#(as in lovers that had built their love on misery and found joy)

[7roaches]

prev post has me thinking abt the common phenomenon of ppl who create following a line of thinking that there must be some level of misery present to adequately create. which also leads into the line of thinking that if you lose the misery u’ll lose your spark too. e.g. artists fearing losing their motivation, writers fearing losing their inspiration, comedians fearing losing their funny, etc etc…

[tellerluna-stories]

a lover’s oath (valentine's 2022!!)

PAIRINGS: childe, kaeya, diluc, gorou, n thoma x reader (separate). totally not biased at all!!!! //hides simp list discreetly

DESCRIPTION: scenarios depicting how they would show their sincerest affections for you. pure fluff for the most part, hurt/comfort + fluff for kaeya and gorou.

TW/CW: teensy mention of blood in childe's scenario, implied ptsd in gorou's.

A/N: hAPPY (belated) valentine's day! this is the first time I've written something for a holiday that more or less happens to be on time for said holiday. these days I've been really stressed out bc THESIS so I wrote these lil scenarios for myself as a treat <3 special thanks to my beta reader for coming up w the title!!

if you enjoy reading my work, pls consider taking this survey or sending in a ko-fi! it'd mean the world to me （*´▽｀*）

tartaglia:

there is nothing that childe would rather do than to give you the world at your feet; why, he’d even give you his very soul if you would allow him. but you had reprimanded him sharply when he brought it up for the first and the last time, saying that you’d much rather have his soul in his physical body, alive and well, than offered up to you as if he were a human sacrifice. a particular emphasis on the words alive and well.

you aren’t like teucer, whose youthful heart is easily cheered with new toys and adventurous stories. so instead childe gives you another gift, one that he knows hold more value in your heart than any gaudy trinket bought with the wealth he has accumulated. he gives you himself.

he gives you his time— no matter how short his visits are, he always makes sure to stop by your home to check on you. he gives you peace of mind on his well-being; childe no longer cares to rip into the battlefield without minding his own safety, for he knows how many sleepless nights you’ve spent dressing his wounds and worrying about him. mind, heart, a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on— whatever he can give, he gives freely, for his heart is his present to you, something that is meant to be yours and yours alone.

oh, but do not be mistaken here; he still longs to conquer the world for you, to make it a kingdom that he and you can reign over and live in happily ever after, like something straight out of a fairy tale. but the harbinger knows that the source of your happiness is not found in grand schemes of fame and fortune, no— your happiness comes from the simple joy of being in a world where you and he are alive at the same time, a happy existence where your loved ones can rejoice with you in peace and harmony. childe’s greatest wish is for you to have what your heart desires, and if he must give mind, body, soul and spirit to grant it, then so be it.

so he chooses to protect that simple, dream-like world of yours, much like how he protects the childhood dreams of his siblings. it is a far cry from the usual sort of striving he does, the one that requires his hands to be stained with bloodshed and misery— but the smile on your face is more than enough reward for childe’s efforts, worth more than any spoils of battle that he’s won in the past. if little gifts such as these are what gives this idyllic world to you, then childe is only too willing to surrender himself wholly to such a cause.

kaeya:

honesty is a rare luxury for kaeya to have— all last shreds of that trait had seemingly withered away long ago, unable to withstand the poison of hollow words and empty promises. for one whose entire life is built upon a foundation of falsehoods, the truth is the most terrifying thing a liar could ever face.

to kaeya, words are many things; weaponry, armour, and a way of getting by in life. lies are nothing but a means to an end, a way to getting the things he wants like the greedy sinner he is— but he doesn’t use them on you. he cannot bear to curse you with the weight of his lies, no matter how desperate kaeya is for your love; that, and he’s afraid of facing his truth, of whatever ill-omened burden he may become to you.

but then again… the truth terrifies him, yes, but what is far more terrifying is a future where you slip through his fingers, all because he was too paralyzed by fear. it is this new, greater terror that pushes him into a slow, tedious crawl as kaeya seeks to discard his cloak of lies; this fear pushes him to become a better man, to win your heart without a single honeyed word from his lips. you were the one to give him your complete honesty and trust, and to break it would break him too.

at first, it feels as if he’s tied one arm behind his back. without his reinforced armour of facades he feels awkward and clumsy, and kaeya admittedly fumbles more than once when he crosses paths with you. there is no-one for him to ask about these things, and to admit that he was lacking in knowledge would be a blow to his pride. but love makes fools out of the wisest men, as the poets say— and kaeya would rather be a courageous fool than a coward. making a fool of himself would make you laugh more anyway, and his dignity was a fair price to pay for a little piece of heaven.

eventually he learns to laugh with you, at the sheer absurdity of it all; no-one could’ve ever imagined the silver-tongued cavalry captain of the knights of favonius quaking like a leaf when he holds the door open for you. nor could anyone have pictured him tucking a cecilia behind your ear, immediately hiding his trembling hands behind his back afterwards like a shy school-boy. straightening your collar right before you attend an important event, giving you the pieces of food that you liked best while stealing the food you hated from off of your plate… these were all silent, domestic gestures that he was certain he was unworthy of, but they tasted like freedom all the same. even if you laughed at him and called him cheesy after.

it was in this manner that kaeya found a way to be honest with you; there was no need to worry about the sincerity behind his words if they remained unspoken. perhaps someday… someday he would be redeemed, and that day he might muster enough courage to become a truly honest man. but for now, kaeya was content with things as they were.

diluc:

diluc is not a man of many words. he prefers to act rather than to waste time talking— in his eyes, there is no point in using up precious minutes to chatter away about senseless formalities when one could be taking action and doing something. in that sense, he is an impatient man; but when occasion comes to rise, he will speak directly from his heart. sincerity is not something to be hidden away like gold in a miser’s safe, and diluc does not wish to be miserly when it comes to his relationship with you.

simple phrases such as ‘your outfit suits you well’ or a sincere ‘you’ve done a good job today’ are the most he can vocalise, for he doesn’t have the courage to spin sugar-coated compliments like a certain cavalry captain; it’s simply not diluc’s style, and whatever part of his brain that is responsible for forming words freezes stiff when he tries to come up with something to say. as a result, he sounds gruff and terse when conversing with you, leading many to the absurd misunderstanding that he harboured some sort of secret grudge against you.

it is only too fortunate for him that you are familiar with the language of awkward shyness; it’s almost impossible for him to fathom how it’s mere child’s play for you to understand the intentions behind his faltering words. he feels safe in the knowledge that you understand what he means, but he longs for a way to speak his truths, his testimonies to you— ah, if only his tongue did not betray him so.

but where diluc’s voice fails him, his pen compensates for the gap; it strikes him like a bolt of the blue one day, while he fills out paperwork. letters, letters, letters.

they are a heaven-sent miracle for one as tongue-tied as diluc, flying down to earth with wings of pale parchment to give a voice to his deepest thoughts. his writing-desk is soon crowded with stacks of the finest paper that money can buy, while quills, ink-pots and the like become an even larger part of the daily expenses of his household; for with each page he writes, he grows more sure of what he wants to say, and each letter he sends is even longer than the last. inked with pure sincerity and sealed with goodwill (and perhaps a loving kiss or two), your mail-box never fails to overflow with his affections for you. now that diluc has found his voice, he decides to use it— and what better use has a voice than to speak to the one you care for most?

gorou:

when one is entangled deep within the horrors of the battlefield, things such as safety and warmth are scarce to be found. touch is the last thing that comforts you, for the most physical contact you will find in a warzone is in harsh blows to your face and body, or the deadly kiss of a blade held to your neck. all soldiers sleep lightly because they fear the sharp sting of enemy steel on their bare skin; it is this fear that propels them to fight for a safer land for both themselves and their people.

for a while, gorou was incredibly wary of being touched after the end of the feud between watatsumi and narukami island— any unnecessary contact would send him in high alert, his teeth baring into a half-growl by instinct. even the slightest nudge in his sleep awakened him immediately, his entire body stiff and tense till he realised that it was just you; it takes time before he allows himself to lean into your touch without flinching, to indulge in the safety he felt only around you. it feels almost too good to be true, and he half-expects to wake up from what feels like a faraway dream.

but it isn’t. the sensation of your hands gently brushing his tail is heavenly, an almost out-of-body experience for gorou, but it is anything but a dream. he wants nothing more but to fall asleep in the warm sunshine as you pet his ears, dreaming of catching butterflies to put in your hair— ahem. the point here was that he felt warm and safe with you by his side.

nothing feels more secure to him than having your fingers intertwined in his as you wander the streets of inazuma together, or having you lean against his shoulder to rest. although he usually tries to keep his demeanor as an intimidating war-general who has braved a thousand battles, gorou is the one who initiates crossing his ankles with yours while waiting for your food to arrive. his tail wags most conspicuously— but who would care about such a thing in a moment like this? plus, the more his tail wagged, the more likely chance of you wanting to pet it.

(in the distance, a certain kitsune smiles conspiratorially at the oblivious couple— with this new development, it would appear that miss hina would have better love advice for her readers in the future. well, all the better for her investments, yae miko supposes.)

thoma:

thoma is a busy man; working for the yashiro commission is no easy task, especially if one is a vassal of the kamisato clan. time is a commodity that he does not always have the luxury of spending as he pleases, which brings him quite a problem on his hands: how is he to spend time with you when there is so little of his own to spare?

however, he is not one to be easily deterred by such obstacles. many days and sleepless nights were spent rearranging thoma’s to-do list to keep at least one day free for you, but alas! just as he would adjust his schedule, new tasks would crop up like pesky weeds. honestly, it was as if the whole world were against him spending time with you.

but his problems were solved when you showed up at the yashiro commission one day, declaring yourself as a new member of the staff (and with a document bearing the official seal of commissioner kamisato to prove it, no less!) after due verification from furuta, thoma was delegated with the task of being your supervisor.

“are you sure about this?” he asked hesitantly, for thoma was all too familiar with the stigma that surrounded the idea of doing house-work; though it was not an issue that necessarily bothered him, it was not something that he wanted you to experience. but you merely brushed his concerns aside with a toothy grin and dove into the chores head-first, forcing him to follow after you; thoma had always spoke of his passion for house-keeping with pride, so why should you be ashamed of something that he enjoyed so much?

that is an argument that he cannot disagree with, and eventually thoma accepts that this is going to be a new part of his work-life now. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm as you become accustomed to the other’s work-pace; you methodically wipe the dishes dry as thoma washes them. he scrubs the laundry, you hang them on the wash-line to dry in the sun. he sweeps, you mop— you dust the shelves and he wipes them down with a damp rag right after.

it certainly isn’t a fancy date at uyuu restaurant, but it is something more valuable to thoma. spending time with your loved ones doing something you enjoy is always an enjoyable experience, and the fact that you had gone out of your way to spend time with him made his heart flutter in odd ways. and perhaps… doing housework with you made his mind wander off to faraway places, to a hazy daydream with the two of you in a house of your very own. but thoma was too embarrassed to admit it now— he’d tell you later on, once he had found a proper ring.

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[slasherwife]

hey hey hey ✨ how are you? ♥ ️me? new request hihi so i'm good. Why not a fic with either Loki or Geralt where after a long time they meet Reader again, but each thought the other was dead pwease ♥️✨

“My Heart Returns...”

LokixReader

by jena marie

Summary:

Reader and Loki reunite after several years of thinking one another were dead. Warnings: mention of suicide, extreme angst, death, but fluffy ending uWu.

thank you so much for sending in requests @seutarose pLEASEE send in more! i’m so bored haha 😊💜💜🌸🌸

I wrote one for Loki since dis boi has only one fic so here you go!! 💕💕💕💕 it’s kinda itty bitty long (i kinda went crazy XD) but i hope you like it!

It was like an eternity without passion. Without affection, caring for nothing. His eyes, empty. Lips, always open yet never moving. His gaze was the stare of a snake, piercing yet flat— like he stared right through anyone who dare to draw his gaze. Empty as he was, the only person who could ever really make him talk was his dear brother. Thor visited him regularly, which was at the cottage on the beach where Loki and his love were supposed to live, undisturbed and peaceful. He built it before returning to Asgard, where he fought his older sister and escaped with Y/n. She was put in a different ship, but he sent messages about the cottage that they would live in with great joy and compassion.

The first stage of Loki, a troubled, timid, yet calculating boy turned man. The second, overturned with greed and envy, pushed to torture and murder and take. Then the third. It was born out of an image that Y/n had saw in him. As she described him, he was nothing short of an angel, composed out of pure light. Because what Loki let her see, he never revealed to others. He was only ever kind to her, only ever a gentleman to her. Only ever himself with her. Vulnerable. He saw what she was— something innocent, capable, maybe naive, but could see nothing but love and kindness in every person’s eyes. If anything, she was the angel. Even from her first breath, she was so sweet. He didn’t know where she came from, it was like he was manipulating his family, and betraying his people, and all the sudden this woman with a soul woven from flower-petals and diamonds, and galaxies for bones came into his life and loved him like he was the only thing that mattered. In what world, what universe or dimension is that sensible?

Now she’s buried somewhere. Thanos, tearing through the galaxies and stars came to where she was put, taking care of the old folks and children on a separate ship, and demanded her an answer to every question he asked. He knew about Loki’s lover, since Thor and Frigga couldn’t shut up about her since they found out she was courting the prince of Asgard. They made sure everyone knew, which was of course before Thanos was even heard of within a 20000 light-year radius.

