#— A LIFE OF NO REGRETS. ( verse 1. )

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[thebluester2020]

[SDV] "Sins of the Guilty"

Summary: SDV Bachelors lusting over the nun that's recently come to visit Pelican Town Warning(s): Not proofread, Sacrilege of nuns, Sub!Sebastion [Reader is kinda a dom in his part], Sebastion doesn't have active sex with the reader, it's only imagined, I kinda favored Sebastion's part ngl, Dom!Shane [The usual lol], This is the filthiest thing I've ever written ngl, Elliot is the king of making readers squirt fight me on that, Elliot is a simp low-key, Bachelors loosely follow the plot of the verses, Unprotected sex [Wrap it before you tap it folks], Pure filth, Porn with plot. Word count: 8,285 wordsSide note(s): Inspired by the fact that- I like nuns and priests man. Going to religious schools all your childhood will do that 💀. Also, sorry for not including all the bachelors. I mostly wanted to focus on those who I think would struggle the most with being presented with a pretty nun in front of them cause it's more fun that way pfft.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Shane - "Hopeless Sinner" 1 Peter 5:8 - Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

♡ - Never in his life had Shane been a religious man.

Too much had happened in his life for him to even consider the possibility of a god, and even if there was such a thing? There was no way that they'd look down favorably upon them, especially with all the sins that weighed down his soul.

And he had a lot.

He was a drunk, he could hardly keep his eyes open half of the time. It was common for him to stink, absolutely reek of alcohol and past missed showers and he far too commonly let his alcoholism get him into frequent situations that he would only come to regret the next day. And to add to that list of sins? He wasn't exactly a people person.

He was rude and curt, saw people as an annoyance and treated them like such. He wasn't open to hearing people be kind to him much less try to suggest ways to change himself. The only time he felt semblances of happiness was when he was with his niece and even then? Those times were fleeting and brief, all because of his aforementioned addictions to the bottle.

And...despite all of that, all those troubles...he wasn't intent on changing.

In his eyes? He was a lost cause, too far gone and there was no point in expending energy on something that was damaged. And he only doubled down on that ideology when rumors began to circulate that a nun was going to visit the town for a little while. He even made it a mission to avoid any places where you could've possibly been at!

The last thing Shane needed was some old woman lecturing on the goodness of Yoba and the sins that came with drinking. How that "he wasn't too far gone" and that he could be "saved", all if he just believed and dedicated himself enough.

At least...until he saw you in person one day outside Pierre's shop on his way to get some cans of beer.

. . .

"You must be Shane, I'm Sister Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

It was like the entire world paused for the briefest of moments.

Just enough for him to truly take in your features the moment he saw you, right in front of Pierre's shop no doubt.

Your smile alone could have chased away the darkest of storms and replace it with a sun that shined as much as your eyes did. They were as wide and big as a dog looking up at its owner, he thought. As if you were expecting some type of praise or reward for greeting him with so much enthusiasm. You were slender-figured but graced with long legs, your skin appeared smooth and your lips were pink and full. Yet as Shane looked back down, he was shocked that you weren't wearing a long black dress like he had thought nuns wore but...shorts-

"Shane? Are you alright?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah...I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "How in the hell do you know my name anyway?" He continued, surprised when you didn't flinch at his rude tone.

"The Church made sure to brief me on people's faces and names before I came to visit!" Of course they did…though, he didn’t know whether or not to complain at this fact or to allow himself to silently be happy in a way. After all, it wasn’t everyday that someone cute knew his name off the bat, much less greeted him with a smile that didn’t have badly hidden disdain or disgust behind it.

“Anyway…” You cleared your throat. “You should come to service this Sunday! It’ll be my first one in the valley and I’d love to have everyone there, I-if possible of course.”

He clicked his tongue.

At the very most? He’d think about it.

“Maybe,” Then, he walked past you.

. . .

After the two of you first met, Shane tried avoiding you the rest of the week until Sunday passed him by.

But though be was successfully avoiding you physically, mentally was a whole other issue as no matter what he did? No matter how much alcohol he drank, you’d always find a way to squeeze your way into his thoughts. When he cringed at his own smell at times, suddenly he’d would be hit with a wave of grace as he remembered the smell of your light perfume. It was even beginning to infect his dreams.

Dreams that…were far more pleasant as of late.

In his dreams, you’d sit with him and talk out in some meadow somewhere. Perhaps you’d go on and on about the book of Yoba all the while you steadily inched closer and closer to him before you’d place a hand on his arm. Your chest touching him as your sweet words grew more sensual, forgoing the talk of holiness to instead invite Shane to touch you through your clothes.

But before getting to the good part?

He’d always wake up, left with an aching hard-on and his alarm screaming at him to get ready for work.

That was the first and possibly the only time that Shane began to believe that there may have been such a thing as "The Devil". After all, why else would he suddenly have these thoughts of someone who just arrived in town a few days ago? Especially someone so out of his league?! Also, the two of you only met once and you probably didn't even remember his name!

But after the fourth time of waking up, his own brain once again blue-balling him?

He knew he had to see you in person.

Even if it was just to hear your voice again.

. . .

So, the next day, he went to the shrine of Yoba where he knew you'd be.

And the second he knocked on the door, you responded with a gentle "Come in" before he stepped inside. And...he couldn't help but feel like a black sheep amongst all the holy symbols and the gentle sound of a religious choir playing from a phone, suddenly, the paranoia of Yoba knowing about Shane's unholy imagination of you began to glare up. He felt as if he was going to burst into flames as punishment for daring to offend a sacred place with his presence!

Once he had turned a corner and saw you sitting on a pew, facing the statue of Yoba however...all of a sudden, he was calm and he remembered why he was there.

He simply wanted to confess his sins and have someone hear him out.

"Shane?" You said as you turned around, a smile immediately jumping onto your features. "I thought that was you! It's easy to recognize grumpy voices in this town."

He rolled his eyes.

"Can I help you with anything? What's going on?"

When he opened his mouth, he realize that he didn't have a single clue about how to admit that he wanted to confess his sins. Especially when those sins revolved around you (not that he'd ever dare to say that part out loud). "I uh...want to confess my sins."

Your smile grew. "Oh? Please, sit." You scooted over on your pew before tapping the space next to you.

Obediently, he sat down but a considerable distance away from you. His hands started to sweat and shake, how was he supposed to confess that you were the source of his sins?! How was he going to tell the pure nun of the valley that he was struggling not to masturbate to you defiling yourself on his unworthy cock? The imagination of your moans combined with the image of you begging him to fuck you against the shrine of Yoba plagued his mind. And what's worse?

He didn't feel an ounce of guilt for it really...he just wanted to be around you. Be it fuel for the mind or something more, he just didn't know.

"...Something tells me that you didn't come to confess." You spoke breaking the silence and snapping him from his thoughts.

His heart dropped to his stomach. Did he do something to give himself away?

"How do you-"

"I've been doing this for a while, you tend to pick up clues." You chuckled. "So tell me, what's really going on? I'm a good listener."

The moment you turned around and looked at him, his breath hitched in his throat as his dream from the night prior suddenly flashed in the forefront of his mind. Your pretty pink lips soaked and glistening from your spit whilst you panted heavily like a bitch in heat, practically for him to do something to you, anything to you. Already, he started to feel his cock twitch inside his boxers, causing Shane to quickly clear his throat and look in front of him.

He tried to think about anything else to keep himself from getting hard in front of you.

"...I've been having weird dreams." He finally admitted. "Dreams that aren't...good."

You hummed to yourself for a moment before you responded. "Like..."I may do something awful" type of bad or another type?"

"Lustful." He muttered.

Like the flip of a dime, it felt like the atmosphere in the room changed.

"You've been lusting after someone?"

He nodded his head.

"Who?"

"Does it matter?" He said snappily, eliciting a chuckle from you.

"Don't be so snappy, I like a bit of gossip as much as the next person..." You scooted closer. "Though, if you've been struggling with these thoughts then...the correct thing for me to say as a nun is to suggest you to stop. To be tempted by the flesh is a sin, your thoughts should never be focused on such things."

Finally, Shane forced himself to look at you, fully expecting you to look at him with some type of reprimanding disgust in your eyes but...he was shocked when he found nothing of the sort. You looked at him like a tiger would eye a piece of prey. "But...?" Shane said.

"But, I as an individual say that you should pursue this person. Who knows, she may like you."

Now that made him snort, there was no way that you would like a drunk like him. He was certain of that. "I'm the town drunk, why would she— you like me?" He decided to be upfront, to which you met his words with shock for a moment before you offered him a simple smile in return.

"Nuns have needs too, and who said this had to be a permanent thing? I'll only be in town for a few more weeks, all your sins will simply...wash away, stay between us, once I leave."

It felt like his dream was becoming truer by the second. Only...you were naughtier than what he originally assumed based on your appearance, but it added to the charm, and with each sugar-coated word that fell from your pretty lips, the further his mind slipped into depravity and what he wanted to do with you as he felt his cock chub up against his thigh. After all, when was the last time he'd gotten his rocks off? His right hand and his brain could only stave off the longing for a real tight cunt for so long!

And as he watched you start to lift your dress and slip your panties down your legs.

He immediately took the plunge.

. . .

"F-Fuck!" You cried out as your legs were spread, Shane on his knees as his lapped at your cunt like a man-starved.

And he might as well have been.

He felt as if he had been in a desert for months and had finally spotted an oasis, your slick upon his tongue was sweet and dripped from your pussy like a nonstop faucet, something that he wasn't going to dare let go to waste as he alternated between tongue-fucking your sex with his tongue and moving onto sucking your clit whilst his calloused fingers plunged in and out of your weeping hole.

And you couldn't get enough of it.

"Sooooo d-deeep...." You whined as your eyes started to roll into the back of your head.

Shane's resolve would've snapped if he hadn't been so focused on both eating yu out and prepping you to take his leaking cock, the sound of you, a nun sounding so fucked out and horny...practically crying out for his tongue and fingers made him rut into the air to try and alleviate the tight feeling within' his pants.

"S-Shane...I'm- I'm cumming-" Your high-pitched whine suddenly died on your lips when Shane stopped pistoning his fingers in and out of you as he stood and shredded his clothes.

"No you aren't lil' slut, you'll be doing that on my dick." He grumbled, his hands practically shaking from how eager he was to get inside of you before he finally freed his dick from its confines and lined himself up to your entrance, his hand coming up to press against the middle of your leg and push it till it nearly touched your chest.

Your mouth opened in a wide O at the size of him, causing the man to chuckle.

"Never had something this big in your pussy?"

You unconsciously shook your head but, your pussy nonetheless twitched in eagerness for the man's cock. Despite Shane's eagerness though, he made sure to be as gentle as he could be with you as he gently pressed his mushroom tip against your hole, the feeling sending a rush of electricity over your skin at the feeling of a cock touching your pussy.

It was strange and...it felt hot. Hotter than what you expected it to be.

Shane gripped his cock at the base before beginning to press his tip against your hole, steadily inserting it into your hole before thrusting forward a little as he steadily filled you. The man groaned at the feeling of your wet walls clenching onto him, almost as if you didn't want to let him go despite you possibly being the first man you've ever been with. "L-Loosen up..." He whispered, already feeling a knot begin to form and tighten in his stomach.

It seemed he hadn't been laid longer than what he originally thought. It took ever ounce of Shane's strength and will not to fuck you like a toy, to be as gentle as he could be until he was certain you were ready to be fucked into the pew like you were begging him to when he first started to eat you out.

Then again, you weren't going to last long either as you had just recently had your orgasm denied.

"Y-You're too big..." You whispered, trying to relax your cunt like instructed to but it hardly seemed to do anything at all. You moaned when you felt Shane's cock twitch at your words, a cocky smirk crawling onto his stubbled features as he leaned closer to you. "I'm big huh?"

You nodded your head breathlessly, a moan tearing from your throat when Shane finally bottomed out inside of you, his hips pressing against your ass whilst he tightened his grip on your leg to keep you from trying to escape the stretch his dick gave you.

"J-Just fuck me..." You hissed, shooting a glare to try and chase your denied orgasm. And the man gladly did as you wished, slowly pulling himself out of you before suddenly slamming back into you, almost knocking the air from your very lungs before he immediately went into a harsh and brutal pace. Shane almost had a mind to tease how you looked, your lips flushed and lips wet from your shared salvia from your earlier kissing session.

Your moans were loud and unbridled, to the point where even he was worrying about whether or not your slutty moans would attract unneeded attention to the shrine!

But as his balls slapped against your ass, the sensation in combination with your cute moans only served to make his balls tighten in anticipation of his impending orgasm. "Oh Yob, r-right there!" You yelped out when Shane suddenly positioned himself to fuck into you deeper, his cock slamming into the deepest part of you with each thrust. Shane then moved his hand down from its position on your leg to your hips, using the leverage to pull you onto his cock as he threw his head back to let out a drawn-out groan.

"Fuuuuccckkkk..." He moaned, his mouth hanging open before he lazily looked back down at you, smiling at your fucked out expression as he spotted drool beginning to dribble out from the corner of your lips.

At that moment, his thumb reached to wipe the drool from the corner of your lips before plucking the digit into his mouth with a smirk at your taste. "Can't believe how lucky I am...Yoba must be real," Shane snickered. "I get to fuck one of his cute lil' slutty nuns...especially one that doesn't know what to do with herself when presented with a real dick in her cunt." He continued as the need to fill you up grew with each thrust.

You nodded stupidly, Shane had an urge to kiss you but...your moans sounded too good for him to risk messing up his position and ruining your pleasure that was causing you to cry out so abashedly.

"C-Cummin-" Your climax hit you like a freight train as your body suddenly went rigid. Your cunt spasmed and clenched impossibly tighter around Shane's cock like a vice grip, nearly making him stutter in his movements as you came around his cock. "Y-Yoba-" He hissed, sucking in his bottom lip as he leaned forward a little at the sheer pleasure your spasming cunt brought him.

Shane only managed a few more thrusts before he spilled into you, his stomach clenching and his body stilling as if it were putting all its remaining energy into filling you up.

A breath he didn't even know he was holding released when he finished and looked back at you. Your gaze was unfocused as your cheeks were flushed red and spit trailed down the corners of your lips.

"Oi, you with me?" Shane said as he pinched your cheeks together with his hand, gently shaking you to try and snap you out of your daze.

You could only respond with a soft moan before you looked at him but not at him. He chuckled, he would accept it for now. He just needed to get you dressed, after all...he definitely wanted to discuss if his confessions with you could be a regular thing, at least...until you left of course.

Elliot - "Forbidden Desires" Proverbs 6:25 - Do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes;

♡ - When Elliot and you first met. It was on the beach of all things.

Out on the wooden pier that overlooked the ocean. Frequently, the writer would visit here to collect his thoughts for his writing and try to find inspiration from the gentle waves that crashed lightly against the pier and beach alike. Yet it was when he turned his head to the side briefly, the world suddenly seemed to stop on its axis.

He thought you were gorgeous.

Baked in the backdrop light from the sun, he nearly thought you had a halo on your head. Glowing with your holiness that made all the features on your face that much softer, like the way your hooded eyes looked out across the water almost longingly as if you were beckoning for a wave to come and carry you somewhere else. How pieces of your hair escaped your veil and blew with the sea breeze along with your dress.

The longer he admired you quietly, the more he thought you were an ethereal spirit, completely unaware of how you were tempting him despite your outfit telling him that you were the sister that the town had been expecting for about a week now. It was your job to be a role model as to how not to sin.

Yet...he wanted to do the opposite- "Are you going to keep looking at me, or will you say hello?" Your voice snapped Elliot from his thoughts before he finally noticed you were looking at him with a curious but soft gaze, a smile gracing your features when you saw how his cheeks began to tint red.

"E-Excuse me." He said as he stood up and dusted himself off. "I was just in shock, I wasn't expecting the long-awaited nun to be at the beach."

As the two of you stood side by side, he noticed how you were shorter than himself. "Oh," You said. "Did I interrupt your alone time?" You smiled.

Elliot smiled and shook his head. "Oh no, I don't think you could ever do that." He responded, your mouth hanging open a little as a blush of your own started to coat your cheeks. It was then that Elliot quickly cleared his throat and tried to find a way to apologize. It seemed like he wasn't himself, his thoughts kept coming out before he could fully think about whether he could say them or not!

"Sorry, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

You then turned your body fully to face him. "Oh, you're not doing that. I find your forwardness charming." You were dangerous for Elliot's heart, the way you looked up at him made his mouth dry while equally making him feel as if he were floating amongst the clouds. Up until you caught his attention again with a laugh. "What's your name?"

"Elliot," He answered immediately.

"Y/N." You responded. "It'll be hard for me to come to the beach with my duties and all...you should try visiting the shrine in the Pierre's shop. I'll be there most of the time."

"How long will you be staying in town?"

