[SE] Scares me half to death

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

Every snack one could possibly need for a heart attack is laid out on the cushion between them. He pops another puffed cheese ball into his mouth as he glances around at the lit candles, ensuring proper ambiance for a good thrill. The bed they’re on takes up a massive portion of the room, created like a life raft attempting to pass as a ship. The floor is inherently dangerous, obviously, because that’s where some hands could grab you and pull you under the bed. Naturally then, his feet are perfectly tucked in the safety of the comforter and mattress, criss-cross applesauce.

The back half of the blanket is drawn around his shoulders, kingly perhaps, if not for the pattern of cartoon ghosts dappling the fabric. Just in case any of this tips over from silly to too real, he’s also organized a little table of bundled sage, an impressive cut of quartz, a dish of salt (don’t worry, the door’s already been lined with it), and a smattering of weaponry made from silver, iron, and wood. There’s a bundle of garlic, a set of matches (mostly for the candle), and a book in near disarray of pages that just reads OCCULT across the cover.

”Okay, don’t forget, whenever you end a story, you have to say, ‘I don’t keep any of this energy’. That stops anything bad from adhering to you.” He impresses this upon her for the umpteenth time, grabbing her hand to ensure she feels it as much as hears it.

---

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora is already folded into the absurdity of their plan by the time Kaisel reaches for her hand again, the oversized floral oodie swallowing her whole like something soft and overgrown. The hood stays up despite the heat of the candles, framing her face in a way that makes her look far too pleased with herself for someone allegedly trying not to get haunted, and the gummy worm between her teeth stretches dangerously as she chews, her gaze drifting over the barricade of sage and salt and silver like she’s assessing whether it’s impressive or deeply embarrassing and landing, quite comfortably, on both.

When Kai repeats the rule again, she lets him take her hand without resistance, though her fingers curl just enough around his in a way that suggests she’s indulging him rather than absorbing anything of actual use, her eyes already rolling skyward as if the ceiling might offer a second opinion on how many times a person can say the same thing before it becomes a curse in itself. Reaching for the quartz with her free hand, she turns it slowly between her fingers, catching candlelight in its edges while she hums out something that might be agreement if anyone were generous enough to call it that, before letting her gaze slide back to him with a flicker of something bright and conspiratorial. "Okay, okay, I got it," she says, the words easy and unbothered, though her brows lift and fall in a quick, playful bounce that gives her away entirely. "Do you want to go first, or me?"

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

Although tactical attire would be best for fighting ghosts, he’s so confident that he’s got enough tools at his disposal and the proper nullifying energy that he has opted for comfort more than anything else. Dressed in a matching pajama set, thin sweats and a long-sleeved shirt to fight the Leafchange chill that sets in heavier here in King’s End, they’re a deep violet with spooky scary skeleton bones patterning across them as if he were a walking x-ray. The fit must match the vibe, naturally.

Not so sure that Flora does got it, his gaze narrowing on her in suspicion and an edge of disbelief that he decides not to press in further, he relinquishes her hand to properly grab the small lantern nearby. Holding it under his chin, shadows casting up sharp and ominous across his face, he declares with a put-on voice, "I’ll go first.” He’s not positive he’ll have the balls to do it if he didn’t.

Sitting up more rigid, a proper storytelling stance, he begins a story about symmetry. "I met a guy once. Well, heard about him. Said he had this thing inside him. Not like a voice, not like a spirit… just this… need. He called it, It. Like it wasn’t even part of him. Like it snuck in and made itself at home." As he speaks, the walls around them grant image to his thoughts and the twisting shape of the tale. "Everything had to match. Perfectly. Not close. Not ‘good enough.’ Exact. Two sides of the sink. Two sides of the bed. Two halves of a life that had to line up just right or he couldn’t breathe."

Suspense is drawn out over pauses and well-hidden twists, tucked into phrasing that doesn’t pin down the horror immediately, but rather strings the tension along. Kaisel’s grin climbs as he says it, the creases of his face folding in the shadows. "He said there was only one thing left that didn’t match. One eye blue, one eye green. Just enough to ruin everything, so that every time he looked in the mirror, It looked back." The walls depict the wide set of eyes blinking back, terribly mismatched.