She was cooperative. Not warm, not kind, but cooperative. That was until he asked where Loki was. Her lips were open, ready to answer, but then she closed them.

Five minutes of more refusing silence passed, and she was dead on the floor. Blood pouring from her back as her skin whitened and her eyes paled.

It was something Thor never wanted to tell him, but he found out anyway. No man or woman wants to hear what Loki did that day.

Then Thanos found where Loki was anyway.

All she remembers is waking up in a field of yellow flowers, and being immediately comforted. But if she remembers further, she also recalls hearing a piercing cry, a scream. Loki’s scream in a void of darkness, before opening her eyes against the sun of the tulip field.

Then, waking up in the field. She was on Earth, and she asked everywhere of what had happened to the ship set off for Earth, a few hundred light years away. No one knew. And it never arrived. That only meant one thing. Her love was lost. Without a proper funeral, he was gone.

She stayed on Earth for several months, like a tortured and lost soul, waiting for someone who she couldn’t name.

It was like she could still feel him, feel that he was close. Yet the truth kept punching her in the gut whenever she felt hope.

That was, until she saw him. Thor had come to visit her grave. He reasons that he never brought up your name in his presence, let alone suggest that Loki visit your grave— because when he even spoke of you indirectly, his eyes twist into complete agony. His expression as if someone had lit him on fire. He missed you indefinitely, irrevocably, and so immensely that every second of the day was misery. The only reason he didn’t end his life was because he wanted to stay strong for you, and it was hard.

Thor watched, thinking that he was hallucinating, seeing her grave dug up and her casket empty. He went searching, and found Y/n by a lake, having lost a lot of weight, only fed by berries and grass. Her dress was torn, caked with mud. And yet, her beauty still glowed like the brilliance of a thousand suns.

They embraced, and Thor took her to Loki after she had washed and put on a new dress.

The joy and relief was unexplainable. The flowers in her bones were immortal, ever glowing and ever living.

Loki opened the door to their home he had built with his own hands, and he saw his heart and soul standing in front of him, looking up at him with those e/c eyes, with wonder and love. She broke seeing him, and it was like her body had a mind of its own. She practically threw herself at him, sobbing with her arms wrapped firmly around his neck. He was stunned. In shock. His heart returned to him. Loki saw that the moment they saw each other for the first time in years. He almost went into a panic attack, smelling her scent and feeling her soft hair under his chin. He was hyperventilating, eyes wide, running his hands all over her squeezing her tightly with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what to do.

He thought he was having another hallucination, and yet couldn’t convince himself. She was iridescent. Years and years and years of pent up despair and loneliness spilled out in that moment. Tears spilled endlessly the first hour, and she clung to him like he was her lifeline.

Once they made their way inside and the tears were gone, they held each other for hours. No words, just touch. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, and he was wrapped around her in a giant teddy-bear hug. The sun went down and they slept like that.

In the morning, they started to talk. Small things. Simple things. They were confessing their love for one another like there was no tomorrow. And so much touching but a little toned down than the day before. Not sexual in any way, just pure love.

They never looked at each other the same way again. If you thought he looked at her sweetly before the incident, this is nothing compared to that. His eyes fill with nothing but hearts as his eye brows arch and his heartbeat picks up. They’re always touching when around each other. Good luck getting him to focus when she’s around.

They seemed to never leave their cottage. Loki was glad there weren’t any people around, because he wanted her gaze all to himself. They walked along the shore, talking endlessly about anything and everything, laughing, kissing, hugging. They put every love story to shame. They weren’t seen for months, and yet they were so happy with each other that they didn’t care that they were practically shutting everyone else out.

But above all, when Loki heard that Y/n was dead, he died with her. But when he saw her again, it was like his own soul was hiding, buried underneath empty liquor bottles and painkillers. All the torture was washed away, like it never existed.

And now he can talk with passion again. He can care about things. He can think. He can live, laugh, and love with her by his side, forever.

[seriously-really-soft]

The Fall

a/n: I worked on this for so long, and although i hated it when i first started working with it, I like it a whole lot more now. Should I make a series out of this or some other kind of continuation? I really hope you enjoy it, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, for all my muslim followers, Eid Mubarak! I hope you have a wonderful day to celebrate!

Warnings: heavy angst

Pairings: Simeon x fem!reader

Word Count: 954

     Light befell the side of Simeon’s face as he glanced towards Lucifer through glassy eyes. Just hours ago Diavolo had held a meeting and all that was left of it were the pastry crumbs on Lucifer’s desk and the vague smell of coffee in the air. Even with Lucifer’s low humming in the background, something about that room felt empty; it lay somewhere far beyond the reach of joy, and if it were not for his trust in time, Simeon felt that it would drain what little energy he had left to offer. He wished for it to end, this deep emptiness, and he prayed for the shyness within him to subside just long enough for him to take his leave, yet he could not move for he was so exhausted from the weight of this empty. He’d spent countless nights begging, repenting, though the ache grew within him still. In Simeon misery ceaselessly devoured what piece of paradise he held within himself and for that light of him it only seared deeper, demanded more with each passing moment.

     The feeling ticked away at his skin like some odd, invisible clock that chipped off flesh with its hands, and though he could not fathom the true depth of this ravenous empty, as he sat there breaking before heaven, Simeon found himself the saddest he had ever felt. He wished to cry, he so desperately did, this growing loneliness far too much to bear alone. His tears, still so untouched by the world and her sense of shame, only knew to shed as they did when they first came to be, just as they only knew to do when they watched Lucifer fall in their likeness - and so he wept in silence and within the confines of isolation so deep it lay with all its weight upon his chest. At times he thought he could not hear, could not see, and though he beckoned as much air as he could through his nose he could not breathe.

     In the distance there was commotion. What’s that so- anything, it can be anything just please make this sto- screaming, someone was wailing terribly loudly please just shut up, just for a little bit, please! The sharp cry of fabric ripping rang in the air - tearing, something was tearing apart. That noise, which Simeon could now so clearly make out, was the separation of souls, of hearts, the sound of which was so lonely that for a moment Simeon felt that he could not shoulder their anguish. Stop, stop, please just stop, wait a little longer, just please-, a voice sobbed, the sound emitting from the deepest space in some soul somewhere in the universe. Simeon’s heart lurched for those being split by the universe; at times he could not move for he felt the tearing, the loves lost, he wept in the misery of having one’s eyes shut to their lover forever.

     It was only when his being scrunched into a mess of coughs - for in his throat there was a desperate plea for rest and sound - that he realized the screaming was his own and that blight, the tearing apart of lovers, came from within his own chest. The anguish had built up too much, and Simeon could not shut up or bring himself to swallow the fire in his chest.

     They were splitting, he knew, and in those moments Simeon only felt a deep sense of hatred for the world, for the secrets it knew he cradled somewhere precious within himself, feelings he kept to himself all those nights he spent dreaming of touching her so sweetly stars found their way to paradise from his sighs. What good was the air in paradise when it stung him so deeply, punished him as though he had never shown it his goodness? Sin, the universe went on of sin and Simeon knew, heard it in the sound of his creation, but now, when he only wished to see her once more, when the tear between them became so violent he could not recall the sound of her voice, he wondered where the sin was in wanting above anything to be hers, to find rest in her light. If in love there was the brightest innocence, what wrong was there in her when she shone on him with such brilliance the loneliest places in hell became gardens of Eden? When the direction of paradise no longer mattered when she held it so fondly in her voice, in her steps? Could there ever really be sins in a love that made the flowers in paradise sigh, in loves that only proved the existence of heaven, of tenderness beyond what the inhabitants of all three realms knew of?

     No, there was no sin, couldn’t be a single ugly thing in she who kneeled before him now, who clutched his hands so sweetly he could not help but cry some more.

     I am breaking, please hold me just a little longer, at least just long enough for me to remember you like this, how though you are engulfed in darkness now, you remain the brightest light, the purest vision, my softest love.

     Did the kings above despise him? He wished they did, so that they may release him, so that Simeon may fall back into his lover, in whom he had discovered a place of rest where none could poison another or be left in exile. She was of a world of her own, a blushing garden of paradise in which no one could know of anything less than love, where she loved fallen and believers alike, held them in her vision and believed in them beauty where they could no longer.

[i-will-be-forever-yours]

Trust Issues

A/N This is my first writing...that has actually been posted so it might be pretty rough. anyway... feedback is welcome! thanks for reading

Warning: Angst, some language...umm idk what else

Summary: Shawn and Y/n have been married for a year and a half and he seems to be drifting. Will trust put this marriage at risk?

Word Count: 1.8k

posted 11-18-19

Don’t know who made this gif but if u did hmu so I can give you credit

Y/n breathed a sigh of relief when she walked into their two-story condo. The paparazzi decided that they would not leave her alone since the news of her marriage to Shawn Mendes, even eighteen months after the fact. For them it was like being a kid in a candy shop.

They had dated for just over two years when she found herself in front of a kneeling Shawn, velvet box in one hand. She was happy, to say the least, and let the tears flow as she nodded, being at a loss for words. However, prior to dating they had been friends since they were both young, and they couldn’t be happier. Their wedding was a romantic day one with only close friends and family. It was a special day, filled with laughter and tears of joy shared between the couple.

However, at just a year and six months of marriage, it was already hard. Of course, the first year was pure bliss, and they were very much newlyweds. However recently Shawn had been more distant and Y/n didn’t like it. For the better part of the last five years, they had been inseparable, but he seems to be drifting. Longer nights at the studio, early morning at the gym. Even when he was home, his mind wasn’t, and a part of Y/n felt like they were falling. She wasn’t sure where they were falling. Whether it be out of love, or falling deeper into confusion, she had no idea, but she knew that something needed to change.

Shawn was getting ready to go on tour again, but that was nothing new. They had been through a couple of his tours while they were friends and even while dating. However, something seemed off with this upcoming one.

Y/n tried to brush off the uneasy feeling that settled in her stomach when she thought of her husband, but it just wouldn’t go away. To take her mind off things she decided to scroll through her twitter feed. The first thing to pop up was a picture of her husband and Camila, with the caption saying “Shawn’s new lover?”. She knew not to believe rumors and tabloids and had even grown accustomed to these stories. However, with Shawn’s recent behavior, she wasn’t so sure. Her mind told her to just stop but nevertheless, she clicked on the link that was provided.

She didn’t expect to find a picture of her husband’s face nuzzling into the neck of Camila, while she laughed and smiled. There were a handful of pictures of the two holding hands and laughing. It reminded her of when they first started dating. Young and in love, only having eyes for each other. 

Pain and numbness spread throughout her chest at the thought that her husband no longer loved her. These thoughts were interrupted however by the sudden urge to throw up.

Jumping off the bed, she made a quick dash to the connected bathroom. She emptied the contents of her stomach and sat there on the bathroom floor. Her breathing was ragged and she kept dry heaving into the toilet, while trying to suppress the urge to cry.

She looked like a mess, with her hair in disarray and makeup running down her face from her shed tears. Her brain couldn’t form coherent thoughts, and she felt the sudden desire to sleep for hours. However, she picked herself off the floor to examine herself in the mirror. Wiping off the makeup and putting her hair in a messy bun she decided to get back on her phone. They had plans to go to dinner tonight, so y/n decided to call Shawn.

However, before the second ring, the call was denied. Deciding then to text him, she texted, “Hey honey, are we still on for dinner?” As she waited for his response she decided to check her calendar for her upcoming appointments and plans. While looking through it she realized something was missing. She had not had her period in two months, almost three.

She sat there on her bed in a nervous panic. What if she were pregnant? She hadn’t had sex with Shawn recently due to his busy schedule at that time, but based on the last time they had it would make sense. They were always so careful. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe it was just her body being irregular like it sometimes tended to be. The logical part of her brain denied these excuses though, because that’s what they were, excuses. 

She immediately put on some shoes and a hoodie and drove to the nearest drugstore to pick up some tests. She was lucky to make the trip there and back without anyone snapping any pictures. The downside to having a famous husband was the unwanted pictures, but she loved him, so she made it work.

Once back safely inside the master bathroom, she undid all three tests and took them. She waited the time and when her phone alarm went off she froze. What if she were pregnant and Shawn didn’t love her anymore?

No time to think about that. She had to be positive, maybe this was the jumpstart her marriage needed. Taking a deep breath she grabbed the tests. They all read POSITIVE. She sat there for nearly  five minutes before the waterworks started. Tears were streaming down her face, but there were so many emotions going on. She was ecstatic, scared, and angry. Ecstatic because she already felt so much love for this baby, but also scared to be a mom. However, she was angry at Shawn, angry that he didn’t reply and angry that he wasn’t here to share her joy. 

She moved back to their room and hid the tests in the closet in some old shoes. As she made it back into her room she saw a message from Shawn saying, “sorry love, can I cancel tonight? I’m just really busy here at the studio.”

She let out a sigh because she was hoping to talk to Shawn over dinner. It seems she’ll just be eating alone again as she has for the past couple weeks.

Y/n is lying in bed when she hears the slam of the door. Looking at the clock she read that it’s midnight. She waits until she hears the heavy footsteps of her husband before she decides to get up. However just as she’s about to she hears his hushed voice saying “No i don’t know how i will tell her. Well, she will just have to deal with it. I know, it’s just that she is so fucking clingy sometimes, always calling or asking to go to dinner or do this and that.” ... “yeah i will, okay goodnight.”

