#✧ * › desires. —— ❛ peel back the layers of unwavering fire . ❜

[akamiatsu]

tag drop uwu

[hes-writer]

Patreon Masterlist

These are exclusive fics that you can read on my Patreon!

* = complete, ^ = in-progress, + = will be posted on tumblr, (s) = smut (implied or mentioned) writing count: 78 pieces

**billing cycle currently paused** | new patrons will still be charged

This is a reupload of my masterlist with sneak peeks of each piece so you know what's up :D

Multi-Part Series | One Shots | Drabbles | Extras

* Unwavering (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) - 6.5k, the one where harry cheats (again)

"Right. Maybe we can go out tonight to grab some dinner," She suggested, a hopeful glint in her eyes and he almost felt guilty for putting her on the back burner of his mind. "I really have to go, baby," Peeking his head around her frame, he spotted the untouched toast and apple juice resting on where he should be. "I'm sorry."

^ + Roommate Series (3) (4) (5) (6) - 9.8k, the one where harry and y/n are roommates

He sighed, “I finished my coffee ages ago. I was just waiting for you to finish studying so we could leave together and go home,” Y/N dropped her fingers from his wrist, slouching the slightest bit as butterflies attacked her stomach. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted you to get home safe,” He nudged her forehead with the ball of his palm, his face contorting to annoyance.

^ + Notes on Camp (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) - 16.5k, the one where harry and y/n are camp counsellors

Y/N looked around to be met with puckered lips and clenched hands as the campers practically requested for her to kiss their favourite counsellor. Wide, hopeful stares were willing her to commit.

“Alright, alright,” She bent her upper body to reach his cheek, licking over her lips once before pressing it on his skin. It was only a quick peck and then she pulled back. He stayed unmoving.

Jacky and Emy poked their finger at him on opposite sides. His cheek dimpling with their small indents. “Maybe you should do it again?”

* Friends Don't (1) (2) (3)- 3k, the one where lines are crossed

“It’s Harry Styles fanfiction on Tumblr,” She suggested a conversation, shyly smiling in embarrassment. “I can see that,” He murmured, using his thumb to scroll through the rest of the story, “It’s . . . interesting. People write these about me?” His retort made the situation seem like an utter surprise.

* Digress, Progress, Regress Series - 5k, the one where harry falls out of love

Y/N wondered if there was a chance to fixing what has been lost--what has disappeared as the canvas soaked through in a permeated osmosis. Coating the brush of blue with white paint took several layers to completely cover the mistakes. There had to be an effort in wanting to make the faults and errors completely opaque from the eye; the bleary, watery irises soaked with tears, dampening her lashes in a thick haze as she cried.

Tickle Fights (1)  - 1.2k, the one where bff!y/n teases harry about his boner

“What’s going on here, Harry?” The light tone of her voice indicated that she was teasing him, paired with the subtle movements of her lower half. Harry whined in response, feeling the blood rush downwards to make him even stiffer. “Does this feel good? Got hard over me straddling you, huh?” It was almost degrading, the way Y/N formed her question yet Harry couldn’t help a whimper from lingering in the air. He nodded, hands sliding down to grip at her moving hips.

Real Mature (1)  (2)  - part two is patron exclusive! - 603 words, the one where bff!harry and y/!n fight

“You shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for being bitter about you and Ruby,” She rested her forearms on his shoulders in a slant when he stood to his full height. “I know you’re happy with her,” Harry gave her a shy smile that confirmed his words. Ruby is someone special to Harry now and Y/N had to learn how to share his time, attention, and affection. “I reckon I’m just missing you a lot more now,” Y/N’s tone was sad and despondent, trailing her gaze to the floor where she almost chuckled at Harry’s fuzzy bunny slippers which she had gotten him.

^ Fine Line Series: Adore You - 1.1k the one where harry and y/n are friends with benefits

Still, with her back against the wall and Harry’s fingers still gripping her hips—she waited for his response. I told you I loved you. Say it back, Y/N thought. “I love her, Y/N,” He mumbled against her neck in a drunken stupor. So close.

Kinkmas Blurbs (1 - 7) - 4.6k, the one where it’s all smutty

Maybe it was the way that his jaw ticked harshly every time he threw his head back at a particularly good stroke. You wondered what he was imagining that had him bucking his hips to his fist before realizing that the movements would probably cause you to wake up. Still, his hooded lids didn’t peel open—not until a core shaking fondle of his heavy balls forced a choked whine out of his throat.

Harry’s neck snapped to your figure, catching the way you looked at him as if you were in distress that he wasn’t cumming anytime soon—not when you were there, willing and able to help.

“Fuck, love. ‘M sorry,” He mumbled, not stopping the flicks of his wrist. In fact, you swore that you could hear the squelching of his clear pre-cum squishing between his fingers.

The Secretary (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) 11k, the one where harry is the CEO and y/n is the assistant (cheating fic)

Two months ago, Y/N unburied a not-so-hidden secret that Harry tried to bury. Two months ago, Y/N walked in on her boyfriend and his secretary fucking on his office table. Two months ago, Y/N experienced everything from pain and discomfort, to disappointment and being scornful. She threaded the line of confronting him or waiting for the day he came forward and admitted it himself. There was a desire for Y/N to see Harry sweat beneath her beady eyes, watching him scratch the back of his pants in a nervous manner. She wanted to hear him stutter as he spat an excuse, she yearned to see him pleading with his gorgeous green eyes for her to stay.  Y/N craved for his throat to close up, whimpers choked from his trachea because he was losing his stability as she walked away from him.

(s) Tension (1) (2) - 5.3k, the one where harry and y/n hate each other

“S’that why you hate me so much?”

His fingertips tapped his thigh methodically, crumpling a faint thud against his jeans. With how close they were sitting, Y/N’s bare knee brushed against his clothing. A burn of desire and anticipation lit inside of her like a dose of gasoline another in a flaming hot fire.

Harry shook his head, “Don’t hate you."

Champagne Problems- 4.4k, the one where marriage is a sensitive topic, the 1 - coming soon!

The freshly popped bottle of champagne poured into the flute on the table beside her bubbled and simmered, the sizzling reaction of the golden liquid ignited a moment of realization within her. The reason why her body felt more weighted, why tears filled her glazed eyes, pricking her corneas and threatening to spill down her face. Y/N’s heart had cracked–she was certain that everybody around her could hear it.

One Shot

(s) Achy Back - 813 words, the one where harry draws y/n a bath

A pout sat on her face as Harry stopped himself from ducking his head and catching her plush lips with his, craving the sweet taste of her and her strawberry lip balm. Her arms wrapped around his snatched waist, halting his breath at the tightness of her embrace and settling for a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her shampoo wafting in his nostrils, knowing that she had taken shower hours prior.

A Letter to the Man I’ve Loved - 1.5k, the one where harry receives a letter from his ex

Is it really worth it to look back in retrospect about ‘what had been’ when she can think about ‘what could have been’ if both of them realized their faults? Granted, he was more resilient in that sense than her, but he was no better at the time. She made mistakes and it had haunted her to this day, practically killing her with each moment she spent without him by her side.

Renegade - 981 words, the one where harry and y/n do a tiktok dance

“What are y’doing?” Harry asked, his eyes wide as his large palms ruffled the fluffy towel on his damp curls. The steam from the bathroom escaped to your bedroom where you were panting with effort, your chest heaving so hard that the peaks of your breasts rose with each breath.

“Uh, what are you doing?” You retorted slowly, hiding your hands behind your back were your fingers gripped your phone. Your thumb dug hard on the volume bottom, frantically trying to decrease the music from the phone speaker.

(s) Drop the Towel - 644 words, the one where harry does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

You gasped at the sight, the knife clanging on the marble counter, “Ooh, hi there,”

He smirked cockily, watching your eyes observe his body, tongue subconsciously peeking out between your lips until you snapped your head to the window, “Oh my god! There are people out there, Harry!” You wailed in alarm, bending over to hand him his towel.

All I Ask - 2.2k, the one where feelings aren’t mutual

“I don’t want to be scared of what will happen tomorrow or if all we have is right now because we’ll have nothing left but I am,” A sob ripped through his throat, emotions were heightened tenfold because she was so close yet so far and they were still Harry and Y/N but at the same time they weren’t. They’ve changed over the span of one night. “All we have is tonight,”

Little Prince - 583 words, the one where 7-year-old harry takes care of his best friend

“Y/N? Y/N! Are you okay? I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I swear I wasn’t mad at you, I was just jok- Why are you smiling?” Harry yelped, panic evident in his shrill voice. His hands wandered towards her face, tilting it left to right, up and down, searching for any visible and invisible injuries besides the bump on her forehead.

Stressed Out - 1.8k, the one where y/n has a huge term paper due

“What d’ya mean I don’t get it?” He closed the paperback, making sure to clip in his bookmark to save his spot.

A pregnant pause slithered the room. Her fingers typing against the keys of her laptop ceased as she shot him a glare, “You’re not studying, are you? All you do is write songs, fiddle with a few instruments and sing it in front of people who adore you,”

Valentine’s Day - 1.5k, the one where harry runs into trouble and y/n is there to save him

“Shit! Are you crazy?” Y/N gasped in surprise when the passengers seat was occupied, the door opening and slamming shut all while the car moved at a speed of 15 km/h —cursing her forgetfulness for not clicking the locks shut.

“Keep driving!” The passenger shouted, looking back through the windshield.

Dream With Me - 1.3k, the one where y/n has trouble sleeping

Harry’s admiration gets interrupted when a sudden jolt took over Y/N’s body. He dropped his mouth open a little in shock, rubbing her back soothingly when she whimpered quietly, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe with me,” She must have had experienced one of those moments when she was falling until her vision drooped to a shaded black.

Pet Name - 1.2k, the one where bff!harry just wants y/n to call him by his pet name again

His voice emulated a soft, syrupy tone that lingered in the air whenever he spoke. He was the colour honey itself–golden and yellow like the colour of the sun. Harry was bright in its sense of intelligence and the way he illuminated the whichever room he entered. His kindness catered to everyone’s needs and left pieces of his heart wherever he went.

Harry was honey.

Shave - 768 words, the one where harry helps y/n shave her coochie

She sniffles some more, “I’m trying to shave, H. It’s so itchy but I-I can’t reach down there,”

Y/N began to sob. The rattle of the razor clanking on the bathtub floor where she sat her bum on the edge. Her baby bump was causing her to teeter over the porcelain which urged Harry to swiftly plant his hands on her to keep her steady.

“I’m so huge! I’m the size of a house,” Y/N palmed the crest of her bump, rubbing it loosely as she admired the stretched skin yet slightly wishing that it would disappear and she was holding their baby in her arms instead.

(s) Don’t Worry, Darling - 1.5k, the one where y/n rides harry

He slipped down the headboard, resting his back flat on the mattress with Y/N sliding with him. She positioned her feet to rest near his knees, wrapping their limbs together so she could have some sort of sanity whilst Harry incepted on his shattering thrusts. Feet were planted on the mattress to give his lower half elevation to propel his hips against Y/N’s core. Harry’s fingers left white marks on her skin, gripping the plush flesh and essentially spreading Y/N open as he rapidly shoved his dick over and over inside of her with no signs of slowing down. He staggered for a few moments when her pulsing core emitted dazing throbs over his leaking cock but Y/N was quick to duplicate and resume the pace he had set with the movement of her hips.

To Be Loved - 2.3k, the one where y/n’s feelings are more than friendly

“I love you. Don’t you love me back?”

Harry’s eyes visibly widened, clearly taken aback by the question spewing from Y/N’s mouth. Her heat cheeks and a shy stance; knees knocking against his knobby ones while her dainty hands interlaced her fingers.

Revelation - 2.1k, the one where famous!y/n and harry are spotted together (pre-relationship)

Before there were Harry and Y/N--the power couple--there was Harry and Y/N.

Y/N, who was one of the most sought after female artists in the industry because of her angelic voice. The woman who had managed to catch the lingering stares of every household and the ears of many listeners with her truthful songs; narrative from the experiences she had gone through and shared through the art of songwriting.

Harry, who was quite the artist for the night. Harry’s limbs were being pulled metaphorically every which to ensure that the cameras captured him clapping respectfully in the audience. Others were asking him to stay for a bit more time backstage for content for an upcoming video. Right now, he was sat in his uncomfortable chair beside a handful of producers and well-known singers. A brief hug and whisper with Ariana Grande were enough for their fans to implode about a possible collaboration, granted that Harry had written a song for her album before. But Harry was certain that that feature wasn’t coming for a long while.

Apple Cheeks - 1.1k, the one where harry says something and y/n isn’t listening

Clearing his throat, he began, “I love you, Y/N. And I know that it might be too soon considering how short our relationship has been so far but I-I really do have strong feelings for you,”

Harry dropped his gaze as soon as he managed to peel off the first three words from his hoarse throat. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to let you know that I really care for you and me. I definitely something for us in the future and I hope you feel the same,”

Dreadful seconds shivered up Harry’s spine. His stare was still fixed on her shuffling feet and the floor. It was painful to hear nothing but silence so Harry decided to courageously lift his head up.

Affliction - 1.5k, the one where Harry breaks down (TW: depressive thoughts)

It wasn’t even that Harry did not know how to say ‘no’ because he truly did. However, anyone would be worn-out by the amount of exhaustion carried on his back. That cold shudder of loneliness--even when he wasn’t alone-- because nobody shared the experience of defeat with him. The twitch of his ears straining to listen when nobody would do the same for him. A subtle jerk of the corners of his lips because he could not keep the smile plastered on his face like paint chipping off the drywalls. The flutter of tired lids waiting to be shut tightly as tears were wrung from his green eyes, lashes tickling his skin underneath the violent colour of his eye bags.

From the Dining Table - 748 words, the one where y/n’s new boyfriend looks a lot like harry

Y/N wondered if her former lover shared the same thoughts as she did. The girl that he woke next to—was she still there? Did they share the bed together—not just in the morning—but the nights as well? If so, did Harry love her like he did with Y/N? Or was he just pretending to be okay like she was?

Blanket for Two - 990 words, the one where y/n kicks harry out of bed

And now, Harry was in bed with the woman he loves. Her light snores echoing in the dim room and he was staring up at the ceiling, shivering in his bones. If she were awake, Y/N probably would have made a snide, joking comment about how he shouldn’t sleep naked, especially in the winter.  Not like she didn’t do that either--she was practically naked with the thin camisole over her body.  The difference was that Y/N had an extra layer of blanket keeping her warm, shielding her skin from the night air and Harry only had the friction of his palms rubbing against his arms.  He was sure that he was a hint away from his teeth chattering. Harry had half the mind to dip his freezing feet beneath the blanket and jolt her awake with the change in temperature.

That’ll show her, he thought.

Around 1:32 - 3.2k, the one where y/n has a wet dream

“What?” Harry spat, tugging his shirt over his head, waiting for you to form a coherent excuse. “‘Think that jus’ because you woke up horny from a dream that y’can touch yourself? What a slut.  Are you that desperate?”

Your cheeks flamed at his words of degradation, doubling your arousal and one that had you smushing your thighs together to relieve the ache. You rolled your eyes as he continued his rant instead of using the time to keep you satisfied.  That was his job, wasn’t it? To make you cum and make you feel nothing but pleasure, yet here he was shaming you for touching yourself. Granted, you did it without his permission and done so while he was asleep beside you, but still.

“Wouldn’t have touched myself if you treated me well.”

+ Stories in My Eyes - 1.2k, the one where dad!Harry gets woken up in the middle of the night

And while he liked to think that he had gotten the hang of—quite literally— his kid dangling on his leg like some sort of koala, pulling on his hair every time he gave Beau a piggy back ride, and the random visits late at night where the small child would stand at the doorway with his teddy bear so quietly only to say, “Can I sleep with you and mumma?” He was not at all prepared for tonight’s’ events.

+ Feather Boa - 1.5k, the one where harry comes home after the Grammys

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Oh, stop that!”

“Stop what?” Harry nudged the strap of his custom tote bag higher on his shoulder.

“You just won a Grammy, you goose!”

Harry’s gaze softened, endeared at how happy Y/N was for him. She was jumping on the tips of her toes, hands clasped in front of her as she stared at him with admiration and awe.

(s) Roughed Up - 2.8k, the one where harry’s domestic and y/n’s mind wanders

You whimper in return, almost collapsing straight on his body when Harry uses your body to move you up and down his cock. His curls flop on the soft pillow beneath his head, sweat matting the tiny hairs to his face. The way he looks at you with such intensity and a certain kind of awe as if he couldn’t believe that this was really happening is rewarding. Hooded eyes observing how your body twitches in his grip, gasping at how strong he felt underneath you like you were merely a ragdoll to be played wit

Pudding Cups - 1k, the one after harry steals food from the kitchen (Notes on Camp Extras)

“So is it common practice for counsellors to steal food from the kitchen?”