---

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comment.../symmetry/

Here it is being read aloud: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NoId6lyCACw&list=PL100E6F8D8D47702F&index=11

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora’s expression starts to shift almost immediately, the gummy worm forgotten somewhere between her teeth as the shape of his story settles in and the room—traitorous, enchanted thing that it is—decides to help, the flicker of candlelight catching on those conjured, mismatched eyes in a way that makes her stomach tilt just slightly off-centre, like she’s been nudged out of alignment without permission. Her fingers creep up toward her own face without her noticing at first, pressing lightly at her cheeks as though to make sure everything is still where it should be, her nose wrinkling in slow, dawning horror that builds not in sharp spikes but in a steady, creeping crawl, the kind that makes her shoulders rise higher and higher until they’re nearly brushing her ears while she watches Kaisel from beneath the shadow of her hood.

By the time he gets to the spoon, she’s already shaking her head in small, helpless refusals, breath held like if she doesn’t inhale then none of it can actually reach her, can’t slip inside and linger the way his ridiculous little rule insists things might, and when he keeps going there’s a soft, wounded sound pulled from her throat that’s half protest and half disbelief, her eyes squeezing shut for a second too long before snapping back open just in case closing them somehow makes it worse. "No, no, no—why would he—Kai," she murmurs under her breath, like she might interrupt the past if she complains about it enough, though her voice thins at the edges as the story barrels onward without her consent, her grip tightening unconsciously in the fabric pooled around her knees.

When it finally ends, she exhales in a long, unhappy whine that feels dragged out of her, her shoulders dropping in stages as if they’ve forgotten how to lower themselves all at once, and she rubs her palms down her arms like she’s trying to smooth something invisible back into place. "I’d have just gotten contacts," she says, the words slipping out with a brittle sort of logic that doesn’t quite land but insists on existing anyway, her brows pulling together as she tries to shake off the lingering image of it, of him, of the mirror that now feels a little too present in a room that absolutely does not need one.

Her hand drifts toward the pile of snacks without much thought, grabbing two coloured chocolate candies before she pauses, gaze flicking down as something in her still unsettled, still slightly skewed mind catches on the differences in them. Dropping one and picking up another of a matching colour, she pops them into her mouth with a crunch.

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

The way she squirms in place throughout the story, torn between wanting less and more, is the crux of why horror has any room to belong at all. It’s a thrill, to be the one on the other end of the scaring, prompting the same pulse of glee that pulling a grand prank or walking off the mat a victor does. Unlike the latter two, even being scared comes with it’s own giddiness, the body tricked into a sense of survival and the relief that comes with it.

So his grin climbs, wicked and relentless as the tale spins on and finally ends with both eyes removed and the man happy. The walls paint the gore out plainly, slowly dimming back into darkness as Kaisel let’s the story float away. Happily reaching for a gummy worm now that his mouth is free, he flops half its body in and tears it in half, chewing with all the smugness of someone who has done their job properly. That job being, giving Flora some heebie jeebies.

”I dunno,” he shrugs, popping the other worm half in. ”You still gotta change the contacts. And I think he’d always know.” Given how messy life is prone to being, Kaisel’s certain the man had been doomed from the start. ”At least now with no eyes, he never has to worry about symmetry again, and plenty of people get along just find blind.” A truly happy ever after, rare for a creepypasta.

Stretching out his legs so that his feet pinch in around the sides of her, less concerned about goblings stealing him away now that they’ve warmed up a touch, he reaches for more gummy worms. ”Alright, don’t forget,” he looks pointedly at her, shifting his blanket shawl tighter against him. ”I don’t keep any of this energy.”

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora’s mouth pulls to the side as she considers it, though it’s less consideration and more the slow, deliberate winding-up of contradiction, her fingers still worrying the edge of the quartz as if she might polish it into something useful while she dismantles Kais' entire premise piece by piece. "Okay, but there’s no way he was perfectly symmetrical aside from his eyes," she says, the gummy worm shifting from one cheek to the other as she speaks, already shaking her head. "What about freckles? What about being left-handed or right-handed? What about when you get sick and air only comes out of one side of your nose?" Her own nose wrinkles at that, the expression immediate and vivid, as though she can feel the phantom annoyance of it, and she exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “

As Kaisel's legs settle around her, she immediately shifts forward with a small, scooch that tucks her more fully into the space he’s made without ever acknowledging that she’s done it, resettling beneath the ridiculous sprawl of blanket and ghosts and candlelight. The room feels warmer like this, or maybe just closer, her earlier skepticism already dissolving into something lighter as she rolls her eyes again at his insistence, lifting one hand in a half-hearted little gesture as if swearing an oath she has no intention of respecting. "I dOn't KeEp AnY oF thIs EnErgY," she repeats, though it’s rushed and uneven and clearly lacking whatever ceremonial weight he’s trying to assign to it, her brows bouncing again the second she’s finished as her attention snaps back to him, bright and expectant. "Okay, ready for mine?"