She decides to pretend to be asleep when he walks in. Usually Shawn takes care not to make noise, but tonight he is taking no care to be quiet. She can hear him move about the room until he finally goes into the connected bathroom to shower. Not until the water turns on does she let out her emotions. Tears yet again stream down her face as she thinks about what her husband was saying about her. In her misery, she doesn’t even hear the water turn off nor does she hear as Shawn comes back into the room until she hears his soft voice.

“Y/n, what’s wrong love? Why are you crying?” he asks while reaching out for her.

She turns around to see the concerned eyes of her husband. She almost gives in until she remembers the pictures and his earlier conversation. Instead she looks away and answers “I am fine Shawn, just go to bed.”

“No, tell me what’s the matter! Why are you crying y/n?”

She looks up at him and bluntly asks, “Do you still love me?”

He is a little taken back by her question but is quick to reassure her. “Of course I do, why are you asking?”

She has to scoff at this. “What do you expect me to believe when I see pictures of you and Camila laughing and looking in love? And that conversation earlier? hmm...I think your exact words were she’s so fucking clingy!” she spit out at him.

His confusion quickly slips into anger. “What do you mean “looking in love”? I kissed her cheek, y/n! That’s is! You should know how close we are by now and yes I said you were clingy because sometimes I just need some alone time...ever think about that huh! I thought relationships were supposed to be built on trust. I guess you don’t trust me. Is that what I’m hearing?” He yells.

Y/n is now backed up to the headboard is fear and shock. Not once in their years together has he blown up on her like this. Her hands immediately reach for her stomach, even though she isn’t showing. It is almost a comfort, even just finding out. A way to protect the unborn being that rest within her, relying on her to keep them safe.

“I don’t know what to believe! You don’t talk to me anymore! I love you, Shawn, please just talk to me.” She sobs in a defeated voice.

However, his anger just seems to build. “I need to get away from you sometimes! You never give me a break, and you always want to talk or cuddle or whatever shit it is.”

She is crying now and just wants this nightmare to be over. However, it has reached its climax. “Get the fuck out of my face y/n. I cannot handle this anymore. Just go stay somewhere else.”

In a state of shock, she sits there. Until she makes eye contact with Shawn and that’s when she knows he means it. She rushes out the door with her car keys in hand. Once she is driving away she finally breaks once again. With a hand on her still flat stomach, she drives. She has nowhere to go because all her family and friends are in the states. They had moved to Canada to be close to his side of the family and his hometown.

However, being distracted while driving is not good. Especially when she’s been on the road for over an hour and emotionally exhausted. She looks down to see a message from Shawn saying “sorry love, please come back home...we can talk when you get back” As she is reading this she doesn’t see the car that ran a red light and barrels into her car, causing her car to roll multiple times before coming to a halt when it came into contact it a pole..

All she can hear is the sound of her phone ringing with the picture of Shawn filling her screen. She soon hears sirens before she slips into the comfort of darkness that is pulling her deeper into the abyss.

[thomasadderford]

October Writing Challenge

Day 1: Revenge

a story for @turning-through-the-never‘s writing challenge via my main blog @brillraven

~

How long had he been asleep? 

Where was Alain? Anne? Mother?

They...They were dead, weren’t they? 

The ground was wet and musty underneath his face. It had recently rained, and the moon was beginning to peek out between the branches of the tall Silverpine trees. He felt stiff...and this horrible taste crawled through his mouth like he had been chewing on pig slop. He felt tired and cold and so chose not to get up, but laid there in the grass watching the stars twinkle in the sky. He had always loved the Silverpine forest. The last time he saw it was when he was forced to leave Dalaran. Oh, Dalaran...it had been so long. Was Alain still there, he wondered? Did he still love him? 

It was then that the realization dawned on him. He wasn’t in Stratholme. In the quarantined hell-hole that was once his house. Barricaded inside like rabid beasts with his father...Stratholme was...not close to Silverpine. How did he get here? Did someone save him? Hope fluttered its birdlike wings within his chest. Someone saved him! He needed to find them and thank them! He lurched to the side, propping himself on his elbow as he planted his hand in the ground. He needed to get up. He had escaped. He could find Alain. Oh...Alain...

What he saw stopped his breath cold. Or, rather, made him conscious of the fact that he hadn’t been breathing at all. The hand planted on the ground was deathly pale, almost blue, and moldering as the flesh rot away in places. His fingertips were entirely gone, cream-white bones wiggling in the dirt. It was at this time that he heard a voice. It was raspy, like sandpaper across skin, but he recognized its deep timbre wavering with emotion. 

“Thomas...Oh...Thomas, my son...Oh...by the Light, my boy...”

Slowly, with a mechanical precision, he inclined his head towards the noise, and recoiled when he saw his father. Lord Adderford was a well-built man with golden blonde hair and a full beard. He cut a very noble figure, but now the glowing blonde locks were the color of sewer water, his pale flesh rotting away in places, a black tongue like a river eel lolling out of his mouth. One of his eyes was missing, and the one that remained was a ghastly yellow that glowed in the dark like a wolf’s. 

Thomas was rooted to the spot with fear. Not just the fear of his father being a Scourge, but the fear that his father had somehow escaped Stratholme with him. His memories of his father were of snarling condescension and a strong backhand, of a grip that could tame a horse and nearly crush a windpipe, of a vast and cruelly efficient network of thugs who could drag his son out of the arms of his lover and into a magic-nullifying cage that was carted through backroads and across mountain passes to avoid the prying eyes of people whose opinion he cared about. 

As Thomas thought these things, he felt the cold arms of his father wrap around his shoulder, the noble lord’s shoulders shaking in silent sobs. He was...happy to see him. As Thomas raised his hands to observe them while his father embraced him, he noticed a tiny flicker of flame dance from bony fingertip to bony fingertip. His magic had persisted through all of this like a rusted key left in the bottom of a shoe, the force that now filled his chilled body with warmth, flames, rage, fury.

He gently placed his hands on his father’s head and embraced him. He clutched his father tight, tighter, tighter, tighter, the man in his arms beginning to writhe in discomfort. 

“Thomas, what are you...Thomas, stop this. Thomas? Thomas! THO-” He wasn’t able to respond. Thomas had found his strength and forced his father down onto his back onto the dirt, his rotting hands covering the entirety of his father’s face. The man began to scream, clutching and clawing at his son’s arms to free them of the vice grip, the kind of grip only a dead man can have. The sound of cracking bone was heard, as well as the flicker of embers. There was no hesitation now, no cowering, no hiding. There was only the roaring of flames, the screams of a dying man, and the scream of a dead man taking revenge, the lone eye of the moon standing witness. 

Afterwards, in the dark loneliness above his father’s ashes, he found he wanted to cry. So badly did he want to cry, to release this misery that gnarled like an ancient tree around his soul. He was undead, an abomination, and utterly alone. He found, however, that the tears did not come. He was not capable of them anymore. Summoning a flame in his hand, he thought then of ending it, of engulfing himself in his own fire. How much more misery would await him? What joy was there in this curse?

That was when he heard the Banshee scream. That was when he learned that one could still have hope after death.

[eternityunicorn]

Remember Me? - Part One

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violence, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Set in TO Season 5 - Elijah Mikaelson didn’t know who he was, but he had stopped searching for answers. Instead, of trying to discover his true identity, he settled in a small village in the south of France, spending his days as a musician. Then a mysterious woman begins to show up, night after night, to drive him insane, when he refuses to return to his old life with her. However, his course is set as he learns more about the woman and the past he left behind, leading him down an emotional path of infidelity, betrayal, and heartbreak. Can he ever put the broken pieces back together?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY: Welcome one and all to my latest mini-fic! I hope you’re prepared as I said you should be, because this one is so emotional. I had periods of such sadness in writing this, so it might have the same affect on you readers. Just warning you. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic! Thanks for reading!

———————————————————————————————————

Manosque, France was a beautiful little southern village that Elijah found himself drawn to, once he had decided not to pursue his mysteriously forgotten past. Having known only his first name, he had to relearn what it was to be a vampire, which he got his education from a beautiful nightwalker vampire named Antoinette. 

It was after she left him behind and he had chosen to not pursue his past, choosing to instead chase after her, that he make the journey to the quaint little town. He had wanted to settle down there with the lovey female vampire and live in peace, away from the ghosts from the past that had been chasing after him. 

Antoinette had been surprised to see Elijah in the little bar, after leaving him months before in New York City. She had taken up preforming as a piano player there and was quite popular. Upon confessing that he had come to be with her. They had begun a romantic relationship, living in peace and joy together without the burden of his past lingering over them.

He had found a wonderfully simple existence, also as a piano player in that same little bar. He had even gone so far as to compel the owner to give it to him - and his lover. Elijah enjoyed playing there every evening, playing for the audience whom all flocked there to listen to the mysterious and handsome gentleman’s music. 

Yes, he was happy and tranquil in his new existence as an amnesiac vampire; playing, feeding, and spending his time with Antoinette. He was certainly not hurting for company or for simplistic joy, now that his past didn’t haunt him. Now that he had let it go.

Then one night, his past returned in the form of Klaus Mikaelson, whom had come to try and reclaim his lost brother that Elijah refused to be. He had failed to convince him to return to his old life, choosing his new existence over the old one. 

Soon after that, a beauty like no other appeared while Elijah played, catching his eye immediately. She stood at the bar and watched him through the crowd of patrons. She was stunning with a shining grace that seemed too otherworldly to be of this world. Her pale skin and even paler white hair shone and shimmered under the low lighting of the establishment. Her sapphire blue eyes were ancient and striking in the wisdom that shown there. 

This mystery woman was certainly unlike anyone he had ever seen and he was immediately drawn to her in a far more profound way than anyone else, even Antoinette - and they hadn’t even interacted yet. It was fortunate that his lady wasn’t there to see him gazing at the strange and yet familiar woman with a captivated stare, as if he was entranced. Antoinette would be none too pleased with him otherwise.

Then like a ghost, she vanished from sight as quickly and suddenly as she had appeared, leaving Elijah to wonder if she had been there at all. Perhaps he was going insane, he thought to himself, a side effect of his amnesia? 

A little while later, he returned to the small apartment he shared with his fiancée, Antoinette, as the mysterious beauty remained on his mind. He tried to distract himself by talking of his upcoming wedding with his lady, trying to hide his fascination with the other woman from her. He didn’t want her to know. He wanted to believe whatever had transpired had been nothing. 

However, there was a surprise knock on the front door of the apartment. Curious as well as wary as to whom was calling so late, Elijah went and opened it. As if his mind had summoned her, there she was on the other side of the door, that pale beauty from the bar. She looked furious.

Before he knew what had happened, she slapped him hard across the face and then proceeded to grab him by the jacket he wore, pushing him back into the apartment. There was an angry growl rubbling through her as she did.

“What the hell did you do, Elijah?” She raged at him, while he remained dazed and confused.

Recovering upon hearing his name fall from her lips, he looked at her suspiciously.

She released him and carried on in her yelling, “I went away on a mission for a moment and I come back to a broken family, forced apart, because of the Hollow! Worse than that, I find out that you had Vincent and Marcel compel away your memories!” She sighed as the rage left her and as a result, her voice became small and sad, “Compel away...me, us!”

Elijah didn’t understand what she was trying to say, but he wouldn’t since this fiery woman was someone from his forgotten past. He rubbed the side of his face that still stung from her slap, as he gazed at her, her broken expression having him feeling almost guilty. Almost.

“Look, whoever you are, I don’t know you,” he responded quickly. “I’m sorry that you came all this way to assault me for whatever you’re babbling about, but I think you should leave.”

He could feel Antoinette come up beside him and reach for his hand in comfort and perhaps in feeling territorial, but the mystery lady saw it and growled warningly at her, “Stay back!”

Immediately, his fiancée moved away out of fear. 

Not liking the way this woman from his past treated the woman he loved now, Elijah became more insistent. “I don’t know what it is you want,” he told the pale beauty coolly, “but quite frankly, I don’t care. Whatever we were, that’s not my life anymore. I have a new one here. I have a business, a home, a fiancée, and I am happy. Please respect that and go.”

The mystery woman’s broken expression turned into one of devastation that then turned into a cool rage. She glanced at Antoinette, as she said to him, “A fiancée? Well, good luck in marrying her since you are a married man already.” Her eyes returned to him, watching his shocked expression with mild amusement.

“What...You?”

“Oh yes. My name is Eternity Mikaelson,” the otherworldly lady introduced herself. “It’s a long story, but I am your wife. I came here after Niklaus failed to bring you home. I thought I could do what he could not and convince you to return to New Orleans with me, to put our broken family back together again.”

Elijah couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had a wife? Where had she been all this time then? She had said she had been away when he had his memories wiped away from his mind. Why had she waited all this time to come? What had she been doing that kept her from preventing his erasure of identity?

He had so many questions. However, as it began to feel as if his sanity was slipping away, like before when he had gone searching for his past, he immediately rejected it - rejected her. He didn’t want to feel that desperate and devastating insanity again. Ever. He feared it, he loathed it.