"Two weeks." He struggled not to immediately frown at that answer, all while he simultaneously struggled to not throw a curse at Yoba for making him feel this strongly about one of his devoted followers. Elliot could be frank with himself, he knew that you would be in his every waking thought from this point onward. All he'd think about is how to get closer to you, get to know you and so much more!

"I hope you'll enjoy your two weeks here then sister." He finally said.

"Oh, I'm certain I will." Then you turned to walk away, your faint perfume tickling Elliot's nose as he was left along with his thoughts, his thoughts settling on the newfound fact that you were his muse.

All of a sudden, his inspiration to write came to him like rushing waves during a typhoon. Stories of how a man fell into a forbidden relationship with a woman, or perhaps a shorter tale of how a man falls in love with a spirit, someone he longed for but knew he couldn't ultimately have. Yet, as all the thoughts flew through his mind. One thing was for certain, you left him with a burning ache in his pants.

. . .

Later that night, he admittedly felt slightly guilty for palming himself over his pants at the thought of you. The pretty nun with the soft voice and heavenly features, although Elliot tried not to think too hard about your words from earlier, to not misunderstand how you phrased your words or how you looked at him as a signal for something more...the image in his head was far too addicting to let go so easily.

The thought of you bouncing on his cock while he sucked at your breasts, planting kisses all over your body as you moaned for more...was it wrong of him to have those thoughts? Then again, surely you knew how you sounded when you spoke to him on the beach! You sounded like you were interested in him! That you may have wanted to pursue something more with—

"Ah...look at me," Elliot murmured to himself, running his fingers through his hair as he scoffed at how ridiculous his thoughts were.

You were a nun.

You were just being friendly!

What he was doing was wrong. To think about a holy sister was potentially one of the greatest sins (at least, to what he knew about the book of Yoba).

Perhaps he needed Yoba more than he realized.

. . .

And that’s what prompted him to visit Pierre’s shop three days later, specifically where he knew you’d be, the Shrine of Yoba.

Elliot’s plans were simple, to confess his sins, receive your judgement and advice, then leave. Of course though, he’s leave out the part where his thoughts revolved around you despite the fact the both of you hadn’t known each other for that long. But once he was standing right in front of the door that would lead into the shrine…he felt like his entire body had frozen in place.

Were you actually a nun or secretly a demon? He thought.

No person should ever have power over another like this. But the moment Elliot’s nerves loosened up a little, he quickly knocked a few times on the door before a gentle “Come in” could be heard from inside, causing him to walk in before he immediately saw you getting up from your kneeling position at the shrine.

You smoothened out your clothes and then looked at Elliot with the same angelic look you gave him the first time you met him. “Elliot?” You said. “You came.”

He nodded his head, keeping his head down just long enough in an attempt to ease his blushing. “I figured I was overdue for confessing my sins.”

“Don’t be silly,” You chuckled. “We all come and confess our sins when we’re ready, there’s no pressure.”

It was easy for you to say, he thought.

You weren’t the one who was losing sleep over imagining the naked form of the person you just met. And as Elliot walked to sit on one of the pews, the more he couldn’t help but think that this may have been a bad idea. Although your attire was similar to what you wore on the beach, he didn’t know if his eyes were tricking him or not but…your clothing appeared…tighter.

Around your chest to be more precise and it was driving him nuts.

He silently begged Yoba that you wouldn’t come close enough to where you’d be able to spot his steadily growing hard-on. And thankfully, you kept your distance via sitting on the pew just in front of him with your back turned.

“Now, you may confess when you’re ready to begin.” You murmured a quick prayer before clearing your throat as a sign you were attentive and listening.

Elliot sighed. "Sister, I've been...well- I've had unholy thoughts as of late. Thought that revolve around a woman that I'm infatuated with."

When you didn't say anything in response, he continued.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever been blessed to see. But it would be wrong for me to pursue a relationship with her."

That was when you spoke. "May I ask why?"

Elliot's throat bobbed up and down at the question. "She's a nun."

The silence that followed was so loud that it nearly rang in his ears. Yet, as you turned around to face him, his mouth immediately fell open to apologize until a certain glint flashed in your ears as you looked at him with a smile, a finger tugging at the collar of your uniform.

"And...what do you want to do with this nun?"

"I want to kiss her." At his confession, it was like a string had broken before you and Elliot's lips crashed together. In the writer's mind, it was as if your lips were meant to be with his own, the taste of your mint-flavored lipstick addicting to his tastebuds as he felt around in your mouth. Your breathing became heavier, pressing yourself as close to Elliot as you possibly could despite the pew that still separated the two of you. "What else do you want to do to me?" You panted when you both separated, your breaths labored and heavy as a single string of spit still connected you two.

Elliot silently eyed the rest of your body.

"May I show you, sister?"

. . .

Had you known the man you met a few days ago was capable of this. You would've fucked him right then and there out on that wooden pier.

The position Elliot currently had you in was making you see stars and galaxies behind your eyes, your legs spread out on his lips as he held you tight against his form, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear right before his eyes whilst he fucked up into you like a man on a mission. Each thrust making his cock assault your sweet spot deep inside you, you felt as if your organs were molding and reshaping themselves just to better fit Elliot's cock.

"Y-Yoba's name..." He whispered hotly against your neck, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against the side of your neck and all the way down to your exposed collarbones from him hastily pulling down the front of your dress. "Y-You're so tight-" Elliot grit his teeth together as he groaned against your skin.

However, each time he fucked up into you, the sound of your sexes meeting reverberated throughout the small area of the shrine as your slick poured down from your pussy to pool and coat the front of Elliot's thighs, you were starting to...feel something.

A certain coil beginning to tighten tighter and tighter by the second in your stomach.

Compared to the orgasms you've given yourself in the past, privately when you were in your room or in an area you were certain was vacant of other people. This one was more intense and threatened to wash over you with such a force that you worried you'd pass out from the intensity! But, it was hard to voice such a worry when you were being fucked to the point that you couldn't utter a single syllable, to where you nearly had a mind to forgo this life and simply be the plaything of Elliot for the rest of your days.

"E-Elliot...!" You keened as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, Elliot's thrusts somehow growing even more ruthless as he tucked his face into the valley between your breasts.

"Shit..." You managed to hear him breathe out.

Your mouth steadily started to form a large O shape as the coil inside your tummy tightened more and more until it finally burst.

Suddenly Elliot stilled his movements to raise your dress higher to witness the wetness that flowed from your pussy like a fountain spewing water, his mouth dropping in shock whilst the lust inside his eyes grew at the arousing sight of your orgasm spewing from your cunt and splattering onto his thighs.

He was only snapped from his trance when he heard your fucked-out moan and your hand tap his shoulder.

"Truly, you are the woman of my dreams," Elliot said with an equally fucked-out voice as if he were the one who just came. "Do that again." Your eyes snapped open as you tried to quickly voice your protest but not before your words were shooed from your lips when the writer fucked up into you again, resuming his previous pace before he gently leaned you back, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you steady whilst his other went to lift your leg higher so that he had a better view of your cunt.

The squelching noises were like a symphony to his ears.

But all he could think about was you squirting again.

The pew you both sat and fucked on was already dirty...defiled.

It didn't matter to defile it some more.

"Please, squirt on my cock again," Elliot begged. "Will this help my dear? Don't hold back, please." Without a single word of warning, the hand that held your leg up dived down to rub quick circles on your clit with his index and middle finger.

"F-Fuck! Elliot...baby, w-wait- you're going to-" Your entire body shook and convulsed from overstimulation as you struggled to keep your head and thoughts straight, moans falling from your lips shamelessly as you could hear Elliot's raspy moans and throaty groans, the sexy noises only serving to make you clench around the writer's experienced fingers.

Elliot took your pussy getting tight as a sign you were close once again, causing him to speed up both his thrusts and his fingers as they rubbed side to side without abandon on your clit. You tried to cry out for him to slow down, to give you a short break but your moans fell on deaf ears as Elliot only silenced you via fucking you harder to the point your moans took the place of the words you wanted to say as he abused your cunt. "Ahhh...." You moaned in pleasure as you felt something begin to well up inside you again.

"E-Elliot- f-fuck...." You couldn't do anything else but whine and beg, his name slipping from your lips repeatedly as his fingers on your clit sped up whilst he rose you forward a little to plant kisses along your breasts.

"Don't be embarrassed my dear," He whispered against your skin. "Just cum, I got you...please." At the sounds of his begging, that earlier feeling of a coil beginning to tighten started to nearly grow unbearable inside you, your eyes barely staying open as you allowed your body to take all the pleasure your eager lover was bestowing onto you.

"Oh, Yoba...fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Your body once again grew rigid as Elliot's eyes darted to where the two of you were connected, his eyes widening as your pussy clenched onto him tighter than before as a clear liquid squirted out from you and around his dick. Upon seeing that sight, he wasn't too far behind from his climax, managing a few more hard thrusts before his head dropped forward a little as he moaned.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath until it was you who broke the silence as you steadily rose your head and slid your hands to rest on Elliot's shoulders with a soft moan and a dopey smile. "You know..." Your voice was hoarse as your hand moved to catch Elliot's chin under your hand before you tilted his head back to make you look at him.

You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, a sweet lovesick moan leaving the writer's lips before a smile slowly came onto his lips. "We should do this again."

"How..." Elliot took a moment to further catch his breath. "How long will you be in town?"

"Couple of months, we can discuss about this being a regular thing as well as...you possibly taking me out on a date next?"

He couldn't think of anything better.

Sebastion - "Hungry Recluse" Genesis 2:18 - Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”

♡ - He had heard about a nun coming to the valley when his mother brought it up at dinner a few weekends ago. And back then? He didn't have a mind to care really.

He was a recluse.

He had nothing against religion but he preferred to stay away from crowds. If a nun was to come to the valley then he was more than certain you would bring a crowd, preaching about Yoba and the likes and he respectfully wanted no part of that.

So, imagine his shock one night when he was outside his home smoking. Only to spot a nun doing the same.

"A nun, smoking?" He nearly choked on his own cigarette. His words catching your attention before you cursed under your breath before you dropped your cigarette and quickly stomped on it with the heel of your shoe.

"Goddamn it..."

He scoffed. "And you curse too?"

You rolled your eyes. "If you're going to snitch to someone, do it now." As Sebastion stared, thinking about how much he wasn't going to snitch to anyone (after all, he believed it wasn't his place nor did he feel like anyone would believe him should he have wanted to do it). He couldn't help but think about how...well, how pretty you looked.

You sported a more roguish look to your uniform compared to what he was originally thinking you'd look like. Clean outfit with a bright smile, maybe a hand carrying a bible or the cross of Yoba perhaps. Instead? One side of your dress was bunched up, exposing quite a considerable amount of thigh as well as the black stocking you wore underneath, and the similarly colored boots that would've typically been hidden underneath.

Your make-up was gothic and you had a septum piercing along with a couple more piercings on the outer edge of your right ear.

And if he was seeing things right...was that black nail polish on your fingers- "Are you going to keep staring?" You said bitingly.

"Sorry," He apologized, quickly looking somewhere else. "I just didn't expect the nun to be-"

"A sinner?" You interrupted with a heavy sigh.

"Different." He finished his sentence.

You clicked your tongue. "Yeah well...that's what you get when you're an unwilling member of the church." You spilled.

Now he was really curious about you. This entire time, he had expected a goody two-shoes sister who would rave on and on about Yoba anytime that they could! Or maybe even some old hag as old as Evelyn was, nagging and constantly haggling people about converting and praying more to Yoba.

But instead? The town received neither.

Only you.

And he was absolutely enthralled by you.

So much so that he found himself unconsciously walking up to you before he cleared his throat. "Do...you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not looking for pity if that's what you're-"

"I'm not trying to pity you." He interrupted. "You just seem to be in need of a confessional as much as anyone else." He shrugged, his words sparking a chuckle that sounded like a melody in his ears.

. . .

And that was the beginning of you and Sebastion's relationship.

One where you two would meet under the guise of night every other day after you had finished your "performance" during the day of playing the innocent nun who wanted to spread the word of Yoba. Something that Sebastion quickly learned was nothing but complete bullshit. The two of you would rant about your lives and how much you two wished you could change things.

Whether it was from Sebastion's dreams of moving away from Pelican Town and into the city, to you ironically praying to Yoba that he'd give you an outing from the church.

The one day you'd be free.

"...Why are you stuck in the church?" Sebastion had asked one day, lighting your cigarette before his own.

You blew a puff of smoke before sighing. "Mommy and daddy had unresolved debts and issues." You said. "To pay 'em off, they got rid of me." You continued.

"Now I wear this damn get-up and play "Good follower of Yoba"." You mumbled a few curses under your breath afterward, ones that made Sebastion snicker under his breath as he considered your situation. Although obviously different, the similarities in your stories were eerily similar. The two of you longed for another life, felt as if you didn't belong in the current one you both lived, and, as much as you both could, you tried to actively change that.

But...where Sebastion could easily pack some things, get on his bike, and head for the city.

You didn't have that luxury.

"Why don't you move here?"

"Unresolved debts remember?"

"I know but...there's a lot of abandoned places here in the valley. We even have an abandoned farm not too far from here. You could live there."

"My cage would be no different then, just a new window to look out of."

A small smile crept onto your features when you spotted an apologetic frown appear on Sebastion's face. One that made you flush a little as his cheeks appeared puffier and cuter. You appreciated being able to talk to him, more than you'd ever be able to convey but...you weren't looking for sympathy or solutions to escaping that only involved you living a life on the run and in hiding.

In truth? Being asked by the higher-ups to visit this small town, meeting Sebastion?

It was as close to a blessing from Yoba as you'd ever get.

Back home, you were a glorified maid if not eye candy for old men. You'd clean for them, cook for them, bring them drinks...it was such a dull life. You hadn't even been able to go to college. You couldn't even do most math but you could damn well recite random passages from the book of Yoba.

You hadn't nor would ever be able to find love!

All talks of boys and falling in love were strictly forbidden, seen as nothing more than a gateway for potential sinning, something you'd eventually learn was nothing but complete hogwash as there were plenty of times you've seen your fellow sisters open their legs for priests when it pertained to the topic of being able to get away with some things. Here in the valley though? You didn't feel that pressure.

You liked it here.

You liked...well, you liked the people. They were nice.

"You should be happy here Sebastion." You said, breaking the silence.

"You have a good life here, it may not be the one you want it's the one that's the best path for you at the moment."

Sebastion rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, you don't live here."

"Maybe, but I'd need a million more fingers in order to count how many situations are worse than this." You sighed. "After all...you never know, one day you may find yourself liking it here. Life is funny like that." At those words, you placed a gentle hand ontop of Sebastion's for only a brief moment before you got up and walked away.

An act that only served to leave Sebastion's heart skipping beats and...strangely upset.

. . .

And he must've sat outside for an extra thirty minutes before he finally went inside.

Dinner tasted bland, and all of a sudden Demetrius' snide remarks and insults didn't even make him turn nor lift his head to briefly glare! All Sebastion could think about was you.

You, you, you, you, you.

He didn't know what sounded weirder or more pathetic.

Him chasing after you like he was in some chick-flick, exclaiming how he wanted to be with you despite only knowing you for going on close to a week now. Or if he said that you were the only person in this entire town who seemed to understand him! The only one who made him truly happy aside from the small yet rare-found joys in his life! He could introduce you to his friends, Sam and Abigail, he thought you'd get alone well with them.

Maybe you could teach Sam to play new songs? He remembered you mentioning how you knew how to play the guitar a little. Or maybe you could simply be another girl added to the group, someone for Abigail to hang out and talk with.

As Sebastion sat on his bed. His mind further diving into his racing thoughts that concerned you, so many situations revolving around the question of 'What if?' that he could barely keep track of them all! He wondered then about what if you'd be another addition to the farming community here. If you would actually take over that abandoned farm.

What would you grow, would you be good at it or would you only prefer animals like Marnie?

Or...maybe you'd be something else?

A writer like that one guy who lived at the beach with Willy.

Or maybe an inspiring somebody like himself or Sam?

Another member to the Adventurer's Guild perhaps?

He considered it all but the one scenario that made his heart strangely ache the most was...if you were with him.

You made him smile the most out of everyone here. Sebastion enjoyed your curt personality that blended well with your shockingly soft tendencies. You were pretty and when your lips weren't covered in dark lipstick, they shined a surprisingly glistening red. Your eyes were the most gorgeous underneath the moonlight ad your figure (if he couldn't guess from the first moment he met you) was something that made his jaw drop every single time.

Suddenly, there was a throb in his pants at the thought of what you'd look like underneath your clothes.

But no, even if you stated you didn't want to be a nun.

He'd give you the respect all the same. He wouldn't dare to do anything inappropriate with your face in mind. It wouldn't be right.

. . .

But oh...did he think it would feel so right.

It wasn't a bad thing to touch himself to the thought of you, was it? You weren't there and so long as you didn't know then technically sin would have ever been committed! At least, that's what he comforted himself with as he furiously jerked himself off underneath his covers, breathless moans leaving his lips as he imagined it was your hand stroking him off rather than his own.