Harry lifts his head up at inquiry, shifting his attention from gently taking out the contents of the reusable bag towards Y/N.  She was laying on his mattress, flat on her back as she stared at the wooden ceiling.  If she looked closely, Y/N was sure that his light bulb was flickering the tiniest bit and usually, she would’ve been freaking out over the fact that she was in the middle of the woods, hovering over a potential power cut.  But the fear subsided once she reminded herself that Harry was around.

“Hopefully not,” He muses with a suggestive eyebrow.

Drabbles:

(s) Drabble #1: Fratboy!Harry - 469 words, the one where y/n meets fratboy!harry at a party

Y/N snapped her head towards the member. When she applied for the rush, she didn’t expect that she would have to sleep with someone in order to officially join the sorority.  “What? Why him?

Sadie chuckled, sensing the panic in her voice. “Don’t worry, Harry’s nice. Besides, everybody does it,” She swirled her drink around, mixing the liquids together. Her lashes draped over her cheeks, almost touching the apples. “Are you in?”

Drabble #2: Asshole!Harry - 848 words, the one where harry cheats

You were calm, silent, and patient to see where he would take the conversation. Guilt was not present when you stood face to face in a battle of tranquility that pierced through your heart. His eyes gleamed in concealed smugness while his tongue curled in endless apologies. You knew him too well that he didn’t even stand a chance to hide his true intentions. But to Harry, you were a naive little girl that failed to acknowledge the difference between his acting and the truth.

(s) Drabble #3: Tease - 1.4k, the one where harry teases y/n

Harry plunged two fingers in her hole carefully, biting his lip to suppress the sound he was bound to release from the feeling of her wet walls suffocating his digits. He delivered punctual thrust, making sure to graze her sensitive spot to heighten her arousal. “Harry,”

He stepped back abruptly, pulling his fingers out and creating distance between them. “We have dinner to get to,”

(s) Drabble #4: Dessert - 1.7k, the one where y/n makes dinner but harry wants dessert

His thoughts were always about her no matter how hard he tried not to. And the fact that she took the time out of her day to prepare him something that he will enjoy; well, Harry’s heart just about swelled up to three times the size in his thumping chest.

She pulled away, shaking her head adamantly, “No way! I spent all day cooking and you’re not gonna skip it just to eat my pussy,”

He the corners of his eyes squinted in offence at her description, “Your pussy’s top tier, baby.” Harry ‘tsked’ his tongue, “If yeh didn’t know that already, then I’m doing a horrid job,”

(s) Drabble #5: Mine - 579 words, the one where harry is obsessed with y/ns tits

But he couldn’t exactly do that when all Harry wanted to do was do her. The smooth skin was supported by a navy blue push-up bra; he could tell by the lace mesh that he could see peeking out. It gave Y/N every favour because Harry was trying so hard not to let saliva pool in his mouth and drip out in a line of drool, his eyes widening with each movement she made with her arms, jostling her boobs a little bit here and there.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Y/N waved her arms to catch his attention. A frown creased her brows as he blinked sluggishly before finding enough coherence to recognize that she was trying to talk to him.

(s) Drabble #6: Early Mornings - 1k, the one where harry thinks y/n is prettiest in the morning

“Get to see ya’ when you’re most beautiful,” Harry tickled his nose on hers, smiling at the way the feature scrunched up as she giggled. He groaned at the contractions her walls gave while her tummy flipped in gentle laughter. “Oi! What’s so funny?” He smushed her face with kisses, pausing his thrust halfway through which had her whining.

Drabble #7: Getaway - 952 words, the one where harry is always cold in the mornings

"Y/N, have you taken my purple bathrobe?"

“No,” Y/N tugged the lavender coloured fabric by the sleeves first. Then, by the lapels draping over her chest, drawing them tighter to block the gust of wind currently caressing Harry’s floppy curls.

Twisting his body, a knowing look overtook Harry’s face as Y/N exited the cabin door. The sheepish smile on his lover’s face granting all the information he needed for this morning’s chilly inception.

There she was, clad in the said purple bathrobe.

Drabble #8: A Little Chilly - 451 words, the one where harry sleeps on the couch

“‘S my bed. Dunno why Lydia can’t jus’ stay on the couch,”

“It’s Y/N!” She wailed, walking closer to the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Dear, we didn’t know that you were coming home,” Anne tried reasoning with him, not seeing the gravity of the situation as Harry was making it out to be.

Text Messages:

Text Messages #1 - ‘would you love me if I was snail?’

Text Messages #2 - ‘did you know we had a quiz today?’

Text messages #3 - ‘did you steal my hoodie?’

Notes/Behind the Scenes

Notes: Tarnish

Notes: Stressed Out

[ghostnoms]

For the ship ask: ereri, of course 😎

hehe i been waiting for this one >:)

1.) what made you ship it?

well, i definitely came into snk knowing of ereri and that it was a popular ship. when i first started watching i was like ??? why is this a ship?? but then... the little things, man. levi’s face after eren confesses in the dungeon. eren’s obvious hero worship. levi asking eren if he hated him. the budding trust as eren joins levi’s squad. then, just how the two of them seemed to understand each other so well. levi’s instinct to protect eren. the way they just seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces. by the time i finished the first season, i was in wayyyy too deep to get out lmao

also i started reading a lot of fics/watching cmvs and amvcs halfway through the anime and i said hold on.... this shit be hitting different. their dynamic will always be my favorite thing. a little grumpy sourpuss with a soft spot for the raging ball of hormones and anger? just fuck me up, dude.

2.) what are your favorite things about the ship?

OHH boy. so, so, SO many things. like i couldn’t even possibly write them all down. i’ll just do my best and try to keep it short hbdjsnc.

okay, so. the parallelisms. the way they just seem to be two sides of the same damn coin. isayama was really quite genius in his creation of these characters. i feel like he really knew what he was doing, making them so similar. the way their pasts coincide, their goals in the war (this is shown in the same episode! “i will eradicate all the titans,” levi says it at the beginning and eren says it at the end. to levi. beautiful, gorgeous, poetic cinema 😩) their core beliefs about freedom and choice, the way they view the world.... i could go on.

on the subject of their character, the first thing i fell in love with was how they SEEM so different, but in the end are so similar. while levi may seem like a jaded, apathetic older man, and eren a passionate, fiery new recruit, when you peel back the layers they both share some very core beliefs. they have an intense hatred for titans, are fiercely loyal, and have a deep love and desire for freedom.

they bring out the best in each other. i previously said they fit together like pieces of a puzzle, and this is one of the biggest reasons why. they are undeniable each other’s pillars of strength. levi is always there to provide eren with guidance, reason, and is a very grounding presence for the eren. when no one else seems able to reach eren, levi always manages to bring him back to reality, lend him strength and courage, and give him the tools necessary to fight his own battles. eren trusts levi so much for this specific reason, and leans on him in a very special way that i feel is very unique to their relationship. now, on to levi. eren is undeniably levi’s beacon of hope. for so many years levi has fought on in a seeminly hopeless situation, his eyes on the horizon and never looking back. but in comes eren, in a blaze of rage and passion, and levi finally feels something. hope. hope for freedom, for a life beyond the walls. he sees himself in eren. a boy who sees the world in black and white, with an unwavering determination and force of will, a “monster” (to quote the vn hehe) that can and will never be tamed. while eren possesses such a fiery will, though, levi sees the broken and confused boy underneath. he acknowledges this part of him that so few others see, and communicates with him. they learn from each other, levi learns through his relationship with eren how to better communicate, how to be a better friend, soldier, leader, and man. levi’s world, so long plunged in darkness, finally starts to change. a light begins to illuminate path forward. he sees where he’s going now, thanks to eren. and eren has a better understanding of the world, of himself, and of the relationships he has with his comrades, thanks to levi. he has someone to lean on. ok i have to force myself to stop on this point now but honey, i could go on for DAYS.

okay last one i promise. this one was just honestly my first impression of the ship, and i just loved it so much i had to include it. kind of an old take by now, but whatever. they’re literally the wings of freedom. levi is humanity’s strongest soldier, and eren is humanity’s hope. (again, two sides of the same coin bitch!!!!). when eren first sees levi, its in the haze of battle, the wings of freedom flowing on levi’s back as eren opens his eyes for the first time. when levi first “sees” eren, its in that cold, dark dungeon, his eyes blazing with a fire levi believed had so long been extinguished within himself. levi chooses to become eren’s guardian because of this, and eren accepts levi despite all his quirks and flaws, all because of the trust and understanding that is so integral to their relationship. i believe these two souls were destined to meet, and will continue finding and loving each other in any other future lives they lead.

3.) Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

this got mushy and long really fast so i’ll try to wrap it up quickly lol. honestly, i don’t think so? the fandom and ship is so old and has evolved so much over the years that i feel any “hot take” or unpopular opinion i may have is old news by now. uhh, i guess maybe i think levi would be more submissive? i feel like he’d crave that sensation of relinquishing control to that one special person that he KNOWs he would be in good hands with. which is eren lol. also, i feel like levi isn’t as old as people make him out to be. since his age in unconfirmed in the manga, i’ve never seen him as older than 30 when the anime starts out. i think he was around 20 in acwnr, so there isn’t a bigger than 10 year age difference between him and eren. idk i think thats it lol.

thank you so much for the ask! i had a lot of fun rambling on about my two favorite dorks lmao :) i appreciate it. sorry this is so long!

[nothing-fancy94]

Accidental Love - Part 1

Hello people of tumblr! I’m back with another 2 part short! This time it is a Shadamy inspired by an ask given by @muffinbuttonfan to one of my best friends and fellow writers @another-sonic-blog! Please be sure to also check ASB’s version Love Potion

STORY SUMMARY: All Amy Rose ever wanted was to have Sonic love her back. But when a mistake with a love potion turns her world upside-down, will she chose an old or new love?

ENJOY! AND PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT!

ps. I didn’t proof read this, so apologies a head of time for errors ;)

~Part 1: The Mistake~

“Come on, Sonic! Just take a sip!”

“No, Amy, I’m not thirsty.”

“But I made it special for you!”

“Why are you being so insistent? It’s just a smoothie…”

Sonic’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Amy skeptically. She was standing before him with bright, pleading viridian eyes, and her little button nose twitched as she thought about the answer to his very simple question. She was wearing a different dress from her usual red and white trimmed one; a flowing soft pink sundress that gently fluttered in the summer breeze. And as he squinted, he noticed she’d put make-up on. It was something she hardly ever did, and as a result it was a bit sloppy. He would’ve thought it was cute if it wasn’t for the fact that Amy tended to only put in this amount of effort when she was up to something.

He looked down at the offered drink in her hand. It looked innocent enough, a watermelon pink with small flecks of red, indicating small bursts of fresh strawberries. It looked good enough that he almost took it from her, especially since it was a hot summer day and the cold, icey, sweet drink. Almost. However he had fallen for her tricks in the past and he didn’t plan on doing so again. In the past, she had resorted to sleep medicine to kidnap him on a date. He shivered at the memory. And as if to confirm his suspicions, Amy broke eye contact and looked off to the side while shuffling her feet.

“Just… I-I wanted to give you something nice on a hot day like today. I figured with all the running around that you do, you might want to have a cold smoothie… 

“I put protein in it.” She added as though this would be enough to convince him to take the drink. 

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest as he looked her over.

“If there’s nothing wrong with it, then you won’t mind taking a sip before I drink it.”

Now it was Amy’s turn to narrow her eyes on her hero. She didn’t understand where the lack of trust was coming from, it wasn’t like she was gonna drug him… that hadn’t worked. Well, can I blame him? Especially considering I diiiid put love potion in the drink… She hadn’t planned on giving it to him, at least not at first. 

She’d been window shopping with Cream in Station Square, and as they’d passed one of their favorite clothing stores, she had noticed a small shop that was wedged between the store and the alley. It was a store that Amy had never seen before despite having passed by this spot multiple times in the last few months. Stranger still, the store front looked like it had lived in the corner for fifty years.

Amy stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes following the curves of aged wood, peeling white paint, and landed on a small hanging sign that read in faded cursive: Regina’s Apothecary and Oddities.

Cream hadn’t wanted to go in, but the pink hedgehog ignored her friend’s pleas. Something was calling to her, whispering in her ear… and before she knew it she had twisted the rusty, iron door knob and entered the shop with the tinkle of a bell. The inside was full of shelves that seemed to carry on for miles into the store. Which should’ve been impossible considering the size of the exterior. The floor was made up of aged wood that at one point had been an attractive light brown, but was now almost black from spilled substances and ground-in dirt. There was a light mist of dust in the air, and barely any lighting to brighten the store. Bottles filled with herbs, unknown liquids and powders filled the shelves. Each one a different color, and size, each one carefully labeled and priced. 

The ones closest to the door were sparkling in the small stream of sunlight that filtered through the foggy windows at the front of the shop. But as Amy looked at the ones a bit further away, she could make out a thin layer of dust settling onto the glass. Curiosity peaked, Amy made her way deeper into the store. Cream followed close behind, her trembling hands clinging to the hem of Amy's dress in a death grip. Her large brown eyes frantically darted around the store as they reached the dust covered bottles. Amy lifted a hand and wiped away dust to read the label. An Eye for an Eye.

“Looking to give someone a taste of their own medicine, dearie?”

The two young girls jumped and screamed, their arms instinctively wrapping around each other as the two turned to see an old, female cat. She smiled at the two girls from behind half-mooned glasses. One of her eyes was a startling amber color that shone as brightly and richly as the sun, while the other was white and unseeing. She chuckled and leaned forward on her cane.

“Sorry dearies, didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve been told by other customers that I should wear a bell.” She laughed at her own joke while shaking her head. The two girls just stared at her with wide eyes and open mouths. The longer they stood staring at the old feline the more unsettled both girls felt. There was something in the air that hadn’t been there before, and it caused their hearts to race, and trepidation began to worm its way into them.

“Now don’t just stand there staring dearies, what can I help you with? I have a potion for any conceivable thing you could wish for!” She hobbled closer to the girls with a wide gaping smile, forcing them to press themselves against the shelves. Little tinks and clinks from jostled bottles rang through the air, but that didn’t stop the old feline from putting her hand beneath Cream’s cheek. The poor girl stood petrified, her large brown eyes close to tears.

“Maybe you want a way to grow up faster, but be careful that you pick the right potion. You may end up with one that will not change your age but make you taller than a skyscraper.” The woman cackled in humor, but it only served to make the young bunnie cower behind Amy.

“Oh, maybe a potion of courage for the young rabbit. I sense a wish to be brave in the face of danger. Do you have a tendency to run away, dearie?”

“L-leave her alone!” Amy finally managed to exclaim, her arm shooting out to block Cream from view. 

The elder’s one good eye moved slowly to stare at her, while the other one stayed still and stared ahead. The eye was unwavering, and as it bore into Amy, she felt as though she was clawing through the young girl’s very soul. Searching for her innermost desires, emotions and fears. Amy felt a mental shiver at the sight, but refused to expose any fear in front of the old female. The cat’s lips curled upwards, and her only remaining fang glinted in the small amount of light.

“My eye can see there is no need for courage with you. Your determination rivals that of the most passionate minds of all time,” the female lifted herself on her tiptoes, and looked Amy up and down with her golden eye. 

“Hmmm, maybe beauty…” The feline’s hand snapped out quicker than lightning and grabbed Amy’s hand, swiftly removing the white glove in one fluid motion.

“Hey!” Amy cried out, and tried to remove her hand, but the hold was ironclad. The shopkeeper’s tail flicked back and forth as her fingers brushed over the lines in Amy’s palm like the kiss of butterfly wings.

“You have a male who refuses to reciprocate your heart’s desire, do you not?”

Amy’s face twisted in horrified shock, and she once again tried to remove her hand but to no avail.

“No! How do you -”

“I can give you something that will make every male turn their eyes to you. A potion to make you the most beautiful female on Mobius. At a price of course,” the feline’s raspy voice cackled once more. 

“No, thank you.” Amy stated firmly and finally succeeded in removing her hand from the cat’s grip. She turned, grabbing hold of Cream's hand and made for the door.

“Come on, Cream, let’s go.”

The small girl nodded in agreement, and quickened her pace. She wanted to leave the creepy store and more importantly, away from the terrifying feline who lurked the dusty isles. 

“Not interested in vain looks, admirable. But what would you say to a... love potion?”

Amy’s feet stopped, and her ears twitched backwards in curiosity. A love potion. Something that she had read about in old books when she’d been researching ways to make a male turn their attention to her. She had thought that it was a myth, a legend that was as fragile as the pages she read the inked words on. However, an odd hope, no, desire, was awoken within her at the old shopkeeper’s tempting offer. Something about this store had called to her the moment it had appeared. The way it had appeared also solidified an odd weight to the elder’s words. It was a mysterious shop, with a shopkeeper, who while being creepy, was also oddly eccentric. Something about her told Amy that her offer was not an empty promise, and that this potion likely had a chance of working. How could she pass that up?