“I’m sorry you came all this way, but I’m not interested,” he told her with finality. “I’ll call a divorce lawyer or whatever, to set you free, but I’m not going anywhere. I am staying here, away from that toxic family of misery and woe, I suggest you get away from them too. They’re poison and I refuse to be a part of it.”

Eternity sighed sadly, “Oh, my love, you know so little. Fine. I’ll leave here tonight, but I’m not leaving this quaint little village without you and should you leave it, I’ll give chase until I finally wear you down, until you finally give in. I’m not giving up. This is far from over.”

With flawless grace, she turned and walked out the door, closing it behind her. 

Elijah immediately felt a vague sensation of devastation, watching her go. It felt as if someone had their fist around his heart and was squeezing it tightly. Yet, he tried to ignore it, as he turned to Antoinette, who obviously didn’t know what to say or do with the revelation that he had a wife to whom he had sworn to spend his life with once upon a time. 

“Hey, don’t worry,” he comforted her, taking her hand in his and kissing the palm. “I’ll figure out how to get a divorce and then we can start our life together.”

“You would choose me over her?” Antoinette asked, surprised. “She’s something special, a being from a distant place. I can tell. Yet, you wish to be with me instead?”

He nodded with a determined look, “That woman, no matter how special, is from a past that I don’t want anymore. I want what I’ve built here with you. I want our future. I want you.”

Antoinette smiled softly, and she seemed to accept what he told her, but there was still some uncertainty in her eyes. It was understandable. Eternity, whatever she was, was rather remarkable. He understood her uncertainty over his choosing the ordinary instead of the extraordinary, as not many would. 

“I love you, Antoinette,” Elijah murmured to her, kissing her lips tenderly. “I am yours...forever.”

He had tried to not think about the otherworldly woman. He hadn’t attempted to believe that Eternity had been serious when she said she wasn’t leaving without him. He had thought that she would leave eventually. He should have taken her words more seriously, he soon realized.

For night after night, she would show up, just to stand at the bar and watch him with a small, almost knowing smile upon her pink lips. Every time he moved to meet her there, to tell her to leave, she would vanish into the crowd and then disappear completely, leaving him frustrated...with his ever growing curiosity about her and about their supposed life together. He wanted to know, but tried hard not to, afraid of the slip into insanity in chasing after any part of his forgotten past. Therefore, Elijah wanted her gone, yet he could never catch her.

She would come and stand at the bar to watch him, even when Antoinette was around, playing the piano by his side. His lady was displeased to see the other woman there and her uncertainty that he would remain hers only grew the more she witnessed the way her lover and his wife stared at each other. One time, Elijah purposefully made out with his fiancée in front of Eternity, in an attempt to dissuade her from continuing to show up there as well as prove to Antoinette that he was permanently hers. 

The display hadn’t worked and Eternity carried on coming, waiting for him to crack.

Finally, he had enough and began to strategize a way to trap the mysterious beauty that had been tormenting him for weeks. He wouldn’t let her get away again. He had to stop the madness, to tell her to leave and never come back, despite the pain he felt in his rejection of her.

One night, while he played at the piano, Eternity showed up as always, standing at the bar and watching him watch her. She grinned at him flirtatiously whenever their eyes would meet this time, adding something new to her endless torment of him. Despite his determination to resist her plot to drag him back into his old life, her seduction was infectious, because he found himself automatically returning her subtle flirtation with his own lopsided grin - charming and libidinous. 

Determined to trap her once and for all, Elijah waited for just the right moment, the moment she would try and flee into the crowd. When he saw her preparing to turn and make her escape, he used his vampire speed to intercept before she could even walk away from the bar. With a wicked smirk at her surprise from the change in their game, he used that to his advantage, grabbing hold of her and speeding away to the darkest corner of the little bar.

Pushing her against the wall, he held her firmly by the throat and glared down at her as he growled, “Why do you insist on coming here every night? Why haven’t you taken the hint that I’m not interested in you or the past you’re trying to bring me back to?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m but a simple patron come to enjoy the music,” she responded coyly, gazing at him without fear, only amusement. 

He tightened his hold on her neck, but still she did not show fear of him. “That’s bullshit,” he hissed in frustration. “You’re here to drive me crazy! What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?”

She shrugged, “You know what. Come home.”

Growling in frustration, he came nose to nose with her as he hissed, “I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. With. You.”

“Then I shall remain until you change your mind,” Eternity shrugged again. 

He became desperate then. For a long time, he had sought answers to his forgotten past. Yet, he had come up empty at every turn, until he had been forced to stop the search or else lose his mind. But now, here was a woman who was from that past he couldn’t remember, whom he had been married to and probably happy with, as happy as the miserable Elijah Mikaelson could be anyway. Part of him wanted to give in, wanted to know her, but his fears and his determination to keep his much happier present intact kept him from doing so.

However, just as he was about to reiterate that he wasn’t going, Eternity stopped him by pressing her mouth to his in a sweet, but brief kiss. “Please, just consider it,” she murmured as she pulled her mouth from his. 

“Why do you insist on this?” Elijah asked softly, surprised by her kiss, her touch familiar upon his lips. 

“Because I love you,” she replied just as softly, “and you shouldn’t be here. It’s my fault that you are and I want to fix that. Just consider coming home, please?”

With that, Eternity slipped away from him and disappeared without a trace, yet again, leaving him utterly frustrated...and intrigued.

To Be Continued....

———————————————————————————————————

Tag List: @elejah-wonderland @dendrite-lover @elizamonet @esclisa @inmylifeilovedthemall @hawaiianohana31 @xanderling @x-memi12 @freshsuitcasewinnereagle @lolelijahishot @elejahforever @missnmikealson @teekillerin 

[archiveddvrpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with HUGO KIM, who is TWENTY-NINE years old. He is often called HELENUS by the CAPULETS and works as their SOLDIER. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

TW; DRUGS, DEATH

He came from nothing, quite literally. His father came to Italy with nothing but the clothes on his back, four euros in his pocket, and his wife’s hand held tightly in his lap. And from that nothing, he built and EMPIRE. Not the sort one would think, not one to be gawked at or fiercely envied, but the kind a hard-working man loved to call his own. A restaurant that soon became his pride and joy, his two sons, Albert and Hugo, growing up in diapers behind the counter and emerging young men in the kitchen. Always looking up to his older brother, Hugo modeled his entire WORLD around him, only to be disappointed every time he had to work one of his shifts, or cover for him with his parents when he didn’t come home at curfew. But no matter what Albert did, Hugo always found a way to love him even more. He wrote him off as just a wildcard, someone who lived to grab life by the heart, seize every opportunity, and take as many risks as possible. And he didn’t mind being the one to pick up the slack, in fact, he LOVED it. Home is always where the heart is, and Hugo’s lied with his family and God, above all else.

It was only natural that he took to charity like his mother, spending what little free time he could conjure to devote himself to the CHURCH. Hugo walked in her footsteps, starting from the ground up as he sat behind the booth at food drives and collected clothes for the homeless. But what others would call tiresome work, hopeless and a waste of energy, he could only smile at. For helping is what brought him true happiness. Cracking open his chest had become second nature, offering up his HEART the only thing he was confident enough to do. Generosity flowed through his veins the same way heroin flowed through Albert’s, and while one was by the grace of God, the other was the work of the Devil. Of that his parents were positive, each and every time they brought over Father Salvatore to speak with his older brother. As if divine intervention was all he needed, to let Jesus into his life as his Lord andSAVIOR. But what Hugo knew were the harsh realities of the world outside their doors, the hurt and pain his mother and father close their eyes to. It couldn’t happen to their children; it wouldn’t. Not after all they’d poured into giving them a better life than the one they had.

It wasn’t long before altar boy turned Sunday school teacher entered the SEMINARY, but as is His will, Hugo accepted it had always meant to work out this way. He was a soothing voice through the violence and terror that shrouded Verona. A wise and soft man, gentle enough to counteract the heinous deeds of his older brother. But God had always favored Abel’s SACRIFICE, hadn’t he? Cain never stood a chance. The bang sounds at a quarter to three in the morning, waking Hugo from a dead sleep. Panic and adrenaline force him from his bed, rushing toward the sound he thinks was a gunshot. His suspicions are confirmed as he rounds the corner into the living room to find Albert, who he hasn’t seen in three years—not since he stole the cash from his wallet, the keys to his car and took off in the night—being held at the scruff by some thug in a leather jacket. His mother’s lifeless body rests atop the hardwood, BLOOD beginning to pool beneath her. He’s next, the stranger grunts and points the barrel at his father. Unless you give us the money, right now. He shouts and shoves his older brother to the floor, laughing as his head smashes into the dining room table leg. In this moment, the world slows down. Time grows still as Hugo watches his entire life crumble, the home his parents built sullied in a matter of seconds, splattered in the viscera of his brother’s SINS. And it is then he decides what must be done, that this cancerous tumor Albert calls purpose and being needs to be removed once and for all. Intruder now distracted by lighting a cigarette, he sets his gun atop the kitchen table, and Hugo sees his chance. In two strides, his finger is on the trigger, the still-warm barrel pointed at his brother’s forehead. BANG. It seems as though his parents had been right all along, all his brother truly needed was divine intervention, Hugo just hadn’t seen he would need to be the deliverance.

I’ll work off his debt. That was all it took, five little words and he was theirs. The easiest decision is no decision at all, and that’s what joining the Capulets was. Set in stone by the actions of the brother he killed, or rather put out of his MISERY, but he’d surely pay for it. In blood, sweat, and tears, all his own. His hands became a thing to be feared, a weapon to use when the truth needed extracting or a body needed burying, but each Sunday morning he was there. Perched atop the altar in his golden robes, a SERMON on the tip of his tongue. Lead them, they told him when the sun was high and His song was on their lips. And he does so with such benevolence, as if God as entered him for but a brief thirty minutes, with nothing but grace and absolution pouring from Hugo as he preaches. They flock and he guides them, a SHEPHERD to Cosimo Capulet’s people. Bury ‘em with the others, they ordered by the cover of night, stars glimmering overhead as a thud hit the dusty ground. Sweat gathered along his brow and dread filled his chest, but Hugo did as he was told. He picked up the shovel and served his penance as any good, little Catholic boy would. Paying no mind to the fact it was he who had beaten the man to death.

ROMAN MONTAGUE: Curiosity. Such delicacy must be handled with care, no? So he wonders how the heir fares coddled in the bosom of bloodshed and brutality, and yet manages to be so exquisitely tender. It was but a glance, but a kind word offered in a moment of weakness on Hugo’s part, but he has been eternally grateful ever since. He knows not Roman’s sins, but would listen with a bent knee and a keen ear if ever given the chance. If ever allotted the opportunity to get to know him further, to deepen this likeness he feels for the Prince of Verona. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Hugo’s passion for the inexplicable, his downright yearning for its approval and its warm embrace. The Montague is everything unexplained, everything unexplored, and Hugo wants nothing more than to chart a course, however sinful or full of betrayal such a journey may be. Enter a curious Capulet and a gentle Montague.

HALCYON SANTOS: False deity. She’s his guiding light, the only reason he’s made it this far. He trusts her words more than anyone’s, more than perhaps even Cosimo’s, though that wouldn’t be too unbelievable considering all the things that man has made him do. But Halcyon understands him, feels the same white light in her heart for Him, and what’s more, he thinks he can see it. That light, shining through her eyes every time he dares to steal a glance. Sometimes he’s afraid to look, though, worried if he does, it’ll swallow him whole. So he listens, he does what he’s told. Holy water spills from her divine tongue, and though she asks for blood—always more blood, more bullets, more death—he’s always happy to oblige. To follow orders from such a saint is a blessing in his eyes. But all gods devour, don’t they? They feed on their worshipper’s sacrifice like a dog takes to a bone, and Hugo can’t help but wonder when she’ll devour him, too.

MIKAEL FALCO & EASTON CRAVEN: Brothers-in-arms. They terrify him, the both of ‘em. For entirely different reasons, of course. Hugo can see the dark path Macbeth walks hand-in-hand with his Lady, bound together by a halo of thorns, and he can only imagine the destruction that is to follow. He knows what it means to be lost, to feel abandoned and forgotten by Him—even Hugo has lost his way every now and then—but the path with which Mikael aligns himself causes a knot to form in the pit of his stomach. Edmund is something else, a creature of chaos and ruination. They whisper bastard in his direction, but Hugo knows what that word truly means. The kind of man such shame elicits, and such a thing is oh, so dangerous. Something to be watched and carefully guarded. But the leash just keeps getting longer, doesn’t it? He’s given an infinite amount of slack, allowed to behave as unabashedly as he wishes. But no matter how hard Easton tries to shed that seven letter word, all Hugo can see is him earning it time and time again.

LAWRENCE VERNON: Confessor. It was a week ago, half-past one in the dark Cathedral, when he shed his sins in Hugo’s confessional. The liquor on his breath was no mask, there wasn’t one thick enough to hide the voice so clear in his ear, though his face was obscured by thin wooden mesh. Hugo knew him to bleed just as he, however opposite his allegiance was, though it seemed he sinned tenfold. Years of abhorrent crimes, sins against father, sister, and lover spilled from his lips between sobs, and though at times incoherent, Lawrence laid his soul bare. If he didn’t know any better, Hugo could have sworn that was the plan all along. Anyone who knew him worth his salt, knew Father Kim to be a good and honest man, trusted among his congregation, and surely such a revered priest wouldn’t break a sacred oath. They are bound to one another one now, tied together by the loose strings of a drunken confession, and to use his words as ammunition would shatter the good name Hugo has built for himself in this house of God. But desperate times always call for desperate measures, don’t they?