And as he did so, he swore he was more turned on than he ever had been in his entire life.

He imagined you were wearing your dark lipstick as your hand went down to massage his balls, your lipstick leaving smudge trails up and down his cock as you flattened your tongue to trail along the prominent vein that ran on the underside of his cock. Yet as you did so, you kept a firm eye on him as you looked at him through your lashes.

"You must've been so pent up Sebby..." His cock twitched at the nickname. "Waiting for me to do this to you, you must've been thinking about this since the day we've met. Huh?" A whine left escaped him at your words, his vision beginning to blur from both pleasure and growing embarrassment as his cock began to leak more and more pre.

"Not going to answer~?" You purred. "That's okay, you seem to be way more talkative down here than with that mouth of yours."

"P-Please..." He whispered.

Your smirk grew as your hand quickened in its pace, your face leaning in closer to his to the point he could almost imagine your breath gently blowing on his face. "Please fuck me..." He moaned. "R-Ride my cock, j-just do something more with me."

"Such a good boy~"

As you sat up, you licked the tips of your fingers clean from his pre as straddled him to where your pussy hovered over his cock. He twitched at the feeling of your heat, his eyes glued on your dripping pussy before your finger tipped his head to look back up at you. "Keep your eyes on me." You ordered before swiftly pressing a kiss to his lips. A choked-up moan escaped Sebastion's lips when you suddenly sunk yourself onto him. Your hips immediately started a fast pace that made his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Until you suddenly slowed down. "W-Wha...?" He said dizzily, looking back at you. "Why-"

"Eyes on me Sebby~ or what? Is my pussy too good for you to listen to me?" You suddenly slammed your hips down, Sebastion's hand gripping the bedsheets with a loud moan before you resumed your original pace. "You should be following what I say more diligently than this Sebastion" You pouted. "A holy nun is giving you her untouched pussy, the least you could do is look at her~"

"Y-Yes!" He moaned. Tears flowed down the sides of Sebastion's face as he kept his eyes on you, the sounds of his balls slapping against your cunt echoing throughout the room as a familiar knot steadily started to appear in the pit of his stomach. His cock twitching inside your warm pussy as the feeling of your walls nearly drove him to insanity.

Your moans, your face contorting in pleasure as your hands roamed up and down his chest underneath his hoodie. Everything about you made him want to exclaim just how much he had developed a crush on you, something that he wanted to take farther rather than just simply have sex with you. Yet, as the heat in his belly turned white-hot, his moans sounded closer to wails as he begged to cum.

He had to remind himself that this wasn't real.

You weren't even here.

Something that was slapped into him the second he felt his cum pool over the top of the hole he made with his hand rather than feeling it fill you up.

"Y/N..." He moaned as if you'd magically appear before him.

Tomorrow, he would definitely confess his feelings. Religion be damned, he knew that he wanted something with you.

[rwrbficrecs]

We’ll Invite Something In by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@dot524: This is a fandom favorite and for good reason. In this canon divergence AU, Alex is President, Henry is out, and they never got together in their 20s. Instead, they encounter each other in their late 30s and a very different type of relationship ensues. They still hide it at first, but there’s a lot of living that they both have done and need to work through. I really enjoyed the character dynamics here and how the premise changed both Alex and Henry, making them bolder and more mature. Definitely read this one!

Eyes Blue, Like the Atlantic by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@dot524: A Titanic AU! Adapted by an excellent writer, this one has suspense, action, romance, and intrigue. There is a MCD (Main Character Death) in here and some other tags to be aware of, but also vibrant scenes with dancing, chasing, art, and formal wear. I really enjoyed it!

Clean Slate by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: This was just so excellent. I devoured it in no time, couldn't put it down. I love the way Alex just slips into Henry's life like a silk glove even though Henry has his hesitations. There's abslutely no angst at all other than "you're too young for me" "no, next question" I love it. I love Henry finally feeling young for the first time. I think that is something that Henry generally feels after meeting Alex, like he's never been able to, no matter at what point in life he is. ANYWAY I'm talking about Henry way too much again for a rec. Read this.

Most People Exist by @sprigsofviolets (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Henry, 30, is a nurse on a cancer ward. From the very first moment he feels an intense connection and attraction to his newest patient, the one who has a brain tumor and is named Alexander Claremont-Diaz. - The tags say it all: "Falling in love, Slow Burn, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort". After reading this story I am a whole new person. I laughed and cried, had butterflies in my stomach, I felt it all. Hands down one of the best fics I've ever read!

after hours by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@na-dineee: How much can happen in a few hours? stutteringpeach: Hold my beer. 😅🤝 Reading this was truly a roller coaster ride, my stomach was doing somersaults non-stop: On his last evening in New York, poet Henry meets bartender Alex and the two spend the night together - in true "Before Sunrise" style. To sum it all up: enchanting, sweet, phenomenal, iconic!

No. 1 (Royal Red and Blue) Oil on Canvas by @captainjunglegym (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: This fic is so twisted and surprising in the best way! The summary did not prepare me for all the action that comes after the initial relationship drama and I'd really like to fawn over it some more but I don't want to spoil the fun of figuring out what really is going on and what are characters' motivations. Just give it a try.

Meet the Parents (series) by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@dot524: I really enjoyed these thoughtful character studies of Ellen and Oscar. The two short stories are a series of canon vignettes from Oscar and Ellen’s POV. These glimpses of the Claremont-Diaz parents add heart and depth to the RWRB canon, giving insight about how Ellen and Oscar think about parenthood, power, family, and each other.

Leave The World Better Than You Found It: A BONES AU by @treluna4 (book/movie-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: I really enjoyed this FirstPrince meets procedural TV show fic! With Alex as Booth and Henry as Brennan, they learn to work together, solve crimes--and fall in love, of course. Plus take down a very satisfying book villain.

No Laughing Matter by @inexplicablymine (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is absolutely hysterical- a must read if you need something to cheer you up! It's also very relatable for anyone who, like me, has said things they've regretted in all the best ways!

in summer air by @acdsbff (book-verse)

@na-dineee: I need a vacation and vitamin D - maybe that's why this series (both POVs are covered 🥰) captivated me so much?! It is set on a Greek island, where Alex, just cheated on by his boyfriend, meets hotel owner Henry. What follows is a whirlwind speedrun romance against a beautiful backdrop. Really therapeutic for the heart on dreary days!!

here is a map (with your name as a capital) by @alasse9 (book-verse)

@dot524: What an incredible surprise to have this entire 50k story drop at once. In this canon divergent story, Alex and Henry start getting to know each other in Rio, when Alex helps him recover from a panic attack. Their friendship, and later their relationship, is a delightful slow burn with funny moments, heartbreak, and steady support of each other. I thoroughly enjoyed this start to finish — the characterization of both Alex and Henry is on point and I really enjoyed how the writer changed some of the scenes from the book while keeping key callbacks. A delight.

Claremont 2008 by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This friends to lovers AU is done so well! Having Henry and Alex meet as kids means we get years of their friendship before they even start dating, and it gives every aspect of their relationship so much depth through this entire fic. It also gives some events only referenced in the novel a completely different perspective, which makes them even better!

keep me in the moment (don't it feel so real?) by @anincompletelist (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: I absolutely love everything that comes out of Sarah's magic little fingers and this was no exception. Alex and Henry are best friends and pinning over eache other unknowingly and an accidental lil discovery turns their relationship upside-down (for the better) absolutely recommended. I honestly loved it so much.

you know i can't be found with you by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: This was SO much fun. Alex was RELENTLESS and I absolutely love an older Henry. It was also very fucking funny. 10/10

the great duck fiasco by @alexclaremont-diaz (book-verse)

@suseagull04: A spy AU, dating apps, and Alex's Texas roots combine in the funniest way possible- definitely read this if you want a good laugh!

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 20

Damn guys, wow! Twenty chapters in. Shit. Wow. We've only got five chapters to go.

Hey, remember that breakdown that Steve feared was coming? Yeah it's in this chapter. Just not the person anyone thought it would be. Also Steve learns to lean on the people who love him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

~

Steve was nervous. He was rarely nervous on stage, but this was special. Eddie had written a duet version of one Corroded Coffin’s songs and Abbadon was going to feature. So when The Fallen left and Corroded Coffin came on, the first song would be the new duet.

Apparently Gareth had been badgering Eddie to include it in the set list since before the whole rehab stint. But that was around the time Steve and he got together and felt it was too close to the mark to sing it on stage like that.

But somehow the three other members had convinced him and Eddie in turn had managed to convince The Fallen, both bands managers, and their tech guys to let them do it in Denver.

The Fallen finished their encore and they huddled together as Corroded Coffin’s equipment was set up.

Then it was time, with all the lights off Abbadon went to stand in the middle of the stage, directly in front Gareth’s stage where his kit was. The spotlights came on, first highlighting Gareth, then Brian, Jeff, and then Eddie.

Abbadon stood in the darkness, microphone in hand, head hung between his shoulders.

This was the moment. The moment Steve had spent his whole adult life dreaming about. On stage with Corroded Coffin to sing with Eddie. His only regret that it was as Abbadon and not himself. But damn, he’d be fool to turn down the opportunity and he knew it.

Eddie started in on guitar; the sweet, slow build up of one of their greatest hits. “Run, Lover Boy, Run.”

But when the first verse started it wasn’t the gravelly growl of Eddie Munson, but the haunting tenor of Abbadon.

“When I see you there,

Standing with your friends,

I have to stop and stare,

Because, baby I know how this ends...”

Finally Abbadon was lit by a pale blue light, making the white of his costume seem ghost like and eerie. He raised his head and the lace mask made him even more beautiful. He walked toward the front of the stage slowly as he joined Eddie front and center.

To say the crowd went wild would have been an understatement. The Fallen fans were freaking out and screaming and crying. The Corroded Coffin fans roared their approval as Abbadon’s voice lent the song a melancholy vibe.

Eddie sang the second verse and then they joined in together for the chorus. Abbadon leaned in close, their spotlights blending together.

“Run, Lover Boy, Run,

Don’t you know,

You were only a little bit of fun

Run, Lover Boy, Run

You were looking for love,

Can’t you see we’re done?”

Abbadon knew he should have moved back for the next verse, but somehow he found himself draped over Eddie. Even though the song was about being used by a guy he thought he could trust but was only looking for a hookup and not something more serious. He just couldn't move away.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on his guitar, playing his hardest and singing about heartbreak. Abbadon’s microphone was at his side as he shared Eddie’s. He had even turned it off to avoid feedback.

They were so close that any closer they would have been making out over the microphone. But the thing that really tipped things over the edge was when the final verse came, Abbadon sunk to his knees and belted it out. So from a certain perspective it looked as though he was grinding against Eddie leg.

The crowd went absolutely feral. There was screaming, crying, and apparently in two extreme cases, fainting.

He wasn’t.

Steve wanted to make that clear. He wasn’t grinding against Eddie’s leg. To both their management and the media. Because, yeah he saw the video the fans uploaded and it was very suspect, but his other fans had his back. They posted the view from the other side of the stadium where he was just a few feet away from the lead singer, on his knees, his free hand clenched in a fist.

But oh boy did fuel rumors about Abbadon and Eddie in ways that made Steve’s skin crawl. It was a good thing they had two days before they got to Vegas for Steve to hide in their trailer.

“Steve!” Robin as Robin called out, banging on the door. “Come on, Steve, you can’t hide in there forever!”

Eddie had tried. Chrissy had tried. Hell, even Vickie gave it a go. But Steve refused to budge. Shane let out a sigh after Simon and Spence were both sent away as well.

“Let me try,” he said softly.

They all cleared out to let Shane have a go. He sat down on the steps to the trailer and leaned his head against the door.

“Hey, Steve,” he muttered. “You don’t have to come out, but I’m gonna start talking and maybe you’ll decide to do that on your own.”

He was met with silence. Which was already a step up from the shouts to go away. So he started talking.

“I worry about us as friends, all of us,” he said, strained. “Simon keeps turning down women who are generally into him because he thinks they’re only into him because of what we do. But there have been some real good ones. One that wanted to get to know him, but he just shuts them down. I worry about his attachment to you. I know he’s straight. I’ve hit on him before... before you I guess. Back when we were just some idiots in a cafe who didn’t know what life was.”

He let out a watery chuckle. “But I’ve also seen girls flirt with him as a roadie and he still thinks it’s because of what he does rather than wanting him for he who is. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the best. But he doesn’t seem to want to be better.”

Shane looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a shuddering breath. He hung his head.

“Spence doesn’t want to go out anymore,” he continued, his voice quaking with the feeling of loss. “All he wants to do is spend all his time talking to Nadia. The only time he goes out is as someone else and that can’t be healthy either.”

He ran his fingers through his tight red curls, gripping them at the base and pulling. His hands shook with the effort and the emotions.

“I just came out as gay and I’m frightened by it all,” Shane said. “My parents are supportive. Because of course they are. But I can tell the difference in people from the way they used to look at me and how they look at me now. I was going to teach middle school, Steve. I was going to teach world history to teenagers. But this changed everything.”

There was a soft thud behind him and he figured it was Steve sitting on the floor in front of the door.

“But of all us,” he whispered through his tears, “I worry about you the most. You think you have to be strong for everyone else. You came out with me and I’m getting more support than you are. Yeah, you have a good support system. I wouldn’t have allowed you to come out otherwise, twin. But this moment that blew up in your face, shouldn’t have.”

He lifted his head up and let the tears continue to stream down his face. “It should have been a moment of pure joy and it turned into an embarrassment. You’ll forever look back at the first time you sang with shame. And you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were incandescent. You lit up that stage and it was beautiful.”

The door to the trailer opened a crack and instantly Shane was on his feet. He opened the door all the way and slipped inside, closing it tightly behind him. Sitting in the dark on the floor not far from the door was a very disheveled Steve. It looked like he hadn’t slept in awhile. They all traveled together, but Steve had taken to locking people out until it was time to get on the road again.

“Hey, twin,” Shane muttered as he moved to sit next to him on the floor.

Steve snorted. They looked nothing alike but by some twist of fate they had been born on the same day, year and all. Steve was older by like seven hours. So Shane had taken to calling him twin when no one else was around.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I hate making people worry about me.”

Shane bumped their shoulders together. “Well that’s too damn bad, Steve. Because you don’t get to make that choice for other people.”

Steve out a shuddering breath. “It’s not even the fallout of people thinking I was grinding against him that bothers me the most.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked with a huff. “What is?”

“That I wanted to.” Steve buried his head in his hands. “I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hell even fuck him on that stage. But I knew that if I wavered for even a fucking second the backlash would be, oh so much worse.”

Shane looked at him for a moment. “No it wouldn’t.” Steve’s head whipped around to face him. “Steve...you hang off me and Simon all the time. You flirt with the audience. All the photo shoots of you are in sexy poses. Shit, man. You wouldn’t be doing anything different than a half a dozen heterosexual bands have done on stage.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. And Shane was right. A famous rockstar humped a massive blown up dick on stage and no one thought twice about that. At least none that weren’t going to be pearl clutching about it in the first place.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

“I think you should play up into more if I’m honest,” Shane huffed. “You’re out as bisexual. Play into the stereotype of being a slut. The people who know you, know you’re with Eddie and monogamous, but those people,” he pointed out of the trailer, “the ones that don’t matter? Soak up all that attention and feed on it.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread out over his face. Pictures started forming in his head. He thought about how his persona was already the opposite of him in real life. He thought about the thrill he got when he saw the photos of him online from the angle that made it look risque. He thought about how he wanted to play up into flirting with Eddie on stage.

“Can you get the rest of the band in here with Robin and Eddie and Vickie if you can get her too?”

Shane’s answering grin was all he needed to know. Shane got to his feet and within minutes everyone was huddled together in the trailer and Steve explained his idea.

Vickie smiled wickedly. “I think it’s a brilliant idea and if Eddie’s on board with it I’d be happy to lean into that.”

Eddie sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think what might make it easier so people don’t focus on me is if I get the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys in on it too. That way if Steve as Abbadon is seen flirting with the whole band it’ll come off as being a flirt and not that there’s something specific between Abbadon and I.”

“I like that,” Simon agreed. “Abbadon is already all over Astraeus and Asmodeus so flirting with Jeff and Brian as well as Eddie that would play up into the slut allegations.”

Steve laughed and then shared a knowing smile with Robin. Yep. Simon might be shy about most things but when it came to Steve... that was a whole other kettle of fish.

“We’ll do another duet tonight,” Eddie said, nodding. “Have Abbadon start Gareth’s lap or something.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Spence said, “but don’t lock us out next time. You’re there for us. It’s time you let us be there for you. Okay?”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “Yeah, okay.”

They all came up and gave Steve huge hugs before they piled out of the trailer again, leaving behind Shane and Eddie.

“Thanks for getting him to come out of his shell,” Eddie said to Shane. “I didn’t know what to say because it’s always been apart of my contract that I was out and loud.” He stood up and gave Steve a sweet kiss on the mouth before he, too, went back outside.

