and she doesn’t even want to question how much he spent on it. Not to be misunderstood, because the smile he sends to his two old friends shine brighter than the chandeliers on top of them, moving over to grasp Kwon’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“You’ve made it!” The happiness of his tone has her moving away from Kwon, looking at Changkyun with expectation in her eyes. With the alcohol dense in his breath, he pulls away from their mutual friend—now more of her friend than his—to beam at her. His fingers carefully rub at her cheek, pinching it in the process with a lift to his tone. “Oh, and you’re here, too. I think I’m seeing a ghost; I haven’t seen you in so long.”

But that may be partially his fault, if not entirely. “Likewise, Changkyun.” She replies, going over to wrap her arm around his waist to receive a hug, but two taps on her back reminds her of her distance in between the two, only pushed further when Changkyun looks over his shoulder to his new catch, sending a smile her way. “Mhm, I’m supposing Rapunzel is forgotten.”

Changkyun stops looking at his girl, from the longish legs in the high waisted and expensive blue pants, to the marvelous white top paired with a fur coat and short hair. Chic, styled straight and in a dark color, matching her cat-like stare. “Who?” He asks after humming, and Kwon shows equal interest.

“Rapunzel, the waitress.”

“Ah!” Changkyun parts his lips, laughing in response. “Over it. Now I have Hana.” The glint in his eyes reminds her of the time in which his mischief would take the best of him, but now that he is using it with people that she doesn’t fully like, neither does she think that they like the real Changkyun, she bites back.

“Hana? More like Cruella de Vil, I’m sure an animal died just to have that coat on her.” Trying to suppress his laughter, Kwon doubles over beside her and she takes this moment to take the last sip of her drink.

“You don’t like her?”

“You’ve done better.” She retorts, quirking a styled eyebrow at him.

With a whine, he responds. “Who?”

Me. She wants to say, but instead she shrugs her shoulders, the fabric of her dress hugging her arms tightly. “Not saying.” She answers, licking the inside of her cheek before pointing her chin at her. “Introduce her to me.”

With an ounce of hesitation, Changkyun spares a look in between the two, soon after going over to where Cruella de Vil was standing. Pushing her chest forward, the little bit of classiness that she possesses comes through when the sound of sweet laughter fills the air. Now from up close, she can realize the beauty of Hana and the image of her clicks in her mind well. The loved actress on the rise, star of romantic movies, that push of comedy coming to her easily. For someone who looks so pompous in real life, her movies are to die for.

“Isn’t this Changkyun’s best friend?” Hana asks with delight, leaning down to grasp her hand in a tight grip and the action alone has her pushing her lips together. Something about that smile screams jealousy, perhaps it is a spray Hana is trying to use against her to keep her away from him. “I have not stopped hearing about you. You’re in all of Kyun’s stories.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you know someone for years. You just have…more story.” The sound of her voice shouldn’t have been quite as pointy, but the bite on her tone surprised her.

Hana tilts her head to the side, her long earrings almost tangling with her perfectly styled hair. “I don’t know. Some memories can be made in a shorter time.”

“I suppose—”

“One night is enough.” Hana says it with an innocent tone, ending with a giggle that has her smiling tightly. She tries to suppress the frown on her features by interlocking her hands behind her back, joining in the laughter that Hana has created.

“I suppose,” She repeats, still smiling forcefully. “Ah, I’m a big fan of your work. Changkyun did not tell me that you two were seeing each other.”

“It’s fairly recent,” Changkyun explains, sparing a glance to Hana before resting his hand on her waist. Her eyes go from the mere touch to Changkyun’s eyes studying Hana’s expression, and her blood boils for a reason. Changkyun has had girlfriends after her, plenty, as well as various friends with benefits and a few dates, but something about Hana makes her fear about a future Changkyun may have, one that doesn’t include her. “But…we met thanks to an interview. We’ll see how this goes.”

“Well, I’m so happy for you two.” Her feet move back and forth, unable to stay in one place, and Kwon remains silent by her side, perhaps feeling the tension in the air. “…Not so happy about the animal you’re wearing on your shoulders, though. Someone died just in the name of fashion.”

Hana pushes the fabric up on her shoulders, scrunching up her small nose. “It’s just—You know, yes, it’s not a good choice of clothing but—”

“Doesn’t matter. Anything you wear looks perfect,” Defeated by not even being able to spend time with her best friend, taken away by some woman that he has only gotten to know recently, she takes Kwon by the arm and drags him along with her as she says her goodbyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana, but I really just came here to get drunk and have a good time, so I’m going to do just that.”

“Wait—” Changkyun starts, but the sound is drowned the more she moves towards the terrace, away from the couple.

Or couple-to-be. Whatever.

The terrace is not as spacious, a table of ping pong right in the middle, a few people crowded together with smoke blown into the air and the smell of alcohol thick. Even as she is walking, she feels as though she has stepped on a puddle of beer—or she hopes that is beer—. Though, her heart is going a mile per minute, looking for the answers as to why her ears are heated and her head is enraged.

Misplaced anger, it may be, at herself for a reason. Changkyun, growing from himself, has done nothing but live his life and she has stayed on the side, watching like a hawk ready to take a prey. Never had she imagined that a villain would be made out of her heart, for her best friend had always been someone sacred to her—but that is what she feels. Hatred, misplacement, a sudden need to be more…to be exactly the kind of people that Changkyun wants to hang around with.

And the kind that Kwon tells her to keep away from.

Colored blue is the bottle of beer that she takes in between her fingers, finding that sense of tranquility within her with the taste of the drink, but her fingers are shaking, Kwon’s voice worrisome as he speaks.

“What was that?” Misunderstood she shall remain, and by the way Kwon widens his eyes and inspects her features, he has no clue about what may be going through her head. “Are you jealous of Changkyun having a fling?”

For a moment, she bites her tongue—because she likes to believe that people understand her, even when she doesn’t capture exactly what she feels. It’s something she hates about her—she asks to be comprehended, but she never makes what bothers her obvious. “I don’t even know,” She admits, staring at the seas of people around them, the cheering people by the ping pong table, some shirtless, others without pieces of their clothing on. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Kwon leans back against the railing, taking a beer of his own. “Try.”

When she is alone is when she misses him the most. Now that he has entered the terrace, lifting his pierced eyebrow when he smiles at someone that greets him, she realizes that her best friend is still in there, the only thing missing is that she is not with him. Not clinging to his side as usual, neither is she the first thing that pops inside his head early in the morning. Changkyun no longer needs her, and that may be such a selfish thing to miss. “I’m so fucking angry because—look at him, it is as if he doesn’t miss me!”

“Because he doesn’t,” Kwon says. “I’ve said it already…he has you, why would he miss you?”

“He doesn’t have me all the time—”

“He does,” Kwon answers, shrugging his shoulders and looking forward, towards the people that are now putting on their clothes and messily arranging new cups with alcohol in them. “It has always been something I’ve envied,” His pretentious tone indicates, the honey in it making such a harsh truth feel drunken. “Changkyun has that kind of friend that everyone wants in you. You’re always there for him, you’d drop everything just to see him happy.”

The image of her signing the contract that gave away the rights to her own script had her taking a shaky breath. “…Why does it feel like he would not do the same for me?”

“I like to believe he would.” Kwon finishes and for a moment, she watches Changkyun near them. If it had been him put in her position, one of forgetfulness and complete invisibility, would he have stood still?

In the heat of the moment, she walks towards the table of ping pong, greeting the two guys in front of her. One taller than the other, lanky and a good head over her height, the oversized flannel on his body stylish, too much gel on his hair to uncover tanned skin with some imperfections on his chin, a smile that could blind a light just in the way he sends it towards her.

“What’s this game about?”

“Stripping beer pong.” The shorter one says, earning a bit of a dusted blush from the other man, who chuckles with drunken nature. “You wanna play?”

In retrospect, it has been a while since she has played beer pong, and she is not even that good at it. The only thing she has on her apart from her yellow dress are some socks and a pair of boots, and this may be a loss for her, but one glance at Changkyun sends a rush of competitiveness in between her, as if she wants to prove that she can also be fun. “Yeah, I’m feeling some drinks. If I drink, I don’t have to strip, right?”

“Already thinking you’re going to lose?” The taller one indicates, extending his hand to arrange the bottles on his side of the table. The brown strands of hair are perfectly put, as well as the glisten behind his eyes when he looks up. “It’s simple. If you get the ball inside the cup on this side, I have to drink and strip off something. New rules, just to make it more fun.”

“Huh, so one on one?” She asks, only to have the man in question shaking his head.

“On pairs. It’d be better for you; you only have a dress on.” Something about him is fairly bashful, the tips of his ears reddened and it must be the drunkenness inside of him speaking. “The name’s Changmin. My friend is Hyun. Who you’re playing with?”

Looking over to Kwon, who is already talking to someone—typical of him, really—she finds herself in awe when she feels someone’s presence next to her, a deep voice that she recognizes very well speaking into the colorful air of a party. “Me.”

“Oh, no, no, no—” She starts speaking when looking at Changkyun, pointing her chin towards the door. “Hana is probably waiting for you, just keep being with her.”

“You’re going to end up naked if you play this alone.” Changkyun answers, crossing his arms over his chest while he gets closer to her. For a moment, it feels as though her old friend is back—but the one from university, that had wanted to make sure she was alright after every party they attended to.

“What’s the problem with that?” She retorts. “I’m an adult.”

“You’re my friend.”

“And?”

“I know how mortified you are going to be if you end up losing this.” Changkyun turns around, taking the ball in between the table before looking at Changmin’s eyes. “We start.” That authority in his tone must have indicated that he is mad about something, perhaps her attitude towards him or this unspoken tension in between them, but a swing of his hand he throws the ball directly at one of the cups, smiling a bit to himself.

“I can take perfect care of myself.” She says from her spot, her eyes wandering down when Changmin takes his shirt off, the tattoos on his waist and chest hidden thanks to his flannel. “You know, speaking of…maybe, I should make a move on one of your rich friends.” Not that Changmin is her style, or that she is inherently interested in hooking up with someone today, but if Changkyun can do it…then, so can she.

Changkyun scoffs from his side, speaking lowly when Hyun misses his shot, giving her the ball without much of a thought. “He’s not your type.”

“Hana was not your type.”

“What’s your problem with her?”

“I don’t know her,” And when she throws, she misses the cup, sparing a glance to Changmin who is already looking at her by the time she does so. However, there is more interest on looking at Changkyun when she punctuates her issues. “And I didn’t even know that she was in your life.”

“It’s nothing serious.” Changkyun speaks lowly, taking the ball and throwing it without a care and hence, missing. “When did it become a rule in our friendship to tell you everything and anything I do?”

“Since we started being friends, we’ve always told each other everything.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

The plop of a drink splashing on her has her looking at the culprit, Hyun smirking in delight when getting the point. “Okay, one of you two: drink and strip.” The night is cold, she realizes then, the skin of her thighs presenting little goosebumps at the mere touch of the air. Her fingers wrap around the drink, meaning to own up to it when the red cup is snatched away from her hands and downed in one go by Changkyun, who had already tossed his shirt somewhere on the floor, not caring about the expensiveness of it.

“What a gentleman!” Someone whoops from far away, but her eyes are simply squinted at him, once again repeating the rules of the game, not caring about the outcome but concentrating on the task at hand. A score, and Hyun is the next one to take something off—his pants, since he had already lost his shirt in some previous game.

“Hana is not that important,” Changkyun whispers. “We just fuck and that’s it.”

“Doesn’t seem like that to me.” She tells him, eyeing his face up and down before breathing deeply. “I don’t mind you dating anyone, but you don’t tell me anything anymore. I didn’t know you had met someone called Hana, that’s a wrong start already.”

“I said it’s not that important.”

“It’s important to me!” She says, putting her hands up in the air before looking at the pair in front of them. “But go ahead, I don’t blame you. You prefer people with money, after all, and I’m some stupid fucker with a dress that makes me look like mustard. It’s okay.”

Changkyun tries to continue to speak as the game develops, but the conversation goes dull as he takes pieces of clothing off, only left with his jeans, his jewelry scattered on the table by the time the game is over, all drinks downed on Hyun’s and Changmin’s side. With quickened steps, she returns to where Kwon is, head dizzy and the image of Hana appearing beside Changkyun suddenly becoming the only thing she can see. Her head lulls back, the fresh air touching the skin of her cheeks, the heat clinging to her body in an uncomfortable way.

What he doesn’t notice is that everything has changed, from the moment they met to now—and it was bound to happen, but it gives her whiplash with how fast it was. As the night develops, staying around for the orders of pizza that came soon after and some other drinks, as well as a group of friends that Kwon found in the middle of the dance floor, she waits for a miracle. For some reason, she expects Changkyun to go over to her side, place one hand over her thigh and speak about the most random of things, perhaps catch up on the latest films they have watched on their own, but that doesn’t happen.

The bass is strong when she dances with some strangers—in a moment, she is in Kwon’s arms, in the other she thinks she has danced with Changmin, sharing a cigarette in between the two like she would have done with her best friend, and then she has passed her alcohol limit, finding solace in an empty spot in Changkyun’s couch, away from people as she lays down and lets sleep take over her. Her dreams are a mess, far too forgetful by the time the sunrays appear through those damned windows, annoying her beyond comprehension when she realizes what happened last night.

She talked to Changkyun. Drank. Danced. Smoked. Knocked herself out.

The feeling of a silky fabric running over her thighs makes her open one eye, draping her arm over the other to look down at a familiar button down.  Her bones crack when she extends, her eyes inspecting the room when she hears the sizzling of food, the smell of vegetables thick in the air. When her legs decide to move away from the couch, she watches Kwon’s sleeping body on the other couch, arms wrapped around himself…but he is wearing his shirt.

A few steps away makes her scrunch up her nose at the mess, though her head is too dizzy to care about the mess that Changkyun is probably going to have cleaned up for him. Her fingers let themselves knot around the fabric of the button down that had covered her legs when speaking and realization kicks her when she notices whose it was.

Changkyun’s.

The one he took off when playing stripping beer pong.

The sizzling comes from the kitchen and the image of Changkyun making sure she is well covered and making breakfast for her brings a smile up her face. That is the kind of thing her best friend would do. Walking over the rope of hope, she walks towards the kitchen, expecting to see Changkyun with simpler clothing and a pan in between his fingers, but fuck, that is what dreams are made for…not a reality.

Arms that wrap around a small waist, and a similar shirt dropped over Hana’s body, cladding her perfectly. Her hair is put up in a small ponytail, little kisses scattered around her neck and collarbones while she cooks. Changkyun seems to be delighted, fingers pulling her closer until he takes a good scent of her, speaking something against Hana’s skin…unheard, but yet so powerful.

She doesn’t know why this hurts her, because she has seen Changkyun be with other women. This should not be news, but something about the entire replacement of her in every way drops at her stomach harshly, to the point she clears her throat to call out for their attention.

Changkyun pulls away from Hana, smiling at her when he takes the shirt from her hands. “Good morning!” He cheers, clearly in a good mood, if the lipstick stains on his neck are something to go by and the messy hair are indicators of his late morning activities. “You passed out on my couch. Had a great night partying?”

As if they had not spoken at all, he acts. Perhaps, he doesn’t really care about the tension in between the two—he thinks that some nice actions are going to save him, and the worst part? They might have had she not seen this. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“I’ve made tea for the hangover.” Hana points out from her spot, her manicured hands signaling the teapot somewhere in the kitchen. “It’s my magic potion. Been there, done that, girl. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Before she could deny, Changkyun is already pouring a cup for her, but she stops him by placing her hands over his. “Put it in a plastic cup. I’ll be out the door in a minute.”

“Why?” Changkyun asks, his faint smile dropping when looking at her. “Listen, I know you must feel bad because you drank a lot last night and you were cranky but—”

“Kyun—” She closes her eyes, correcting herself. “Changkyun, I need to leave.”

“But why?”

“I need to get rid of this headache and go over some scripts I asked the students to write.” She’s coming up with whatever excuse appears in her head, taking Changkyun’s place and accepting the nice smelling tea when pouring it inside a plastic cup, one of those that had been used for alcohol last night.

“So, you’re not staying for breakfast?” Changkyun asks while he goes behind her, her fingers already hooking around Kwon’s hand to wake him up, speaking his name softly to help herself out.

Just when Kwon opens his eyes groggily, she answers. “We’re not staying for breakfast. I’m going to use Kwon’s car to drive him home and I’m going to get him to sleep comfortably. His back must be killing him.”

Kwon doesn’t say much, simply trails after her towards the door, but Changkyun speaks loud enough for the two of them to hear. “You’re lying to me.”

She stops on her tracks, clutching at the end of her dress when she stutters out a: “I—I’m not.”

“I know when you’re lying to me.”

Does he even know her at all?

“But I’m not.” She answers, looking over her shoulder before sending a wave at him. “Bye, K—Changkyun.”

###

You see, Changkyun is not the only person she misses in her life. Though a bit out there, definitely louder than a normal person, and as clingy as it can get, Jiyoung is one of her closest friends. With the lack of a male best friend that sits down with her and watches the matutine news or a dumb reality show, she is left to enjoy more time with another woman. Jiyoung, for example, had insisted on bleaching her hair even more, the color far lighter and her hair much drier, but the smile on her face is as welcoming as ever as she lays her head down on her shoulder and looks at the screen in front of them.

Jiyoung changes the channels too much, and even though she hasn’t seen Changkyun in well over a month again, through her texts she can feel as though he is still the same about his tastes in TV watching and shows. Something about inspecting everything and picking just the right thing is something that exudes his energy, but Jiyoung is quite the opposite. Settling on some stardom interview show just because she thinks the host is hot? That’s something Jiyoung does.

Her old place is as intact as ever, and she wishes she had the strength to erase the image of Changkyun from her brain. When in front of him, she can act as though she is tough, as if she doesn’t care that he doesn’t have time for her anymore, but give her a phone and those blinking three dots that indicate that he is texting her and she is head over heels, stopping everything she is doing to answer to him.

For a while, she has thought that this is normal—that she just holds onto Changkyun because that is what friends do, but this also reminds her of how different their friendship is now. She gives, he takes, and she never receives. He prefers cities with angels, diamonds with brightness, words of intelligence and people who speak too much about themselves. That was his dream, he always said it, their friendship would be better if only they could make their dreams come true, make money out of something they love.

So why is it that when he appears on the screen, being interviewed for his new movie about the release in a few months from now, she feels as though she is living a nightmare instead of a dream?

Changkyun promised they would be together through their dreams, but that wasn’t the case. His hair is placed in the way she likes it, standing out with clothing that mixes the eighties with something modern. Something about his face is a beauty of the sixties, a young thing ready to take over the world. His voice drops more than usual, there is an air of knowledge to him, and he seems less excited than she would have imagined him to be. He thinks that he belongs there, and strangely enough, he does.

