#I personally find it dry but still interesting and I was hoping for an adaptation that would give a bit more life to it

[la-pheacienne]

my new fav common argument used by Tumblr's Absolute Authorities of George Martin's Work (towards the end of a debate when they don't have any actual arguments left) is that "Fire and Blood is bad". it's bAd u guyz! what are we even fighting about? oh you thought we were having a genuine debate about whether the tv show is a faithful adaptation of the source material and the implications of the different perspectives for the characters, premise, lore and overall message of the story? well fuck you we're not doing that because guess what, the source material is BAD anyway and the 98494 receipts you just gave us are useless now because we just moved the goalposts and you're a loser for even engaging with the source material to begin with lmaooo

[mandalhoerian]

Fish in a Birdcage ৎ୭

ৎ୭ ⸻ rafayel has quite the storm raging in his mind during his artistic expedition to aridum. which, the root of his crisis he was trying to wean himself off of wasn't supposed to tag along to make him spiral further. funny thing is, you just think he's sick. he is. just infected by something far worse than you can imagine: crippling dependency.

ৎ୭ ⸻ SO MUCH BUILD-UP, momentary sickfic, anxious attachment issues, rafayel being hot and cold with the reader, angst, exhibitionism for like 0.01 seconds bc of bond shenanigans, switch4switch and constantly changing dynamics that comes with it, handjob, slight obedience kink, impromptu bondage play with rafayel's neck piece praise kink, obedience kink blink and you miss it, p in v, CLOTHED SEX ITS SO HOT 2 ME, unprotected sex, multiple rounds.

ৎ୭ ⸻ hello lads fandom, FIRST WORK HERE (it sucked my soul out i've been working on this for like tHREE weeks)!!! this is my adaptation of rafayel's nightly rendezvous card intertidal zone. a lot of it is based on my reading and understanding of the card, i'm so sorry for releasing this when caleb just released but, i hope you enjoy, much love <3 ( lil tag: @comatosebunny09 )

ৎ୭ ⸻ 26K, read on ao3

In retrospect, finding out Aridum was a city in the middle of a desert should have made you stop and think more about how the climate would actually affect Rafayel before diving straight into travel plans.

You know, a Lemurian.

Who, logically, wouldn’t fare well in the dry heat.

Rafayel flicking off your genuine concern like it was a bug on the surface tension of his fish tank was the first red flag you should have paid more attention to. In your defense, since he’d been there before and was confident enough to initiate banter, it was easy to give in and trust he knew what he was doing as he batted his lashes at you with those pretty dual-colored, sparkly wide eyes that left you starstruck in the face and said, “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine.”

Well. He was with you now and he wasn’t fine.

Because for once in his life, Rafayel didn’t have enough energy to run laps around you. Just a few minutes outside the hotel, lingering near the grand fountain square framed by towering palm trees that offered scant shade, and he began to deflate pitifully like a garish balloon leaking its vigor into the sweltering air. His usual dynamism, the kind that pulled attention to him as effortlessly as a river carved its path, had dimmed to a sluggish ebb, so much so you found yourself glancing over your shoulder every ten seconds, vigilance heightened by the unsettling absence of his ever-present current. The languid pace like he was moving through molasses made him look like an entirely different person than the one tugging you through the airport with even the luggage excitedly rolling behind him.

And it had been just a single day since you’d set foot in Aridum.

That wasn’t to say the trip had been a disaster or he was in terrible shape — you two were still on day one. Back in Linkon, he was, on paper, enthusiastic about pointing out local landmarks for you to go together like he knew the city personally, but he had quickly lost that energy when it actually came to the execution. You chalked it up to him not being able to get any sleep the previous night because of a mix of jetlag and the discomfort of a new bed, but regardless, it was still concerning to watch him only interested in stopping by street stands where he could buy himself cold water bottles and stand in a shaded corner in order to drink them slowly under shelter, while also dragging you with him, so there wouldn't be even a split-second distance between you two.

You were thankful you didn't have many plans in mind. Rafayel always packed enough enthusiasm for the both of you, but now, as you watched with wide-eyed worry how his spark had suddenly wilted, the drastic shift in his personality left him finding everything he suggested doing utterly unnecessary for the day. On top of that, after only managing to sit still for five minutes or so, it'd become obvious to see that the environment of this city, complete with a sun beating down hot enough to cook you alive, had taken a toll on Rafayel's temperament far more drastically than expected — rendering his eagerness completely sour.

But still, you wanted to cheer him up, you did. It broke your heart seeing someone who brought so much life into every room shrivel down to such a defeated shell. Maybe that's why you couldn't help yourself when you caught him pouting at something on the phone screen as if it'd done him a great offense.

So, you began teasing. “Rafayel, we haven’t even been out for thirty minutes, you're sweating already?"

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you countered, only to squint at his face more closely. “Wait. You’re not?”

He threw his arms out like he was expecting a grander reaction. “Do you know what that means?”

“That you’re a human raisin in the making?”

He groaned, a sound that was more theatrical than pained, but you still caught the edge of frustration in it. “It means I’m seconds away from crumbling into sand. You’ll have to gather me up and carry me home in a jar.”

You started walking towards one of the fountains near some empty seats where shade was available, while he dragged himself behind you like a zombie. "Let's sit you down before you begin to form cracks."

The fountain’s spray misted faintly in the air, enough to make the stone bench beneath feel less like a skillet. Rafayel took extra care positioning himself on one of the seats before collapsing backward, draping one arm over his flushed face.

He took the bottle of yet another ice cold water you fished out from your bag without protest, but his free hand found your wrist and lingered there — light at first, then tighter, like he needed to anchor himself. The unexpected heat radiating from his skin sent a little jolt up your arm. You were about to comment on it, but then he tipped the bottle back and drank, and you swore you could feel the tension in his throat as if it was your own.

When he finished, he let out a breath — not a sigh, just an exhale that sounded heavy, deliberate, sprawling beside you, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing restlessly as he tilted his head back and squinted at the cloudless sky.

“I think I’m dying,” he announced, as if that wasn’t thr fourth time he’d said it today.

After your attention was made aware that he indeed wasn’t sweating by the dry hairline of his, though, the mood to banter had dissipated like a mirage. You began fussing. Was it normal that he didn’t sweat? If a normal person was like this, they needed to be taken to the hospital. However, Rafayel had done nothing but up the ante in complaining, that had to indicate nothing was seriously wrong, right? He’d know his body the best. Right?

“I told you to put on sunscreen this morning. Did you?”

He scoffed, “I don’t need it,” — and you heard the imaginary Lemurian in his tone rolling his eyes at your human expectations.

“Not with that attitude,” you shut him down, already skimming through your bag at an increasingly faster pace. “Now, keep still.”

Finding what you were looking for, you uncapped the bottle, reaching out with one hand to tilt Rafayel’s head left and right to gauge where to start. His skin under the pads of your fingertips felt almost brittle and paper-thin — unnatural on Rafayel, making you unconsciously rub like it was a stain you could get rid of. Without meaning to, you frowned, and he made a soft, lukewarm grumble, nudging your leg with his foot, reminding you what you were doing. Which was fussing over a grown man who should have been responsible from the start and able to take care of himself.

“Show me your forehead,” you said, wanting to get it out the way first.

He obediently carded his bangs back, silent, half-hooded eyes flicking everywhere on your face going ignored as you rubbed sunscreen in and felt what alarmingly was similar to a fever. It was a relief to hear him humming at the feeling, you hoped it would help as you quickly moved to spread the white lotion over his cheeks and smeared a stripe right across the bridge of his nose as he fixed his hair, squinting at your ministrations.

Though, somehow, he looked contented enough that you had to stop him from nuzzling into your hand. “Rafayel, I’m working here.”

All you got was a breathy, “Mmm,” as if he was speaking through the pleasant haze of sleep.

How contradictory of him, as always. For someone constantly grumbling about the unbearable heat, he leaned into every touch with a docility that defied reason — and worse, he initiated them, either molding against you like water taking the shape of the container it was poured into, or his fingers ghosting over your skin as though drawn by instinct. You couldn’t make sense of it. The mere thought of physical contact when the air was this heavy and oppressive made your skin crawl, but he seemed to revel in it. No, thrived on it.

It wasn’t just the way he didn’t flinch — he leaned in harder, his breaths hitching faintly, brow furrowed like he was wrestling with a need he barely understood. You’d swear the heat radiating from your skin would only make it worse, yet he tilted his face into your touch as though your thumbs brushing his cheekbones offered a balm, a strange, cooling relief.

Maybe, he perceived your skin to be indeed cooler than his.

It had to be something unique to his Lemurian physiology. His reactions didn’t make sense otherwise. What human would ever enjoy the sensation of warmth pressed against warmth in such sweltering conditions? And yet here he was, biting back what suspiciously sounded like a placid sigh, while you struggled to reconcile the peculiar contradiction.

“C’mon, don’t let me do all the work,” you muttered, quieter than you intended, the heat and the moment distracting you entirely.

You must have sounded a tad bit worried, because Rafayel didn’t react with his usual playful defiance or the melodramatic sulking he resorted to when things didn’t go his way. Instead, he fell silent, sinking more fully against your side as though he belonged there, and successfully narrowed the angle you were working with. His head tilted slightly, guiding your hand to the sharp line of his jaw with an unspoken invitation, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked, the haze of his voice turning soft and almost vulnerable. You couldn’t even see his face properly from looking at the top of the purple mop of hair blocking you.

"Do my neck too?"

Before you could decide, his hand encircled your wrist. Not tightly — not forcefully — but with a loose, guiding pressure that was maddeningly deliberate. He led your lotion-slicked hand to curve around his throat, the smooth, simmering heat of his skin pressing against your palm.

You hesitated, the instinct to pull away warring with the strange tension settling between you both, but his thumb found the delicate underside of your wrist and began tracing slow, thoughtful patterns that seemed designed to leave you paralyzed. You knew damn well how tenderly and skillfully he handled paintbrushes, and it was evident by the practiced precision of each touch that he was using the same sensibility on you, whether he was fully aware of it or not, which sent a warm burst of blood rising to your cheeks.

Seeming restless, Rafayel sat up straight and finally allowed you a clear view of him. His head tipped further back, exposing more of his neck to your hand, eyes darkened into to a shade of purple that seemed otherworldly in the harsh light of day. They glittered like faceted amethysts film-burned blue around the edges, soaking in every sunlit fleck of your features with a focus that made your chest tighten, like you were being studied with the assessment of the artist Rafayel before another’s painting, his focus unbroken save for the low hum he let slip, soft and unguarded.

You swallowed hard, aware of how exposed you were. The bustling world of Aridum hadn’t stopped turning just because the two of you had stumbled into whatever this was. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck, but it wasn’t just the desert heat making you feel like you were suffocating.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Not here, not now.

Your breath shuddered as you finally regained enough sense to break the silence. "Do it yourself," you murmured, voice uneven as you pressed the bottle of sunscreen into his chest. You looked away, clumsily rubbing your hands on your arms to mask the way they trembled, pretending to rid yourself of excess lotion while wishing desperately to erase the heat radiating off your skin.

Rafayel sighed, a low sound of reluctant acceptance, as he pulled himself upright. His fingers glided over his neck, spreading the sunscreen where you hadn’t, his movements smooth and unaffected as he worked the lotion over his collarbones and along the nape of his neck. The sight was annoyingly graceful, as though he wasn’t feeling the same unbearable tension you were. If you’d have thought of bringing a small electric fan along today, it would have been inches from your face already.

"Maybe we should’ve gone out at night," you said abruptly, grasping for any lifeline to shift the moment’s focus. Your gaze darted to him as he worked, your cheeks burning hotter than the sunlight that baked the streets. "Now I feel bad."

"What for?"

"Making you come along. This must not be very inspiring.”

Rafayel let out an honest-to-goodness laugh. It rolled from his throat so easily and naturally that it seemed even he wasn’t aware of it until the sound tapered off into a quiet chuckle. Shaking his head, he leaned toward you until his temple rested lightly on your shoulder, his gaze unfocused as he stared absently at the fountain ahead. "I’m not giving up time with you just because the sun here wants me dead."

He completely bypassed the part about inspiration, but the sincerity in his words hit you like a splash of cool water on overheated skin. Your shoulders relaxed as you melted into a sigh, letting your head fall atop his, but the sticky warmth made the closeness unbearable almost instantly.

You promptly peeled yourself away with an, "Ugh.” He had already filled his making-you-feel-hot quota for the day, in every sense of the word.

Rafayel straightened just enough to meet your gaze, "That’s how you answer my heroic declaration?" he asked dryly, one brow arched in faux offense.

He didn’t budge, though, even though the heat seemed to bother him more than it did you. The stubborn set of his jaw spoke volumes, and it took a gentle nudge of your elbow to get him to finally sit upright. Even then, he let out a dramatic whine from deep in his chest as if being forced to separate was a personal betrayal.

"You’re lucky I’m rewarding it with mercy," you shot back, brushing a hand through your hair to vent your own rising frustration with the heat. "Come on, let’s head back. I need to get my fishie in the water before he dries up completely."

"But you wanted to see—"

"There’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future," you interrupted with a wave of your hand. "If anything, this was a good lesson about choosing the time we go out more carefully."

To your relief, Rafayel didn’t push back. He rose to his feet with you, though his sluggish movements and the slight downward pull of his lips suggested reluctance. As much as his leaning on you had been irritating in the heat, the sight of his faint frown made your chest tighten, and without thinking, you looped your arm through his and pulled him closer, even though the contact made your already overheated skin feel unbearable. His shoulders straightened slightly at the gesture, but the small crease between his brows didn’t disappear.

"I hear it’s seafood night at the hotel restaurant," you offered, attempting to lift his mood. He was obviously bummed out, but his stubbornness refused to show why outright. It was cute to a degree — childish almost, so endearing you couldn't find it in yourself to grow impatient with him. But you hated seeing him down. "If we head back now, we might snag a rooftop table.”

"Snag? Puh-lease. Worst case scenario, one glimpse of me and I could get us prime seating any time, anywhere," Rafayel scoffed. Still, the corner of his lip twitched upward as if tempted to smile, and you found yourself mirroring the reaction immediately. “And that whole thing would still be less bothersome than you assuming I haven’t secured us a reservation already.”

Later that evening, after dinner on the rooftop, the mix-up with the room service attendant delivering Rafayel’s envelope to your room turned out to be a convenient excuse to check on him. It had been hours since you insisted he take time to rest, and while he promised to settle in and let you know how he felt after freshening up, you hadn’t heard from him since.

You were greeted by the humidity hitting you in the face like a solid wall of rain when the door got opened though, instead of your boyfriend. Thick as fog like it had its own gravity.

Rafayel stood in the doorway, his hair dripping and clinging to his flushed skin in lazy dark purple rivulets, robe loose, the soft fabric blotched dark with water where droplets had slid from his neck and shoulders.

The room behind him radiated a different kind of heat — not the oppressive dryness of the desert, but the heavy, steamy warmth of someone trying to crawl their way back to comfort in the only way they knew how.

He looked better, at least.

The brittle edge that had been clinging to him seemed softened, as if he’d soaked away some of the tension in the beath he’d clearly stepped out of upon you knocking on his door.

Still, the sight of him — damp like a wet cat instead of a fish in his natural environment, robe-clad, the faint sheen of exhaustion still lingering in the way he leaned against the door frame left an odd twist in your chest.

He didn't look any worse for wear than he had earlier in the day when he’d claimed he wanted to spend the rest of his night marinating in ice cold water, and while seeing him not suffering was a relief, you clearly weren't expecting for him to actually mean what he said, even though the water obviously wasn’t ice cold.

The envelope, as it turned out, held a ticket to the memorial hall and an invitation to an art salon gathering hosted by one of his friends. Neither looked to be sparking any interest in Rafayel, however, despite him having come here for as much stimulation as possible for his inspiration.

You understood. It just wasn’t possible when he wasn’t feeling well.

The room itself was telling the entire story, in fact, chaotic in its stillness against the beauty of the floor-to ceiling windows framing the desert skyline in soft, shimmering lights of the city crowned by the full moon hanging proudly above. Papers were scattered across the floor in uneven piles, some curling slightly at the edges where they’d caught the artificial moisture in the air, blank and untouched, and some haphazardly sketched in a way you couldn't even begin to guess what they would become later. A few uncapped pens sat nearby, ink untouched, next to a can of soda that had long since gone warm. It wasn’t hard to guess what he’d been doing — or trying to do — in the hours since you’d left him.

So, you told him to stop forcing himself. Come enjoy the scenery with you.

It was your first instinct, but the words didn’t feel enough. You weren’t an artist, you didn’t know what would be good for the block he was going through. Even though your concern was genuine, you were clumsy at best at consolation.

But, he did lower himself onto the floor beside you anyway, his hands brushing against the scattered papers as he sat and leaned back on his palms. Like this, it was easy to imagine him search for his vision to come to him among the mess as he was attempting to draw, and end up with his gaze drifting out the window instead.

And then, as if he were a tide and the moonlight was pulling him inexorably to shore, he began to open up. Pushed by your mention of watching the view together, he spoke of sceneries. Of what traveling to discover secret corners of nature meant to him before everything changed — before he started creating. About how he used to just look at the world and feel it. Admire it. He didn’t need to do anything with it back then. A sunset was just a sunset, the sea was simply the sea, and neither asked anything of him but to exist alongside them.

Once he began to create, however...

Those discoveries done from a place of pure enjoyment became material, their beauty and pain turned into fuel. The act of looking became an act of taking. Of extracting. He started to see the world not as it was, but as something that could be stripped bare and transformed. A beautiful, bleeding wound. Every sunrise painted became a slice taken from the sun. Every ocean wave he put down on canvas was a handful of ocean lost. He couldn't experience sceneries for themselves anymore without having to to capture and translate them into a demand.

He didn’t look at you while he spoke, but the portrait of his honesty could be interpreted by even the most art-blind.

It was then that he dropped the bomb on you: “If one day, I become someone who only takes from you… If I were like that, would you leave me?”

That question dropped into the space between you like a stone in still water, sending ripples through everything you thought you understood about this moment.

But Rafayel was watching you in a way that made your pulse trip over itself, dissecting every flicker of your expression, like you were sitting in the middle of a high-stakes exam you hadn’t studied for. His fingers splayed on the ground besides yours were mere inches away, but even in that minimal distance, you sensed him drawing further back — a subconscious, reflexive reaction to fear, as if he needed to protect himself by retreating into some remote part of his mind, distant and closed off from the rest of him.

"Oh you silly fishie..." was your immediate response despite the whiplash he'd inflicted upon you, fondness rolling off your tongue easily, folding over itself into a dull ache for the struggle he was going through. "I won't leave you."

Your hand slid towards him, pinky finger crossing over until it brushed against his — gently, giving him ample chance to pull away before you covered his entire hand with your palm.

He was feverish again, despite all attempts made to soothe him, and the urge to smooth the pads of your fingers over his flushed skin, mapping each ridge and freckle that dotted his knuckles, surged forward within you. And you gave in, trying to make up for what you knew words would never be able to express, as you lightly rubbed lines onto the back of his hand.

It seemed to melt something in him, and he eased into your touch. It was an involuntary response to you reaching out for him — he tilted into you like he always did. It only lasted a second or two, however, before you felt him falter; like he noticed the instinctual motion midway, then consciously pushed down the reaction by gripping his thighs in an effort to sit back and avoid leaning in. Your heart dropped a little, confused, and you stole a peek at his face through the corner of your lashes to try to guess what he was thinking about.

What you saw only amplified how wrong everything felt. His features, which normally softened whenever you reached out for him, tightened, pensive. He frowned, holding back — hesitant about something, unreadable except for a subtle unease creeping in around the edges.

Even before he broke the silence, you had the awful premonition that his next words weren't going to be what you hoped to hear.

"Are you sure?" he asked, measured and quiet, and you knew you were right. This was trouble.

You squeezed his hand lightly despite wanting to do the very opposite, reassuringly, "Do you really think I’d stay even a second longer with someone I know is bad for me?"

He remained unresponsive.

“Rafayel?”

You made it about yourself, idiot, you realized.

Instead of acknowledging him and his cue for more reassurance and affirmation, you'd shifted the attention from him to trust in your decision making. You hadn't meant to, you hadn't done it deliberately — but...

Gosh, you were absolutely terrible at this.

So much so that Rafayel being the more emotionally in-tune of the two of you even in his vulnerable state was setting a humiliating new standard for how low you could go.

It was pathetic, really, how utterly you failed to pick up on what should have been an obvious cue. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that he’d taken your clumsy words as a glaring sign you found his struggles trivial, insignificant compared to your own convenience. All you’d managed to do was shove him deeper into the spiral of insecurities he was already battling.

This was supposed to help him clear his head. All it had achieved so far was adding onto his concerns.

Despite your determination to pour everything you had into assuaging the gnarled knot of his self-doubt, you were woefully unqualified for the task. Unmoored, you floundered blindly through half-finished thoughts, grasping for ways to communicate your feelings — gracelessly, imprecisely — all in hopes of soothing whatever ugly thoughts tangled around your boyfriend's brain like weeds choking the life from fertile soil.

Your stammering words stuck to the roof of your mouth like taffy, thick, unwilling to yield, and suddenly useless, coming out slow as you spoke. “What I mean by that is… My life has been consumed by you. In the best way possible. You made it ito a beautiful, chaotic mess bursting with life. I couldn’t possibly leave you.”

And he heard it — you felt it in the faint shuddering breath he drew as a silent response.

His thumb swiped over your pinky in absent response, stroking soothingly over the thin bones as he stared at your joined hands. His shoulders hadn't relaxed even marginally, but there was still an immeasurable kindness in the gesture.

“Besides, you’re not someone who takes. That’s not true at all. You’re just…”

He looked up then, turning his head to you, a doe-eyed, half-dazed blink breaking past the glassy stare he'd fixed on the empty space in front of him. His hand twitched underneath yours, flexing as he made a questioning noise, wordlessly urging you to elaborate as he invited comfort from your explanation. The way he tilted his head, the corners of his furrowed brows slightly angled upwards — the effect was childlike, innocent almost.

Receptive.

Breaking through your hesitation to touch him lest he shrink away again, you lifted both hands to cradle his cheeks gently, smoothing your thumbs across the high sweep of his cheekbones until his eyelids slid shut.

A soft sigh fell from his parted lips, his body pliant in your grasp as he melted under your fingertips, as if the gesture were more potent than any reassurance you might offer. The climbing tension within your ribcage dissolved with a single exhalation at the sight — helplessly endeared by his sheer willingless to submit to your awkward, inexpressive attempt at consoling. Subtle adoration burned quietly beneath each featherlight caress you placed along the slope of his nose or the soft patches underneath his eyes.

"You're just feeling a little anxious," you continued carefully, brushing a stray piece of damp hair away from his temple. It stuck stubbornly, refusing to let itself be tucked behind his ear before you tried again, gentler this time, hoping to soothe any lingering reservations you hadn't managed to wash away. “That’s probably why you’re overthinking things.”

In the brief silence that followed, anxiety bubbled low in your stomach once more, especially when he seemed to be focusing somewhere on your neck and ignoring looking you in the eye directly. It came as yet another whiplash and a sinking feeling simultaneously when he covered one of your hands with his, tilting his chin to plant a kiss into the centre of your palm as if making up for the withdrawal from earlier.

"What, were you playing tricks on me?" you murmured.

Shaking his head, "A token of my gratitude," he clarified. A gentle huff of laughter slipped past his lips, so faintly that you would've missed it had you not been staring at him with rapt attention in your bewilderment. "For you. Who accepted someone like me."

You frowned, eyebrows immediately drawing close. “Rafayel—”

He leaned in all of a sudden, one of his arms slid behind your back, while the other stretched across in front of you, caging you in with an unnerving ease. Both his hands rested flat against the floor now, framing you on either side like a living barricade. Your own left arm shot down to slap a palm down so you wouldn't topple over on your side. The droplets falling from his damp hair onto your neck was a sharp, sudden cold in comparison to the alarming heat radiating from his body, making you jolt in place as he loomed close enough for his breath to fan across your face.