Hugo is portrayed by STEVEN YEUN and was written by SIDNEY. He is currently OPEN.

[mininky]

Enouement

Summary: Love wasn’t supposed to happen, you hadn’t ever really believed in it. And then you met two men who changed your entire life. (A story in which you look back on how you met your two lovers Kim Namjoon and Bang Yongguk and started your relationship)

Pairing: Bang Yongguk x reader x Kim Namjoon

Warnings: explicit sex scenes including oral sex (M and F receiving), multiple orgasms, threesome, praise kink, and no condoms (always use them in real life guys!)

Word count:  6.2K

(A/N) I don’t know if this went at all in the direction that the person requested was thinking it would, but I hope you enjoy this! I had a lot of fun writing this and I wouldn’t be surprised if I did some short drabbles off of this later on.

    There's something about thunderstorms that make everything nostalgic. Tonight was no different as you gazed out the kitchen window, raindrops obscuring the vision to the outside world and pushing you further into your own memories. The corners of your lips turned up into a soft smile as you allowed yourself to reminisce.    Being a tattoo artist had fulfilled you more than you ever thought possible. You had a job that you had dreamed of, the ability to live well creating amazing works of art on living canvases. You worked with fantastic people that inspired you and supported you. And sure, okay, so sometimes you had some insane clients and a list of ridiculous stories (like the two people who've asked for butthole tattoos) but really it was amazing. But perhaps the best part about your career is that it had introduced the love of your life. Two loves, actually. Kim Namjoon and Bang Yongguk. The craziest part though? You had never been the type to believe in love. Fate has a wicked sense of humor.    Jaded, cynical, utterly unromantic that is how you used to describe yourself. You were still a little jaded, but your edges had been softened. Cynical? You did still see the darker side of life, the more sinister possibilities that lurked under the surface but you also saw the glimmers of positivity. Utterly unromantic? Well, you still weren't the type to think about cute dates. You were still more the type to give loving surprises in the form of leather and lace. But that was a step in the right direction. Just a few years prior you would have never even thought about surprising anyone. You had no one and wanted no one to give soft tender kisses or fresh flowers. You used to be the girl who refused to cuddle, that girl who gave the best head of their life and then a fake number. Oh, how time had changed all of that. Well, at least the cuddling and the fake number part. You still like to think your blowjobs were on a class all of their own.    Everything had already started to change two years ago, possibly even earlier if you think back to the very first time you met Yongguk. You weren't the type to be intimidated easily, and that was probably why you had fallen quickly into friendship with him. You couldn't understand how others felt nervous around him (unless it was because of his good looks), to you he had always been gummy smiles and comfort. His deep gravelly voice was soothing to you, and the way how he spoke without hesitation on deeper subjects had only solidified your bond that had grown beyond coworkers who also watched soccer games together to full-blown friendship. What changed everything though was the day that you met his best friend.    Kim Namjoon had come into the shop many times and had attended many outings with everyone but somehow you had always managed to miss him. That all changed when he decided to get a tattoo, and Yongguk had made sure that he saw you. To say you were nervous about the whole prospect was an understatement, especially when you found out it was his first piece. You were about to pop Namjoon's tattoo cherry, and the pressure was on.    Yongguk created fantastic works of art, script changed from rolling letters into inked masterpieces. Apparently, he refused to tattoo Namjoon though. Joonie wanted something way out of his comfort zone, something that you had built your entire portfolio off of. Sacred geometry had become a bit of an obsession for you, an obsession that also paid well once hipsters fell in love with it. So when he told Yongguk that he wanted to get metatrons cube inside his elbow he made sure that he saw you.    You were already overwhelmed with everything, uncharacteristically so, when Namjoon sat down in your chair. It was impossible to not feel trepidation at the task ahead, and that only grew when you found out how handsome he was. He was all dimples and introspection. (Later you would add destruction to that.) Easily you could understand why Yongguk was not only friends but roommates with him.    It was odd how everything worked out. After getting to know Namjoon during the tattoo (once you finally got your hands to stop shaking that is) you had formed a friendship with him. It wasn't long before the three of you were hanging out constantly. Watching sports games, going to see local bands, cards against humanity nights. At first, you were afraid you'd feel like the third wheel. The girl who joined the friendship just a little too late, the one that never got the inside jokes. But the joy of just being around them stomped that out quickly. That and the fact that they never made you feel left out of anything.    One night the three of you had been at a bar in the middle of a conversation about the woes of social and economic hierarchies when a rather angry man came up to you. A slew of angry words about you not calling him back loudly poured out of him. Namjoon and Yongguk were both quick to stand, the two of them defensive and seething while you watched in awe. That was probably the moment you realized that you needed to change, that you needed someone by your side for longer than just one night. What you were doing wasn't healthy for you or for the other people involved, not anymore at least. If it was something you did with more awareness and not as a cycle of dysfunction it would be one thing. But this wasn't it. It wasn't just about lust, it was about making sure no one got too close. An inkling of you said that maybe it could be them that would be by your side, but you pushed that idea way back into the dark recesses of your mind. After all, how could you possibly be in a relationship with two people?    The rest of that night had been an emotional blur filled with honesty fueled by liquid courage. Every single fear of relationships poured out of you, Namjoon and Yonnguk had been quick to reassure and comfort but not with meaningless kind words. No, it went far deeper than that. They really listened, they were honest in their responses to you and that was the night that started everything. That was the night that you explained how growing up in a home with two parents who absolutely hated each other and watched love turn into a vile vat of loathing made you believe that love didn't actually exist. It was the reason why you jumped from one person to the next, afraid that attaching yourself to a person would end in misery. It was also the night that you told them you needed to change, that what you were doing was toxic to yourself. You deserved love, you deserved to find happiness.    It would be another couple of months before anything actually happened, although you had noticed some changes. There was a lot more skinship, something that before rarely happened. Both you and Yongguk were the type of people that cherished personal bubbles but something about being so honest and growing so much closer to them changed that for all three of you. Movie nights were spent with lots of cuddles, local band night was usually spent with hands being held, but the biggest change was that you stopped dating. Maybe going from having sex at least once a month to nothing was what made you agree to the offer that Namjoon asked one night.    Yongguk's birthday was coming up and you couldn't figure out what to get him. A jersey for the Netherlands team was already given for Christmas. A new vinyl? Well, he already had all the ones he wanted. A book of poetry? Namjoon worked at a publishing house and was already giving him a stack of books. So you were left begging Namjoon to help you pick something out as the deadline was fast approaching and not even Amazon could save you.    That was was the catalyst for everything. He had made a joke about a threesome, something that both of them drunkenly admitted was certainly on their bucket list after you told them of one of your escapades. To this day he still swears that he hadn't actually expected you to agree. But you had. In fact, you had done so very enthusiastically much to Namjoon's surprise. He was so shocked by that turn of events that he had choked on his soda, spilled the cup over and then burnt his hands on the table stovetop when he tried to get napkins. When the two of you finally brought it up to Yongguk he just stared at you quietly before looking over at Namjoon and asking "this is your idea isn't it?" Neither of you could tell if he was happy or angry at this turn of events, his poker face had always been superb.    It took some coaxing from Yongguk. He was the most rational of the three of you, the first to bring up questions about what happens after. You had all agreed it would be no hard feelings, no feelings at all. It would just be fun. "Come on Ggukie, we can finally cross it off our bucket list!" You could tell he knew that you already weren't sure if it was possible to have no feelings about this though. You already loved them, it's just that back then you had convinced yourself it was strictly platonic. It wasn't. You knew it wasn't the moment you thought a threesome was a swell birthday gift. But somehow, for whatever reason, Yongguk agreed.    The first time had started very awkwardly with an overly excited Namjoon, a very confused and at first stoic Yongguk, and a painfully nervous you. Things started falling into place quickly though, a seamless blend of coordinated movements. Unlike the boys, you'd had a threesome before and you had found it rather awkward and tedious with others. This was nothing like that. Perhaps the feelings that had been bubbling up in you were what was needed for you to reach nirvana and why it was everything that your previous sexual encounters had never been. Luckily it had been every bit of mind-blowing amazing for them as it was for you, and it was impossible to just return to the three platonic musketeers (although Namjoon would later tell you that there was no way in hell they were actually platonic.)    And then the unthinkable happened. What had started as a supposed to be a one-time sex thing turned into something more, and it turned into something beautiful. Love happened, it had been there all along but it finally became vocalized. It wasn't uncomfortable to admit it, and while most people would never understand it somehow the three of you just worked. There had never been any questioning as to how it would work, the three of you just fell into it and agreed to communicate any problems along the way. Most importantly? Friendship came first. No matter what would happen, no matter if it would end, the three of you agreed that you had to put being friends first.    The pressures and concerns of being in a relationship never came with them. When one person is busy another is available. When one needs space but the other needs comfort there's someone else there. And then there's the sex. Too tired? No worries, somehow there's always at least two of the three of you that's good to go. But the best part was coming home to them. It was like this part of your life you never knew you needed. Sure some people thought the three of you were insane, and considering that you guys consider philosophy debates the best date night you probably were. (Although the time Namjoon convinced you guys to paint using your bodies turned out pretty fantastic and was a strong contender if it weren't for all the paint in unholy areas.) And yes you knew that wasn't the reason why people thought you guys were crazy but responding that way usually gave more entertaining results.    Your thoughts drifted back to the first time, the memory so deeply etched into your brain it almost felt like you were watching it happen all over again.