“You going to be okay, Steve?” Shane asked, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. Well futon technically, but semantics.

Steve looked up at his friend. “I worry about you, too.” Shane let out a an aborted laugh. “I know you’re frightened of being out, but I know you’ve been coming back from partying all hours of the night and sometimes day. Spence and Simon sleep like fucking logs and snore just like sawing them. But I hear you.”

Shane buried his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers down his face. “I’ll tell you what, twin. I’ll cut back on the partying, if accept our help. And not just some of the time. Come to us for help and I’ll keep the partying to a minimum.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Just take Spence out with you and we’ll call it a deal.”

He reached out his hand and shook it. “Deal.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[sassypossumm]

It Happened One Night: Tequila and Bourbon

(Part 1) (Part 2)

The alarm on your phone went off, shaking you out of a deep sleep. So, you flung it across the room.

Your head began pounding, and breathing seemed too loud. Groaning, you tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but the churning nausea rolling through your gut would not be ignored. Flinging the covers aside you staggered to your feet.

Funny, your slippers weren't where you'd left them. Before you could ponder that quandary further, your stomach roiled again, sending you running, or more likely dragging your half dead carcass to the bathroom. 

Lifting the toilet lid, you dropped to the ground and wretched into the bowl. And then again. Resting your cheek on the rim of the toilet bowl, you closed your eyes and hugged the porcelain like a lifeline. 

"I feel like an extra in the Walking Dead." You moaned to no one in particular. At that moment you didn't care if it wasn't 'socially acceptable to talk to yourself'. You felt like shit, and if you wanted to complain to yourself, by George, you jolly well would.

Again, your stomach churned, and you again wretched over the bowl. Your body was shaking at this point, and a few tears slid down your cheeks from the exertion. 

Unbeknownst to you, you hadn't been the only party in bed, and said party was just stirring awake. And suffice it to say, he didn't look much better than you.

Miguel rolled over, sprawling across the bed and raised his head when his fingers felt the warm spot that had clearly been occupied recently. With some effort, he pulled himself up and cradled his head in his hands. 

Usually, he could handle his alcohol, but not this morning. While his stomach wasn't roiling like yours, he did have a splitting headache, and the overwhelming need to take a piss. Peeling back the covers slowly, Miguel rolled out of the bed and stretched, moaning in relief when his back made an audible cracking sound. 

"Getting old, O'Hara." He muttered to himself, running a hand raggedly through his hair. Pulling on his t-shirt, Miguel shuffled to the bathroom, stretching out his arms and yawning loudly. He felt as shitty as you but considering that the last six months of his life had been one long shit fest, this had become the norm.

They hadn't called it retirement, when Jess and Peter had suggested he take a break. No, of course not. Just... a break. It was of little consequence to him, in his mind Miguel had been put out to pasture like so much cattle, and he resented it. So how did he express that resentment?

By scarfing down cold empanadas and watching whatever terrible Tela Novela was on television. Sometimes to mix things up, Lyla appeared sporadically with cheery little reminders that he had a back log of messages from Jess. Messages he was ignoring on purpose.  

Yawning yet again, Miguel stepped into the bathroom and dropped his boxers... only to be met with a piercing scream... which he returned with a startled cry of his own. 

The mating call of the idiots.

"You!" Both voices shouted in surprise. 

The events of the previous night... 

"You need to take a break man."

"What I'm hearing is that you're ousting me." Miguel had shot back.

"What? No!" Peter had tried to pat his shoulder, but Miguel was having none of it. Folding his arms, he glared at Peter and Jess.

"After everything I've done, I pulled this society together with my bare hands, not to mention I've kept the universes safe,"

"We've kept the spider verse safe. Miguel." Jess said pointedly, mirroring his stance, refusing to back down. "We took down Spot as a team, Miguel. We saved countless lives as a team. And you seem to have forgotten that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Miguel reeled back at her insinuations. Jess looked almost regretful as she glanced at Peter and back at him gravely.

It means you're not God, Miguel, and you need a break."

"You okay, man?" The bartender's words cut through his bitter recollections.  

"Why shouldn't I be, okay? I'm a free man." He bit out the last words and held the drink up to the light. "You try to be a good man, take care of everybody and what does it get you?" Narrowing his eyes, he downed the bourbon and placed the glass on the counter with a 'thud'. "Cucked. Apparently, it gets you cucked." The bar tender shook his head and left Miguel to his misery. 

If only you'd done the same. But like they say, misery loves company. 

"Mind if I sit here?" Without waiting for an answer, you plopped onto the stool next to Miguel, and took a sip of your tequila. 

"It's a free country." He muttered without looking at you. Shrugging you turned to flag down the bar tender. 

"Tequila, please, a whole bottle." He raised a brow at your still half full glass, and you gave him a tight smile. "Go big or go home, right?" The bar tender slowly returned your grin and reached behind the counter for a bottle. 

"Here you go." 

"Thank you, my good sir." Sliding a wad of bills, you'd won in a slot machine across the counter, you topped off your glass and glanced again at Miguel. "I see we seem to have the same mission tonight." 

"What?" He finally glanced at you, albeit through eyes that were growing glassy. You jutted your chin towards his half empty bottle of bourbon. 

"Getting swacked. Seems to be the theme of the night." Miguel shrugged and turned his attention back to his drink. "I've never actually gotten properly drunk before, figure," Shrugging, you take a drink straight from the bottle. "What the hay, break up with a shitty guy, might as well get wasted." You bit out the last words and took another swig.  

"Are you always this chatty when you drink?" He grumbled, turning again to glance at you and his eyes narrowed. "The shitty guy, he did that?" Miguel's voice took on a dangerous edge as he gestured to a deep purple bruise near your left eye. Humming, you shrugged nonchalantly and squinted to read the label on the bottle. 

"That's nothing, you should've seen the going away present I gave him." 

"What'd you do?" Miguel turned to face you, leaning against the bar, interest piqued. You chuckled darkly and took another swig. 

"Cuffed him in the jaw with a shovel." A twisted grin ghosted over your face before it fell, and you took another drink. "Hope he's not dead. The shit's not worth my time in prison." You grumbled. Alcohol made your tongue loose and lowered your inhibition, which was why you rarely drank. Miguel snorted and took another drink of his bourbon. Refilling the glass, he looked at you again, a healthy dose of respect in his eyes. 

Your eyes flit to the shot glass of tequila you'd abandoned. "Haste makes waste, or whatever it is they say." You muttered, downing the shot. By that point, you felt that warm hazy sensation overtaking your body, and whatever decision-making skills you possessed where swiftly being ignored in favor of instinct.

Taking note of the jukebox in the corner, your ears perked up as you recognized the song. Seven Spanish Angels. It'd been a favorite of your fathers. Miguel noticed the tears pricking at your eyes, and he raised a brow. 

"You, okay?" Wiping your nose with the back of your forearm, you shook your head and sniffed. 

"No. But who is, right?" He couldn't argue with that. "That is..." Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed hard. "Was my dad's favorite song." Miguel's eyes softened, and he topped off your shot glass with some of his bourbon. "Thanks." You smiled weakly at him. 

"Don't mention it." He said gruffly, refilling his own glass, emptying the bottle. You downed the shot and put the glass on the counter none too gently. "I'm not one to preach to the choir, but you might want to pace yourself." 

"I might not be Paul Bunyon, mister, but I can hold my liquor."  

"Paul Bunyon?" His lips quirked. "Am I supposed to know who that is?" You brushed off his snide tone and sighed heavily, gesticulating dramatically with your hand. 

"A giant lumber jack with a giant blue ox." 

"And I remind you of this, giant lumber jack?" Miguel said bemusedly, with a raised brow.  

"I'll bet you'd swing an ax, real pretty, mister." Giving him a sly once over, you leaned an elbow on the counter and propped your chin in your hand. Miguel felt a distinctive heat prickle across his neck, and he coughed.

That should've been the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. But with the subtle twang surfacing in your voice, and the almost hungry way you were staring at him, Miguel struggled to find it anything other than positively erotic.

"In case you were wondering," His breath stalled when you scooted closer and looked into his eyes with an exaggerated sense of gravitas. "I am objectifying you to a disgusting degree." A tingle slithered down his spine and curled around his tail bone, and he released a shuddering breath. 

Present Morning...

Getting your bearings, you dragged yourself to your feet and sat on the edge of the bathtub, head in your hands. 

"I have so many questions..." Glancing up you saw Miguel pacing, boxers still around his ankles. So, he wasn't so much pacing as he was waddling. There was so much to take in all at once, but you shook your head and shielded your eyes. Now isn't the time to be getting horny you idiot. You grumbled to yourself. "Please put that thing away."  

"Thing?" Miguel paused midstride and glanced down. Looking up, he noticed your attempts to block your vision and smirked. "You don't like what you see?" He said, propping his hands on his hips cockily, seemingly forgetting the circumstances at hand.  

"That's hardly the point right now!" You sputtered and groaned when a splitting pain shot through your skull. Miguel rolled his eyes and pulled up his boxers. 

"I'm not naked anymore." Tentatively you peeked between your fingers and dropped your hand, looking up at him. 

"You look like shit." The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Miguel smirked. 

"You're not exactly sleeping beauty yourself." You felt your face flush, but you couldn't argue. It didn't take a mirror for you to know how you must look. Your stomach roiled again, and you flung yourself over the toilet bowl and wretched.

Miguel held back your hair. You shuddered violently and pulled back, wiping away tears and filmy residue. Miguel's eyes softened at your vulnerable state, and he helped you gently to your feet. 

"Thanks." You rasped. Miguel's brows furrowed, and he seemed to be studying you. Tilting your head back, your expression mirrored his own. "What, hey!" You squeaked in surprise when he hoisted you up by the waist and sat you on the counter by the sink. Without a second glance at you, he turned on the water and rifled through the drawers for a wash cloth. "What are you doing?" You watched him, curiosity piqued.

"Your face is disgusting." He said simply, lathering up the wash cloth he'd found. 

"Gee, thanks a lump." You muttered, folding your arms. 

"You know what I mean." He sighed and squeezed the excess water out of the soapy cloth. You reached to take the cloth, but he pulled it back and narrowed his eyes at you. "What do you think you're doing?" You blinked at him, confusedly. 

"Wash my face?"  

"I'll do it." 

"I'm perfectly capable of washing my own," 

"I said, I'll do it." He cut off your protest firmly, tilting your face up. You opened your mouth to protest, but at his glower, you closed your mouth. Satisfied, Miguel gently washed your face with the cloth. Up close, you had a chance to admire anew just how good looking he was. No, good looking was an understatement.

This man was the stuff of Michaelangelo's wet dreams. Oh, to be a sculptor. You thought, wryly, tracking the subtle twitch of his eyebrow and the way the muscles ticked in his jaw as he focused. His eyes locked on yours, and you glanced away, flushing. 

"You weren't this shy last night." Miguels lips twitched, but his tone remained neutral. And for some reason, that made it all the hotter. Your eyes flit to his momentarily, and at the shit eating grin that spread across his face, you huffed. 

"Asshole." You grumbled, folding your arms. Miguel simply grunted, good naturedly and rinsed the rag before wiping the soap off your face. "I don't remember very much about last night." You admitted when he finally pulled back, giving you breathing room again. 

"And I seem to remember even less." He said, tossing the cloth in the hamper. 

"I guess we both got pretty swacked last night." You groaned, rubbing your temples thoughtfully. "I don't even think I caught your name." You breathed, looking up at him slowly, shame flushing your face. Miguel folded his arms and leaned against the bathroom wall. 

"Miguel O'Hara." Were you not actively fighting to tamp down a rising waive of panic, the subtle accent that rolled off his tongue with the words would've had goose bumps prickling your skin. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed heavily. 

"All things considered, you're taking this really well, Miguel O'Hara." You glanced up to catch his shrugging his shoulders. 

"As you so eloquently put it, we got 'swacked', is it? And it seems evident to me that we hooked up." You were taken aback by his cool demeanor. 

"Oh, is that so evident to you, Mister Smarty Pants?" Narrowing your eyes, you jumped off the counter, and immediately stumbled. Miguel reached out and caught you before you fell. 

"Mujercita espinosa." He grumbled, wrapping an arm supportively around your waist. 

"I don't think I want to know what you just called me." You groused as he slowly led you back into the bedroom and gingerly helped you perch on the edge of the bed. Fighting through another wave of nausea, you placed your head between your knees and groaned. "Just let me die." You moaned loudly. 

"You might really want to when I tell you where we are..." Miguel sounded genuinely concerned. 

"Oh, yeah, why's that?" Opening your eyes, you turned your head and saw Miguel standing tensely by the window. Feeling the blood pounding in your head, you slowly sat up. "Might as well tell me what other piss poor decision we made last night, where are we?" Miguel glanced at you warily. "Miguel... where are we?" Narrowing your eyes, your tone grew firmer.

He sighed and pulled the curtain further aside, looking again out the window. In the next tense moment of silence, your eyes fell on a sheet of paper sticking out from under the lamp on the nightstand and reached for it curiously. 

As you read the paper, your heart dropped. You didn't need him to tell you where you were. A marriage license. With the proud country of Mexico stamped at the top. 

"I think I'm going to be sick..." You struggled to breath, and dropping the paper to the bed, you curled in on yourself and began hyperventilating. Crossing the room, he started to reach for you, but froze when his eyes landed on the paper. 

"Mierda." He muttered under his breath, as he scanned the writing. He recognized his handwriting, and the accompanying signature he attributed to you. At least he had a name to go with your face now. 

And a wife to go along with it, cabrón."  He thought bitterly, dropping the paper on the nightstand. Tempted to give in to his familiar spiral of self-loathing, but paused when he looked down at you. You'd curled up like an armadillo and were shaking like a leaf.

His heart crumpled at the sight. He couldn't be selfish, you clearly needed him to be the stable one right now. Running a hand through his hair, he took a ragged breath and sat heavily next to you. 

"Hey." He rested a hand in the center of your back, causing you to tense. After several minutes of his soothing strokes up and down your back, you started to uncurl yourself. "You, okay?" He whispered gently when you finally sat up and crossed your legs. Breathing out a shaky laugh, you ran shaky fingers through your hair, and glanced at him with slightly wild eyes. 

"Not even a little bit." You said, shakily. Miguel could only nod, his own mind trying to wrap around the overload of information. Moaning, you flopped back on the bed again. "I'd always assumed I'd get married, but this is ridiculous!" Not that he didn't agree with you, but for some reason, his ego still stung at your caustic tone. 

"It's certainly not ideal." He said tentatively. You shot up and looked at him, eyes panicky. 

"Not ideal. Not ideal. He says!" Sensing you were going into another spiral, Miguel took your face in his hands, gently but firmly and turned your head. 

"Hey, look at me." The authority in his voice caught your attention, and you narrowed in on him, breath still rapid and shallow. Miguel leaned closer and looked intently into your eyes, his voice never wavering. "This is going to be okay."

You began sputtering, but he simply shifted a hand so he could place his thumb gently over your lips. Your eyes widened at the motion, and you glanced from his thumb back to his eyes. Had they been that startling russet hue last night? You couldn't remember. 

Just like you can't remember anything else, you dodo. You thought bitterly. You felt the rough pad of his thumb grazing softly over your bottom lip. The combinations of that sensation and his deep voice whispering your name, brought your thoughts to a screeching halt, and you couldn't do anything but stare at him. 

"Are you with me?" He said a bit louder, and said your name again, more pointedly. You nodded as best as you could with his hands keeping you so firmly in place. Taking a deep breath, he let his hands slacken a bit and you took a bracing breath.

He looked back into your eyes. "This is a shitty situation, and I've got a splitting headache, but it's going to be okay, I promise." Your heart stuttered at his firm tone, and searching his eyes, you found that you believed him. 

"I believe you." You choked out. His eyes widened, and you saw his pupils dilate and retract before he released your face and leaned back. Releasing a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding in, you studied this perfect stranger, this... husband, more intently.

Something about him made you want to believe him. Made you want to believe that if there was a monster in the closet, he'd vanquish it. Made you want to believe that he'd slay a dragon if it meant keeping you safe. 

Wishful thinking. You shook your head, clearing out the fanciful thoughts. He was just a man, like any other man. And men failed. You were certain, Miguel O'Hara wouldn't prove to be the exception. But, for some reason, on this one thing... you had no qualms about putting trust in him. When he said this would be okay, you knew it would. 

"What are we going to do?" You gave voice to the nagging question, flopping back on the bed. You bounced a little when Miguel's heavy back hit the mattress. After several minutes of silence, you turned your head and saw him staring intently at the ceiling.

"Miguel?" He hummed. "What are we going to do?" A muscle ticked in his jaw, and slowly, he turned his head to meet your eyes. 

"My lawyer is in Nueva York. We'll fly back, and he'll look over the license. He can tell us if it's legally binding or not." 