"You're burning up again," you said weakly, trying and failing spectacularly to disguise your nervousness with indignance as his lips brushed softly against the apple of your cheek before ghosting lower, pausing just beneath your ear, testing for a reaction.

Meanwhile, him taking your hand that was balled up in a fist on the ground to slowly bring it towards his mouth left you frozen and dizzy from the contradictory sensations prickling under your skin.

Rafayel hummed against your wrist in response, dropping light kisses along the ridge of bone connecting your thumb to the rest of your fingers in the interim. It was impossible to ignore how every one of his touches ignited something different within you — the sensation of him painting the length of each finger with tender brushes of his lips and heated exhales sent pulses of liquid warmth flowing through your bloodstream.

The abrupt shift had left you uncertain about many things, chief among which being whether your previous efforts actually sank in at all or not.

Apparently they had.

The combined assault was distracting, but even amidst the whirlwind of thoughts vying for attention, you struggled to fully comprehend just how drastically the moment had veered off course — how your own worry-stricken attempt at appeasing him ended here instead, with your pulse hammering in your ears as he pressed even closer, draping his arm around your waist to turn you sideways until you were nearly sitting on his lap, faces inches apart.

A glimpse hope of maintaining control over the situation arrived in the form of a can toppling over during his handling of you, clattering on the hardwood flooring and startling you enough to snap free of the strange trance Rafayel had ensnared you in during his momentary lapse in focus.

Being so close gave you a good look at the change in him that manifested suddenly; his features visibly hardened as he turned his head at the disturbance, seemingly irritated to have been interrupted midway — a dark glint shone through his lashes before shifting over to you, misty, hazy, indescribable in its raw complexity.

His bathrobe hung loose, the neckline slouched further down one shoulder from having moved so much earlier, displaying more skin than was appropriate, and you weren’t sure if you were imagining the faintest hint of familiar coloration mottling his chest.

Which was dry.

Not only had his skin absorbed all the moisture that clung to it like a sponge after stepping out of the bathroom, there was no hint of perspiration whatsoever — not a bead of sweat lining the ridges of his collarbone or dampening the strands of hair stuck to his forehead.

As if responding to your inner thoughts, he lamented, "As you said, I'm anxious... Well, more like... Restless," before leaning in further to bury his face in the crook of your shoulder. "Ever since I arrived here, I feel..."

His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against the expanse of his chest and filling your nose with the scent of bodywash. It was no less than holding a solid block of heat capable of radiating more than enough warmth to replace an actual human furnace. The sheer amount of radiated temperature seemed ridiculous in such conditions, but the way he tried the loosen the already disheveled robe covering his other shoulder despite coiling around you, which had to be the source of the biggest discomfort concerning heat, was even more ridiculous. Shouldn’t he have let go of you before complaining?

"The air feels like it's burning, like there's not enough moisture anywhere. My heart's racing and I feel so miserable," he admitted quietly, muffled in the material of your shirt.

Yeah, you were taking him to a hospital.

This wasn't normal by any means, especially since you were now a hundred percent sure Rafayel couldn't sweat in order to regulate his internal body heat.

How could you let this go on for so long? He had been suffering these symptoms for a whole day now, hiding it all under layers of petulant frustration and overdramatic complaining to escape having to ask for help.

He was always like this. So secretive and reserved about his struggles underneath all the goofiness, especially those directly related to him being a Lemurian.

You put a hand on his burning chest and pushed yourself away to put some distance between the two of you and this moment, ignoring his quiet gasp and the way he clutched your waist. "I'm taking you to a—”

Suddenly, the world spun off its axis, a dizzying blur of motion that ended with your back colliding against the floorboards.

The impact sent a ripple through the room — drawing pens clattering and rolling away, half-sketched papers crumpling beneath you, while others scattered into the air like startled birds, carried by the gust of displaced air.

As you blinked up, trying to shake the daze from your mind, the world sharpened into focus.

The light cascaded over Rafayel like liquid mercury, accentuating every sharp edge and soft curve of his form. His bare legs straddled your hips, knees pressed firmly into the ground on either side of you, pinning you in place with an effortless authority. His hands had found yours in the chaos, and now your wrists were restrained above your head, his long fingers encircling them with a grip that was firm yet somehow shaky.

The bathrobe he wore hung precariously, one shoulder already exposed to the moonlight’s caress while the other threatened to follow suit, the fabric dipping low to reveal a tantalizing V that stretched from his clavicle down to his navel. Tendrils of lilac hair curled lightly downwards with gravity, catching the light from outside, glittering like morning dew against a canvas of violet satin and plopping down onto your face, each impact making you blink. And his face, suffused with a flush so intense that it seemed to glow under the pale lighting, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to stain his fair skin with an undeniable rosy bloom.

The cool floorboards beneath your skin were contrasting harshly with the heat of his touch, and the helpless position left your pulse racing in a way you couldn’t entirely blame on adrenaline.

Rafayel lowered himself until his nose brushed lightly against yours, his breaths shallow and uneven, eyes caught halfway between hazy drowsiness and burning intensity — a vivid shade of sunless plum made darker not by the shadows cast across his features, but a deeply buried and masterfully concealed emotion on the verge of making itself known to you.

To call it desire wouldn't do it justice.

It was something far stronger than fleeting arousal or casual infatuation — you hadn’t been looked at this way before. Weren’t even sure if a man could look at someone like this. There was nothing superficial or mundane about this particular weight. It sought to consume you. To burn you alive, leaving you to crumble into ashes like incense offered up to a deity. And the worst part? You had no idea what exactly you were being consumed by, or why.

All of this, because you had merely wanted to—

“No. I’m not going anywhere,” he hissed as if sensing your plan, breath dragging along the edge of your ear. "I'm just... restless.”

But—

“In every sense of the word.”

Oh?

Your mind reeled, dizzy from the intoxicating cocktail flooding your senses — from his breaths washing over the side of your neck, to the overwhelming sensation of Rafayel on the verge of draping over you like a living brand, hot and firm, trapping you in place.

"Especially when you're by my side," he purred.

Oh.

He pulled back to stare you down, heavy-lidded and glinting like knives honed razor sharp, yet somehow tender in his approach. If anything, it served only to accentuate the danger of whatever it was simmering below the surface. This was different than his Ebb Day state, but similar enough in its intent to be instantly recognizable — especially since it bore all the marks of the manic rush he fell victim to when succumbing to the lure of his instincts.

It was something primal in you that scattered your thought process into oblivion and made you look away instinctively, averting your attention toward the window off to your left — but the sparkling view of night time in Aridum was soon curtained by a flash of Rafayel's hand as he cupped the side of your face in one smooth motion.

The slight roughness of the pad of his thumb brushed along your cheekbone until his fingers sank into your hair, fanned along the outer edge of your ear, and turned you back to face him. The gesture felt proprietary, like he wanted to make certain he'd captured every last scrap of your undivided attention, like it physically hurt to allow even the smallest opportunity for you to withdraw and escape his grasp.

“Rafayel,” you forced your common sense to come out of its hiding place. “I don’t think—”

"But even so, I can't let you go. I don't want to," he breathed against your lips, punctuating his command with an achingly slow drag of his nose tracing yours. The contact made something molten unfurl in your belly, warm and sticky-slick and pooling in the hollow space below your navel, curling its tendrils through your veins like sweet, syrupy nectar. "What should I do?"

It would be easier than breathing to surrender and give him whatever he was asking for, but... but...

It felt wrong when he was so distressingly hot to the touch, not to mention you couldn't shake off the feeling he was doing his best to distract you from your worry by acting more brazenly suggestive than you'd ever seen him be before.

"You should rest, I don't think you'll enjoy getting worked up in your current condition—"

Your efforts were derailed with the subtle scrape of chapped lips running up the slope of your neck and a bite into the fleshy part below your ear as punishment for daring to answer his plea with platitude.

A shudder shook your frame, nerves firing off confused messages in quick succession throughout your brain, half demanding the sudden pressure recede and half urging more from the tingling heat. Your hand flew to grip his bare shoulder, fingers digging in until the tight bunch of muscle strained beneath his fevered skin — not enough to stop his ministrations, but enough to serve as a weak deterrent.

"Such lovely lips, spinning such pretty excuses," Rafayel huffed, drawing back and sweeping his thumb across your chin with gentle disapproval. "When we both know you don't want me to let you go either."

The words trailed off into something softer, tender, almost wistful, and were followed by the pad of his finger slipping past your parted lips, stroking along the underside of your tongue before drawing back and skimming across the wet patch he'd left glistening upon your bottom lip. As if magnetized, his smoldering stare followed, entranced by the minute trembling of your mouth, darting occasionally upward to capture your own hooded eyes at the sudden boldness of his gesture. He licked his own lips slowly as if thirsty, mirroring the same lazy stroke he'd used against your mouth, allowing you to take your fill of the sight.

No.

Before you could fall into his enticing trap again, your palm pressed firmly against Rafayel's chest until he eased back obediently, giving you space to rise, every single sensation previously pink at the edges quickly melting into clarity about taking care of him properly.

"This isn't the right time," you insisted breathlessly once you managed to catch your breath and speak, steadfast with the strain of iron will alone — pushing forward when your mind threatened to wander where his moistened lips had been just seconds before.

The mood was quickly dispelling, much to Rafayel's clear irritation, judging by the petulant slouch of his shoulders. You emphasized your point by putting your hands on his forehead, cheeks, neck, every patch of skin you could reach, the clear intent of medical examination being communicated silently until he relented with a dramatic sigh, turning his face upwards to expose more of his throat as if giving permission.

"It's fine," he groused reluctantly, although his grumbling somewhat relenting in volume under your gentle inspection. "I'm not dying."

"That's the opposite of what you said earlier today. Are you sure you don't want—"

His hands closed firmly around your wrists, tugging you off gently before you could finish speaking. "It's really not that bad.”

You’d be more convinced if he'd just told you about how miserable he was feeling.

"Is it a Lemurian condition?" You frowned up at him, taking note of how carefully he cradled your hands in his palms, stroking the insides of your wrists. "If it's making you feel awful, shouldn't we see someone about it?"

Rafayel tilted his head at you with a peculiar sort of fondness written across his features. It was difficult to identify what precisely made his smile curve upward into something distinctly knowing, yet warm — something infinitely affectionate yet impossible to quantify.

"Already doing that," he answered cryptically, tilting forward until he met your forehead with his own, nuzzling into the creased spot directly between your brows, eyelashes fluttering shut.

Ugh, this man.

"Do you know for a fact if you'll be okay?" you asked as delicately as possible without sounding too overbearing. That would definitely push Rafayel closer to defensive territory again and have him brush off any attempt at assistance, or even conversation, so you needed to walk the tightrope of concern while still keeping it mild enough for him not to clam up. "This trip still has a few more days left. What if you don't get better?"

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly with a ghost of a smile, perhaps pleased by your attentiveness —— "I enjoy this kind of concern."

—— which was starting to irritate you a little. "Well, I don't. Seeing you suffer and not doing anything isn't enjoyable."

He had the audacity to grin at that, broad enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes as he ducked his head coyly before turning it sharply to brush the tip of his nose against the shell of your ear and murmuring, "Not enjoying seeing me suffering does imply some enjoyment in seeing me otherwise."

"Rafayel!" You snapped finally, jerking out of his embrace with exasperated incredulity, only to meet an unrepentant smile waiting for you beyond your escape. He wasn't deterred whatsoever, which was a little unnerving.

Or rather, the rapid shift to your own pent-up restlessness was about to become in the next two days.

The limbo between then and the memorial hall day unfolded in a whirlwind of contradictions, each more puzzling than the last — starting from the abrupt ending to your interlude in front of the window, where he suddenly pulled back without any warning at all, leaving you cold and stunned with the excuse that he wanted to go to sleep, subsequently kicking you out of his hotel room as if possessed by a demonic force capable of inducing selective amnesia.

Like he wasn’t asking to fold you in half like a laptop mere moments ago.

The result was you forcing mandatory house rest until the day of the memorial hall visit came, settling awkwardly between coddling and hovering — a weird blend of fussing over his health like a mother hen and trying desperately not to make him feel infantilized as a result of said fussing.

All of that only ended with him either clinging close or deliberately distancing himself in confusing waves that seemed to occur at random intervals with little rhyme or reason.

It was simultaneously bewildering and heartbreaking. You had no idea how to react when he gave you zero insight into his thoughts and behaviors unless coaxed open, and even then, his answers were cryptic.

(So much for enjoying your concern.)

Really, this was your fault.

Maybe you shouldn't have pushed. But you worried.

Especially when he was dismissive like that despite being openly going through something other than a fever and a creative block, made worse by his inability to leave the hotel due to the hostile environment. Both of which you could do nothing to help with.

He would sit at the edge of the bed, his sketchbook propped open but untouched, pencil hovering above the page as though waiting for some divine spark that refused to come. At times, he’d stand by the window, reminding you of a cat sitting by its food dish for its owner to fill it with dinner, paw swiping irritatingly at its empty confines. Then, just as abruptly, he’d abandon his spot to sprawl across your lap instead while you were busy with paperwork online, one arm draped loosely over his stomach as he stared blankly at the ceiling in defeat, and demanding you play with his hair.

Then, some time later, it was back to deciding being near you was unbearable, pulling away entirely whenever you reached out for reassurance, no matter how casual or friendly your intentions, retreating back into his personal bubble to focus on attempting to get something on paper mindlessly, pages fluttering with restless action, crumpling here and there under the rough treatment before being smoothed out hastily.

The cycle continued nonstop. Restlessness, fatigue, clinginess, building you up while you didn't let it show because time and place, solitude, then back again — you never knew what Rafayel's whimsies were going to bring, and the uncertainty of it wore you thin, fraying your already wan nerves.

The humidifier was a desperate, last-ditch effort, the kind born out of sheer frustration and the kind of exhaustion that makes rationality optional.

You’d bought it from a small local shop at the crack of dawn, spurred on by the memory of walking into Rafayel’s suite only hours before, where he’d bullied the hotel staff into delivering two oversized sacks of ice — each roughly the size of a small child — and ordered them to be dumped unceremoniously into his bathtub.

At 3 AM. In the dead of night.

By the time you returned and set it up, the machine had barely begun spitting out its first gentle stream of cool mist before Rafayel sat down beside it, legs folded beneath him like a solemn monk meditating in front of some sacred relic. His quiet intensity as he stared at the thing made you wonder if he was grateful, resentful, or some combination of both — because with Rafayel, it was never as simple as one emotion at a time.

Still, the day turned out to be noticeably easier on him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the worst had passed.

He still looked like death warmed over, often pink on the face and worn, but at least he wasn’t on the brink of staging another late-night ice-bag heist.

He even tolerated your awkward attempts to distract him, accepting your offerings of snacks, endless glasses of ice water, iced tea, whatever cold beverages you could scrounge up, and a marathon of that one TV show the two of you had been meaning to watch together.

And, of course, there was the doting.

So much doting.

Which was rare for you.

You were not, by any stretch of the imagination, the kind of person who showered people with attention. You weren’t the mom friend. You didn’t hover. But something about Rafayel in this state, rightfully whiny, subdued, far too fragile for your liking, made you want to roll him over in bubble wrap and shove him in your pocket to keep him safe from everything.

In some ways, you were more anxious than he was.

The helplessness swung at you like you were a tree and it was an axe, the inability to snap your fingers and fix him, to just make it better was torture. Worrying felt inevitable, but useless. And the not knowing what to do with yourself in between bouts of fretting? That was worse. Still, he wasn’t showing any signs of further deterioration, which felt like a victory you didn’t want to jinx.

You were so relieved you briefly considered leaving all your savings to the shop clerk who’d sold you the overpriced humidifier. She had probably thought you’d lost your mind, judging by the way you thanked her like she’d just handed you a ticket to salvation, practically singing her praises as she rang up your purchase. And honestly, if you could go back in time, you would’ve thanked her even more profusely.

Because it worked. Rafayel was better — well, better-ish. Better enough that you decided it was safe to move forward with the plan to visit the memorial hall.

Which, eventually, became a visit to the ocean.

An ocean.

In the middle of a desert.

The sheer impossibility of it left you breathless, like you were standing at the edge of a fever dream made real. The water stretched out endlessly, shimmering beneath the brutal sun, and you couldn’t stop marveling at the sheer absurdity of it — a body of water so vast, so alive, nestled in a place it had no right to be. It felt like a miracle.

It was a miracle.

And just when you thought the desert couldn’t surprise you further, the skies proved you wrong soon enough later, crowning the experience with snowfall at the end of the trip. Snow, delicate and silent, drifting from the sky like a benediction.

You couldn’t help but marvel at it all — at how the world had managed to gift you two impossibilities in the span of a single day. It felt like the desert itself was defying logic, bending over backward to offer something beautiful, something extraordinary, as though it wanted to prove it wasn’t all hardship and sunburnt misery.

But Rafayel stood by the edge of the ocean with a look that made your chest ache — a look that spoke not of wonder, but of mourning. To you, it was a miracle, but to him, it was a tragedy: a dying ocean trapped in a place it could no longer thrive, its very existence a reminder of something slipping away. An everlasting eulogy engraved into reality.

He didn’t look away from the canvas of pain he had set up and started painting for himself until you voiced all of what you thought out loud for him to see.

And this time, you truly felt like you had broken through — like you’d reached him in a way that mattered.

It was there, in that rare, fragile moment, that Rafayel dove straight through your hesitation, sidestepping the awkward pauses you were fumbling with, and pulled you into an embrace before you even had the courage to ask if you could. It was as though he had heard the unspoken thought aloud, plucking it out of the air with startling precision.

And then he’d confessed — softly, almost too softly — that at the time, he had wanted to come here before, with the most important person in his life.

Those words lodged themselves in your chest, a bittersweet ache blooming alongside the unmistakable joy bubbling up within you. You hugged him back as tightly as you could, pouring all the gratitude you didn’t know how to put into words into that one simple gesture. Gratitude for trusting you enough to share that. Gratitude for showing you yet another new side of himself, something unguarded and rare. A treat, indeed, one you hadn’t expected but cherished all the same.

Relief flooded through you, so potent it felt like a physical weight lifting from your shoulders. You hadn’t even realized how tense you’d been until that moment. Your body relaxed, and with that relaxation came fatigue, the kind that crept up on you and left no room for resistance. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep during the entire way back, lulled into a rare sense of peace you hadn’t felt in days.

And yet.

Like clockwork, he withdrew the instant you arrived back at the hotel.

Rafayel never thought he’d truly understand what it meant to drown.

As a creature of the sea, he wasn't meant to in the first place.

Not until you.

The realization had hit him like a storm breaking over still waters — not all at once, but in slow, rumbling waves that built. He didn’t even feel himself breaking; it was more like a slow erosion, the kind that wears stone into sand. Quiet, but irreversible. Your optimism. Your touches. Your encouragement. Inching in and in and in one step at a time.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

He had been holding himself together in the driver's seat, hands knotted around the steering wheel and knuckles bloodless with how tightly he gripped. Every inch of him vibrated with anxiety, away from where you lay fast asleep beside him, breathing shallow and uneven like he was afraid of exhaling too loudly. But there you were, oblivious, asleep, your head leaning softly against the window as if his world hadn’t collapsed in on itself.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

It wasn’t the desert heat that was killing him, though it might as well have been. (Everything about this place grated against him — the air, the dry scrape of his skin, the silence of the fading ocean that was too vast to be comforting. Too big. Too empty. Fading. Fading. A warning from cities away that this land was no place for a creature like him.) He wasn’t meant for this — for the cracked earth and the relentless sun and the suffocating absence of water. His body ached for moisture, for the cool, familiar embrace of the sea, but it ached even more for you. (He didn’t even realize how long he had been watching you from the corner of his peripheral vision — how long he had been unraveling, thread by thread.)

You’d tilted his world off its axis, turned everything he thought he knew into something unrecognizable. Once, pain had been his anchor. It was always there—constant, unyielding, something he could hold on to when nothing else made sense. It had driven him, fueled him, given him purpose when nothing else could. He had sought it out like a man dying of thirst seeks a mirage, and it had never failed him. Pain was constant. Pain was reliable. Pain was everything. Inside. Outside. It was all he had ever known, and it had kept him alive — fed the anger that gnashed his insides with teeth and claws, soothed the beast that prowled just under his skin, tempered the instinct that drove him relentlessly onward. Toward destruction. Towards home.

He had used it as a shield, as armor, as the whip he wielded against those who dared to clip the tails of his people. A weapon. A tool. A brush.

And then there was you (who he'd willingly sought out, angry and grieving and resentful and hurt.)

You, who didn’t fit into his carefully crafted world of suffering and art and revenge. You, who had made him forget (as easily as you forgot him) what it felt like to hurt, to ache, to yearn for something greater than himself. To hate. To see others bleed while his fingers flew across canvas after canvas, leaving only beauty in their wake — only soaring wings, only gleaming scales, only flowing water, only living fire, only reaching skies, only rushing wind, only rising floods...

Only you.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

Except now, he did yearn. He yearned in a way that was foreign and unbearable, in a way that felt like drowning — not in water, but in light, in warmth, in the overwhelming weight of wanting something too much. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he wanted you this much — needed you this much — when he didn’t even know who he was without all the hurt and hatred inside. It wasn’t fair that he felt something hot and ugly churning under his skin whenever you smiled up at him in admiration, filling his stomach with lead until he thought he might collapse beneath its heaviness. It wasn't fair that there were times when he thought it might actually be better not to have met you again at all.

(That thought filled him with dread so immense it threatened to crush the breath from his lungs; the possibility of having spent his entire life stumbling aimlessly through darkness towards a destination he was no longer sure even existed — )

He watched you sleep, the rhythm of your breathing steady and unbothered.

His gaze lingered on your hands, resting loosely in your lap, fingers twitching faintly as if even in sleep, you were reaching for something. (Reaching for him?) He wanted to take them in his own, to press them to his lips, to hold on so tightly he’d never have to let go. But he couldn’t. (He wouldn’t.)

Because the moment he did, he knew he’d lose whatever fragile standing he had left.

(“Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?”)

His thoughts spiraled, looping back on themselves in a tangle of contradictions that refused to resolve; questions without answers, fears without resolutions. What had he become, to need you like this? To depend on you like this? To depend on you so completely that even the idea of your absence felt like the loss of something vital — something essential — an emptiness he wasn't prepared to face.

(What must you think of him? Did you even know what you did to him? What would you think of him?)

He had told himself he could manage it, that he could stay close enough to feel your warmth but far enough not to burn. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? He was already burning. He had been burning since the moment he met you. An addictive pain — the kind that made him ache for more even as it seared him from the inside out.

And before he knew it, the car was parked beside the hotel entrance around the far corner of the garden, and Rafayel didn’t remember driving there at all.

He blinked, confused for a moment as to how exactly he had managed to pilot the vehicle, when you stirred quietly in the passenger seat, drawing his attention like a moth to flame.

You groaned softly, eyelids fluttering, but remained firmly locked within slumber's grip as he unbuckled your seatbelt for you, as gently as if he were handling fine china. Your head leaned sideways against the headrest and faced him, slack and soft with sleep. His fingers twitched around the plastic buckle, curling into a fist until he thought they might cramp under the strain.

He leaned forward, forehead coming to contact with the cool leather surface of the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to blot out your presence entirely.

There was too much to process — too many feelings, thoughts, sensations threatening to overwhelm him if he looked directly at them, instead swirling through his head like debris caught in a vortex, invisible yet disorienting nonetheless.

But they all blipped out of existence the moment he turned his head around, following the impulse to look.

(“Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?”)

The urge struck Rafayel with all the force of a lightning bolt — bright, sudden, unavoidable — and suddenly the knuckles of his fingers were sliding across your cheek, feather-light in gentle arcs along the arch of your cheek, savoring every inch of satin flesh as it shifted beneath his caress.

The sensation of touch buzzed pleasantly underneath his skin previously starved, reveling in the sweetness of contact after so many days of withdrawal.