Maybe, she had imagined that Changkyun would be different…and he was just like everyone else. With pain inside her heart, she brings her fingers up to press on the remote, turning off the TV with quickened motions. The black screen showcases her reflection, uneven breaths and shaking shoulders, a face that reads turmoil accompanied by someone by her side.

“He’s so lucky.” Jiyoung never sounds this serious, and for a moment she thinks she is speaking about the job that he has been given, the stardom that had accumulated even before his debut as an actor. A pretty face with a creative mind. “Not a lot of people get to have someone love them as much as you love him.”

She loves Changkyun, in the way a friend should love each other, willing to be there for the one that has always taken a part of her heart. This much she knows, making her frown when she looks over at Jiyoung. “Of course I love him, he’s my friend.”

“No,” Jiyoung chuckles, tucking a strand of her almost white hair behind her ear. “I like Changkyun. I’d love to have him as a lover, but…you love that guy.” Splashed in front of her are the ideas that Jiyoung has, but the attraction she once felt for Changkyun cannot be appearing again, much less can it be translated into something like romantic love. That has never existed for them. “You stay, and you’re patient for him. Your eyes get all shiny when he is around, and you can’t stand seeing him turn into someone else…but you still accept him. That’s love.”

She scoffs, covering her face with both hands as she imagines the first time that she saw Changkyun, and now she pictures the last time that they saw each other, barely there to start with. His name is up in the sky, written for people to read it as stars, but she is not shining with him. “That is lack of dignity, not love.”

“Maybe,” Jiyoung shrugs from her spot, playing with the volume buttons of the remote. “I think it started before this whole actor thing came around.”

“How so?” She asks, half interested in what Jiyoung is saying when she uncovers her face. For some reason, she tries to imagine the romantic point of it—if maybe she had not understood the signs her body had given her, had screamed at her to comprehend over the years, and Jiyoung had the key from a viewpoint of someone that had seen it in a friendly spot.

“You dated, but you finished it off because you didn’t want to lose each other, not because you only considered yourselves friends who wanted to be with each other physically.” Jiyoung, ever the clear one when staring at people, responds. “And you stayed with each other over the years. In a way, I gave up on him because of the connection the two of you had.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t stand a chance.” Jiyoung cackles at her own answer, rubbing her chin in the process. “Changkyun…he always seemed to come back to you. He’d date, go back to spending time with you. He’d fuck someone, go back to you. Even when he was in a serious relationship, he was always with you. I thought that he had caught feelings,”

This time, she looks up at the ceiling and she can’t help but smile at the reminder of their first kiss. Changkyun had done it absentmindedly, moving at the same time that she did and capturing each other on a kiss, soon after came the idea of being together because of loneliness. All she knew for that week was that no one had kissed her quite as softly as Changkyun did, as if he wanted to savor every piece of her, making flavors out of their union. “Why me? Why him? Why us? I doubt—”

“You have to look at it from my way,” Her friend says, running her fingers through her scalp to ease her mind. “You know people are in love when they say each other’s name while staring at the other. That doesn’t happen often, but there is a little breath that is taken whenever the person you love says your name and vice versa.” The caress of his eyes roaming her face when saying her name awakened memories inside her, bringing a flutter to her stomach. Could it be? “It’s cute. You’d look at him and lighten your voice when saying Kyun, and he’d look so in place…in peace when you said it. When I noticed that, I thought I stood no chance.”

She chuckles at Jiyoung’s antics, resting her head against hers as she laughs. “I don’t know…”

“Do you think I’m right?”

For a moment, she ponders on everything that has changed and everything she misses, but the thought of always staying for him keeps being repeated. The world has been painted blue for her, and she still held it on her shoulders—just so he can live inside of it and have a beautiful life. “I may…” She replies, closing her eyes tightly and feeling the back of her throat contracting, feelings bursting from a part of her that had been hidden. A single tear rolls down her cheek when she remembers, and God, nostalgia has always been her weakest point. “All I know is that I don’t want to lose him, and I want to have him all for myself. How it was. How it was in that one week we were together.”

Jiyoung’s fingertips run over the expanse of her cheeks, taking away the tears that had piled in there. “Can’t believe we’re bonding about a man that I wanted to sleep with, and that you love.”

That brings laughter out of her, pouring rain coming from her eyes when her phone rings momentarily, the idea of Changkyun being the one to text her having her hands moving with precision, pulling the device away from the coffee table to look at the screen. A picture taken on the night before she lost him, in that restaurant where they had talked about their types and their dreams, and the light in her eyes was different from the dulling tone she has now, seeing that it is a message from a fellow teacher.

She just wants her best friend back.

Even if it’s to love him in silence.

###

Chasing after a dream of wealth, success, fame had been what had united them. As long as it’s not what separates them, the dream still stands.

Last summer, that thought had passed her head. This summer, she can say while being in Changkyun’s arms that she had never felt quite as separated from him as that moment.

Even when the windows are big in Changkyun’s room as well, the birds chirping outside cannot take her mind away from the movie that is being displayed on the screen for them to see. Theirs. The one script that had come to life only one year after they finished it. His fluffy and brown blankets are brought up to her jaw, her head resting on his shoulder while his back is placed against the bedframe. She doesn’t spare a look at Changkyun, but he is silent, perhaps judging himself or enjoying certain lines he said—but she has finally come to the conclusion that Changkyun’s future was always meant to shine with the stairs.

He deserves this, she realizes. The big apartment, the too-cold air conditioner, the birds singing only for him and the people that go around him, the fanbase that is growing slowly but surely. All of those he had worked hard for, and all she had done was give him the opportunity to live such a beautiful life. Their character needed to be portrayed by him, all the aches and the beauties of it showcased in his expression. When she wrote it, she never realized Changkyun could convey such emotions, but now…there she is, always coming back to him and now, extremely proud.

Because she is alone with him, watching the credits that read him and not her, and she couldn’t be more tranquil with her decision. Another opportunity may come for her, but for now…Changkyun is the only light that she dares look from up close.

“I think it’s cringy to watch myself act,” Changkyun says, his voice deep after turning off the device and twisting to his side. Months ago, Jiyoung and herself had spoken about the possibilities of loving Changkyun, and with him by her side she can confirm that it may be a reality. All these months, their meetings had been brief and non-substantial, but when she has him like this…it feels like she can reach for him. His laughter is brief, his cheek resting against his fluffy pillow. “I’m surprised you didn’t cry.”

“I kept it in,” She tells him, playing with the loose strands of his hair before sighing deeply. “And don’t cringe. You’ve always been a great actor.”

“I overact.”

“You don’t.” She replies, the sound of the ice in her drink filling the air when one of them drips into water and makes the one at the top fall down on the glass. She had forgotten she was even drinking soda on the first place. “And if you dare say otherwise, I’m going to kick you out of this bed.”

“It’s almost impossible, it’s too big.” Changkyun answers, extending his arms to further prove his point before closing his eyes tightly. It is at this moment, in the softness of the situation, when the coconut scent of his body wash takes over her and has her wrapping her arms around him, caging him in a hug that has almost all of her weight laying down on him. This steals a breath from his lungs, his arms coming around to cage her body when he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

She separates just slightly when she presses a kiss to his shoulder, through the white t-shirt to speak to him. Once again, face to face, she feels like they are at the beginning of this journey, her bottom lip jutting out to stop a cry. “I’m so proud of you and I am so sorry I haven’t shown that lately,” She whispers, her heart weighty because, once again, she seems to have her friend back. “I was afraid I’d lose you…and I felt like I did, so whenever I would see you, I would get…angry.”

His hands trail over her hair, patting it down softly, making sure that every fine hair that stands out is pushed away and down. His brown eyes are chocolate ganache when he stares at her, dewy and dulcet, looking at her with all the sentiments in the world. To name them? She can’t. “I’m never going to leave you.” He whispers. “It may feel like it, but you’re my best friend…”

“I know,” She mumbles back, caressing his jaw with her fingertips, going over the memories of his days of worsened skin, wanting nothing more than to kiss the imperfections into his soul and claim them as loved. “It’s not like you could forget me.”

A nudge to her waist has her laughing after her sentence, Changkyun joining in with ease. “Try being around you for more than ten years. You’re hard to forget.”

“Am I?”

“…Yes.”

“What makes me so memorable?”

“What?”

“You agreed that I’m hard to forget,” She says, pushing her hair to her back before sighing. Insecurity drips from her, something that she has always hated about herself, but when she is over him, barely separated from his face, the air becomes perfect for secrecy. Lovely, even. “What makes me so hard to forget?”

“I will never think about anyone the way I think about you.” Changkyun replies, and it’s such a vague answer that she almost finds herself asking about said thoughts, but the angel wings on him appear the more she looks at his face after those words, a glisten to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You’ve loved me as a friend even before all of…this. You gave up your dream for me. No one would do that.”

“I did,” She whispers, leaning down the slightest, breaths mingling together when she nods. “Because I really do love you, Kyun.”

And there it is, the sweetness of it all, the promise of the lack of an ending. Changkyun doesn’t realize it, simply hums in response when he takes her by the back of her neck and in his tone, there are no signs that he claims to know the weight behind those words. “I love you, too.” A love that goes past souls and friendships, one that has him leaning forward until the ghost of a kiss rests on her lips. First, Changkyun lets their skins touch, his lips part just the slightest, a shaky breath given before he kisses her as if he wants to eat her whole. Suddenly, the sky is dancing, the sunrays becoming one with the warmth of her body when Changkyun pushes her further on top of his body, her thighs caging his body to the mattress, the happiness of being kissed by him again returning.

Insomnia takes up on her when his hands work their way down to her waist, gripping softly, subtly, laughing against her lips for the briefest seconds as his body moves to his will.

“…You’re kissing me.” Changkyun throws his head back with a soft gush of breath leaving his mouth. “Are we going back to that one week of dating?”

“We’ll see.” She chuckles, pecking his lips softly before he turns them around. Her hair splays on the pillows, a squeal leaving her lips when his teeth accidentally graze her bottom lip, his body now keeping her against the bed. Her hands twirl around his neck, keeping the dance of their lips when he breathes softly against her skin.

He whispers the beauty of life in his touches, and for a moment, she thinks she has him once again. What a disgrace it is that Im Changkyun is a story that never lets a twist last too long, keeping the side characters as that—and she has become secondary, a day with him could not change that, the feeling of his fingers slotting away from her, because a breath from him is only the touch of a promise that lasts a second.

One week. One second. One lifetime.

What is it with him?

###

Redeemable, whenever she starts something with Changkyun that goes a different way from their usual stream of time, it always seems to last too little.

The hotel in which they are staying in is the complete opposite of packed. Lining the brown and white, tall walls of the hotel are windows with white railings, though that is the least interesting point of its infrastructure. From her position inside the pool, she thinks the most beautiful part of this hotel that Changkyun had boosted about—and for a reason, it’s expensive and breathtaking both at the same time—is that it feels as though she is inside a beach. The water in the pool is not too cold, clear and rich, and when she swims right towards Changkyun, she gets to see the big palm trees, the attention to detail that comes with the faux sand, and of course, she gets to see her best friend, days after that day of watching his movie. Their movie.

His arms are extended on each side of him, chest covered in droplets of water, rising up to inhale, deflating to exhale. His relaxed expression glosses over, listening to the wind moving the trees, his eyes half-lidded as he is immersed in his own thoughts. Only when her fingertips caress his waist, Changkyun snaps out of whatever thought has been clouding his brain.

So like himself, she dares ask him: “What are you thinking about?” Her hair, clinging to her skin, is the least of her worries when she finds her place on his shoulder, pecking the skin with utmost care. Changkyun lets his arm wrap around her waist, the movement of the water calming them into their position.

“Nothing really.” Changkyun replies, lowering his gaze and igniting a flame inside her that makes her feel alive. An ashamed smile appears on her face, one that he returns as if he doesn’t regret the kiss they shared a few days ago, the feeling that now has appeared after a couple of years. “I’m just surprised. You agreed to come here with me.”

“As long as it’s the two of us, I don’t mind where we go.” She answers, turning around to swim away the slightest, the water clashing one against the other, but her eyebrows move the slightest when she feels a few droplets landing on her from above, too tiny to be noticed. “Come here, let’s race.”

“That’s not such a bad idea. Let’s go.” But what surprises her is that Changkyun starts swimming with rapidness, arms extending to move his weight with precision. With widened eyes and a flutter to her chest, she chuckles at his actions, screaming his name at the top of her lungs while moving right behind him.

The pull she has towards him is so strong, and Kwon may be right when he says that she will always be there for him. Changkyun has never lost her, because she had not left for a single second. This that they live is a song that repeats itself, the sweet existence of a lesson that they continuously learn. She will always go back to him to be stronger, to connect to those roots of her that show in the smile he gives her when he wins, back leaning against the tiles of the pool.

She will never forget his face, one that had grown out of his old features, rounded cheeks and thin lips parted as he doubles over, and she joins him. The world doesn’t care to bathe them in rain, goosebumps rising on her arms when she wraps them around his shoulders to plant the seed of a kiss on his lips. To grow from the place in which they are standing, watered by memories. Returning the kiss briefly, Changkyun looks up at the sky before laughing.

“I won!” He says with all the excitement in the world, but she cuts him off as she slips out of the pool, reaching for the towels they had placed on one of the seats nearby.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here before you get sick.”

With the biggest towel wrapped around both of them, his arms caging her to his chest as he stands behind her, walking after her trail, she thinks that all the things that went wrong were only meant to unite them more. This is a song that she will never forget, the shivering of his body behind her as they leave a trail of water behind her, something that the maids at the expensive hotel will probably complain about as they move through the lobby, both the water from the pool and the rain mixing as they keep laughing the night away.

The lessons she has learned in life have always been tough, and in a way, she blames herself for always staying. In the same job. Almost in the same house with Jiyoung. Always clinging to the past, with ex-boyfriends…and with Changkyun, one of the few people that rarely disappointed her. Maybe, it is because Changkyun never quite forgot her that she stayed, or it was because she knew that she knew she’d never forget him if given the chance.

But with him by her side when they are nearing the elevator, she realizes that her life went wrong a hundred ways, but Changkyun is one of her best decisions. One that life put in her way and she always picked above everything else. Even above her dream.

The sound of his name being called makes him stop on his tracks, the towel almost slipping from her shoulders, retreating to look at the source of such noise. Seated by the lobby, on the immaculate-looking leather seats, are a group of people drinking from filled glasses of champagne, some with suits, others with dresses—all clearly more dolled up than the two youngest people there, Changkyun and herself.

“Long time no see!” Changkyun greets immediately, wrapping the towel entirely around his body, leaving her only with the small one she had around her waist, almost to shelter her from the prying eyes that had been sent her way when her best friend pulled away from her. Best friend that, if continuing down this path, may become her boyfriend once again.

A few handshakes, some bows, and Changkyun is back at being inspected by the socialites, some with smirks on their faces. For some reason, she feels as though Changkyun is a puppet to them—someone to bend to their will, but she may be just seeing them as villains out of conceptualizations she made inside her head. “I’m guessing the rain caught you and your friend when swimming.”

Changkyun’s chest shakes as he laughs, nodding at those words. “Kind of.”

The oldest looking man of the group takes a sip of his champagne before speaking. “I’m so glad to see you, we’re about to head towards a party right now…and given that your film is doing so great, I think we could introduce you to some people.”

Her body freezes when she hears those words—because a party that night doesn’t sound like a great idea. Changkyun had promised dinner, had spoken wonders about the music he had prepared for them to listen to, the tourism spots they are supposed to be visiting the next day, but Changkyun hums almost immediately. “I’d love to go.”

“I imagine your friend wants to go with you.” The same man concludes, and she wraps her arms around her chest when she is being stared at by the rich individuals in front of her. “I don’t think I’ve heard about you. Are you one of Changkyun’s longtime friends?”

“Yes, sir.” She answers, bowing uncomfortably before taking a breath in.

“It must be a delight to have known him while he was writing the masterpiece that is his movie.”

“Actually, we worked on it together—” The words escape her lips without much thought, but her heart skips a bit when Changkyun turns to look at her, eyes inspecting her expression silently.

“She means that she was there for me as I wrote it.” And there is an apology on his eyes—again, a plea to keep the secret that has given him the life he always wanted. Somewhere, Changkyun grew stronger…and that word is so damned, because he also did not change, just that his dream came true…and there is no more space for her in this world that has captured him.

“Yeah, Changkyun has always been a star in my eyes.” She tells, hoping that the weight of her words reaches him, nearing him with careful steps as she scans his face. Changkyun is not looking ahead but at her instead, and in the way her eyelids keep fluttering, she feels a force behind her ribcage that begs to be released in the form of a sob. So strong, she had been, coming back to him for an entire year, whenever he wanted, never asking for him…but maybe, it is time to leave that behind. “He was built for this world,” She whispers, loud enough for the people in front of them to listen. “And I am so happy he got this opportunity instead of anyone else.”

“Whoa,” One of the women there says. “That is really a friend.”

“Yeah.” She answers, extending her hand towards Changkyun whilst waving her fingertips. “Give me the keys, please. I’m going to grab my things before you go to the party.”

Finally downing the situation in which he is caught in, Changkyun lifts his hand in the air, as if asking for a second from the socialites before moving her to the side, standing right in front of the elevator, she presses the button to call for the elevator, her palm still opened to welcome the keys. “Wait, no. You can go to the party, too—”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why is it that you never integrate yourself into my life?”

Opening her lips in surprise, her hand comes up to cover the sarcastic cackle that leaves her lips, too short to even be coming from a place that does not speak about dread. “Me? Changkyun, I’ve spent an entire year following after your footsteps because you don’t look for me anymore. You don’t need me.” She speaks, not caring that the doors of the elevator open, shivering at the coldness of the lobby. “Do I even know you anymore? Because this is not the person that I had as a friend. I didn’t fall in love with all of…this.” Pointing at him as if he is an outcast, Changkyun shakes his head at her words.

“Hey, no, you’re mistaking it. You know how people will get if someone knows the truth—”

“I’m not asking for fame, Changkyun. I’m asking for my friend, I’m asking for you to settle for something. Do you want me as your girlfriend, your friend? Do you want people to see you around me?” Her voice is too fast, snatching the keys that had been dangling from his hands before sighing. “Changkyun…I’ve had people wreck me. A hundred times. It’s all I’ve known.” Her voice lowers, rubbing at her eyes when the tears start to appear, a shaky breath leaving her.

“Well, sorry for growing up. You gave up your dream for me, it’s not my fault that you don’t want me to live mine when you pushed me to do so.” Changkyun speaks, lowering his voice when his fingers wrap around her wrists to uncover her face.

“You know what? I should’ve expected it the moment you signed that contract that you’d break my heart.” She says, placing her fingers against the button of the elevator again, breaking her gaze from the man that she had given everything for—the one person that accompanied her through every moment of her life, only to abandon her. “And it’s okay, really. Do as you fucking please, but don’t drag me along with it—” Her name is called softly, but she walks inside the elevator, tapping the button uncontrollably as if that will make the doors close quicker. Something rips inside of her, her fingers clutching at her chest when a sob leaves her throat, soft, unheard of, but watched by him. “I’m not coming back to you anymore.”