"And if it is?" You pressed, raising a brow. Miguel breathed out through his nose, and he shrugged. 

"Then, we'll cross that bridge when we reach it." 

@feyhunter78 (figured out how to tag!!!)

By the by, I AM open to suggestions about where we can take these two idiots in the future! Kinda wanna try to actually have some follow through and develop a full fledged plot for once!

[missmarveledsblog]

MISS MARVELLED'S MASTERLIST:

all my works here in one stop shop for oneshots .

top gun:

Jake hangman seresin :

FLUMPY (jake seresin x reader)

The dagger squad all were wondering who the mysterious figure was in one of the rooms in the base only to discover to bradley's explaining it was pete maverick Mitchell's  kid  with out seeing them fully before leaving jake makes a comment he will in future regret .  y/n doesn't let the man off light with the comment either . 

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

one shots :

come soon

BRADLEY ROOSTER BRADSHAW

IF SHE WHERE MINE :

when  rooster finds reader stupid boyfriend cheating he doesn't mind telling him exactly how stupid  he is for hurting  a woman like that  , a woman he dreams of

Now she's mine :

sequel to if she were mine  where  rooster shows y/n how much she really loves her in the best way possible . 

THE LAST OF US :

joel miller:

call me cupid

when Ellie notices  the longing looks joel  gives  the woman in the canteen who does the same when joel isn't looking  she take it as her sole mission to set them up and even has a helper in her endeavours 

part one part two part three

sweetpea :

when failing to live it in new york  sweet pea goes home only to meet two new faces at her families barbeque that leads to new job and new friends and maybe more 

part one

It's a start:

when joel is settling into life in jackson there's one thing that has his attention , a woman of the name Y/N . The loner who barely spoke to anyone other than his brother til joel and y/n are sent to find supplies he soon finds out the reason why the girls quiet as he tries to break down the walls she built so long .

part one part two part three part four

i'll show you different :

y/n ( peach ) is learning to be free , learning to be her own woman again. Since life wasn't so easy for girl she ran from one monster into hands of another now back in her hometown back with her grandfather she learns being free is lot harder than she thought but lucky for her there's a couple of brothers help her along the way .

part one part two part three part four part five

SUPERNATURAL :

DEAN WINCHESTER :

IDIOTS :

when reader becomes the victim of a entity Dean is forced to admit feeling that he thought he could keep away in fear of being hurt .

CASTIEL:

A KIND OF SEX EDUCATION :

when a certain angel gets curious on certain matters

part one

part two part three

sam winchester

Spellbinding

sam being completely in love with reader who happens to be his best friend while on a hunt she is hit with a curse making her needy clingy mess while sam was loving the closeness it was only temporary right?

AVENGERS :

tony stark :

some one older :

when boys your age just don't do it for you but someone older does  .

part one

part two

PUNISHER , DAREDEVIL :

frank castle

angelverse :

angel :

When frank meets Matt murdock's sister , he become intrigued more and more as he's around the  so called angel of hell's kitchen ( How they met)  

angel night :

Frank comes home to thinking his angel is in danger only to realise that she has had a nightmare . he makes sure to comfort his girl . this like part of what i will be calling the angel verse  of our beloved bad ass punisher and his equally bad ass sarcastic ball of sunshine that is y/n " angel" murdock . 

bucky barnes :

the one :

just the grumpy teddy bear bucky pinning after thor sister that's been there through everything  

stranger things :

steve harrington :

The babysitting trap :

when always being the babysitter has it's perks for once.   except their friends had plans for the two

part one

part two *

Eddie munson :

Before he cheats :

Y/N hopper is out with the gang celebrating at the hideout when her boyfriend walks in with a blonde on his arm and she goes for where it hurts ... his car while eddie help the woman he secretly loves get over her new ex .

Lead me to you :

everyone thought they were dead but what happens when a ghost from the past brings hawkins metal head back from the so called dead and how will their friendship stands three years after dealing with feeling of the future and the nightmares of the past .

Part one

part two

the walking dead :

Daryl Dixon:

WORTHY :

daryl is head over  heel  , down bad for y/n  but he find that he's unworthy so he's spent years not telling her how he felt and yet is blind to the woman's love for him yet she scared thinking he wont til their friends have enough and try get the two to an overdue confession 

THE BOYS :

BILLY BUTCHER :

You're not wrong but don't mean it ain't right :

He didn't know it could happen not since becca died he never thought his heart could beat for another but instead of letting his heart win , he does everything in his power to push the woman away til he goes too far.

part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight

X-MEN :

Logan howlett ( wolverine) :

odd one out :

logan's adjusting to new life , new friends only thing he can't put his finger on is wade's friend Y/n , he knows she hiding something and he right but he is so wrong too

Not just a flower child huh? :

the xmen are sent to rescue mutants in a lab , only find an unconscious young woman and couple of kids , when they bring her back to the mansion she is recognised by one of the residents . She awakes and finds out she and kids been saved wondering if it was all too good to be true ?

part one part two

part three part four part five part six

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun. 

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day. 

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you. 

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain. 

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?” 

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are. 

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp. 

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher. 

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek. 

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face. 

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it? 

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?” 

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.” 

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay. 

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you. 

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response. 

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening. 

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence. 

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day. 

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you. 

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying. 

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin. 

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges. 

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time. 

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back. 

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough. 

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound. 

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns. 

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements. 

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command. 

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight. 

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep. 

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down. 

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable. 

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

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(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

[foxes-that-run]

loml

The title of this song refers to both love of my life and loss of my life. Harry's only track 13 is Love of My Life. Like Harry's LOML, loml is a song about letting a long held love go. Both are regretful of love lost but neither over it. As a song about a long museship the references to both Taylor and Harry's work is dense, so this post is long. A shorter TLDNR is here. The nature of the relationship Taylor is describing is one that should have a lot of references, and it does. Each chorus refers to a different song where Harry professed love.

The initial Spotify Canvas was of Taylor in a sweater looking emotional. After Fortnight was released it was replaced with Taylor and Post inside the Style-head reading Story of Us on the road. Taylor played loml once as a surprise song on piano in Paris, with Paris in the first show after their release on 9 May 2024.

Lyrics

[Verse 1] Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames If we know the steps anyway? We embroidered the memories of the time I was away Stitching, “We were just kids, babe”

The first verse establishes that Taylor is singing to an old muse at the end of a breakup, or false start. She refers to them being together in their youth, of wistful memories and that the love is irreplaceable. It is full of references:

Waltzing back into rekindled flames, Taylor refers to dance as a kind of subconscious action in several songs, this reminds me most closely of 'Dancing around it' in High Infidelity and 'Dancing is a dangerous thing' in Cowboy Like Me - where the dance is also tempting a romantic relationship, they know the steps - as in they have fallen into this before.

Embroidering memories touches on the Haylor theme of stitches. 'Away is in a lot of Taylor's songs. 'Taylor' embroiders in EHC and LK posted about embroidery after TTPD

'While I was away' reminds me of AYHTS "People like you always want back the love they gave away" and Midnight Ran's "the life I gave away" - a similar idea that she was absent.

Stitching 'We were just kids babe' is a reference to Patti Smith's Biography 'Just Kids' which is her memories about her time with fellow artist Robert Mapplethorpe who died of Aids. Taylor also refers to this time in Patti Smith's life in TTPD. Patti thanked Taylor for the callout with posting a photo of her reading Dylan Thomas' biography. This line establishes this muse is a fellow young artist who Taylor had an important relationship with when they were young. Taylor & Harry have likened themselves to famous couples

I said, “I don’t mind, it takes time” I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed I felt aglow like this Never before and never since

'I don't mind, it takes time', this idea is referred to in Peter also and other Haylor songs:

Run: Piece of paper where I wrote, “I’ll wait for you”

How You Get The Girl: I would wait forever and ever

“Slut!”: Everyone wants him, that was my crime, the wrong place at the right time

Say Don’t Go: The waiting is a sadness fading into madness

"I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed" - the prologue describes three muses, as does the Fortnight MV. One has celestial imagery that links to Satellite, such as stars, comets, orbit, planet and whole sky. Starry-eyed is in a few songs including:

CIWYW - Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

Cowboy like me - Eyes full of stars

High Infidelity - Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eye

Better safe than starry eyed also reminds me of "How dare you think it's romantic / Leaving me safe and stranded" in Down Bad that refers to New Romantics "Please leave me stranded"

'Never felt aglow like this', 'never before and never since' is a glowing irreplaceable connection. Taylor described similar in:

This Love - This love is glowing in the dark

Question...? - Does it feel like everything's just like second best after that meteor strike?

[Chorus 1] If you know it in one glimpse, it’s legendary You and I go from one kiss to getting married Still alivе, killing time at the cemеtery Never quite buried

I knew from one glimpse, it was legendary, we go from one kiss to getting married is a reference to Holy Ground:

“Back to a first glance feeling on New York time/ Back when you fit my poems like a perfect rhyme/ Took off faster than a green light, go : Yeah, you skip the conversation when you already know”

A similar line is also in Glitch - "Five seconds later, I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch"

‘Still alive at the cemetery’ is similar to The 1: “In my defense, I have none / For digging up the grave another time” which in turn is a reference to the OOTW/LAWYMMD music video link where Taylor from the end of 1989 is Taylor at the start of the next video.

In your suit and tie, in the nick of time

‘In your suit and tie’ is dressed for a wedding. Arriving ‘in nick of time’ is the muse interrupting a wedding saying “don’t do this there’s still time!” Which Taylor said of Harry, when describing the muse of Style and 1989 Taylor said she expected this. Here she is saying she was fooling herself.

You low-down boy, you stand-up guy You Holy Ghost, you told me I’m the love of your life You said I’m the love of your life About a million times

“Low down boy; you stand up guy” is a person who has been in Taylor’s life since they were a boy (with a dirty mouth) who has grown to be a stand up guy. They are now grown but not with her.

Taylor then refers to Harry’s music, Holy Ghost refers to Two Ghosts and refers to Love of My Life by name. In which Harry says it 5 times, he’s performed it 102 times to around 700k fans, so yeah, a lot. Note it's “said” not “told me”.

[Verse 2] Who’s gonna tell me the truth when you blew in with the winds of fate And told me I reformed you? When your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes

Taylor refers to truth often, but usually her telling or seeing a truth, But in the Alcott the muse tells her the truth and she says she she has fallen back in love with the muse. I imagine in Taylors life many do not tell the truth, but this muse can and does. Here Taylor asks if they will still tell the truth if they are together.

The muse told Taylor she reformed them. Harry says this in Stockholm Syndrome, that he "used to sing about being free but now he has changed his mind". On 13 May 2023 Harry added Stockholm Syndrome to the HSLOT set for the last 18 shows. A song he he wrote for Taylor when they were dating and had not performed since 2018.

The impressionist paintings may refer to the Two Ghosts music video, which was or became tour screens. (Thank you @notoriousbeb) The reference to fakes is where an overture of love did not come through.

Well, you took me to hell too And all at once, the ink bleeds A con man sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme But I’ve felt a hole like this Never before and ever since

The second half of this verse links back to past writing to each other

'And all at once, the ink bleeds' I LOVE this line so much. It has a double meaning, the ink bleeds as Taylor writes music inspired by a museship that has featured in so much of her work. The ink bleeds like emotion bleeds as the bleeding love theme.

"A conman sells a fool a get love quick scheme" this line is dense:

In Why She Disappeared, the poem played before Getaway Car in the Reputation Stadium Tour included "Wary of phone calls and promises, Charmers, dandies and get-love-quick-schemes"

Harry and Taylor have referred to each other as robbers, thieves, cowboys and now a conman see thief theme

Harry and Taylor have both referred to themselves as a fool many times for being stuck on each other.

Never felt a hole like this before or since is crushing, it reminds me of Questions...?'s "Does it feel like everything's just like second-best after that Meteor strike?"

[Chorus 2] If you know it in one glimpse, it’s legendary What we thought was for all time was momentary Still alive, killing time at the cemetery Never quite buried You cinephile in black and white All those plot twists and dynamite Mr. Steal Your Girl, then make her cry You said I’m the love of your life

In the second chorus Taylor again refers to songs by Harry, but changes which ones:

Mr Steal Your Girl refers to One Directions Steal My Girl.

B&W Cinephile may refer to when Harry kept his Instagram B&W for 2 years from when 1989 was released with the line 'the rest of the world was in screaming color' it may also refer to the Treat People With Kindness music video in B&W and widescreen. Harry is also a cinephile, both in being a fan of cinema and appearing in more recent films than her actor partner at the time.

[Bridge] You shit-talked me under the table Talking rings and talking cradles I wish I could un-recall How we almost had it all Dancing phantoms on the terrace Are they second-hand embarrassed That I can’t get out of bed ‘Cause something counterfeit’s dead? It was legendary It was momentary It was unnecessary Should’ve let it stay buried

Taylor acts this lyric out in fortnight in the eras tour.

Shit-talking can mean either disparaging remarks or saying something untrue and going on about it. Talking, (or drinking) someone under the table is doing so in excess. So I take this first line 'shit-talked me under the table' to mean the muse went on saying untrue things for ages, in the context of the rest of the verse I think that is making statements of love they were not yet willing to follow through on.

Taylor sees they were so close, a similar line is in TTPD there is a similar line of 'litany of reasons we could have played for keeps this time' Taylors muse has professed love and that they are endgame but not followed through.

In the Only Angel Demo Harry sang "I must admit I married you a thousand times. Had to change my tune when I found out what it'd be like."

Counterfeit is also in Glitch "It must be counterfeit, I think there's been a glitch"

The shit-talk is rings and cradles, in a time that Taylor was disappointed a long term relationship ended another long term muse flirted with settling down but did not. Harry wore the Peace Ring and Haylor ring for years, they seemed as possible promise rings which these lines remind me of. As do songs of both which may refer to the other. The Haylor ring is featured in merchandise for TTPD and Taylor wears it in the Fortnight Music Video so it is likely this ring.

[Final Chorus] Oh, what a valiant roar What a bland goodbye The coward claimed he was a lion I’m combing through the braids of lies “I’ll never leave,” “Never mind” Our field of dreams engulfed in fire Your arson’s match, your somber eyes And I’ll still see it until I die You’re the loss of my life

The final chorus reads as a bitter disappointment of Taylors muse has meekly said they will not be with her.

Stockholm Syndrome - which Harry readded to his setlist 13 March 2023 (gone since 2018) has the line "Baby, I'll never leave if you keep holding me this way, oh o-oh" Here Taylor has compared it to what looks like a goodbye statement from someone who doesn't want to talk about it.

It is the loss of Taylor's life, one she felt at the time of writing this song was not one she would get over.

Valiant Roar

The 'valiant roar' is likely a reference to Harry's Gucci Lion ring which he has worn since 2018 and briefly lost in April 2022 at Coachella. It attracted a lot of attention until it's return when it was learned it has an inscription of 'second time's the charm'. Taylor also wore a Gucci Lion ring at Electric Lady Studios on 12 April 2023 (before heading to Florida). At that time the 1975 were in Australia and Harry was in the US after a golf tournament in Augusta. This line also reminds me of this scene in DWD which OW described as a 'primal roar' to Rolling Stone in 2022.

[tryingtodotheright-thing]

Hello, Sunset - 1

AN: So, the inspiration randomly came to me. I've never written with an unnamed character before and I haven't written fanfic since 2017. Bear with me and I appreciate all feedback. Not sure how long this is going to be but it will be multi-part.

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

Genre: exes to lovers, idol verse, angst

Word Count: 1733

Warnings: reader has anxiety and depression, swearing

NEXT

Summer was coming to an end. This week was the season’s last gift; it was unusually warm, endless blue skies that you saw in paintings and sunsets that seemed to last all evening. Y/N had chosen to make the most of it, knowing this was her last moment to enjoy a little break in nature before life got busy again. She was always regretful when it got to the end of summer, wishing she’d spent more time outdoors, made the most of the good weather and just lived life a bit more fervently as she once used to. She didn’t quite know how to relax anymore. Even now, as she walked along the streets of London, she couldn’t quite slow down to a leisurely pace to admire the eclectic collection of shops that graced this particular street, hidden behind the famous streets of St James’s. Y/N called it being a Londoner, that you walked with purpose, always in a race to get to your next destination. Who had time to admire their surroundings when you had places to be? You definitely didn’t want to look like a tourist. 

Y/N had arrived early, one for the books since there were train strikes this weekend and she’d had to get a taxi to Wimbledon so she could take the District Line. She now had 30 minutes to waste before she could head to the restaurant, knowing that her perpetually late best friend wouldn’t arrive till at least 15 minutes after the reservation time. The sun was burning this afternoon and she knew that continuing to walk around without finding a spot of shade would just make things worse. She was parched and she’d forgotten to grab the bottle of water she’d prepared in her rush to check her doors were locked as the taxi waited for her. There was no choice but to fork up a fiver for a very expensive bottle of water in order to survive the heat. Making a swift decision, she turned around to head back to the main road. Walking briskly to escape the glares of the blazing star at its peak, she swiftly walked into Itsu. The air-conditioning inside the store gave her instant relief and she basked in it as she selected a bottle of water. After paying at the self-checkout till, she immediately opened the bottle to take a big gulp of the cold drink. Her thirst satisfied, Y/N walked out of the store and back into the heat of the summer. 