“Amy…?” Cream tentatively asked, her arm pulled at Amy’s, trying to guide the girl from the store. She looked up to plead with Amy, but she saw that fire burning in Amy’s eyes that only ever appeared when she was thinking about her next scheme to win the heart of her love. And when it came to Sonic and romance, there was nothing that could stop Amy from doing what she wanted.

“Love potion?” She whispered with her back still turned to the old feline.

Seeing that she had finally hooked one of the girls, the shopkeeper grinned from pointed ear to pointed ear.

“Oh yes. A harmless substance, meant to unlock the cage of the heart. Just a drop would be enough to turn your beau’s eyes in your direction.”

Amy’s body twitched, and Cream felt panic rise to her throat. She knew where this was going.

“Come on Amy… let’s just go.”

Unfortunately it was too late… Amy turned and tilted her head.

“And you’re sure this works?” She asked, taking a step closer to the cat. The elder smiled, and pulled her shaky finger twice diagonally across her chest.

“Cross my heart and call me a witch. 100% satisfaction guaranteed.”

“And it won’t hurt him, or make him grow an eleventh toe or some other crazy side effect?” She was almost to the old female now. The cat scoffed and made a face that looked like she was offended.

“I use only organic ingredients, and a splash of white magic, of course.”

“Amy… I really think we should just -”

“Show me.”

Amy moved forward and out of Cream’s grip, leaving the girl standing alone. Cream moaned in distress and looked at the door with wistfulness before following her friend deeper into the store.

They walked for a few minutes, while the tapping of a wooden cane was all that could be heard. Finally they reached a shelf with pink and red bottles. The shopkeeper ran her finger over several bottles, muttering all the while.

“Mother Knows Best, no… Scarlet L, well that’ll give desire, but not love… Puppy Love, no. Ah! Here we are!” Her raspy voice announced excitedly as she rubbed the label on an elegantly shaped bottle. As the dust cleared, they could see a very soft pearl shine on the pink glass, and the bottom of the bottle curve upwards into an inverted tear-drop. There was a crystal heart stopper plugged neatly into the opening, and the whole item was no larger than a jam jar.

The old feline blew on the bottle, and then thrust it into Amy’s hand.

“There ya are dearie! One Eternal Love potion for one lucky blue hedgehog!”

 Cream almost gasped in surprise. How did this stranger know that Amy’s crush was a blue hedgehog?! She looked over at Amy, expecting the girl to be just as aghast, but instead Amy was smiling with jubilant eyes at the crystal vial in her hand. Either she hadn’t heard the old female, or she simply didn’t care.

“How much do I owe you?” She asked, and almost as if in a trance, Amy’s hand reached into her dress pocket and pulled out her wallet. The elder shook her head and pushed Amy’s hand down.

“No dearie. I deal in many worlds and places, your rings will do me no good!”

Amy’s ears drooped, and she felt her earlier excitement dwindle as a flame dying on a candle wick.

“Don’t worry, dearie, you may have something I want…”

“Tell me!” Amy replied, her face bright and hope once again filling her heart. Her desire outweighed her caution, and she was almost willing to give just about anything in return to have the potion.

“Do you wear those bracelets everyday?”

Amy blinked in confusion for a moment before looking down at her golden bracelets. She had worn them for as long as she could remember and usually forgot that they were even there.

“Yes, I do. Did you want them?” 

She was hesitant to give up her favorite accessory, but then again she could always buy another pair, whereas she felt an odd sensation that this was her only chance to purchase the one thing that could give her what she wanted most. Sonic the Hedgehog’s heart.

“One will do dear. Gold worn by a pure maiden in love is difficult to come by.”

The fact that she didn’t have to give up both was enough to motivate Amy. Cream watched the scene unfolding in disbelief. How could Amy be so ready to trust this weird cat? It almost seemed like the young girl was under a spell. Amy quickly pulled her hand through a bracelet, and handed it over. The old witch snatched the jewelry like an angry viper, and shoved it quickly into her pocket.

“I don’t accept returns, dearie.” The old feline said hurriedly, and then began shoving the girls out of her shop.

“Now, I really must close, it’s time for me to do some cleaning. Enjoy your love!”

And with a final tinkle and slam of the door, the girls were back outside.

“Amy! Mobius to Amy!”

Amy blinked, her mind muddled from the memory. She looked up and saw Sonic staring at her with a concerned look. Right. She was with Sonic and trying to get him to drink the smoothie…

“Sorry, Sonic!”

“Jeez! If you weren’t so young, I would’ve thought you were having a stroke! Is everything okay?” Sonic stepped forward and looked closer at her face, trying to see if she was sick. Amy felt her cheeks burst into flame from their close proximity, and took the opportunity to shove the drink into his chest.

“I will be, once you drink this smoothie.” She replied with a smile. All concern immediately washed off Sonic’s face to be replaced with annoyance.

“Oh right… almost forgot. But it seems you also forgot that I’m not gonna take one sip of that until you try it first.”

Amy sighed in frustration. Chaos this hedgehog was stubborn. Well what's the harm right? I mean I already love him so drinking it shouldn’t do anything to me. She looked up at his smirking face, oh how she wanted that smirk to turn to a loving smile. To have infatuation gleam from those emerald eyes rather than arrogance. So she called his bluff.

“Fine, if taking a drink will convince you of my good intentions, then I’ll do it.”

She closed her eyes, and placed her lips around the straw and sucked. Sweet strawberry and banana flooded her mouth, and cooled her warm cheeks.

“Mmmm, see Sonic, it’s tasty!” But when she opened her eyes, Sonic was no longer in front of her. She blinked, but he still didn’t appear. Confused, Amy quickly turned around to look for him, when she bumped quite roughly into someone. The chest her head connected with was hard, and she saw stars at the edge of her vision. Smoothie splashed onto her pretty peony dress, and the unfortunate soul she had smashed into.

“Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to -” Her apology died on her lips when she looked up into the most blood red eyes she had ever seen. Beautiful, she thought.

“Chaos-dammit! You got smoothie all over this damn jacket Rouge forces me to wear. I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

Amy blinked dumbly, unable to peel her gazed from his fiery eyes. They sucked her in, made her heart tremble, and her mind go blank. 

“Sorry, Amy!” Sonic called as he came up behind her, his hands clasped together in apology, “I saw an old lady with a cane struggling to cross the road,” He laughed nervously at his excuse for ditching the girl. He’d learned from past experience that abandoning her was never a good idea.

“You know me, I can never turn my back on a lady in need!”

When she didn’t respond, and instead kept a steady gaze on the person in front of them, he tilted his head. Usually she would gush over what a gentleman he was for helping someone in need, but she barely even seemed to register that he was there. He looked up to see who had the girl’s attention and was surprised to see a dark, and pissed off hedgehog.

“Oh, hey, Shadow. Surprised to see you walking about during the day,” Sonic laughed, causing a growl to emit from Shadow. Sonic removed his hand from Amy’s shoulder and brought his hand to his chin as he looked the glaring hedgehog over. He noticed the pink drink dripping from ebony fur and leather jacket.

“Oh, looks like you did me a favor!” The hero laughed again, placing a hand on Shadow’s shoulder. The ebony male growled and smacked Sonic’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me with those weak hands, faker.”

Sonic smirked, and folded his arms, his lids lowered mockingly.

“Oh? Someone wake up on the wrong side of the cyro sleeper today?”

Shadow growled once more, his fists clenching in anger. He was about to insult the blue hero further when suddenly a pink barrier popped up between him and his object of hate. Both male hedgehogs looked down in confusion to see Amy standing with her legs spread in a firm stance, and her hands shoving into their chests. They’d forgotten that Amy was there, and she was looking back and forth between them with a stern expression.

“Stop it!” She commanded. Shadow rolled his eyes at the dramatic display, here we go. Another lecture from the number one Sonic Fangirl, on how to play nice with the blue imbecile. He really had no time for this, all he’d wanted to do was try a new cafe that had opened up and raved about their bitter americano. All he wanted was to drink an ice cold, bitter, refreshing drink, and yet he was cursed by these two idiots. Screw it, I’ll just -

“Don’t you dare talk to Shadow like that! He didn’t do anything wrong, I was the one that bumped into him!”

A pregnant silence fell upon the hedgehog trio as both males looked at each other and then back to the young girl in shock. She wasn’t glaring at Shadow like she normally would have. No, instead she was glaring fiercely at her self-proclaimed boyfriend.

“Shadow is the Ultimate Life Form! You should show him some respect!”

Silence. Sonic blinked rapidly, and stuck a finger into his ear to clean out any imaginary wax.

“Uh, Ames… what are you saying?” The hero asked, his expression was entirely stunned and confused, a comical look for the self assured hero, if the situation hadn’t been so bizarre. Amy huffed and stuck out her bottom lip before grabbing Shadow’s arm. She yanked it to her chest and stared at Sonic from behind it while sticking out her tongue.

“Wow! You really are dumb! Do I need to repeat myself twice?”

Sonic’s mouth popped open like a toaster, and his eyes flicked from Amy’s aggressive sneer to Shadow’s frozen face. What in Chaos's name is going on?

“HAHAHAHA!”

Sonic and Amy jumped from the unexpected sound, and were surprised to discover that it was Shadow laughing his ass off. Neither of Mobious’ heroes had ever seen Shadow smile let alone full belly laugh before. 

“Looks like someone finally grew a brain! How does it feel to have your fangirl burn you like that faker?” Shadow chuckled some more before removing his arm from Amy’s grip.

“Well this has been interesting, but playtime is over.” His expression had returned to its usual glower, and he turned to make his way to his destination. He had only made it one step when he was yanked backwards by a pink hedgehog.

“Where are you going? Can I come?”

Shadow looked over his shoulder in disbelief to see Amy holding his hand and staring up at him with large puppy-dog eyes. What the fu -

“Amy! What the heck is going on? Is this some kind of joke or trick?!” Sonic exclaimed, his expression deeply concerned now. Amy was acting completely out of character as though someone else had taken control of her body. He had hardly ever seen her talk to the ebony anti-hero, let alone cling to Shadow like… well like she did with him.

Amy turned to look at Sonic once more, but she didn’t let go of Shadow’s hand.

“Nothing’s ‘going on.’ I just want to spend time with Shadow.”

Shadow flinched at the words, just what was this girl playing at? Spending time with someone she constantly berated as being ‘no fun,’ ‘dark and gloomy,’ and just plain mean. It was unbelievable, impossible. However, here she was, desperately holding onto his hand, and against his better judgement, he felt something stir within him.

“Seriously, Amy! You trying to make me jealous with another guy is so overused. Just drop the act!”

“What are you talking about?” Amy scoffed, and smiled sweetly up at Shadow. Shadow felt his heart stop for a single beat as he stared into clear jade pools of adoration. A look so honest and so raw that it cut through all of his barriers and walls, and pierced his ice-cold heart. Then those sloppily painted lips part, and a voice sweeter than honey announced,

“Shadow’s my boyfriend, of course I want to spend time with him!”

[one-boring-person]

Unexpected Resistance (Part Two).

The Terminator (1984) x OC

Warnings: detailed injury, blood, mention of death.

Context: All is revealed to Sarah as they try to escape the Terminator.

A/N: sorry for the long wait between chapters! I've just had a lot to do in the last week

Edited By and Co-written With: @jawline-of-steel

Masterlist (Main)

Masterlist (Temporary)

The metal backdoor of the club slams loudly behind Sarah and Kyle as their rescuer emerges through it, stopping briefly to haul an overflowing dumpster in front of it, before she makes her way over to them, the shotgun held up so that she may use it whenever necessary. Her face is still blank and emotionless, seemingly unfazed by any of the past events, the only sign of life on it the intermittent blinking and the light sheen of sweat on her pale forehead, the way in which she approaches the two controlled, yet oddly disjointed, as if the limbs are not used to their own function, though it is barely noticeable as she walks, except to Kyle, who has begun to suspect her real nature. As she nears, the soldier lifts his own gun, unsure of whether or not she's a threat, preferring to be on the safe side as opposed to possibly leading them both to their untimely demise.

The woman takes note of this, but ignores it, moving forward to grab hold of Sarah's arm as she starts dragging her down the alley, her grip tight and uncomfortable around the soft flesh, her pace uninterrupted even when Kyle calls after her.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

The soldier catches up to them, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, only to be brushed off as she steps forwards again, heading towards a car at the far end of the alley.

"I asked you a question!" Kyle tries again, pushing on her shoulder instead, doing his best to get her attention. 

This time, the woman turns and acknowledges him, but only so that she can take hold of the back of his neck and force him forwards, ignoring his protests and struggles, walking them both over to the desired car. Upon reaching it, she shoves them forwards and then smashes the window in, unlocking the doors and opening them, turning her hard, emotionless stare on them.

"Get in." She commands, watching them both.

"Why?" Kyle questions, suspicious.

"You are at risk if you remain here. It is recommended that you leave." She explains, strangely distanced from what she is saying, as if they are not her own words.

Just as she says this, the metal door back down the alleyway is smashed open, a tall, familiar figure stepping out of it, rifle loaded and levelled at the new scenery. The man from before emerges through it and walks down into the alley itself, his head moving stiffly in a way that means he can scan the area effectively, his eyes settling on the trio at the far end. Expression hardening, he lifts the gun and starts walking towards them, finger tightening over the trigger. 

The woman notices this and turns towards the threat, waiting until he is in line with a car before firing off her own round, damaging the fuel tank of the vehicle, allowing petrol to flow from it out onto the pavement. With one more shot, the exposed fuel explodes, fire spreading quickly along the length of the alleyway, blocking off all access to humans, the three of them able to feel the heat rippling off of the flickering flames as it continues to increase in severity. Without another word, the woman pushes Kyle into the driver's seat of the car and slams the door on him, forcing Sarah into the passengers side as she moves into the backseat, kicking the door off of its hinges as she goes.

"Drive." She orders Kyle, reloading her gun as the soldier responds, having seen the man suddenly emerge from the blaze ahead of them, the muscular figure running at them and leaping onto the bonnet, holding on tightly. Lifting a fist, he thrusts it through the windscreen, moving to grab at Sarah, who screams and bats at the appendage, writhing in terror. The car reverses abruptly, swerving to dislodge the man on the front of it, though it is unsuccessful in its action. Wordlessly, the woman in the backseat leans out of the open door, holding onto the underside of the roof of the car and firing at the man, aiming for the hands holding him in place. 

The car jerks to the left again, turning in a full circle as Kyle prepares to drive off down the road, the killer finally falling away, hitting the curb, hard, as the others drive off, the woman forcing herself back into the car again, the shotgun held across her lap as she turns her hard gaze onto the two in the front. In the rearview mirror, Kyle eyes her, still worried about the threat this woman may still pose, though he is unsure of whether his concerns are justified, given her clear protective stance back in the club. For a moment, he turns his attention to the girl beside him, seeing as she is his primary responsibility until the threat chasing after them has been dealt with.

“Are you hurt? Are you shot?!” The soldier questions her, raising his voice when she doesn’t immediately respond, trying to look over at her as he simultaneously navigates the road. 

Panicked, Sarah glances at him, eyes wide and breathing uneven, before she lunges for the door handle, aiming to escape, only to be jerked back into place by the woman’s hand on the back of her shirt pulling her back into the seat, a hoarse scream escaping her throat as she goes to struggle in the iron grip. Showing no sign of reaction, the woman holds her in place, seemingly using no real effort to do so, her mouth opening once to speak again.

"Do not leave the car. It would not be beneficial." 

Kyle looks up at her in the rear view mirror again, still trying to work out the nature of her tone, his conscience battling with him on whether or not he should ask her the question at the tip of his tongue. He is hesitant to ask, due to the somewhat offensive way he'll have to word it, knowing that asking this could also result in more panic and fear in Sarah, especially if the woman in the back turns out to be as hostile as he thinks she may be. As he navigates the streets, however, he decides that it would be much more helpful if he knew the truth.

"You're not human, are you?" He inquires, ignoring the confused look Sarah shoots at him.

The woman fixes her gaze on him, removing her grip from Sarah's shirt as she makes sure the girl won't go anywhere before replying, the response automatic.

"No. I am a terminator, series T-750, Cyberdyne Systems model 95." She recites, her stare unwavering.

"Series T-750? I don't remember any of those." Kyle muses, frowning as he tries to take in her appearance.

"That is because I am the only one in current existence, at the moment of 2029 that I was sent back from." The T-750 clarifies sharply, turning her head suddenly when a police car draws level with them. 

Noticing it, Kyle tells Sarah to hold on, before jerking the wheel to the side, ramming the opposing vehicle with some force, forcing it to stop unless the driver wishes to crash into a parked car nearby, the tactic working as the cop pulls up abruptly. Straightening out again, Kyle goes to continue the conversation.

"The only one? Are you like the T-800, then? Like an infiltration unit? A cyborg?"