With the doors closing, she expected him to stop her, but he didn’t. He let her go.

When she picked up her items, caging them in the confines of her bag with tears streaming down her face, she expected to hear raps of knuckles against the door, to have him begging for her to listen to him. He let her go, instead.

And when getting out of the elevator again, cladded in clothing, dry and with her bag in between her fingers, she expected to see Changkyun bothered, at the very least, but he was simply seated in between the socialites, drying himself up with his towel, only sparing her a glance when she appears in front of him, and once again, she feels as though it’s metaphorical. Only when she is in front of him, he remembers the weight of the heartbreak he had caused her.

The keys slip in between his fingertips and that man right there, seated in between the riches, with eyes that glisten as if money were in them, is not the man she knows. That’s not her friend. Not the man she loved. Not the man she stayed for. Yet, as she gets out of that hotel with the silence of him not following after her after so many opportunities to do so, she realizes that it was never his priority to go after her, but hers.

But she’s in love, and maybe she will always be. With this version of Changkyun and the previous one, with the one person that had kissed her soul as if it was supposed to be cherished…

Was that version even real?

#i.m scenarios #i.m #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #the anti-love club #monsta x au #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #i.m au #i.m angst #i.m fluff #last installment!!! which one was your favorite?

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 23

"When I'm in a bad mood It's good to know I have you You got niggas from your past that still ain't pass you But you're on my time But you're on my time now, and our past through

Now that we finally got them out the way All the decisions that I wanna make I want your body in a million ways Nobody ever makes me feel the same…"

DVSN—"A Muse"

Erik practiced playing poker online. When work was finished with Tony for the day, he would take himself to his apartment and cook a simple meal of plain brown rice with sautéed vegetables and boneless skinless chicken breasts.

Food consumed, he'd check personal emails, call his grandfather, and then hunker down on his laptop and play three hours a night. He was going to use the money Tony paid him that he had saved to get him in at the bottom: half a million dollars. Minus the other half a million he gave away to his family, he was willing to bankroll his spot at the high stakes poker table with no help from Tony.

Work had gotten serious. After Tony's cover story appeared in Forbes, the focus of his company turned toward escalating weapons manufacturing, and Erik finally saw the bread and butter of Stark Industries. His days were spent working with Tony at his subsidiary company AccuTech designing a new missiles system that he called Jericho X. The man spent hours of brainpower trying to create an experimental model that he wanted to manufacture and have on the market within five years. Inking a new contract with the United States Armed Forces, Tony was under pressure to deliver the hot-launched missiles sooner than the five-year deadline he gave AccuTech. The man was hands-on and Erik's education at the Naval Academy was useful to him. Erik had the mind of a soldier, and his training was meant to prepare him for his forthcoming Naval career. Those military eyes helped him on the job.

Erik had to concede once more that Tony was a smart motherfucker and his focus on work was just as laser-sharp and obsessive as Erik. Working around him on the Jericho X project was eye-opening and the long hours pushed Erik's mind to its limits. He was allowed to work at AccuTech and give up a lot of his assistant tasks which he was all for. He acted with restrained professionalism, and that allowed him to hang around after hours to do his own experimentation with the vibranium.

It did take the heads of AccuTech a couple of weeks to be accustomed to a Black teen having so much access to a secret project. If he had been some lanky white teen with an overly ingratiating personality, no one would question his presence. He would just be viewed as a white boy genius and "Atta boy!" accolades would've been thrown at him along with pats on the back. Instead, he was a Black boy genius faced with bias and suspicion. He endured the usual bullshit just so he could get his hands on equipment, testing space, and cutting-edge STEM knowledge.

Sitting on his bed and winding down from playing online poker, he checked out the housing available to him at M.I.T. In six months, he was leaving for grad school and he was already designing his life there. He checked out restaurants and clubs, searched for areas that had Black people and Black cultural things he could access. He searched for any capoeira spaces and the ones he found were white-dominated and he wanted Black people to practice with. He needed Black touchstones to keep him sane after his experience at the Naval Academy and Stark's internship.

Checking the M.I.T. website he found an alumni link that helped new students transition to the Institute. A few hyperlinks found him peeping the on-campus radio station, WMBR, that served the Cambridge-Boston area. Listening to a few archived music shows, he stumbled across one that was deejayed by someone called ButtaFly. The show was called Cosmic Café and when he listened to the first ten minutes, he immediately bookmarked it and added it to his listening rotation. The music was Blackity Black and spanned generations, and the DJ did live mixes that had Erik head bobbing.

For two months he laid on his bed from twelve midnight until two in the morning just being carried away by the sounds and also the voice of ButtaFly, a woman who made Erik's entire body relax. She opened her show with a positive quote or a bit of poetry and then she had themes that she created stringing songs from the field hollers of Black chain gangs to the Black Neo Soul of 90s British R&B, or any type of current African diaspora music she could blend with Hip Hop, Deep House, or Electronica.

He tried looking up personal details or even pictures of ButtaFly, but she was a hidden ghost, just words and rhythms and vocal soothing that helped him sleep before heading off for the grueling hours of AccuTech.

She became his brain muse, expanding his mind so he could juggle the science he worked with every day.

Stretching on his bed, Erik closed his eyes and put in his earbuds.

"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café. I am your host, DJ ButtaFly bringing you that good nourishment, that savory food for your mind, body, and spirit. Tonight's theme is going to run us into the realm of quantum physics. A little Afrofuturism to get us through Black History Month…"

Erik felt his shoulders loosen up and he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine what type of face went with the sultry voice blessing his ears. The modulations and changes in tone she used as she spoke hypnotized his ears. Muscles throughout his body relaxed and he wondered what kind of musical journey she would take her listeners on that night.

"I want to open the show with a piece from a sister whose work I adore, Alexis Pauline Gumb. I feel like someone out there needs to hear it. I know I do. This is taken from her book of experimental poetry called 'Dub: Finding Ceremony'. This particular joint is called 'Commitment'. Are you ready, Fam?"

Erik nodded his head as he grew more comfortable, slipping deeper into a state of mental ease. He rolled his right hand down his chest and rested it on his stomach. Lying nude in the dark he could almost hear his heartbeat.

"We promise to wake you if we think you won't get the point of the dream. We promise to show up if you show up. Everyday. We promise to make you feel sick if you lie to yourself. We promise to let love through if it's love you came to do…"

Soft. Soothing. Safe.

Her voice cradled and held him in a warm place. She wrapped his thoughts around her words.

"We promise to make time flexible if you give us your time. We promise to think of you more often than you think of us. We promise to remember you when you forget. We promise to be wherever and in everything you haven't noticed yet. We promise to be we, even one by one…"

Erik's body floated. He was still firmly pressed on his bed, but the eternal part of himself seemed to rise above his tired flesh and hover at the beckoning of ButtaFly's mouth thousands of miles away.

"We promise to outsmart your mind. We promise to overlove your heart. We promise to echo over your voice. We promise you everything. Everything. All we ask."

An image formed in his mind.

Full lips. Feline eyes. Skin rich and dark and made for touching and deep kissing.

His hand slid to his manhood.

ButtaFly spun dreams, drums, and breakbeats, sounds and rhythms that kept him floating above himself even as he stroked a growing erection in his hand. He tried to create a more detailed rendering of what he imagined the DJ to look like, but as pre-cum beaded at the tip of his swollen glans, his brain substituted Devika's face and body as a placeholder and he ran with it.

He tugged hard on his dick, keeping a tight grip right under the ridge of his tip. He imagined Devika's ass wiggling as he slapped his dick on her ass cheeks. ButtaFly's music urged him on and when she spoke to her audience about the songs she was about to mix in next, he latched onto her voice and grunted hard.

"Fuck!"

His hand was slick and more pre-cum spilled onto his fingers.

"Fuck this dick!"

"You ready for more?"

The haunting track ButtaFly flooded his ears with dragged him to the edge. He jumped up and turned over on his bed. Grabbing his pillow, he jammed it under his waist and ground his dick on it, pumping his hips as his glutes flexed hard. Eyes squeezed shut he conjured up images of a shapely ass clapping loud because of his thrusts.

A disembodied voice had him humping his pillow, the casing growing damp from the amount of pre-cum he was shooting out from his sensitive tip. He jammed his right hand on top of his erection to create a tunnel, allowing him to pretend he was in ButtaFly's pussy. His hand was slippery and he pushed down on the pillow to get more friction. The music in his ears was made for fucking and he thrust harder imagining some tight pussy yanking on his dick as his balls pounded into a nice soft ass. She sounded like the type who could throw it back on him and make him cry because it was so good. He lost it then.

He yelled like he was knee-deep in gushy pussy.

His thighs grew taught and his orgasm rushed across his ass and up over his back and neck before any semen flooded all over his pillow and sheets. A long groan blew out from his throat as he rubbed out another smaller nut. His fingers touched the pillow. The whole thing was soaked and sticky.

Leaning on his thighs he threw his head back to stretch his neck.

The moment he got to M.I.T. he was going to look for that DJ. There was no way in hell she could make him cum like that and he not find out what she looked like. His dick was still hard, and she kept the music going. He reached for his cell and searched through some old files. He pulled one up.

Athena.

She allowed him to film her as he hit from the back while she held onto her bedroom dresser. He watched Athena's big titties hang down and bounce in the mirror as he pounded her pussy. Jacking off again he allowed the music in his ears to narrate the fucking he watched himself do on his phone. Cradling one overly full breast in his hand on film, he watched his video self cum inside of her, calling out her name as she released on his dick screaming his. His eager hand worked his dick on the bed, the hard strokes slowed down until his cum splashed all over his stomach. He fell back on the bed feeling wiped out.

During his lunch break the next day, he downloaded the book of poetry, ButtaFly shared from the previous night, and read the piece at least five times. The words resonated with him. And they did something else: reminded him of his purpose.

Inside the work labs at AccuTech, Erik studied the mock-ups of new guns and smart weapons. He toyed with experimenting with vibranium and creating sonic weapons.

"We promise to outsmart your mind."

The line of the poem came back to him.

Staring at the new gun design that Tony had posed with on the Forbes magazine cover, Erik thought of converting it and somehow using the properties of the vibranium on it. As he listened to the best weapons designers grapple with the Jericho X missile prototypes, Erik memorized what he saw so that he could sketch it out later in his apartment. He wanted to compare it to the designs he saw in his father's old journals. He asked to work on the Stark sonic canon, a non-lethal long-range acoustic device. Granted permission to do so, he studied how the LRADs could be modified with the ideas he had swimming in his head. He looked for cheap and easy ways to mass manufacture devices that could be shipped around the world undetected. But he had to figure out how much vibranium it would take to modify Stark's LRADs. He only had six months left to absorb all he could.

He stayed diligent with his work and Tony visited AccuTech often giving his thoughts on their progress. Stark was preoccupied with some politicians giving him grief, and also preparing for the new batch of summer interns. He stripped down the number of interns he would have from 100 to fifty. That meant it would be even more competitive. Summoned to Tony's Los Angeles office from Palos Verdes where he had been working, Erik stepped into the outer sanctum and found Devika speaking to some assistants from other higher-ups. She took one look at him and paused for a long time. He realized then that they hadn't seen one another for a couple of months, his time spent in Palos Verdes cutting off contact between them in person.

He was about to step into Tony's office, but she held up a hand signaling for him to wait. When the assistants left, she walked over to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi."

Her eyes stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

"What?" he said feeling self-conscious.

"Something about you is different."

"How so?"

He sat on her desk.

"There's a swagger about you that is different…hmmm, more confident maybe?"

"When have I ever been less confident?"

"You look…good. Sophisticated."

Her eyes flitted away from his face. She was acting bashful all of a sudden.

"How's Wyatt?" he asked.

Her eyes regarded him carefully.

Wyatt was her new boyfriend, an older dude from Seattle she met at a mixer in Los Feliz.

"He's doing well. Thanks for asking."

He let his eyes linger on hers. She was still checking him out.

"He better be treating you like a Queen. Let me know if he doesn't," he said moving off of her desk and heading into Tony's office.

"Stevens. Good, we can get this intern stuff sorted. Come with me."

Tony swept past him and Erik followed. They only went around the corner from his office and into a mid-sized conference room. Pepper was inside the space along with two other executives Erik was not familiar with.

"Awesome, we can finish up now," Pepper said.

Tony and Erik took a seat at the end of the oval conference table facing a blank wall. Pepper handed them touchpads and turned on a floating screen.

"We've narrowed down applicants to just under three hundred. You need to choose who you want to be interviewed."

Erik and Tony scrolled CVs on the touchpads. So many names.

They painstakingly went through every CV, staring at applicant photos floating in front of them. Tony was open to Erik's suggestions, and this fact alone opened up the pool of applicants from ones Tony would've overlooked from his own biases. He tended to court favor with those from Ivy League schools and who had the same boring backgrounds. Mainly white and East Asian applicants who all did the shit that they thought would make them stand out. How many classically trained pianists/violinists who played La Crosse, Tennis, Chess, and water polo did one need? Sometimes too many extracurricular activities signaled a follower. A simp that did things not because they enjoyed it but because it padded their resume. He forced Tony to consider graduates from non-Ivy Leagues, those who did community-based work where they lived. More women applicants of color, especially Black and Latinx ones. He even suggested Tribal Colleges and lower-tiered public universities and colleges. He also mentioned looking at people who didn't have perfect Dean's Lists grades.

"I tell you what. I'll give you three weeks to open up the pool and bring in those types of potential interns you suggested. Pepper, give him access to the advertising bulletins," Tony said.

"That's cutting it close, Tony, we need to have interviews lined up and applicants chosen by the beginning of May."

Pepper and the other two Execs looked annoyed.

"Stevens can get it done. Give him the bulletins," Tony said, standing up.

Erik followed Tony out of the conference room.

"Let's go have lunch," Tony said.

Tony drove them to a restaurant in Pasadena. A small French café with excellent crepes filled with savory meats and sauces.

"Are you enjoying AccuTech?" Tony asked.

Erik nodded as he chewed a forkful of chicken masala crepes.

"I'm getting good reports about you. You've adjusted to the pace."

"It's cool. The LRAD work is right up my alley. That's what I'll study at school. Hands-on work will have me ahead of the curve."

"Grimaldo keeps hitting me up. He is ready for this re-match."

"I am too,"

"You sure you don't want me to bankroll you?"

"Nah."

"He tends to be at his best on his home turf."

"I'm good."

"Some things to know…"

A waiter brought over a glass of wine for Tony and sparkling water for Erik.

"We will be among a lot of royalty. I know you have excellent sartorial choices, but I need you to step up even more and have some formal clothing for at least a week—"

"A week? We'll be gone that long?"

"I'm making some business deals while I'm there, so work will be happening. You can use that time to work on the intern stuff. Pepper isn't coming with us, so I will slip you back into your old personal assistant role. She'll guide you from here. You'll need to be extra discreet while we are over there, and also be prepared for last-minute changes."

Erik ate his meal and listened.

"You sound kind of nervous," Erik said.

"Not nervous. This Jericho deal is very important and we'll be among some other industrialists and even some nefarious characters that want to see me fail. Things have to be tight and not attracting negative attention."

Erik nodded.

"I like the things you brought up at the intern meeting."

"Pepper and the others didn't sound so delighted."

"They'll get over it. It's why I put it in your hands for new outreach. Hey, are you sure about leaving for school after August?"

"Yeah. Gotta get that graduate degree."

"You should stay on at AccuTech."

Erik shook his head.

"M.I.T., Navy. That order."

Tony finished up his wine and glanced at his watch.

"Back to work," he said.

Erik stopped at Tony's office before picking up his car in the Stark garage. Devika was alone there, and her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him again.

"How was lunch?"

"Good. What do you want me to bring back from Monaco for you?"

"You don't have to bring me anything—"

"I want to."

"A t-shirt is cool-"

"T-shirt? That's so gauche. I'll bring you something classy."

"Don't spend a lot, Erik."

"I'll bring you back something that won't make your man jealous. How 'bout that?"

"Okay."

He smiled at her. The aroma of her perfume hit his nose suddenly and the scent took him back to her bedroom and the smell of her on his skin.

"I'm out," he said walking away quickly.

When his work was over for the day, he spread out on his bed nude and slipped on his earbuds.

"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café…"

Erik's muse took him away once more. Soothed his spirit. Steadied his mind.

He was ready for Monaco.

###

Chapter 24 HERE.

###

Tag List:

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@tyees​  @eye-raq​  @writerbee-ffs​  @chocolatedream30​  @childishgambinaa​  @mygirlrenee​ @thewaysheis​—awkward

#Stark's New Intern #Killmonger Fanfiction #Killmonger Fanfic #Killmonger Smut #Tony Stark #Black Panther Fanfiction #Uzumaki Rebellion's Pantherverse

[intervieweird]

CARAVAGGIOVAGABOND:

“ I UNDERSTAND YOU. ”

Daniel lays on the bed, four fingers of whiskey full, plied with a fifth of vodka and the stirrings of something frothy in his stomach. He figures he’s got enough booze fermenting in him to make a brewery.

He puts out his butt in the ash tray, burnt to the filter and bland as the scratch in his throat. Everything else in the room swims as he stirs; a blurred wave of neutral tone and unexpressive landscape paintings.

But not those eyes. Those eyes stay right where they are.

“Yeah?” He asks, pleasantly slurred and sluggish, moving his limbs mechanically on the bed to turn and face the creature watching him from the chair. He feels good now. Real good. Warm and tingling all the way to his toes, though the way his brain is having trouble keeping up with his eyes tells him he’s going to feel it in the morning. He just can’t mix his spirits like he used to. “And how’s that?”

caravaggiovagabond: @intervieweird cont. from [x]

The dimly lit, unspectacular hotel room isn’t exactly Armand’s usual preference, but currently he’s given little choice but to follow wherever his current obsession leads him. Tonight, that just so happens to be by his bedside, the young man lying charmingly inebriated across the bed.

To see Daniel in such a state is also not Armand’s preference – he would much rather that he was active, coherent, and fit enough to be dragged from pillar to post all over the globe. Those plans, however, are quite clearly foiled as it’s looking very much doubtful that Daniel will be able to travel even to the bathroom unassisted, never mind anywhere further afield. He dips into the mortal’s mind for just a moment, morbidly curious, but soon pulls away again, the dizzy, room-spinning stupor clouding his thoughts not at all a pleasant experience to him even secondhand.

With a sort of languid, animalistic grace, the vampire slips from the chair that he’s taken up residence in, half-crawling to the side of the bed where Daniel now faces him and crouching beside him at eye level, both arms folded on the mattress near the man’s face, his marble cheek resting against the thick, baggy sweater clothing his own forearm.