As she walked back towards the restaurant, Y/N tried to slow her steps, observing those around her. It was the summer bank holiday weekend, so it was the last hooray for many of the working population in the UK. There was a mix of tourists and locals: parents with their little ones for a family day out, young couples walking with their fingers intertwined  and rowdy teenagers in denial of schools restarting the next week. Time passed so quickly. She could remember being a teenager like it was yesterday but here she was in her last year of 20s, so different from her younger self when she was at the cusp of adulthood. So much had happened, so much had changed and yet sometimes she still felt a little like the insecure young woman who didn’t quite know where she fit in the vast world. Whoever said that with age comes wisdom was telling the biggest lie on earth. 

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N had arrived at the Japanese restaurant she was set to have her lunch at. The hostess greeted her and took her down the stairs and to the private room reserved. She looked around as she took her handbag off her shoulder and settled into her seat. The room was big enough to seat six people but it would be just Y/N and her friend, Rachel. She’d been at the restaurant exactly two years ago. That time, she’d been seated in the general restaurant then when Rachel had taken her out to celebrate Y/N’s new job. Y/N was no longer working at that company. In fact, Y/N had left the corporate world 15 months ago after suddenly landing in the spotlight. Speaking of said spotlight, the hostess had returned with chilled still water. She poured some water for Y/N before placing the bottle on a coaster. She hesitated to leave after Y/N thanked, struggling to decide whether to verbalise her thoughts or not. Taking a deep breath, she brought forward a framed picture. 

“Sorry to ask but would you mind please signing this picture? We’d love to display this in the restaurant.”

Y/N smiled and reached for the pen and frame, quickly writing out a message and a signature that still seemed unfamiliar to her. Returning the items back to the hostess, Y/N reassured the hostess it was no problem and posed for a photo too. Picture taken, the hostess thanked her again profusely before closing the door behind her, leaving Y/N to silence. 

Y/N sat back down in her chair and took her phone to check whether she had any messages from Rachel. Sure enough, there were three unread messages from Rachel. Yan Ya, called by all but her parents and grandparents as Rachel, was running late to no one’s surprise. Rachel was beautiful and graceful as her parents had hoped when they named her but her trouble with punctuality was a running joke between everyone who knew and loved her. 

After texting Rachel back to reassure her that she’d only just arrived, Y/N scrolled through the other notifications on her phone, mostly notifications from her public Instagram account that she swiped to ignore. She came across a message from her manager that she had received about an hour ago, asking Y/N to call her. Y/N was immediately nervous about what Sian would have to say. The urgency and the cryptic instruction with no context also didn’t help. Biting the bullet, Y/N pressed the call button at the top of the screen. Sian picked up on the second ring and immediately said, “Are you alone?”

The nerves that filled her stomach had now tripled and she could almost hear the padams of her heart go faster. 

“Yes, I’m in a private room at Ginza. What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen Twitter today? You’re trending right now.” Y/N could trace the panic hidden in Sian’s voice. “Dispatch posted a picture of you with him.”

Suddenly, Y/N could barely hear Sian as she continued talking. Her breaths were louder and she felt her anxiety soar as her throat dried up. 

“I can’t tell when it was taken but it’s so obviously the two of you. HYBE has put out a statement already denying a relationship and saying it was just two friends meeting for a meal. But Dispatch has made another post saying they have more pictures to prove that you’re in a relationship.”

Y/N took the glass of water the hostess had kindly poured for her earlier and took a sip, her hand clutching the cold glass and trying to focus on the condensation that surrounded the glass and counting in her head as she took a deep breath.

“Y/N, we need to put out a statement before HYBE to steer the narrative and protect you. You need to cancel whatever plans you have and head to my office. I’m ordering a car to pick you up from Ginza. It should be there in 5 minutes.”

Receiving no reply, Sian called out, “Y/N, are you there? Y/N?”

“Hmmm?”

Hearing the rushed breath and the breaking voice, Sian immediately softened her voice. “Honey, we can get this under control. It won’t be bad like last time. Okay? Trust in me and the company to protect you.”

“I don’t want things to get worse!” 

“It won’t, I promise. I’ve got you, okay? Take a deep breath for me, hun. That’s it. It’ll all be fine. We just need a plan, okay?”

Y/N meekly responded, nodding to no one as she tried to hold the tears back. The door behind her opened without a warning. Y/N flipped to find Rachel behind her with a bouquet of pink peonies. Rachel’s smile and cheery greeting grew to a stop as she noticed the crushed expression on Y/N’s face and the frazzled greetings from Sian as she tried to catch her attention again. Rushing into the room, Rachel wrapped one arm around Y/N and took Y/N’s phone from her tight clasp. 

“Sian, it’s Rachel. I'm with Y/N. What’s going on?”

“Oh, thank God! Rachel, there isn’t much time to explain. There’s a car outside Ginza waiting; it’ll take you to my office. I’ll explain everything once you get here. Look after Y/N and make sure no one sees her or definitely no pictures in the state she’s in. I’ll call the restaurant right now to settle the bill.”

Rachel, understanding the urgency of the situation, ended the call with Sian and quickly gathered their belongings. Making sure she’d taken everything, she turned to Y/N, who was still in shock. 

Rachel brushed Y/N’s hair away from her face and grasped her face to look at Rachel. 

“Hey, whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. Where’s my strong, independent and resilient Y/N?” 

“I don’t feel like any of those words right now.”

“No no no! We don’t do low confidence in this friendship when I know how amazing my friend is.” Y/N let out a shaken breath that was a mixture of laughter and tears.

Rachel quickly dabbed away the tears that fell and said, “Keep calm and carry on, as Mr Parry would say right?” 

This time, Y/N smiled hearing the favourite saying of her old biology teacher. Feeling better, she rubbed her hands on her skirt and stood up. 

“Right. Okay, let’s go.”

“That’s my girl!” Rachel cheered and looped her arm through Y/N’s. Pausing before the door, she turned to her left to look at her shorter friend and said, “And fuck anybody that tried to mess with you, especially one S.Coups!” 

With that said, Rachel opened the door and led the way out of the restaurant. 

[ink-stains-and-constellations]

I usually write and post Undertale fanfiction on a different account, but I kept seeing those time-travel The Hobbit fics and I really liked the premise, so I wrote a small bit of one. I have no idea what else to do with it, soooooo here have the random fic I wrote at like 1 AM.

(Quick disclaimer, I'm not actually super well-versed in Middle-Earth lore. I've read and loved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but I haven't gotten around to reading The Silmarillion or anything yet. I probably got some stuff wrong in terms of lore, so sorry about that. This was written for fun and I'm not planning on making it into a longer fic, but I thought I'd share it because why not.)

Bilbo was dead.

He knew he was dead. He had died in the Undying Lands, finally succumbing to the age of his body, surrounded by Frodo and Gandalf and the elves as he drifted off into his very last adventure. He had lived a long life. A good life. One with regrets, of course, but also one with much joy and love.

Hobbit-lore had never said much about their afterlife - not like the lore of elves, dwarves, or even men - but Bilbo had always supposed it would be something like this, the comfort of home. For he had found himself back in his hobbit-hole, back in Bag-End, seated at his table with a lovely-looking tea spread out before him.

His aches, his weariness, were gone. His joints and back moved easily, without any pain to speak of. His eyesight was perfectly clear. Even his bald patches had vanished, his head and feet covered once again in thick bushes of curly hair.

"Why, I don't feel a day over fifty," he marvelled under his breath, grinning a little.

Leaving his food on the table, he explored his home, running his fingers along the backs of chairs and rifling through drawers. Most things were exactly as he remembered it - better, even for he had not seen his silver spoons for decades, yet there they were, sitting neatly with the rest of his cutlery. The only objects unaccounted for were the things from his adventure; Sting, the coat of mithril, the chests of gold and silver, and the ring (he caught himself a moment before thinking 'his ring'). But he had given Sting and the coat to Frodo anyway, the ring had been destroyed, and he didn't suppose he would need gold or silver in the afterlife, so he paid it no mind.

He had just sat back down to his tea when the doorbell rang. He was not expecting visitors, of course, as he had only just gotten to this hobbitish afterlife, but he was not nearly as fussy about that sort of thing as he had once been, so he got to his feet and went to greet his guest.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a dwarf, and it most certainly hadn't been a very familiar dwarf with a long beard and a dark green hood, worn and stained from travel, his bright eyes glittering from beneath its hem.

The dwarf hopped inside as soon as the door was open, hanging his hooded cloak on one of the pegs, then sweeping into a low bow. "Dwalin at your service!"

Bilbo was frozen, one hand still on the polished brass doorknob, staring at his old friend, who now looked decades younger and was wearing the same clothes he had been the first time they had met.

"Dwalin?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" Even if the dwarf was dead too, he surely wouldn't be here, wherever here was.

Dwalin frowned slightly. "I am here for the meeting, of course."

"Meeting?" he echoed, mystified.

"Yes, the meeting." Dwalin gave him an odd look, as if he should have already known. "And, er, whose service do I have the pleasure of being at?"

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"Your name," Dwalin elaborated.

After a moment of mutually puzzled silence, Bilbo took a closer look at Dwalin. The clothes. The appearance. The expression, politely confused. Asking for his name.

I don't feel a day over fifty.

He swallowed. "I - Bilbo." Slowly, he bowed. "Mister Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He straightened, gesturing to the hall behind him. "I, uh - I just set out tea. Please, help yourself."

Dwalin nodded, bustling off down the hall. Bilbo did not follow him, but sat down on the ornamental chair by all the hooks and put his head in his hands. This... wasn't possible, was it? He couldn't be back then. He had died, for goodness' sake.

Before he could get very far with his thoughts, the bell rang again. He sprang up, nearly wrenching the door open to reveal an old, red-hooded dwarf, who immediately hopped inside.

"I see they have begun to arrive already," he noted as he hung his hood next to Dwalin's. He then bowed, giving Bilbo an entirely unnecessary introduction.

"Balin, at your service!"

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo replied, bowing in return. "Dwalin is inside - please, go join him, I'll bring out more tea. Unless you would prefer a little beer?" he added, remembering his old friend's preferences.

Balin smiled. "Yes, and some seed-cake, if you have any."

"Yes, lots."

Balin set off down the hall to join his brother, and Bilbo went to the pantry to collect the beer and seed-cakes.

Well, that settles it, he thought, a tad grimly. I am back at the very beginning of it all. He wasn't entirely enthusiastic about the prospect, given that he knew what lay ahead, but he resolved to do his very best with this second chance. To make their journey better with his knowledge. Maybe he could even save...

He shook his head and quickly delivered Balin's food and drink, right before the bell rang a third time and he had to rush back to the door.

It was Fili and Kili this time, and Bilbo's heart started aching when he saw them, young and whole and alive, their yellow beards clean of blood and grime, their eyes sparkling and clear.

"Kili at your service!"

"And Fili!"

He took their hoods and bags, setting them carefully to the side, and bowed back, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug. Somehow, he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's."

"Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili cheerfully. "Let us join the throng!"

Bilbo nodded and stepped aside to let them pass. He very firmly set aside his grief, his questions, his racing thoughts, and fixed his mind on the task at hand - namely, preparing enough food, drink, and chairs to host a company of fifteen.

While the four dwarves settled in and got to talking, he hurriedly set out more places at the table, then started raiding his pantry, bringing out everything from the wine to the cheese wheels. Halfway through, the bell rang again, and he practically sprinted to the door - in fact, he got there fast enough that Gloin had only just come puffing up to the doorstep.

Introductions were short, and the five newcomers soon joined the others at the table while Bilbo went back to emptying his pantries before they could do it themselves.

He had almost finished when a loud rapping echoed down the hall, the knock of wood against wood. Bilbo sighed heavily, thinking mournfully of the dent in his nice green door that he had never quite gotten around to fixing, and, whisking one last plate of food onto the table, set off to let his guests inside for the fifth and final time that night.

He made sure to open the door very slowly and carefully, so as not to repeat his mistake from all those years ago and end up with a pile of dwarves on his doormat. This time, all four of them hopped inside without incident, and Gandalf ducked through the doorway a moment later.

"Hello, Bilbo," he greeted with a smile. "I hope you do not mind terribly that I brought guests to our tea."

Bilbo sighed again, casting a glance in the direction of his depleted pantries. "Not at all, Gandalf."

"Excellent!" The wizard clapped his hands. "Now, allow me to introduce you to Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!"

There were the usual bows and "At your service"s from Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, and none at all from Thorin, not that Bilbo had expected any. He gave all four of them a deep bow in return.

"Bilbo Baggins." He glanced up, meeting Thorin's proud gaze and ignoring the pang of grief, an old, old pain that had never really gone away. "At your service."

Thorin merely turned to toss his sky-blue, silver-tasselled hood onto a hook beside the others.

"Now we are all here!" declared Gandalf, hanging his hat at the end of the row of hoods. "Quite a merry gathering. I hope there is something left for the latecomers to eat and drink!"

"Yes, there's plenty," replied Bilbo, gesturing for the group to follow him down the hall.

Gandalf fell into step beside him, peering curiously down at him. He opened his mouth to ask something, but Bilbo quickly interrupted.

"Be careful of the -"

Thunk.

"Rafters," Bilbo finished with yet another sigh, watching Gandalf rub his head.

"A little low, these ceilings," the wizard commented, grimacing.

"Or maybe you're just a little tall!" called a grinning Fili from the dining room. "We seem to be managing just fine."

"Impertinent dwarf," Gandalf grumbled, hunched over to keep from hitting his head again.

Bilbo darted ahead to pull out a chair for Thorin, the grandest chair he could find in his little hobbit-hole. Thorin paused for a moment, then slowly sank into it, nodding his thanks. Bilbo gave him a quick smile and took his own place at the table, which he had made sure to include this time, as he didn't want to miss out on all the food again.

He wasn't much for conversation, as he didn't want to slip up and reveal all the things he knew, but he didn't bother asking if they would stay for supper after the meal was finished. Already knowing the answer, he just made to collect the plates, and didn't protest when the dwarves sprang up to clear them away instead.

The dishes were soon cleaned and put away, and the dwarves came back to find Bilbo watching Thorin and Gandalf blow smoke-rings around the room.

"Now for some music!" Thorin declared as his company filed into the room, snuffing out his pipe and setting it aside. "Bring out the instruments!"

There was a rush for instruments just as Bilbo remembered, and he sat back in his chair to listen to the dwarves' music. It was enthralling as it had been the first time, and he felt as though he was indeed fifty all over again and feeling a great desire for adventure. He found himself humming quietly along to the familiar tune.

It eventually stopped, of course, once dark had fallen, and Thorin stood to begin his speech.

"Gandalf, dwarves, and Mister Baggins! We are met together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit - may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!"

The ache in Bilbo's heart increased upon hearing his friend's typically long-winded beginning, and he barely managed to reply, "You are very kind." His voice came out with a funny choked quality to it, as if he was about to cry. Which was, of course, absurd, he thought as he blinked furiously against his burning eyes.

Thorin stopped, staring at Bilbo, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo quickly shook his head, scrubbing away the tears that were leaking down his cheeks. "Nothing at all, Thorin," he whispered, unable to help the familiarity that slipped out with his friend's first name. "And, uh -" He cleared his throat, speaking a little louder. "Please, call me Bilbo, all of you. It seems appropriate if we're to - uh, work together."

Slowly, Thorin nodded, although he did not continue with his speech. He just... stared at Bilbo, a puzzled divot between his heavy brows, until Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, worried that he had made a mistake.

"Tell me, Mister Baggi - Bilbo," said Thorin suddenly. "Do you have much experience in the matter of burglary?"

Bilbo felt his lips twist into a humourless smile as images flashed in his mind. A golden cup. A large gemstone that could be called white, if you ascribed the same colour to the stars themselves. Before that, a set of keys, countless morsels of food, even the very dwarves who now sat in his dining room. All done while invisible, of course, but perhaps this time he could be a burglar before he found the ring as well as afterwards. (He was a little reluctant to take possession of the ring again now that he knew what it was, but he also knew that it had been an invaluable asset on their journey, and besides if he hadn't found it, it wouldn't have been destroyed, so he resolved to pick it up again as he had before.)

"Yes. Quite a bit, in fact."

A murmur of surprise went around the room. Even Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised, although he stayed silent, still puffing on his pipe.

"How about travel?" Thorin asked, evidently set on grilling him now. "Fighting? Sword or axe, what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo sighed yet again. "I'm rather skilled at darts, if you must know, and I quite enjoy a good hike now and then," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm that he never would have dared back at the beginning, but he was rather used to being treated with the indulgence afforded to eccentric elderly folk, so he didn't think much of it at all until Thorin snorted and he realised that the dwarf had taken his words seriously.