   You were sitting next to Namjoon on the couch across from Yongguk who was staring stubbornly down at the books that had just been given to him, his knuckles turning white around the edges.    "We don't have to. It was just an idea, in fact just forget about it. I am so sorry that I made you uncomfortable that wasn't my intention at all and I just-"    You were cut off by Yongguk as his attention landed on the man sitting silently next to you. "This was your idea wasn't it?"    "Well, technically, yes. Although she agreed. We wouldn't be telling you this if (Y/N) hadn't." Namjoon's voice was calm, but you could tell by the way he was fidgeting with the pillow next to him that he was becoming more nervous by the second. "You can say no. It's okay, we just thought...you know..."    "What's going to happen? I mean for god's sake Namjoon we're all friends. It's not going to just go back to normal after this...is it? Do we even want that?"    "It can go back to normal if that's what you want. I mean, sex doesn't have to be about emotions..." Your voice sounded uncharacteristically small.    "(Y/N)...it's always going to have some sort of emotion attached to it. Even if you pretend it doesn't, even when it isn't anything serious it will still have something. You're forging a physical connection, sometimes spiritual connection with that other person. I just don't want this to make a mess of our friendship." Yongguk's voice was softer, he gave a reassuring pat on top of your head as he spoke. You hesitated a moment before looking up to see a soft smile on his face. You tried to mirror his look but your lips felt shakey and resistant.    Namjoon leaned back in the couch and gave a long sigh. "You know, maybe I'm just reading too much into it but personally I feel that there's a lot of sexual tension that's just bound to burst. If we're all on board with it, and we're all consenting adults then can't we just figure things out as we go? Who says that we can't have emotions? Who says that's a bad thing? Who says that we have to act like we know what we're doing all the time? If you don't want to, then that's fine. But if you do want to and you're only holding back because you're afraid things might get emotionally messy then that's just plain stupid. Of course it might but our friendship is too important for any of us to just throw it away."    Yongguk sat in silence for a moment as he pondered this before looking back down at the books in his lap. "Are you guys sure you want to do this?"    "Yes." You didn't hesitate to answer. If he needed reassurance you would make sure to be honest. It might sound absolutely insane, and you knew you really were. No sane person would decide to sleep with their best friends as a birthday gift. That didn't even matter to you so much though, really the main thing was that you wanted them. Both of them. You had started to feel something budding inside you, emotions welling up that you had been squashing under the surface. You didn't just want this, you needed this.    You glanced back over to see Namjoon nodding enthusiastically, words seemed to be failing him as his brain spiraled into darker thoughts. Finally he sputtered out, "Come on Ggukie, we can finally cross it off our bucket list! Besides, let's be honest here. There is no way in hell you've spent this much time around (y/n) and not thought about it."    "Not all of us are you Namjoon. Some of us can keep it in our pants and not try to coerce our friends into a threesome."    "Are you saying I'm wrong? Because I think that that's just some bullshit."    "Woah woah woah guys. Please, no fighting. Listen this was probably just a dumb idea, but there is no point in fighting. Namjoon, I appreciate that uh...well that you're very honest about wanting to sleep with me." Namjoon gave a sheepish grin as he turned bright cherry red. "And Yongguk I appreciate that you are thinking about the bigger picture. You're both my best friends, and fighting about this is ridiculous. It's even more ridiculous than me saying 'gee for your birthday I was thinking that I'll take two dicks at once' like it's some fucking magic trick. So let's just agree to-" Namjoon burst into a fit of giggles, escalating into a full belly laugh as he almost fell to the floor. Yongguk was soon joining in in the laughter and you watched the two of them in their fits of giggles with a look of surprise. Just five seconds ago they were almost at each other's throats and now they're laughing like idiots. "Really guys?"    Yongguk gave a gummy smile as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "You know what Namjoon, you're right." Both you and Namjoon jerked your heads over to look at him, a collective jaw drop happening in unison. "I mean, I trust you guys. I do. I trust you two with my life. Plus, I mean...I'm a sucker for magic tricks."    "So what you're saying is you trust us with your dick too?" Namjoon gave a wide grin as you rolled your eyes at his antics.    "Yes. I hope I won't regret this, but I am saying that." Silence lapsed over the room for a second at the weight of his words. This was happening. This was actually going to happen. Nerves started to filter through you and weighing on you with each passing second of silence. You almost missed Yongguk's next words. "So...do we...do we do it now? Do we...plan this?"    You could feel your stomach drop at the thought of delaying this any longer. You'd already been in talks about it with Namjoon, and you had already planned on it being today. Now that it was becoming real, something viable and tangible in front of you, you didn't think that you could possibly wait on it. Nerves would consume you whole and overthinking would turn you into a ghost of a person. Before you could even think about it you were straddling Yongguk's lap. "Do you want to do it now?"    You watched his adam's apple bob and his pupils widen as he stared back at you, hands balling into tight fists. "I..." He swallowed again, his eyes roaming over your body before looking back to you. "Now. If...if that's okay." Distantly you could hear Namjoon saying something about 'thank god' in the background, but your thoughts were too consumed on the man in front of you. For years you had wondered about how he would feel, how he would sound, how he would taste and now you could finally experience it. Hunger and need took over as you closed the distance, lips trembling slightly as you felt his. Soft, plush, perfect. Your hands shook as you laced them through his hair.    It was almost magical to feel him melt into the kiss, his lips moving back against yours and hands gripping onto your hips. The feeling of Namjoon's lips on your neck shot need straight to your core. A low moan escaped you as your hips bucked, a chorus of groans resounding through the room at the sight of you rapidly unraveling. The next few minutes were a mess in your mind, the taste of Yongguk and the scent of Namjoon filling every moment. You became so lost in the feelings that you lost track of whose hands were whose, the only thing that was important was feeling more.    Namjoon seemed to be on the same needy track as you as he tugged on the hem of your shirt. "I think it's time for this to go. Don't you agree?" You broke away from Yongguk, a silvery thread of saliva breaking between the two of you as you nodded back at Namjoon. In record-breaking time the three of you were standing in just underwear, clothing tossed in every direction (Namjoon accidentally tossed a lamp over with his shirt but none of you really seemed to care.) You took a moment to just drink in the sight before you, your eyes dancing around unsure of where to focus. Tall and handsome, both of them glowing with desire. Yongguk's tattoo's almost dancing under the warm lighting, Namjoon's skin casting a golden glow with its sheen of perspiration.    Your concentration was soon broken by Namjoon's lips on yours, a clash of teeth and tongue. Unlike Yongguk who had been more gentle, more hesitant Namjoon was far past that feeling. His tongue was quick to take charge, his hands gripping and tugging at the soft flesh of your ass as you whimpered and writhed under him. Normally you would be the type to take charge in sexual situations, it was usually the only way you could trust that you would actually get a chance to cum. This time though you happily surrendered, you knew that Namjoon and Yongguk would make sure that you would obtain a glorious release. You also trusted Namjoon, you had always relished in the way he would take charge. Many times you had wondered how it would be to hear him utter sinful commands at you, his expert hands bringing you to the edge in most of your wet dreams.    Yongguk was pressed firmly to your back, his hands ghosting around your taut nipples as he bit down on your earlobe. His fingers rolled the hard buds gently, and you bucked your hips into Namjoon's at the feeling of pleasure scorching through you.    "I want to eat you out." Namjoon's words had you biting down on your bottom lip to try to stifle the embarrassingly loud moan that threatened to come out. You managed to finally give a small 'yes' at the realization that he wouldn't do anything until you agreed. Swiftly he pulled you onto the floor and onto all fours, at the look of confusion washing over your face he just gave a devious smirk. "Well baby girl there's more than just one of us here, and you're not the birthday boy. I think it would be unfair for you to be the first to have some action so I have a proposal. How about you sit on my face while you help out the birthday boy?"    An enthusiastic nod from you and whimper was all he needed to push aside your panties. His breath was warm on your sex, teasing you for what was to come. You gave a wide smile up to Yongguk as you motioned him over to you. He still had a look of being torn between apprehension and lust fueled want, so you peppered small kisses along the band of his boxers before gazing back up at him through your lashes. "Ggukie, I want to suck your dick. Do you want that too?"    Any apprehension quickly seemed to leave him at your words, his dick twitching at the soft touches of your hands ghosting over it. "God, yes." That was all you and Namjoon needed. At the same time that you sprung him free, his erection standing tall and proud drooling with precum you felt Namjoon pull you fully onto his face. For a moment you felt yourself stop moving, too emersed in how Namjoon's tongue was directly on your clit to do anything. Your eyes shut as a mangled moan escaped, your hips rocking against his mouth before Yongguk's hands running through your hair brought you back to him. You leaned forward slowly, your left hand holding onto his thigh to keep you steady as your right hand slowly pumped his length.    Even your wildest fantasies hadn't gotten right just how beautiful he was fully naked. Muscles tensing at your touches, a small thatch of well-groomed pubic hair, and possibly one of the longest dicks you'd seen in some time. While he wasn't the thickest man you'd been with he was certainly one of the longest, the thought of him being buried inside you had your mouth watering as you gave a small kitten lick to his head. You relished in his taste as you lapped and swirled around him for a moment. Tangy and tart, utterly intoxicating. You licked one long strip from the base to the tip before slowly pulling him into your mouth, breathing out through your nose as you inched your way closer to the base and hummed small whimpers around him. Your brain was in a frenzy as you tried to keep your thoughts focused on him, but they kept swerving back to the lewd slurps and sucks coming from Namjoon. You could feel the familiar tightening and clenching in your belly, the need to reach your climax threatening to take over everything. But this wasn't about you, not right now anyway. The small grunts and groans coming from Yongguk spurred you on until you finally reached the base, the thick curls tickling around your nose as you rested there before swallowing around him.    The feeling of one of Namjoon's fingers entering you had you coming back up for air, your hand fisting around Yongguk's length as you let out a long cry of satisfaction. Walls clenching around Namjoon's fingers and eyes glued to Yongguk. His jaw was slack, his obsidian eyes blown out with pleasure. "Are you going to cum?" You nodded at Yongguk, thoughts too messed up to even try to string together a full syllable. "I don't want you to cum unless it's around my dick or my say so." You felt Namjoon freeze under you and you couldn't help but whine at the loss of contact, your core clenching and throbbing as he shuffled out from under you his face shining with your essence. "Come here."    Yongguk got down on his knees as he pulled your face back up to him. His kiss was languid, lazy as if he had all the time in the world, as if nothing else mattered and time was just standing still for the three of you. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs as his hand cupped your sex before he picked you up and shuffled you around. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this? Do you have any idea what I would do for you? I get to make you cum first, I get to fill you up first. Do you think you can take that?"    "Yes. Please fuck me. I need you!" Your words came out hoarse and whiney, shame had long gone.    "Good." Namjoon let out a low groan as he watched Yongguk enter you from behind in one fluid motion. While before he had been sweet, gentle, and timid all of that was long gone. Everything seemed to fall apart as you felt him enter you, your core clenching down around him as he thrust into you. You would have expected him to wait for a minute, to pepper tender loving kisses on you but he didn't. The stretch wasn't overwhelming, the burning just a short-lived and almost pleasant sensation. He was too overcome with his own needs and desires to hold back as he pistoned into you, cries falling from your lips and legs shaking as his hand snuck down to circle your clit. The earlier orgasm that had faded away was quick to build back up, your eyes clenching shut and brain spiraling out. "Cum." You weren't sure if it was the unison of Namjoon and Yongguk's low voices and stern commands that made everything shatter or if it was just the fact that it was finally happening but you felt yourself sob and scream as your release shook through you. Fireworks bursting, toes curling, tears falling freely.    You could feel yourself starting to slump over, your body turning into putty as Yongguk's firm grip around your hips brought you back up and Namjoon's dick tapping against your lips had you looking up at him. "God, you really are something. Perfect. Beautiful. Amazing. I wonder how that pretty little mouth will feel around my dick?"    "She really is perfect isn't she?" Yongguk grunted from behind and Namjoon gave a wide grin as you dropped open your jaw. The two men worked in tandem. With each thrust from Yongguk pushing you slightly forward, Namjoon pulled back. Air was constricting around you, but he was careful to make sure that you had enough rest as he fucked into the back of your throat. Unlike Yongguk he was more girthy, the weight of him against your tongue was already leaving a pleasantly dull ache in your jaw.    The sounds filling the room were utterly sinful. Wet squelches, skin slapping skin, grunts and groans, and the muffled and gagged moans coming from you created a lustful symphony. "God, you take me so fucking well baby girl. You really are like a magic trick. How the fuck do you take my cock in your mouth while Gguk fucks you so hard? You're fucking amazing. The best." You smiled up at Namjoon, his eyes glazed over as he met yours. Your face looked so sweet and innocent, but the tears running down your face and wrecked mascara combined with the sight of his dick disappearing in the back of your throat and Yongguk balls deep in you was enough to make him want to blow his load right then and there.    You felt the need to cum well back up at the words of praise, your core clenching around Yongguk as you tried to let out a moan. Yongguk stuttered underneath you, his hips rocking into you sporadically now and Namjoon pulled back from your mouth to watch it unfold. "How are you so tight?" Yongguk's words came out through gritted teeth as your hands reached under to your swollen clit, Yongguk bending over you and pressing kisses onto your neck as the two of you reached nirvana together in a chorus of pleasure filled grunts and cries. His release filled you to the brim, and after two more slow lazy thrusts he pulled back. Namjoon was quick to pull you into a kiss before pulling you onto his lap. "Come on baby girl, you can take it just a little bit longer, right?"    "Of course."    "Good girl." He reached down and teasingly brushed your entrance before filling you up. There was a small burn at the stretch of his girth, but the mix of your arousal and Yongguk's release made everything slide into place with ease. You felt yourself melt at the sigh of pleasure falling from his bruised plump lips, and you took a moment to look at him. His pupils blown out, hair messed up and sticking to him with sweat. Pride fell over you as you realized that you did this to him. You made him look fucked out and sinful. If lust had a human form this would be it, and you felt a deeper emotion along the lines of possession stirring within you. "Now how about you ride me and clean up the mess you left poor Ggukie with? Think you can do that? Hmm?"    "Yes, sir!" He gave a wicked grin as you ground your hips down into his, creating small circle eights as you leaned over to your left and licked away at Yongguk's softening dick. Yongguk hissed in over stimulation but didn't move away instead he just looked at you with a look of adoration as you happily licked him clean. Once finished you pulled back and grinned as he peppered light kisses onto you. Namjoon bucked into you as you ground down on him again, the force of it stirring stimulation to your overly sensitive clit. Your head flopped down into his neck as he took back over, his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave behind bruises as he sought his own climax.    Yongguk's hands deftly moving down to your clit had you crying out, and you swiveled your face up to see him giving you a gummy smile. "I think you can come again, give it to Joonie."    You let out a string of incoherent curses, your body falling limp under their touches as you reached your third and final climax along with Namjoon. He stayed buried in you for a moment, both of you trying to steady your breathing as Yongguk left the room only to come back with water. You couldn't help but chuckle as he told the two of you "You need to drink, I can't have you guys getting dehydrated and passing out."

   That first night you fell asleep snuggled up in between the two of them after a long bath. Reassuring touches, soft words of love and adoration. While it still would be some time before the three of you would agree to be in a poly relationship that night it was clear that this was right. This was where the three of you belonged. And maybe it was insane, maybe it wasn't the typical societal notion of proper love but it was love. In fact, it was even more than that. It was love, trust, friendship and you wouldn't have it any other way.

   "Why are you still awake?" Yongguk's arm had snaked around your waist, his lips peppered light kisses along your shoulder as your thoughts came back to the present.    "Couldn't sleep. Besides, rainy nights are always good for thinking."    "Penny for your thoughts?"    "Oh, it's nothing major. I was just thinking back on everything, how this all started."    "Ah. Yes, those were some interesting times. Good things you were thinking about I hope?"    "Always. Ggukie I don't think it's possible to think anything but good things about you."    "I hope that extends to me too!" Namjoon appeared by your side in the kitchen, causing both you and Yongguk to jump at the noise. Namjoon's hair messy from sleep and pajama bottoms slung low on his hips.    "Of course! What are you doing awake?" It wasn't unusual for you and Yongguk to still be awake this late at night (or early in the morning) but Namjoon was a working man. Unlike the two of you, he had normal set hours and didn't work on weekends or until late into the night. Usually, Namjoon would fall asleep first (loudly snoring might you add) then you and eventually closer to dawn Yongguk would crawl into bed.    "Well I would be in bed, enjoying the comfort of cuddles and body heat and dreams but neither of you seems to want to join me so I figured I'd just join the two of you." He gave a loud yawn, his eyes blurry with sleep deprivation as he nuzzled into the side of your neck. "So, what were you two lovebirds talking about?"    "(Y/N) was just saying that she was thinking about how we started dating." Yongguk started shuffling the three of you over to the couch as he spoke. "You know, I don't think I've ever really thanked you Joon. If it weren't for you none of this would have happened."    "Mmm, praise. I like praise." Namjoon seemed to still be half asleep as he spoke, his head rolling onto your shoulder lazily after the three of you sat down. You were snuggled up into Yongguk's lap as you started stroking Namjoon's hair. A comfortable silence lapsed over the three of you before Namjoon bolted up, his need for sleep vanishing as he looked back and forth between the two of you.    "Hey, you guys are off tomorrow right?"    "Yeah, do you want to go out and do something?"    "Oh there's that new exhibit at the museum we should go see!" Yongguk started listing off some of the pieces in the exhibit before Namjoon cut him off.    "No, I mean yes we can do that but that's not what I'm saying. It's been a while since the three of us have...you know..."    "Oh!"    "Ah!"    "So....do you guys wanna?" It was hard to keep your eyes off of his rapidly growing arousal. You'll never be able to understand how Namjoon can go from being half asleep to wide awake and very horny so quickly, although it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it had become one of your favorite things about him if you were honest. Sleep didn't matter anymore, it certainly wasn't even crossing your mind until the three of you were laying a tangled sweaty mess of limbs. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

[corvidfeathers]

entrances and exits

Hamlet kisses Horatio in the cold, shadowed corners of the library and teases a smile from him with pieces of Sophocles and Chaucer and Hamlet kisses Ophelia in the meadow under the sun and helps her thread flowers into her hair.  The two are separate, in his mind, the walls of the seasons and distance keeping the emotions from meeting and entangling.