The artificial light coming from outside bathed your sleeping form in a glow that cascaded like a gentle waterfall, chiaroscuro shadows casting angles upon your features, emphasizing every line and curve, and for a long time, all he could do was stare. He could feel your breath against the tips of his nails, warm puffs of moist exhales against his calloused flesh, and found himself fixating on the gentle undulation of your chest as you breathed — unconsciously, mindlessly unaware of what such a simple act did to him.

The memory of your voice echoed in his mind, soft and certain, cutting through the chaos like a beam of light.

"Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?"

You had a way of reframing everything, of taking the pieces of his broken world and rearranging them into something that almost looked like hope. (He hated it. He loved it. He hated that he loved it.) It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You hadn’t asked to become such an integral part of his existence — so intrinsic and fundamental and irreplaceable. Yet somehow, here you were. Here he was. The absence of water, the grief of it. The grief of what it meant to lose something so essential, so intrinsic, that one didn’t know how to live without it. And that grief had found a new home in you. You, who had become his ocean, his escape, the source of every ache in his chest and joy in his heart.

(Isn't it a surprise that there's an ocean in the desert? Isn't it a surprise you're the muse calling to him and not the muffled, fading cries of the dying ocean in pain, not the skeletal remains of an era he'd never get back?)

He gazed, and gazed, and gazed, drinking you in like a thirsty man lost in a sea of golden sands, watching the subtle play of lights over the curves of your face — the delicate angle of your chin, the arch of your nose, the graceful slope of your neck as it curved into collarbone and shoulder — memorizing every detail he could, without the pressure of having to wrench himself back before he drowned in your wake, without the need to pretend to your face he was anything less than desperate to be with you all day, every day, in every way possible. And that the sound of your voice in his ears was enough to get the paintbrush running across paper from the sheer momentum of his imagination.

But he couldn't keep going like this.

Somehow, somewhen, between the start of your journey and now, this thing had begun shifting irrevocably past his ability to contain it any longer. Had grown exponentially until it seemed to dwarf his capacity to handle it. All it would take was being away from you for a mere few hours to bring him to a level of misery that was honestly embarrassing.

And you had no idea.

No idea that orbiting around him in these past few days like a second moon had only served to exacerbate the foul joy of watching you fawn over him.

It made him sick to his stomach to admit it, but soaking in the knowledge (in his soul, through the bond) that you cared so deeply for him went straight to his head like some drug he hadn't realized he needed.

It felt so despairingly good that he would wrap himself around you like a vine climbing towards sunlight if he could for the rest of his days, absorbing your rays of affection like photosynthesis... or a parasite.

(Was he being punished by the sea that this love was eclipsing his fury and vengeance? Or rewarded that he held both equally in his grasp despite how terribly wrong it felt at times? Regardless, his inspiration was the punchline, once only capable of singing into the canvas elegies of lament and sorrow, now composed ballads and odes that poured out effortlessly.)

You would hate him if you ever found out just how perversely his emotions swung in every direction; so high one moment that the ecstasy of relief nearly shattered his reserve of control, and so low the next that he feared he'd choke to death from the guilt that clawed up the back of his throat like a strangled animal's cry for mercy.

This entire ordeal had flipped the script completely — instead of keeping you at arm's length as he normally did (regarding… everything), Rafayel now clung onto you desperately like Tantalus to a branch of fruit he’d finally gotten a grasp of, and what if he was exposed? The question rose like bile in his mouth whenever he began slipping.

“I won't leave you.”

Liar, his grudge wanted to answer.

It remembered. It never forgot. It told him you'd flee and never look back if he let a sliver of this dependency that bound him tighter to you with each passing day slip out from his fingertips — if he allowed you even the tiniest insight into the strange workings of his head and his heart.

Because you didn’t understand. You couldn’t. You had no idea what you were talking about when you told him you wouldn’t leave. How could you, when you didn’t know the depths of what you were promising to stay for? You didn’t know the true nature of Lemurian love, its ferocity, its weight, its cost. The all-consuming, all-encompassing reality of it — how they loved as if it was the only thing tethering them to existence itself. How they lived for it, how they died for it. How he had been dying for it.

If you saw it — if you saw him — you would run. He knew you would. Because if he laid bare just how much he depended on you, how much of his breath, his will, his very being hinged on you, you’d be overwhelmed. You’d leave.

Why else would he be tearing himself apart like this? Miserably trying to wean himself off you, forcing himself to let go only to grasp harder each time he felt you’d finally come to hate him and slip away?

He didn't know how long he sat there in silence.

Just a bit longer, he would keep watching you with these feelings out in the open. Just a little bit longer. He couldn’t bear to wake you up.

By the time you stirred, groggy and disoriented but blissfully unsuspecting, it felt as though several eternities had passed in the span of minutes, and he had to struggle with all the strength of a raging current to force himself back into this skin of his that felt too tight and suffocating around him.

But, still resting his temple against the steering wheel with an arm slung on top of it and another hanging lazily at his side, feigning ease, nothing betrayed his inner turmoil.

He watched quietly as you slowly regained your bearings, resisting the temptation to reach out and brush aside that one piece of hair out of place on your head, letting you find the words first.

(So adorable. So endearing.)

(It was not only snowing in his desert. There was also an ocean in there.)

"Rafayel..?"

"Yeah?"

"How long was I asleep?" You blinked at him blearily, one hand lifting to rub the lingering tiredness from your eyelids as you peer into the darkness of night beyond his silhouette. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Everything he'd been thinking about vaporized and left behind nothing but softness, so tender it scared him; it seeped into the spaces in his heart left vacant and curled inside them, filling every corner, until it made the next smile he offered you come free of burden. "You were sleeping so well, cutie. I didn't want to disturb you."

The unconscious put of your lips and the way that strand of hair bounced around when you slid down your seat a little had him leaning in before he knew what he was doing, smoothing the unruly thing, fingertips betraying him by skating across the outer edge of your ear while he watched you tilt your cheek instinctively.

His body warmed immediately, gravitating towards you in a half-hug that kept you cradled close to the side of his frame as he nuzzled into your hair above your temple with a hum, dipping his nose deeper into the crown of your head near where your neck curved gracefully upwards before inhaling deep — greedy, thirsty, like he’d die if he couldn’t seep up all the scent of you.

Your breathing hitched a bit, and that’s what halted him right at the corner of your mouth with a sharp exhale — he couldn’t be doing this, he was just thinking about how he needed to pull back and —

Art salon.

Yeah, the art salon gathering.

He was supposed to be on his way to there like yesterday.

If only his body didn’t move like a most willing pupped tethered by strings to yours and refused to walk away whenever he tried.

“…Rafayel?”

It suddenly hotter in this car like a tide pool at noon. So stiflingly hot he was breathing fire even with the snowy weather outside. So unbearable the deepest V-cut known to mankind that had his whole chest out for the world to ogle did nothing to help.

He could… He could skip.

Yeah, he needed this. It had been literal days of non-stop withdrawal and a push-and-pull of his frustration that you wouldn’t touch him (because oh noo, he was sick — which, he wasn’t!) and stubbornness to not let you touch him. He’d gotten to a point that he was drunk off your scent alone and he couldn’t keep doing this forever, and why should he? Why did it matter about this event at all? Who cared — who cared about some stupid gathering? He wasn’t functioning anyways until he—

Stop. He had to stop. He was already so late.

He imagined catching himself by the scruff of his neck and yanking himself back to the driver's seat, within safe borders. Far away from your mesmerizing lips and wandering eyes and cute squirming in your seat under the thin cover of innocence.

And pulling away and practically fusing with the car door was exactly what he did.

He needed to prove to himself, just this once, that he could function without the constant reassurance of your presence — that he wasn’t helplessly anchored to you, no matter how much the pull of your moon whispered otherwise.

He had to dilute himself. This — and his inspiration problem, involving you or not, was his to figure out. And he had to figure it out if he wanted you to stay by his side.

"...Do you wanna go back to your room first?" he heard himself ask you quietly.

"You're not coming with me?" The tiny furrow of worry between your brows spoke volumes about your confusion, and despite wanting to reach out and smooth it away, to wipe every ounce of uncertainty from your face with a tender kiss, Rafayel clenched his fingers around the door handle of the vehicle until they cramped, his heart aching strangely inside his chest as you stared quizzically at him.

He brought out the invitation that came with the memorial hall ticket, waving it a little with little to no enthusiasm, "I still have to attend my friend's art salon thing."

The way your shoulders deflated and face dropped at the mention made him waver in — not enough to follow through with ditching the whole thing, but certainly making his resolve weak enough to crack like glass under pressure. "But you don't look well. You need to rest."

How could someone manage to resist getting spoiled like this, he thought miserably as he closed his eyes while you continued fussing, peering worriedly up into his face with the cutest scrunch to your forehead, palms searching along his cheeks heat before trailing down the length of his arms, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to that impulse of being coddled to bits by your hands alone.

He was a weak man.

You nearly lifted off the passenger seat and fell into his lap the way he embraced you, his arms coiling around you like kelp around a rock, holding fast as though you might slip away with the wind. His face buried into the crook of your neck, breath warm and uneven against your skin, his grip snug yet teetering on the edge of too much — like he didn’t trust himself to let go. There was a desperation in the way his hands trembled slightly, his fingers pressing into your sides, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave the faintest impression of how badly he needed this. When your pained whine broke through, it was like snapping a thread, he instantly loosened his hold, guilt washing over his features as he pulled back just enough to make room for you to breathe. But he stayed close, his forehead dipping to rest against your shoulder as a heavy sigh rumbled deep from his chest, raw and apologetic. You leaned heavily into him, your fingers threading into his hair in a gesture that should have comforted him, but instead left him drowning deeper in the tangled sea of his emotions.

"See? You're burning up again," you mumbled as your cool lips grazed his temple in a comforting kiss. He was no better than a child. He knew it. And he hated how much he basked in your coddling, reveled in the unspoken message behind your words: Don't hide it. Tell me when you hurt. I care. "Maybe we can go together? Will you feel okay if I'm there?"

He would. He would feel more than okay, because that's what made him function.

But he couldn't keep being like this.

"Do you wanna turn me into a sea creature beached on the sand after the ocean recedes," he whispered, mostly kidding except not really, hiding in the dip of your neck just below your ear, hand tracing absent shapes into the small of your back above your tailbone. "Unable to breathe on my own, waiting helplessly for your tide's return?"

Your fingers stroking through his hair slowed, then stilled entirely at the edge of his nape. You pulled back only far enough to meet his lowered stare, confusion dancing within your own, bright and clear and genuine. You had no inkling of what was going on with him, and he didn’t want you to find out either. He would be fine. He was going to handle it.

"Don't you trust me?" Rafayel said. "How about we make a promise? I promise... I'll be okay without you tonight."

It hurt to lie to you so directly, but seeing your doubt dissolve to appease him helped soothe that sting considerably. (Even if it felt a little too convenient to rely on such flimsy methods.) You nodded, seeming convinced in spite of yourself, and his stance firmed — strengthened with your faith and affirmation alike, like he'd just taken a double shot of espresso. He would be okay. He wasn't going to keep imposing his feelings upon you even if a part of him desperately yearned to, no matter how difficult the prospect seemed.

(Say no, a small part of him whispered traitorously, selfishly, insistently. Ask me to stay. You know I can't say no to you, he wanted to plead. Needed to be affirmed once more, reassured that he was welcome to indulge, to remain, to lean into the comfort you offered freely.)

"Okay..." you echoed uncertainly, but gave him another soft smile — tentative yet warm, gentle encouragement. He watched quietly as your expressions shifted in quick succession, cycling through shades of hesitation and worry before settling on resignation. You nodded again, firmer this time, seemingly steeling yourself against whatever doubts you harbored. He wanted to kiss it all away.

But instead, he gently pushed you back, sinking further into his seat, looking out the view beyond the windshield to gather his wits against the force that was your presence beside him.

"You can head back," he repeated, not turning to meet your searching stare. "I can handle it."

The art salon had an air of cultivated elegance, grandiosity reflecting into soaring ceilings and walls adorned with curated artworks, with conversations floating in fragmented pieces, the occasional laughter punctuating the steady hum of "cultured" discourse — all the while Rafayel stood at the periphery, his posture consciously maintained with the kind of deliberate nonchalance that masked a profound discomfort, one hand buried in his pant pockets and the other holding a flute glass of champagne, ghosting the suffocating room with an expression of aloof disdain, attention drifting from painting to painting without ever settling. Humans circled him like murmuring specters, their faces a study in muted curiosity and empty civility. He loathed their presence. (Yet, here he was.)

The room's overwhelming sensory overload grated against his composure — cloying mingling of varnish and wine, sharply polished sheen of curated lighting, artifice of smiles that never reached their eyes...

He should leave. (No, he had to stay.)

The dichotomy was a pendulum swinging between contempt and an unspoken compulsion to endure. He’d insisted he didn’t need you here, insisted on proving — to himself as much as to you — that he could function without your constant presence. But the more he replayed his own words in his mind, the more it was obvious the joke was on him.

He rolled his eyes as an overly enthusiastic laugh erupted nearby, a sound sharp enough to pinprick through his already thinning out patience. His hand twitched in his pocket, the movement a reflexive manifestation of his barely-contained frustration.

(Focus.)

The art, exquisite as it was, did little to distract him as the chatter blurred into a meaningless drone, the edges of the room constricting him under the weight of pretense.

And then. The tug.

At first, it was delicate — an unsuspecting tremor sifting through his awareness, like the faintest ripple across an otherwise still surface that he thought he was imagining and hoping this was you. But it swelled rapidly, a deluge of sensations sweeping him off his feet towards your pull with a force that left his breath stuttering and the floor wavering beneath, erupting into vivid, agonizing clarity.

His lips tingled, a ghostly imprint of a kiss not yet given.

Heat bloomed under his skin, first at the base of his throat, spreading like a slow, insidious current. The faintest pressure, then, at his collarbone, radiating outward, like silk dragging over sensitive skin, a tingling warmth that prickled and spread, until it seemed to rewrite the very contours of his form, leaving him trembling with phantom caresses that lingered far too long to ignore.

He could feel the press of your palms against his chest, the drag of your nails over the planes of his stomach, each sensation so precise it made his breath catch, and the ache in his hands mirrored the way you gripped at yourself. Every brush of your hand — every hurried, seeking stroke — burned through him like smoldering embers, and he swore he could hear the faintest hitch of your breath, feel the tremor in your thighs.

A siren song of need that echoed his own, calling him under, drowning him in you.

Come to me, come to me, stay with me.

His breath hitched with the oxygen turning into lava-hot needle prickling in his lungs, his legs going limp as noodles and giving way. He collapsed into the nearest chair with a jarring lack of control, the motion abrupt, almost violent.

One hand clamped onto the edge of the table as he hastily discarded the champagne glass to cover where the bond was glowing, fingers digging into the wood as if it were the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

A single candle at the table’s center responded instead of Rafayel, its once languid, uninterested flame quivering violently, and then erupting into an erratic flare, a burst of light so sharp and sudden it cut through the room like a gasp. The activity drew murmurs from those nearby, heads turning, eyes widening as the flame seemed to writhe with a life of its own as wax spilled over the edges of its holder, dripping down in frantic rivulets, glistening like molten gold beneath the trembling glow.

"Hey, Rafayel, man, you good?"

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch violently and slap it away, the contact snapping him partway out of his spiraling thoughts. "Don't."

He was already rising, the chair scraping noisily against the floor as he pushed himself upright with a force that bordered on frenetic. The friend stood as well, confusion clear, but Rafayel didn’t wait to explain — with a curt shake of his head, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, leaving the other man standing there with his hand half-raised, a bewildered, "Hey, where are you going, come back!" hanging unanswered in the air.

The murmurs of those left behind — curious stares, the faint scrape of chairs and clothes ruffling — faded into irrelevance, they barely even registered. The bond burned like a tether, yanking him back to you, and he had neither the strength nor the desire to disobey.

By the time he reached the cool air of the night outside, he was seething. He had heard you loud and clear.

You merciless, cruel, horrible witch of a woman, punishing him with your sweet truth in an act so loving yet selfish, selfless yet entirely possessive, driving him completely to his wit's end until the only remaining thought was yours — to worship you wholly, thoroughly, obsessively, as deeply as he wanted.

He was in love.

You were in Rafayel’s room.

Because for his sanity to be tested like you intended it would be, of course you had to be in there of all places.

He was able to crash in the way he wanted like a dam bursting without knocking holding him back. In fact, he didn’t even bother calling out at all.

And honestly, he wasn’t even lucid enough for coherent thoughts such as those the moment his vision tunneled on your frame in the middle of his space, your back turned to him, an unaware and unintentional siren in a fluffy white robe loosely tied at your hips.

His robe.

Rafayel was moving before he registered the full picture — prowling the distance between you within seconds, hand snatching up yours and spinning you around. Just being this close and touching you uninhibited got the synapses firing faster than bullets in his head. He pushed forward into your space with no preamble, crowding you against the floor-to-ceiling window. He spared another two or three precious seconds taking in your startled expression with vindication (“Rafayel, what are you doing here?” before putting a stop to all the unnecessary talking with a kiss.

How could he expected himself to stay away from this?

One knee pushed between your thighs, a subtle but undeniable acknowledgment of what he’d felt, and you faltered, clutching the sides of his shirt so abruptly the lily decorations peppered through out clinked. A quiet noise escaped past your lips, muffled by his own and intensifying the building pressure simmering in his gut as he played with the collar of your robe — his robe — and drank greedily from you.

He felt a push at his chest.

The separation between you that couldn’t be more than a tight space to breathe each other’s air brought the world rushing back into focus — Aridum’s quiet, serene snowfall materialized behind your head like a mockery of their frenzied tangle of limbs, the ambient sounds of the city bustling in the distance dampened.

Your eyes searched his, glazed and hazy with steadily-building arousal, yet waiting nonetheless for an answer, shiny lips parted in wordless wonder.

Rafayel could say nothing. The words were there, soda fizz under the surface threatening to erupt into something incomprehensible at best if he opened his mouth.

His palm engulfed your cheek and drew you right back in, continuing the kiss with more urgency to prevent you from tumbling out from his grasp again — let the action speak for him.

The need that thrummed deep beneath rendered him mute, save for strained sighs and grunts of effort louder than the rustle of fabric and the thuds of feet shuffling around on the floor as he plundered your mouth, tongue chasing yours. It tasted like toothpaste and chapstick, like fresh mint leaves, like nurturing warmth cooling his into something calmer.

Rafayel’s hand left your face and slid down your back to seize your waist, dragging you closer, flushing your hips against his firmer and pushing his thigh more brashly. Not even a second later, his other hand bracing your wrist against the window pulled your arm into him to spin you around like in a dance, switching positions without breaking away.

And you bit him.

He recoiled with an “Ah,” that was more surprised than pained, drawing away just enough to swipe his thumb over the curve of his bottom lip where your teeth had punctured him.

“Why are you here?”

Something rotten and vicious was about to bare his fangs at you through a smile he barely stopped from telling on himself by holding back, ‘You called,’ from slipping.

The other, more acceptable answer came in a quick and effortless sweep of your legs off the floor, draping them over either side of his waist, one palm supporting you underneath like the cradle of a hammock as he pivoted towards the bed. “This is my room,” he said — low, simple, keeping eye contact to witness your frustration. “You’re the one who walked in here.”

He saw in the curl of your mouth that you would’ve continued arguing semantics if not for Rafayel bending to deposit you gently atop the bed for you to settle safely beneath him. The mattress creaked under his shifting as he eased further and started descending to resume getting lost in your kisses until a finger landed upon his lips.

“What I meant was,” you started, and Rafayel exhaled against your touch and nuzzled into it like an obedient pet coming to heel with a lowered tail before his master. “Shouldn’t you be at that art salon?”

He stared, blood about to keel over the boiling point.

His beloved was pouting. So adorable that he wanted to bite down.

You’d been so patient with him, hadn’t you? The little divot between your brows called out to Rafayel, begging to be kissed.

“I regret going in the first place,” he said, getting closer to breathe those words directly against the curve of your ear, savoring its delicate shell and the heat emanating from it against his lower lip — basking in the short tremble he could pull out of you that told him all he needed to know. “Stay here with me—”

His arm dipped around your waist and tugged you insistently closer, shakily eager, while your hands scrambled at his biceps, the side of your neck stretching upward to meet his halfway and melting further into him like candle wax molding against Rafayel and pooling liquid sweetness inside him like a basin filled.

Ring — ring — ring — ring — ring — ring — ring!

What the hell? Now?

A surge of irrational anger flared inside Rafayel, sharp and sudden, as if the hotel room phone had personally wronged him so bone-deep that his ancestors themselves had been insulted by its shrill, untimely ring. He clicked his tongue sharply against the roof of his mouth, a frustrated noise brimming with disdain as he reached out with the intention of silencing the nuisance immediately.

But before his hand could reach the red button, your fingers curled gently around his wrist, halting him mid-motion. The touch was soft, warm, and unassuming, yet it cut through his irritation more effectively than words ever could. His breath hitched as he glanced down at your hand, stilling under the quiet weight of what you were going to say next.

“Wait,” your dulcet murmur came. “What if it’s something important?”

More than this?

The irritation got you a side eye for that — but he quickly caught onto where this was heading from the way you gave him a pointed, sultry glance under your lashes and the faintest devilish curl at the corners at your lips. The grip around his wrist turned into your fingers interlacing with his as you guided him to accept the call, holding his gaze so intensely throughout that the beginning of the reception’s announcement went unheard in his ears.

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message."

Rafayel hadn’t even found a chance to breathe, let alone process what was even happening when you pushed him off and knocked him flat onto his back, straddling his hips with surprising speed which elicited an involuntary jolt from him.

He froze, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and the thick, burning, moistureless air that was overheating him. A thousand words tumbled in a rush into his mouth at once, all died under his breath in a sigh as his senses swam and short-circuited in response to your boldness, the sheer power radiating off your figure captivating him. For a single, stretched heartbeat, all he could do was look up — look at you.

The light from the ceiling framed your form in a way that bordered on divine, spilling past the loose strands of hair that fell around your face and catching on the curves of your silhouette like a lover's caress. Shadows slithered around you, dipping into the soft folds and valleys of the bathrobe that clung to you in all the places his gaze couldn’t help but follow.

And then the vision struck, slicing through his mind like a blade dragged cleanly through water.

No, you brought it to him, conjuring it as surely as though you had whispered it directly into his mind.

The blues wouldn’t just be blues — shadowy cobalt would bleed into the depths below, heavy and still, fading into fractured glacier blue as the water grew lighter near the surface, where the sun struggled to break through. The greens would soften into glassy jade, shimmering faintly, caught in the shifting light as if the water itself pulsed with life. Shadows would stretch in drenched charcoal, not oppressive but endless, framing the brightness above almost like curtains opening.

And there, close to the surface, you would hover like the sun underwater, light spilling from you in ripples and shards. Your form would glow with submerged gold, warm and radiant, a halo of sunlit pearl surrounding you where the sunlight hit the water and scattered around your silhouette. You wouldn’t simply stand still — you would drift, your movements impossibly fluid, arms outstretched in a gesture that could be comfort or inevitability, a quiet invitation to a homecoming. Shadows would gather around your curves in bruised honey, soft and subtle, fading into the glow that surrounded you, the kind of light that looked almost too warm to belong in the cold ocean.

The person who the painting was drawn from the perspective of would see you not as a person, but as something greater. His arms would float above him, slack and surrendered, the only movement from his fingers angled upwards, glowing faintly with washed ash gold, the last vestiges of warmth clinging to his skin, while the rest of his form darkened in the embrace of storm-drift gray. Faraway air bubbles would be glacier silver-blue catching the warm light as they ascended toward the unreachable surface, reflections flickering like distant stars against the background of salt-shadow teal.

This was a homecoming.

The bursting of colors landing on his imaginary canvas came to a head when the branding heat of your mouth found his ear, screeching into stuttered motion and scattering like seagulls afterwards. His head lolled sideways under the zapping pressure, inviting more of the world-halting caress that left him all limp.