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

Another gummy worm stretches out from the clamp of his teeth, but instead of tearing in anything close to symmetry, he seems to decapitate it (where even is the worm’s head?), only the tiny bit behind his teeth granted while all the rest flops away in his hand. He frowns down at it, then promptly throws the headless body into his mouth too, the tearing in half more game than necessity to eat them. ”I dunno, maybe he was.” Kaisel shrugs, clearly not looking into it half as deep as she is. ”I mean, you’re not. Your left boob is bigger than your right.” He waves a jerky stick at her, hopping from one flavor to the next with a ridiculous ease. ”But maybe he was. Except for his eyes.”

The way she rearranges slightly to fit in better around him, with him, is so practiced at this point that it doesn’t feel like anything but exactly right. Expected in a way he doesn’t think about, known in a way he can’t place, as if settling in for sleep and she is the cover he needs to draw up, regardless of temperature. There is no peace without some covering.

His features promptly fall flat the moment her hand lifts. It’s already too much, and he knows before her lips even move around the lilt of veiled mockery that she is going to mangle it. He gives her the longest sigh, so, so long, that it drags out an uncomfortable amount of time and nearly has him choking at the end as he strains to wring out every last drop of air. He inhales suddenly, then blows forcefully across at her. ”You are going to get cursed and murder me in my sleep, I swear to Safrin Fl00rah.”

A smile twitches in, unwelcome, at the corner of his lips. He tugs the blanket around tighter and his toes dip into her more firmly, grabbing a handful of cheese balls. ”Ready,” he confirms.

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora’s expression flickers, something quick and bright and gone again as she shifts the quartz between her fingers, her leg nudging a little more firmly into his as though proximity alone might ward off whatever nonsense he’s trying to manifest, even as her mouth curves with something that refuses to take him seriously for more than half a second at a time. "If I murder you in your sleep, it won’t be because of a curse," she says lightly, glancing at him from beneath the shadow of her hood before letting her gaze drift past him, already beginning to set the stage in her mind as much as in the room itself.

The walls respond almost lazily, the flicker of candlelight stretching outward into something broader and warmer until the cramped, ghost-blanketed nest dissolves into open space, into salt air and wide glass and the slow hush of the sea pressing itself against a house that gleams like it has never known a flaw. Everything is golden, sun-washed, effortless in the way only places that don’t belong to you ever are.

Flora watches it settle for a moment, before she shifts slightly within the circle of his legs, tucking one knee up and angling toward him without quite looking at him again, her voice slipping into something softer, more deliberate, though the edges of it still carry that same teasing lilt. "Okay," she says, dragging the word just a touch as if she’s not entirely convinced by her own premise. "So there’s this guy, right, and he ends up in this paradise, the kind of place where everything is just...perfect. Too perfect. Like someone staged it and then never left, or like a trap."

Her fingers tap absently against the quartz, and in the room the house sharpens: wide archways, polished floors, a view of the ocean that looks like it’s been painted to perfection. "And at first it’s great," she continues, one shoulder lifting in a small, casual shrug that doesn’t quite match the slow precision of the scene unfolding around them. "He doesn’t have to do anything. Everything’s already there: food, clothes, a bed that somehow fits him exactly even though he’s never slept in it before." A brief pause, her nose wrinkling faintly. "Which is weird, but whatever, he’s like, fine, I’ll take it and doesn't think too hard about it."

The room shifts again, subtle at first. A chair pulled slightly out, then sliding neatly back into place on its own. A door opening just before it’s touched. "But then he tries to make it his, as anyone would," she says, the words coming a little quicker now, though she keeps her tone light, almost dismissive, like she’s not paying too much attention to the details she’s choosing. "Moves something. A chair, maybe. And when he turns around it’s back where it was. Like it didn’t like being moved." Her gaze flicks sideways, just briefly, catching Kaisel for half a second before returning to the room as if the story requires her full attention to function properly.