"I am alike to the T-800 in that I have a partially hyperalloy endoskeleton, and that my exoskeleton is human flesh and skin. Unlike the T-800, however, my body was not always this way, so my human skeleton is still somewhat intact under the metal endoskeleton. Skynet built me as an infiltration unit, but I was captured by the Resistance in the first month of my activation and reprogrammed. When you were sent back, John Connor deemed it necessary to send extra protection. I am here to ensure the success of this mission."

Kyle is silent for a few minutes, trying to process this information, only to then realise that Sarah is looking at him, terrified and confused.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" She exclaims in confusion, clearly thinking that the two are crazy.

"The reason why we're both here." He takes a deep breath, "Look, there's some stuff you need to know. I'll tell you in a minute, but first I've gotta ditch this car." 

The soldier turns into a parking lot, the enclosed space providing some cover from prying eyes, meaning the destroyed car can be left here without being too conspicuous. He takes it to a far corner and parks it, checking the surroundings briefly, only for the T-750 to climb out and survey the area in more detail, her HUD able to decipher everything it sees in more clarity. After a moment, she signals that all is clear, and ushers them out of the car, leading the way over to another more suitable vehicle, smashing in the window and opening it for them, ignoring the shards of glass that fall out over her gloved hands. Having done so, she then opens the door and waits for Sarah and Kyle to climb in, before getting in the backseat again.

"Listen to me very carefully, Sarah…" Kyle starts explaining everything to Sarah, though it does not appear that the T-750 is paying any attention, her hands rummaging through the pockets of the coat she acquired, trying to find the object she made sure was at hand. Finding it, she pulls that nail kit from her pocket and opens it, picking out the scissors after removing the glove of her left hand.

Holding her hand still, she uses the scissors to cut a small incision that loops around the top most knuckle of her index finger, showing no emotion in response to what would be pain, blood starting to stream down the digit as she works at it. Having cut the line, she then slices upwards towards the tip of her finger, slashing open the pad of it until it reaches the nail, at which point she puts down the scissors again, taking out the tweezers instead. With a clinical accuracy, she then wedges them under the flaps of skin and pulls them apart, peeling away the layer from the flesh underneath along with the nail, the veins and tissue only just covering the polyalloy underneath, the surface bloodied and crimson from the presence of organic material. Tearing off the excess skin, the T-750 takes the file from the kit and starts working at the flesh, rubbing it away from the glistening metal of her endoskeleton finger, the pointed tip protruding from the human exoskeleton unnaturally, revealing her true identity. 

Staying focused on the task, she does not notice that the other two have gone silent and are watching her, horror evident on their faces as they take in the grim sight of the cyborg chafing away the bloody tissue.

"What...what are you doing?" Kyle finally finds his voice, staring at her.

"I am preparing for the mission. This is necessary to ensure its success." She responds, not looking up as she continues to work.

"How is that supposed to help us kill a terminator?" 

At this, the cyborg looks up.

"I am not able to kill a T-800."

"What?! Why not? Why are you here, then?!" The soldier sounds panicked, disbelief crossing his face as he turns fully in his seat to glare at her.

"I am an inferior model, and so the possibility of my killing the T-800 is very low. I will use a more efficient tactic to deal with the problem." She informs him, dropping the file on the seat beside her as she wipes the finger on her shirt, inspecting the metal digit momentarily before replacing her glove.

"A more efficient tactic?" Sarah speaks up this time, her voice shaky and scared.

"I will subdue it, and reprogram it."

Just as she says this, they suddenly become aware of multiple cars entering the parking lot, blue and red lights flashing alternately as the vehicles swarm the area. 

"There is a high possibility that the T-800 is with the police. It is recommended that we leave the area immediately." The T-750 informs them, gripping her shotgun again as she gets ready to shoot, cocking the weapon ominously.

"When I have a clear shot, I'll get out." Kyle assures her, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Good."

For a minute or so, they remain silent, trying to stay as still as possible so as not to draw any attention to them, Kyle eventually starting to hotwire the car, the engine spluttering loudly in protest.

"Come on, come on!" He growls under his breath, finally getting the car to start, just as a bullet smashes in the back window, multiple gunshots following it as the familiar sight of the T-800 becomes visible to them all. Swiftly, Kyle pulls out of the space and starts driving parallel to the terminator across from them, relying on the T-750, who has leaned out of the window slightly, her gun raised and firing off rounds with precision, though it is thrown off by the rapid movement of the car. Before the T-800 can catch up to them, Kyle manages to locate the exit, and leaves the parking lot, taking back to the roads as he starts to slalom in and out of other traffic users, ignoring their calls of protests as he cuts in front of them. 

The T-800 follows on, firing from the window of his police car as he goes, chasing them around each tight bend, his rapid assault unwavering and unaffected by any obstructions. Both Terminators shoot at each other, aiming to disable the other, though they are both unsuccessful in their tactics, neither of them receiving any injury.

"Hey, you need to get down! Now!" Kyle suddenly calls back to her, though she does not hear it until it is too late, the sudden braking of the car throwing her forwards into the road, rolling ahead of the slowing vehicle until she hits the wall they tried to avoid, her heavy body slamming into it with force. To her left, the other Terminator's car smashes into the wall, too, his body jerking into the dashboard like a rag doll. Both cyborgs momentarily "black out", their HUDs registering and attending to any damage the hyperalloy systems have gained, the T-800 quickly getting to his feet and moving out of sight of the wreckage, clearly knowing it will not be able to continue on its mission here. The T-750 is slower to stand up, her systems being slower and less efficient than the advanced model, though she is still up and moving over to the two others in the car with very little recovery time needed, ignoring the calls of the policemen as they pull up. She opens the car door and helps Sarah out, checking her over as Kyle climbs out of the vehicle by himself, dropping to his knees in front of the armed men before him, surrendering to them.

"You need to do the same." Sarah says to the cyborg, unused to the fact that common courtesy such as following superior orders might not be in her system yet.

"Why?" The T-750 stares at her, waiting for a response.

"Just do it, ok? You'll get shot if you don't."

The cyborg regards her for another few seconds, before she slowly goes and kneels beside Kyle, the shotgun dropped to the floor in front of her.

A couple of cops go to check out the other wreck, only to find it empty, the driver long gone now.

[yeoldontknow]

Time Runner: 6

Author’s Note: welcome back to chanvember! thank you all for being so patient with me. i really do love this story so much and i hope you all enjoy it too <3 | this work features graphic content that may be triggering and themes not suitable for an audience under the age of 18. these themes include but are not limited to: discussions of PTSD, mentions of character death; graphic representations/discussion of blood, themes of war/violence, and explicit nudity. please do not read this story if any of these topics make you uncomfortable or if you are under 18. Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: time travel!au; suspense; thriller; drama; romance; angst; sci-fi/fantasy Rating (this chapter): R Warnings: discussions and references to PTSD/trauma; mentions of character death; themes of abandonment; graphic representations and discussions of blood; graphic themes of war/violence; explicit nudity; explicit language; heavy angst || do not read this story of these warnings make you uncomfortable Word Count: 5,832

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You snuck into Macy’s on 34th Street just as the last customers were beginning to leave, the closing chime a mechanical noise that briefly gave you pause, eyes wide and knuckles taught. The shrillness of the clicks made the hairs on your arms stand on end, awakening the gooseflesh of shock and awe for man made things and inviting you, once more, to your reintroduction to society.

Your footsteps were not cautious, the harshness of your pressure luxuriating in solid tile and the way it did not bend or give beneath your weight. In the distant recesses of your memory, you wondered when you had started to take the solidness of architecture for granted, but then, you supposed there were millions of nuances you had learned to ignore simply because they were rather than could be.

Chanyeol followed behind in silence, hot on your heels and nursing a fire within his core. Even as he kept his slight distance, you could hear the racing thoughts and the words that splintered, unspoken and unuttered, at the back of his tongue. If you had learned anything in your year apart, you had learned patience, the gift that comes with learning to accept time and the chronology of desire - the way it continues, unspoiled, even when you wish it would rush towards you. Behind you, Chanyeol had wanted to speak, but you kept your jaw clenched tight, forcing him to silence and ensuring he, too, learn what it means to wait. 

Thousands of questions burned in your throat like bile, but you’d lived a full year without pandering to his acquiescence and your priorities had changed. You needed clothing, food, things vital to your survival as a person. Over time and long without him, you’d built yourself into a beast, and only with rows and rows of finely pressed shirts and soft denim, neat and clean and organized all around you, did you remember that you were a woman born into polite society.  

Rather unceremoniously, you stripped out of your clothes in the center of the woman's clothing aisle. You'd climbed the metal stairs of the escalators with a hurried excitement, enjoying the rattle of mechanical objects as they warped against your touch. Finding clothes reminded you of bounty, of the way you had gone hungry and gone empty, alarmed, now, by all the things you had taken for granted when you were selfish and not wise enough to truly know the difference. 

You did not bother to shield your naked body from Chanyeol. Over time, you’d grown used to undressing in open spaces, unshy and unmoved by watchful eyes - if they wanted your skin, they would do their best to claim it, and you were always ready for the fight. In turn, Chanyeol did not bother to turn around, his gaze on you hard and unyielding, repossessing what he could and eyeing you as a phantom, certain you would disappear if he looked away. Jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest, he watched you peel your garments, your armor and the ripped flesh of dead things, away from your skin, with grim, thin lips. 

He watched your motions with a morbid curiosity, concerned yet devoted to the marks on your skin. The dried dirt and blood peppered your exposed breasts, caked into thick layers, the smears having been there for days, weeks, months. Hygiene had been a luxury, a difficult luxury to find in the cold months of winter. The water had just started to raise its temperature when Chanyeol decided to show his face, your weary feet walking along the river bank looking for a clear expanse of water, free from the undercurrent of frost. A younger version of yourself would be concerned you hadn't the time to get clean for him, to make yourself into, something soft and warm and pretty, but you did not bother to mourn that version of yourself. You were different now.

And, apparently, so was Chanyeol. 

With each new reveal of your bruises and marks, he simply watched, impassive, yet, paradoxically, enlightened, unwavering in the way his gaze traversed your bones. Something about the fierceness in his eyes put a fury in your knuckles, a new side of him being revealed alongside your bruises, the side that does not weep for the ravaging of beautiful things. He watched you with understanding, the appalled displeasure of affection mixed with knowledge, guilt, and expectation - as though he had imagined worse, relieved you were alive while acknowledging, with the bitterness of remorse, that you were not whole.

As a challenge, you kept your eyes on him just the same, standing fully naked before him and demanding that he see you. Tongue pressed against the back of your teeth, you were glad for the battle that had ripped your goodness away, glad that you were now his equal - full of lies, and secrets, and deception. He would never know all the things you had learned to break in his absence, even if he was forced to live with the knowledge of breaking you. 

When he did not look away, simply regarded you with a hesitant awe that made your head raise high, you turned away, studying the fashion you had learned to forget. With careful hands, you tugged shirts off of hangers, lips downturned in a serious frown as you walked down the aisles, dropping the items that displeased you. Your hands gave pause over the clothes, lingering too long on each fabric as you rubbed it between your fingers. The sheerness of modern materials suddenly seemed so impermanent, beauty without function and designed without art.

But even these fabrics were rough in their harshness, the cotton worn away without a pre-wash and mixed with materials never meant to be pressed against the supple softness of skin. Alone, you grimaced and you laughed, skin tight and aching with the complexity of memory - the nostalgia of the distant comfort of poly-blend, merging with the ache for the supple protection of leather. 

It was only when the silence of his watchful eyes became oppressive, your tongue adopting a burn that whispered of the sourness of betrayal and  with the sour taste of betrayal and contempt, that you started to speak. 

‘You didn’t come back for me.’ 

A simple sentence, accusatory in its weight. As you spoke, your voice felt bitter, a dry expanse of disappointment tarnished with the embers of love and longing. Even then, you weren't sure when questions had become statements, prideful in the slow realization that you were the one leading illuminating the direction of the conversation. Now, you were the one in a position of authority, wise and dominant and mighty enough to demand action, but you would not apologize. 

After everything, this small, accusatory sentence was all you could manage. 

Leaning against a large square pillar, home to a long, clean mirror, Chanyeol pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and began to speak in shaking tones.

‘I did!’ he protested, words little more than a hiss of passion

‘No.' How odd, you thought, to speak with your full voice and tongue, unafraid of being heard by anyone, including yourself. You smiled, pulling a pair of jeans from a shelf on the wall with an apathetic tug. Sizes had become arbitrary things. All that mattered was that you were clothed and clean. ‘If it were me, I’d have come back for you in the space of a breath.' With this, you turned to face him, looking him in the eye and demanding he wither by the force of you. 'I would have run right back to you, and you left me.’

'You have no idea what I did to get to you,' he shot back, the tightness in his voice warping his words into a plea that spoke of anguished hostility. 'You have no idea how badly I wanted to find you. I thought you would trust me enough to give me the benefit of the doubt.'

Each of his words dripped with a pain that spoke of knives - knives against skin and knives against the malleable, fragile muscle of the heart. Chanyeol kissed his words with a desperation that made you pity him, the simplicity of his hurt almost infantile compared to the torment of abandonment. Love lingered in the spaces between his words, the words that spoke of trust and desire and wanting. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you felt your expression harden, glancing over your shoulder to cast him a harsh stare. Trust was a thing he had consistently bent beneath his greedy hands, taking it from you surreptitiously, even though you so willingly had given it to him, eager to be wanted. Even when you were together, he still walked over the truth as though it were eggshells, delicate in its presence as though he feared it. 

Long ago, you would have waited and bit your tongue, urging him to continue. Now, he had no choice but to listen.

‘They don’t care about me,' you explained, turning away to find a shirt rather than a bra. Your hands clutched the jeans with a tightness you had adopted over years of watching things get ripped away, holding them close and hoping they remain. 'They aren’t after me.’

Chanyeol scoffed. 'Whether or not they were didn't affect my effort to get to you. All I cared about - all I continue to care about - is keeping you safe.’

He was tired, you could hear it in the way he clipped his words, pushing back against your combative nature with a bite of his own. Tired as he was, the words dripped from his lips with a passion that made your spine tingle, invigorated by the violent compassion.

‘I wasn’t.'

‘I know,' he agreed, vehemently. 'I’m -’

‘Don’t say you’re sorry,’ you said, cutting him off as you pulled a button down shirt from a hanger. Turning to face him, you angled your chest towards him. ‘I meant, and continue to mean, nothing to the men after you. You had to cover your own ass.’

‘What am I supposed to say?’ he snapped, taking several stops forward with vigor. ‘Can you really blame me for -’

‘Yes.' It was a bark of a statement, one that made you glide your tongue over your teeth as you flashed him a glare. ‘I can.’ 

‘And what would you have had me do?’ The lilt of exasperation in his voice was exhilarating. You needed this confrontation, needed to hear him break. Pushing him to the edge was the only way you could get a deluge of honesty out of him. ‘Risk both of us getting captured and sent back to 3148 just to die? I can’t do that again!

There he was again, spewing more secrets and mysteries your way as though they made any reasonable form of sense or logic. Dropping the clothes, you whirled around and walked towards him until your feet were inches from his. At once and by habit, you found the small circle of his nose freckle, so prettily on display at close proximity, and you willed yourself to hate it. 

He was the ice of a winter storm that fed the fire in your veins. In that moment, you wanted to kill him or kiss him, bleed him beneath your tongue, fill the ache in your heart with him, and run from him all at once. There had never been a moment when you could truly trust him, but still and after everything, you loved him. Through all your fragile and tarnished expectations in a lost year, the breath from his parted lips said more about his loss than yours.

‘You have lied to me so many times.’ Your voice was low, trembling with a rage that turned your fisted knuckles white. ‘How many people have you done this with? How many people have you dragged backwards and forwards through time just to leave them to die?’

‘None. I promise. It's only ever been you,' he said, shaking his head. At once his expression changed, brow furrowed in offense, appalled at the very idea. 'Do you really think I could? You have to let me -’

‘What?' you barked. 'Finish that sentence. I have to what? Believe you? Let you explain? I don't have to do anything you want me to.' 

Going to war with him like this felt liberating, a flood of woe and resentment and violence unfurling from your tongue. The words hurt to say, but hurt more to keep them in side - it hurt to have felt them for so long, aware that your breaking was a long, slow event that only bled once he pulled you back. 

'You left me in a Medieval Holocaust, Chanyeol!’ you shouted, voice raw and blunt as the edge of a knife. ‘I’m not me anymore!’ 

The sound of your voice resonating off the high ceiling briefly made you panic, the loudest you’d been in over a year, and you almost withered beneath the strength of the echo. But this, the glory of your cadence and the wrath of its tenor - the way it terrified you to witness the birth of your rage - made you smile. 

Finally, the only thing you had to fear was yourself. 