Then it was gone — only a cool tingling remained where yout moist breaths once ghosted him —

"Hey bro, why'dya leave? Get back here—"

Shocked as if he had short time memory about it being a voice message, he squirmed for a beat, eyes flitting in panic between the call display and you with the mortification of every single drop of blood in his body rushing southwards.

His friend’s voice fractured into static buzzing under the pounding of his ears when you bowed forward once more, towards the red mark on top of his mark that was practically vibrating under his skin, trailing kisses across its glow. Every skin contact point with you burned even with the layers of clothing in-between, melting into an acute throb as you reached the base of his throat and dipped into the hollow between his collarbones — fingers dancing along the strip of his neckpiece before delving underneath, dragging down and delicately, deliciously tugging.

That was all it took for Rafayel to flip your positing and roll you beneath his body, propping himself up with one forarm and holding your wrist to just — stop you for a minute, expression tight as he asked, “Are you sure?”

Your intentions were crystal clear, but it was necessary to check in before continuing any further even though he needed this like air right now, and the prospect of hearing it straight from your lips that he was wanted —

Looking somewhere off to the side, you replied, “Otherwise you’ll actually go back,” thoughtfully, but there was something resentful in there, the statement almost bitter sounding in its delivery.

The overjoyed press of his lips to hide the smile he just knew would annoy you betrayed what he was thinking on the spot.

“So cute,” breached containment however, full of affection as he moved aside your hair behind your ear tenderly, fore and middle fingers taking your love’s sensitive edge between them and caressing, causing you to turn your face further away from him. “You must have missed me quite a lot.”

That sentence was accompanied by the press of his knee into the junction between your inner thighs, innocent enough unless you factored in that one certain revelation of earlier that entirely changed the context in intent. Especially when your pupils dilated visibly before him as you choked out a tiny gasp of surprise, revealing your guilt in glaring clarity.

“What, not pleased you got caught?”

A wicked impulse seized him — one daring him to keep playing this card to unlock so many possibilities as to how he could have you tonight.

He could have you show him what you’d done while he watched until you begged to be touched — on your back with legs wide open for his viewing pleasure, or hovering right above his face in 4K Ultra HD quality that he could just lay down and enjoy and perhaps contribute with his breath if he felt generous enough. You were having fun all on your own, yeah? He just wanted in on it. Not knowing wasn’t a sin, but not learning was.

If you didn’t think you were ready to bear the consequences of this decision of yours, you should have rethought before choosing the room he frequented, shouldn’t have turned him into a fish out of water in public by calling out to him like that, should have known better that Rafayel could be the vilest when he was provoked.

“Or, are you?”

His words were a double-edged knife. Pick the surface-level meaning and you ended up with him teasing you about missing him quite literally, nothing more, nothing less. Take him for what lay beneath, however...

Unfortunately, or, fortunately, you were one slippery fish.

"Why should I be ashamed?" The confidence that dripped from your reply rang genuine. You were so unbothered by his instigation that he realized this was going to be harder than expected, perhaps more rewarding as well. A delightful prospect. "Do you wish I wouldn't miss you?"

Oh, your pride, your grudge was truly an impressive sight —

gleaming razor-sharp even under scrutiny, glittering steel reflecting his image in fragments, and yet tempered by enough warmth to invite him closer instead of warding him off.

"Not at all." His heart sang. "But it couldn't compare to how much I missed you."

"And you still left," came a mumble, sounding more dejected than anything, carrying the weight of his deeds for the past two days.

It was that easy to change his mood.

Rafayel cooed instinctively, rubbing soothing circles into the skin above your knuckles as he pressed a string of quick kisses into the curve of your wrist — lips brushing tender apologies along its path until he reached the palm of your hand cupping his face, where he lingered to feel you stroke delicately over his lower lashes.

"I'm here now," was his gentle promise, one spoken nuzzled against the backs of your fingers. "I'm not going anywhere."

"What are you going to say to your friend? You didn't even pick up his call," you admonished softly, drawing his attention towards where the voicemail was still being displayed on the hologram screen hovering from the nightstand, accepting a prompt about how to proceed.

Rafayel made a show of leaning back to sit back on his heels, staring down at you as he slipped his fingers underneath the tightly-belted thick, sash-like band to pop the clasp to the side apart, the metal closure disengaging with a small clack as the ends slid free and exposed the zipper underneath.

He drank in your every reaction — every detail of you sprawled out before him: your robe coming undone ever so gradually, tantalizing glimpses of skin peeking between its parted folds, a little bit of collarbone here, the curve of your breast there, teasingly hinting at the shape of a nipple underneath the white fabric, then another flash of thigh, an exposed inch of inner leg from your feet shifting restlessly alongside his shins.

He pulled the whole belt free in one smooth yank — the sudden momentum making it snap with a harsh crack. It curled like a ribbon in his palm as he surveyed you, gauging your reaction; watching your widened stare catch onto cloth held loosely in his fist as he flung it haphazardly to the side.

Then, he started tugging at your ankle to raise it higher — dragging his knuckles along your heel, the sole of your foot, caressing into the arch of your instep, traveling along the softness of your calf all the way down to your knee, a single fingertip trailing underneath, slinking gradually but surely toward the inner side, tracing hypnotic spirals into the silky flesh that made your breathing hitch unevenly.

The ends of your robe were riding further up past your thigh along with the slow march, your naked skin revealed in gradual increments the higher his palm slid — revealing more and more until his hand stopped at the underside of your thigh, entirely disappeared from view because of the bunched up cloth, and pulled your leg up gently to drape it over the curve of waist.

Falling right back in on instinct, he leaned down, propped above your splayed form on his forearm beside your shoulder and bent to drag his nose upwards along the line of your cheekbone, saying, "I'm busy."

Your answering snicker was endearing and familiar, drawing forth a swell of warmth inside him like the sun rising over a tranquil ocean's horizon. "Still trying to run away?"

“Just returning to the original plan.”

There would be no running away now — not anymore, not ever, at least not from you and what you made him feel. He'd tried; failed, obviously, as evident in his return here, where the answer awaited him with open arms.

"Who says I'm going to agree? I still haven't forgiven you.”

Rafayel adored that one pout of yours, the one that curved at its edges like the swoop of a bird's wing, delicate and lovingly rounded in its downturned shape. It drew his mouth upward to meet its match, slotting perfectly against its twin seamlessly in the union of a kiss, lingering as if they belonged together like puzzle pieces. You melted sweetly under the fondness contained within the gesture, sighing quietly in surrender; every angle of his mouth was drawn to yours inexorably, it was gravity pulling falling stars back to their courses.

"Not yet," he amended dutifully once he could manage words again, and felt your smile widen before sealing his mouth over it. "Let me."

"If you beg," you shot right back, the curve of your mouth pronounced against his chin, smug satisfaction dripped from every word and its delivery as you pulled away again just enough to meet his half-hooded stare evenly — daring him to refuse you. "Properly."

You kissed the little groan that was about to spill past his lips, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Neither was it intended to.

"How would you like me to repent?" He dragged the question into an offer, a honey trap ripe for plundering. "On my knees? On my back?"

He let his arousal to show on his fact at those mental images, conjured by practiced ease, crafted to seduce. The soft puff of your exhale danced across his chin, sending his nerves tingling. A sign he was on the right track? Or did it merely betray surprise at whatyou had in mind? Either possibility stirred his blood.

"You know what someone in your position shouldn’t do?" you whispered, low and hushed, conspiratorial yet laced with a dangerous authority that quickened his pulse. His brows rose involuntarily, the shift in your tone sending anticipation skittering down his spine. Your lashes swept low, casting faint shadows on your cheeks as your pointed stare locked onto him, sharp enough to pierce. "Ask me what to do when you’re supposed to be coming up with ideas on your own. That’s weaponized incompetence."

His head snapped back so fast that something audibly clicked in his neck.

Mouth wide open.

"Weaponized in—" The sensual, submissive haze he’d been wrapped in evaporated like morning dew under the brutal heat of the desert sun, vanishing so quickly it left him sputtering. The words faltered on his tongue as insult overtook every carefully cultivated mood, his composure fracturing into clumsy indignation. Propped up on his elbows above you, his face twisted into a comically muddied mix of offense and disbelief, his tone taking on an incredulous sharpness as he glared down at you.

"Say that again and I’ll spit bubbles at you!" he snapped, his threat hanging in the air like a gauntlet thrown by a petulant prince.

"Pffft!"

The insolent brat you were being in that moment, daring to laugh straight in his face, was both impossibly cute and maddeningly infuriating. He stared down at you, eyes narrowing with mock offense, the knowledge that your laughter was entirely at his expense gnawing at his frayed patience. He was torn between kissing you senseless or flipping you over and finding some other way to wipe that smug, adorable smirk off your face.

"What do you mean weaponized incompetence?" Rafayel shot back, the words almost trembling with disbelief. "You think I can't please you properly without you guiding me through it step-by-step? Is that what you're saying?!" His irritation swelled, a balloon of indignation puffing up and threatening to burst as he fought, tooth and nail, to keep the whine rising in his throat from escaping. "I like you telling me what to do because I enjoy indulging in your desires! Not because I’m incapable of being creative in bed!"

A frustrated huff crowned his ranting, "Stop laughing!" he barked, though his rising pitch only seemed to add fuel to your uncontrollable amusement.

You shook your head firmly, slapping your hands over your face to muffle the sounds of your laughter, but it was no use. Your entire body curled inward instinctively, knees drawing up as you rolled to your side, burying yourself deeper into the cocoon of your mirth. It only made it worse for his pride — your stifled giggles shaking through you like tremors, every failed attempt to contain yourself sending them bubbling up again.

Rafayel let out a growl of frustration, throwing his body off yours with an exaggerated thud, landing face-first into the pillow beside you in utter defeat. The mattress jolted slightly from the force, but the muffled yell he buried into the pillow caused a chain reaction that only made your laughter harder to suppress. The giggles came fast and bright, and he swore they sounded far too gratifying for his current temperament, his scowl deepening with every shake of your shoulders and every wheezing gasp for air that he felt in the bed, he didn’t even need to look.

The fact that you were utterly immune to his wrath, impervious to every “Stop,” he threw your way, made it all the more maddening. How was he supposed to maintain the upper hand, to reestablish even a shred of dignity, when he couldn’t even intimidate you?

"I'm sorry," you gasped finally, though the apology was weakened by the cracks of laughter still slipping through. You managed to sit upright, though it took visible effort, your hands brushing away tears from the corners of your crinkled, joy-stricken eyes. A few lingering giggles escaped as you cleared your throat, attempting to sound sincere but failing miserably. "I didn’t think you’d have such strong feelings about this topic."

Rafayel lifted his head from the pillow, his hair disheveled, his glare shooting daggers your way, though the deep flush blooming across his cheeks betrayed his struggle to keep his composure. He opened his mouth to retort, to say something, but instead all that escaped was a muffled, irritated groan as he flopped back down into the pillow.

“Rafayel.”

He rolled onto his back with dramatic flair, hands folded primly over his stomach and ankles crossed, the picture of theatrical innocence. The pout he wore, however, was pure spite, lips pushed forward just enough to make his point. “If you think I’m sooo weaponizing my incompetence, maybe I should actually start doing that. Let you handle everything yourself. Clearly, you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Rafayel…”

“No, no, go ahead,” he cut in, stubbornly resolute, almost belligerent in its exaggerated persistence. “I’m useless, right? I don’t know what I’m doing. Teach me. I won’t even lay a single finger on you.” He puffed his cheeks, a childish act of defiance paired with the way he turned his head away, sulking with the finesse of spoiled royalty.

The exaggerated display drew a sigh from you, long and exasperated, but tinged with a quiet amusement that he didn’t miss. He wasn’t fooling you — not for a second—but he relished the moment all the same.

“Well,” you began, feigning hesitation, with false reluctance. “Since you’re already laid out, I guess…” You trailed off as you shifted to straddle him, slow enough to test the limits of his so-called resolution, the soft white robe you wore parting ever so slightly as you moved, revealing tantalizing glimpses of skin before your knees closed firmly around his hips, framing him like twin prison bars.

His eyes darkened as he watched you, taking in the sight hungrily, every detail sinking into him like a drug he couldn’t resist. His hands betrayed him almost immediately, fingertips skimming the hem of the robe where it hung loosely, their touch feather-light as they ghosted over the tops of your thighs. It was instinctive, reflexive — completely unrepentant.

“I thought you weren’t touching me,” you teased with a playful lilt that interrupted the heat thickening the air between you like an unwanted knock on the door.

His hum was deliberately innocent, his head tilting as though to feign ignorance. But the dark gleam in his eyes and the smirk curling at the corners of his lips told a different story entirely. “I really like this robe,” he murmured with a calculated drawl. “What, I can’t touch my own clothes now?”

The claim was absurd — blatantly so — but it made you pause, his fingers grazing the fabric in question as though testing its texture, when in reality, it was clear he was savoring the warmth of your skin beneath it.

(Truthfully, it was also you who looked lovely draped in what was his — but that went without saying.)

Your mouth opened, the gleam of a retort on the tip of your tongue, but the words dissolved into nothingness as his hands shifted, palms hot against your sides, skirting along your ribs in an intentional, testing motion. He knew the heat of his touch stole the breath from your lungs, burning through the fabric like a spark setting fire to paper.

“You go on,” he said, infuriatingly smug as he leaned back into the pillows, his hands never straying far from your sides. “Help yourself. Take as long as you need. I’ll just… be appreciating this fabric in the meantime.”

His fingers traced the lines of your ribs, the motion slow, languid, before sliding downward to hover just above the curve of your stomach. They lingered there, resting near the knot of the belt holding your robe together. The edge of his thumb dipped just slightly beneath the fabric, brushing over its folded loops, a movement so subtle it was barely there, as though he wanted to test how much he could push you. He toyed with the fabric, rolling it between his fingers like he was unraveling a puzzle.

The pause in his pent-up desire — the break that had proven to be a blessing — was wearing thin. The front he was putting on, all casual indifference and smug bravado, was crumbling, betrayed by the way his gaze kept flickering back to you, and, of course, the growing press of his impatience beneath you, hard and neglected, made it abundantly clear that he was more than ready to pick up where you’d last left off.

You broke first.

With nary a warning, your hand shot out, snatching the ends of the thin, ribbon-like scarf draped loosely around his neck. You wound the fabric around your fist once, twice, tightening it just enough to make your intentions clear…

Then you yanked.

The pull wasn’t violent — no, it was far too calculated for that. Enough pressure to catch him off guard, to tip him forward slightly, but not enough to hurt. It was a demand, plain and simple, one he found himself surrendering to before he even had the chance to consider resistance. His wide-eyed surprise melted almost instantly like cotton candy in water into something darker, something sharper, as his lips curled into a grin that spoke volumes about just how much he was enjoying this game.

"First, you ask to beg for my forgiveness," you continued, pulling him a little closer, and his chest tightened as though the leash around his neck extended all the way to his lungs.

Your gaze pinned him down like a blade, your lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a smile — something far more addictive.

"And then," you murmured, sweet but laced with unmistakable bite, "you start ordering me around like a brat."

A jolt of concentrated heat shot through him, not from embarrassment but from the sharp edge of thrill that ran through his veins. He let the tension in his body slacken just slightly, a calculated move that allowed him to lift from the bed a little, meeting your challenge with his own. The faint tug of the scarf against his neck only heightened the electric energy between you, and he found himself biting back a grin.

“Well," he said at last, letting his weight sink into the bed with a noncommittal shrug, the barest shift of his shoulders enough to convey his defiance. "I’m just playing my part." He tilted his head just enough to make the scarf strain, wanted to see what you’d do with the provocation. “The sleazy husband.”

“You want a reward for that?”

“Acknowledgment of how committed to the role I am would be nice.”

“Oh yes, the most infuriating actor—”

“Aaand you goofed it—”

“—impossibly—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—”

“—handsome," you went on, and his smirk faltered ever so slightly. “Disarmingly clever, annoyingly witty," you added, the sharp edge softening with each word, though the grip you kept on the scarf didn’t loosen. If anything, you pulled him closer, closing the space between you inch by inch. "—and worst of all," you finished, dropping into something softer, something so intimate, "Completely, devastatingly, undeniably competent."

“Well, aren’t you good at apologizing…” he said into himself, embarrassingly beet-red at having fallen for your trick.

“I’m still waiting for yours, you know,” you pointed out distractedly, playing with the crystal flame lilies scattered on his wine berry shirt, tracing the petals of a bloom while seemingly entranced, following the silvery droplets dangling in a chain. “But I’ll be graceful this time and keep going with mine...”

Before he had a chance to blink or register the motion — your free palm slipped underneath the thin fabric covering his heart, caressing right alongside the pulsing red mark — and squeezed with a vengeance (such a fierce boob grab!), applying enough pressure that the pads of your fingers sunk into flesh, then widened the buttonless V-cut of his shirt by yanking, no, downright ripping it open by the lapels with both hands, and Rafayel damn near felt like a virgin at how scandalous that single action was that he almost covered himself up.

But then again, he could hardly claim innocence right now, could he? He was practically a champagne bottle about to pop down there. Just from that. Who was he, the main female character getting her corset ripped in a bodice-ripper novel?

“Ohmyg—hi? What happened to hello? How are y—”

“Shut up or no head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kisses were rained along his collarbone, the length of his neck, and nipping gently at the spot behind his ear that got the hairs on his nape rise to attention. It would’ve been funny what a child’s play it was to tease him until his ears matched the scarlet blossoms on his shirt, except nothing about this particular situation bore humor — least of all, his response to it.

Which was practically none at all. Because he simply lay there, stiff as a plank from how turned on he was, and you worked him diligently as if he was an instrument and you were the virtuoso.

It was also because he was zeroed in on the cleavage peeking out from the gap in your robe as you made your way further downwards, tongue flickering along the dips and bumps of his upper abdomen — surely able to feel more than hear each inhale and exhale getting closer to moaning territory the longer you kept teasing. He even caught a nip slip here and there, getting impossibly harder in response, culminating in him twitching and tightening beneath you whenever you — purposefully! — brushed against his erection.

“Rafayel,” you sighed dreamily, and he moaned for real this time at how his name fell softly past your parted lips, pouring into a pleased hum against his navel where a trail of wetness gleamed — followed by fingertips curling gently around the hem of his pants’ band. “You’re so quiet. Not leaving it up to chance, huh?”

And the only response he gave was an impatient roll of his hips toward your head, granting you permission — eager acquiescence, even — while a loud, unabashed gasp slipped into his lungs as your hands found the zipper of his pants. With a practiced tug, you freed it from its track, and his pants slid low on his hips, just enough to reveal the waistband of his underwear. Your fingers followed immediately, hooking under both fabric barriers to ease them down until they rested tautly just below his hips. The motion tugged on his shirt as well, once secured by the overlap tucked into his waistband, and with nothing anchoring it anymore, the luxurious fabric parted effortlessly, exposing the sculpted expanse of his chest and abs in one sweeping reveal. His stiffening length, freed from its confines, ached visibly — leaping subtly toward contact, as though craving the touch it had been denied for far too long.

"See? You're being so good... why do you keep wanting to provoke me?" came your lilting reproach, spoken against the soft skin of his pelvis, lips fluttering teasingly across its planes in playful grazes of their silky plush. "

“Permission to talk?”

A sharp, in-drawn breath escaped him the moment a single finger traced along the underside of his shaft, lingering over a wildly pulsing vein — evidence of the frenetic race of his heart currently pumping pure liquid lightning straight through his veins — but he recovered quickly, allowing it to dissolve into an exhale long and drawn-out instead.

“Go ahead, handsome.”

His hips lurched instinctively in search of something tangible, of a sensation besides the torturous tickle of warm breaths dancing lightly along his arousal, "Give me my reward, then. I've waited so long for this, it's been torture."

“Doesn’t sound like you minded the wait. You left me, didn’t you?”

Ah, yes. The grudge. You were becoming like Rafayel the longer you stayed by his side.

"You know I hate waiting. Let alone like this," he said, all whiny and punctuated with a shudder — one that was met with an accompanying jolt that surged straight from the base of his erection when your lips brushed teasingly alongside it. "I didn't think you'd be this cruel..."

"Are you really asking?"

"Can you give it to me instead of wasting time talking?" came his blunt retort, brows drawn together in an impatient furrow that radiated ‘I’m being wronged,’ energy.

"Not wasting time at all, just wanted to spend more time with you. Feels nice, right? You deserve this,” you murmured comfortingly against the swell of his abs rising and falling with each heavy breath — and oh, he almost melted into a puddle at that, visibly deflating with his chest cavity just filling up all warm and fuzzy with love.

It did feel nice but — just — just — fuck — he needed to be touched or he actually was going to disintegrate into sea foam. Not joking.

A brief kiss landed on on the left side of his Apollo belt in consolation before a drag of your tongue along its path followed, transitioning into you breathing more warmth directly into his base, then placing a loving peck to his tip — eyes twinking at the tremble that surged through him. “I really love seeing you so reactive. Does it feel that good? Just breathing on you like this?”

His hips pushed upward in tiny nudges, bumping insistently against your cheek, practically begging to be held properly inside your mouth. "It doesn't feel good at all — just, come on, hurry... I keep my lube in the top drawer on the left... It's edible, you know..."

Thankfully, you didn't smirk at him. Didn't stop to tease him about his eagerness, either, wordlessly going about reaching over to rummage for a bottle in his nightstand — an act that forced you to draw away from his straining member completely, your warmth vanishing suddenly in one agonizing instant, causing him to nearly whine from the loss.

You popped open the lid to squirt some lubrication into your palm and recapped it while staring down at him with a curious gleam. "You had something like this with you the whole time—"

Your words got cut off upon him grabbing your dripping hand and directing it straight where his impatience stood angry at the delay, shuddering out a moan at how incredibly silky the glide was.

"Finally... yesss," he hissed, thrusting upwards to feel more friction — the delicious slickness spreading across your enclosed grip driving him absolutely wild. "Ahh—kkhfff... Keep going, you have to keep going, don't let go... Please. Please?”

Something in your face twisted weirdly at his breathy begging, making his heart flip at the unflinching lust in your widened gaze trained firmly onto his jerking hips.

He had your fist trapped around his swollen cock, urging you into pumping it once you settled into a steady rhythm stroking its turgid crown, twisting and curling into each new swipe upwards along his pulsing flesh; encouraging you by squeezing tighter every few strokes until you took over completely. Then, he threw his arm over his forehead haphazardly, basking in the blissful waves flowing through his veins at long last, watching you watch yourself pleasure him through fluttering lashes, breathing hard through half-parted lips.

"That's it," he sighed huskily, rocking his body into the hand rubbing and grinding against his dick's ridge with expert motions; thumb circling its glistening head and caressing alongside its slit where precome beaded out generously, smoothing over the entirety of its surface and working into the underside, swirling tantalizingly over the bulging vein there until all his thoughts melted into a haze of pure sensation, mind wiped clean of everything except the singular, simple fact that he desperately needed to come. "Like that — nnhhh, yes! That feels amazing — feels perfect — love those sweet little fingers... So close already, I can't, I can't—"

At his muttered groans, your pace stuttered noticeably before resuming its previous speed, which wasn't fast enough according to the stretching throb inside his core, his blood rushing loudly through his ears like boiling rapids. "No, faster..." he urged you, rutting into your palm even harder in a frantic effort to increase the pressure and bring him to the precipice quicker. "I can't hold on much longer — need more, I need more. Tighter. Tighter."

The corners of his vision pulsed white and Rafayel whimpered as he jumped inside your curled fist when the unexpected sensation of having your forefinger slide through his sticky fluids gathered at its tip, swirling clockwise before ascending back up in an unhurried stroke that carried a slippery coating alongside it to smooth out the glide to put pressure right into the slit — a sensation that lingered for seconds afterward with ghostly echoes, drawing a sudden choked gasp from his lips at how intensely good that single touch felt.

“Thaaaaat’s it, yeah, I love that, you have such a beautiful voice.” Your free palm swept up alongside his ribs to rub gently against their curve as though to soothe the ragged sounds ripping past his throat; traveling upward to cradle his head against yours where your cheek brushed alongside his temple, holding him still with tender care and easing some of the tremble wracking through him. "Can you feel how much I'm enjoying us being together like this — how badly I've missed you? Please let me hear those pretty sounds, I wanna hear them loud and clear. Will you be generous for me and share it all?"