"And it’s not just that," she adds, her voice softening a fraction. "There’s nowhere to put his things, even though there's room everywhere. Every space already feels taken. Like if he sets something down, it doesn’t stick. It just sort of..stops mattering." On the far wall, a reflection forms—not quite a mirror, not quite not—showing a figure standing in the room, still, unchanged, while the world around him subtly shifts.

"And the longer he stays, the easier everything gets," Flora goes on, her fingers stilling now against the quartz as she leans back just slightly into the curve of Kaisel's legs behind her. "He doesn’t have to choose anything, or fix anything, or build anything. It’s all just..done for him." A quiet exhale slips through her nose, almost a laugh, though there’s no humour in it. "Which sounds amazing, obviously, until he realizes he hasn’t actually done anything in weeks."

The house dims just a touch, not darker, but flatter somehow.

"And then it gets worse," she says, tilting her head faintly, her fingers stilling against the quartz as though the story has finally caught up to something she can’t just talk her way around. "Because it’s not just the house staying the same. It’s him." Her lips press together briefly before she lets them part again, her gaze slipping toward the shifting reflection on the wall without quite committing to it. "Like—his clothes start matching everything else. His voice doesn’t sound quite right anymore. And when he looks at himself, it’s like..." She trails off, her nose wrinkling faintly before she shrugs it away as if the detail isn’t worth keeping. "Like he fits too well, because there’s nothing really left of him to not fit."

Her shoulder rises and falls, small and almost dismissive. "So he stays. Obviously. Because why wouldn’t he? It’s easy, and it’s comfortable, and everything works the way it’s supposed to." Her thumb drags once along the edge of the quartz before she sets it down somewhere near her knee. "He stops moving things. Stops trying to make space. Stops noticing that none of it’s his." The house around them seems to settle with that, the sea beyond the windows going glassy and still, the doors along the walls standing open in that inviting, effortless way they always have.

"And then one day," she continues, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful than dramatic, "he decides he wants to leave. Not even for any big reason, just..he remembers that leaving is something people do, so he figures he probably should at some point." The nearest door shifts. It doesn’t slam. It doesn’t creak. It just.. stays where it is, open and waiting, exactly as it always has. "So he goes to walk out," she says, her gaze flicking briefly to that door before returning somewhere safer, "and the door is right there. Same as always, nothing stopping him." She pauses. "Except he doesn’t."

Her brows knit faintly, just for a second. "Because he realizes he doesn’t actually remember where he was going. Or why he’d leave. Or what he’d do if he did." Her mouth presses to one side. "So he turns around," she says, softer now, "and the door stays open. It always stays open, but it doesn’t matter anymore," she finishes with a small, almost careless lift of her shoulder, "because by the time he figures out he’s stuck, there isn’t enough of him left to do anything about it."

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

Crunch. A cheese ball is perfectly cleaved in two by one of his molars, the puffy, flaky goodness of it soon symmetrically dissolving into a flavored sort of puff of air against either cheek. He absently pops another one in his mouth to sever it too, leaning closer towards her as she begins. Already, he feels a shudder of anticipation, because he knows that exact feeling she's describing. "Ooooh, yes!" he approves at once of her selection, anxious to see where it goes. "That's the worst when you fall for something like that." Spoken from gullible experience.

Assuming this is some tale about a figure in the house that is doing all of these things, or bewitching the man into believing perfection out of actual horror and filth, Kaisel at first follows along with eager nods. The walls catch his eye most of the time, gaze slowly moving across the steadily haunting loom of this crafted and false paradise. His attention flicks back to her, features caught up in a tangle of delight and despair, another cheeseball fed onto his tongue once in a while.

"Oh my gods, I hate it when the spirits do that!" he comments quickly, of the chairs being moved behind him, proof he can relate to this awful story she's making even in small, irrelevant ways. Her house, after all, is not trying to consume him like it sounds as if this one means to. A small gasp as she carries on, and he tries to guess the ending. "Is it eating him slowly!? Is the whole thing just made of bodies it's absorbed and the paint is just, people shade??" He doesn't really want an answer, and immediately buttons his face up, now cheeseball-less hands folding in together in a set of a fist that his chin rests on.