“Because we are kindred spirits,” he murmurs, cool, iron-scented breath a sigh against Daniel’s heated cheekbone, amber eyes fixed on him as one fingertip emerges from the cradle of his folded arms to prod at Daniel’s shoulder.

Armand is like a crooked creature, skewed limbs unfolding, too long. A monster. A monster crawling from under the bed and slipping under his skin like an itch. It’s a trick of the eyes, Daniel knows. Mortal eyes; eyes made of cells dying every second. He remembers what Louis told him once, how the undead moved too fast to process with the feeble chemical impulses of the human brain. Maybe it’s the old, primitive vestiges that are telling him to run, run, flight sparking in the dull grey matter, clogged with fatigue and poison.

But Daniel doesn’t run, and he wonders, distantly, why.

He turns towards death at his shoulder, a frown on his face as he fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand.

“Quit poking me.”

His vision blurs, sets, settling into a fixed image of that beautiful damned boy. Daniel peers at him, curious, and he wonders if Armand hears the catch in his throat, the fine movements of the muscles, the ache in his jaw as he feels it clench. “What makes you say that?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

“Don’t you feel it?”

The words are barely more than a whisper; seductive, addictive, persuasive, a gentle smile twisting the corners of the boy-demon’s mouth upwards at the other’s tense reserve and slurred reprimand. He stops, his fingertip resting only gently now against Daniel’s arm as though in rebellion, staking a silent claim.

“I feel it, Daniel. Your heart sings for me.”

Armand’s sharp fingertip is removed from his arm, slender hand sliding across the mortal’s prone chest to clutch the sheets on his far side, using them as leverage as the boyish frame pulls itself effortlessly upwards. He kneels beside Daniel on the mattress, leaning over him until tangled, auburn curls almost brush his cheek, staring down at him with that frighteningly preternatural, chestnut gaze as though he’s the most fascinating specimen of human life.

His demand is unspoken but nonetheless powerful. He will be taken notice of. Daniel will listen to him.

“Sometimes you run so far and so fast that I almost start to believe you don’t want to be found. Almost.”

Does he? Does he want to be found? Sometimes, no. Sometimes he’s felt the safest in a Fresno flop house or Amsterdam bordello, red light winking at him through the vinyl slats, an unfriendly demon eye, haunting him like his own vision of the devil.

And sometimes - sometimes he’s slumped over a payphone, coins rattling like his fingers on his last pack of smokes, and he calls Armand to take him home.

And isn’t he here now? Didn’t he come? Daniel doesn’t recall the push and the pull, doesn’t remember where the knot of their tug-of-war finally crossed the mark. Armand finds him anyway, in the Waldorf-Astoria or slumming it on a bench in Hyde Park. And as far as he runs, doesn’t Daniel also let him?

“You think?” Daniel growls, scratchy-timbered and aching for a glass of water. But his hand finds its way to touch that cheek - so fucking glacial, his fingertips brushing against a cold steel hull, for all the perfect flesh didn’t give. A chill runs up his arm, to touch this thing looming over him. This beautiful, awful thing. He laughs, low and throaty. “Maybe I should buy a submarine.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

His beloved’s short-tempered quips might be more painful to hear, were it not for the fact that Armand knows (perhaps even better than Daniel himself does) just how besotted he is. Even were it not for the promise of the Blood, he knows that Daniel could not turn away from him now even if he so desperately wanted to. Their lives and fates have become so intertwined – after all, how could Daniel turn his back on the one person who understands him more than any other?

The reporter’s hoarse laugh has a wry, little smile blooming on Armand’s face all over again, the touch to his cheek pleasantly warm. He turns his head so that those brave fingertips catch just barely on the corner of his lips, dangerously close to teeth that could rip them off without hesitation. He wonders, if Daniel came face-to-face with a wild jaguar would he try to pet that, too?

“You know I could buy that for you too if you really wanted,” he husks against the prone fingers. “But wouldn’t you be terribly lonely all the way down there without me?”

With lazy, feline grace, he topples over, rolling across Daniel to tuck in against his side, writhing his way close beside the boy and resting his pretty, auburn head against Daniel’s shoulder, pressing so tightly against the inebriated young man that he has no choice but to pay notice.

“You could just love me instead, Daniel.”

It’s a strange kind of heaven they make together.

It takes no thought for Daniel to fold around the boy in his arms, to breathe in the copper curls, the slight body crushed, crushing - against him. Armand is so slender, so terribly, deceptively delicate. It’s almost a tragedy, the two of them embracing like this in the wan yellow light, midnight minutes ticking away like so many hours of his life.

“Of course I would.” Daniel murmurs into his hair. Muscles spasm at the corner of his lips, but it’s no smile. “I’d go crazy.”

His hand tremors.

“I would. I do. You don’t need to give me anything. Except the one thing you won’t.”

He regrets immediately, pang like a hot knife cutting through his gut. His stomach cramps, a shiver twisting through him as he swallows back bile. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he wants to say. I didn’t mean it, he wants to confess, and hold that cool body closer against him. But he did mean it, all his wretched viciousness and bitter hooch breath. He meant it, like he meant it all those times before.

“So do it. Goddamnit, why won’t you do it?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

As quickly as he’s enveloped by the docile affections of his lover, they’re whisked away again as the age old argument once more raises its ugly head. He feels a strange, rather hollow sense of loss as the easy domestic bliss crumbles around them, Daniel’s hand shaking against him with all the bitterness and animosity that the young man can muster towards him.

Face betraying his disappointment, even though the regret underlying Daniel’s brash reaction is prominent against his mind, Armand pulls back, disentangles himself from the embrace as though it’s a punishment, sitting instead straight-backed against the headboard.

“I’ve told you so many times before, Daniel. The answer hasn’t changed. The answer will not change, regardless of how many times you ask me.”

Sad doe eyes glance reluctantly towards his companion, a frown disturbing the otherwise smooth flesh between his brows.

“I couldn’t bear to live with your eternal resentment, my love. Why can you not trust me when I tell you that this - whatever you think it is - is not what you want?”

If you loved me, you would not ask of me the one thing that I cannot give you.

“So you can bear to live with me dead? The fuck am I supposed to feel?” Daniel leans forward, coils of bedsprings protesting against the shift of weight. His feet swing over the side of the bed, barefoot on the whorls of carpet. His back is a faceless, unfriendly plane to Armand, slouched over his knees in as his head bows into his hands.

He can’t bear to look at Armand. He can’t bear that too-knowing, mournful look. Ages old.

“I’ve heard this before.”

From Armand, from Louis, too. It’s no gift, you don’t want this. But Daniel does want it. He can’t help but want it, this singing, killing blood in him. Only in drops! Agonizing, evil drops that Armand would dole out as he saw fit. And what did Armand care about agony it put him through? It’s a selfish, unjust thought. But he still thinks it.

That honeyed voice slithers into his mind, same as it always had. Daniel knows it so well now, he can hear it whispering things to him in the electric pulse of his brain, in the moments before sleep - in his dreams - in his nightmares - when he wakes. He hears it, knows its timbre, its faint accent and the way it sharpens when Armand feels pain, or rage, or the way he’s feeling right now.

“I’m tired.” He sighs. His body aches, and he’s dizzy even when he presses the palms of his hands to blackness against his eyes. And he’s tired of this fighting. Tired of hurting, tired of being hurt.

“I want to go home. Take me home, Armand.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

In an act of uncharacteristic vulnerability, Armand stays rooted to the spot, moving only to pull his knees upwards to his chest as though trying to make himself smaller, as though wishing he could disappear altogether. He feels chilled right through to his bones by Daniel’s bitterness, the hateful burning of tears already working behind his eyes.

“You don’t know what you are asking me for,” he hisses defensively, his whole posture mimicking that of a coiled viper. “You have so many beautiful years, Daniel, and you would squander them away to become… this!”

In one whip-quick, agitated movement, he gestures towards his own being with one hand before pulling it back in towards himself, covering the palms of his hands with his sleeves protectively.

“Death is better than this, believe me; I’ve seen both and I know which one I would choose - which one any of us would choose - if given my time again.”

Face pinched with pain, he drags his sleeve across his eyes briskly where vicious red begins to well up from his tear ducts, leaving coppery stains smeared across the white cable knit, the evidence of his shame. Truthfully, he can’t even think of turning Daniel, of making him cold and distant, his stomach twisting with some strange, foreign anxiety at the idea alone. He wants to obey Daniel’s wishes, to take him home and forget all of this nastiness, but he CAN’T, the atmosphere too oppressive, choking his voice as he forces it out.

“Don’t you think I realise the consequences of my choice?”

“God damn you!” He grates, suddenly explosive. He moves with combustive, kinetic energy, hand swinging like a mallet against the bedside radio, plastic pieces imploding with a clatter against his fist and falling with a muffled thump against the motel carpeting.

“How the hell can you be what you are and tell me you love me, you son of a bitch.” He rounds on Armand, rage whiting out the image of the huddled, wounded boy curling into himself on the ruined bedspread. “What kind of sick nerve you’ve got. Maybe it was better when you let me starve in that cesspit. At least I came to terms with croaking it. Now you’re killing the both of us. So do the fucking vampire bullshit already. Put me down like a dog. Is it better now, Armand? Is it really any fucking better? I don’t want any goddamn twilight years! I want all of it! I want to be with you!”

His face is feverish, wild and glistening. For all the unsteady, gut-roiling omen of his liver, Daniel holds his ground. He boils with blown-out pupils, sweat pricking at his temples and chest and the soft flesh under his arms. “I want the blood. I want it. What’s the point without it?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

It’s impossible to suppress an overtly human flinch as the radio goes to pieces and he can’t help but stare at the action bitterly, desperately wanting to reciprocate. One small, white hand balls into a fist, desperate to lash out, but no matter how badly tempted he is, he won’t – he could never put Daniel in harm’s way and with his preternatural strength, there’s no promising his safety were Armand to lose his temper.

“Stop it! STOP IT!”

The hoarse cry boarders on a scream, both fists slamming down either side of him on the old, worn mattress, undoubtedly adding a few more broken springs to its collection.

“How could you do it to me? Why are you doing it to me?”

Staring up at his lover balefully, he can’t stand to hold his anguished stare for long, burying his blood-streaked face in both hands, unrestrained sobs wracking his body now. He isn’t sure what’s worse – Daniel’s rage or the incessant reminder that someday, Armand will have to let him go. He isn’t ready for it; he isn’t sure he’ll ever be ready for it. And as much as it breaks his heart, the thought of cursing him for all time is still inconceivably worse.

“Why isn’t this enough for you, just as things are? Am I not enough for you, Daniel?”

Even Daniel flinches, eyes shuttering like from the flash of a camera bulb. His head turns - involuntary - for only a split second, but he feels stung; wounded by Armand’s naked despair, wounded that even this isn’t enough.

His hands hurt - every fiber of him hurts - a live wire, raw and ragged and sparking. That’s Daniel Molloy, boy-reporter: a ruined man, shorting out and burning himself up from the inside. Is this enough for you? He thinks. Enjoy before your warranty expires.

“Stop it, Jesus, you’re gonna — ” Daniel grimaces, blinking away the sight of Armand on the bed like that, so fragile and so monstrous. He isn’t sure what he meant to say, what words died in his throat as he half looks away, embarassed and ashamed by the nakedness of feeling. "Don’t you dare ask me that. Don’t you fucking ask me that. It’s not the same.”

Light pulses behind his eyes, pulls on the nerves woven through the lattice of his skull like the fistful of a careless child, and he brings up a hand to squint away the pain.

Fuck. Fuck.

“This isn’t some ‘til-death-do you-part’ bullshit vow. Don’t you have any idea what it’s like?” Daniel leans into the pain - it’s pissing him off, sharpening the edge. He offered an out - he did. And he knows it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t real; it was just some half-assed excuse, too tired for this familiar old fight. But Armand wouldn’t let this of all things die, and Daniel found his second wind. “Don’t come at me with pretty words about mortality. I’ve heard it before, from you and Louis and Keats and Neruda and Shelley. It’s all the same.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

After everything that he’s lived through, consensually or otherwise, Daniel is the only one who, in this day and age, could possibly rip such unfiltered feeling from him – intentionally or otherwise. The intensity of this - of what they are - has such a habit of racing from 0 to 100 in milliseconds; entwined as lovers one moment and a raging war the next. And for what? All because Armand loves him more than Daniel thinks, than Daniel could ever comprehend. Even wretched and enraged, Armand could never bear to part with this and trade it for some cold, dead imposter.

“Then why won’t you listen?” he begs. “Do you think that we all say it for the sake of our hea-ealth?”

His voice, though reedy and underdeveloped, has always been so clear. Now, it is broken with hiccuped sobs and jumping like a scratched record.

“Of course I know what it’s like, I’ve been on both sides, haven’t I? And believe me, I would take death first. I would take death one thousand times before this!”

If it was so simple, if he thought that he could live with himself for it, of course he would change Daniel. But he knows that to do so would be a date worse than death. All of it, from the process of creation itself to the loss of the very essence of Daniel’s humanity… he can’t. He curls in on himself, arms coming to wrap loosely around his torso as though trying to comfort himself, the fight suddenly seeming to drain out of him and leave him helpless instead. He wipes his sleeves across his face and then leaves his wrist there to cover his mouth, to stifle any further cries.

It’s so much easier to be angry. It’s easier when Armand is angry, too. But this - this wretched, hiccoughing misery - Daniel doesn’t know what to do with this. How small Armand looks, folding in on himself in a kind of helpless resignation. Armand - giving up ? - he doesn’t know what it is, but the wrongness of it makes him angry.

How’s this any better? Daniel thinks. Living off crank and cough syrup. Not eating, not sleeping. He hasn’t seen the sunlight in weeks. This isn’t being alive. This is barely being human.

Where the hell do we go from here? It’s as much a thought for himself as a challenge, bold-faced; direct - to Armand. Where the hell do we go?

Daniel stares at him, bleary-eyed, barefoot among the broken things.

“Quit it,” he says lowly. “C’mon, just — ” Just what? Now that’s bad writing, building the suspense without fulfillment. This makes for the shittiest story. Daniel has always loved speculative fiction; worlds parallel to their own, something just close enough to see the reflection of what you know. But something different, something bigger than the awful, looming monotony of an ordinary life. It had been so goddamn simple to transcribe Louis’ words, to insert himself only in the spaces left in-between. “The boy” wasn’t really him, wasn’t really Daniel so much as it had been the world. The audience’s oeuvre into this fucked up, violent, beautiful other life he had tumbled into.

But he’s living it now, or - living alongside it. That’s worse. To be so close to feel it and never to break inside. No matter how many times Daniel might beat his fists against the shell, no matter how it fractures - how Armand fractures - he can find no purchase. And each time, he finds himself slipping, loose and unstrung, falling deeper and deeper into the void. Don’t you see, Armand? One of these days, I’m not going to get out again.

He doesn’t want to write this story anymore. Not now, not that it’s his.

“Goddamn you. So just kill me already. You’re doing it anyway. God damn you.”

Daniel’s fists clench and unclench, casting long, distorted shadows in the shitty light of the flophouse room. He sits again on the bed with the creak of the cheap metal springs, hunched and sullen next to the figure of the wounded boy weeping silently beside him. Daniel says nothing else, staring hollowly at the stain in the peeling wallpaper, imagining it resolving into the shape of a long-legged insect with fractal wings and the smell of blood.

#alcoholism // #drug reference // #caravaggiovagabond #thread: same old dance. #verse: 1980s.

[blackroseaki38]

Memories of the Past

@badthingshappenbingo​

Trope: Animal Attack Fandom: Cats Musical 

Disclaimer: I do not own this song, these characters, and etc.

Warning: NSFM! Rape indicated, not written, but indicated. Animal Attack. And outcasting or banishing of a character. Read at own risk.

AN: I just discovered this fandom and I am in LOVE WITH IT. Let’s hope the new cats movie doesn’t destroy my love for this beautiful fandom.

Midnight not a sound from the pavement 

Grizabella knew she shouldn't be leaving so late in the night, let alone without saying goodbye. She had no choice. She loved being a Jellicle cat, but nothing was the same anymore. Not without him, that is.

Has the moon lost her memory? 

The moonlight led her path, shining her Jellicle lights on her way. Her delicate little feet followed the steps she took every day. Except, now, it would steps to a new way, a new exit in her life. She didn't want to leave just because she could, she just had to.

She is smiling alone 

Grizabella wanted to smile, but she couldn't. Not while she was leaving in the cover of the night and leaving the only family she knew. She would miss them. But, she had to leave. She couldn't leave him alone. She couldn’t let him be alone.

In the lamplight, the withered leaves collect at my feet 

The leaves of the past were collected in her heart. Macavity was her mate and she couldn't just let him go so easily. She knew he was upset about not becoming the Protector, but she did not expect him to do what he did. 

And the wind begins to moan 

Her mate's actions made it impossible for Old Deuteronomy to ignore them. He was forced to banish him from the Jellicle cats. But, how could they expect Grizabella to forget her mate so easily? Did they not know the pain her heart went through these last few weeks without him? How could they expect her to live without him? So, she decided to follow his lead and leave.

Memory, all alone in the moonlight 

She knew she would not be allowed back into the Jellicle Cats if she tried, but she didn't care. As long as she was with the one she loved, she would be happy. So, she took one last look at the junkyard behind her and left without looking back.

 I can dream of the old days 

She wanted to so hard to believe in their love for each other. She heard the rumors of her mate becoming feral, but she ignored them. She followed her heart and that is what she will continue to believe in.

I was beautiful then 

Grizabella knew she was beautiful, but she knew Macavity fell for her heart, not her beauty. So, she ignored how dirty her fur days after she started her search for her beloved. She let her fur become long and matted. It didn't matter as love was deeper than her looks.

I remember the time I knew what happiness was 

Then she found him, her beloved! She ignored the rats around them. She pushed and pushed them away, in her path to him! Macavity looked at her and turned away. Before she could utter a word, he let out a growl and soon, she was pinned on the group by the monstrous rats around her.

Let the memory live again 

She and Macavity had made love with each other before, not nothing like this. Before, it was consensual and full of love. This time was different. It was nothing loving in what Macavity did. Every drop of love she had for Macavity was gone. This was not the cat she fell in love with.

Every street lamp seems to beat 

Tired to the bone and barely on her feet, Grizabella was released from her monstrous old mate's lair, with a warning to never return. She could barely stand, but she knew she had too. The night was full of dangers and she had to get to a safe place before someone sees her.

A fatalistic warning

Suddenly, any of the other creatures in the dark alley ran away. Grizabella knew what that meant. Something dangerous was near. She tried her best, to getaway. But, her legs were not cooperating with her.

Someone mutters and the streetlamp gutters 

Then came a growl behind her and she turned. She was not able to let out a scream before the huge dog attacked her. Pain, pain, pain. It was all she could feel as the darkness took over.