His reply died in his throat in favor of a low keening sound — something raw and broken — when you squeezed tighter.

The way your nails dug ever so delicately into the sides of his cock, applying pressure just shy of pain was truly exquisite torture, making his head swim and rise up from the bed so he could crush his lips against yours, biting hungrily into your plush mouth and delving deep into its depths until oxygen became nothing but an afterthought. Every neuron of him burned alive in chain reaction as your tongue wound and slid alongside his, curling along the underside before retreating for him to suckle on your lower lip eagerly until it swelled red.

"Mmnghhfuck! Hhhaaa—keep—" Words spilled past his slackened lips like ribbons unfurling, senseless as he struggled to convey how excruciating it was to contain his euphoria within, desperate for any sort of outlet to relieve the pressure rising inside him rapidly —

— and then broke off suddenly on a low moan when he caught a flash of your unoccupied hand that was just cradling his neck having found its way between your thighs, the view out of sight because of the robe —

Then, Rafayel saw the pearly gates.

His orgasm slammed straight into him, so unexpected and yet wholly expected all the same that he gasped around it like he was in a headlock, utterly disoriented by the sudden assault on his senses, soaring impossibly higher with each jerk of his hips into your fingers' grasp and shooting thick white streaks across his stomach; leaving behind faint smears wherever it hit its mark — warm, sticky ropes landing atop his defined abs and even reaching as far as his sternum.

He knew something was wrong when it didn't stop.

Far from it, really: each pulsing contraction seemed to force more of its fluid past his cock's narrow slit, painting your pumping digits liberally with his release — even staining the lapels of your robe in messy spots. It lasted so long that Rafayel started seeing stars sparkling around the edges of his blurring vision; making everything appear fuzzy like static. "Nggh—too much—ah! Aaa—hhh! Nnhhfff... Khhffffcking hell... Can't believe—still going—"

"Don't hold back now, just ride it out, nothing wrong with it," you murmured fervently, brushing some hair back from his sweat-soaked temple and — then — kisses, so many kisses. "I know you wanted this so badly, it's okay... You deserve this. Let go for me, yeah? Can't you let go for me? All this stress will go away. Isn't that nice?"

What came out instead was an embarrassingly high moan, hoarse with overuse, entirely at odds with the self-assuredness he'd wanted to project with each thrust of his hips, spurred onwards by instinct alone in a mad dash for euphoria.

Just how pent-up was he?

He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt pleasure this acute, sharp as shrapnel beneath the layers of desire, making him so out of it that he wasn't even aware of the embarrassing mess he made like he’d just wet himself being cleaned up with a tissue by you.

And it still wasn't nearly enough.

He surged forward, wound his arm around your waist and tossed you to the side gently so your back lay flush against the sheets before following suit in a tangle of limbs that ended with you under him — where he belonged: cradled between your thighs, seated fully inside their heated clasp as he hovered above you — one elbow propped beside your shoulder while the other wandered aimlessly downwards and undid the trusty knot holding your robe together in one go.

"Rafa—"

“Sorry, I'm sorry, I can't, I'm so thirsty," he said, as he raised the lube-and-come-sodden hand of yours up to his mouth to lap at the trails trickling over your wrist; sucking on your fingertips in apology — no trace of shame coloring his cheeks as he did, far too focused on the task of cleaning them thoroughly to be distracted by something as trivial as embarrassment. He didn’t even taste himself. Just the blueberry.

So engrossed in it that he didn’t even notice you burning holes with your gaze at his lips sealing around your thumb while he ran his tongue underneath it in short, quick flicks until it was glistening once more, except this time with spit instead of lubricant.

All the while, he traced the clean strip of skin revealed by the parted folds of your robe with a searing hand, starting from the valley of your cleavage between your breasts all the way down the slight convex curve of your torso leading towards the V that marked the point where your thighs began, drawing delicate circles into your navel, slipping downward inch by tantalizing inch in search for hidden oasis.

Taking notice of how wrecked you looked through the curtains of your fingers splayed over his eyes and forehead, Rafayel rewarded you an equally debauched looked as his lips curled into a smirk against your palm.

A loud, viscous pop of your wetness echoed in the room when his fingers tenderly made contact — positively dripping for him. Your mouth flew open upon feeling him draw his forefinger's pad gently against your entrance, lingering teasingly at the seams in an excruciating crawl, tracing lightly around it as you pulsed hungrily against his fingertip.

"So thirsty," he mumbled absentmindedly to himself — mouth watering.

Rafayel pushed open your legs by the backs of your thighs to allow his head better access. If he was on a normal day, he would plant feverish kisses on the insides of your quaking knees and thighs and mark you everywhere, made it more sensual, more teasing, but he was borderline parched — not to mention more impatient than a driver stuck behind a cyclist in a one -lane road.

You yelped at his mouth diving between your legs in reckless abandon. His tongue lapped up your slick in deep, obscene flicks, then plunged inside into the warm haven awaiting him inside, devouring your sweet nectar in loud slurps, uncaring of how sloppy and unrestrained he was currently acting; far too hungry to concern himself over anything save for indulging greedily in your flavor.

"Rafayel, shit, that feels—oh my god..." He had to push your hips down by splaying his hand along the plane of your stomach as you arched helplessly, otherwise you would have simply lifted right off from his greed ravaging you without mercy or restraint. "That's so—you're so—fuck! What—what’s gotten into you? Ahh...!"

Any hope of responding to that died the second your hand tangled itself tightly into his hair and tugged to bring him impossibly closer against you, his head blanking. It felt so good when your heel planted itself onto his shoulder blade and pressed insistently there in a silent plea for more, sending ripples of heat fanning out across his nerve endings in their wake.

Without hesitation, he latched his lips around the swollen bud peaking proudly from beneath a layer of velveteen flesh and flicked upwards, suckling hard before closing around it fully — then rolled his tongue in circles around its rim with the intent to render your world spinning madly with each passing stroke. The fingers locked around your trembling thighs kneaded deeply into their skin, coaxing the delicious, involuntary spasms coursing throughout you until the only thing you knew was the blissful torment his hot mouth wrought.

"You're so delectable on my tongue, did you know? The prettiest moans come pouring out from your lovely lips when I'm between your legs like this," he said, the sentences pieced together like beads on a pearl necklace fragment by fragment between licks and sucks, sounding just short of reverence. "Your taste drives me wild, I swear it's addictive... Am I making it up to you yet? Please say yes. Tell me it's working."

"Yesyesyesyesss—" A sharp inhale cut off anything else you tried to babble further as Rafayel rewarded you with another generous helping of his enthusiasm by diving back in and running his tongue in earnest up through your center. "You feel amazing, you — feel — so — g-good—"

"—don't think that's enough, though. Didn't you call me incompetent earlier?"

"What," you choked out angrily when a puff of warm breaths skated dangerously close to where you were most sensitive. "Oh my god—"

"I hold grudges, cutie. You taught me that," he said in a sing-song reply, lighthearted in tone, nearly drowned out by the thready groans bleeding through.

"I apologized already — what more do you want? Stop teasing, Rafayel!"

A pregnant pause followed as he stared up at you from between your legs, and saw your eyes widen with realization at just what you'd requested.

"As you wish," he relented, a dark edge to his mischievous grin when he rose back up and braced his knees against the mattress better, pulling your hips tight into the cradle of his thighs until one of your legs was thrown over his shoulder. "Have it your way — and don't forget you asked for this."

The slow sink inside your wet heat was traitorously misleading: a gentle, sweet meeting at first that masked what was brewing underneath.

A dragged out whine fanned his flames as you threw your head back. “You asshole—”

"I could have made you come once, twice..." he said, in a smooth purr that dripped sinfully past his lips.

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp; the first wave of pleasure rolling through you upon being filled suddenly in one deep plunge. Your torso twisted to allow you to hide your face into the curve of his forearm draped next to your shoulder.

"You know I love taking my time with you," he continued, pausing to bury his face into your hair to breathe you in deeply, adjusting your leg to fall from his shoulder straight onto his hip. You took advantage of Rafayel getting close, grabbing onto his back so quickly that you missed the first time and yanked his shirt down to bunch halfway down his midsection and get stuck at his elbows. "And you just had to take that from me. I don't know which one of us is greedier... "

An apology was voiced, muffled by the crook of his elbow, almost incoherent by your gasps.

He cupped your chin and made you look at him. “Are you comfortable? Not hurting you, am I?”

Your throat clicked audibly. Then you shook your head rapidly in answer to both inquiries: yes — no — everything was okay — and Rafayel breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

And then, out of nowhere your fingers started moving around the expanse of his upper back, and before he could question the non-sexual way it came across when he was literally inside you, you said, "You're sweating."

"Yeah...?" Confusion muddled his hazy mind clouded with dull pleasure begging for him to start moving again, but you looked at him with wide, eager expectation dancing behind your expectant eyes — as if you couldn't quite believe what you'd seen.

"No — your temperature. It's still high but you're sweating now," you told him excitedly. "Rafayel — that's huge! This means your body is cooling itself down!"

He huffed.

"Of course it is, I've got the hottest woman in the world under me," he said with a roll of his hips, earning an enthusiastic moan from you in the process. Your arms snaked themselves around the back of his neck tighter until both forearms crossed at their crease, palms moving upwards in an intoxicating drag through the back of his skull. "You the cure to all of this..."

His forehead dropped unceremoniously yours where it stayed, and he sucked in an uneven, shaky groan that tapered into something resembling a whine as he started rutting steadily against you, driving into that spot where you liked it the best with growing desperation with the occasional staccato grunt at the fluttering squeeze and murmured encouragement.

At some point, his mouth wandered towards your pulse, scraped his teeth against it gingerly before latching on it in an open-mouthed kiss that was hard enough to bruise.

You tilted your chin skywards with a sigh to give him better access and tangled your fingers encouragingly deeper into his hair, and something inside him sparked awake in response, a fiery need demanding him to paint every inch of your skin violet, rose and mauve so that it may glow evermore brightly for everyone to see —

"Way too beautiful for your own good... Driving me crazy... Every single day... Couldn't keep my hands off you the moment I got in here..." he hissed furiously as though he were possessed, snapping his hips harder upon finding the angle he desired, searching relentlessly for something within you both to satisfy the frenzied race to the peak taking control of him completely; searing kisses littering everywhere he could reach along the underside of your chin and neck whilst spewing senseless litanies into your skin in between them. "Can't believe I could have this forever... Right? Say I can have this forever. It'll drive me insane if you don't, I swear—"

"Forever," you echoed hoarsely, your nails digging tightly into his scalp as his pace increased once more. "Y-you can have me forever—anytime, wherever—"

Your assurances came with a startled cry of ecstasy as he sank his teeth into the juncture connecting your shoulder and collarbone in a bite that bordered on a savage instinct to ensure he was there, he'd been there, and would always be there. "You're not leaving, are you? Aren't gonna leave me anytime soon, right?

Every syllable was marked with a measured grind into you as if determined to force every word inside your head by burying it deep in your core — imprint it permanently into your brain; until the only thing filling your thoughts was him and him alone. "Not letting you — I'm not letting you. I can’t let you go, it’s too late — too late. Say it. Say it.”

"As — many times as I ne-ed to," you panted underneath him, arching upwards so beautifully for him as his grip loosened marginally to let you find that perfect angle that caused your back to bow like a perfectly tuned instrument in his hands; singing nothing but divine music. "'S not changing, ever. Won't change... Agh!"

His hips bucked in answer to your nails sinking deep into the skin of his shoulders as though clawing for dear life. "Yeah? Yeah? Promise—?"

All you could do was sob into his mouth hungrily swallowing yours — a mess of moans falling endlessly past your lips swallowed whole, accompanied with plaps and slaps of wet thrusting. There'd never be a time when he wasn't craving the taste of your flesh burning scorching white hot against his own, craving more and more until everything blurred into a haze of delirium.

"Tell me... Tell me—hah, tell me, princess. Let me hear it..." His chest rumbled deep within where yours rubbed deliciously against his bare flesh with each fervent roll of his body. Even then, it wasn't nearly enough; couldn't possibly be, not with how ravenously thirsty he was for anything and everything having to do with you: your sounds, your expressions, those intoxicating stares filled with nothing but need for him and only him. Not while his stomach twisted itself in knots tight enough to tie sails and yet remained impossibly empty at the same time, yearning for the sweet relief of gratification flowing freely and quenching his deepest thirst. "Wanna hear you, gotta hear you say it—"

"I'm right here, m'here, not going anywhere, not leaving... I'myours, just don't let go, don't let go of me—"

He heard it as though you were underwater; faint, muffled underneath the thick fog clouding his senses, so indistinct yet simultaneously loud enough to drown out anything else within reach.

Every coherent thought vanished from his mind, melting into thin ribbons streaming across an ocean of red flames, then bursting forth anew into embers scattering throughout his vision in a dizzying display, igniting behind his eyelids with blinding light every time he blinked them closed. When he opened them, new constellations blossomed instantaneously; bright orange ones with maroon tinges shining bright among the black canvas.

"M'not gonna—! Can't let go—couldn't even if I tried. They wouldn't even be able to pry you away from my cold, dead hands."

More vivid blotches appeared before him at random intervals, painting his desert landscape in abstract patterns shifting so erratically they threatened to form fractals at any moment, jagged shapes overlapping and warping themselves until they resembled colorful stains splattered across walls in chaotic messes; or perhaps simply the shadows of clouds skirting the edges of his sight drifting past without a care — all blending together and merging seamlessly as though water droplets bleeding into fine lines until none could tell where one ended and the others began.

"Gonna be... gonna be stuck with me for life," Rafayel said, sounding entirely half out of his mind with the way he was babbling endearments (something about a bride) in-between little laps that trailed upwards along your quivering sternum toward your heaving chest; kissing you so fervently as though possessed, driven wholly by base instincts demanding he give in to whatever compulsion overtook him. "Always been mine. Always. Always—can't ever leave, yeah? I won't forgive you—won't forgive you this time—"

"Rafayel, I'm gonna come, please..." you whispered hoarsely against the crown of his head nestled between your breasts, your hands grasping onto his shoulders helplessly in an attempt at anchoring yourself. "I can't keep going, I'll fall apart. Please, don’t stop, don’t stop—"

One of his fingers slid down to repeatedly flick through your swollen folds, teasing and circling around your clit while his tongue swirled around a nipple; pulling and sucking hungrily with fervent desire, giving a pointed twist once he'd latched on.

"Come for me, then, do it, c'mon, cream all around me, let me have it, let me have this — you can do it, I’ll help you along.” His lower body lifted suddenly, pulling back until only his cockhead remained caught inside; followed by a quiet pop indicating his lips breaking contact from where they were buried in your chest. "I need you so bad I can hardly stand it anymore... Wanna feel you — feel all of you — need all of you..."

All it took was one sudden shift after a steady build-up of rhythm of shallow, quick thrusts: the smallest rotation of his pelvis and thrust straightwards, hips knocking against yours in a violent shove of flesh meeting slick flesh for you to fly apart spectacularly when he buried himself into that specific area right below your cervix.

With a shuddering breath that dissolved instantly into a shrill cry tearing through your throat, your thighs locked tight around his waist — holding him prisoner while your nails sank fiercely into his scratched back as your entire body trembled uncontrollably through the aftermath.

“Yeah, there you go, cutie.” A comforting, grounding caress landed on your forehead, tracing the arc of its curve towards the back of your ear; then repeating itself multiple times in slow, unhurried strokes — to remind you he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. “There you are, that was beautiful. You got me seeing stars.”

"It's... It's snowing outside... In the desert," you said faintly, eyelids slow in their blinking, and Rafayel thought how utterly gorgeous you looked, all worn down and exhausted and so drunk in your post-orgasmic euphoria to talk nonsensically about what was happening outside.

"Yeah," he agreed, equally hushed as he peppered a trail of soft kisses across the bridge of your nose. You closed your teary lashes instinctively against the ticklish sensation. "It's so soft... and beautiful..."

You were the snow in his desert. Though, too blissed out to pick up on what he was implying.

Too busy stiffening up when you felt his cock jump inside you.

"You... you're still hard?"

“I didn’t come in the first place, whoops. Busy being too competent, I guess,” he said breezily, tilting his hips so that he pressed deep inside, directly into the tender spot inside you where pleasure flared to life unbidden.

"Let me... Let me rest, fuck, give me a minute..." Your hands scrambled for purchase against his scarred back; anchoring yourself by clawing surface level trenches down along its expanse and dragging red tracks as he continued his grinding in torturously slow and shallow rolls. "Need — I need to catch my breath, you're gonna make me pass out, shit, hold on — !"

Rafayel had you for three more times after that.

The first was the short prologue to what was coming, picked up from where he’d left off in the same position — head buried in your neck, making you tightly embrace him like he’d fly off the earth if he wasn’t held. No sooner did his hips start bucking roughly against yours before he spent himself inside in long pulses that coated you inside in heated spurts, sending sparks rippling out into your limbs from where you clenched weakly around him through your own release that hadn’t yet run its full course.

The prettiest sounds in the whole entire world spilled from him as he pulled out with a schlick, dripping his neglect-thickened seed onto the sheets, and you were naive as to think this was it. You both had indulged yourselves enough for the night, fucked through the absence-abstaining makes the heart fonder phenomenon, it had been fantastic to witness him get so serious. Surely now would be a good time to cool off and step into the bath together now that you’d been able to make him sweat and the sex-heavy humidity clinging thickly to your body was getting more comfortable the more you became aware of it. The room was absolutely boiling, stuffier than a sauna like he’d projected all the heat trapped inside his body everywhere. Perhaps opening up a window wouldn’t hurt…

“That was one,” he said then, staring down at his flushed erection straining proudly between his legs like a compass needle pointed north — the faint strand of semen connecting his tip and stomach swaying and snapping apart. “This isn’t anywhere near enough.”

To your shock, Rafayel got off the bed, hauled you in by your legs until your bottom half was dangling from the bed, and folded you completely in half with no warning. Your legs were pushed against your chest and were hooked over his shoulders, and the speed of with which all of it happened punched out a wheeze from you.

"Can I? Are you okay?" he asked urgently, patting your thigh rapidly twice, pausing — then adding another firm slap there before you nodded hurriedly in confirmation rather than a verbal response, because fuck, his weight holding you down felt absolutely incredible like this.

Your ankles started bobbing in sync with his hip thrusts as he drove deep inside your heat, the sink easy, smooth and soft and the mess you both made between your legs pouring out and splattering everywhere as he kept mumbling, “I can’t stop, I’m sorry, I can’t stop, can’t stop—”

This round lasted longer, though it was the worst frenzy you’d seen Rafayel in. Nothing was slow about it, he was mercilessly pistoning himself into you and unpredictably switching between shallow and deep that had your clit being scraped against and A-spot drilled into. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open from how intense pleasure was kneading you violently like a dough. If it wasn’t for his mouth gluing itself onto yours, the entire floor and the poor downstairs guests probably would have heard what was happening with how loud his moaning became — because he was downright voluntarily overstimulating himself.

With one particularly desperate sob, Rafayel finally buried himself to the hilt within you — throbbing — in harsh jets of liquid fire with jerking, abrupt twitches of his hips, milking himself into your body as he found yet another release that was as intense and concentrated as the previous. You cried brokenly, shuddering as that final thrust abused your clit over the edge of orgasm number two, involuntarily flinching and trying to get away when he pushed all the accumulated, positively flowing stringy mess right back into your puffy cunt with a strange, entranced look on his face. You had to slap his hand away and kick his weight off you, powerless and exhausted and fully feeling like your vagina was gaping and would never close back up.

A soft kiss on your cheek brought you back to earth.

“Still alive?” he croaked, gently maneuvering you higher up the bed and laying you back comfortably. You had to avoid the giant, wet and shining spot that had to be dripping down on the floor at the edge of the bed, face burning as Rafayel’s sweat-drenched forehead leaned against yours. “I’m not going easy on you… I have to say I’m impressed how good you’re taking it.”

You realized, once more with feeling, that he was rock-hard against your hip despite having already come three separate times — two of which had filled you to the point of pouring out of you — and had no sign of calming down any time soon.

He was beyond insatiable.

Though the third and final time was far sweeter, the pace much slower and drawn out as though he’d suddenly regained some sense and clarity. By that time, you were growing deliriously tired, the earlier carnal fucking accommodated itself to you by morphing into tender lovemaking. Rafayel had you on your side, comfortably able to hug pillows and anchor yourself, while straddling your thigh and hooking your other calf over his waist and held it there firmly, out from your space to let you breathe with his back straight. Just looking down at you with obvious, sensual longing to lean down for kisses the entire time and looking so fucked out had been enough to rekindle your desire.

He was driving himself languidly into you, either eyes closed and head thrown back, or focused dead-on at the spot between where he was slipping in and out of you — watching your cunt eagerly swallow his white-coated cock and attempt to suck him right back in each time he pulled out until only his tip remained buried. Over and over.

And eventually, his shaky breaths and sweet sighs started turning into fast-paced, restrained moans. You saw him hanging on the precipice of wanting to go fast again, the tension his body pulled taut like a bowstring about to snap.

At one point, your robe and his shirt had found themselves slingshotted into the far, opposite corners of the room at some point but he still had his pants and was positively drenched in sweat like he’d just taken a bath and shining under the dim lighting.

"Drained all of my stamina, I'm empty, completely dry... I’m gonna need an IV drip. I can’t believe it. This is crazy, you know... I could die happy like this... But I wanna come. I wan—nnah come inside you so bad again, wanna fill you up—make you full with me—"

He went completely motionless and stayed burrowed in you when your palms cupped his face gently, forcing him to look down at you with his shiny eyes. "You've got to calm down first."

“I don’t think I can,” he murmured, panting, “I really can’t. You feel so—”

Your thumbs stroked the outer corners of his eyes with aching tenderness. “We’ll stop and try to calm you down a bit continuing then, okay? Try for me. No need to rush when we have time to ourselves. No one’s going anywhere.”

He stumbled and nearly fell to his elbows on top of you. “Tell me to,” he said, in a begging voice. “You can just tell me to calm down. Anything you want, anything. You know I’ll listen.”

All these months of living with the revelation about the bond and it still came as a shock to you, but you figured if it was for his own good...

So you ordered him: "Calm down and relax, Rafayel. Everything’s fine, you’re okay."

And god, did he listen well.

You were shocked, as you always were each time, to see just how willingly compliant he was. Seeing his body literally change its chemistry to conform itself to your desires and let go of all tension was unbelievable. You immediately felt bad that you’d forced it on him somehow like some admitted, invasive tranquilizer, because you could have made him relax naturally, with your own labor, a glass of water and massage, maybe, gradually work him through it—

“There’s nothing to worry about. Don’t think about it too much. Just focus on me, yeah?” A quiet command that lacked any real intent to order accompanied an equally soft kiss planted softly against the corner of your mouth, and all thoughts went flying out of the window when you saw how mellowly at peace he was, gazing dreamily at you without the slightest care in the world.

After that, everything became a blur once again. But a pleasant one. Slow, like molasses trickling lazily throughout your bloodstream at room temperature — soothing all aches into pleasure-flavored coziness at being joined, no rampant race towards a climax involved. There was no concept of time whatsoever: just the two of you together.

After your pillow talk about what he believed inspired him — what he wanted would, you internally filled in the blanks — and how he was running out of reserves exclusively saved up for the purposes of his art, you had to make it clear to him that there would be no pain involved in your relationship.

You didn’t know if he expected to be hurt by you in the future or implied he had no problem with that happening, but you couldn’t even tolerate him saying those things for the sake of love, or whatever it was. Him being intimately familiar and nonchalant with the concept bothered you down to the bones.

Not only were you trying to work around the huge rock he’d just dropped on top of your heart with the revelation that Aridum had to represent pure suffering to him as a Lemurian, you were also slightly upset he’d wanted to subject himself to it because he was lost more beautiful things in life had made their way into his life to inspire him as well. His paintings, all of them, had taken a new context and an additional layer of tragedy with that revelation, despite the fact that he’d basically said you made him draw from a different fountain and clogged up the other one.