Then, the sense of hope, that this tale could end happy. Kaisel sits taller, a touch more rigid, his hands now fretting in his lap as he wills the man to escape. "Get the fuck out man!" he cheers at the figure and the walls that are built upon walls, terrifyingly slow-moving like any good movie villain, stretching out the door until feels like it's never been within reach. All the while, the small, carefree motions of Flora feel like storytelling being worn, removing herself from this image so that her words can fully immerse.

When she says he doesn't, and now the man is well and truly stuck, Kaisel groans with all the theatrics of something that was always known to end poorly finally arriving, yet adoring it for that very reason. "Fuck, I thought he was gonna make it out. The fact he even remembered once, such a good sign!" His hands flare up with the excitement of the prospect before they come to rest on his thighs, elbows bent out. "Haunted house huh, very good take. Can you even imagine?" His gaze tilts up faintly, thoughtful, before he shakes his head a touch to disperse the willies. "You think you'd make it out?"

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora feels it before she can stop it, that small, quiet dip somewhere in her chest when Kai leans forward and urges the man to run, to leave, to get out like it’s obvious, like it’s the only answer there’s ever been, and though nothing in her expression falters right away, though her mouth still curves faintly and her fingers still idly trace the edge of her sleeve, something in her settles just a fraction lower, like a tide pulling back without making a scene about it.

She shifts slightly within the circle of his legs, not away but not quite further in either. The room has already softened back to candlelight and ghost-patterned blankets, but the echo of that too-perfect house lingers in the edges of her vision, stubborn in a way that feels annoyingly appropriate.

When he groans about the ending, about the man almost making it, she lets out a small breath that could pass for a laugh if anyone were listening for it, her nose wrinkling faintly as though she’s just remembering she’s meant to be entertained by this. "He took too long thinking about it," she says, light and easy, though her gaze drifts somewhere past him for a second before she pulls it back, her fingers briefly tugging at the cuff of her oodie as if straightening something that isn’t actually out of place. 

She pauses, just for a second, her gaze flicking up to him properly now, catching his expression in a way that feels a little too deliberate to be accidental. "Could you imagine?" she asks then, the question sliding out with a softness that almost hides the edge of it, her brows lifting as she looks at him more directly, something bright and searching tucked just beneath the playfulness. "Like, waking up one day and realizing everything around you is perfect, but none of it’s yours?" You know, potentially like the life you're living right now? Her fingers twist absently in the fabric at her wrist, a small, restless motion that doesn’t quite match the ease in her tone.

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

Reaching for a rope of red licorice, Kaisel twirls it around like the world's smallest and saddest lasso, more toy than treat for the time being as his thoughts dwell on the retreating story. The walls might have shifted back to some neutral state, but the images his mind makes linger, beckoning some deeper exploration, taunting the haunt. Seems Flora's still doing the same with the way her gaze moves around him, past him, as if looking back rather than forward, wading through the halls of her mind. He smacks the licorice against her leg, an absentminded reach to pull her back to here, some part of him shifting around what's the true discomfort here even if he hasn't recognized it beyond the entertainment.

Whether it works, or something else, she finally finds him again. Her question doesn't land quite right. It's too gentle, lacking the playful shove he might expect, and one brow rises in its own silent check in. "I totally asked you first," he aims for shoving first, like it might jostle the way the tale has evidently clung to her. "Buuuuut," he hums, making a show of turning his eyes up in over the top consideration, licorice thumping his chin in place of a pondering finger.

"No," he says at last, final and sure as his stare sinks back down to her. "Because eventually, you make it yours." He shrugs, lips turning down with the motion before he slaps the licorice into a vicious bite. "This guy in your story, sounds like he couldn't decide anything, so he stood there frozen right. Couldn't decide to stay, to leave, to do anything. It's an allegory for overthinking and by doing so, accomplishing nothing." Pretty certain he's sniffed out the moral, he grins, overly confident. "I would never. If the house would keep me, I'd punch a new door somewhere. If the house reset itself every night, I'd fuck it up every day. Eventually, I think something would show some wear, some change. I can't just exist in a vacuum within the space, it'd have to be worn down by me too. I'd make my mark, because I'd never stop doing something or trying to." No one has ever accused him of overthinking before.