 And soon 

The canine dragged the feline out of his territory and left her unconscious on the side of a road. The night was almost over and no one wanted to be near the dead-like a corpse. Bodies only brought more predators for small animals.

It will be morning 

Grizabella woke as the warm sunlight shone in her eyes. She opened up her eyes, wincing as the pain throughout her body ached. She gritted her jaw as she dragged her wounded body to a puddle of water nearby. She gasped at what she saw.

Daylight 

The day's light did nothing to hide her newly discovered imperfections. The corner of her previously perfect coat was torn and matted with blood, along with sand and dirt. The corner of her eye was twisted like a crooked pin. She was no longer beautiful. She was . . . ugly.

I must wait for the sunrise  

She knew she mustn't give up, not yet. She had to get up and get home. To the home she left without a word. Hopefully, they would accept her back. She had realized the truth now. Macavity had changed and he was no longer who he used to be. He would never be her mate anymore. Not after what he did.

I must think of a new life 

Her ripped up leg was healing, but not correctly. She had a bad limp now, which made it worse for Grizabella to get back to the junkyard. To get back to where the Jellicle cats were and her family.

And I mustn't give in. 

So, she kept going forward. She traveled during the day, with the many hiding places available. She would hide away during the night, in a tiny nook or cranny of some sort, to protect herself from the demons of the night. It didn't do much to protect herself from her nightmares.

Then the dawn comes 

Finally, she had made it home. She was the entrance to the junkyard. It had taken her months of traveling. She had been forced to go through Tottenham Court Road because it was the safest route possible. Today . . .  she would be home!

Tonight will be a memory too 

The past few weeks will all become a bad memory. She was sure her family would accept her back. Especially, once they find out what she's been through. She trudged into the junkyard, somewhat happy even though she was in so much pain. 

And a new day will begin 

Instead of happy faces, she was met with growls and snarls. She tried to talk to some of the kittens, who just look confused. Instead, the older toms and queens redirected them away from her. No one came close to her. There were no nuzzles. There was no petting. There was no . . . touching.

Burnt out ends of smoky days 

Before she could get too far into the junkyard, she was stopped by Munkustrap. He didn't touch her but silently held up his hand in front of her. Rum Tum Tugger was behind his brother, silently showing his support for this action. Then Old Deuteronomy came out from behind them and stood in front of Grizabella. Muskstrap stepped away and stayed next to Rum Tum Tugger.

The stale cold smell of morning 

The morning air was cold, but Grizabella's body was used to the colder nights in the city. The old leader's eyes were filled were regret, but he had no choice left. He announced to her and the rest of the tribe, that for leaving the tribe the way she did, Grizabella was banished from the Jellicle Cats and the junkyard. 

A streetlamp dies; another night is over 

Grizabella had no defense for herself. She knew what she had done wrong. If she had talked to someone before leaving, maybe this could have been different. Instead, she left without a word. Many of the cats lived with actual families, but some of them, like her, were homeless. For those cats, the junkyard was their permanent home. So, they needed to let others know before they leave. The other Jellicle cats were probably thinking she was dead somewhere or Macavity took her. She was the one who made the mistake of leaving for someone she had only known for a few months now. The older cats had told her she was rushing into her courtship, but she ignored their concerns. She regretted that decision now.

 Another day is dawning 

She left the junkyard, not knowing where she would go. The junkyard was mainly in cat territory. So, at least she would be safe from dogs and such. But, would she be able to recover from where her situation had brought her.

Touch me! 

She was an Untouchable now. Grizabella knew that even without help, her wounds will heal. Though slowly and mostly likely her limp will stay. Her broken body would heal, but would her heart heal? She would only be allowed back into the Jellicle cats if another member of the tribe touched her. But, she knew how unlikely that would be. She knew how bad her situation looked to everyone. She left her tribe for her mate. A mate who attacked his own family just because he didn't get the job he wanted. They didn't know what he did to her, but it didn't matter. She left of her own accord. So, she had forfeited any hold she had on her membership in the tribe. Instead, she would forever be cursed to live without a home, family, and without the biggest privilege in her life, touch.

It's so easy to leave me 

Grizabella knew it was her own fault. But, did all the Jellicle cats just have to let her go so easily. She saw no sympathetic faces in the crowd of cats. No one who would miss her presence spoke up. She was unwanted, just like her deceitful mate Macavity. It may be ironic, but it must have been easy for them to leave her . . . since she did leave them just as easily.

All alone with the memory 

All she had left were memories. Memories of a family. Memories of love. And memories of touch. She would try her best to continue trying to be accepted again. But, how long will she keep trying?

Of my days in the sun 

She missed the sunny spots in the junkyard. Now, to stay safe, she was forced to lurk around in the alleyways instead. They were always dark, damp, and cold. No longer was her fur soft and fluffy. It was cold and lifeless, in tangled clumps of curls.

 If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is 

Grizabella never realized the importance of touch in her life, until now. Now, she had no one to touch and to be honest, she wasn't sure if she wanted to be touched. Well, at least now the same way her ex-mates used to. But, now she knew the true meaning of touch. Touch was an important part of being loved and loving others. 

 Look, a new day has begun. 

As each day went by, with the sun and moon switching places two times a day, she missed more and more of the past. She wished she could turn back time and tell her younger self to not make these mistakes. To not fall in love with that monster. To not leave the tribe. And most of all, be more appreciative of their wonderful family. Whom she did not deserve at all, not anymore that was.

#cats #cats1998 #grizzabella #grizabella #rum tum tugger #munkustrap #old deuteronomy #toms #queens #cats musical #macavity #abuse #animalattack #rape #abandoned #banished #VarianFanClub #memory

[iamnesta]

We Shall.

Faking Dating AU -- Jude x Cardan (The Cruel Prince)

A/N: I really hope y’all like this, because I had so much fun writing it!! Hope this lives up you your expectations, anon <3

EDIT: there are some stupid fucken format issues on tumblr but you can also read this on Ao3. 

requested by anon

***

As a general rule, when the Queen of the Undersea glowers at the mortal girl beside you and asks whether you’re bedding her, your response should not be to wrap your arm around the girl’s waist and press your lips to her brow. When the aforementioned queen says, “So this is the vermin you replaced my daughter with,” you shouldn’t shrug your shoulders and smile.

And yet. And yet. That was exactly what Cardan had done, and now Orlagh’s words echoed in Jude’s head.

I am most intrigued by your human partner, High King. Perhaps the two of you should join me for dinner so that I can better get to know her.

Jude grit her teeth in the mirror as an imp twisted her hair into elaborate braids. She had screamed and shouted at Cardan for hours after the encounter with Orlagh, but all he had done was laugh. He was so unconcerned with the affairs of Elfhame, had no regard whatsoever with maintaining powerful allies. Orlagh was an extremely powerful ally indeed, and pissing her off could easily result in war.

“My beloved,” a sarcastic voice slithered from the doorway, “You look lovely.”

The imp immediately bent into a low bow, her nose almost scraping the floor. Jude sent Cardan a withering glare in the mirror. “I swear to god,” she ground out, “If you screw this up…”

Cardan sashayed over, his black eyes glinting mischievously. “A little trust goes a long way,” he whispered into Jude’s ear, tracing the line of her jaw with a pale finger.

Jude shoved him away from her with disgust. He laughed as he stumbled back. “I thought we were pretending to be lovers,” Cardan simpered, uncorking the flask that was secured at his hip and taking a generous sip.

“Alright, pretty boy,” Jude snarled, whirling around to face her adversary. Cardan’s eyebrows jumped up in delight at the nickname, and Jude prayed her own surprise didn’t show on her face. “Here’s the deal: we’ll keep up this charade for one night, and one night only. We’re only doing this to placate Orlagh, and once the dinner is finished, we never speak of it again.”

With a lethargic shrug of his shoulders, Cardan sighed, “Fair enough.”

After giving her reflection one last inspection, Jude nodded to herself and lifted her rustling skirts, sweeping past Cardan and into the hall. Cardan jogged after her, his long legs easily catching up with her brisk strides.

“Shall I offer you my arm?” He asked, holding out his elbow for Jude to take.

Without sparing him so much as a glance, she snapped, “No.”

***

As the unhappy couple approached the beach, Cardan snaked his arm around Jude and pulled her closer to his body. “Smile,” he hissed from behind his own false grin.

Jude twisted her lips into a grimace. “I hate you,” she whispered vehemently, and this time Cardan didn’t argue.

If anything can be said about Queen Orlagh, it is that she’s a generous hostess. Beside the roaring surf of the sea, a table made of dark red wood and overflowing with food glittered beneath the midnight sky. Intricate candelabra with guttering flames were interspersed between crystalline goblets and platters made of gold. Steaming heaps of seafood cluttered the tabletop, the scent of lemon blending with the salt of ocean waves.

Orlagh herself sat poised at the head of the table, her glistening hair floating in the breeze like seaweed. She wore an opulent gown made entirely of shells, and shimmering, pink-white pearls covered her neck and chest like armor.

“My esteemed guests!” Orlagh exclaimed, standing and opening her arms wide with welcome. Her bright smile stretched from ear to ear, her shark eyes flashing.

Jude and Cardan exchanged an uneasy glance as they took their seats.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Cardan said politely, his nervous gaze sliding to Jude.

“Yes, thank you,” Jude forced out stiffly.

If Orlagh noticed her company’s discomfort, she didn’t show it. Instead, she motioned for a server and said, “Wine?”

“Please,” Cardan replied gratefully, his voice full of relief. He held out his goblet for the server and watched hungrily as deep red liquid poured from the decanter.

Orlagh began piling food onto her plate, signaling for Jude and Cardan to do the same. Tearing into an entire lobster, Orlagh asked, “So when exactly did this dalliance begin? I had no idea the High King’s tastes were so…exotic.”

“Well,” Cardan began, taking Jude’s hand and lacing their fingers together. She shot him a scathing glare and he smirked. “I have been rather fascinated by Jude ever since she first arrived in Faerie. She and her sister were the first mortals to be raised as Gentry and I must admit I was…captivated.” His eyes wandered to where he and Jude’s fingers were linked, and he unfastened them so that he could draw circles on her palm with his thumb.

The endearing touch was not lost on Orlagh, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

Aware of the effect his actions had on the queen, Cardan lifted Jude’s knuckles to his lips and offered Orlagh a charming smile. “For many years I perceived my feelings toward Jude as hatred, but I have come to realize that I was mistaken,” he continued. “When Nicasia left me for Locke, I spiraled into anger and alcohol, and the only person who could pull me out of that was Jude.”

Orlagh winced visibly at the mention of her daughter’s infidelity. As Cardan finished his speech, Jude couldn’t help but stare at him. As a fae, he couldn’t lie, which meant that everything he’d said about her was true. Cardan carefully avoided Jude’s gaze as he took a swig of wine.

“Fascinating,” Orlagh said bitterly, stabbing violently at her meal. Her scheming grin had morphed into a sneer, the expression identical to that of Nicasia’s.

The trio ate in strained silence, the rising tide lapping at their feet. Abruptly, Orlagh dropped her silverware with a clatter. “What I don’t understand,” she said loudly, “Is what makes a mortal so special. My daughter is far superior in both intellect and beauty.” Jude flinched and a muscle in Cardan’s jaw jumped. “So my question is this: how does a fragile, human girl get chosen over a princess?”

Jude could feel Cardan’s entire body tense up beside her. She kicked him beneath the table and shot him a sharp glance, warning him to calm down. With what she hoped was a sweet smile, Jude attempted to console Orlagh by saying, “You know, it’s not that unusual for a faerie to have a mortal consort.”

“Cardan’s too noble for a consort,” Orlagh retorted, her voice dripping with venom.

If she had been anywhere else, Jude would have laughed at Cardan being described as noble. The cruel boy she had known all throughout her childhood had been the exact opposite. But with Orlagh staring her down from the opposite end of the table, Jude didn’t feel like laughing. She felt like running far, far away.

“I have no patience for this,” Cardan suddenly announced, his tone bored and drawling. “I will not waste my time defending the woman I have chosen to stand beside me to someone so obstinate. I am the High King, not some peasant who is incapable of making his own decisions.” Cardan stood, tossing his napkin down on his chair. He held out his hand to Jude, helping her rise to her feet. “Thank you for such a bountiful supper, Queen Orlagh. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

For the second time that night, Cardan offered Jude his elbow. “Shall we?” He murmured, charcoal eyes gleaming and lips curving into a feline smile.

Jude looped her arm through his. “We shall.”

***

Thank you so much for reading!! Don’t forget that requests are always open and that I have a masterlist. <3

#the cruel prince #jude duarte #jude x cardan #prince cardan #cardan #cardan x jude #holly black #the folk of the air #cruel prince #tcp #i wrote something

[signorformica]

Some covers of “The Blind Owl”, novelette by Sadeq Hedayat (*born today February 17, 1903): a hallucinatory masterpiece —little over a hundred pages— as black as the wolf's mouth, full of erotic overtones and a soft necrophiliac breath but also of a beauty beyond compare. A kind of electuary composed of Datura stramonium, wormwood and the best opium from Smyrna, to be swallowed on All Soul’s day. In short, a full-blown death trip which stands out among the best Iranian literature of all time.

"I want to press my entire life in my hands, as if it were a bunch of grapes; and I want to pour its essence, no, its wine, drop by drop, like water containing the holy dust of Mecca, down the dry throat of my shadow."

Between Kafka and Edgar Allan Poe but with Iranian essences, “The Blind Owl” had many problems relating with religious authorities in Iran and it had to be published in India mimeographed for the first time in 1936.

On Sadeq Hedayat, a kind, good man who committed suicide by gassing himself in a small rented apartment on 37 Rue Championnetin Paris, in 1951, and about his love for animals and all living creatures on Earth (he was vegetarian, like his beloved Kafka), Comeau-Montasse, cultural attaché of the Père-Lachaise cemetery in Paris, likes to tell a story that circulates on his tomb, easily recognizable by the cherry tree that grows in front of a black pyramid in which an owl is engraved. Hedayat had been a great lover of cats; and the felines of the neighborhood would give him back this affection by gathering dozens, at midnight, around his grave.

Bibliothèque Infernale on FB

You can download “The Blind Owl” (pdf version, English) directly here —there is no risk of virus: https://goo.gl/HcCiyJ

The Spanish pdf version, here: https://goo.gl/CMPsd5

The Spanish epub version, here: https://goo.gl/wpUWa9

And you can read Hedayat's classic short story "The Stray Dog", translated by Iraj Bashiri, here:

http://www.angelfire.com/rnb/bashiri/Stories/straydog.html

#sadeq hedayat #The Blind Owl #iran #Edgar Allan Poe #franz kafka #alf #veganism #opium

[texanredrose]

Symphony of Souls (Pt 2)

People like this I guess? :p But this is probably where I'll lose some of y'all, lol. Due to the... nature of this universe, individual ships will only be tagged if they're the main focus of the chapter, but after this you'll know which ships might appear.

Weiss sat at the cramped table in the dining area, hiding her rolling emotions behind a smooth, patient, polite mask. It never failed to sting, how she carried so many memories in her heart while those she longed for remained blissfully ignorant. After all this time, she'd turned the entire process into a simple pattern, tailored to the one she found first. Despite the agony of slowly explaining, she took more than a little solace from having found her sweet Nightowl first.

"So... let me get this straight," the Faunus said, both hands wrapped around her cup of hot tea. Weiss had suggested it the moment her question brought back more suspicion than before, feline ears laying back into midnight hair. Usually, tea helped Blake think and calm down, but modern blends never quite reached the same quality, the same taste, and the slight frown on her lips hinted that she might finally know why something never seemed quite right. "You're a goddess from over three thousand years ago, forced into immortality that you'll lose without receiving enough... praise, and I used to be one of your priestesses?"

"That's the basic gist of it," Weiss replied, a small sigh slipping past her lips. She'd learned, through trial and error, that too much, too soon, would do her no favors. Forced to rely on vague summaries, she did her best to convey the important details, the ones that stood a chance of jogging memories. "There's a few more details, but we can cover those later."

"Assuming there is a later." Blake bristled, frowning again. She remembered a time when the Faunus smiled and laughed freely, but it seemed time and time again that fate conspired to give her more than enough reasons to be hostile towards the one she'd once trusted with all her heart. Weiss tried not to take it personally. "I mean, this is a lot to buy. You're basically telling me you're a succubus and that you used my roommate to 'recharge' yourself." She took a steadying draught of her tea but lowered the cup quickly, apparently not trusting her guest to leave her immediate line of sight. "That doesn't exactly sound like a benevolent mistress I'd willingly serve."

The words hurt. They always did. Ancient mortals had whittled away her powers by creating a new myth to vilify her. No longer did she stand as the goddess of creations, mistress of the harvest, patron of childbirth- no, she represented night demons come to lure away the soul and rend the flesh. They turned her into a monster... but her chosen refuted the claims back then and remained loyal to her and she to them. However, before the memories of their past lives took hold, they repeated the myths each time she found them again. Weiss tilted her chin up in defiance of those who'd cast her down so long ago, confident she hadn't lost the fight quite yet.

"I don't hurt people and I don't take unwilling partners. I didn't use Velvet."

"She's not the type of person to jump into bed with someone she just met," Blake replied, anger creeping into her tone.

"But it's happened before, hasn't it?" Already, she could tell her window of opportunity was closing. She hated taking the route rife with conflict, but she had little choice. Even if she lost the battle today, she still had tomorrow; she had the rest of eternity. "She's met someone and had an instant connection, inexplicably deep despite its brevity, but it always felt like there was something missing between you two." The Faunus flinched, prompting her to press forward. She had the advantage now and could press it, could prove her claims true. "You likely blamed yourself, broke it off but stayed friends, because conventional wisdom doesn't apply to the way she made you feel. It scared you, because only a few people can make you feel that way, and you've yet to find an answer for any of them. You love her, just like the others, and you feel conflicted about that, like some part of you much older and wiser is calmly weathering the expectations of the world around you while bemoaning how much has changed, even though you don't remember it ever being any different." Weiss leaned forward, staring deep into amber eyes. "But at least when you dream, she's there with the others, and you feel content lying in the field beneath that ageless tree-"

Blake shot to her feet, anger pinching her expression. "Get out."

She didn't feign surprise. This result always seemed the most likely when she crossed paths with her beloved Nightowl first; she'd avoided it twice but had yet to recreate the results.

Rising in one fluid motion, she started for the door but spoke over her shoulder as she went. "Next time you have that dream, try looking behind you."

As she let herself out, Weiss felt confident in two things: that Blake would take her advice and that she'd hear from neither Faunus for at least two weeks.

Another sigh escaped her lips as she stepped out into the weak morning sunlight. Time meant little to an immortal but the wait would be agonizing all the same.