It was a bittersweet happiness to hear Rafayel wanting to explore brighter, happier sides of life together when the sketch he showed you he was working on while you were sleeping depicted a man drowning in the sea and a figure beckoning him from above, close to the surface. Something still very painful.

“That’s one bleak drawing.”

“Depends on what you see.”

“I see a dying man hallucinating. Maybe that’s someone close to him and his brain is comforting him with a vision. I don’t know.”

“Interesting take. Maybe it’s not just a man at all. Maybe it’s a reunion. It looks peaceful, doesn’t it?”

Now you looked again, it did look peaceful. Just like Rafayel was right now, next to you on the bed with his forehead almost touching yours.

"I'd like to think he isn't drowning, then."

Rafayel just smiled.

[hwnglx]

i actually liked his energy a lot, it was quite clear and direct. hope it's a nice read!

eunseok's real personality behind the scenes

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

shuffled song: anchor by novo amor

+ eunseok is incredibly strong. he knows and understands the power of hard work, and is not the type to back down from a challenge. he's the type to work quietly but immensely hard, especially if he's assigned with a task. he's amazing at fiercely concentrating and zoning on what he needs to do, and doesn't allow any circumstances to stand in the way of him getting done what needs to be done. in my minds eye, i kept seeing him and the riize members in the practice room together while he was clapping his hands and saying ”정신 차려 얘들아!” which translates to “lets concentrate, guys!” he very much gives me second leader vibes. who just displays this rock and source of stability for the rest of the group. the capricorn moon energy is strong for him.

his energy is also very self-sacrificing and unselfish. he's a person blessed with a good connection to his inner voice and intuition, very emotionally intelligent guy. this results in him naturally attuning himself and his actions to the various needs of the people he's surrounded with; just a lot of focus and value on team harmony. he doesn't put his own desires above anyone, and understands the benefit of adapting himself to the group, for the sake of smooth teamwork.

another quality adding to this pronounced selflessness in eunseok, is his ability to put his own negative emotions aside for the sake of other people. this is something i've observed and heard about capricorn moons; they can often give off this stoic and phlegmatic vibe, where it seems like nothing truly affects them.. however, this isn't due to them not actually having any feelings, but moreso because they put responsibility and stability over their own emotions. meaning, they don't always allow themselves to really dive into their emotions, because they feel this innate responsibility to become a source of stability for others, which makes them suck their own tears in and remain calm.

eunseok does have his moments of disappointment, regret, insecurity; but instead of crying it out, he can have the habit of rationalising it. let's say the group is in a moment of despair and most members are heavily caught up in emotion; it's highly likely for eunseok to be the guy with a dry face, trying to comfort his members and get them to calm down. i can even see him being a source of support to the leader sungchan, who strikes me as much more emotionally out there.

it's interesting because on the one hand, he can be very headstrong and determined in his actions, but on the other hand he can also approach situations with this calm patience, when needed. he's just very adaptable, and not someone who gets knocked out of his flow easily. it's like, he doesn't mind life coming at him because he knows he can handle everything with his calm and composed attitude.

having that said, eunseok still isn't an easy or defenceless guy. if the need to speak up presents itself in a situation, he will be ready to defend himself and hold his ground no doubt about it. again, there seems to be an abundance of inner strength and resilience in him, which also showcases itself in his excellent ability to remain determined, driven, perseverant and persistent. he stands by his opinions, isn't gullible or easily swayed, and knows how to push through challenges in a powerful manner.

- so, eunseok is impressingly mature, and gives me this vibe of someone who had to grow up quite fast. maybe that's the reason why he's the type of person to burden himself with responsibilities not everyone expects from him. to explain, riize are still very much like the page of pentacles here. at the beginning of their journey, still trying to find their way, inevitably inexperienced and slightly awkward or insecure in some areas still, but very ambitious and eager to develop in their journey. that's completely normal. however, eunseok is already putting the weight of having to be like the emperor on top of him, because he again, feels like he needs to be a stable existence for the group or the people around him. this desire of helping and being the mature person, comes to him very naturally; so much so, that he just isn't the type to allow himself to be vulnerable and insecure sometimes. he always feels the need to step up and be the strong guy, and can dismiss a lot of his own troubles or concerns due to this.

the moon afterwards is telling me, he just hides and buries many of his own fears and worries inside of him, and can tend to disguise them behind a strong demeanour. he can be very hard on himself and not allow himself to break at any given moment, which makes it even more frustrating for his mind if he ever gets to a point of mental anguish. there's also this sense of.. “if i ever have a problem, that is my burden to deal with, and not anyone else's weight to carry” he doesn't like the thought of anyone holding the weight of his own emotions, so he can be very dismissive of his insecurities.

he can not only be hard on himself, but also quite strict with the people around him. he just keeps giving me this father-like energy, where he wants to keep guiding and leading people. i can however sense him potentially having difficulty controlling his tone of voice once he gets into a disagreement, and just wording himself in a way which can be kinda rigid and hurtful. he can can come off controlling, overly strict and harsh, in a way that could potentially bruise people of more sensitive nature, or bother people who easily feel constricted by people like that. his actual intentions are good, but he can put himself into a position where they could be easily misunderstood.

it does seem as though he himself is aware of this habit of his, because he's very introspective and reflects on his actions. yet he can get avoidant at times, and might have problems being honest about his faults. although inside he knows he was wrong, he puts himself in a position where he could be blamed for not wanting to own up to his wrongdoings. i do think ego and pride plays a role here too, since i can see a dilemma between his values of holding himself accountable, but also wanting to avoid the bruise to the ego, that could be caused from potentially admitting his mistake.

[imshymorph]

HI LOVE!!!! 🥺

if ur taking requests, could you pls do husband!Price with a reader who has ADHD? I myself have ADHD and am extremely forgetful, and tend to feel emotions more intensely than others, which means I cry a lot and get told I’m over sensitive haha 🥺❤️❤️😭

Hi darling! My requests are open, I'm just loaded up with uni work. So sorry it took over a week for me to answer. (But if you don’t mind the wait, 100% send in requests!!). I hope I portrayed it properly, I kind of fall in the adhd spectrum myself but it can really vary from one person to another, so I hope it's relatable!

Anyway, here’s some soft!Price with ADHD!reader

I think he’d notice pretty early on, maybe not specifically labelling it as ADHD, but he’d pick up on the forgetfulness and how quick it could change to a hyperfixation. I think he’s observant enough that he’d kind of be able to pinpoint the moment in your thought process where you jump from the thing you just said you were going to do to whatever other task popped in your mind that pulls you away from it.- - - - -

He would grow used to it pretty quickly, used to sharing space with all kinds of people at base and adapting himself to better work with them. I also lowkey headcanon that Soap has ADHD so he’d already have an idea on how to work around it and some strategies in place to help you with it. 

Although I think his main worry would be supporting you with the emotional side that comes with it. He’d be there for you at any time. It doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll dry your tears and talk with you about it. If you don’t want to talk or maybe it’s one of those days where you don’t even know why you’re crying, then he’ll just hold you close for a bit and help you get distracted when you feel better. 

I think that even if he doesn’t fully understand it, he can get a grasp on how overwhelming it can get. He’d notice when you’re starting to get frustrated, when your brain just can’t find something that releases enough oxytocin to keep you entertained for long enough. He’d swipe in then, bringing up one of your special interests or one of the hobbies you gave up on a few months back, to see if it sparks some joy again. If it doesn’t he’ll find something new that you both can try together or somewhere to go and explore. 

And don’t  you dare apologise for any of it, he’d give you a full on scolding on how it’s not something to apologise for. (That’s who you are and who he loves, darling). He doesn’t care that you forgot to close the kitchen cupboard for the fifth time this week, nor that the clean dishes still sit on the dishwasher, nor the pile of folded clothes that still sit on top of the dresser. He’s happy to have you with him, to share space with you and he’d take a messy living room and arrive late to your reservations on date night every single time if it means he’s with you. 

Also, he’d absolutely change things around the house and in his schedule if it means it makes things easier for you. He’ll change the organisation in all drawers and cupboards that need it so it’ll be easier for you to remember to put everything in its place. He’ll sit with you while you do work or chores, having casual conversation to keep you entertained and focused while you finish. Will sit there for hours if he has to, listening to you infodump about whatever thing your brain has last fixated on. And hold you for as long as you need when your emotions get too much and make you cry, one warm hand on your hip to hold you close while the other rubs your back. 

And relating to the crying. Poor soul, the one who dares to call you oversensitive in his presence. He’d absolutely rip them a new one, ready to start a physical fight if it is necessary because (how dare you judge his love for something out of their control). As soon as he’s satisfied with the scolding the other person got, his full attention is back on you. 

He’d pull you close, cup your cheeks and gently dry your tears with his thumbs. A small smile appearing on his lips, “don’t listen to them, love. You’re perfect just like this.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and lightly pinches your cheeks to get a smile from you. “Come on, let’s go home so you can tell me more about those books you have been reading.”

And the way your small pout and teary eyes change to a smile makes his heart soar. He throws an arm over your shoulders and holds you close as the both of you walk home, happily listening about the character arch of one of the main characters you tell him about. He’s already planning on wrapping you up on your favourite blanket on the couch while he gets ready some of your comfort food, how you’ll eat it together while you cuddle and watch one of your favourite shows or movies. 

[whomadewaffles]

Incase anyone wanted a complete newbies opinion on the one piece liveaction adaptation.

Before we start, here is what I knew vaguely before going on, never having watched a single episode of the anime

. A pirate gets killed but challenges people to find his hidden treasure before he is killed

.there is fruit that gives magical powers, main character can stretch like mr fantastic and elastiagirl

.longgggg ass sorry with alot of rich world building

Now i Adore great world building so was always interested in watching the anime but...paying for cruncyroll premium and the sheer length of the show has kept me away. But with the word of mouth about this live action show being very positive I thought why not use this as a starting point. So without further ado here is what I thought.

It was wonderful, I was either smiling like an idiot or tearing up through all of it, I was hear for the worldbuilding and it gave me plenty in that regard but I wasn't realy expecting to fall for like...pretty much every single charater, the strawhats are all delightful and have such a amazing found family vibe and I am SO weak to that trope, koby and his marine subplot grew on me and so much good well choreographed action and some actual laugh outloud moments (buggy was a scene stealing highlight). Everyone said sanji's backstory was a tear jerker and that's 100% correct but nami's third act betrayal realy caught me of guard but love how it was handled. Luffy lives up to his shonen protagonist roots by just being an inspiring becon of positivity who I wish the absolute best for, the show would have fallen apart of we didn't care for luffy and luckly they nailed it. I would say zoro is my favourite of the crew though he had such a dry sarcastic sense of humor that i vibed with. The world was absolutely fascinating with how everything revolves around the sea, and the technology isn't advanced at all like they use snails as phones i loved that, it was so weird! And the way they used pratical effects when they could was great to see gave the world a real and lived in feel. and I realy get the sense there's so much magical stuff still to see! And the music!!! Omg the music! It added so much to so many great moments. Just have to hope netflix sticks with it but with their track record I'm.....not optimistic. But in summary what a charming start to an adventure!

I am curious am I the only person watching as a new fan? Is gate keeping generally a thing with this fandom?

[goodstimoftheday]

Please only read if you feel in a safe place to do so

Under the cut discusses suicidal thoughts, food restriction and abuse

Summary is: I hope I can come back to posting one day, but I'll have to be in a much different place and it will take a lot to get to that other place

I've always been what someone would call a melancholy person, it's a well told tale in my family that at the age of six I was in the room when a news report about depression came on and I asked my parents if I had that. It is also a well told tale that I'd first said I wanted to die at age four. An event that apparently put my mum on antidepressants from the shock and sorrow that her young child would say that but I didn't get help until I was seven. I was informally diagnosed as on the autistic spectrum at nine and formally diagnosed at 10 with mild autism after I failed the IQ test that determined whether you had asperger's as this was before it was a defunct diagnosis. I still remember the disappointment that hung in the air in the psychologists room. I was clever, but not clever enough. They then said I was too young to diagnose as depressed, and with time and The Book I would adapt to the world and no longer be depressed by it. And with that diagnosis and The Book, me and my parents were cut adrift to 'deal' with my mind.

The Book was a horrible thing that explained how to cope with autistic traits and train them out of your child. It wouldn't be until I was 19 that I found and read The Book for myself and recognised all the ways my parents had hurt me had come from this very book.

I never did get less depressed and I still never got diagnosed, therapists telling me everyone has depressive symptoms these days.

My mum has never had a good body image, in truth she should have probably been diagnosed with dysmorphia long ago but she refuses to go to the doctors about it, instead wallowing in the cruel world of diets that insist she just has no willpower. But somewhere in her mind she is angry and used that anger like a knife to carve me into her idea of perfection. I remember well at age five finding a key ring from weightwatchers that was fun to play with and she told me one day I'd have to go there because I had her genes. But as my autistic tongue refused more foods and I became old enough to fight back from being pinned down to my chair and force fed, and instead left hungry, because that way I would learn to be grateful for my food, it was clear I was very thin. And my mum loved this. She dressed me in all the clothes she wished she could have worn as a child and told me as my sensory issues begged her not to put the itchy sparkly tights on me again and my dim first pangs of gender dysphoria screamed as she said to do things ladylike.

Unlike some, when I reach the crushing depths of depression, I find no comfort in food. My mouth goes dry and so all I eat feels like sand and sawdust and tastes much the same. My mum loved this, though she would never admit to it consciously. As I got older and bought my own food at school or on days out, my body would plump up and I seemed to be less interesting to my mum but then the depression depths would pull me down again and I would shed weight and all of a sudden I would be beautiful, clever and deserving of presents at random because I 'was special'.

At eighteen I met someone who would become my partner for three and a half years. Some of you from my old blog would remember them. I loved them and parts of me, much to my shame, still do.

I most likely have OSDD. But for whatever reason the NHS doesn't like to diagnose this. In the course of my therapy I have taken the dissociative quotient about three times with very consistent scores that lay between that of C-PTSD and DID. So rather than diagnosing me with the disorder that sits between those two disorders, OSDD, I've been diagnosed with C-PTSD with extreme depersonalisation.

The first person to recognise this with in me was my first ever partner and whether consciously or unconsciously, they used my dissociative symptoms against me. It's hard to type but I was abused by them. I loved them, still love them sometimes, so much. I would have given them the world but they hurt me and then threw me away like I was nothing when they found someone younger and in the same country. I won't say what they did to me, only my closest friends and my therapist know, and I wish to keep it that way. It was a quiet abuse and with my dissociation that I couldn't recognise, I couldn't see the hurt until around six months after they left me.

So in the time my dissociation painted the world as bright and sunny, the parts experiencing the abuse locked away from my knowledge, I gained a lot of weight. I was an adult now, free to choose my own meals. I actually love being fat, I felt warm and happy and my body was so lovely to stim with. That's something that makes my heart sing about Aziraphale, from Good Omens, he enjoys food and I can really empathise with feeling like he's doing something wrong when people point out his enjoyment.

But my mum didn't like that, not one bit. I became the family disappointment. 'Weight problems' were discussed like a family curse. And I was uplifted as the exception, like I was there to break that curse. But my body after years of being under fed clung to the happiness of eating food I liked and showed it in my body.

After my partner left me I fell into a deep deep depression. They had hurt me in a way and used my brain in such a way that I felt like air had been taken from me. I felt like was going to die. I wanted to die. They told me I would die without them. I lost a lot of weight very very quickly and my mum was so happy, she could barely disguise it as she attempted to comfort me about the hurt my ex had done to me as I slowly realised it.

She finally bought me a new binder after using the same one for over a year, new trousers and other things. I was interesting again.

I got with another person, far too soon. He was sweet but also out of his depth with the trauma I was only just realising I had. I broke up with him after seven months, something he didn't understand at all and I felt so guilty, I felt like my abuser. But unlike my abuser I tried to remain friends, I knew how strong love could be and tearing it up was too much I knew. But in those seven months, I regained a little weight. My parents, both of them now, didn't like this.

So began now, the months of teetering on the edge of starvation. Some days I have only a snack to get me by, other's I'm allowed two hot meals. Without a job and disability benefit since 19, I have had to just resort to here. But this weird food restriction that is there some days and then gone the next has really taken a toll on my mind. I've been in this position since September 2021. Two years now of this. My dissociation is worse, my depression is worse. I don't feel real most days. And still I have flashbacks to my ex and early childhood on top of this. I don't know what to do.

That person around April and May I was talking about? I wanted to be boyfriends with him so badly but my parents made me stop dating him as I'd already put on five pounds. He was so sweet and I had to lie to him and say I didn't see the relationship going anywhere as my mum stood over me to text him. I'm fucking 25 and I can't date a guy because he keeps me happy and plump. My mum hates fat so much that I can't even explore a relationship with a guy beyond a couple of months anymore because it makes me too happy for her liking. Because with my body happiness is being fat.

I'm saying all this because I don't know how to carry on here on this blog. I try so hard to see the good in every day but I'm living with those scary deep sea creatures at the moment. I feel like very soon I'll have forgotten what the light looks like.

[magnorious]

Review: ‘A God Buys Us Cheeseburgers’, Percy Jackson Episode 5

**Spoiler Alert for the entire book!**

I would like to start this review off on the nature of adaptations and when to go astray, given the less-than-stellar dip in quality of episode 4. Inevitably, details must change from the source material, some things are unfilmable. The source material in question here is in first person, which leaves so much of the story outside the protagonist’s head unwritten.

Had this season been given, say 10 episodes, and worked to establish the side characters we watch fight and die in the name of the gods and their friends later down the line, no one would have complained. Characters I won’t name (but iykyk) that got criminally little ‘screen time’ during Percy’s POV in the later books, only to have incredibly tragic demises were sad enough. Now imagine if, assuming the Disney show can accomplish filming all five books, we got to see these characters grow for all five seasons.

The era of TV we find ourselves in treats filler as universally bad and unacceptable. Plopping down on your couch on a weeknight to watch an off-beat episode of that cop drama you love or that addictive doctor show, or teen romance, that didn’t require your full attention all the time because every scene was important to the plot doesn’t happen anymore. An episode that was funny or charming or a romantic little side quest putting the characters we love in interesting circumstances is now far and few between. It still told the grand story, even if it didn’t service the grand plot. That’s the nature of television.

The filler everyone complains about is when it’s uninteresting, contrived, and very clearly for no other reason than to pad the runtime. Taking a C-list monster and giving her an unnecessary monologue and a need to ‘hunt’ that wasn’t in the book? Boring filler.

Cutting back to camp and really selling us on how Luke is an awesome dude looking out for all the younger kids so he can twist the knife later? Good filler! He’s the main villain of the series (besides you know who) and we got so little of him in the books because it was limited to Percy’s POV. Build his relationships with Chiron, Beckendorf, Silena, Clarisse, the Stolls, and the other demigods he ends up turning Dark Side with him. Make him the lovable everyman because he really did love the kids. He hated how the gods treated them. Die hard book fans, if the writers really went for it and understood why his character does what he does, would have loved it.

Now onto the episode that I was hoping and praying would be more like episode 3 than 4.

So. They included the snipping of the thread. And Percy wasn’t there to see it, nor was it at all as creepy and foreboding as it should have been. I kept waiting for them to flash back to Percy’s experience in the river with the naiad and they didn’t. Maybe they ran out of under-water effects budget. Percy’s “maybe my dad does love me” tonal whiplash is disappointing since 90% of the river scene was lost (and he didn’t even come out of the water dry).

Ares’ casting isn’t what I pictured but it fits really well and I can’t place why. His features don’t really feel *godly*. Him starting Twitter wars is wonderfully petty and absolutely in-character. He just acts like an unhinged jerk, not the God of War, as funny and entertaining as it is.

It is also disappointing that Annabeth is the one that snarks to Ares and not Percy, because his attitude is what eggs on their big fight on the beach while she and Grover actively try to tame Percy’s temper. The episode, to this point, is *fine*.

Everything after… I was laughing at the absurdity. The absolute deadpan confusion on their faces when “What is Love” starts playing like the mixer accidentally edited in a track from their Spotify. The set designers forgetting that “Waterland” is a waterpark, not just an amusement park. Grover being unrecognizably sly and confident in front of Ares when he wasn’t supposed to be there at all. Some of the dry attempts at humor, like Percy’s “I think I heard this at an orthodontist” line, not in itself funny, but his dry delivery was.

Grover’s ongoing conversation trying to probe Ares is hilarious, even if that’s not Grover on screen. It’s not bad, it’s just… not Grover. Percy and Annabeth’s jaunt and awkward exposition and line delivery in the Tunnel of Love is also *fine*. Them hyperfocusing on the Fates’ string this episode is another *interesting* change and so is Percy’s second attempt to sacrifice himself in a scene that’s way more dramatic than it needed to be. Boy is all teary-eyed convinced he’s going to die here in this trap when, in the book, he was trying to get Annabeth to move her behind because she was petrified by robotic spiders. She has her come-to-Jesus moment here, which was sorely needed for this version of her character who, up to this point, had very little depth.

And there are no robot spiders. Did they not have the budget for robot spiders? Is Percy not allowed to have the rest of his powers? Were they too afraid of giving Annabeth a phobia? Did they just desperately need to inject some angst into this scene? All of the angst, to the sound of heartbreaking violins in a score that also went way too hard. Nobody seriously thought Percy was going to bite the dust here, did they?

Overall, this is better than 4, but not as good as 3, if I had to rank them. If you pretend this isn’t supposed to be the first season of at least five, Grover likely doesn’t seem like a problem. His whole arc, across all five books, is gaining self-confidence and courage. He can’t grow into a brave Lord of the Wild if he starts his journey back-talking the God of War.

Annabeth not having her entirely useless panic attack over the spiders and forcing Percy to have to save them was the main takeaway from the original trip to Waterland. She’s not perfect, but this flaw is also entirely outside of her control, it’s in her blood as a child of Athena. It’s ridiculous that someone as smart and strong and cunning as she is can be petrified by spiders – but that’s the point. 

The commentary on how the gods, as a family, constantly backstab each other was interesting. Not sure that this episode was the best place for it, but it’s nice that it exists.

The changes that were made were entertainingly confusing. It was not what I ordered, but I didn’t hate what I was served. Ares is easily the best part of this episode, but it is glaringly obvious that this show, whether by budget or the Powers That Be, is allergic to action scenes.

Here’s to hoping they saved all their eggs to drop in the basket of the big climactic beach brawl, because this is still an action-adventure series, not just adventure.

[irredeemer]

In game, Durere Dure is a Lalafell, but that doesn't quite suit her canon. Reda'nue is a gnomish Shard of Azem from the Second. She is known as the Warrior of the Wake after having restored a major water source and destroying the forces that had been hiding it. It's a great title and it allows a lot of freedom in a world with many restrictions purely set for survival.

Except, unfortunately for the Second's other inhabitants, she is not a "hero" type.

Following the story of FFXIV: A Realm Reborn, the Second was flipped out of balance and overwhelmed with fire-aspected aether. She tried to stop it. She failed. Depending on the verse, you may interact with Reda before this happens, or after.

Called to the Second: Complete alternate timeline. Instead of going to the First, the WoL is summoned to the Second which has not yet been destroyed. It is arid and dry and quickly, literally, crumbling apart underfoot. Only a few small settlements exist, with many having succumbed to the increasing heat and wildfires or the ensuing lack of resources. Your character must discover why those who do remain are afraid of their gods-chosen "Savior".

Of the Same: Post-Endwalker, Y'shtola has found a way to travel to the various reflections. Whilst exploring one of them, your WoL is made aware of a disturbing character who is apparently "hunting down the Shards of Azem". Alternately, your WoL is on vacation in Tural when this threat comes to the Source, seeking them specifically. This could be a shorter thread wherein your WoL defeats her, or... Maybe your WoL tries to get her to join their side? 👀

An Ill-Fitting Shoe: Durere is not a shard of Azem and she is still not a hero, but, at the very least, she is not as powerful as she would be otherwise. Your WoL finds her in their travels on the Source and she will very likely prove a memorable face. This verse would require the most plotting with potential writing partners, as it is intentionally open for adaptation to your character's canon.