You were confident there was nothing left of you for him to love. Standing before him, you were a shattered, frayed ghost of a girl who had been soaked in bloodshed and brutality. Digging your feet into the tile, you felt not unlike a crow, the talons of your toes latched to a position you not be moved from. He would confront you, see you, and know you. Now, you were no longer fresh faced or warm, able to love him back to safety or even love him to a state of comfort. 

You would not, most grievously, be able to tell him that it would be ok. You were not fine. We would never be fine.

Instead, you had returned to him a general. A survivor. A woman. By slipping through time, he had escaped the delicate nuances that came with aging, while you had greeted them, though not altogether gracefully. Even as this thought crossed your mind, you fathomed it a bit unfair, but the cruelty of it felt like yours. 

‘You are exactly who I expected you to be!’ he yelled back, matching your tone with his own venom. This, too, was the loudest he had ever been. With you, he had always offered kind, gentle words, but something in the tick, richness in his voice told you he longed for this. Alive with passion, his eyes bored into yours, desperate. ‘You, in this moment, are exactly the person I thought I’d found in the library!’

‘For once,’ you demanded, vocal cords scratching together in a metallic, brutal sound, ‘can you give me the entire fucking truth without sparing me the details, like I’m a goddamn child?’

‘I met you when I was twenty, Y/N!’ 

He placed his hands on either side of your face, fingers carrying the same tightness and ferocity as the day you met. Part of you wanted to reel back from his touch, but he held you with a confidence and an aggression that mirrored your own, as though he had lived the year with you, by your side as a phantom limb. The guttural instinct to pull away faded almost immediately, replaced by awe as you marveled at his strength. This was not the touch of a man surprised into a state of fear. 

This was the touch of a man who knew how to handle flame, unafraid of being burned.

‘You were always older than me,' he explained, emphatically. 'Always smarter, and distant like you’d seen war, every inch of a history I just didn’t have access to. Y/N, I was twenty. I’m forty-six now and you, this you, is the woman I met as a boy and fell in love with. I’ve seen all of you now, only in the wrong order.’ 

When he finished speaking he released your face and backed away, chest heaving with the roughness lost breath, hands on his hips, bereft. Your brow furrowed deeply as you regarded him, processing his words with a loss of your own breath. Eyes wide and chest flushed, you leaned forward, urging him to continue. He ran his hand beneath his nose, gathering sweat, or tears, or both, lips wet and red. Words rose and died on your tongue, partly swallowed by your desire to hear him explain himself and party burned to ash by your own shock and bewilderment. There simply could be no way. 

‘Half my life has been wrapped up in you,' he finished, looking past you with a defeated, almost longing expression, looking through time to an age when things were hopeful. 'Two whole timelines have been filled with you, and I still want more.'

Perhaps what infuriated you most was that nothing about his tone said he meant to placate you. This was not his way of smoothing your edges, not even an implication that he would want to, simply his form of honesty that demanded you believe him. 

It only stoked the fire that had ignited in your veins, the mere idea of his narrative revisionist at best. Breathing long and slow and deep, you tried to fathom it - time and chronology and the distance in between, as if you were ever able to break away from it without his hand to show you how. 

‘Is that supposed to be comforting?’ you managed, mirroring his pose and placing your hands on your hips.

Chanyeol simply shrugged, no longer feeling the need to kiss the art of convincing. ‘If it comforts you, then yes. But it’s the truth.’

You laughed, cocking your head back to regard the ceiling, cold and hollowed. Looking back at him once more, you narrowed your eyes and shook your head. ‘No, it fucking isn’t,' you spat. ‘How would I have met you twenty years ago? Tell me.’

‘I found you, or maybe you found me,' he tried, walking towards you once more, emboldened by his own honesty. 'I don’t know because you never told me. And believe me - I asked, hundreds of times. Every time, you just shook your head and told me you had your own secrets.'

‘Well,’ you sneered, feeling vindicated. ‘Isn’t it funny how the tables turned.’

‘'Don't you dare act like it's the same,' he hissed, his own eyes narrowing on the impact of your implication. 'I asked out of love, and I stopped asking out of trust. From the moment we met, I trusted you.'

The pain of synchronicity struck against your heart, pulling at your ribs to put an ache in your soul. Biting your lip, you felt the blood rush from your cheeks, down and into your heart, your mind awash with memories of a time that belonged to another life, another you. You were not so different from him, once, young and foolish and vain, finding a man in a library who looked at you as though you were the center of the universe, wanting to always remain in that light. 

You ran, just as he did, with a stranger who promised the stars.

'Every secret,' he continued, 'I’ve kept from you has been for your own good.’ At this, he laughed, glancing down at his feet with a sheepish suppression. ‘And, fine, maybe I was selfish. I needed to know why - why it's always you, and why it's always us. All this time, I’ve been learning as we go. You've been learning time, and I’ve just been learning you.’

Your heart sank deep into your chest, pressing against your sternum in its trajectory. A younger version of you would have run to him, seeking the comfort of his arms or seeking to comfort the flush that had spread into his neck, but you had learned to only allow yourself the experience of comfort after the ugliness of humanity had been revealed. Luxuries only came when deserved, and you still had too many questions to let the night become easy.

‘Where am I in your timeline?' you asked, slowly. 'The woman you met, not the girl you found.’

‘You ran with me after I stole the key. I-' Chanyeol cut himself off, swallowing thickly before he lifted his gaze to yours, eyes wet and expressive, anguished and lost and so terribly hollow. 'I watched them kill you in front of our city center. You went to them willingly and they made an example out of you. They hoped it would encourage everyone else to find me.' 

Looking at Chanyeol, his wide eyes regarding you, still, as a treasure he had twice lost, the blood in your veins stilled. Only then, naked and vulnerable and reconciling the reality of your own death, did you begin to feel cold. Death, within and without time, was inevitable, a doom clock that left little room for escape, even if it was by your own hand. Suddenly, you understood the weight of his careful treading - having pushed him to the limits of his emotional strength; you understood the Ministry and their casual disinterest, your existence little more than an interesting afterthought, dealt with and succinctly witnessed in reverse. 

In one fell swoop, you realized you were as good as a stolen key, a treasure in his eyes and heart. 

‘So that’s why they don’t want me.’ Your words came as a hollow whisper, words that did not need to be spoken, but felt real, and tangible, as you spoke them. ‘They already know my fate.’ The weight of it rendered you back into a child, petulant and tempestuous at the understanding you had survived an inquisition just to choose another. And even as you spoke, your mind raced, began formulating plans and strategies, ways to fight and ways to live. ‘I’m already dead.’

Saying it out loud made your vision clear and brought Chanyeol close to you once more. At such close proximity, you were finally able to see him - to see him and witness him. The grey hair behind his ears spoke, now, of a life long lived and long experienced, so full and wrought with emotion that it swept through the strands like wind. Wrinkles tucked themselves into the corner of his eyes and lips, the nodes of his pores speaking more of worry and anxiety than the good natured laughter that many wore through time. Before you, he stood as a pillar of age and wisdom, and suddenly you realized you had learned nothing - always too selfish to see him for who he truly was.

Yours, always, and aged by the brutality of your existence.

He sighed heavily, tired and lost, giving over to your poison and to the old, fractured man he had so suddenly become. ‘You went willingly to them,' he repeated, soft and gentle and careful. 'I realize now you already knew how we would end.’ Fixing you with an affectionate stare, he attempted a smile, the thin line of his lips unable to believe the warmth of it. 'You made the choice already knowing that, eventually, you would.'

‘Why...didn’t you ever tell me?’ you asked, stepping forward. Your hands ached to reach for him, but you pressed them against your sides, fists curled into a ball to stifle the effort. 

‘What,’ he sighed, cocking his head to the side, exasperated, ‘that I knew everything about you before you’d actually become the person I knew?’

‘No! That you’d known about me and this since we met!’ This was the moment, you thought. The first time you could feel the fabric of the universe pulled in every direction, the void in between pressing against your shoulders. ‘What is the point, then, Chanyeol? I had a right to know!’

‘Because there's still so much of it I don’t understand,’ he pressed. ‘You ran with me, willingly. I asked because I needed to know, and you came because you wanted to.’

Pressing your hand to your chest, you clung to the one thing you could truly believe in. ‘I deserved to know!’

Closing his eyes, he chuckled to himself, cocking an eyebrow in interest when he looked at you cones more. ‘Would you have come?’ he asked. ‘If I told you, would you still have come? Don’t you think there’s something sacred to letting people live their life without knowing when they die?’

You didn’t have an answer for that, felt your fire and will begin to crumble beneath the weight of his stare. Falling silent, you felt your chest rise and fall, shallow breaths rattling through your lungs as you considered all the ways you had underestimated him. As though he wasn’t prepared for you, as though he wasn’t battle born himself. Now, confronted by his perception of the truth, so experienced in the handling of moral philosophy, you felt terribly small.

‘So you just wanted me there?’ A weak and selfish argument, one that spoke to your emotional turmoil, pulling back the armor of your heart to reveal the lost, and fragile soul kept within. 

‘I always want you with me.’ He said the words with a smile that was neither warm nor inviting, tragic in its honesty and acceptance of this truth, but still remained reassuring. Something about the way he looked at you said he was just as small and lost and desperate as you. ‘I don’t understand how to be without you. I did that - for a long time - and it was awful. I can’t -’

‘So this is my fate?’ you whispered, cutting him off. ‘To run with you forever?’

 A cold phrase, when you really meant to say needed. Was your fate to always need him, and be needed by him.

‘It seems fair, doesn’t it?’ he countered, the hope in his voice leveling your will to ash. ‘I’ve been in love with you forever, because this relationship stretches for an eternity. We are laced through history, you and I.’ His words came in a rush, passionate, emboldened, painting a universe in which time was moved by your hearts alone. ‘Tell me what the difference is!’

‘The difference is that forever is absolutely meaningless with you!’ It was your turn to step forward, letting yourself be close and captured in his warmth. It felt natural, comfortable, easy to be in his blanket again, close enough to remember why you’d run with him, always. ‘Don’t you see? It’s inconsequential and childish, because you render it tangible.’ 

Your voice was quiet and resolute, silencing him and all his echoing protests. Along your nerves, an itch to touch and feel him started to rise, wanting, all at once, to be handled by him, and to handle him with the new strength that had burrowed between your knuckles. He kept his gaze on yours, searching your face with a mystified expression, awed by the way you were both his and yours, his memories of you overlayed with the reality standing before him. A chill walked along your skin, and you welcomed it, glad that you had never learned an immunity against the glory of his eyes.

He was emboldened by the conviction of his love, the force of it nestling beneath your pores, rooting itself in your marrow. This time powerful, this time adult, this time raw. You shivered again, willing yourself to speak with a wisdom that echoed his own.

‘Forever bores me,’ you explained, voice calm and quiet, demanding to be heard. ‘Forever is scattered and non-linear, plot points. It’s charted data to be stumbled upon, found like a fucking surprise. Forever doesn’t fucking exist, Chanyeol.’

‘That’s funny,’ he murmured, ‘considering I’ve devoted my entire life to giving you every tomorrow.’

You wanted to laugh, amazed he could still cling to the words that would have soothed a younger, more fragile version of you; torn, in the end, by the contrast of your spirit. 

‘There hasn’t been a tomorrow for a long, long time,’ you said, softly. ‘Tomorrow and the future never comes, it just is. All there is, is now. Give me the present and make that stretch onwards. That’s how you tell someone you love them. You give them the present and you fight for it.’ Now, you let yourself take his hand, twining his fingers together with a roughness that spoke of cosmology and chemistry, the bonds of the cosmos and the bonds of atoms, stitched together by science and magic of choice. ‘Like this - this is a war you refuse to let die.’ 

In the silence that lingered between you both, he leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, sharing your breath. For a while, you remained this way, tactile, alive, and united, fighting for one another and fighting for a life that was meant to be shared. Eventually, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him with a tightness that felt desperate. You followed suit, looping your arms over his shoulders and letting your fingers stroke idly at the hair at the back of his neck. 

Sharing breath with him grounded you back in the physicality of your body, blood warm and rushing to places long ignored. Your thighs ached, your chest heaved, your tongue wet - not with fear, not with rage, but with wanting - with Chanyeol. It hurt, in a sense, to be so aware of your skin, your limbs, your heart, the folds at the center of your core - awakened back into a person rather than a soldier. Chanyeol did not touch you with an urgency that spoke of wanting, just with a confidence and a power that said he knew what it meant to remember your soul, the person behind the skin and the human in the mind. 

It felt natural to be held this way - as if it was always how you wanted to be held: tightly, securely, violently. You clung to him, eyes starting to feel wet with tears you did not know had started to spill, cheeks scorched on contact with the fire of your emotions. Pulling back slightly, he regarded you with reverence, brought his hand to his mouth, pulling off his glove with his teeth before using his thumb to wipe the tears on your cheek away. He never took his eyes off yours, never apologized - aware you would not let him, aware that he could not - simply let you be held.

Resting his forehead against yours once more, he cupped your cheek with his hand, eyes closed and heart thundering against yours in his sternum.

‘I’m going to kiss you,’ he whispered, so unlike the way he used to ask.

Now, it was a warning, rather than a request, an announcement to be prepared for the totality of him, his longing, and his desire to protect you. The raw honesty of his statement rendered you silent, eyes half-lidded as you nodded, brought yourself closer to him, to the roughness of his clothes and the warmth of his skin that radiated from beneath. He whined at your acceptance of this, his own resolve collapsing beneath the relief of having you again - safe, and whole, and his.

He came to your mouth with a calculated vengeance, careful in the way he his hands handled you while his lips dripped loss and anguish into your blood, the force of his lips against yours a wild fire. You clawed at him, kissing him messily, unpretty in the way you handled his mouth, all teeth and tongue, the violence of war and hunger and grief pulling at his shirt by the strength in your fingers. For a year, you’d been charged, forced into a new shape that was both reductive and carnal, fierce yet so very fragile. He moaned into the kiss, and so did you, unsure if the wetness on your cheeks were your tears or his, though, in the end, you supposed it did not matter. 

This grief, you realized, was shared - scattered, out of order, and impossible, but shared just the same. 

Chanyeol tore through you with the full velocity of love, while you tore through him, full of lust and longing. Needing to catch his breath, he pulled back, smiling sweetly at your whimper of loss, your own lips wet and swollen. Tugging at his neck, you urged him back, wanting more, needing to feel him in places that were just was warm and moist as your mouth. He shook his head, ran his hand up your neck to tilt your head, leaning down to the tender skin with a gentleness that made you tremble.

Softly, he kisses your scars, gentle and warm and adoring, the quiet serenity and devotion of this pulled a sob from your chest, your hands clinging to him as though the kindness of this action was a trick. He kissed and kissed at all the things that had tried to unmake you, giving you the opportunity to get used to love, and loyalty, and veneration once more. With each touch of his lips, you felt yourself choke on a sob, realizing you’d missed him beyond imagination - his voice, his touch, the way he held onto words as though they were sacred, the way he held onto you, always reluctant to let you go. 

You’d punished him, spent an entire year and hours into the night punishing him, a projection of the way you had punished yourself, demanding he hurt with you. And even after all that, after the change and bloodshed and the violence, he still kissed you as though you deserved to be adored.

Eventually, he pulled away, laced his fingers through yours and led you to a bathroom. You kept your eyes on his while he cleaned you, wetting paper towels with hot water, letting you get used to the sting with gentle caresses. With each passing swipe, you decided, resolutely and confidently, that time had accounted for so many things, but it had never accounted for you. With each swipe, Chanyeol removed the dirt and the blood and the clay, revealing the essence of you that lingered beneath. 

You had played a hand in the manipulation of history, had survived an Inquisition and would live to see another, and decided, that if you were born to see the shift and movement of time, then so would you shift and move your fate.

Time had accounted for everything except your choice. 

Time would never erase you so swiftly, not after everything you had made with Chanyeol. You would not hand yourself over to a Ministry that had no power or governance over your path - they had proven you existed outside it, beyond it, and you did not matter to its rules or structure.

You would fight and you would create the change.

Your fate was not theirs to control.

Your fate was not theirs.

[hereticaloracles]

Asteroid Files: Psyche

Helios on Psyche: Hey, so this one was one studied by my teacher, the incomparable Karen from Ravenesque Tarot. She no longer practices, but I did preserve and build on top of her work. It didnt seem right to retrod old ground so here is her take, unedited and unchanged. All credit to her. She was the one who set me on the path of minor planets and asteroids, so her influence on me is massive.

Without further ado….

SCIENCE

Asteroid 16 Psyche is massive in size and her weight is one percent of the entire main asteroid belt.  Discoveries have shown that she is completely metallic and has no water components whatsoever. It is also claimed that her massive size does affect the other asteroids in an uneasy manner. Discovered on March 17, 1852 (a Pisces) by Annibale de Gasparis, Psyche spends near five years orbiting the Sun, spending roughly three or so months in each sign, orbit dependent.