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora lets out a long, exaggerated sigh the second Kai points out that he asked first, her head tipping back with theatrical defeat as though he’s just caught her in something deeply unfair, even if the movement feels more like buying herself a second than actually conceding anything. The edge of her oodie sleeve slips down over her knuckles while she listens, her gaze staying on him as he talks through it, the licorice tapping at his chin, the confidence in his voice building as he pieces together a version of the story that makes sense to him, something clean and solvable and entirely separate from the shape she’d meant it to take. There’s a moment—brief, quiet—where she almost smiles at it, at how certain he is, at how easily he slots the whole thing into something manageable.

But then, as he finds his own conclusion, something inside of Flora dips. It’s subtle, barely there in the way her shoulders soften just a fraction, the way her fingers stop fidgeting with the fabric at her wrist, but it’s enough that she feels it, that small, inward fold of herself as she realises she shouldn’t be surprised, not really, that he hasn’t seen it, hasn’t followed the thread she’d laid out because of course he wouldn’t, because she hadn’t actually said it, and now she’s sitting there with the uncomfortable, squirming awareness that if she wants an answer, she’s going to have to be the one to ask it properly.

He talks about breaking doors, about leaving marks, about never stopping, and she believes him, which almost makes it worse. "Babe," she cuts in, the word slipping out before he’s quite finished, softer than it usually is, edged with something that doesn’t quite match the easy rhythm they’ve been keeping. Flora shifts then, decisively this time, scooching forward until the space between them disappears entirely, lifting her legs to settle around his waist and over his thighs in a way that would probably read as the start of some weird tantric sex position if not for the way her hands come up immediately after, as she cups his cheeks to hold his attention where she wants it. 

"Are you sure that you don’t feel like the guy in the story?" she asks, her brows knitting as she searches his face, her voice quieter now, stripped of the playful edges she’s been hiding behind. For a second she holds it there, steady, but it doesn’t last, her expression softening, then dipping, her shoulders slumping just slightly as she exhales, the air leaving her in a small, uneven breath. "I mean...it’s my region," she says, the words coming a little slower now, less certain, her thumbs brushing faintly along his jaw without her really noticing she’s doing it. "You moved into my apartment, and then my house, and—" She trails off, her gaze dropping between them as though the rest of it might be written somewhere safer than his face.

Her head shakes once, small and frustrated, like she’s annoyed it’s taken her this long to even get here. "I’ve never even asked you if you like being here," she admits, quieter still now, the words slipping out before she can tidy them up into something easier. "In Torchline, or..in the house, or.."

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds

His words fall away like a hose finally emptying itsellf well after the spigot has been turned off. Her voice turned the nozzle, righty tighty. He's been looking at her, though his gaze has bounced around as much as the licorice as he paints the heroic tale of his survival, and the sudden call to attention now narrows his focus entirely back on her, a quiet question written on his expression.

When she wriggles decidedly closer, he doesn't ask, only takes hold of her thighs and helps pull her in to ensure an exact and close fit, not wanting distance to prevail over effort and bunched up sheets. Though crabs are not often given adoring sentiments, he rather thinks romance has overlooked them when he finds himself entirely pincered in her legs. The feeling of total adoration for being in her clutches hardly befits the otters at sea that only bother to hold hands, and he thinks, this is love, holding on with everything you've got, even a pinky toe. Crabs are notoriously unrelenting in their grip, and that suits them.

His own legs naturally sink deeper around her, less circlling, more angled at the knee. He wedges them in on either side behind her, helping prop her should she so need, and equally it holds him steadily in place. Her hands faintly squish his face as she aligns him even further, and though his attention hasn't strayed, there's no risk of it doing so now, and he stares, expectant, but he can see the thing rising off her chest and to her tongue before he need ask.

"Babe," he returns, the sound soft, though insistant. His hands rise from her thighs and  fit overtop hers, holding them still while he slowly turns and offers a kiss to each palm as he talks. "Are you sure you listened to my answer about the guy in the story?" His smile is a shy thing in this moment. It's not the shape of amusement or excitement, but the slant of something that understands and warms around it just the same. "Because that is me." He's finished the soft press of his lips to her hands and returned to their frame, staring back at her resolutely.