In essence, Reda is incredibly self-centered. Feeling satisfied, having what she wants, feeling powerful? This is what motivates her. So long as it suits these interests, she may well do something out-of-character heroic! But it has to benefit her in some way, and her temperament can be more than a little mercurial...

Most rely on the surety of payment. It mostly works!

Scratching under the surface, there have been notable circumstances that inspired the extremes in her personality. If you would like to know more -- well -- I hope you're ready to put in the work. Her closest confidant is an Ascian for good reason.

[palant1r]

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

My style as a writer changes a LOT. it is INSANELY malleable. Most of my professional writing is done in a journalistic style (i mean, obviously), which is very straightforward and factual, with any humor being more on the side of dry wit. Yet my fiction never tends to use that style — there certainly is that influence in the prose, but I almost never use an objective or even omniscient third person. I get really into characters' subjective views of the world. When I write dramatic or emotional fics, I use a lot of metaphors and figurative language, with a fondness for unique and jarring stilted turns of phrase. That's when I really break out the pretentious gifted kid vocab. When I write humor, I try to stick really close to one character's voice, and write things in a way that's very snappy and...literal, I guess, for lack of a better word. I really like trying new things and different styles. I think the real carryover I have from journalism is that I see style as something that is subservient to story, and I want to adapt it to whatever will best convey what I want to write.

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

Probably the long way round. It's an Owl House oneshot set in an AU where the main cast never find a way back to the Boiling Isles and have to live their lives in the human realm. It takes place at Hunter and Willow's wedding, and there are a few lines alluding that Luz and Amity are no longer together. A lot of people were very sad about that in the comments, saying they hoped Luz and Amity could get back together again, and I think they thought I was setting up for a fic where they got back together. That wasn't the case. My aim there was to do something with the idea that just because two people are really good for each other at one time in their lives doesn't mean that they'd stay together in an entirely different situation or would be good for each other for the rest of their lives. It was also intended to be a subversion of the trope where Teenage Heroes TM get a love interest in their show/movie/book and then are still with them in the adult epilogue, because, I mean...who really marries their middle school/high school partner? Sure, it happens, but it's always been baffling to me how it's presented as a given in fiction. But hey, pretty much everyone ships Lumity, I get why people didn't really get what I was going for there

writers asks

[milesonthenet]

Rise of The Beasts: Five reasons to go see the movie!

Transformers: Rise of The Beasts is our seventh Transformers film, directed by Steven Caple Jr. The film is a part of the reboot universe set up by the prior film, Bumblebee. In fact, the film events are set in the 90s, a decade after Bumblebee.

Reason 5: A sequel to the buzzworthy Bumblebee's solo film

Let's be honest here, folks? Everyone loves Bumblebee.

Growing up, Bumblebee was everyone's favorite when I was a kid. People adored him because of his adorable way of speaking. He communicated with his radio, which made him quite expressive in dialogue.

Bumblebee was also a trained combatant In the original films. Bumblebee took down deceptions like it was nothing. In every scene he demonstrated something new to the fans.

Bumblebee's rising popularity led him to get more toys than Optimus Prime. Finally, his popularity led him to get a feature film on his own. The film garnered positive reception from both newcomers and the Transformers fans.

After the disastrous reputation of the fifth film, Bumblebee rose to new heights. He helped restore faith in the films and generate interest. Bumblebee's film has helped light the way for Transformers: Rise of The Beasts.

Reason 4: A cast of fan-favorites that can't be missed.

The current cast of characters combines two separate groups. On one hand, you have Optimus Prime's rag-tag band of Autobots. On the other hand, you have Optimus Primal's cast of animalistic heroes; the Maximals.

I am looking forward to seeing how both casts can be integrated. I at least hope that the maximals manage to get speaking lines. Their personalities in the cartoons were fun and dynamic. I want that to be reflected for a new generation to see.

There are some roles that interest me in the series. Pete Davidson is playing the Autobot Mirage. From what I have heard of Mirage, he sounds like the new kid-appeal character of the movie. Much like Bumblebee, he's the one that kids will like.

Then there's Ron Perlman as the maximal Optimus Primal. I am familiar with Ron Perlman's work. He was Hellboy in the live-action films. He also lent his voice to Deathstroke in Teen Titans, and The Lich in Adventure Time respectively.

It is worth noting that this is not the first time he's voiced Primal. He first voiced Primal in a web-animation series called Transformers: Power of The Primes. His voice sounds similar, but it has improved since then.

Lastly, I look forward to seeing Michelle Yeoh as Airazor. In Beast Wars, Airazor was one of two female characters in the series. She had a dry sense of humor but was brave and adventurous. In addition, she deeply loved Tigatron, and he felt the same.

I saw Michelle Yeoh in Everything Everywhere All at Once. The visuals and the fight scenes won me over at first. However, what I realized is that Yeoh shined in the movie. The emotion that she brought to the film is beautiful. I hope that she can channel that power with Airazor.

Reason 3: You cannot destroy Unicron's destiny

If you are a Transformers fan? Then you probably already know of the big man himself.

The deeper you look into Transformers lore, the more you find the weirdest things. Unicron is the chaos bringer, a devourer of worlds not unlike Galactus from Marvel Comics. He destroys entire worlds, absorbing their lifeforce into his own.

Unicron is also the fated enemy of the Transformers series. He's like the final boss of the franchise as a whole. This is because he is the polar opposite of Primus, his twin brother. Unicron dreams of killing him, and this is why he wants to destroy Cybertron; Because Primus is Cybertron.

When it comes to voice actors, no one has done it better since Orson Welles. A well-renowned filmmaker, he is well known for narrating a radio adaptation of H.G. Wells' War of The Worlds. Orson himself did not care for the role. It was the last character he voiced, and he still put effort into voicing the character.

Now, Rise of The Beasts plans to bring Unicron back to the silver screen. He is the looming threat of the movie, which warrants a team-up between the Maximals and Autobots. This is his first live-action debut after he was teased in The Last Knight.

Colman Domingo will be providing the voice for our lord of chaos. He's received many accolades for his numerous roles. In particular, he played Victor Strand in The Walking Dead. He also played a recovering drug addict in Euphoria, Ali.

I for one am excited to see the type of energy he will bring.

Reason 2: Beast Wars is one of the best Transformers series ever!

This is one of the best Transformers series of all time.

No, really.

Beast Wars first aired in 1996, kicking off a saga that redefined the Transformers mythos. Unsurprisingly, many long-time fans were skeptical of the series at first. However, Beast Wars proved itself to be a valuable addition to the franchise. It was a long-needed breath of fresh air after the Transformers series exhausted fans.

The series' core premise focuses on the future of the Transformers. The Autobots and Decepticons would eventually retire from the war. Both sides would sign a peace treaty known as the Pax Cybertronia.Cyb

In their place, a new war begins between their descendants, the Maximals and Predacons. The story opens with a gunfight between both sides in space. The conflict sends them crashing onto a prehistoric Earth.

Since its inception, Beast Wars introduced plenty of original concepts for the franchise. It introduced the idea of the "spark", a transformers' soul. It also brought in the concept of "protoforms", the blank slate of a Cybertronian.

What I love about Rise of The Beasts is that it combines the best parts of both worlds. We get the cinematic scale of the movies at the forefront. Deeper than that, however, is also the themes and ideas taken from Beast Wars.

My only issue with Rise of The Beasts is that a certain purple dinosaur is missing. It feels weird to have a movie inspired by Beast Wars, and not include the Predacons. As much as they had their comedic hijinks, they proved to be a formidable threat for the maximals.

Reason 1: Peter Cullen's Optimus can't be missed

One of the things that I love about the movies is that they brought the original voices back. Peter Cullen is one of many voices that helped inspire a generation. He's the leader of the Autobots, a father to his men who stands against tyranny.

Honestly, Optimus Prime to me represents a lot of what Superman is. They are both people who do good and stand for what's right. Their symbols serve as inspirations for fans all over the world.

I am excited to see Optimus Prime make his appearance in Rise of The Beasts. I look forward to seeing more people become fans of him now.

Rise of The Beasts: The big event!

I love Transformers, and it's definitely in my top three favorite franchises. I am so stoked to go see the film. This film is just the start of a new trilogy. Even if the film is not good, I still have hopes that it will at least be fun.

Overall, these are just my reasons for wanting to see the film. This has been House of Milesverse, and I hope you had fun. For our next post, we'll be talking about everyone's Star-Spangled superhero, Stargirl!

[decadentmakergardener]

8.8.24

I had a call with a friend of mine today. She’s definitely some flavor of self dxed ND, just in a different variation than me. And often in a competing needs way.

I suspect that her special interest is human psychology/social behavior. I say suspect because she doesn’t really realize it, but all her actions point to it being such. Mostly she rambles almost exclusively about this within the context of her other friends. And she recommends me psychology books, and she affectionately calls it her “homework” for me. I’m probably the only friend she has that is more uh…activity based?

Her tendency to ramble and infodump made me thankful I decided to keep her as a friend instead of go romantic. It’s nowhere near a breaking point, but it has made me more tired several times before. I normally don’t mind rambling but when it’s specifically about complaints commonly made by NT people about not as emotive ND people, it does wear me out faster. Unfortunately, even a different flavored ND person rambling about this doesn’t make me feel any better.

Like one time she rambled to me about how someone isn’t her friend anymore. It was because this person did not use any emojis in text and types in full sentences. And when they hung out in person, this person did not display “the appropriate levels of happiness for me when I told them about recent accomplishments, they only complemented me with words and their tone didn’t match” (her words verbatim).

One part of me is like…ok like I’m relieved she realized “intellectually I understand that people can truly mean what they say even if their tone does not match their words, but I emotionally need a friend who displays the matching tone with their words (and it has to be genuine it can’t be a “canned” change in pitch) and can’t handle a person who isn’t as expressive in tone otherwise I’ll get anxious and spiral and think that person is only merely tolerating my presence” instead of “the people who can’t properly tone suck”.

On the other hand, there is definitely a part of me that is thinking “ok so looks like I can’t vent to you about some of my shit then…no shade to you…but damn yeah”. It’s not distrust. I guess it is a little bit of disappointment. I have another person I can talk to about my shit but yeah. Especially as one of those ND people who is a dry texter who finds using emojis extremely difficult; I prefer full sentences and ellipses to indicate tone. She hasn’t said anything to be about that yet over text or in person. I’m nowhere near good at in person interaction either, but I can at least make a valiant attempt with my body language and words to be engaging. And the times we did hang out in person seems to satisfy her.

Another part of me is thinking “welp it looks like I’ll be the one to have to adapt to her, since it’s obvious that she can’t without it destroying her mental health”. I don’t mind adapting to the other person, it’s kind of a necessity if you have ND friends who just can’t do the things you can do. I do hope that I will eventually have a friend or two that will adapt for me…

Anyways…I DON’T think ND folks should have to develop a special interest in human psychology/social behavior in order to navigate social situations effectively. Truly finding common ground with compromise and accommodations is the way to go.

I now understand how having a special interest, or even a hyper fixation, isn’t always a good thing. Like if she didn’t have this, the deeper convos we have would be a lot more relaxing. Sometimes I actually like being put under the microscope (consensually ofc) when I’m having an issue or something, but not every time we talk about feelings.

At the moment I still want to keep her as a friend. But if she ever wants to meet my other friends…things will be interesting indeed…

[firewvlk]

Look who just woke up- is that BRENTON THWAITES? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s LEON S. KENNEDY from RESIDENT EVIL. I heard he is 33 and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a DESIRE TO RID THE WORLD OF BIOTERRORISM, RACCOON CITY SURVIVOR, AND USING HUMOR AND SARCASM TO MASK TRAUMA impression. They’re known to be quite COMPASSIONATE, but have a tendency to be SARCASTIC on their bad days.

gender/pronouns:

cismale & he/him

how long have they been in sydney:

real time: five years

fake time: his whole life

which suburb do they live in:

the rocks

personality description:

leon possesses a strong sense of justice and unwavering determination. he is known for his calm and composed demeanor even in the face of intense danger. he’s highly resourceful, able to think quickly on his feet and adapt to challenging situations. he displays a deep sense of duty and loyalty to his mission and the people he seeks to protect. he is driven by a strong moral compass, always striving to do what is right, even if it means making personal sacrifices along the way.

despite the horrors he has witnessed, he maintains a resilient and optimistic outlook. he possesses a dry sense of humor that he uses to lighten tense situations and bring levity to his interactions. his ability to maintain a level-headed perspective allows him to connect with others and build strong alliances.

highly proficient in combat, leon also shows empathy and compassion, valuing human life and making an effort to protect and save innocent individuals whenever possible. his experiences have shaped him into a seasoned survivor, and he has a knack for adapting to challenging environments. he embodies a sense of hope and resilience, inspiring those around him to push through adversity and fight for a better future.

memories of their real life:

his trauma started in childhood, thanks to his italo-american family’s connections to crime, resulting in his entire family being killed aside from him.

he only survived thanks to a cop, which was what made him want to become one himself, and save others like he was saved.

he graduated the academy at 21 and requested work at raccoon’s pd, due to the widely publicized bizarre murders taking place in and around the arklay mountains.

then you have the events of re2 and the whole raccoon city thing with claire, sherry, and ada.

following raccoon city, he and claire split up, with leon continuing to look after sherry, but they were taken by the u.s. military.

sherry was taken away, and he was thoroughly interrogated, with the government interested in recruiting him. it wasn’t something he wanted, but he accepted to ensure sherry was kept in good hands and safe from any experimentation due to her g antibodies.

he was turned into an expert special agent, proficient in weapons handling and close quarters combat, largely thanks to a soldier, named krauser.

a few years later, he and krauser were sent on a mission dubbed operation javier, long story short, they completed the mission but krauser was injured and leon was later told he died in an accident.

then you have the events of re4 with leon being sent to find the president’s missing daughter. i feel like most people know that game.

following everything with the los illuminados, he reunited with claire during the harvardville incident

the next year he was involved in the pittsburgh incident

and shortly after the penamstan conspiracy incident, where he once again ran into claire amid more virus concerns. he remembers parting with her on not so great terms

he last remembers wesker’s death, and finally meeting chris at a terrasave reunion.

what was their fake life like:

tba after plotting

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Mini Series

E N H Y P E N as Vampires

pairings: yang jungwon x reader

summary: your ‘best friend’ jungwon was turned into a blood sucking beast without you even knowing. with you looking like a prey, jungwon’s thirst for blood became more uncontrollable.

word count: 5.2k

a/n: And it started, I just want to tell you that i hope you enjoy this one. I hope jungwon receive love because i really tried to write this well hehe. Also, I reached 300 followers today, I’m so happy! Thank you so much guys! Ily! Anyway, have a nice day! 🌸 (Taglist still open!)

taglist: @rubyanne, @izneos, @jung-breadshop​ @llamabouquet​ @eterniki

"jungwon! where are you?" jay was out of breath as he arrived inside Jungwon's dorm room. He was told that the younger one wasn't able to attend class because he's not feeling well.

"over here, hyung!" jay followed the groaning voice of jungwon.

The moment he arrived inside Jungwon's bathroom, he saw him inside the tub, drenched with sweat, pale and fangs were present inside his mouth.

"hey, how are you feeling?" jay sounded so worried for him. He quickly grabbed a towel and wet it with cold water.

"not so good. I feel so hot all over my body like something wants to come out from me." Jungwon grunted in pain and Jay can't help but to slightly feel guilty.

He was the one who turned him into a vampire a couple days ago. He thought Jungwon will adapt easily but he realizes he's still young and his body kind of finding it hard to adjust.

"That's normal. Where's the other packs of blood I kept for you?" he asked. jungwon shut his eyes and groaned, fangs burying slightly over at his lower lip.

"I finished all of them." Jay snapped his head at his direction, brows furrowed hardly.

"You what? I told you to take it easy with the consumption of blood. Your body is still adjusting." he exclaimed a bit frustrated. He knew leaving those packs of blood here with him is not a wise choice but he also don't want him eating his dorm-mates.

"I got so hungry. Sorry, hyung." Jungwon knew he's at fault.

He just couldn't handle the hunger he felt last night. It was dreadful and he thought he'll loose his mind if he didn't drink any blood. He’s still lucky that he resist from eating his dorm-mates right outside his room.

“Okay, hold up. I’ll get more packs for you.” Jay told him and he just nodded his head and tried to endure the pain.

He rested his head over at the tub and let himself calm down. The pain was unbearable but at least his hyung is here now. He knows what to do and Jungwon know he can help him. Minutes felt like hours and the next thing Jungwon knew was Jay was already holding some packs of blood in front of him.

He suddenly felt so hungry and consumed it all. Jay was just silently watching him, a smirk slowly growing over his face as he starred at Jungwon enjoying his meal.

“Feeling better?” Jay asked and rested his palm over at his broad shoulders. Jungwon trailed his eyes from the drink up to his Jay hyung. He smiled at the younger one when he saw how his eyes turned back to normal. It wasn’t red anymore and his fangs were not visible either.

“Yeah, sorry to rush you here, hyung.” he said feeling a bit guilty that he made him worried. Jay just gave him a nod before messing his hair once. He helped him get up from the tub and handed him a towel to dry himself.

While trying to dress up both of Jungwon and Jay’s head turned over the door of his room even before someone can knock. They can hear pretty clearly so they already knew somebody was there.

“Y/n...” Jungwon opened his eyes as your familiar scent went through his nostrils, eyes turned red for a second out of excitement just by smelling your scent. Jay furrowed his brows as he watch Jungwon stare right at the door. 

“Your best friend? What is she doing here?” he was a bit confused why the girl was here and how did she even get inside. He was sure he had locked the door after the last dorm-mate of Jungwon left.

“Maybe to check on me?” Jungwon stood up to get a fresh white t-shirt before he walk towards the door. Jay leaned over the door of his bathroom as he eyed him with a playful smile over his lips.

“How did she get in? I locked the door.”

He saw how Jungwon’s ears turned a bit red, n “U-uh, I gave her a spare key.” there’s no point in lying. He really did gave you a spare key so you can go here wherever you want.

“So she visit often?” Jay teased. Jungwon gulped and his face was soon tinted by bright red shade. He chuckled finding it interesting to tease him.

“You know it’s not safe to do that anymore. She can’t make unexpected visit, not when you’re still like this.” Jay told Jungwon, this time with a serious face.

He knew you’re somebody who’s close and special for Jungwon. He’s not that stupid to not notice the way he look and care for you. So before any accidents can even occur, he wanted to prevent it. He doesn’t want Jungwon to do something he’ll surely regret in the future.

“She’s y/n, hyung. I won’t do anything to harm her.” Jungwon said in a low voice. Deep inside, he was actually doubting himself.

“She’s like a walking prey for you.” was the last he said before Jungwon’s head snapped towards his door because of a light knock.

“Wonie?” your soft voice echoed from outside and Jungwon gulped trying to contain his excitement. He doesn’t know what’s up with him but he just wanted to set his eyes over to you.

Jungwon turned his head to look over at his Jay hyung but he was not there anymore. He sighed and opened the door for you. He have no other choice but to face you. If he won’t resist it and control it, he can hurt you. So he must manage to do it because he have no intention of staying away from you.

Your eyes looked so worried for him. Without even a warning you threw yourself at him, embracing him. “What happened to you? Are you okay? Are you sick?” you were so worried for him. The moment you heard from his dorm-mate that he was sick, you ran your way here not even thinking about your classes.

Jungwon was taken a back, eyes turning red because of your pleasing smell. He felt a bit dizzy and almost loose it but he shake his head and quickly buried his face over at your neck as his arms slowly snaked around your waist.

“I wasn’t feeling okay a while ago.” he mumbled, slightly getting out of handle. He kind of forgot that he’s extra strong so he sort of squished you. With your small winced because of pain, he snapped back to reality.

“O-Oh sorry, did i hug you too tight?” you just let out a chuckle after messing his hair a bit then pulled away from his hug. Your small delicate hands cupped both of his cheeks as you stared over at his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” you asked still worried, he showed you his bunny smile.

“I’m okay now, I’m just starving.” he said.

“I’ll buy you food! Is chicken and rice sounds okay?” you asked him, Jungwon didn’t felt the same excitement he used to feel whenever he hear chicken. It seems too bland for him.

“That would be so much okay.” he kept his cheeky smile while starring at you.

He lied, but he didn’t lie about being hungry. It’s just he wanted something else.

It was a great morning for you, the weather’s nice and you’ve woken up pretty energetic so you decided to go to school early. Smiling while the cold breeze blew towards you, you trailed over the silent road. There’s just a few students around the campus, maybe because it’s still too early.

As you walk silently, you can’t help your mind but to wonder over Jungwon. These past few days, you can’t deny some sudden changes between your friend. You can’t help but to notice it since you’re always together.

You blushed as his face flashed right in your mind. Jungwon was always attractive for you. He’s good looking and nobody can deny that. He was kind of popular with the girls in your batch but it seems like he’s not really interested with them.

Your mind was pretty much busy thinking about Jungwon that you didn't even realize the person in front of you. With a light groan, you softly massage your forehead that hit the person.

"i'm sorry, i wasn't looking--" you can't continue what you were saying when you saw Jungwon in front of you with that playful grin.

You chuckled and hit his arm lightly. "I thought it was somebody else! What are you doing here so early?" you asked him pulling him beside you so you can walk together now. He just shrugged his shoulders off then put his hands inside his pocket.

While waiting for his response you can't help but to look down to your feet and check if he's wearing a different shoes today. Your brows furrowed at the sight of the familiar pair of rubber shoes. He didn't have a new pair, by why does he appeared to he much taller now?

“I just feel like going to school early.” but your attention wasn’t in him anymore.

"Jungwon?" you called out as you now stared at him. He glanced down at you for a while before looking back in front.

"What?"

"Are you wearing insoles?" your question was harmless and innocent but it made Jungwon snap his head towards you then scoffed, the corner of his lips lifting over at one side.

"What? No I don't. Y/n, why would I wear insoles?" he said like you just asked a very hilarious question.

You pursed your lips and then halted both of you from walking. He stopped, and you made him face you while you’re furrowing your brows. You’re taking this too seriously. And Jungwon’s not gonna lie, you kind of look cute looking so focused.

“No, you don’t understand.” you started and even pointed your eyes at him. Jungwon starred right into them making you blush.

“I’m pretty sure your shoulder is at my eye level but now...” Jungwon glanced over at his shoulder then back at your eyes.

“Your shoulder level is the same as the top of my head.” Jungwon smiled and raised his hand resting it at the top of your head.

“Then, maybe I grew?”

“That fast? We’re always together! You can’t just grew taller just like that unless I shrunk.” he then chuckled as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to his cold body.

Your brows once again furrowed when you felt how cold he is. 

“Maybe you really did shrunk.” he teased. You rolled your eyes completely shoving away the thoughts from your mind and just focused on glaring at him. He’s always been like this. One of his favorite thing to do was to pissed you off. You were used to it but you didn’t mean that you don’t get pissed at him.

“See you later!” he waved cutely at you before he started walking away from you. He’s on his way to his class after he walked you over at yours.

Eyes still darted over his back, your smile slowly faded. The thoughts about the sudden changes with him again occurred in your mind. You kept on convincing yourself that it’s nothing but something in you also tells you that something’s going on with him.

First he skipped classes days ago because he said he was sick, then he came back looking a bit more pale than usual, he became a bit bulky as well, even his height changed! And you’re not quite sure but he’s unusually stronger in some ways you couldn’t explain.

You snapped back to reality when the school bell rang, you hurriedly went to your seat and settled in. You don’t have much friends and it’s Jungwon who’s always keep you company so you can’t help but to feel lonely whenever he’s not in the same class as yours.

You decided to get your work book and open to the lesson your class didn’t finish last meeting. When you’re lazily flipping the pages of your book, you unintentionally heard your two classmates talking.

“Yah, have you heard about the news?”