MYTHOLOGY

The mythology of Cupid and Psyche, Amor and Psyche, Eros and Psyche, has become legendary and it is the common archetype of many the romance and romantic expectations. Psyche was mortal and beautiful, the perfect creature and the complete envy of Venus.  Completely jealous, Venus finally convinces her son Cupid, to cast his magic over Psyche so that only the ugliest and vilest of creatures would find her attractive. Turning himself invisible, Cupid flies to her whilst she is sleeping and takes pity on her, feeling she has been born too beautiful for her own safety.  Still prepared to fulfill his task, he leans over and to his surprise, she wakes up and stares him straight in the eye. Despite his invisibility, she sees him and in his shock, rather than scratch her shoulder with his arrow, he scratches his and falls madly in love with her.  From this moment on, he cannot continue his mission and reports back to his mother, Venus, who is furious and casts a curse on Psyche. It was final, there would be no husband for Psyche and Cupid brought about his own retribution in his disgust, with the refusal to shoot any more arrows of love. As the Earth starts to grow old due to the lack of marriages and mating, Venus finally rescinds and reluctantly gives into Cupid’s demands. He wants Psyche for himself, end of story.

Despaired at the lack of mortal male interest in marrying their daughter, Psyche’s parents consult an oracle to see what the holdup is. They are told to take Psyche to a mountain top, where she is swept away by the west wind and taken to Cupid’s palace. Here, the marriage is consummated and hot love is made under the cover of darkness, with Cupid’s insistence that Psyche never leave the lights on. He wanted his identity kept quiet until he was ready to reveal his true form. On returning from a visit with her two sisters, Psyche was told by her sisters that her husband was a repugnant serpent and that she should see for herself by lighting up the room at night. She took their words on board, fired up the lantern, and saw her gorgeous, winged God. Pissed off at her defiance of his wishes to maintain the secrecy of his identity until HE was ready, Cupid takes off into the shadows, never to return.

Thus begins Psyche’s journey to find the love of her life.  After seeking assistance from Ceres and Juno, who both tell her that she must face Venus, she runs about like a mouse in a wheel, fulfilling the impossible quests set forth by the furious Goddess. Thanks to the assistance of the other Gods and Goddesses, she passes her quests until the very last one – taking a piece of beauty in a box from Persephone to Venus. Not able to resist, Psyche opens the box to take a slice of beauty’s pie all for her but finds no beauty, just sleep, which rushes over her immediately.

Cupid rushes to her side, finally finding forgiveness within and brushes the sleep away. It is then that Cupid faces Jupiter with their plight and after a big meeting of the Gods and Goddesses, Psyche is brought to Olympus and partakes in the magic drink of ambrosia and becomes an immortal. Over time, and after the birth of their daughter, Venus and Psyche forgive each other and there is happiness ever after.

Apart from the intricate and romantic mythology/fairytale -Psyche means, spirit, breath, animation of life and her form is portrayed as a Goddess with butterfly wings and she is the deification of the human soul.

ASTROLOGY

To locate asteroid 16 Psyche in your natal chart, head over to astro.com and input the number 16 in the additional objects field. Keep your aspects major – conjunction, square, opposition – and your orbs tight, within 1 degree.

In the natal chart, Psyche symbolizes so many things. You have the romantic, you have the dedication to the one you fall in love with, you have the running through hoops to prove that love and you have the harsh feminine figure that is jealous and manipulative, a standing force of disruption on the path of love. The problem with Cupid and Psyche is his attempts to keep his true self a secret. The first crack in that desire started during the task of casting his magic when Psyche woke up and saw through his invisibility. She also took on-board gossip and went against his wishes, exposing him once again, cutting through everything he had in play, seeing him, despite his efforts to maintain the facade of his life role. He is displeased with this, annoyed with her and there is turmoil, but ultimately, the process to the end is worth it as everything comes out in the wash and there IS a happily ever after.

Individuals with natal aspects to Psyche have the natural ability to see through the surface garbage with new attractions. They are in search for ‘the’ individual, where the complexities of the attraction are intricate, where there are huge forces to surmount and toils to be dealt with to find that moment of pure, passionate love.  When this connection is found, there is turmoil at the beginning and much heartache involved. Yet the Psyche individual will refuse to give up, much to the annoyance of everyone else and continue to fight for the happy ending that they know is well deserved. The good thing about the natal Psyche individual is that they do gain support with their unwavering dedication within their quest to find their true lover. Whilst they face resistant from some level of parental, or authority figure, there is also the hands of guidance from those they meet on their quest. Despite the difficulties attached to natal Psyche, it is a mind blowing and ‘fated’ path to love.

In transit however, it can be a bit creepy, dependent on rulership. Everything and all of the above can apply with transiting Psyche, but only works when the feeling is mutual. Meetings whilst Psyche is on the move can have a one-sided element, where one party feels fated and the other does not. This obviously opens the door wide for stalker types and can become quite messy. Individuals can misread ‘fate’ and continue to bash their heads against a closed to romance door. By ignoring the obvious resistance and failing to take on-board the lack of support they are receiving in their chase of the disappearing individual matters naught, they continue, convinced they are meant to be together.  Obviously, this leads to continued romantic discontent and where the planets and relevant aspects would unravel more detail regards these matters.

Another element of consideration with Psyche is that of the affair expression – entering into a romantic relationship where one, or both of the parties is already committed.  There is the obvious excitement of the unknown, the clandestine darkness, the harsh, negative reaction from other parties, gossip, and more often than not, strong feelings beneath the surface attraction that can lead to a more permanent commitment at a later stage.

In considering your personal manifestation of transiting Psyche, look at romantic connections when Psyche is in Scorpio, your 10th House or the Nodes and Nodal rulers. These connections have a ‘fated’ feel about them and even if they fail to have all of the vital elements for long term connection, they are gateways for following, more placid connections with transiting Psyche.

All in all, Psyche transits are a fine indicator that it is a positive to open the door to love, or to peel another layer off your present romance. Especially when in favorable rulership. It is a great time to connect with romantic others on deeper levels and to reassess the ‘love’ agenda – decide what aspects of your approach and expression need a breath of fresh life.

Possible Keywords:- love, romance, dedication to a lover, fidelity, relationship challenges, emotional game playing, true love, rising above challenges to achieve relationship connection, relationship trials, hiding elements of self from your lover, unrealistic love expectations, fairytale romance, potential stalker, refusing to let go of past lovers

Asteroid Files: Psyche was originally published on Heretical Oracles

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Thirteen: Garden Spirit ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

He’s been traveling for weeks.

Tasked by his lord to fetch the pelt a rare white deer, he’s been tracking a promising herd through the mountains. The wary creatures have yet to let him close, but a glimpsing flash of white has kept him on their path. Through the winding peaks their game trails he’s toiled, the rocky and root-ridden terrain perilous...but a samurai is not one to be so easily dissuaded.

At first, he’d assumed the assignment a fool’s errand. Why task a samurai with such a job? But with the completion of his mission will come great pride, honor...and coin. None of which he can bring himself to refuse.

And so, Sasuke follows the imprints of cloven hooves into the north, swords at his hip and bow at his back. Hunting, at least, he knows he can do. Many times in his youth did his brother take him tracking boars in the forests. And he’s not the novice he was then. All he needs is the patience for the proper shot...and he’s sure he won’t miss.

Their path, he admits, confuses him. He knows of migrations into the mountains for the sika, but surely the coming of Spring means returning to the lowlands as the grass renews?

Where are they going?

His confusion lingers as they travel further and further into the range. But then, at last, he sees what they’ve been seeking. The trail descends steeply between two peaks...into a lush and untouched valley.

For a time, he simply stands at the trailhead and stares in wonder. Tall camphor trees litter the inner sides of the peaks and the valley itself, waterfalls cascading from the snowy caps. A winding river of sapphire glitters, barely seen along the vale’s spine.

It’s beautiful…!

Once his awe fades, Sasuke gives a shake of his head. He still has a pelt to fetch, and standing here won’t get him home any faster. With careful steps, he makes his way to the valley floor.

It’s there he finds something wholly unexpected.

Though the trail leads first to the northern end of the valley, the rest spanning south, a short path leads a bit further up. At the fork, a worn torī gates stands. Are there...people here? He’d seen no houses from his view atop the trail, and there are no footprints, only tracks of game. Perhaps those who’d lived here have long perished. Judging by the age of the wood and the peeling vermillion paint...it’s not been tended to for quite some time.

...and yet…

Such a gate marks the threshold between mortal and holy ground. Sasuke sees no shrine...but the landmark makes him wary. Should he hunt in such a place? His lord has given him an order. He cannot disobey. But which does he fear more: an angry clan head, or vengeful kami?

True, Sasuke isn’t a devout follower of any faith. Samurai adopt a variety of beliefs: Buddhism, Zen, Confucianism, and even the land’s own religion of Shintō. But though he may not actively believe such tales...nor is he foolish enough to tempt what he cannot confirm does not exist.

For now, he steps through the gate...but rather than south after the deer, he treks north. It isn’t far to where the valley begins to slope steeply upward, but something grand has caught his eye.

Oddly isolated from the camphor boughs and trunks of the rest of the valley, a lone wisteria tree stands. Tall and branching, it looks over the head of the valley like a great amethyst crown, graceful branches sweeping the ground with their violet tendrils. Petals litter the grass, making its perch appear almost alien as it’s completely covered with purple blooms. And among them, small and worn, are tiny stone jinja.

Twisting and curved, the trunk is wider across than his arms outstretched: clearly hundreds of years old. Never has he seen a tree of greater age or beauty.

It’s like looking at a goddess taken flora form.

For the second time this day, he finds himself staring in unabashed awe. He’s almost certain of it, now: the gate, this tree, the valley...it’s all touched by gods. But what to do about his quest…? Surely taking a life for so vain a thing as a single pelt - not even meat, though he himself won’t waste it - will see him smote.

Looking over his shoulder to the west, the sun is already far below the peaks. Soon it will be too dark to make his way. He should make camp...he can weigh his options, and then sleep on making a decision.

A fire he makes back down the slope, cooking a rabbit he’d slain that morning before entering the valley. Water comes from the obliging river, refilling his skin and letting him nurse the cool clear liquid as he thinks.

...perhaps…

He looks over his shoulder to the wisteria tree. Even from here, he can see the tiny shrines. A decision weighs upon his shoulders. He could...pray. Ask for guidance. He may not be a staunch believer, but...well, surely it cannot hurt. Once his meal is done, he smothers the ashes with earth, carrying a torch back to the tree to kneel at its base.

Something about it raises the hairs along the back of his neck.

Extinguishing his flames, he braces his hands on his knees before leaning reverently forward. “O-kami-sama,” he offers vaguely, having no named deity to address. “I ask you passage through your valley...and a sample of your bounty. Among your herds of deer is a stag I seek. One of a white coat, sought by my master. His decree weighs upon me...but so too does the mark of this holy land. I will take only what I need. If that is not too much to ask...give me leave, and I will complete my task...and then leave this land in peace.”

A soft wind rolls through the valley. Along his cheek, a branch gently whispers.

But he hears nothing.

Sighing, head bowing further in what feels like defeat, Sasuke continues to think in circles.

Before he realizes it...he falls prey to a weary sleep.

He is slow to wake.

Sunlight faintly dapples his face, bleeding and shifting through the dancing boughs of the wisteria in the morning breeze. Leaned back against the trunk, a hand rests loosely atop the hilt of his katana, the other along his waist.

In his dream, he can feel arms drape over his shoulders, silken hair slithering along his neck.

Dark eyes slowly open, for a moment at a loss as to where he is, and why. But his journey slowly returns, and he sighs. What a place to doze off...it’s like he’s wandered into a kami’s palace of boughs and blooms.

As he watches, a figure seems to manifest before his eyes between the sweeping tendrils of branches.

Breath stoppers in his lungs.

A woman of short stature stands at the edge of the tree’s grasp. A layered kimono of lilac, violet, heather, and wine flutters in the breeze. Hair, straight as a blade, drapes down her back and across her brow, alight amethyst in the sun. Even her eyes are pools of lavender. Everything purple save for the milky white of her skin, and the faint pink of her lips.

She stares at him, otherwise unearthly still beyond the dance of her garment. Every so often, he sees tabi-clad feet atop impossibly-high geta.

It’s then Sasuke knows...he’s staring at a goddess. The spirit of this heavenly garden. It feels sinful to stare, but he can’t look away…!

“Humble hunter.”

She speaks like silk, soft and delicate...and yet unspeakably strong. Her gaze never wavers as she addresses him.

“You have traveled far at the whim of another...and here your search has brought you...to a vale of spirits and gods. While many would take without a second thought...you have asked of me permission to have what you seek.”

His heart flutters like a bird trapped behind glass against his ribs. Surely he still sleeps...this must be a dream…! And yet he’s felt so awake...so alive…

“The white buck you track is a sacred beast...your lord covets it for his own. You, who serve his beck and call, are merely the tool...not the desire. This I cannot fault you. But it is not I you must ask, and appease. I am but one spirit of this valley. There are others far mightier than I. They too know of your task...and that I gave you shelter.”

It’s then she begins to approach him, untouched by weaving branches despite her unwavering path. Not a single petal stirs at her passing

“It has been many a year since a human slept beneath my boughs...or spoke amongst my blossoms. It brings...a melancholy feeling. A reminiscence of loneliness…”

He can’t move, can’t speak, frozen beneath her gaze as she closes the gap between them. In a fluid motion she kneels, and hands - cool and smooth, like a freshly-bloomed flower - cup his cheeks to behold him.

“...I was young when the humans withered here...when we kami were left to our devices, no devoted voices left to speak to us. I admit...I covet your presence...it’s been so long since my beauty was last admired…”

Sasuke can do little more than stare.

“...but you are not mine to keep. I will take you to the others. The heart of the mountain, of the river, of the camphor. It is they you must appeal. Prove the purity of your intentions, human...and you may have what you seek. Just remember the weight of your prize...and the wake it will leave.”

At last, he manages a nod: small, jerking, and entirely human in the face of her grace.

A fond smile curls her lips. “...may I have your name, child of man?”

“U...Uchiha. Sasuke.”

“...you may call me Hinata.” Toward the sun. A fitting name for such a blossom-laden beauty...for he knows there’s no mistake: she is the kodama of the wisteria.

With just as smooth a motion as her kneeling, she returns to her feet. “Uchiha Sasuke...are you prepared to plead your case…?”

Still sat among the jinja, he stares up at her, yet still entranced. Never has he seen a woman of such beauty. Though many have labored to conquer it...with a single glance, she’s stolen his heart. A dangerous thing to give a kami, he knows.

But there’s little taking it back now.

“...I am.”

“...then let us walk.”

     Ohhh man, I REALLY like this one! I want to add more parts, for sure...but I had to stop myself here, haha - it's late, and I don't want any of these to get too long xD      It took some digging, but I managed to find a way to turn this prompt into something Shintō-related. Kodama, though often depicted as separate spirits, CAN also refer to the trees themselves. So I did a little extra (and admittedly rushed) research into them, and samurai, and just...wung it, lol - and I really, REALLY like the result. Hinata as a wisteria tree spirit? PERFECT! And maybe later on we can have Sakura as...well, a sakura kodama. Maybe Naruto as a kitsune. We'll have to see!      But for now, it's late, and I need sleep after a sleepless night last night (yay toothaches, lol) - but thanks so much for reading! See y'all tomorrow n_n

[humblydefiant]

You want a prompt? Okay... How about mshenko, mako sex?! Pretty please?

Well, since you asked so nicely. ;) Here you go. Though I will say I was trying not to get mushy but there might be a little bit in there... I just can’t seem to help it.

“I swear to God, if we make it through this, I’m going to murder whoever designed the Mako.”

John Shepard wiped the sweat that rained in his eyes. He hated heat. He hated to sweat. And he couldn’t stop the rising tide of crankiness that had begun to spill out of his mouth in the form of grumbling and swearing.

For his part, Kaidan Alenko took it with a calmness that had the odd effect of calming Shepard and infuriating him at the same time. The lieutenant was sweating more than his fuming commander yet, even as he used his forearm to soak up the beads that collected on his brow, he smiled. “Everything breaks down occasionally. Especially given the way you drive. Just be glad there is some insulation keeping us from being cooked alive right now.”

Always the silver lining - but Shepard felt no need to be generous. “Well, they should at least be slapped. Just to make me feel better.”

Kaidan chuckled. “Wrex will be back soon. We just have to be patient.”

Soon couldn’t be soon enough but Shepard managed to refrain from saying so. He supposed that Kaidan had a point. They were in a bit of luck that Wrex had come with them. He wished that this had been due to his foresight that just such a disaster might occur - but that certainly hadn’t been in his thought process when picking Wrex for the squad.