Weiss spent her days preparing her living space for guests, dragging out the sentimental essentials and arranging the largest room in her penthouse to pay homage to the six souls she stood on the brink of finding again. During the times she found them, the fallen goddess did her best to recreate the temple- their first home together- but when they eventually passed from old age, she would put everything away, store it safely until next she could find them. At first, she tried preserving it, as if leaving a room frozen in time would ease her agony by some small amount. It never did; it merely exacerbated the lack of laughter, the missing warmth, and the decades that would creep by until she had her chance once more.

Blue eyes, still shining bright, scanned over her work, lingering on the spot where she'd set up Blake's things. If her sweet Nightowl could just see her collection, the memories of her soul would be fully restored, but exposing any of them to their previous lives too early would be a dire mistake. The confusion from her claims would call to those memories where they'd been their most lost and, many times, that included their first death. Without context or a guiding hand to help them make sense of the images and sensations being relived, they would turn against her, and she couldn't fault them the reaction. So, the process had to be slow, first presenting the idea and allowing them to wrap their minds around the concept before introducing any of those old memories. The phrase she'd repeated- the one linked to some of their happiest moments- could only unlock the door, not open it. The waiting hurt, especially with the harsh dismissal, but Weiss had patience and faith. Blake usually turned her away, rebelled in some way- it was part of her very nature to do so.

Still, the thoughts crept into her mind. Whenever the first meeting went poorly, the immortal considered letting this time be the last- that retreating back to the crumbling remains of her temple to wither and die alone stood as the better option. She wasn't even sure if she could die; so few had escaped the reckoning and she'd lost touch with them all. Only her sister- the shining edge of a blade, the former master of war- had sought her out during the intervening millennia, and she hardly looked living much less healthy. Dull and dark, a shadow of her former glory, just like Weiss, but she left in higher spirits usually, except for the last time. They stood atop a hill, watching a group of mortals prepare a siege tower- revolutionary technology at the time. They'd just buried her beloveds yet again hardly a week before and the loss always chaffed, always brought out the ugly, vengeful tendencies Weiss thought herself long past, and her sister bid her farewell. For the last time, she'd said, before turning to march into the mountains to wither like a blade left to dull and rust. Did she still linger as a spectre, roaming the mountains during twilight? Did she fade into dust? Weiss didn't know... but perhaps she should find out firsthand.

She shook her head, turning away from the enshrined room in a bid to dispel her troubling thoughts. It should be old hat by now but the worries gnawed at her. She remembered vividly that night so very long ago, when her beloved Nightowl first walked into her temple. Back then, Weiss expected nothing more than the daily prayers from all over Remnant to sustain herself, but then she had this brave Faunus, who'd traveled so far from home, standing before the altar, seeking something she could hardly articulate and hoping she could make a difference.

Her homeland couldn't support her people, couldn't give enough food to keep them from starving or provide shelter from the bitter storms, and while her family exhausted every option available to a mortal's ingenuity, she put her faith elsewhere. Blake had run as far as she could, seeking the answer to her people’s plight, and found herself at the temple of an ancient goddess, ready to offer portions of a harvest in exchange for the ability to grow the crops in the first place. For her part, Weiss had grown bored with watching mortals plod along, toiling through their lives; it didn’t seem to be anything more than a bleak existence, and she didn’t have much occupying her time either. So she went, crossed the sea to the little island where the Faunus had gathered after being forced from the other lands, a place they could make their own, with a little help. Just like Blake, they had the gleam of defiance in their eyes and looked upon the deity- who appeared to all the world like a human among them- with suspicion.

Honestly, she rather liked the change.

Then she rose her voice in song. The sands receded to the beaches and a few patches dotting the island. Lush fields and dense forests sprouted in their wake. Lakes and ponds swelled up from the ground and rivers descended from mountains that reached high into the sky fed them. She called forth beasts- cows and pigs and sheep- to give the Faunus food and fur, and deer for game and wolves to keep them from becoming lax. Pretty birds to sing them to sleep and rouse them in the mornings, and a few others that they might eventually keep as pets. When her song ended, the Faunus had not an island; they had a utopia to call home.

In turn, they raised their voices in song, beneath the stars of a calm night as they spread out in the field and picked ripe fruit for their feast. Weiss had never felt so powerful, recovering all the energy spent in creating this home for them, and she took it as recompense. She needed nothing more and made the long journey back to her temple with just her constant companion at her side, the creature gifted her by her Mother- the Mother of all things- and she thought fleetingly of the Faunus she left behind, with their bright eyes and their powerful voices.

Hardly a month passed before her precious Nightowl entered the temple again, this time seeking something for herself rather than her people. Somehow, through their talks late into the night during their journey, she'd come to see Weiss as more than a goddess. It constituted the first time the immortal deity realized that the fierce soul dancing in amber eyes called to her differently than any she'd encountered before. That night, Weiss shared herself with another and took what was offered in return. Her power surged, yes, but what would always stick with her was the next morning, opening her eyes to see another body beside her own, light breathing in her ear, and a heartbeat she could listen to for all eternity pounding just beneath supple skin.

Soon, her Nightowl discovered a thirst for the stories of the world- history of humans and Faunus and tales of the pantheon- and together they built a little library in one wing. They spent their long nights among the book stacks, the heavy scent of ink and parchment enveloping them as they poured over words. Weiss fell in love with the mortal, declared her a high priestess, and tied their lives together using the strings of fate themselves. She started a trend.

She caused her own downfall.

The ringtone of her phone snapped her attention away from her memories. Pulling it free, she glanced at the screen- an unnamed number- before answering. "Hello?"

"Weiss?"

Her lips curled into a small smile. "Velvet. It's good to hear from you."

"Yeah, I'm- I'm sorry it took so long." She paused. "I just... well-"

"You don't owe me an explanation," she said, entering her bedroom and taking a seat on the edge of her king sized bed. While she resigned herself to using the contraption more nights than not, she found herself hoping its use would soon diminish until it became a forgotten placeholder altogether. "I believe I owe you one, though."

Velvet remained silent for a moment. "Blake said you gave her one."

It wasn't an accusation, just a simple statement, but Weiss felt a pang of remorse all the same. "Where would you like to start?"

"In person, first. When are you free?"

“All the time,” she said, unable to hide her amusement. “I tried being employed, once. Didn’t work out.”

The Faunus hummed. “Well, how about tomorrow? Noon, the water fountain off Central and First?”

Weiss got up and walked to the window, looking down at the location suggested. “Very well. Tomorrow at noon. I look forward to it.” She waited to see if Velvet would hang up or bid her farewell, but the silence stretched too long. “Is there anything you’d like to discuss now?”

Nothing for a while, and then she spoke softly. “How did I almost forget you? If I hadn’t found your number while going through the junk mail, I’m not sure if I would’ve remembered at all. That’s... not like me.”

“After you awoke, Blake confronted you, did she not?”

“We... got into an argument, yeah.” Velvet sighed, shifting her position slightly, the shuffling of fabric and her cheek against the microphone conveying slight discomfort. “She told me you’re crazy.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s wrong.” Turning away from the window, Weiss opted to set her sights on some meaningless task to occupy her hands. “And I’m sure she had some other unflattering things to say.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“She’s angry; it’s understandable.” Her fingers found their way to a handmade jewelry box from millennia ago, the paint chipped and cracked along the lid. “Painful memories are a burden on the soul. I gave both of you the choice- to remember or to forget. When you sought to forgive and forget your argument, all memories of me followed.” She pulled a necklace from within, a cat’s eye gem set in a flowering replica of deadly nightshade, framed by winds and tinted black. “It’s... probably for the best if you avoid mentioning me. If she wishes to remember, she will in her own time.”

Velvet sighed. “I think she already has. Blake’s been... distant the last few days. I couldn’t get her to tell me why but... she’s the one who usually tidies up. She probably saw your number and put it with the mail. Now... I just get the feeling that she regrets-”

“It’s not regret; it’s confusion,” she said, a frown touching her lips. “She has memories without context, over a dozen lives lurking behind her eyelids. Give her time.”

“If you say so.” A pause. “I was thinking about making her dinner tonight, see if that might cheer her up.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” Weiss smiled, replacing the necklace. “If you’re looking for ideas, there’s a website called ‘Eating for Six’ that has a robust menu. I’d suggest checking the ‘Nightowl’ tab.”

Over the past twenty years, she’d constructed the website, tweaking it here and there to help fill her days. Sometimes, her mouth would water just glancing at some of the recipes, remembering so many meals shared amid light laughter and good company.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Velvet replied. “And I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.”

When the line went dead, she pocketed the device and proceeded to beat down the rising tide of sadness welling in her heart. Finding her Nightowl- Blake, she supposed, since that seemed to be her name again- always proved to be the most emotionally arduous of reunions. She knew why, of course, but that didn’t make the process any less painful.

At least she could take solace in knowing that, when she dreamed, Blake enjoyed the peaceful serenity of her slumber.

Weiss sat on the fountain’s ledge wearing a modest, light blue dress, feet crossed at her ankles and hands in her lap. Unlike the other night, she neither wanted attention nor gained it, managing to blend into the dancing water well enough to escape most mortals’ notice. Remaining unseen continued to be a difficult skill to use, requiring her to concentrate; as a deity, she craved acknowledgement, desired attention, fed off adulation, for it would always be godly to be narcissistic, so to remove herself so forcefully from mortals’ perception drained her, but she couldn’t afford the distractions today.

She’d arrived early, at least half an hour prior to their meeting, to ensure she would have the time she needed to organize her thoughts. Ever since Velvet’s call, she found herself facing a bit of a dilemma on what to do at such a critical juncture. On the one hand, she could appeal to the Faunus as she had countless others and secure a reliable source of energy for at least a few years. However, she’d yet to encounter this particular conundrum, where a temporary partner shared both a soul that appealed to her and a living space with one of her chosen. On top of all this, she’d found Blake, who always seemed to be one of the trickier ones when it came to rebuilding their connection. They were all difficult to find at first but winning them over... her beloved Dragon always seemed the most ready, even after all these years, and her sweet Thief remained the most difficult, so she supposed her situation could be much worse.

In the end, there remained no contest between any new connections and those she’d endured almost three thousand years just to spend a few more decades with, her chosen few so dear and precious to her. In the same vein, it would be rude to cut all contact with Velvet sans explanation, so she diligently waited, noting the top of the hour by the oversized clock on an adjacent building chiming out.

“Weiss?”

She allowed herself a small smile. “Had you asked, I would’ve gladly joined you at the cafe.”

She turned her head, watching as the Faunus approached with a cup in her hand. “You saw me, I assume?”

“No. Sensed you would be more accurate.” Weiss watched as she was joined at the fountain’s edge, noting the abundance of signs that her companion was nervous. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I just... don’t understand why your voice sounds so different from the night we met... or how, I suppose.” Her brows furrowed. “It’s obviously your voice but it’s... not at the same time. Somehow.”

“Ah. Well, simply put, neither of us is in the mood for liaisons of that nature.” She smiled wider. “Besides, you are immune to my tricks by this point. Those with souls like yours... I can capture you attention and appeal to you the same as any other, but my sway erodes very quickly.”

Velvet’s expression pinched together, gaze darting up and down the deity’s form. “You look the same but sound different- so your powers lie in your voice?”

“Yes,” she said, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Ironically, my ability to physically appear as the epitome of a mortal’s desires faded when they began claiming I only did so to consume the souls of men.” Her brows furrowed. “Which, frankly, is rather preposterous. I don’t like men, generally speaking.”

At that, the Faunus seemed to relax. “Then, when I first saw you and immediately wanted to introduce myself, before you started singing, that was all me?” She nodded. “Good.”

“I’m glad you find me so attractive.” They both laughed lightly. “All I truly did was encourage your inclinations. Provided additional motivation, one might say.”

“I tried telling Blake that,” Velvet replied, a frown touching her lips. “She seemed convinced you were just using me, that it wasn’t mutual.” Brown eyes turned to her. “She was... extremely adamant.”

“Don’t hold it against her. She has every right to be wary of me.” She reached out, covering the Faunus’ hand with her own- a comforting gesture, she hoped. “Blake and I have a history going back several millennia. In a lot of ways, she’s overwhelmed right now, processing half remembered emotions on her own. In time, she’ll decide to confront me or forget me, and I’ll have to live with that, but it’s her choice. Let her make it.”

“You make it seem so... final.” She looked away for a moment. “I... guess you’ve just gotten used to it after, what, three thousand years?”

“Over three thousand years and six amazing people.” A sigh slipped out as her expression fell, her gaze diverting to watch the dancing water. “I wish I could say it’s gotten easier each time. Unfortunately, it’s only more predictable with every iteration. Despite that, I’ve yet to find a sure fire way to regain those connections. It seems some new challenge arises every time I find one and... I am forced to do the best I can, the same as any mortal, and hope for the best. It’s my eternal punishment.”

Tears sprang to her eyes but she held them back through sheer force of will. In the spray, she could see a time long past, a small waterfall behind her temple where her chosen few would play in the summer. Laughter rang through the air, water splashed, and voices intertwined in mirth and light admonishments alike- it didn’t matter that she personally preferred colder weather; the warm summer days were some of her fondest memories.

“Weiss?” She blinked, pushing aside her recollections to focus on her present companion. “Do you talk about them often?” Velvet shuffled a little closer. “I... don’t mean to pry if you don’t want to talk about it but you seem like you could use a friend- someone to just listen.”

A wistful smile curled her lips. When necessity forced her to take partners to survive, she never mentioned those she sought and they never asked. Those she’d chosen had lived through the memories by her side; recalling them always required a careful approach, for there lurked pain around every corner if they crashed recklessly down memory lane. Thus, the ancient deity had only spoken of them aloud with the moon as her audience. She’d forsaken all other connections to her old life so she could move freely through mortal society and her sister rarely wanted to delve too deep into their halcyon days.

“I’d rather like that,” she said, standing up and offering a hand to Velvet. “Would you like to see them as well?”

On the way back to her penthouse, Weiss told their stories. Her fondest memories, their own explanations of life before coming to her temple, and the moments when she realized they were special and dear to her, but she never used the names they bore back then. Too confusing, too difficult for a mortal to keep track of, and she refrained from describing them in great detail for how often those little traits changed, too. All but the eyes, where their souls sparkled and shone brighter than the stars, and the names she gave them in her own mind to thread over a dozen lives together.

She spoke of her Nightowl first. Velvet thought it odd that Blake’s nickname had nothing to do with her Faunus heritage- though that, too, changed from life to life- but, when viewed through a classical lens, it made more sense. When she became the first of Weiss’ chosen, she would spend hours composing poetry and chronicling the stories of every member of the pantheon, from Mother down to the demigods who ran amok until they were crushed by Winter’s sword, and ultimately assembled a considerable library. Within the temple, she became the embodiment of wisdom and knowledge- and she burned more candles and oil than the rest of her attendants combined, staying up late and sleeping in until midday. Apparently, Blake maintained the same sleep schedule on her days off, something that brought a smile to Weiss’ lips.

Next came the Thief. A lonely orphan, forced to steal for survival- she crept into the temple seeking valuables and goods one night, hoping to raid the offerings left for the goddess. Red eyes, wide with terror when confronted by an angry deity trying to protect the only mortal who slept within the temple’s walls- it made for a poor first impression. But her Nightowl calmed her and her Thief possessed more than just the skills of her trade, falling to her knees and genuinely begging forgiveness. She offered her talents in penance and decorated the temple’s walls with artwork, many of which depicted either Weiss’ fury or her benevolence- warnings to others who might trespass in her sacred home. After a time, the deity forgave her Thief and watched in slight fascination as the two mortals inhabiting the temple grew closer. Her Nightowl taught her Thief to read and in return she drew the scenes from poetry and history, whatever to accompany the library’s contents. When given food and a proper bed, the woman saw fit to steal bits of their hearts and Weiss eventually took her as a lover, giving her a permanent place in the temple as the avatar of earnest penance.

“Did they- uh, Nightowl and Thief... were they ever together?” Velvet cocked her head to the side as they waited for a street light to change.

“Of course,” she replied, a smile on her lips. “None of my beloved chosen had want for company, carnal or otherwise, by the end. They had me and each other, though each had their preferences, of course, but they got along very well.” A laugh bubbled up as she shook her head fondly. “Though, it took some time, initially. They might have danced around each other for decades more were it not for my brave little Dragon.”

Her Dragon was a sight to behold, especially that first time she stepped into the temple. Bright and vibrant with smiling lilac eyes, she’d come from far away with all the strength of a warm summer storm crashing on a beach. Louder than the others, her sense of humor and adventure grated on the quieter Nightowl and Thief, but she’d come to the temple seeking something she’d lost: a sense of belonging. Behind her cheer lurked pain and, once she’d settled down some, her fierce loyalty and desire to help and protect won them over. She could build and craft- wood, metal, rock, the material didn’t matter- and constructed whatever was asked of her. Acclimated to her brash personality, the others began to bend as well, and laughter became commonplace. Her earnest devotion won Weiss over and her energy never faltered, enthusiasm only growing as she carved out her own spot within the temple and a place in the deity’s heart.

Then came perhaps the most... troublesome of her chosen, through virtually no fault of her own. Even considering the Thief’s introduction, the fourth to come to the temple seeking her had a difficult time finding her place among the others. With every addition to her temple thus far, Weiss’ popularity grew among mortals. She’d come to represent virtues they prized- wisdom, penance, loyalty- in addition to her longer held duties as keeper of elements and goddess of the harvest. However, taking the three mortals as lovers also gave her a reputation as a beacon of love, for she doted on her Nightowl, Thief, and Dragon often and any pilgrim to her temple could see that. Many tales circulated about how deeply she cared for her chosen, how all should aspire to obtain a love so pure, and the sort of boons she supposedly granted to those who endeavored to love as deeply.

When her sister- a deity of conflict and combat, war incarnate- became enraged at a slight paid her by a mortal tribe, Winter demanded they send their finest warrior to become a servant of the gods. Somehow, the message didn’t get relayed correctly, and Weiss found a woman marching into the temple and falling to her knees one chilly autumn day, swearing her allegiance a few months later. Her Gladiatrix, thinking her life now belonged to the deity of her choosing, had turned away from the combat she’d known all her life for the chance to serve one who encouraged love, something she’d longed for but never truly had during her time on the battlefield. Weiss couldn’t send her away, seeing the open honesty and brilliant hope shining in emerald eyes, and allowed her Gladiatrix to stay. She taught the others to fight and learned just as easily- she drank in their presence and reveled in a type of camaraderie that had been denied her for so long, being held up as a paragon of her people since she was very young. Among Weiss’ chosen, she was just as special as the others, and they crafted their own type of normal amid the scrolls and murals and benches. The deity came to adore her poise, which never seemed to diminish no matter how much she relaxed, and her Nightowl and Dragon took a liking to the warrior themselves, the Thief more content to remain companions rather than become lovers.

When Winter learned of the misunderstanding, however, she was furious.

“What did she do?” Rabbit ears twitched with concern as they stepping into the elevator together.