Another outbreak of muttering spread throughout the room, and amidst all the questions about his sincerity, he caught the fated words, murmured by Gloin to Oin.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

Bilbo's teeth gritted, and he addressed Thorin again, discarding the sarcasm this time. "In all seriousness, I favour a sword, although seeing how I am not currently in possession of one, the question seems moot."

Thorin looked him up and down, as if trying and failing to imagine him using a sword. "I see."

Electing to ignore the dwarves' doubt, Bilbo stood, heading towards the hallway. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I am going to -" His toes snagged on something, perhaps a hole in the carpet, and he stumbled, a hand darting out to steady himself upon Gandalf, who happened to be the nearest solid object.

"Oh, terribly sorry, Gandalf," apologised Bilbo, looking quite a bit less flustered than one might expect. "As I was saying, I am going to fetch a light. I will return in a moment."

"Excellent idea," replied Gandalf, peering down at Bilbo. The dwarves may not have found his stumble suspicious, but the wizard was well aware of the surefootedness of hobbits and suspected Bilbo to be up to something, which, of course, he was.

At fifty, Bilbo Baggins had been polite to a fault and wholly inexperienced in theft. However, having lived over a hundred and thirty years before his death, he now considered himself a fairly seasoned burglar and quite disliked being doubted or mocked. So when he saw the opportunity to prove himself, he took it, and by the time he returned with a lamp, Gandalf was rifling through his pockets in search of a map he was certain he had had on his person.

Bilbo placed the lamp on the table and tilted his head curiously at the wizard, struggling to conceal a grin. "Is there something wrong, Gandalf?"

Gandalf's shrewd eyes snapped to him, and he gazed intently for a moment or two before explaining, "I seem to have lost a rather important map. You wouldn't happen to have any idea of its whereabouts, would you?"

"Not the foggiest clue," Bilbo replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Oh - wait, what is this?" With a - perhaps unnecessary - theatrical flourish, he withdrew the map from his waistcoat, holding it up. "Well, it appears it's right here in my pocket. How odd." He dropped it onto the table in front of Gandalf, his grin breaking through his attempted poker face.

Gandalf stared at the map for a few seconds, then chuckled loudly and suddenly, patting Bilbo on the back. "Very impressive, my friend."

Bilbo laughed and went to sit back down, not noticing the suspicious look Gandalf shot him behind his back.

"Now, then," the wizard began, spreading the map out on the table. "This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin. It is a plan of the Mountain."

Thorin glanced at it, then shook his head, disappointed. "I don't see how this will help us much. I remember the Mountain well enough, and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," put in Balin. "But it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there."

"Unfortunately so," Bilbo murmured to himself, his shoulders curling a little inwards.

"There is one thing you haven't noticed, and that is the secret entrance," pointed out Gandalf. "You see that rune on the west side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

"It may have been secret once," Thorin countered, "but how do we know it remains so? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may, but he can't have ever used it. It is far too small for him - 'five feet high the door and three may walk abreast' say the runes, and Smaug couldn't have crept into a hole that size even when he was a young dragon, let alone now, after devouring so many of the dwarves and the men of Dale. In any case, the door should be closed and hidden, made to look exactly like the side of the mountain, and therefore kept secret from the rest of the world, if not from Smaug."

Bilbo leant closer to get a proper look at the map, which he had not seen for decades. The Mountain drawn in dark ink on the paper seemed a lot smaller than the Mountain of his memories.

"Also," Gandalf went on, "I forgot to mention that with the map came a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!" He presented it to Thorin, a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, flashing silver in the lamplight. "Keep it safe!"

"Indeed I will," replied Thorin, taking the key and fastening it upon the fine gold chain that hung around his neck. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea of what to do. We thought of going east, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake -"

Bilbo had heard Thorin's ramblings before, of course, and if this was an ordinary meeting with friends, he would have tuned him out. However, he was acutely aware of just how precious his time here was - every second with Thorin and Fili and Kili alive, every second with the others smiling and in good cheer, every second unburdened by deep, heavy grief - so he listened quietly to the voice he'd spent so many years missing.

"- but we none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the south of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too - far too often, unless he has changed his habits."

"That would be no good," added Gandalf. "Not without a mighty warrior, even a hero. I tried to find one, but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood, heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found. Swords in these parts are mostly blunt, axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; dragons are comfortably far-off, and therefore legendary. That is why I settled on burglary - especially when I remembered the existence of a side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans."

"Very well, then," agreed Thorin. "Supposing the burglar gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned to Bilbo with mock politeness, although it was a bit less mocking than it had been the first time around.

Bilbo drew himself up, meeting Thorin's gaze with a determined look. He was the only one there who knew what was in store, and over the course of the night, he had come to the decision that he meant to bring them all through the journey and out the other side alive and more or less intact, if at all possible. "Certainly, Thorin," he answered briskly. "I should think that we ought to focus on actually getting there and finding the side-door before we worry about dealing with much else. I take it there is quite a lot of treasure?" he added, although he already knew.

Thorin nodded. "Yes, halls upon halls of it."

"It will be impossible for me to move it all by myself. I will be able to perhaps steal one or two pieces before the dragon notices us, so I would suggest you give some thought as to which pieces you should like." A large white gem glimmered in his mind again before he pushed the image away and forged on, ignoring the echoes of dread. "I would also suggest -" His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his words steady. "I would also suggest that we take a moment to consider the possibility of things such as dragon-sickness, and how it may be overcome once the Mountain is in our possession."

"Sage advice," said Gandalf approvingly, filing away his suspicion to deal with later and patting Bilbo on the shoulder.

Bilbo threw him a quick smile, though he was unable to hide the hint of tiredness to it. He found that he didn't particularly want to speak of their journey anymore, not with the knowledge of what was to come weighing on him, heavy as a sack of dragon-guarded gold.

"And, well, don't you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I would appreciate some help with breakfast tomorrow, if anyone would be so kind."

"You're the host, are you not?" replied Thorin, raising a dark, heavy brow. "But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham when starting on a journey - fried, not poached, and mind you don't break 'em."

Bilbo crossed his arms, staring at the dwarf expectantly, until Thorin reluctantly added, "Please."

Bilbo nodded and grabbed a small notebook that had been laying on the mantlepiece, quickly jotting down Thorin's preferred breakfast. "Anyone else?"

The dwarves and Gandalf all ordered their breakfasts, and Bilbo managed to get a 'please' from every one of them. Afterwards, he had to find places for all of them to sleep, which was thankfully a much shorter affair than last time, as he had his previous experiences to go by. He did have to dig extra blankets out of the linen cupboard, and set several dwarves and Gandalf (who was much too tall for his spare beds) up on couches and chairs, but he eventually got them all stowed away and retired to his own little bed. The shock of finding himself back in the past, along with having to host thirteen dwarves and a wizard, had left him rather exhausted, despite the renewed strength of his younger body. Before he collapsed into bed, he remembered to leave a sliver of his curtains unclosed, so that he would be awoken by the rays of dawn.

He fell asleep to the sound of Thorin's humming from the bedroom next to his, and this time, it was comforting.

The Hobbit was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

[magdelene7]

Today's worship of idols and "false gods".

Ecclesiastes 1:9:

"What has been, it is what will be,

And what has been done, it is what will be done.

So there is nothing new under the sun."

When we think of "idol worship" or "false gods", we immediately think of ancient civilizations bowing down to golden statues and doing unusual ceremonial sacrifices. We look at that and say, "Well, that's obviously evil and wrong."

We may not do the EXACT practices of people in those days, but the truth is, we still worship "false gods" and idols today, whether or not you realize it.

Worship means to respect and show deep reverence. When you worship something, you're saying, "This thing is the MOST important, and I will devote and sacrifice my time and things to it."

People have done this for ALL of human history, it's in our nature. When we think highly of something, we want our lives and actions to revolve around it.

Ancient civilizations worshiped their idols to seek favor and get benefits. Our idols today include money, adoration/fame, other people, so many things! We usually devote our time to these things to get something out of it. Comfort? Safety? Entertainment? Anything.

And yet, just like a gold statue made hundreds of years ago, the idols we devote ourselves to today are useless. Just like the verse above states, "There is nothing new under the sun." You can't gain anything meaningful from idols, they only take away things from your life. Even if it provides momentary pleasure, it doesn't make a lasting impact.

For generations and generations, God has proven Himself to be worthy of worship, and the life that He offers is full of meaning and purpose. There is no regret in putting God as your first priority, and putting His importance in your life above all!

[girlstuffnorp]

It Must Have Been Love by Roxette is such a Julie x Luke song in my mind now...

(Yes, I've just watched that piano cover by Charlie Gillespie in Suze 🥺😍💖)

The version of the song that we all love, which appeared on the Pretty Woman soundtrack, was released in 1990, so Luke would have most likely heard it as a teen - whether by choice, or simply through pop culture of the time. Did his parents rent a VHS of it to watch at home? Regardless, I could see Luke really liking the song, even if it's not as 'hard rock' as his typical musical taste.

Maybe he learns how to play it because he knows that his mom really enjoys the song? Maybe he wants to prove to her that his music can be a force for good, to make people genuinely happy, and not something that she can object to as being too dangerous and something for him to abandon. He doesn't realise that all she wants was for him to be safe and secure in his life and future career, and that she would support his talent, just as long as he's safe...

Imagine if sometime in between the events of eps 8 and 9, Luke performs it alone on the piano in the studio, and Julie wanders in and listens - totally mesmerised - like a role-reversal of Julie performing 'Wake Up' in ep 1. I could see him beginning to play in the empty room as sort of confirmation/proof of closure to himself. He has made peace with his relationship with his parents, and while the whole 'being dead' thing isn't great, his mom and dad both know that he loved - loves - them now. He might have run out on them, but he still loves them.

He moves onto the second verse of the song.

The atmosphere seems to shift as he continues to sing, his fingers touching the keys. For the first time in forever, he listens to the words that he sings. Really listens to them - not just as a song to cheer his mom up. As a song with true, honest feelings. A love song. A break-up song - full of bittersweet regret and heartache.

Julie pops into his mind suddenly. Her look of sheer disappointment, anger, hurt and loss all wrapped up into one and shot in his direction at the knowledge of the boys' impending crossing-over. Their hands fading through each others' grip. Never touching, never intending to be in each other's space. Out of time, out of luck. Thrown together under the strangest of circumstances, and fueling each other's foolish fantasies. That this could ever develop into something that wouldn't wreck them both. The song grows in intensity, and so does Luke's performance, the emotions rising within deep within him, his fingers flying faster over the keys.

The rest of the song rushes by. He's singing, and playing, but it's as if it's all coming from somewhere so deep inside that it frightens him at how intense it is. Julie laughing, both of them working through lyrics and melodies together, her smile. The way she lights up the stage, dazzling the world without even realising just how magnificent she is. They had been through so much together, and yet? Would it all melt away like the first snow of the year? Wonderful to think of and experience in the moment, but causing nothing but hassle and bitterness once it leaves?

They had to cross-over - Caleb was forcing their hand. The boys had always thought about it - moving on, and what that would look and feel like - but now they had Julie, and the new band, and this bond... What was the point of it all? Why had the universe brought them all together? For he, Alex and Reggie to learn some life lessons and then poof into whatever dimension came next? Didn't fate realise that if he was placed in the vicinity of someone as magnetic and unique as Julie, that it would change him forever? How was he supposed to simply stroll into the sunset and leave her all alone again? More loss, more heartache. For it could never work. He was a ghost, and she was human. It was never meant to work, but why couldn't it? During those moments on stage, and even off-stage, there's a spark, a tangible connection that Luke has quickly become addicted to. Waiting for his next hit of sunshine and magic. Julie was magic. They were best friends, but that didn't seem to be the words to define what they had. Their bond was so much more, the two of them inexplicably tangled together for however long that Luke could stay like this. The song was coming to an end, seeming to begin winding down in a vain attempt to calm his racing heart and mind.

It must have been love...

Fuck.

Alex and Reggie were right.

He was in love.

But it's over now.

The final lyrics hang in the air as the piano music fades away. He finally stops for breath, his fingers aching for a break as he pulls them away from the keys. But it's over now. But it's over now. But it's over now.

If anyone were to ask, he would lie - justify the performance with the mom excuse. It isn't that far from the truth - that was the intention he had when he began to play, after all. Now, however, Luke was going to have to deal with the gravity of what he had just realised. Somebody was bound to get hurt whatever he decided to do - he needs time to think.

Julie doesn't make her presence known. She'll assume that it is the aftershocks of her conversation with his parents about Unsaid Emily - Luke working through his feelings in song. As she walks away, however, she can't help but wonder. Maybe that's why she searches for the song on Spotify, letting the words wash over her as the music plays in her earbuds before she falls asleep for the night.

It must have been love...

Funny how a song can completely change your perspective on things.

(This is like a strange headcanon/one-shot mashup - I kinda want to expand on this? I just love It Must Have Been Love as a song - can you tell?😂🥺💖)

(Tagging @1mnobodywhoareyou @60sec400 @floating-in-the-blue and @legolasghosty for enabling me rambling like this 😂💖)

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

High Infidelity - full lyrical analysis ✨

I’ve been thinking about Taylor’s recent steps towards coming out on the eras tour all day, especially her reading of Seven (it’s really been sinking in today on a new level). And in light of her making a clear declaration to her fans about hoping they can accept her, about how they might meet a new version of her that doesn’t match their romanticized idea of her…I want to share my full lyrical analysis of “High Infidelity”.

At a glance: I essentially see this song as a metaphor for her fans finding out who she really is and reacting like a spouse who has been cheated on. She equates her closeting to “infidelity” and imagines the aftermath of revealing her truth, grappling with both the part of her that harbors guilt about the “lying” and half-truths she’s engaged with to stay hidden, and with the part of her that is hurt and frustrated with those who have effectively already rejected her by way of refusing to see what’s right in front of them.

This song has a lot going on, so I’m just going to walk you through my thought process:

My understanding of this song hinges on this lyric in the chorus: “your picket fence is sharp as knives/ I was dancing around, dancing around it”

This line, with it’s suggestion of a suburban setting, gives me some context for the two verses, which to me read as two different situations, both in a domestic setting.

The first verse reads to me as being from the perspective of a younger narrator, (not necessarily Taylor, but an allegorical young woman), maybe a memory of being a teen, at her parents’ house. The second verse reads like the same narrator, as an adult, living in her husband’s house/marital home.

The fact that Taylor has made it very very clear that these songs are autobiographical, and this is her most vulnerable album in years, makes the following lyrics that much more intriguing.

Verse 1:

“Lock broken/ slur spoken/wound open/ game token/I didn’t know you were keeping count/ Rain soaking/blind hoping/you said I was freeloading/ I didn’t know you were keeping count”

“Lock broken/slur spoken” = someone barges into a room with a closed door, and swears. I picture a homophobic parent walking in on their daughter making out with/being intimate with her secret girlfriend, and the ensuing fight.

“Game token” sounds like her sexuality was then something that then got played against her, to make her compliant in other parts of her life. “You’ve disappointed us enough haven’t you? You better x” x could be making perfect grades, being a high achiever in some other way, doing this family thing that makes you uncomfortable, but most of all, x equals staying closeted, hiding the family shame.

“You said I was free loading/I didn’t know you were keeping count” Her family continues to treat her differently after this revelation, just tolerating her presence, treating her like a stranger in her own home, a tenant instead of a daughter. Maybe at some point she thinks things might change or might be starting to get better but has a blow out fight with one of her parents and they say something to the effect of “how dare you when I allow you to keep living under my roof” making her realize that they aren’t going to change and that it’s not healthy to stick around, so she resolves to leave.

Verse 2:

“Storm coming/good husband/Bad omen/Dragged my feet right down the aisle/at the house lonely/good money/I’d pay if you just know me/Seemed like the right thing at the time”

“storm coming” means the consequences of getting found out/ outed. The same allegorical woman from the first verse married a man that she didn’t love because she was afraid of living her truth and the potential consequences (= the storm). But doing so has left her lonely, isolated, and empty, and she regrets her decision.

I think Taylor is using this narrative arc outlined in the verses to tell her own story.

The first verse represents getting found out by the public, likely referencing kissgate. “Lock broken” then is a metaphor for her secret life being revealed. “Slur spoken,” representing the disapproving party, likely references her homophobic fans. In addition, given the lines about game tokens and keeping count, she may also be referencing her manager/team/record company and their reaction to her “jeopardizing” everything she’s worked for and hundreds of people’s jobs by being so “reckless”, when really they were just interested in continuing to make millions off of her, and found a way to use this guilt to control her.

The second verse would then represent she and Karlie deciding to get into serious bearding contracts in 2015 to avoid the “storm coming”.