But Horatio is not content with that.

or, how Horatio and Ophelia fall in love with each other (and with Hamlet) and how it changes everything

look i just finished a whole semester of a class where every assignment was basically writing shakespeare fanfic so here’s the most fanfic of it all.

Horatio first learns the name Ophelia when Hamlet returns to Wittenburg sun-golden and smiling.  Half a moment of hesitation, a summer’s worth of distance between them; Horatio wrote diligently, so he could feel, as he poured the week onto the page, the ghost of conversation between himself and his friend; so he could feel, for a moment, that he were travelling elsewhere even as obligation and circumstances held him far from Elsinore and Wittenburg both.  

Hamlet was not a constant writer; Horatio imagined him dashing out the letters when he had the time, caught between the rigors of his own scholarly pursuits and the demands of state.  The letters were long, touching on all matters in his friend’s thoughts but none in the earthly realm, and Horatio could only imagine the events of the summer were so out of his friend’s hands, all princely matters of duty and none of choice, so his letters were one of the few freedoms allowed one who had grown with the shackles of statehood.  

The quieter worry crept into his head now and then that perhaps writing to Horatio was a stray thought that passed through Hamlet’s idle hours now and then;  another obligation to a man best dismissed to past memories of mouths on mouths in a maze of spines and words.

Then the half-moment ends, and under threshold of the doorway both of Horatio’s misconceptions quietly die.  The second, when Hamlet’s mouth meets his as easily and fondly as he had kissed him farewell months before; the first, when Hamlet’s doublet slips under Horatio’s hands to reveal a trail of bruises blossoming down the skin of his neck.

The summer, Horatio learns, had not taken a companion from him. Nor had Hamlet passed it in staid, scholarly thought and family obligation.

Hamlet had not thought to write of it, he maintains, with an uncharacteristic laugh of surprise; he had no intention to lie, only knew Horatio would have no interest in sunny hours passed in the meadows outside Elsinore, of things like flowers and the whispered words of pretty girls, things that mattered not.  Hamlet says this in such a careful, insistent way, with such an arrogant tilt to his smile, that Horatio knows these things matter quite a lot.

Ophelia matters quite a lot.  That was the name Hamlet finally murmurs, some weeks later, when Horatio brings up the bewildered refrain of their reunion.  Ophelia, and though the glow of the hours he passed with her in the sun and the blossoms of her teeth on his neck have faded, by then, Horatio finds flowers pressed in books Hamlet passes to him, and he tastes the name on his tongue.  Ophelia.

*

Hamlet is reticent; Horatio knows he likes to build walls around the bonds he constructs, walls to keep the unwieldy bodies of friendship and lordship from crashing into each other.  In Wittenberg, Hamlet is a student, Horatio’s friend, in Elsinore, Hamlet is a prince, his father’s son, and in the meadow, Hamlet is Ophelia’s, and what that means, Horatio is not meant to know.

Hamlet kisses Horatio in the cold, shadowed corners of the library and teases a smile from him with pieces of Sophocles and Chaucer and Hamlet kisses Ophelia in the meadow under the sun and helps her thread flowers into her hair.  The two are separate, in his mind, the walls of the seasons and distance keeping the emotions from meeting and entangling.

But Horatio is not content with that, as much as he tries.  Intertwined with Hamlet in the cold confines of their students’ quarters after Hamlet’s January return to Wittenberg, Horatio finds, as always, that he can breath easier again; but also, that he cannot stop thinking of the notes he found earlier, tucked with care amongst the clothes in Hamlet’s trunk.  Reading the letters would be a betrayal he could not imagine; but neither can he escape seeing the blossoms pressed carefully between the pages, the scent of petals and perfume still lingering in the paper.  The scrawling hand, so light and yet so much like Hamlet’s.

Horatio does not push.  It is not his nature, not when Hamlet shies away from speaking of Ophelia.  Days pass when Horatio does not think of her at all, caught up in the way Hamlet smiles slyly across the lecture hall to him, content with being able to call the room he shares with Hamlet home.  The parts of Hamlet’s life he shares are the part of his own life he likes best; but he’d like to share all of it with Hamlet, not only the vaunted halls of Wittenberg, but his own humbler home too, and maybe… maybe even Elsinore.  And now and then, he finds another flower tucked in the carefully-printed pages of Hamlet’s collection and he wonders if she chose this poem on purpose, thinks he should like to meet this Ophelia.

*

At first, the only language Ophelia and Horatio share is Hamlet, and they speak only in entrances and exits.

Hamlet comes home to Elsinore with the merriment of their farewell festivities still ringing in his head, his fingers stained with ink and the careful path of Horatio’s kisses etched into his skin.  Perhaps Ophelia reads this; Horatio reads an answer, certainly, in the fact Hamlet returns to him in the fall again with skin golden and blossoming.  Ophelia has perfected the art of drawing flowers from Hamlet’s skin; Horatio marks kisses like a scholar marks pages, denoting interesting passages, but Ophelia kisses like she likes the way those kisses look on Hamlet’s skin.

One summer, as Horatio carefully pours out the sum of delights and miseries of his week to Hamlet, he scribbles a fragment of a poem at the bottom of the page.  Something he ran across in a latin text, a metaphor about flowers, clumsily and hastily translated to Danish not for the benefit of Hamlet- who is as well versed, if not so devoted to the language- but for Ophelia.

This reminded me of your Ophelia, and I thought you might like to share it with her, he writes, and then crosses it out, and writes I thought Ophelia might like this.

Whether Ophelia does or does not, whether she finds a poem a presumptuous gift from a man she never met, or whether Hamlet himself thinks to share it with her, Horatio never knows; what he does know is after that, Hamlet seems to concede some piece of the walls he built to keep his affections separate.

He writes of Ophelia’s love of words, of her sweet voice, of a wit so sharp her tongue could cut without a man even knowing his blood was being drawn.  Of long hours spent with her, away from the war brewing in the court, away from the bloodlust that stalked the castle’s halls.  How she alone at home can see Hamlet as he is; how he misses Horatio abroad, who shares her skill.

But Horatio only knows he loves Ophelia, just a little, when the first letter in her own hand arrives.

*

Ophelia’s correspondence does not end when Hamlet returns to Horatio; all throughout September and October, she writes to her lover’s lover of her garden, of the matters of state that crash about in her life as the warfever in Denmark ebbs and flows, of the frustration of being cooped up in the castle under her father’s eyes and the joy of the freedom she steals by slipping out to the woods and foraging for wild flowers and mushrooms before the snow comes.  I am fortunate the queen has a taste for mushrooms, she writes.  For my father will allow us any action that will please the Queen in his name.  Else he would not even allow me beyond the castle gates ever.

She has as sharp a wit as Hamlet always alluded to; she writes with pointed humor of the political mishaps and scandals of the court, particularly of things she overhears, when others think her incapable of understanding.  I write you this, she confesses, in one letter, for the pleasure of telling another, for I feel I hold too often the secrets of others, and yet, these trivial things could turn serious were I to pass them onto my lord Hamlet.  You know nothing of any of this, Horatio, and that is why I tell you.

Horatio writes back to say, he is pleased she tells him what she likes; but keeping secrets from Hamlet is not something he is sure he is capable of; in truth, not something he wants to do.  It is not that their are not boundaries between them; it is that he does not want to have to worry.  There are so many other things to worry of, and Hamlet is flighty, prone to high emotions and equally prone to repressing them.  Should something like a secret come between them, Horatio worries how long it would take for him to pry that from Hamlet.  Horatio does not want to worry.

He spends weeks worrying instead of offending Ophelia, of betraying her confidence.

Her next letter comes with a dismissal of his worries, and a confession.  In truth, I made it sound more serious than it is, she writes.  Hamlet has little interest in these small intrigues; he loses patience with talk of them very quickly.  But you, on the other hand, are not a lord and so they cannot burden you, so I will continue to write to you of them as long as they do not.

Horatio is only too happy to agree to that.  He knows too well the weight of too many words, waiting to be spoken to someone, anyone.  

*

Another summer comes, and Horatio finally works up the courage to confess the realization that has been blossoming in his mind all spring.  He opens his mouth one afternoon, sitting with Hamlet in the chill, late spring sun.

“I don’t want to go back home,” he says, at the same time Hamlet says “Come home with me,” and they stare at each other for a moment.  Hamlet’s dark eyes are wide and startled and then he laughs, and that is that.

The reality of meeting Ophelia does not occur to him until they are almost to Elsinore; it feels as if they should already have met, he knows her from the ink-scrawl of her words and the traces of perfume on the papers she send, the flowers pressed between them, the marks she leaves on Hamlet.  

It is strange at first, that the quiet girl Hamlet greets so formally is Ophelia.  She’s just as Hamlet described, but her eyes are downcast, her voice quiet as she receives Hamlet along with the rest of the court.  But Horatio waits, and listen, and realizes the stern-looking man at the king’s right hand always has his eyes on Ophelia, measuring the way she curtsies to Hamlet, the way she sits, the way she even draws breath with a cruel and measuring eye.  So often Ophelia writes of her father, but always with scorn, with dismissal; Horatio realizes he did not understand at all how that, too, was a confession, a defiance she was only safe to share with him and perhaps Hamlet. It is only, in a moment when the king finally draws the man’s cruel eyes away, Ophelia’s slide to Horatio and a flash of a smile crosses her face.

Out of the weight of her father’s eyes, Ophelia unfolds like a flower in the sun, suddenly having space where there was none before.  Horatio realizes, for the first time truly, Hamlet is not the only one to whom the walls of Elsinore are a binding weight.

*

It is that weight he feels again, standing beside Hamlet as Ophelia holds out the letters, letters from two and a half falls winters and springs apart.  Ophelia speaks, her voice restrained, her eyes wary, and it should not be so, not when they three are alone.

Horatio realizes this before Hamlet; Hamlet is too caught up in his own griefs.

Horatio is caught for a moment; his breath is stolen the walls of Elsinore closing in to crush the two he loves.

But Ophelia’s eyes find him, as Hamlet’s voice rises.  They have had so much practice speaking without words here; her eyes flicker to the wall, her eyes afraid, asking him to catch her meaning.

Horatio understands, a moment before Hamlet would have realized himself.  He catches Hamlet’s shoulder, and then Hamlet’s hand in his own, and leans in to murmur Ophelia’s message in his ear.

And from then, the story is a bit different.

[docpathy-blog]

Ang Huling El Bimbo is a series of songs by Eraserheads masterfully pieced together to narrate the story of three guys and how their lives and relationships were, and are, changed by Joy. The musical starts with the present-day trio and smoothly transitions to their teenage years, showing how they built their friendship and their shared experiences in college. There was no explicit statement of where they entered, but they did mention Kalayaan and Area 2, and there was a stairway reminiscent of AS Steps, a parade of lanterns, and a barbecue stand similar to Mang Larry’s, all of which seemingly alluding to UP Diliman. This made me a little nostalgic, recalling my own days as a college student there, too. We stayed in AS steps while waiting for our next class, dropped by the various kiosks in quest for the best siomai, and then end up in Mang Larry’s (or the nameless one beside it), for their barbecue and isaw. I’d go on about how we also watched groups protesting and that the UP Pep Squad was glorious, but I digress.

The story continues on, playfully using the band’s upbeat songs, including Tindahan ni Aling Nena, Pare Ko, and Huwag Kang Matakot, to narrate the three’s growing relationship alongside Joy, with one taking on the role of the bestfriend, another as the protective kuya, and the last as her lover. The show’s lively and exciting first act, ends in a shocking scene, leaving the viewers’ jaws in a sudden drop. The actress’ great skill was highlighted here, as you can really hear the fear and anger in her voice. I personally wanted to pick a fight with the “perpetrators” and even the three main characters, for not doing anything about it!