Weiss couldn’t help but laugh at the old memory. “Oh, I know my sister well enough. When she came to my temple seeking the mortal she’d demanded, I made an excuse of having to go find Gladiatrix in the fields and had Dragon entertain her in the meantime.” She lowered her voice, despite the two of them being the only occupants of the lift. “Two hours later, my sister had completely forgotten her anger. For all her fury, no one can stay mad around Dragon for long. She’s especially adept at lifting the moods of others and her laugh is absolutely infectious.”

“That’s it? She just... forgot?”

“Wars start and stop at the drop of a hat- sometimes, they’ve begun before anyone is even aware, and who you call friend one day could be foe the next, while a foe could be a friend when a greater threat appears. Such is the way of all conflict and my sister embodied that,” she said, sighing. “I let them talk for a few more hours before bringing Gladiatrix in and things worked themselves out from there. Winter couldn’t bear to upset Dragon by taking Gladiatrix away and admitted that her presence at my temple satisfied her demand.“ She smiled. “I saw more of her after that- my sister, I mean. She came by to visit Dragon and eventually bedded her as well, which worked out well for the mortals of the time. Content and happy from her visits, my sister saw fit to leash the dogs of war, so to speak, and Remnant enjoyed a period of peace.”

Confusion splashed across Velvet’s face. “Wait, so Dragon... you and your sister, uh, shared her?”

“Yes. She always had so much energy- there were some nights, I don’t think she even tried to sleep, more content to sneak into bed chambers and entice each of us into a few hours of either love making or cuddling. I daresay she’s almost always the most amorous, the most adventurous, with the softest heart and too much love in it.” Weiss noted her companion’s raised brow and eventually remembered; some things struck mortals slightly differently than they did her. “I never intended for her to take my sister as a lover, of course, but it made them both happy. I couldn’t begrudge them that. And it’s not like the three of us were ever together in that sense; when Winter came to visit, we saw less of Dragon for a few days outside of meals and the occasional walk through the fields, but things returned to normal when Winter left. It worked for us.”

“I guess that makes sense.” She blinked as a thought occurred to her. “How long did all this take? I mean, the last time all of Remnant was at peace ended four thousand years ago, but it started... five?”

“Closer to six now, but you’re not wrong. I met Nightowl- Blake for the first time just over seven thousand years ago. Over the course of three thousand years, I met the others, when I and all the members of the pantheon were revered the world over in some form or another, when I had all my strength.” Weiss glanced up at the lights indicating the floors as they ascended. Sometimes, living at the very top had its downsides. “These precious souls- I couldn’t lose them, so I extended their lives so they could remain at my side, tied their souls to mine with the strings of fate. My Thief, Dragon, and Gladiatrix had no families to go back to and my Nightowl watched over hers from afar. Of them, she understood my pain best, the sort of agony immortality places upon the soul- especially a lonely one. Nightowl lived in the temple for almost four hundred years before Thief arrived.”

Velvet’s eyes went wide. “Wow.” She blinked rapidly, likely trying to process the information. “So when you say you two have history... you’re really not joking.”

“I’m really not.”

“And there were two more?”

Weiss smiled, though a touch bittersweet. Of the six, she spent the least time with her last two chosen but they had grown just as dear to her, and their entrances into her existence came with their own special brand of fanfare. She still vividly remembered the commotion caused when the Seamstress arrived.

By then, the deity had come to represent love and the arts, and the mortal traveled far to see the temple for herself. She hailed from some noble lineage but, upon encountering the temple’s inhabitants, forsook her birthright to remain. She saw the artworks on the walls, the craftsmanship in the furniture, the elegance in the written word, and the dedication in their blades- all of which impressed her and spoke to a deep seated desire to create. From the offerings brought by pilgrims who visited the temple, she pulled fabrics from all over the world and wove them outfits fit for every occasion, each with their own distinctive flair. Chocolate eyes found every small detail and Weiss even procured threads and skins from her fellow deities to give her Seamstress, fascinated by the magic in her fingers and designs. Soon, she found her own place at the temple like all the others, and she combined her talents with theirs to create timeless masterpieces.

For the last of her chosen, though, the road to her temple had been the longest, and to her heart longer still. Another orphan, younger than her Thief, had come to the temple, seeking a home like her Dragon. Hearing the stories of a powerful deity who took mortals as lovers had enticed one abandoned by all others. She’d quite nearly sent the newcomer away on principle but the others begged her to show mercy. It didn’t make sense to her at first but she couldn’t deny them and she eventually came to admire how little her initial coldness seemed to bother him.

“Him?” Velvet’s ears perked, likely at her words and not the ding as they arrived at the penthouse.

“Hence my initial rejection,” she said with a wry grin while stepping out of the elevator. “I find myself drawn to the female form almost exclusively- and my Jester is that ‘almost’.”

At first, he helped where he could. He organized books with Nightowl, he fetched paint for Thief, he worked the bellows and hauled lumber for Dragon, he cleaned gear and sharpened blades for Gladiatrix, he picked flowers to make into dye for Seamstress- whatever task her lovers gave him, he would comply, always with a smile on his lips, just so happy to have a place to call home. As the years passed, he remained a bright spot at the temple, with just as much energy as Dragon and a mischievous streak a mile long, grey eyes shining as he climbed every surface imaginable and used his tail to startle or tickle whoever passed too close to him. To this day, she believed he never expected anything different; he certainly never pursued any of them or even suggested things should change, even jokingly referring to himself as their big brother and laughing at the misnomer. He could’ve lived out all his days at the temple and died, content he’d lived among those who accepted him without question. But she saw the ways the others looked at him- first Nightowl and Dragon, then Thief and Gladiatrix, and even Seamstress glanced a time or two- and she told them they could do more if they so wished. She loved them, all of them, and wouldn’t begrudge them this; they shared her and each other. What was one more? Her smiling Jester had earned his spot among them, for she did love him as dearly as the others. When she finally took him as a lover as well, she realized that the differences in their anatomies didn’t overpower the light in his soul, the same light that existed in her other lovers.

“We found a balance after that,” she said, leading the way up to the second floor of her penthouse and stopping in front of a locked room. Every security measure known to mortals and enough of her residual strength went into protecting the contents from any and all intruders and she carefully undid each one. “For a millennium, the seven of us lived in the temple together, and our days and nights were filled with joy. Sometimes, my sister would visit, and we’d all sup together- we knew true peace. We were friends, family, and we indulged our passions without restraint.” The door unlocked after she input the last code and slid aside. “They were good times.” Before stepping inside, she paused, a slight frown coming to her lips. “Oh, and there was also Myrtenaster but... I’d rather not speak of him.”

“Bad memories?” The Faunus’ brow pinched in concern but she waved it off, not wanting to delay any longer.

“Yes and no- it’s a much longer story for another time. Right now, I have a question.” Weiss watched her companion’s face, trying not to betray the hope rising in her heart. “With each name, each story... did you suddenly think of someone you know? Someone with the same eyes as I described?”

Velvet’s expression conveyed her surprise. “Well... yeah, now that you mention it. How did you know?”

“There’s no cause for alarm." She smiled, trying to keep the expression small but feeling the hope bolster all the same. "My chosen are drawn to each other. When I took them as lovers, I bound them to me with strings of fate, prolonging their lives.” Her gaze dropped as the memories began to creep at the edges of her mind. “When I lost them, I bound them to each other instead, fating their lives to be intertwined, that they might find their lost family and have the support they deserved if I couldn’t find them in time. They are drawn to each other because of this and it seems you’ve landed among them.”

Without further ado, she lead the way into the room, allowing the Faunus to follow at her own pace. She waited for the shocked gasp to turn into muttered wonder before steeling her nerves and looking around herself. In the years after she lost them, the deity had collected every painting, every sculpture, every depiction of her lovers that remained in the world. Most days, she couldn’t bear to look at them, especially during the lifetimes when their appearances deviated from her memories. It pained her now but she had to know, even as her gaze fell on the painting of Blake in her library, pouring over a stone tablet with a candle softly lighting the scene.- she had to know how close they would be to her memories this time.

“I’ve told you the names I have for them,” she said, pausing briefly to brace herself for the answers. “What do you call them?”

Velvet looked at the portrait of Blake, the spitting image of the Faunus she lived with, and nodded. “Well, that’s Blake.” She looked at the one depicting the Thief, brush in hand as she contemplated a half finished mural- one of the rare times her Nightowl and Seamstress joined forces to produce something truly beautiful. “That’s Emerald.” Next, her Dragon, bent over her work bench with the setting sun catching in her hair. “Yang.” The Gladiatrix, spear in hand and shield raised. “Pyrrha.” The Seamstress at her loom. “Coco.” Finally, her Jester, in the garden with his wide smile. “And Sun.”

“... six for six.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “That’s only happened once before. Do they- do they look like their portraits?”

Velvet nodded slowly. “Exactly like them.”

Her knees nearly buckled as she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that burst from her chest, tears slipping out to roll down her cheeks. That hadn't happened before- the one time they had their old names, they looked different, just enough details off to make the decades bittersweet. She'd waited and hoped for this day to come but could hardly believe it.

“I’ve found them. I’ve finally found them.”

#Symphony of Souls fanfic #Weiss!Harem #TRR writes #Polyamory implied and in later installments

[unrequitedmime]