The shifts in her had been subtle, but they did not go unnoticed, not when they've had countless times to mock up scenarios to wander through, good or bad. He thought answering her would have been enough, but it seems he did not do a direct enough job of it. He couldn't guess at the entire depth of her breadcrumb trail, and his mistake for pecking at it when he should have been sprinting to keep her from pulling the entire loaf apart. "I have not been stuck in your anything for some time now," he huffs, one eye narrowing faintly at the very accusation. "You made it ours. Or I guess, we did that, together." He pulls her hands down, threading his into hers and squeezing. "Your region is beloved by many and I've never once heard people call it Flora's Torchline...although that does have a nice ring to it, don't you think?" His grin dares stretch a bit more, like taffy becoming warmer. "People take ownership over it, or call it theirs, ours. The only thing that's yours, I'm afraid, is all the hard and miserable work that no one wants. Signing papers and dealing with complainers." He rolls a shoulder as if waving away the gross thought of political work right now.

"And your apartment, I'm fairly certain is my aprtment now, unless you're asking for a take backsie? Not really how gifts work," he tuts, his head shaking with deliberate slowness. "And your house, our house, is full of me by now. A room you built just for me, full of my things. Even an icecream stain I made, that's not coming out, and that's not yours." He could go on, but his point remains the same in whatever level of detail. "It took time, to find my place, to leave my mark," he admits thoughtfully. "I wasn't always sure how, or what, but everything you have doesn't make anything I can do or have any lesser. I climbed the ranks in the soldiers all on my own, after all, and made the office space their mine." There's a touch of pride to that.

Here, a frown does marr his features, and he leans in a touch more. "The spookiest story here, Flora, is thinking you'd ever believe I don't enjoy every moment," his voice has lowered, not a whisper, but less sure now, because what?

Kaisel

I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora’s head tilts at his echo of babe, the look she gives Kaisel is soft and faintly admonishing in that way that isn’t really correction so much as habit, something affectionate threaded through it even as she means to hold her ground, though the moment his lips brush against her palms in that slow, deliberate way, something in her gives anyway, a quiet flutter low in her chest that she doesn’t try to hide, her fingers flexing slightly beneath his as though she might keep the feeling there if she holds still enough.

But then as he says that he does understand, the breath she lets out is small and startled, her brows lifting as her head shakes once, not quite in disagreement, more like she’s trying to catch up to him where she didn’t expect him to be. "But you never punched a new door," she says, softer now, the argument slipping out on instinct before she falls quiet again, the words hanging there between them as she searches his face for something she hadn’t been sure she’d find. It’s unfamiliar, this feeling—wanting to be wrong—but she clings to it all the same, the tension in her shoulders easing and tightening all at once as she listens, the small details he offers settling into her one by one like something being carefully rebuilt from the inside out.

When he brushes off the idea that no one thought of Torchline as hers, she can’t quite help herself. "What about Floratopolis?" she murmurs, her mouth curving into a soft, fleeting smile, though it fades again as quickly as it comes, her attention snapping back to him with quiet focus. The mention of the ice cream stain earns a breath of laughter from her, surprised and warm, her eyes rolling in a way that feels more like relief than anything else, her forehead dipping briefly toward his as if she might tuck herself into the space between them and stay there for a second longer.

And still, even as he builds it for her, even as he shows her the marks he’s made, the space he’s carved out, there’s something in her that doesn’t quite settle, some small, stubborn thread that won’t lie flat, and when he leans closer, when his voice shifts, she feels it catch again. Her brows lift, just slightly, and she exhales, the sound soft and uneven, her thumbs brushing once more along his hands where they’re threaded together.

"Do you promise?" she asks, the words quieter now, her gaze holding his with something open and searching. "Because you can tell me," she adds, quickly, like she’s trying to get ahead of whatever answer he might soften for her sake, her grip tightening just a fraction. "And if you do want things to be different, I mean—" she hesitates, her eyes flicking down for the briefest second before she pulls them back up again, steadier now, more certain in what she’s offering, "I know it’d take some work, with everything I’ve got here, but we could figure it out. We could leave, or make something ours somewhere else, or differently, or..whatever you need." Her shoulders dip slightly with the weight of it, but she doesn’t pull back, doesn’t soften it into a joke this time, her voice staying where it is, earnest and a little too vulnerable for someone who usually hides so well.

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3