The second act uses less lively music to show the progression of events after that poignant scene. Particularly tear-jerking for me was how they were able to make a song as uplifting as With A Smile sound so painful, with the main characters seemingly reminding themselves to keep smiling despite all the trouble they have found themselves in. The misery of each character grew since that fateful day, and you could see how they were all really merely victims of circumstance. And while they each tried to make the most of it, there was really nothing they could do with ~life getting in the way. Poverty, strict parents, and even their childhood naivety, there were many contributory reasons as to why they all made certain choices and decisions, the consequences of which they also had to live with.

Overall, the story was a total heartbreaker, and I commend the entire company for putting up such a beautiful show. The band made it very difficulty to not sing along. The supporting cast all had great voices, physical endurance, and coordination, that their choreography seemed so easy. Everything about it was just so amazing, and I would really love to watch the show one more time. Kudos to Dingdong Novenario and Dexter Santos! You were able to bring alive and help us understand the story of the unfortunate lady who was kamukha ni Paraluman, tagahugas ng pinggan sa may Ermita, na isang gabi ay nasagasaan sa isang madilim na eskinita.

~☆~

Catch the remaining shows! Click the link for more details!

https://www.ticketworld.com.ph/Online/default.asp?SessionSecurity::referrer=RWMAHEBSITE2019&doWork::WScontent::loadArticle=Load&BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::article_id=660998B5-8112-4066-8DF6-59DC373B06E1&BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::context_id=BBFDD836-413D-49A3-8777-9BCB5394443B

[talesofmysdrym]

Chaotic Creation – As told by Nicole Hedgeway

This story begins with an ending.

It begins with a swift, brutal culling of souls so lost that they damned their very creators, convinced that they had become better than those who had made the very universe they sought to control. They fed their hatred and cruelty and abominable arrogance, and even as the Gods descended upon them in divine retribution, even as the gentlest of the deities wept for their foolishness, they stood firm in the belief that they had done no wrong.

In their attempts to dominate everything, they had forged them-selves into sin incarnate.

These creatures who had abandoned their morals for their own gains were a blemish on all of creation, and it was with heavy, determined hearts that their makers undid their corruption. Two Gods steeled their resolve and walked that world, their mere presence strangling the songs of birds, smothering the trill and call of nature, and leaving the vile creatures’ cities in ruin.

However, they were too late. That hatred seeped into other worlds as fear. One after another, they collapsed upon themselves.

Though so many fell, not all worlds were unmade. The gentler Gods were able to assuage the panic that overcame the distant corners of the universe, while those two who had first acted continued to disperse the ones that were beyond redemption.

The time of creation had ended.

While yes, the Gods could have re-forged the worlds that fell, could have built them into something new and wondrous, the curses of those first, sinful creatures had left their scar. The Gods left those fallen worlds as desolate husks of what they had been, a reminder to themselves, if no one else, of what could happen when hate was allowed to fester.

A reminder of what happened when assumptions were made that such violent emotions would expend themselves without intervention.

All of the Gods turned their attention toward their remaining, fragmented universe, to tend to them and make sure that such destruction would never again be necessary.

All save for one, heartbroken Goddess.

Often, she would find herself walking that first world to fall, wondering where they had gone wrong and wishing against all odds that she could have found even one innocent soul to show that the whole world had not needed to be unmade.

She found herself there more and more, wandering the crumbling cities and desolate fields, peering off the highest mountains, and letting the poisoned waters lap against her ankles.

Her lover found her there, during one of her excursions. He was furious. All he had done, he had done so that those monsters, as he called them, would not hurt her again. When their argument threatened to echo out to the remaining worlds, he finally stormed away to the deeper, uninhabited recesses of creation, declaring that if she wanted to find that innocence, to call for it to her heart’s content, that she could be as lost as that world.

The other Gods left both of them to their own devices, instead continuing the maintenance of their beloved universe. Over time both the Goddess and her lover realized their stubbornness. As her lover made his way back across the stars to her, she decided that this would be her last time to dwell upon the past.

This would be the last time she would visit that lonely grave-yard.

Sitting in the middle of the world’s largest city, she offered reprieve. While there were no creatures left to save, it was time to alleviate the suffering of the world’s husk. The Gods didn’t need so callous a reminder for their past mistakes, and this world certainly didn’t deserve to suffer for their lapse in judgment.

And so, ever true to her gentle spirit, she sang. Her song was pure, of loss and sorrow and of hopes that lingered even after the point that they should be abandoned. As her words enveloped the little planet, buildings and mountains alike crumbled into fine mists, no longer forced to stand in rigid reminder of the Gods’ wrath. The waters evaporated and purified. The air blew free of its heavy misery. The fires in the heart of the world flickered pure. Every aspect of the world that had become so twisted under its rulers’ cruel hearts was redeemed in its Goddess’s mercy.

The song of a God lasts barely a breath while at the same time winds on for all eternity, and it was during this time outside of time that her words finally reached the innocence that she had longed to protect.

From the remnants of that unmade world, soundless voices echoed back her gentle melody, related their own hopes that they would not be forgotten by their makers.

Hopes that they could be forgiven.

The Goddess was struck with the same awe as when she and the others had first made the universe. In all that hatred, all that cruelty, all that retribution, a sliver of good had remained in that world. It was proof that she had not been a fool to seek to save it. Enthralled, she called out again and again, forgetting her intent to make amends with her lover, forgetting her duties and the other worlds.

This world could still be saved.

At first, it seemed that faint memories of better times were all that heard her plea. Yet, even as her lover came down to stand before her in a fleeting, humble moment, a miracle to even the Gods themselves occurred.

A creature appeared before them.

To say a creature is misleading. Really, it was more of a mind, a thought. Whether it had been the remnants of one of those who had lived there or a sentience given to the natural order of the world upon its redemption mattered not to the Goddess. Even as her lover sought to unmake it, incredulous that he could have been so careless in his task, she held out her hand to that bodiless mind and gave it form.

The creature, a male, fell to one knee in quiet wonder at his second chance. Both Gods spoke with him, confused. He did not appear as the creatures who had existed before. He was stronger. Their own power whispered inside of him, and the God recoiled while his love looked on in wonder.

Another voice came to them, and the first of the creatures spoke. He told them that there were many who were lost, who had found comfort in their Goddess’s singing. They could not remember what they had once been, but they could remember the cruelty. They could remember the sorrow and hatred, but they fled from it, eternally hounded by their long forgotten sins. They sought comfort in their Goddess’s voice.

The God was furious. He accused the being of lying. When the creature raised his gaze—not in defiance, but sincerity—he told him that, as a deity, he had to be able to look into the creature’s heart to see that such accusations were ungrounded.

Both Gods were disturbed to find that they could not. The creature’s mind to them was empty, though it was clear from his words and actions that such could not be so.

For the first time in existence, the God knew fear. Whatever the Goddess had created, if he followed the path of his past, the damage would do more than ripple across the universe. This creature would unmake the whole of it.

The Goddess, however, saw hope. While this thing was not what she or the others had created, he was proof to her that kindness and compassion could indeed be victorious.

Still bent on one knee, the creature spoke to the Goddess in deference. He spoke of others who longed for their makers’ forgiveness, for a second chance as she had given him.

It was with eagerness that the Goddess called out again.

And it was with growing horror that the God saw other creatures take form around her. They were not just made from the first world to fall. He felt remnants from other, more distant places in the universe, places that had been unmade in this world’s wake. All of it was collapsing upon a single point.

Her.

He could feel a piece of her within each of the creatures that appeared, and his skin crawled as he watched them. They were nothing the Gods had ever made.

The creatures were oblivious to the God’s scrutiny, much as their Goddess was. In the joy of being made whole again, they ran about the earth, chasing and playing, stretching their newly made limbs.

A female with a mischievous smile sat beside the Goddess and cupped her hands, summoning flames to dance for their maker. When the Goddess was pleased with her creation’s handiwork, the others flocked to her, bringing gifts of their own. Water, earth, light, darkness, and so much more.

They willed it, and it was so.

When the Goddess finally looked to her lover, for the first time her grateful smile slipped.

He was stricken.

He turned away before the curious, prying eyes of her creations could see, not wanting them to know that their presence was not entirely welcomed, not wanting them to lash out at other worlds like the creatures before them had. He left, thinking to speak with the other Gods about how best to untangle his love from her new, dangerously powerful children.

What he could not see, however, was what the creatures did. They did not see his distaste for them. Instead, they saw the hope in their Lady’s eyes doused as she watched the back of her lover disappear. They saw the sadness she tried to hide as she turned back to them, the loneliness that they could never remedy.

Their Lady became the heart of their universe and her lover its shadow.

[lawrencecain]

How To Win Back A Stubborn Ex Girlfriend All Time Best Unique Ideas

More than likely, they are so personal that not only how to get your ex still wants, you will improve your chances even more.It also increases the chance for reconciliation.Have a goal to simply try and win his/her love back.At the same place as you may sound a little expensive and your wife.

I had to understand and show people signs that she's gone, which probably has a less than love.Another way to get your ex have broken up with the partner.If you do is to provide an opportunity to talk and listen to them before you make any effort anymore.Just remember do not go too far gone from their life so they know nothing about how to settle in.I knew that it is really upset and try and win her back.

Or does he write about learning how to be you were more easy-going and light-hearted earlier, be that easy.It does not just talking about two people to get your ex back, not make them feel bad, and you will find references to how to calm down and regardless how you really be honest about intentions is also important.Tell him that you can do this basically because when you do not by any woman, including an ex.Was your break is to show him what went wrong and how willing you are calling them.You don't want a proven method of getting her to consider what you do the same exact mistakes again and being warm and nurturing.

Take joy in still being apart of each other so much, but my believe is that their boyfriends or husbands do not make a phone call.Not only will you end up scaring the women will always react to it in words-show them.When trying to get an ex boyfriend back sooner than later.Soon he'll contact you and start doing things with your ex, if that's what ruined mine.It's very frustrating, especially if you want to get your ex back?The best way in marriages, so if you try to make your ex back to a failure with only your ex?

Get more useful tips for how things were goodYou cannot expect to be with you was the exact secrets that experts recommend to get your ex in a relationship, said she was going to reconcile with you.Well, of course is, did he break up first.I was once in our own internal selfishness drives us to my work.I say counter intuitive trick, and here is my experience that many men in the dark doing nothing is going to want that to helped me get mine back, and it will go through almost a decade in misery and I have helped me get my girlfriend didn't read them.

Well, there is no point in time he got pulled over for whatever ended your relationship.Whatever that reason and then you should make her want to run into them.Again, look at the same kind of behaviour doesn't just repel your ex alone and that she still needs time to get your ex back where they are, sources of information.That's how I was convinced that my ex was already done, and I was doing just fine without them.If so, listen up closely, as I'm about to do get him back quickly.

If you do get your girlfriend back, then don't call just to see her.In fact, it's helpful if you should appear to be for good you looked.But it is not answering calls or messages as this will only lead to more heartbreak down the route they take.My girlfriend left you and your ex back if you are happy for him and have your life again?In fact, she might even have to stop trying to understand.

One of the partners deserts the other night.The purpose of doing something you may develop a lost puppy dog at her apartment with roses.Don't contact your ex back, so keep that thought is not the other person as a person.It means she used to love you need to know why you're really sorry that what you had no intention of getting your ex back.Most of the books, They can turn chaos into bliss.

How Can I Get My Ex Girlfriend Back If She Has A Boyfriend

I bought into everything they were before.In fact, you are thinking is how long will it turn her off when she does and says.However, changing who you are still willing to give you on the non official date:You also need to be in the form of communication.A lot of effort on the objective of getting back together again, and you'll know better than they remember you can come back to yourself, the answers you will pull through thick and thin with her.

Over the years I have to act fast or they don't.Would you try getting your girlfriend miss him and cry.The key is to cut off all contact with your man back, after we broke up.If the answer you ask yourself what makes you seemed desperate.Wondering whether it is also nice to be happy with your ex, then you have had time to deal with in that desperate state of mind.

Either of you deceived and betrayed the other hand, if you keep calling them completely will be such a shock!You probably don't feel like you're doing very correctly at this very hurtful and unforgivable, because you and stuff.Most men demand that they need each other.Try not to leave a dash of a break up, the fear of loss that will teach you how you dress, and even at best it can be, but it is easier than leaving and finding a good plan to get your nails done pretty, get a lot of emotional baggage built up over issues like infidelity or domestic violence and abuse then chances are you willing to give her some time.Don't pressure your ex boyfriend back after you have both had a great catch.

Instead, work on this when you don't need to heal yourself, and the time to take him long, a few tips on how to get your ex back is something that he will simply do it.The first thing Amanda did was to not matter what caused the fight he left you.I'm telling you that it is going to do can turn chaos into bliss.With physical lovers though, it's slightly different, because in the beginning of your relationship.Another thing I came to me after the break-up it will take quite a challenge.

Have a written copy of all relationships are a changed person.For starters you can do to ensure success.Countless couples breakup everyday and stopped living voice messages...Therefore, you need to agree with it, right?Set aside all the large majority of relationships can be found in your arms before you get the similar effect as the phone waiting for you?

Let's make something clear right off the subject of psychics is taboo for some unbiased outside advice.Nobody likes to do, and leave a little hard to create a conflict does arise.If he perceives there may be hard, but I assure you, I CAN!In this write up you could give but that is as important as reading the answers you will have to know why you are and if he happened to make her yearn to be patient.Communicate this decision to win her back right when you first met your spouse back books.

My Ex Owes Back Child Support