Cuda's smile shone in the haze of morning sunlight. She stretched, petite limbs gliding across the white linen sheets. She did not see his shadow in the light of the balcony as she yawned, her movements so sleepy and so feline that he half expected her to purr. She loosed a long and tired sigh before folding herself back against the dishevelled sheets, a warm sound that danced across the room and found a home in Elias' chest. Right where she belonged. For a few moments, Elias stared at the woman he loved, breathless. And then she opened her eyes. Her golden gaze met his blue depths. As blue as the wind of the Mountains, she would tell him. You have the Mountains in your gaze, Eli. Whispers upon whispers upon whispers. Elias only smiled at his love, at her shining brown skin and her chestnut waves. He had never found a smile as easy as the ones he gave her; wrapped up in his love and his bleeding heart, delivered right into her waiting hands. "Come, warmth," She whispered, hands outstretched. Elias did not say a word as he crawled into her arms. And woke from his dreams in the cold dawn of the Lovella Kingdom. ----------------------------------------------------------------- The Star sighed, "King Radin, I do not mean to be rude, but I will kill you." Hellios did not look up from the glass of water sitting before him on the oak table. Elidia's temper danced around the room, swirling the usually still crystal depths of the glass. Hellios did nothing but study the condensation; the droplets vibrating in the presence of his cousin's power and sliding down the glass. The smoothness of their descent reminded Hellio of the sleds he and Victorias had ridden that one Winter when he was a child. He missed that Winter. Their parents had been alive and loving. For the last time.  King Radin, Hellios was quite sure, was glaring at the young Queen. "You dare speak to me like that-" "After three days of useless negotiation?" Elidia interrupted, flames flickering in every scorching syllable, "After three days of the same conversations? Yes. I do dare." She laughed. The sound was not beautiful. "King Radin, I do regret to inform you this, but we have been going around in circles and I am nothing but dizzy." The silence lasted for a very long time. Hellios took note of each member in the room. Rico, stationed by the door, stared out the window as if he was not even listening. To anyone, it would have seemed that he was not. Hellios knew The Captain listened closer than most. Elias Bruschetti sat beside his King, face carefully blank. Victorias  watched her cousin pace from her spot across from Hellios, her tumbling waves slung over one shoulder today. Hellios had not missed the way The King's frozen face when he had first caught sight of the delicate skin of her neck. Radin sat at the head of the oak table, watching The Star with storms brewing in his grey depths. His golden hair, usually a bundle of waves resting upon his shoulders, was tied at the nape of his neck today. No crown rested upon his head. He did not need a crown. His attire; a soft brown leather tunic adorned with glowing golden stitching, loose black pants of the finest material, and shining boots, hinted at his title. A King both in name and in spirit. A worthy King for Elidia. But not a worthy man for her. Finally, after a millennium of quiet and shadows and beating hearts, Radin loosed a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his tired face. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again, "Elidia-" "It is Star to you." Hellios' breaths misted before his lips as the temperature dropped, his cousin's frost humming in the air. "Star," Radin tried again, "I have been away from my Kingdom for a week, and yet I have found no way to better it for my people. I apologise for the tiresome negotiations, but you must understand that action needs to be taken." Elidia, her back to the room, stared out the window as dusk fell upon her own Kingdom. Hellios knew her onyx eyes rested on the Northern horizon, on the Motherlands that Hellios had disappeared to. The Motherlands that Hellios had barely survived. Hellios had not had a full night's sleep since he returned. Every time he dared close his eyes, they found him. The creatures. The darkness. The hands of woven vines and blooming flowers. The whispers, so elegant and ghostly and terrifying. She called to him every night- sometimes an soft echo in his mind, sometimes a caress upon his trembling fingers, sometimes a roar that left him screaming for help. Just at the thought of those memories, Her unearthly lullabies that echoed through his empty chest, Hellios felt the shivers begin to crawl across his skin. His legs, his arms, every damn knuckle, his cheeks, a slow sweep down his spine. And suddenly, Hellios found he could not breathe. Elidia finally replied to Radin but her idle voice, drifting like shadows, did not settle Hellios' heart as it usually did. He could not even make out her elegant words above the roar in his head and the pounding in his ears. All he could hear were the Motherlands. The ghosts, the trembling shadows, the screeching wind, the tumbling earth, the laughter that haunted him- "Pardon me," Hellios' voice sounded like shattering glass, but he could not bring himself to care as he dragged himself out of his cousin's counsel meeting and into the grand hall. His vision, once bright and sharp, faded in and out with the heavy pounding of his heart. Seconds and days began to slip past Hellios' fingertips like flowing water, until he was caught in the crashing waves and the drowning current for Gods knows how long. Time stopped existing. All that existed were his struggling breaths and the strangling grip the Motherlands had kept on him despite the many valleys between him and those cursed, cursed forests. All that existed was Hellios and his fear. And a warm hand on his chest. The hand, great and strong, came to rest right upon Hellios' heart. As if the hand knew exactly where his hurting heart beat. The warmth from that broad palm seeped into Hellios' aching body like spilled ink in water, like molten gold and oozing honey. Hellios grasped that hand with his own and held onto that sweetness for dear life. And just like that, Hellios found his breath. Time slammed into his body like a bellowing wind, and Hellios breathed in the seconds and hours he had lost with a shuddering sigh. The world found him again, and still Hellios did not let go of that hand. A forehead came to rest upon his, and Hellios inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla. His home. His home. His home. He opened his eyes, meeting that beautiful blue gaze. "Mihi bellator," Rico whispered, the Latin words rolling from his  tongue as flawlessly as English. My warrior. "You are safe, mihi bellator," Rico whispered again, his voice both a soft caress and a steady embrace, "You are home." Hellios let himself fall into the Lovellan Captain's Arms, as he always had. Rico caught him, as he always had. --------------------------------------------------------------- Elidia did not glance away from the dawning horizon as Elias made his way across the rooftop balcony to her side. Her hair, like silver ash, remained perfect despite the early hour. She had worn her hair like that yesterday, and Elias knew she had not redone it this morning. She had not slept. She looked as regal as ever. "Your Majesty," His voice was a soft murmur almost lost in the flowing wind. Cuda had always said his voice was a comforting sound for her trembling heart; a soothing touch. "Star," The Queen's voice, on the other hand, sounded like crackling lightning. Despite the quiet words escaping her pink lips, her throat was raw and jagged as if she had been screaming. "Dear Elias, call me Star." Elias did not say a word. Together, with the silence and the rising sun, they watched the trees sway in the North. For the first time in two weeks, Elias allowed himself to breathe. From the moment Hellios had staggered into that throne room a few days ago, carrying his body like a thousand shattered shards of glass, Elidia had not stopped picking up the pieces. In the week beforehand, the young Queen had been a lazy sort of lethal. A woman possessing a million quiet thoughts and sharpened blades, hiding them all behind those midnight eyes and breathtaking smile. Now, Elias saw more and more every day that she was a weapon. A ruler. A deadly entity. Dare he say a deity. This young woman lived and breathed for the mysteries of those Motherlands. She lived and breathed for the whispers she heard, the nightmares she awoke from, and the dark heartbeat she often heard in the winds of the North. She would not rest until she discovered who belonged to that heart beat. She would not rest until she silenced it. Her cousins, Hellios and Victorias, seemed to feel similarly. Victorias had been so, so quiet in the meetings they had held. Her blue eyes, almost identical to Elias' own, had simply watched and analysed. She had the careful gaze of a woman raised playing the intricate games of Court, although Elidia did not entertain a large court like the other Kingdoms Elias and Radin had toured. For any other woman, Elias would assume that the quiet equated introversion. But for a woman so closely entwined with the cunning of Elidia Cilen? No. The quiet was purposeful. The quiet was chosen. Hellios had been quiet, too. But not in the way his beloved twin executed her silence. Hellios, with his muscled frame and his golden hair, seemed the type of man to demand attention without even trying. Elias had seem him smile once in the days he had been back; a quick, comforting one for his trembling sister. As Elidia had effortlessly worked to melt the frost in that throne room and Mage had inspected Radin's scarred back, Elias had glanced over at Hellios, Victorias, and Rico. The Queen's cousin had spared a broken smile for his twin, wrapped his sister in his arms, and shared a long and levelled look with Captain Rico Ashfeld over her brunette head. The golden man seemed haunted. Elias had caught the Queen's Second drift away multiple times in the many, many meetings held. One moment, the young man would have his steady gaze on his Queen or Elias' King, and the next moment Elias saw that cold shadows had drifted into the warm brown depths. It seemed to Elias that shadows came to Hellios in the form of memories, nightmares, tremors, visions. The day following his return, the five of them had sat with Hellios and listened to his stories of the Motherlands. Elias, born and raised with Radin, had experienced a life adopting the strength and stomach that a Captain needs. Even he had almost thrown up as the memories spilled from Hellios' lips, each one darker than the former. The broken man had talked of empty wastelands, a creeping frost, deep oak trees that murmured in the wind. He talked of crawling creatures whispering Hel's language that had come for him in the nights, of spirits that drifted in and out of his head, of a beautiful and terrifying voice caressing him every moment he found sleep. Captain Ashfeld, no doubt trained and equipped to handle the same brutalities that Elias was, had been trembling by the end of the stories. He had seemed so, so pale, and so, so devastated. And all of these nightmares left the five of them with one question. What now? Elias' King and best friend, who had been born and raised to rule a Kingdom with not even a whisper of magic, had spent the past three days insisting that a military force be gathered and sent to the Motherlands. Queen Elidia, a sovereign with starlight in her veins ruling a Kingdom full of magical beings, ignored every single one of King Radin's requests with her own intention to stay still and stay silent. "You must understand, Captain Bruschetti," The Star finally murmured to the wind after what felt like decades of quiet, "That my plan to stay still and silent is not born from cowardice." Elias tried not to startle at her words. He had witnessed the young Queen respond to the thoughts or emotions of her Court in his visit, but she had never responded to his. He tried not to let his pulse jump in his throat. Without moving a muscle, he created a steel wall in his mind to barricade himself in.   The Queen slowly smiled into the distance as if she were watching him build it. "I do not wish for my thoughts to be read or sensed, Star." Her smile grew, but there was no warmth in her gaze as she laughed, "Then stop thinking so loudly, Captain." She finally glanced over at him, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. Her voice, so jagged earlier, was slow and teasing now as she whispered, "Stop feeling so loudly." Elias' blood went cold. She had been listening since he arrived, hadn't she? She had been listening to every thump of his heart. She could hear that every single heart beat was for Cuda. She could hear that it beat and bled and sung for his love. Elias, despite his horror at the violation, wondered what that love sounded like to the cynical and powerful Queen. Elias, despite his fear, wondered what that piece of humanity sounded like to her. He wondered if the Queen had ever loved. Elidia's gaze left his. "I plan to stay silent," She purred to the horizon, "Because when you are quiet, it becomes so much easier to listen."' Elias frowned, "Listen?" The Queen nodded, and a soft hum slowly emanated from her closed lips as her dark eyes studied the blossoming sky. It was a gentle sound, a beautiful song of harmonies and lulls. It sounded like a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was just a boy. Elias was silent as she hummed. Even her quiet voice had a magical allure to it. The song came to an end, and The Star turned to meet the Captain's eyes. A single silver strand had escaped her careful braid and tickled her cheeks as she stared at him. "You listen to my song in silence, Captain, and I will listen to hers." Hers. She did not say a word as she stepped away from the balcony ledge and made her way inside. Elias was left alone with only the sunlight and his questions. Who is The Star hoping to hear whisper? Who does she hope will beckon Elidia forth? ----------------------------------------------------- Mage did not look away from the rose petals beneath her delicate fingertips. Her cheeks, so rosy from the bite of the cold air, shone with forgotten tears. Radin did not dare look away from his young sister's precious face as she studied the curl of the ruby red petals in her palms. Her hair was loose today, the caramel waves winding their way down her daisy yellow dress. A simple thought to remember; The Princess adored yellow.   Radin's own childhood pet name for her, Daisy, was born from her sunlight love. They resided in the palace gardens, hidden behind the Grand Castle away from prying eyes. The quiet space was small in a lovely kind of way, blooming with flowers of every colour and shape. Radin supposed The Star quite liked the glow of them. His sister finally met his gaze, her silver eyes as familiar to Radin's as his own storm cloud depths. The eyes of a Witch. Who would have thought that the only entity possessing magic in Radin's human Kingdom would be the Princess herself. His own little sister. His own heart and blood. There was not one person Radin loved more than Mage. Today, she hurt. Their parents had ruled LinGuard well, and they had loved their Kingdom fiercely. But they had not loved their three children. "I know that she hurt us," Mage breathed, her voice like rustling leaves in a humming wind, like a Heron's song, like the first ray's of light at dawn, "But she made me. She made you." Her throat bobbed as the sixteen year old Princess swallowed, "She made Adam." Radin's chest began to ache. "And for that," The King whispered back as delicately as teetering China cups, "We cannot bring ourselves to hate her." Mage glanced back at the rose in her hand, alive and bright and ferociously red. She crushed it in her palm, and Radin fought the urge to flinch at the decisiveness of his delicate sister's movement. "Not even in death," She murmured to herself. One whole year. Radin and Mage had lived a whole cycle of changing seasons without the beating heart of their Queen. Adam had, too, wherever he was. On the anniversary of their own mother's death, Radin and Mage were left to grieve the late Queen in a land that was not hers. King Radin glanced at his sister one more time and gently plucked a beautiful blue flower from the garden of a deadly Star. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Elidia found her silence among the flowers. Not one person in her Kingdom knew of the hidden greenhouse upon the Western rooftop of her Castle. Not one person. Except for Nox. She wondered if he still recalled the scent of the Moon Flowers that bloomed in the nights.  The Star shook her head, dispelling memories of flaming curls and smooth olive skin. They dissipated in her mind like sprayed perfume. Victorias and Hellios would never find her up here. Even Hellios, who adored heights and had quite literally swung from the palace rooftops, would never sniff the Moon Flowers in the wind. Elidia had veiled the greenhouse to everyone but her. This beautiful room, with the lazy vines and the trickling water, was Elidia's. The one thing that belonged only to her. And so Elidia, barefoot, dressed in ivory cotton pants that encouraged the breeze to tickle her legs and a linen blouse that let the Queen breathe right for the first time in days, sat in the dirt of her greenhouse. And she listened. And though she would never admit it, she thought of Nox. The Star's magic, so tightly contained, drifted from her warm skin like ink in spilled water as she relaxed. It glided, oozed, bounced, twisted its way across the growing plants. She let it. She cast her magic across her Kingdom; a gentle wave of magic drifting across the villages and valleys and lakes like a caressing breeze. She reached it as far as she could, brushing right against the borders of her land. Right against the border of the Motherlands. Her body spasmed when something touched her back. The touch was soft; a teasing stroke against Elidia's magic. The responding essence was powerful and feminine. It was gentle as it tickled her spirit, but there was a flirtatious danger behind the touch. "Star," A whisper echoed in her mind. The same purring voice from her nightmares. For one moment, Elidia had to grit her teeth and fight every instinct that roared in her powerful veins. Run, run, run. Elidia stayed, and she listened. That voice was singlehandedly the most terrifying and beautiful thing she had ever heard in her entire life. It was born from darkness and light, creation and destruction, whispering winds and roaring storms, blooming flowers and rising mountains. That feminine voice, so soft and dangerous, was the sound of the spinning planet and every living thing upon it. That voice was both Bliss and Hel. "Who are you?" Elidia whispered. She tasted blood in her mouth. The elegant voice laughed, "I am not one thing, dear child. I am everything. I am nothing. I am birth and death. I am the end and the beginning." Elidia fought to keep her breaths steady. She fought not to pull back her magic and hide it away from this unearthly essence whispering to her. "If you are everything and nothing," Elidia forced herself to sound smooth, lethal, bored, "Then what could you possibly want with me? Or my Second in Command?" The voice laughed again, and goosebumps danced along Elidia's skin, "Ah, your Second in Command. Your dear, dear cousin Hellios. He reminds me of the Lion." An Old God. Of bravery and courage and war. Only few in the world know of the Old Gods, and none dare whisper of them. The Old Gods were overthrown in the time of the Polkho Warriors; Elidia's lost people and ancestors. In the Heavenly Wars centuries ago, the Old Gods and the Polkho Warrios were overthrown by Pinja, a reincarnated spirit. Just one God possessing all of the Heavenly power; Pinja is worshipped now in most Kingdoms. Lovella does not worship Pinja. Elidia will never worship the spirit that tore apart the power of her ancestors. Lovella is a nation of magical beings, from Shifters to Sorcerers to Fae, and not one belief is held by all. Lovellan's worship who they want to worship. "The Lion," Elidia whispered back, "You are compare a mortal to a God?"   The feminine essence in her mind seemed to smile, "Many people in your court seem reincarnations of my old friends." The breath rushed from Elidia's body as if she had been punched square in the chest. My old friends. "I do not quite like talking in this form, and from so far away," The voice breathed, darkness brewing in her words, "I would like to find you myself. I will come closer." And just like that, Elidia was left empty. She gasped as the essence caressing her own magic disappeared, leaving only frost in it's wake. I will come closer. I will come closer. I will come closer. Finally, Elidia ran. ----------------------------------------------- "Do you think Adam will ever come back to us?" Mage's gentle voice almost melded with the chirping of the birds in the garden. Despite her soft voice, Radin jerked at the words. He glanced over from his spot on the bench, where he lay reading, and stared at his young sister. Anyone but Elias would have scolded Radin for reading at a time like this. He was a King in a foreign land. He had no time for leisure. But Mage had never judged her older brother for a moment of their lives. Mage turned and met his gaze, her young and warm face a picture of vulnerability. She opened her mouth to repeat herself. And then the girl Radin knew and loved disappeared. As quick as a flame sparking to life, a shadow glided across her innocent features. Radin watched as a strange and unfamiliar sort of darkness began to ripple across her expression. It flowed in like running water. Like broken waves upon a shore. Her face, so full of feeling a second earlier, smoothed itself out into a slow and deadly smile. The smile was empty of emotion, of humanity, of light. Within a moment, Radin's sister was gone. And in her place was something foreign. His sister's body stood taller; shoulders back, hips flared, chin up. The stance of a woman. The stance of a long forgotten Queen.  Those silver eyes that he knew better than anything else in the world were unrecognisable; his own sister studied him as if he were a stranger. That silver gaze was as sharp as a blade and as cold as frost. Frost. King Radin found himself on his feet within a moment, a hand on his belted dagger. A silence stretched between Radin and the hollow body of his sister, watching him with a devastatingly beautiful smirk on her lips. "Daisy," Radin breathed. His sister laughed, and he almost flinched from the sound. The sound of her usually singing laugh was like nothing he had ever heard before. It was something otherworldly. "King," Mage's lips purred to him. No. That was not his Mage. Behind his sister, the back door of the palace flung open hard enough to blow off its old hinges. As fast as light itself, Elidia hurled herself from the doorway and began sprinting across the green lawns towards the garden. The Star, usually so flawlessly impeccable that she did not even seem real, was dishevelled and covered in dirt. She raced towards them barefoot, her messy hair bouncing in the wind and her flushed cheeks streaked with soil. Her onyx eyes burned. He almost felt the ferocity of the Queen's flames as she roared to them, "GET AWAY FROM HER!" Radin knew she was not talking to him. Elidia spoke to whatever entity was smiling that deadly smile. Mage slowly turned to face the shooting Star. The Queen only ran faster when she caught sight of his sister's face, roaring those same words over and over. Get away from her. Her rage-filled voice boomed and echoed across the entire palace, stirring a wind that whipped at Radin's tied hair. Mage flicked her thin wrists, and a plague of frost blossomed to life in the grass. Radin watched as it crawled it's way across the palace grounds towards Elidia. The Queen did not even flinch as her bare feet pounded across the frost-ridden grass. Mage laughed again, the sound dark and terrifying. "I told you. I prefer to talk in person, my dear." The Star unleashed her shadows. ---------------------------------------------------------- The darkness almost smiled as Elidia released it from her very soul. Yes, it seemed to whisper to her. Yes. She sent the spiralling shadows towards Mage's body, the blackness twisting like crashing waves and spinning like whirlwinds and prowling like drifting smoke. If she looked carefully enough, Elidia could see flickers of starlight in her swirling magic. The entire night sky. Despite everything, Elidia thought of Nox. The darkness did not crash into Mage's body. It engulfed it. One moment, the young Princess stood with her unearthly smile, and the next, she did not. She heard King Radin cry out loud as the shadows wrapped his young sister up in their suffocating embrace.  Elidia could save the girl. But only if she worked fast. Elidia had read many stories as a child in her father's cottage home. On the long, seemingly endless days, Elidia had pranced her way through her father's library. She had closed her eyes and danced. And danced. And danced. And whenever her delicate fingers hit a book, she stopped dancing. And she read instead. By eleven years of age, she had memorised the location of every book in that grand room. So it was no accident whenever her fingertips tickled the spine of the Fables. The book held old stories of Bliss and Hel. The stories of her Polkho warriors. The stories of the Gods. As she ran, Elidia thought of a story from that book. The story had whispered of danger and fun. And possession. The pages had murmured to her in those days. The Gods preferred their true form; light and gold and soul. Some Gods looked upon the humans and Kera with disgust, as if mortals were nothing but lingering dust in the universe. Some Gods looked upon humans with envy. Some of the old Gods longed to feel human love, and human drunkenness, and human tears. And so, the Gods chose to take over mortal bodies when they pleased. They breathed and laughed and danced in those bodies for as long as it lasted them. And when their power, too heavenly and pure, became too much for the mortal body, they would shed it like a snake sheds it's skin. No mortal survived possession from a God. A feminine laugh echoed from the storm of shadows wrapped around Mage's body, as if that ancient spirit was thinking the exact same thing. Mage would die. Elidia stopped running. "No," She whispered as lightly as she dared, knowing her words would be heard in the very veins of her shadows, "She won't." And then she drowned Mage in darkness. She ignored the fragility of that mortal body as she drowned it in Night and Stars and Black. She felt her shadows penetrate every vein, every pore, every god damned cell of Mage's being. She did not stop, even when Mage's jagged voice began to scream. She forced the darkness into every flicker of consciousness in Mage's head and every drop of blood. She forced the darkness into every breath, every heartbeat, every aching wail that Mage released. Elidia beckoned every drop of Night within her forth. She called to every shadow and every nightmare and every memory of Nox.  Even as The Star eventually crumpled to her knees, the shadows did not stop until Mage's body was nothing but Night. Night. Night. Night. And eventually, after a thousand years or one second or hours and hours; Night chased away the frost.   A voice murmured to her in the passing wind, as if being carried away by the breeze, "Next time, then, my Star." And then there was silence. No whispers, no screams, no ancient laughs. No spirit. Wordlessly, Elidia called back her shadows with trembling breaths. They rolled across the grass and back into her skin. Elidia was sure that if she looked at her ragged body, she would see that a black mist hovered around her limbs. Elidia did not look. Instead, she made her way to the gardens on unusually shaky legs. Radin had caught his sister when the shadows released Mage midair, and he knelt with her battered body. The King, always so careful and calculated, now held his sister with a gentleness that Elidia had not seen in a long time. Every pore of his body bled with his love for his youngest sibling as he gently brushed the stray hairs from her pale face. He did not glance up at the Star as she fell to her knees beside him, eyes on the beating pulse at Mage's throat. Alive. Alive. Alive. Seconds bled into hours bled into days. Still, Radin and Elidia knelt with the young witch, counting her unconscious breaths. The King and Queen did not say a word as they leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, and waited for the Princess to awaken. And finally, Mage's silver eyes fluttered open.

unrequited 

[jezsiema]

Random Deliria

Thank you @witterprompts for saying anyone can do this! LOL! I was getting bored. But I don’t think I can tag 50 people. I am going to say that, ANYBODY can do this if you want. 

Rules: Answer all the questions, add one of your own and tag as many people as there are questions

1. coke or pepsi? Neither. 

2. disney or dreamworks? Disney

3. coffee or tea? Tea.

4. books or movies? Both :) 

5. windows or mac? Mac. It’s been 7 years since I’ve converted to be a Mac user and it does really well with editing stuff. XD

6. dc or marvel? Marvel for the mainstream heroes. DC for the lessen known characters :)

7. xbox or playstation? Playstation, definitely. 

8. dragon age or mass effect? Neither

9. night owl or early riser? A somewhat exhausted pigeon. HEH. 

10. cards or chess? Cards. Anybody wants to play Blackjack or Cho Dai Di with me? :D

11. chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate, definitely. 

12. vans or converse? Vans. 

13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash or Adaar? Neither, I don’t play Dragon Age

14. fluff or angst? I’d do both :) 

15. beach or forest? Both, although I prefer to be by the beach. 

16. dogs or cats? Cats

17. clear skies or rain? I like the rain when I am at home and comfortably in my bed. 

18. cooking or eating out? Honestly, it depends on how I feel like eating. 

19. spicy food or mild food? Spicy food :) 

20. halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas? Christmas. 

21. would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot? I’d rather be a little too cold. Give me a blanket and I am happy. 

22. if you could have a superpower, what would it be? To be able to time travel. Don’t ask why. 

23. animation or live action? Animation. You can do just about anything. 

24. paragon or renegade? I don’t play Mass Effects. 

25. baths or showers? Showers. 

26. team cap or team ironman? Ironman. 

27. fantasy or sci-fi? Both, please. 

28. do you have three or four favourite quotes, if so, what are they?

"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible" - T.E Lawrence

"Sometimes, God; Breaks our spirit to save our soul. Breaks our heart to make us whole. Allows pain so we can be stronger. Sends failure so we can be humble. Allows illness so we can take better care of ourselves. Takes everything away from us so we can learn the value of everything he gave us...” 

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” - Martin Luther King Jr. 

“Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and adventures are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgotten.” - Neil Gaiman

29. youtube or netflix? YouTube.

30. harry potter or percy jackson? Harry Potter. 

31. when do you feel accomplished? When I’ve done whatever I was tasked to do. To top it, when the feedback satisfies me and the person I was working with. 

32. star wars or star trek? Star Trek. 

33. paperback or hardback books? Paperback. 

34. horror or rom-com? I’d go for rom-com. 

35. tv shows or movies? Both :) 

36. favourite animal? Anything feline. Generally, I love all animals but I am more of a cat person than anything. 

37. favourite genres of music? Rock :) 

38. least favourite book? Some people may hate me for saying this; Twilight. 

39. favourite season? Winter. 

40. song that’s currently stuck in your head? “Cinta Takkan Berakhir” by Anuar Zain. (Translation: Love Will Never Die)

41. what kind of pyjama’s do you wear?  My beloved lounge pants from Primark or M&S and a sleeveless top. 

42. how many existential crises do you have on an average day? It varies. So, cannot say for sure. 

43. if you can only choose one song to be played at your funeral, what would it be? Hahaha! Highway to Hell by AC/DC

44. favourite theme song to a TV show? Sherlock, weirdly. 

45. harry potter movies or books? Both! 

46. you can make your OTP become canon but you’ll forget that tumblr exists. will you do it? Probably. I have a nutcase BFF who would blab about Tumblr anyway and she is off Tumblr -_-  

47. do you play an instrument and if so, what is it? I used to play a lot of instruments. I studied music when I was in school. I played the gamelan, the caklempong, the keyboard, guitar (self-learnt) and more. 

48. what is the worst way to die? Old. Frail. Lonely. 

49. if you could be entirely invisible for a day, what would you do? Knowing me, I would do bad things. So, I shall not continue saying. Hahaha! 

50. What are you planning on doing with your life? I honestly don’t know. Anywhere the wind blows, I guess. 

51. Favorite Disney movie? Has to be Zootopia, Lilo and Stitch. Oh, and Mulan. 

52. Do you believe in aliens? Maybe. 

53. Are u an unstoppable force or an immovable object? Definitely an unstoppable force. I think it was in 2014, my Mum got worried with how much of a workaholic I got for ONE event. I left the house at 7 am and get home by around midnight or at 1 am. 

54. If you were in front of a nondescript door that’s only property was to surprise you when you open it, would you open it? (remember, a “surprise” can be good or bad) Maybe but with caution. :P 

55. (Witter’s addition) What kind of house would you get if you had the funds to get literally anything you could ever dream of? I’ve always loved Victorian houses. Oh! And English cottages. I don’t know. It could be just me, you know. 

56. (Jajersz’s) Do you have any regrets? (My answer: Yes. The scar on my arm. But all those things I’ve done in the past, it taught me something. It taught me to be stronger than I was then.)

#not forcing you guys to do this #tagging you #jajersz #random deliria