“Good husband/Bad omen” acknowledges that the choice to “take a husband” in the form of their beards, set them up for trouble in the future. A bad omen fortells what’s coming, and Taylor and Karlie likely both knew that while their lavender “marriages” would serve them well for the time being, they would also bring with them unknowable complications and inevitable strife, especially if they one day decided to come out. Their bearding up to this point had been shortlived pr stunts, but Karlie marrying someone and Taylor carrying on a beard narrative for 6+ years is a more complicated web to untangle.

Thus, “dragged my feet right down the aisle”.

“At the house lonely/Good money/ I’d pay if you just know me” the well-placed line break allows this lyric to represent both the financial security they get by staying closeted, but also how Taylor would pay good money to be truly known and accepted by her fans.

All of this brings us to the chorus, which steps outside of the allegory established in the verses which provide a backstory for the emotions expressed in the choruses.

The chorus has three parts: two parts that are mostly repeated with each chorus, but with two lines that change with each repeat of the chorus, and a third part that is made up of two longer lines, which sonically contrast well with the short lines in the verses and the first two parts of the chorus, meaning these two longer lines punctuate the song and underscore the content of the two lines.

Chorus Parts 1 & 2:

“High infidelity/put on your records and regret me/ I bent the truth too far tonight/ and I was dancing around/ dancing around it/high infidelity/ put on your headphones and burn my city/ your picket fence is sharp as knives/I was dancing around/dancing around it.”

Chorus Part 3:

“Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?/ Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?”

(In the second chorus, the second line of the third part goes: “Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?”)

“High infidelity/put on your records and regret me/I bent the truth too far tonight/I was dancing around/dancing around it”

The chorus is Taylor imagining fully coming out, and some of her fans reactions.“High infidelity” would be referring to Taylor “lying” to her fans, who have a close parasocial relationship to the person they believe her to be, and who might feel “betrayed” if they found out Taylor was hiding a big part of who she is. “Put on your records and regret me” imagines then either listening to her old albums, hanging on to their idea of her, her use of male pronouns, etc, or maybe hate listening to her music, seething about how “fake” she was the whole time they “supported her”. Or maybe they’ll listen to other music, trying to drown out her songs (which they’ll never be able to do because they’re burned into their memory).

“I was dancing around it” refers to everything we have occupied ourselves with in this corner of the internet for a number of years: all of her signaling, her Easter eggs, her bait and switches, her clever word choices, disgusting her truth in plain sight. She has included bits and pieces of her truth in her lyrics, but not been direct.

I see the coupling of “I bent the truth too far” with “I was dancing around it” as both acknowledging the lies that went too far (Grammy gate, betty gate) but also her saying, “I’ve been trying to tell you” (I gave so many signs)

Part two of the chorus: “High infidelity/put on your headphones and burn my city/your picket fence is sharp as knives/I was dancing around, dancing around it”.

“Burn my city” - Cities typically burn in literature or in real life when the masses riot/are enraged. I think this shows Taylor’s real fear that if she were to plainly come out, her fans would burn her memory/empire, and disown her and their journey together. However, fire also symbolizes cleansing, a new beginning, or a change of power, so while this visual could demonstrate her fear of losing everything and no longer being “on top”, it could also echo the optimistic fire symbols we’ve seen recently (lover house burning, her staring at the lighter with vengeance and excitement in her eyes, and her smiling while her castle burns in bejeweled). This layer offers the song an irreverent tone, one that echoes her spoken performance of Seven, which to me sounded like she has made peace with the fact that she may lose some of her fans when she fully comes out.

“Your picket fence is sharp as knives” sounds like Taylor expressing the pain that others expectations of her have caused her. To me it sounds like her saying “I may have lied, but you were keeping me prisoner in that fantasy of me being the perfect all-American woman”. We have already heard her express this in this album cycle, her exasperation with the marriage rumors, the 1950’s shit.

This dynamic between closeted pop star and fans parallels a narrative of infidelity in a traditionally gendered heterosexual relationship. The wife that has cheated out of a desperation to be seen and appreciated, imprisoned by her picket fence which represents the sexist expectations put on her to perform as a perfect wife. Taylor has lied for the same reasons. Because of the gendered expectations put on her as a woman, that forced her to tell her audience what they wanted to hear, lest she suffer “the storm.”

But what then does the third part of the chorus refer to?

“Do you really wanna know where I was April 29th/ Do I really need to chart the constellations in his eyes?”

Taylor is continuing with the metaphor of infidelity to allegorize a “discussion” with her fans post coming out. With this lyric, a confrontation with the cheated-on spouse, She says, essentially, “do you really need me to spell it out for you? Do you really want me to detail something you clearly want to be in the dark about?”

Taylor is pointing out that this lie has been a two-way street. Anyone closely following her and willfully believing her bearding narrative at this point is consenting to denial and social artifice, both of which we happen to also associate with picket fences and American suburbia.

This allegory of Taylor as the cheating trophy wife, and her fans as the absent or unappreciative husband, goes deep. In both cases, the relationship was doomed from the start, to the fault of both parties, and larger social structures. The wife likely married a man with red flags, and played the part she thought she needed to play to find love and stability. The husband didn’t bother to dig under her performance, by spending time with her and truly getting to know her; he was comfortable with her being the “perfect woman” poised and done up, a good homemaker. Society at large enforced both of these choices.

Taylor played the part she thought she needed to in order to be successful, perhaps past the age she was powerless to do otherwise, and her fans didn’t want to see the real her once she started to reveal it; they were happy with their idea of who she was, partially because it had been fed to them, and partially because once that idea started to loose merit they refused to take notice. Society at large dictated the part Taylor should play, and enforced the heteronormativity that allowed her fans to continue believing her public narrative when it became flimsy at best.

The choice to employ the cheating allegory also seems to suggest that Taylor is underscoring the moral gray area of her situation - not the fact of being closeted, but the extent to which she has gone in some cases to protect her career and her loved ones. (Again, this brings to mind undeserved awards given to certain people, and the collateral damage of her queer fans being targeted by straight fans, etc.) There is no absolute right or wrong, no wholey innocent party. The wife had her reasons to cheat, Taylor had her reasons to lie, but still some regrettable moves were made, which left Taylor feeling regretful - or at least yearning for a life without the hiding and deceit.

This point places this song squarely within the larger themes of this album - namely, Taylor reflecting on the choices she’s made along the way in her closeting journey, and the uncertainty she has over whether she’s made the correct ones. As with other songs like Dear Reader and Anti Hero, her writing here maintains an ambiguity that belies her inner turmoil about her choice to prioritize her career over her personal life. She states again and again that she is, at least in part, the architect of her own misfortune, even if she built it for survival.

This song is an outstanding example of what I love most in Taylor’s writing. When you can’t tell a story outright, you have to tell it in allegory, when you can’t name a feeling, you have to describe it, either viscerally or in elaborate symbolism, which, when executed by someone with her talent, makes for unmatched storytelling.

[letters-adressed-to-the-fire]

So I ended up writing a short essay about the albatross (part 1)

There’s just something about the albatross that’s been scratching my brain since the first time I heard it. Initially, I thought “oh, it feels like it belongs in evermore” (I really love that album), but soon I realized it goes way deeper than that.

Well the song is about the albatross (duh), but to really understand it, there are a few things you need to know. First of all, this particular bird is widely known as a symbol of bad luck, burden and regret. Why? What could an innocent bird possibly have done to deserve such a reputation? Taylor tell us the answer throughout the song, but for a more in-depth understanding, one can turn to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, which was the source of inspiration for this piece.

Gotta be honest, I haven’t read it, not entirely (it’s actually really long). But I did do my research soooo, let me summarize it for you in a few lines:

This is the tale of a sailor who, convinced that an albatross was a bad omen, tragically shoots the innocent bird. As a consequence, he and his crew face a curse. The sailor is compelled to wear the lifeless bird around his neck as a form of punishment. Yet, as time passes and years go by, it is the innocent albatross that becomes a mournful symbol, rather than the sailor who committed the deed.

Now, if you revisit Taylor's lyrics, she narrates this progression through the reprise of different verses:

“Cautions issued, he stood Shooting the messengers They tried to warn him about her”

“Locked me up in towers But I'd visit in your dreams And they tried to warn you about me”

“You were sleeping soundly When they dragged you from your bed And I tried to warn you about them”

Or:

“Cross your thoughtless heart Only liquor anoints you She's the albatross She is here to destroy you”

“So I crossed my thoughtless heart Spread my wings like a parachute I'm the albatross I swept in at the rescue”

Or my personal favorite:

“Devils that you know Raise worse hell than a stranger She's the death you chose You're in terrible danger”

“The devil that you know Looks now more like an angel I'm the life you chose And all this terrible danger”

What I found so fascinating about her decision behind the use of this technique, is that she not only embraces it to move the story forward in an organic way, but she plays with the point of view of the spectator (or in this case, listener) to lead them through all the characters of the story.

In the opening verse, you assume the role of the sailor on the verge of shooting the albatross. You don’t have proof but you know she’s here to destroy you. As the song progresses into the second verse, it becomes evident that you’re now talking with the albatross, or more accurate would be to say that the albatross is talking to you. Contrary to the poem, Taylor is giving the albatross a voice (which effectively serves as a metaphor for herself), and this standpoint will remain for the rest of the song, though with a slight change at the end. Taylor not only lets the albatross tell its story, but she let it be the hero. By the end, the spectator finds themselves in the crosshairs of "them”, the very group they once belonged to. This is the moment where the transformation of the figure of the albatross reaches its peak, as it transitions from a harbinger of misfortune to a beacon of hope, it is there to rescue you.

(obviously there's more to this! but I'll be posting part 2 in a few days just because i didn't want this post to be THAT long lol)

[abominable-space-they]

Team Dad Verse AU

OT3 Buggy/Mihawk/Shanks

A One Piece Au in which Roger & Garp raise their kids & crews together. The impact is far reaching

Part One Part Two Part Three

An Alternate One Piece History

40 ish years ago: Gol D Roger & Monkey D Garp meet to form a tentative truce for God Island incident hoping to keep more people on both sides of the marine divide alive. Through the danger and struggle they come to trust each other implicitly, a life long bond is created

In the aftermath of the incident Roger finds two mysterious toddlers both set adrift in the ocean. One is a sunny red headed, cheerful little boy with the looks of a Viking prince. The other is strange, difficult, overly busy, and perpetually unhappy. The only thing that seems to settle the odd blue haired little boy, is his red head friend.

Roger raises both both children aboard his ship as honorary Rogers Pirates. They're called Shanks & Buggy respectively. They're not his blood but they will inherit his pirate legacy. They're inseparable.

35 years ago: Garp & Roger marry in secret

30 years ago: increasing pressure from the world government causes a spiral of strain between increasing strife between Marines and pirates. Often men who'd been working working side by side in balance for years. Alliances, friendships, and romantic engagements crumble

27 years ago: Roger Pirates are disbanded. Shanks & Buggy have a falling out, each starting their own crews separately.

It's rumored they still occasionally see each other on Roger's lingering business. No one knows what that might be.

Dracule Mihawk & Red Hair Shanks teen friendship grows into a deeply knowing understanding

They trust and understand each other. A rarity among pirates.

Some say they're lovers

Some say neither man has a heart

Others say if they don't have them, it's because Buggy the Clown ate them.

None of them are concerned about the rumors

26 years ago: increasing tensions between pirates and Marines put titanic pressure on Roger & Garp. Neither of whom are willing to sacrifice their respective ways of life

25 years ago: The two men go their seperate ways permanently

Roger, who may or may not be terminally I'll, is arrested shortly after

The rumor mill can't keep up with the implications

24 Years ago: Gol d Roger is put to death, Garp mourns privately

In the months that follow, mutually distraught, Buggy & Shanks reconcile, sometimes running their crews together for periods of weeks or months at a time.

The two crews are known to be close associates of each other. It's an open secret that Red Hair Shanks & Buggy the Clown are lovers.

Mihawk is still around sometimes. No one knows what that means. No one's brave enough to ask.

23 years ago: Gol D Ace is born to Garp & Roger. A romantic story is woven to protect the child and his identity. A story about a woman who loves a man so much she held their baby inside her body until Roger had been in prison for much to long to be the baby's father. The baby is given his fictional mother's family name, Portgas.

Ace takes after Garp the most, fun loving, hearty, brave, loyal, stubborn, incredibly strong, and always absolutely starving.

If Garp seems like he has regrets no one is foolish enough to point that out to him

18 years ago: The eldest son of the GolD MonkeyD clan, a disillusioned Marine turned freedom fighter Monkey D Dragon, and a disenfranchised pirate turned mercenary spy code name Crocodile, cross paths in an unlikely turn of political events

Sparks Fly between Crocodile, & Dragon, two men with different but momentarily intersecting goals find common ground

A connection is made, a baby is conceived

17 years ago: Crocodile gives birth to a baby boy in absolute secret. The baby, an heir to unknowable power amongst both the pirates and the Marines, is in danger as long as he remains with either of his fathers.

The infant is a liability neither man is willing or able to take on, neither of his parents can reasonably or safely take care of the baby in their lines of work

The baby was given only a name, Monkey D Luffy and sent via wet nurse courier to the home base of his adopted family, Buggy & Shanks. Both men, foundlings themselves, with connections high up in both the Marines and the world's most powerful pirate crews. The baby can be safe there. And so he's raised, hidden in plain sight in Buggy and Shank's combined crew for three years.

Ace spends summers with Shanks and Buggy as well, both to reduce suspicions about his parentage and so the 2 little boys could be raised as family

14 years ago: Luffy, now much to spirited and strong to hide on any one ship, starts drawing dangerous questions from powerful people. A painful decision is made. Shanks & Buggy's crews will separate again, only working together in secret.

Shanks would take the toddler and set him up at a home base, a nowhere little backwater town called Windmill village, where he could keep an eye on the growing boy from an apparent distance.

Buggy would be out in the world spreading the wrong kind of rumors.

Ace, a bright and precocious child, spends summers bouncing between Buggy and Shanks, learning everything he can about the kind of freedom he dreams of taking for himself one day.

10 years ago: Luffy eats the gum gum fruit unintentionally causing an avalanche of cataclysmic change.

Shanks inability to produce this particular devil fruit puts him in the cross hairs of powerful government agents. Knowing the government and pirates alike would soon be making attempts on the the life of whoever ate the gum gum fruit, Shanks sends for Garp to take his grandson. He's now the only person with the power to hide Luffy from both the Marines and the secretive government officials the devil fruit was intended for.

To further protect Luffy, Shanks disappears with his crew amid rumors they started themselves that he'd double crossed his employers and eaten the devil fruit himself.

Shanks gives Luffy his hat before he goes and tells the boy to come find him when he's ready to become a great pirate in his own right

Luffy's dream is born

Garp collects Luffy, he raises and trains both Luffy and Ace as adopted brothers

Though Luffy doesn't remember being born into piracy, it's in his blood and bones, it's in his dreams

No matter what Garp does, he's unable to dissuade either his secret son or his grandson from the danger of following their family's grand pirate legacy

Rumors travel fast on the high seas, rumors get back to Buggy that Shanks has taken up with the Marine sanctioned freshly minted Warlord of the sea, the Privateer Dracule Mihawk... again.

Buggy is heartbroken and furious, he sinks deep into the weeds of retaliation and revenge, cutting off contact with the only extended family he's ever known

5 years ago: in a frustrated fury over ongoing power struggles with Garp, Ace leaves home. Whitebeard finds him, offers to make the boy his own son and legacy. Ace accepts, finally he has a family where he belongs

Hopefully

Time passes

Our story begins

Included Arcs:

The Beginning, Romance Dawn, Loguetown, Alabasta, Water Seven, Time Skip, Impel Down, Marine Ford

The Beginning:

A Clown Car Named Desire

Romance Dawn- Loguetown

Buggy/Mihawk focus

Pre OT3

Complete

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

On The Grand Line:

Aces High Arc, Portgas D Ace Lives

Alabasta Hold 'em

Alabasta

OT3

Buggy/Mihawk/Shanks Focus

Strawhat pirate ensemble

Established Zosan

Ace Lives Fix it part 1

Complete

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Ace In The Hole (Jokers Wild)

Impel Down - Marineford fix it

Action Comedy

OT3 Mishuggy

Buggy, Luffy, Ace, Crocodile, Iva, & Cross Guild Focus

Newkama Queens ensemble

Ace Lives Fix it part 2

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3

[raayllum]

and yes the episode three song has lyrics like

[Verse 1] You only see what your eyes want to see How can life be what you want it to be? You're frozen when your heart's not open You're so consumed with how much you get You waste your time with hate and regret You're broken when your heart's not open [Chorus] Mmm-mmm, if I could melt your heart Mmm-mmm, we'd never be apart Mmm-mmm, give yourself to me Mmm-mmm, you hold the key [Verse 2] Now there's no point in placing the blame And you should know I suffer the same If I lose you, my heart will be broken Love is a bird, she needs to fly Let all the hurt inside of you die You're frozen, when your heart's not open