As a krogan, Wrex could tolerate the heat and had been dispatched to reach the closest Alliance emergency beacon. Literally nothing in the Mako worked except the emergency lights. The beacon was four klicks away and Wrex had only been gone fifteen minutes. Still, he punched up his omni-tool and barked, “Wrex, report!”

“Ever see a krogan run, Shepard? I’ll get there but not quick or gracefully. Ya gotta give me some time.”

“Uh, just making sure you are okay.”

“Yeeeeaaaaah. How bout I call you when I get there. Wrex out.”

Kaidan raised an eyebrow. “It’s gonna be at least an hour, Commander.”

Damn him and his calm. Just sitting there with a genuine smile on his face. Shepard had a brief moment of wanting to punch Kaidan in the face - which turned to thinking about other, more pleasurable things he wanted to do to his lieutenant’s face - and that just added to his agitation. He jolted up out of the driver’s seat and began to pace, shaking his hands for no other reason then to shed energy.

He felt eyes following him and huffed, “Sorry, I don’t do well with being confined. Or hot. Or helpless. I don’t mean to aggravate you.”

“You aren’t bothering me, Commander.”

“Stop calling me Commander!” The smile slipped from Kaidan’s lips and John suddenly felt like a complete ass. He had to get himself under control. He slid down the bulkhead and clamped his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s okay, Comman - oh, sorry.”

God, Shepard wished he knew how to be like Kaidan. He told himself that he brought Kaidan along on the majority of missions for just this reason - the lieutenant’s level head helped temper the commander’s spastic spirit. He desperately did not want Kaidan to see him losing his cool. So he smiled - wan but genuine.

Kaidan smiled back - which made Shepard squeeze his eyes shut involuntarily in an effort to ward off the thoughts that circled his mind like ghosts. He forced himself to redirect his thoughts to the discomfort the warm bulkhead brought to his backside. He slowed his breaths and tried to think of nothing at all.

The tactic began to work - until Kaidan’s voice flitted across the mako. “Perhaps we should suit up. The life support should keep us cool for awhile.” He plopped down across from Shepard, cross-legged, hands on his knees. Amber eyes unflinching despite the sweat that poured into them.

A feeling completely unrelated to the heat tugged at Shepard’s chest. He dismissed it with a heavy sigh. “Believe me, I’m tempted. But the life support won’t last until the cavalry arrives, I’m afraid.”

“Good point.”

Another idea stirred in Shepard’s head. His rational mind dismissed it multiple times, yet it gained traction and volume as his bad ideas often did. After a few minutes, it had gained enough power to veto his rational self which could only then sit back and watch in horror as he decided to carry it out.

He stood. His arms crossed his torso and peeled his shirt up over his head before tossing it to the side. His boots soon followed. Socks. He didn’t dare stop. He didn’t dare look at Kaidan or he would have halted right there. Instead, he slid his pants and underwear down in one swift motion before plopping down on the bulkhead once more. The heat of the floor and wall pushed a sharp breath from his lungs but otherwise he ignored it.

Shepard sat, eyes closed but ears actively searching for any sign of Kaidan’s reaction. The thudding of his own heart complicated this endeavor.

Several minutes of silence and a layer of thick sweat served as Shepard’s only covering. It felt smothering and dampened the voice that had declared this a good idea. So, he offered, eyes still closed, the rational he had sold himself on: “Sorry, Lieutenant, I just couldn’t take the clothes anymore.”

“That’s okay, um, Shepard. I understand.” Kaidan’s voice sounded dry. Was it just the heat? Embarrassment?

John forced his eyes open to find Alenko’s gaze following an arc just to the left of his commander, then to the ceiling, before falling to John’s right. Then they started back. Damn. John didn’t know what he’d hoped for and now he felt like a complete heel. He felt no cooler than a moment ago and had only succeeded in making Kaidan uncomfortable.

He scooped his pants up and proceeded in the awkward endeavor of pulling them back on while still seated. He also launched the futile effort of explaining his odd behavior. “I’m sorry. I - well, I just thought - I mean, we’ve seen each other naked before. But I can tell this is bothering you so -”

“No! It’s fine! I - really - it’s okay. I didn’t mean to act like I was weirded out. I just,” he huffed that adorable little huff of his on those rare occasions he gets flustered. “Please. Don’t get dressed on my account. Obviously, I have seen you naked and it doesn’t bother - water. We should get some water.”

Shepard watched, pants stalled at his knees, as Kaidan got up and jolted toward the lockers. He pulled a canteen from his locker and chugged half of it.

“Um, you might want to save some of that for later.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” but Kaidan just stood there, drilling a hole in the bulkhead with his stare.

The half-on, half-off pants begged for attention, some sort of decision of which way to go. John had no idea. The professional and logical departments in his brain demanded that the clothes continue to be donned for the sake of both his and Kaidan’s dignity.

But the chaotic part latched onto something. A feeling. A curiosity. A desire to know just what Kaidan thought of seeing his Commander naked. The battle of wills in Shepard’s head continued but the direction the pants moved, pushed by his own arms, told him which side was winning. Big surprise. So he sat, once again fully naked, and watched. He didn’t want to stare but he needed some sort of sign from Kaidan to know how to continue.

As a fairly keen observer of human behavior, Kaidan both mystified and befuddled Shepard. He knew that Kaidan guarded himself carefully and maintained control at all times. Rarely had Shepard ever seen him slip and be anything other than the consummate professional. He wore an even-keeled facade like an armor.

Meanwhile, Shepard felt little to no control over his emotions, often conflicting, oozing out of every pore of his skin. Even naked, he felt shrouded in shame, desire, envy, love. He damned himself and retreated back to the driver’s seat where he attempted some form of concealment. Tears and stomach bile both threatened to move up and out so he busied himself with pushing buttons and jiggling levers, making far more noise than necessary in doing so.

He missed the footsteps behind him. The hand on his shoulder jolted his attention to his right where he followed an arm up to see Kaidan standing there staring straight ahead, chest rising and falling in slow, exaggerated movements. His brow pinched under the weight of worry.

“Kaid-” John hadn’t finished the question before Kaidan’s lips were on his, chaste but unwavering. Kaidan didn’t pull away. The hot breath of Kaidan’s labored breathing swept over John’s cheek.

Kaidan pulled away and searched John’s wide eyes. His tongue flicked against his lips. “I’m sorry. I guess-”

This time, John didn’t let Kaidan complete his apology. He shot up and attacked Kaidan’s mouth with a hunger he didn’t dare bridle. His hands fumbled for Kaidan’s shirt hem and he pulled upward even as he pushed Kaidan back into the belly of the Mako.

Kaidan offered no resistance, only soft whimpers as they kissed. He took care of his pants and underwear himself, nearly falling as he attempted to pull them over his boots while shuffling backwards. John allowed only a moment for Kaidan to kick them off. He’d seen Kaidan naked before, too. Even though he loved the view, what he wanted at that moment was to touch, to kiss, to fuck. Everything else be damned.

The second that Kaidan had peeled off his last sock, they were back in each others arms, hands roaming anywhere, everywhere. Erect cocks pressed into heaving abdomens. Lips, teeth and tongues a blur of chaotic passion. The soles of John’s feet burned somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness but he didn’t give a single shit - it paled in comparison to the fire in his gut. He didn’t want to let go even for a second.

It was Kaidan that pulled away first after a blissful eternity, chest still heaving. He smiled and left a hand on John’s cheek. “Just a sec.” He turned and walked to his locker. John studied Kaidan’s back muscles and glutes as they worked. Not for the first time. But this time he did it without forcing himself to look away after mere seconds. No. This time he drank in the art in motion with unflinching admiration. At his groin, his dick thudded in tandem with his heart.

Kaidan pulled out an insulated blanket and spread it out on the floor. He pulled John down on top of him. “Better?”

“You’re a genius.”

“Oh yeah?”

Enough conversation. John went back to the more important matters at hand: tasting Kaidan’s mouth, exploring the skin of his back and thighs with one hand, tousling his hair with the other. Nor did they neglect grinding their hips together and tumbling against each other on the floor, the surprise of heat against skin reminding them where the boundaries of the blanket were.

They carried on outside of time. The mako, Wrex, the Normandy, the universe. All forgotten. How long his omnitool pinged before automatically flipping the incoming call to full audio, John had no idea. Only Wrex’s voice had the ability to separate the two men.

“Did you boys fall asleep or something? I’m at the beacon. Normandy sending evac.”

Shit. Already?

“Copy, Wrex. ETA?” He sputtered, trying to calm his panting before speaking. Failing miserably.

“Huh. Twenty minutes. Should I tell them to make it longer?”

This elicited a smile from Kaidan and John wanted nothing more than to get back to having those lips against his. Well, maybe he wanted a little bit more than just that. “Yeah, make it thirty,” he said as he winked.

The omnitool pinged again from its discarded position on the floor signalling that Wrex had cut the comm. Good. Back to kissing.

“No.” Kaidan placed fingers delicately against John’s advancing mouth. He smiled again and hiked and eyebrow upward. “I want to put our remaining time to good use.” He pushed Shepard onto his back and moved to straddle himself over John’s hips.

John thought his cock might explode in that very moment and his pelvis gave an involuntary thrust - which pushed a chuckle out of Kaidan.

“We’ll have time for that later. Besides, we lack some necessary, uh, equipment. But there are other ways I can take care of that.” He bent down and his hair, frazzled as it was from the heat and sweat, fell forward brushing John’s neck as Kaidan kissed his way south. He moved quickly, though he lingered in several spots - to nibble at John’s nipples, to flick his tongue into the belly button.

John didn’t hold back the moans along the way or the full throated bellow as Kaidan’s mouth enveloped his member. His eyes shot open as Kaidan took him in to the hilt, the head of his dick scrubbing the back of Kaidan’s throat without so much as a hiccup from the man.

“Holy fuck! You’ve done this before.”

Kaidan relinquished John’s dick long enough for a wink and a breath before taking it in again. He allowed for a few long, deep penetrating sucks while a hand massaged John's testicles. He did not restrain himself long. After a few moments, Kaidan began furious work on John: head bobbing, replaced momentarily with tight fingers enclosing the shaft while his mouth moved to lick and suck on John’s sack, then back swallowing him whole..

John’s hands gripped at the blanket as he looked down his torso at the man working at his groin, tearing his gaze away only when involuntary moans threw his neck backward and sent his lids squeezing into each other. These waves of pleasure up his spine began to come faster and with increasing frequency.

“No,” he gasped. “Wait. Wait.”

Kaidan raised his head with a question on his face. He waited while John calmed his breath enough to form a sentence.

“My turn.” He didn’t wait for acquiescence. He pulled Kaidan down on top of him, long enough for a moment of breathless kissing, before pushing him back. This time he straddled Kaidan across his chest, but was turned away from him so that Kaidan had a full view of his ass. A momentary worry flickered through John’s head - with all the sweat and their pre-mission protein packs, it might not have been the most pleasant position for Kaidan. Too late now. He had important work to do.

John descended on Kaidan with immediate gusto, lips barely able to spread further into a smile as Kaidan let out a full-throated groan. It fueled him on - gripping, sucking, licking every square centimeter of this man’s beautiful junk. When he allowed himself to take breaths, he relished the sweaty funk that rose from his lover’s thighs. He worshipped it like sweet incense as he knelt there at his alter.

Kaidan’s golden sack began to tighten and Shepard couldn’t wait to taste what was brewing there.

“Shepard. John. Wait.”

John looked back, Kaidan’s dick still throbbing in his hand. He grinned as he took in the pleasure that he saw there. That gleam in Kaidan’s eye that told John he was doing just fine. And Kaidan didn’t have to say what he was thinking. Shepard dismounted and moved to his side, his lips back on Kaidan’s cock the second he got in position. He felt Kaidan’s mouth lock onto his dick as well.

God it felt good. He tried to focus on sucking the cum out of Kaidan but his own groin demanded that he know the sheer ecstasy he was building towards. Fuck, he was so close. He felt for Kaidan’s balls. They were tight which hopefully meant his climax was nearing, too. He massaged them even as he took Kaidan into his throat, his fingers brushing the area behind Kaidan’s sack.

The muffled groan from Kaidan and his heaving stomach told Shepard that he’d made a good move. He pulled back and bobbed furiously and was rewarded within moments with an explosion of sweet cream in his mouth. Kaidan’s dick pulsed as he spilled down John’s throat, moaning all the while.

Yet Kaidan never stopped moving himself. Shepard nearly lost his mind. The warm semen in his mouth, a sting of a slap against his ass, Kaidan’s shudder as John took him fully into the base. He simply couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Waves of pleasure moved inward and outward all at once. The head of his cock erupted with hot, white lava. He screamed in ecstasy into Kaidan’s groin, fingers digging into the man’s solid ass. He felt Kaidan’s face twist at the base of his dick and his lips tighten as they moved up the shaft milking every drop of John’s waste. He moved slow, tongue flicking upward.

John’s own head shot backwards to release the grunts that Kaidan worked out of him.

Kaidan finally released his torturous grip with a smack and a chuckle. “Nice,” he said, even as he licked the last few drops from the tip. The last one turned to a strand that remained tethered to John’s glans even as it stretched away, also attached to kaidan’s chin until he swept it away with his tongue.

“You’re telling me? Damn.” He crawled around, still too weak in the knees to stand, to hold Kaidan chest to chest. They kissed deeply and Shepard could taste traces of his own cum still coating Kaidan’s mouth. Their dicks leaked against each other.

“Normandy to Mako. Commander, do you read?”

“Go ahead, Joker.” He continued to kiss Kaidan’s neck as Joker babbled on about having picked up Wrex. Shuttle on it’s way. Blah blah blah.

“Acknowledged. Shepard out.” He hoped his voice wasn’t too muffled as he spoke against honey skin. He didn’t particularly care, though.

“Guess we should get up and get dressed,” Kaidan said between his own kisses along John’s scalp.

“I guess so. Though, honestly, I could stay here all day.”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: Do you know when you get a bad feeling about something? Like, as if everyone is trying to tell you *not* to do something? Ah, whatever.

Words: 2300

Warnings: Handmaid AU, dystopia

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hello! As always, this is chapter 4 of my Handmaid's Tale AU! If you still have no idea what I'm talking about, I highly recommend just reading the Sparknotes synopsis or the Wikipedia page for the book. It might make things more clear.

Sorry that I'm so terrible with updating. I want to get back to one chap/week, as I had done previously. Hopefully I'll get there!

Your feedback is so special and important to me! Thank you so much! I love y'all!!

Of course, you’d been expecting some discomfort. It was only natural that after going such an extended period of time with no sex, no nothing, that you’d feel a bit sore the day after.

But you hadn’t been expecting a near-crippling ache, emanating from your core down your thighs, as if your Commander’s cock had injected paralyzing venom into your bloodstream when he’d came. Every step was a reminder of the night before, and every step made your brow furrow, your teeth worry your lip. As if you needed more factors complicating your situation, desire simmered, unwavering in the face of wisdom and reason and fear; in the wake of your confusion, your lust persisted like an eager whisper.

He’d been huge. And he’d felt incredible.

You hobbled to the kitchen, ignoring the clamoring inside of your body that, unshackled from reality, demanded you lie in his bed again, demanded you take his cock again and again and again, demanded that he pound into you and groan and spill himself, until you were full, dripping with his cum. Stupid brain. Stupid vagina.

“Market day today,” you said, startling the other Martha--what had her name been again? Rose. She met your gaze with tiny, dark eyes, hidden deep in her pinched face. You couldn’t tell if she was terrified or furious. “Sorry.”

Rose huffed. “I’ll need milk, bread, and sugar. Do you think you can handle that, today?”

“Um, yes,” you replied. “I don’t think it’ll be too complex.”

“Then get going.”

You blinked and nodded, turning down toward the front door. “Okay…” Wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit nicer.

“You’re not doing a good job of hiding your limp, by the way,” she called after you. Your face burned, and you grumbled, pushing forward.

Through the wooden halls of the home, you steadied your waddle, hoping to appear more thoughtful and pensive than anxious and pained. You managed to make it out of the house and down the driveway without further incident, your head swiveling for any sign of the Commander as you passed his car. Your scan was borne both of fear and anticipation. To meet his eyes again would make you a mosquito to a flame. Not just a flame. A massive column of fire.

But he was nowhere in sight, to your possible relief and almost definite benefit. Perhaps you’d get through this day without making a complete fool-

“Little bird.” His voice cut you like a scythe, slicing the tendons in your knees. You were thankful that your dress managed to obscure your wobble.

Stiff-necked, you turned toward his voice, keeping your eyes locked to the grass at your feet. “C-Commander.”

“A proper greeting.” He stepped forward, and you hands fumbled at your sides, looking for an occupation other than sweating profusely. “Your gait seems odd. Why might that be?”

You were disintegrating in the wake of his audacity. Clearing your throat, you peeked to your right and left, convinced that any second, Johana would find you under her husband’s spell. “Not sure, sir,” you managed to choke out. “I believe I just slept, um, weird.”

He sniffed in amusement, growing closer. You cursed your stupid mosquito brain. “That’s unfortunate,” he said, and paused. “I can rectify that.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Poor sleep.” Ren’s voice dipped lower. “There’s an effective cure, you know.”

You wondered if there was a difference between the color of your dress and your face. “Um…” Was he testing you? You wanted to rebuke him, but the throbbing between your legs was tugging you a different direction. “What cure might that be, sir?”

He snickered--a dark, delicous sound. “Oh, little bird.” His fingers caught your chin, angling you in the line of his gaze. “You’re naughtier than I thought.”

Breath leaked like slow fog from between your lips, your muscles snapping with the desire to grab him by the shoulders and drag him into a hot, rough kiss. You hated this. Hated that he held your life in his enormous, strong hands, hated that he toyed with it in public like a careless child, hated that your job was to bear his child, hated that above all, you wanted him, and despite every hour of internal chastisement, you could not silence the beast in your blood, could not muzzle the monster that sought to destroy you and him in a violent collision of repressed lust.

You should not, could not want. And yet--

“Am I, Commander?” The words hung like hidden honey from your lips.

Ren growled, jerking you against his body, his massive frame bending so his breath brushed your ear. “Yes,” he purred. “You are.”

You drank in every second of pleasure like the brainless insect you were. “Oh…”

“I can’t stop thinking about fucking your tight little pussy.” He sucked in breath through his teeth, pressing into you, his other hand snaking around your waist. “I need to be inside of you.”

Heat liquified your insides, and you nearly wilted, kept standing by sheer willpower. “Shit…”

“Oh,” he said, “she can curse…”

Underneath your dress, your body had become sweat incarnate, your skin having replaced itself with layers of eager perspiration. You imagined stripping there, in the driveway, imagined his hands on your breasts, his mouth on your cunt, your lips on his cock--everything forbidden flooding your mind like a river from a burst dam. But the water boiled, burned and ate you away, turned you to a writhing mass of instinct and need.

“Commander, not here,” you whimpered, as if here was different from there, as if there existed a place where his words weren’t illegal, where your body was something greater than its parts. “If you… If I…”

“Little bird…” Those soft, pink lips ghosted your ear, and you shivered, clenching. “Let me fill you with my cum, tonight…” His tongue, wet and warm, grazed your skin.

“Oh, fuck…”

A squeak of a hinge, and Ren released you, drawing back his claws and spinning on his heel to his car. Your heart flipped, your eyes scanning the front of the house in terror--but it was empty. Relief left you in a long exhale while you sought his gaze, searching for, for some reason, some camaraderie. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, adjusting his tie as he strode to the driver’s door.

“I’m late,” he said, as if he hadn’t just spent the past however-many minutes making you wet. “Be good.”

You swallowed, statue-still while he got into his car, cranked the engine, and backed out, peeling off onto the road without a spared moment of further acknowledgement. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, trapped by the tattered ribbons of his seduction, waiting for it to leave you like poison. How stupid were you, exactly? If you’d been caught--by Emma, by Rose, by Johana, hell, by anyone, your life was forfeit. Was it worth it? Were the whims of your cunt worth your life? You wanted to slap yourself. You wanted him to slap you, even--but that made you clench, too. Dammit!

“Uhm--”

You yelped, whirling on this new voice, clamping your hands over your mouth when you saw it was only your walking partner. That’s not suspicious.  Her skin was dark, her lips full, her locks growing in tight waves at her hairline before being swallowed by white fabric. And she was looking at you with a strange mixture of confusion and fear.

“Blessed be the fruit,” you offered, smoothing the front of your skirts.

“May the Lord open,” she replied. “You--you’re Ofkylo, right?”

Nodding, you shuffled forward. “Yes,” you said. “I am.”

“Ofarmitage.” The look on her face hadn’t changed.

Chewing your cheek, you glanced at the ground, following her lead as you began to move toward the markets. You hoped it wouldn’t be too long. You were wincing from the walk already. “So,” you said. “How long… had you been standing there?”

“You should really stay away from him.” Her voice was low and severe.

You gagged on your own spit. “W-what?”

“Your Commander,” she said. “Stay away.”

“Uh…”

“Look,” she said, barely a whisper. “I get it.” You weren’t sure what that meant. She got it? She got what? “Do what you want. But if you aren’t more careful, you will end up like the others.”

Blood fled your face. A robin leapt into the sky in front of you. “The others…”

“You know you’re not the first Ofkylo, right?”

You shook your head, trying to regain your bearings. Conversation like this was almost as illegal as what you’d been doing with the Commander. Well. Was there almost when it came to illegality? “Yes,” you replied. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then you can probably figure out what happened to the other ones.” You couldn’t see beyond the shield of your wings, but you heard her voice grow closer, like she’d turned her head. “He’s reckless.”

“Reckless,” you repeated, like it would help burn it into your skull.

“Reckless.” She was distant again. “He doesn’t care about you, or his wife, or anyone. So do yourself a favor and watch out for you.”

You nodded. Maybe you could pump her for more information. “Do you know what--”

“Shh,” she chided. “Checkpoint coming up. Don’t mention this again.”

You didn’t.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, with Ofarmitage offering not even a friendly comment about the weather before you arrived back at your Commander’s home. Your limp had worn with the passage of time--or perhaps you’d just grown numb to the pain--but even still, you straightened your back while you made your way into your home, groceries in tow.

Your brain was still, unfortunately, busy with the Commander’s words, each of them a pest in their own right, swarming your rationality with their desire-drunk bellies. As you dropped the groceries off with Rose, you wiped your palms on the front of your dress, pulling your lips in between your teeth.

“Here you go,” you said, gesturing to the table. “Everything you asked for.”

Rose cocked her head and advanced, rifling through your spoils, nose scrunched as she counted off her requests. “Milk. Bread. Sugar.” She frowned, her beady gaze nailing you to the floor. “Where’s the butter?”

You blinked, flustered. “Um, you didn’t request any butter.”

She snorted. “Yes, I did.”

“I--I’m fairly certain you didn’t.”

“Ms. Johana requested butter,” she hissed under her breath. “Therefore, I also requested butter. Did you just forget?”

“No, I didn’t--” You stopped, examining her. Her gaunt cheeks were ruddy, her thin lips pinched. “You didn’t--”

“Rose.” It was Johana, sweeping into the kitchen and pulling on a pair of white gloves. Her hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid. “One of the Wives has taken ill. I’m departing to see her.” Her eyes flitted to you. “Did this one remember all of the groceries?”

“No, Ms. Johana,” Rose replied. Her tone was the vocal personification of lying prostrate at Johana’s feet. “Unfortunately, she forgot the butter.”

Johana wrinkled her forehead. “I wanted butter for the Commander’s dinner tonight.” Her gaze snapped to Rose. “If he has to eat alone, he should at least have butter, Rose.”

“I know, Ms. Johana.” Rose’s eyes had locked themselves to the floor.

Now Johana speared you with her stare. “And you forgot it?”

Your mouth was drier than salt. “I…” You glanced between Rose and Johana, wanting to pin the blame on Rose--after all, she’d forgotten to tell you. But the knowledge it’d only further sour your relationship with her and make you appear like a rat stilled your tongue. Rose had something to lose with Johana. You didn’t. She already hated you. “I did. I’m sorry.”

Her nostrils flared, and she shook her head. For a moment, you swore her eyes had glossed with tears. “Useless.” A muscle in her jaw tensed. “Fine. I suppose he won’t need butter with his meal, tonight. Rose, you can let him know who the responsibility falls to.”

Rose nodded. “Yes, yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She sighed--and without a word, marched from the kitchen.

Her absence made your shoulders sink--and to your surprise, so did Rose’s. She said nothing, snatching the groceries from the table and bringing them over to the counters. The swarm in your brain revived itself. Johana had said she was leaving. And that the Commander would be eating alone.

“She’s… kind of rough on you guys.” You tried to sound as casual and innocently curious as possible.

Rose snorted. “No rougher than any other Wife.”

“Right,” you replied, like you implicitly understood her meaning. “Just seems tough.”

Silent, Rose shrugged, continuing to gather ingredients for dinner.

Biting your lip, you went for it. “Does she… leave frequently?”

“Depends,” Rose said. “Usually only when another Wife is sick.”

“Oh,” you said. “How long does she usually stay away?”

Rose froze, and you gulped. That had been a little too far. Like a shadow, she turned her head, staring into the wall. Her voice was soft. “If you’re going to lie with the Commander, don’t be so transparent about it.”

You went stiff. Time to leave. Grimacing, you nodded, pivoting to escape to the room.

“She’ll be gone all night.”

Her words jerked you like you’d been on a chain. She’d given you a gift. You weren’t going to push it. Holding your breath, you continued your way back upstairs.

[childrenofathoria-rp-blog]

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Lash 25 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: EST Desired Character: Gage

◆Character Information◆

(1)  What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?: She/he and I want to explore her sexuality through plotting

(2)  Any changes or comments? n/a

(3) Why this character? 

Gage is very much Taboo for growing up in Chile Village. The village was much like Salem, afraid of things not understood. Gage is the girl who stood up and refused to be afraid of what others found unsettling. She finds a fascination in mortality and immortality alike. She is young and immature and this makes her more dangerous as a new vampire.  I feel like her unconventional attitude earned her a reputation as a supernatural sympathizer early on in her life.

I am very eager to explore the type of past she experienced and why she refuses to let others in to her world. Gage is truly a solo act in many respects and even those she does like will find they barely know her at all. It is better to keep secrets than feel exposed.

I love the fact that she is flamboyant in her attitude. I love that she is tough and I can’t wait to explore the girl behind that hardened exterior. I also like the fact that she is a 3 year old vampire. It’s all so new and she is at a place where she knows what she has lost to obtain what she has.

(4) Interpret this character: 

Gage hates authority

               She is not a fan of the little king or anyone who pretends they have a right to dictate her life. She has the strength to back up her stance. She won’t rise against the law but if the law looks for her she will not go down without a fight. She has an ability to fly below the radar. She values freedom and keeping a low profile but that does not mean she makes good choices.

Gage Likes to Take Risks

               Gage will pick a fight with anyone. It is her way of seeing how people measure up to her expectations. She would argue that the sky is green on a bright sunny day just to piss people off. She has always enjoyed saying things in such a way to rub people wrong. Slurs of confident sarcasm has earned her a fair few black eyes before she was turned into a vampire. How does she react? She just grins and starts swinging back.

Supernatural Calls Her

Chile Village is superstitious. She was expected to keep her eye on the ground and fear the world around her but Gage was not going to let her family implant her with their cowardly conventions. She was never afraid of the world. Not even when she saw her first witch burn at the stake.

The Pyre was a place she felt drawn to in a sadistic sort of way. She felt true sadness when the witches screamed for mercy only for the fire to be stoked. The hair would stand up on Gage’s arms with every chilling scream. It was that drawing to watch the villagers carry out their judgments that led her to her sire.

She Was a Horrible Fledgling

               Gage was always questioning her sire. To her they were not very good at this. Why they spared her she would never understand. She challenged them and as a result the Sire grew tired of dealing with her. He was on the run and Gage attracted far too much attention.

               She never learned to use her gifts. Her victims scream in pain because she doesn’t know how to ease the pain. She hides behind an unwavering façade, pretending the screams do not bother her but they do. She can see the burning witches and every victim brings her back to those nights.

Gage is bad at showing emotion

               She feels things so much more completely than it seems. She is very good at hiding it and she has shielded herself well, so well that even as a vampire she is using abilities she has no clue she possesses. She can shield without knowing she can. The only emotions that erupt from gage are anger and rage. If one gets close enough to see a sensitive side they will be dead by the morning.

Where Will Gage Fit In

               She has no skills, no purpose, and no master. She is entirely alone and surrounded. I see her trying to find a way to learn without being roped into the bonds of a coven or group. She likes her solitude because she has always felt isolated. Her family practically shunned her with the rest of her village. This is why she ended up in  a tavern serving drinks to drunks.

Being a bartender she will hear many things and she will retain a lot. I think she can gather some valuable information and I do not quite know what she will do with it. She definitely needs to latch onto an older vampire and learn some things before she draws too much attention to herself. She guards her vampiric state. She takes that extra measure to pretend to breath. She will feed two to three villages over to keep the rumors from finding her. In turn she is constantly reminded of her kills by travelers passing through with stories of monsters on their drunken breaths.

All of her emotional turmoil is locked way beneath the skin and the key ith thrown in the troubled waters.  I really want to see someone start to peel back the layers of Gage and get to know her true history and why she is the way she is.

◆ Interview Questions ◆

(1) Question One: Do you think your Sire is still alive?

Gage adjusted her shoulders, more ridged now at the mention of the word. Sire. It was enough to put her on the edge of her seat. No one was at the bar except she and this stranger, a human who knew what she was the minute he fumbled his way into the bar. “You are drunk.” She turned on her heel and let her eyes linger on the strange girl, a very pretty girl. She hadn’t noticed them as  patron because this was definitely a face she would remember. The girl adjusted herself to lean against the bar, a flirtatious smile slapped across her face. The breath of her words reeked with alcohol. “I know and I know you are a vampire. Is your sire alive?” She was more sober now, scarily sober as if she were looking for her sire, what sis he do now?

“How the hell should I know?” Gage truly didn’t know, “I think he headed toward Leeds. Who the hell knows or Cares.” She added with a shrug and a frown as she moved to wipe the counter in front of the strange woman, “We are closed now. Get out.”

(2) Question Two: Why were you so obsessed with watching witch’s burn at the stake? Do you still attend burning’s?

The woman’s words were chilling. Not many knew her past with such intimacy. Eyes locked on each other’s, suspended in time for that millisecond it took for Gage to realize this person was not all she seemed to be on the surface.  “That is none of your business.” Something happened then, Gage was clenching her fists.  “Who are you?” Gage shot back with a snarl as her fangs elongated. Keep it together Gage. She was truly terrified then. “Midnight?” Gage asked before deciding on her course of action. At that question another member stepped into the bar. No wonder it was empty. “Damn Vampires.” She muttered underneath her breath and continued her work at cleaning the counter.

“Changed your mind yet? To answer your Question, No, I don’t go anymore. I am not the same girl I was in the Chile Village. My sire made sure of that.”

◆Writing Sample:◆

Tw: Blood, allusion to rape

Seeing the world from the eyes of the maker, that was what Gage was seeing. New details emerged beneath a moonlit sky. The stars held new wonder, the flame danced with more vibrant hues. The thirst was the only fatal flaw in the new life she had been given. Her sire was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared shortly after turning her. She couldn’t blame them for running from her. Everyone shunned Gage for more reasons than one. She had thrown her stones at him and heaven knows she was not without sins.

The senses came alive with an intake of breath. The cool, crisp night air drew her to the streets with a mission. Blood. It was the one thing that dominated her thoughts at that moment. She would have been content on taking in the new details of life had the burning desire to feed not occurred. It was like she imagined burning at the stake to feel. Intense heat seared her throat

The night presented options in abundance, a first feed without a sire to instruct her. She could do this without their help. The pounding of a heart stopped her dead, literally, in her tracks. That sweet metallic odor pulsing and pumping in a steady rhythm set the pace. The hunt was on. If her heart could still pump blood it would be beating against her chest. The woman she found was alone and looked to be in a vulnerable state of undress. It was a darkened ally with no other being close enough to intervene in the deed that was about to take place.

“Why are you crying?” Her own voice sounded jumbled as her fangs extruded from her mouth. The blood pulsed at the woman’s neck and suddenly the question’s answer mattered little. All she could hear was the thud of her heart. All she could smell was the sweet metallic blood mingled with the sweat of her fear. She had no time to answer before Gage had her pinned against the cool concrete wall. Her fangs broke the skin of her neck and she bucked violently with a twisted expression of horror. The scream was so chilling that Gage dropped the embrace, panting heavily as if she had just snapped out of a hellish nightmare.

The woman held her hand to the wound. It looked as if she were wearing a blood red glove. Before she could open her mouth to scream she was silenced. Quick and painless, Gage’s sire snapped her neck before turning on Gage. He looked pissed at her for feeding so openly. “Dumb bitch!” He growled and slapped her hard across the face. “Chile Village is not keen on supernatural inhabitants! Damn it all.” He scratched his head and paced the ally. “Clean yourself up Fledgling. Go, get out of here.”

“Fine, “ She spoke through harsh gasps. “Thought you skipped out.” She walked past him and brushed into him with all the stregngth she had. A gesture to challenge him, “Hit me again and I will tell those that hunt you exactly where you have been and what you have been doing….Bastard.” she added the last slur with a nod and a snarl. Blood dripped from her clothes, her lips, and fingertips. She looked like she had returned from a distant battlefield without the scars, no the scars were entirely mental.

She leaned over the water basin until the water turned to blood itself. Everything was red, including her thoughts.