“Which one?”

“The one that says that some people in our town were still missing.” your hand halted from flipping pages when you heard that. You don’t know why but you suddenly felt goosebumps all over your body.

“Really? Again?” 

“What do you mean by again?”

“Well, I remember my Mom telling me this story that her grandmother had told her once. She said that people here used to be missing and when they’re found, they’re usually dead.”

“What? That sounds so scary!”

“I know right? She also mention that there’s no lead to whom did it. Nothing else was there but two small bite marks at the person’s body.” she continued. Your brows furrowed and soon you shut your eyes as you breath heavily.

You just realized you’re not moving anymore so you started flipping the book’s pages once again.

“Bite marks? What do you suggest? There’s vampire here? Come on! They don’t exist.” the other girl even chuckled.

“I also don’t believe unless my eyes sees them but there’s nothing wrong with being aware with those kind of creatures. It’s even scarier knowing they look like humans.” 

You don’t know what got into you but Jungwon suddenly popped in your head. You tilted your head at the side and just resumed from flipping the pages of your book.

“Don’t think too much, y/n. There’s no way Jungwon’s a vampre.” you even let out a small chuckle while mumbling those words.

Your days slowly went back to normal with Jungwon. You just decided to shrugged those changes of him away. Besides, it’s not like Jungwon changed as a person. It’s mostly just his physical appearance. He even got even more good-looking which is not a bad thing.

Now, you’re at the library doing some homework with Jungwon. He was busy writing over at his notebook when you suddenly yawned out of tiredness. He chuckled beside you then glances over at your side.

“Tired?” he asked. You smiled a little, nodding your head a little.

“Go sleep for a while. I’ll wake you up after an hour.” he said and you felt thankful for him. You rested your head over at the table you’re occupying. Slowly, you drifted into deep slumber.

Jungwon was busy doing his homework when you suddenly turn in your sleep making your hair cover your faces. He chuckled letting go of his pen then gently brushed away the hair off your face. He thought you were sleeping really peacefully.

His fingers unexpectedly touched your neck as he brushed the hair off. His eyes trailed over your now exposed neck. He gulped starring fiercely at it. It looked so inviting that he can’t help but to let his fingers grace at it once more.

Roaming his eyes around, Jungwon checked if there’s other people around near you. When he saw that it was clear, he opened his mouth letting his sharp fangs show off as his eyes turn red because of excitement.

He’s a bit more in control now so doing this stuff won’t be too much problem. He also have his daily supply of blood that he make sure to take in order to not be so thirsty every time he saw humans walking around him.

“Your blood smell so good, y/n.” he whispered as he rest one of his hand at the back of your chair as the other one rested at the table. He leaned closer to you, specially over at your neck.

He shut his eyes enjoying your fresh scent, “You’re driving me crazy.” he carefully muttered making sure he won’t wake you up.

He sighed, his breath fanning at your neck. It didn’t wake you up and even when Jungwon place a swift feather like kiss at your neck, it didn’t disturb your sleep. He leaned away, slowly hiding his fangs away. He smiled looking at you with full adore and desire.

“I’ll be just fine as long as you’re there.” 

One fact why Jungwon gave you a key to their dorm is because sometimes, you have this bad nightmares. These nightmares often wakes you up from your sleep and you can’t doze off once again unless Jungwon’s around. You can’t sneak him in your dorms so you’re sneaking to theirs instead. 

So one night, another nightmare woke you up from your sleep, your breath hitched as you arise from your bed, beads of sweat were all over your face and your clothes were drenched by it too. Not waiting for another second you moved and get ready to go at Jungwon’s dorm.

The location of your dorm buildings were a bit far but you often do this so it’s nothing to you anymore. Those sounds around you while walking alone at the dark road was nothing, you were already used to it.

You arrived at his place and quickly opened the door to his room only to be greeted by an empty one. Your brows furrowed as you took of your hood from your head. After taking off your shoes, you walked over his bathroom to check if he was there but he isn’t. You can’t help but to get worried because it’s already late at night. 

When it’s already your tenth time calling him, your head snapped towards the door when it suddenly opened. You stormed to Jungwon with furrowed brows and quickly cage him with your embrace.

Jungwon was caught off guard but manage to wrap his arm around you as well. He thought he was just hallucinating when he smelled your scent from outside his room.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” he asked surprise. He was out with some of his friends. They out in a look-out for the person behind the people missing around town. It was affecting all of the vampires so it's also their concern.

You pulled away from the hug and glared at him.

“Where were you?! Do you know what’s going on in our town right now? People are missing! What are you doing outside late at night?!” You can’t help but to raise your voice at him. You were so worried and he wasn’t answering your calls.

Jungwon starred right at your worried face. He doesn’t know what to feel as he watch you get mad at him. He held you tighter and closer feeling your body shaking a bit.

“Exactly, y/n. It’s not safe to go outside so why did you go here alone?” unlike you, he was calmer but you can definitely hear that he's worried. He raised his one hand and softly caress your warm face.

Your eyes trailed over at his cold hand and you held it with yours, gulping. “I got nightmares so I went here.”

Jungwon finally understand why you’re here. His shoulder fell as he cupped your cheeks before dropping a quick kiss over at your forehead. His lips were cold too.

“Then let’s get you tucked in.” and you two laid down over at his bed. It smells just like him so it really comfort you.

You scooted closer to Jungwon trying to make him feel warmer by your body temperature. You thought that because he went outside, he got cold. You rested your head over at his chest and your hand as well. He leaned his head down closer to yours as he closed his eyes, enjoying the matching heart beats of yours and his heart. It was addicting and somehow felt illegal.

“y/n?” he called out your name softly.

“hmm?” you hummed trying hard to understand what he’ll gonna say. You’re slowly feeling sleepy just by Jungwon laying beside you.

“Will you ever get scared of me?”

His questions rings inside your head, completely waking up your whole system. Slowly, you tried opening your now heavy eyelids. You inhaled his manly scent before you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes.

“What kind of question is that? I will never be afraid of you.” you said letting one of your hand rest over his cheeks.

He smiled, swiftly kissing the hand over at his cheeks then your forehead.

“Go to sleep now.” and that was cue to drifting into dreamland while enjoying Jungwon’s comfort.

“Jay hyung.” the older one turns his head over at Jungwon as he walked inside his dorm. He glanced at him for a while before he went back over to what he was doing.

“What?”

Jungwon sat down over at his bed, “How can I turn somebody into a vampire?” Jungwon straightly asked.

Jay didn’t budge from what he was doing. He’s actually not even surprised with his question. He somehow expected it already and he even knows to whom Jungwon wants to use it.

“Did you asked y/n if she wants to be like us?” Jay fired at him that made him dumbfounded for a while.

“How did you know it was for her?” Jungwon asked blushing. Jay smirked and turned his chair to face him.

“I just knew it. So... did you ask her?”

With a low head and discouraged face, Jungwon shake his head. He didn’t even told you that he’s now a vampire. He’s scared that you’ll fear him and much worst, you’ll start avoiding him.

“Look, Jungwon. Being a vampire means we don’t get old. Meaning if you turned her she will eventually watch her loved ones grow old and die.”

Jungwon’s face turned serious as your smiling face quickly went inside his mind.

“She’ll have me.” he muttered under his voice.

“That’s given, but are you sure she’ll be happy to be with you? Will she be willing to have just you?” And it got him.

Jungwon may know that you value him but up until now, you still don’t confirm feelings for him. He isn’t sure if you feel the same way as him. It was dreadful for him, but one thing’s for sure. Jungwon wants to be with you for a very long time.

Your head turned over at your back as you heard small unwanted sounds behind. It was late already and you’re currently on you way back at your dorms. You kind of regret now why you stayed so late at the library to finish an assignment.

“Oh shit.” you softly cursed as you tried picking up your stuff that scattered all over the floor because you dropped them out of panic.

Your heart was beating like crazy because you already knew somebody was following you. After picking everything up, you stood up, with a hurried steps you started walking again.

As you reach the last building that you need to passed by for you to arrive at your dorms, you noticed a familiar built. Even without fully seeing his face because it’s dark, you knew who it was.

Finally feeling a bit relieved, you smiled, “Jungwon?” you called out his name softly.

He didn’t respond but he walked closer letting the light of the moon shine right at his beautiful face. Your smile slowly faded as you saw how his eyes were at the unusual shade of red. His mouth opened slightly, letting you take a glance of two sharp fangs over his mouth. He smirked, letting his lips ran over his lower lip once.

You got stoned in your position. You were beyond scared. It was almost not him. With a step back, the cold night wind blew towards you and Jungwon disappeared.

The next thing you knew, he was behind you, towering over at your shaking body. You didn’t move and just stayed where you are. You felt like crying but you’re mind was blank.

“Is that fear I see in your eyes, y/n?” you heard his voice beside your ears as his breath fan over your neck.

You shut your eyes and pursed your lips. Jungwon... he’s a vampire. You felt his hands held your shaking arm. That was the last thing you remembered until you woke up inside  this unfamiliar bed.

You’ve never been here so you felt lost. Slowly, even with an aching head, you tried getting up. You remembered being with Jungwon before you lost consciousness.

“You took her here without even asking her if she agrees?” you heard a faint voice from somewhere. It was like he was talking to somebody.

“I was scared she’ll ran away from me. You’re not the one who saw the fear in her eyes.” your steps halted when you heard Jungwon’s voice.

You started following it with light and careful steps. It leads you towards another room. Together with him was Jay.

“She saw your eyes red and you even showed her your fangs. Who wouldn’t be afraid?” Jay have this grin over his face.

“I— Its just i’m desperate. I want to turn her in.”

“And if she says no?”

“I’ll still turn her.” he made up his mind. He did think this through and he decided to be selfish.

Jay laughed at what he heard. It’s interesting seeing Jungwon like this. He never saw him wants something like this.

“There’s a big chance that she’ll despise you.”

Jungwon clicked his tongue at the side of hia cheeks and balled his fist.

“I’ll just deal with it later on. I can’t live without her, hyung. I love her and I’ll have her in any way.” he sounded determine.

Jay starred at the young lad before he smiled, “Then let’s turn her in.” he stood up from where he was sitting.

He once again glanced at Jungwon, “And fyi, you aren’t alive anymore.” he said with a smirk.

Jungwon chuckled and stood up as well. They both headed towards the door and you didn’t even moved an inch. The moment they saw you, they were surprised that you were standing there.

“Y/n.” Jungwon.

You starred right at his eyes. Those familiar doe eyes that you adored since day one. That cute nose that you find adorable when he crunch them. You loved him dearly to the point that even after seeing those blood packs in his dorm the last time you went there because of nightmare, you stayed. Shaking not just because you’re worried for him but also because you just realized he is a vampire.

As your tears fell from your eyes, you rush your way towards Jungwon and hug him. He was dumbfounded as he felt your warmth around his body. Jay was just there watching both of you, leaning beneath the door frame.

“I love you.” you mumbled under your breath.

His brows furrowed as his arm slowly surrounds you. “Y/n I’m a—”

“I know.”

“Since when?”

You sniffed resting your face closer to his chest, “The night I went to your dorm.”

His eyes grew big, “That was a month ago.”

He was surprised to know that you were aware for over a month. You didn’t even change the way you treat him.

“H-How did—”

“I saw your blood packs and I’ve been noticing the changes in you.” you answered.

You don’t know if this is right. You just know that you love him and you also don’t know if you can live without him.

Jungwon was stunned for a while before he slowly leaned closer, tightening his hug.

“I wanna turn you, baby.”

You bit your lower lip as you tight your eyes slowly. Slowly moving away from him, you met his eyes. Showing him a small sincere smile, you lifted your hand cupping his face.

“If that’s the only way I can be with you for a long time, I’d let you.”

Jungwon’s eyes turned red instantly. Your eyes were filled with nothing but affection for him. Jungwon smirked leaning down at you for a soft kiss at your lips.

“I love you, Jungwon.” and his kisses moved from your lips to your jaw and to your neck.

After dropping a kiss at your neck he told you he’ll suck some blood from you. You shut your eyes nodding your head as you slowly tilted your head for him.

Jungwon let his sharp fangs showed and leaned closer, you bit your lower lip to prevent from screaming but it was painful and you started feeling dizzy. Jungwon’s eyes turned intensely red as he held your waist as a support for you.

Jay walked towards Jungwon and slit his wrist with a knife. As blood rush down from his opened wound, he brought it closer to your lips and let you drink his blood.

You felt even more dizzy after taking in his blood. Jungwon was quick enough to catch you as you lost consciousness. Jungwon moved away from your neck and carried you by his arms.

“I love you more, y/n. Let’s be together for a long time.”

main master-list

vampire teaser

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Podoboo

Debut: Super Mario Bros.

Before I start this post, I’d like to clear something up. Podoboo? Yes, Podoboo! I’m well aware these enemies are often called Lava Bubbles and that’s the name Nintendo has been trying to make standardised these days, but you know what? You can’t make me! Podoboo is a lot cuter, plus its the name I grew up with and changes in society scare me and cause me to lash out! Maybe Lava Bubble is closer to the Japanese name of just “Bubble”, but since when has that been a factor in any of the localised names? Do you really want to refer as Lakitu as “Jugemu”, huh? I’ll have you know one of my civil rights as a citizen of Wet Dry World is to refer to Mario enemies with whichever official name I please. Like it or leave it!

So this is a post about Podoboo. Do you like Podoboo? I certainly Podo-do! They are perhaps the most generic design you could give to a Mario enemy, a visibly Dangerous Thing with two eyes, but they have always charmed me! It’s the little things, like their distinct shape and the fact their pupils are somewhat wider than most obstacles like this. They bring me comfort in dire times. No matter what happens, I know Podoboo will be there, jumping at a set height in a particular spot of lava! Without them I would be nothing! 

So simple is their design, isn’t it weird to think they started off as even simpler? The Podoboos in the first SMB game are completely blind, and with no eyes they may as well not be creatures at all! Of course, I’m very glad they are creatures, and their iconic behaviour was there from the start! They love to jump, of course! There is nothing they would rather be doing!

Awaken! As of Super Mario World, they have been gifted sight and are no longer blind to the sins of this world! Hurray! What do you think they see as they jump up and down? I’m surprised it doesn’t make them dizzy!

You’ll be glad to hear Podoboos have had an expansive career ever since, now with their new trademark eyes! After all, they are THE lava enemy! Anywhere you’ve got that tasty hot fire juice, these guys are soon to follow! Here they are in Super Mario RPG, called Sparkies here because they couldn’t make up their minds on a localized name and probably because they confused them with Li’l Sparkies. In Yoshi’s Story they even called them Spark Spooks! Geez, I’ll even take the name Lava Bubble over this! But doesn’t this render look nice and juicy?

Though any great career has its flops, and I have to say... I am usually the first to campaign for the unique designs from the first three Paper Marios, but I do not really like this Lava Bubble! This takes away from their distinct Mario-y charm and makes them look like a Fire Enemy you could find in any other game! Though in the RPGs they are able to float around without needing any lava, the ones in Super Paper Mario act just like the platformer ones, jumping around despite not looking like they should be doing that! Ok!

The Podoboo from New Super Mario Bros. DS just wasn’t trying very hard at all. Come on! They could’ve it a bit more justice than this! 

Ah, there we go! The Podoboos in New Super Mario Bros. Wii decided to finally stop messing about and go back to what everyone loved from them in Super Mario World. I encourage experimenting with your identity, of course, but it’s good to be back, and now they are more mortal than ever! A single shot from an Ice Flower is enough to instantly vaporize a Podoboo in a puff of smoke, which is a bit scary! Are they really just pure fireballs that can be put out just like that? What a frightening life to live!

And in Super Mario Galaxy 2, they... hey, wait!! You took away their eyes again! Now you are just being inconsiderate. This outraged me as a kid! One of my most vivid memories of playing this game with my brother involved chanting “Podoboo rights! They deserve eyes!” because this upset me so much. Maybe my past as an activist is why I am so passionate about Mario enemies these days... I think I was 100 percent correct in hindsight, and now you know some of my backstory, too!

What relief it gave me to find out they were back to their usual selves in 3D Land! And they have been ever since, of course getting redesigned for the modern Paper Mario games and everything. 

What’s this? Blue Podoboos! Podo-blues, even...! They show up in 3D World, in its incredibly cool-looking blue lava levels! It’s a well known fact that blue fire is objectively cooler than red fire, and it seems even the Podoboos wanted in on the action! Blue Lava is an actual phenomenon I’ve just learnt, though it’s a sulfuric fire rather than lava. Could it be that Podoboos, being made entirely of lava, adapt to their environment? I’m not sure...

As an aside, the blue Lava Bubbles aren’t to be confused with Lava Bubble (Blue), which are from Mario Galaxy and show up during King Kaliente’s fight! They hop around on the ground and have square-ish eyes, which is enough to make them different I guess!

The Podoboo’s next big appearance, in Super Mario Odyssey, was in Soup! Yes you heard me- Soup! Some delightfully pepto-bismol pink coloured soup, no less. This is why I wasn’t too sure about Podoboo’s being able to adapt to their environment earlier- the Luncheon Kingdom is a big soup volcano after all, but the fact these Lava Bubbles are able to live in it is very interesting!

There is simply no way I would talk about Odyssey here without talking about possibly its greatest achievement, the best game design decision ever made! After decades of begging from fans, they finally did the impossible- they made Podoboo playable! Now it is Podo-you! It is quite unlike the other captures in the game, since it keeps the Podoboo’s simple-looking eyes and simply adds onto it a nose and a mustache! You may very well be the world’s first Podoboo with a sense of smell! I wonder if that is a benefit or not. The constant smell of soup might be a bit overpowering. 

Not only is this delightful, but it gives us more insight into the life of the humble Podoboo. First of all is the fact that they can swim around in lava, not just jump in one spot! Do you think they do this when we aren’t looking? I really hope so! Imagine a school of Podoboos swimming through molten lava in a castle’s moat. How delightful! 

The Luncheon Kingdom is also home to a number of Lava cannons, marked with a Podoboo’s lovely face. These are cannons for only for Podoboos to launch themselves across the kingdom, from one body of lava to another! My question is whether this was technology made by Podoboos themselves or whether it was made by some generous Podoboo lovers as some lava equivalent to the Fish Tube. I think I would take either explanation! 

And last I have a Podoboo appearance that even I, the world’s biggest Podoboo fan, didn’t know about! Paper Mario Color Splash has a Big Lava Bubble boss which speaks with you through a Shy Guy translator! It is quite upset that you barged into its volcano and decided to change the temperature. Mario, of course, kills it anyway, and also the Shy Guy translator without a second thought.

Still, just take a look at this sprite sheet! How cute! A little disappointing that they thinned out the eyes, but wow! They more than make up for it with this range of expressions! An angry Podoboo! A sad Podoboo! And my personal favorite is of course the shocked Podoboo with its assymetrical dot eyes, which might be one of the best things I’ve ever seen. 

To be honest, I could talk about Podoboo forever! If you didn’t stop me, I would go on all day about their every appearance, but I kind of had to limit myself to some of the most relevant ones. I just think they’re neat! And cute! And silly! Besides, I’m Mod F Boy, so I’m basically obliged to talk about fireballs with eyes! But for now I must bid you Pod-adieu! 

...Not! What, did you really believe me? Well you clicked the Keep Reading button, so you only have yourself to blame for this. Here I am talking about more Lava Bubbles from all over, because Lava Bubble’s career has taken it BEYOND the Mario series! Wow!

Podoboo’s had quite a few appearance in the Zelda series, appearing in Link’s Awakening, both the Oracle games, and even Cadence of Hyrule! Their Zelda wiki page is still called Podoboo instead of Lava Bubble, which means those Zelda fans have it better than we do. But wow, this is a pretty angry looking Podoboo! I wouldn’t mess with them! 

Both the Oracle games even had a Podoboo Tower! Amazing! They look quite a lot like a Fire Snake, but they are simply a tower of Podoboos! Why don’t they do this more often?

Hm... The Cadence of Hyrule one doesn’t have any eyes. Come on guys! It’s 2019! Podoboos having eyes should be standard! Though they still made the conscious decision to call them “Podoboos” in 2019, so I can’t be too mad. 

And they have even spread to Minecraft! In the Mario Mash-up Pack, they replace the Magma Cube enemies, and really there was no better choice for this. And now we have a Podoboo Cube! What more could possibly be left for Podoboo?

The answer is obvious- Podoboo in real life! Thanks to a certain Lego Mario set, Podoboo is now real and can be in your home for the small price of 19,99 US dollars. Please give a Podoboo a home today! Just make sure you don’t own anything flammable. 

[hurricanes-art]

i am interested in your hades au, would you mind giving some details about it? 👁 it looks really interesting

[This AU is from these drawings!]

*cracks knuckles* Ok! I actually got enough sleep last night so I'm finally feeling up to explaining this au lmao

Also I hope that by “some details” you meant “way way too many” because I am nothing if not long winded. Also @hades-hellsite asked for context too, here you go

The central premise is that, after he dies, Achilles manages to make an arrangement with Hades that allows both him and Patroclus to stay in Elysium together. He's not employed to work at the house and he never becomes Zagreus's combat trainer.

Hades makes a few attempts to find Zagreus a different teacher among the shades of great warriors, but being skilled does not make someone able to teach. And being able to teach one way doesn't mean someone will be good for every student. When Zagreus doesn't learn well with the few mentors Hades tries, which he barely gives a chance to breathe anyway, he's quick to decide that he must have no martial ability and declares Zagreus a failure in that as he has about so many things.

This has two major effects on Zagreus before his escape attempts begin. One, without any chance to actually grow into aptitude in combat, he's left without anything substantial to put his energy into and, more importantly, he's left without anything he feels good at and that gives value to his efforts. Two is that, in Achilles' absence, very few people in the house give him any care and support untwisted by the politics of the house and the judgment of his father. There is Orpheus, kind to him before Hades locks him away for refusing to sing, Hypnos, willing to put the house to sleep so he can find the truth though jumbled up in his own problems, and Nyx.

Nyx is the only one to aid Zagreus when he decides to try to escape. She contacts Olympus and weaves careful lies to win their support and blesses his departure. She's also the only one who believes that Zagreus has the slightest chance of escaping. Already in canon, most everyone tells him there no way he'll make it out, but here, it's so much worse. He doesn't know how to fight, his initial attempts are pitiful and his progress negligible, and near everyone lashes out at him to get back in line and stop making things worse.

He doesn't even have the Infernal Arms. Achilles is the one who brings them to him in canon; here Zagreus takes a simple bronze sword from one of the house's many displays of weapons from wars long past. He thanks the Fates that the Styx restores it the same way it does his body when he dies because he nicks and dulls the edges every time.

Despite all the disadvantages, Zagreus throws himself into escaping with unshakable determination, bone deep stubbornness. He picks up his sword and will figure out how to use it himself. Experience will be his teacher. He dies over and over and he watches his enemies and learns how they move and how he must react, mimicking their attacks for his own use and adjusting and adjusting after each failure. And contrary to Hades' adamant belief, Zagreus is very intelligent and learns brilliantly when allowed to and he grows stronger and stronger.

There's no teacher more savage than experience in something like this, though. The pursuit is agonizing and the cost is enormous and adjusting to this ceaseless violence feels impossible.

Much of my interest in this idea is how the added strain on his circumstances and relationships affects Zagreus and his mental state. At his best, Zag looks a lot like he does in canon, with his laurels unfurled and vibrant, and his feet glowing hot, but he rarely feels his best here. His laurel leaves curl in dry and crisp, muted like the leaves of autumn. Flakes of ash and soot build up over his legs and encase more and more as he suffers. So deep is his feeling of failure and being trapped that it affects him physically.

Not always, though. His flames respond to his emotions, burn brighter in his passion. Enthusiasm, love, fervor, bliss, anger set him glowing.

After a brutally drawn out span of time, Zagreus meets Achilles and Patroclus in Elysium and tbh, the rest of my interest is really in how the altered circumstances change the evolution of their relationships with each other. The pair of warriors were never separated for an extended time and Achilles is less downtrodden and resigned and Patroclus is less bitter and abrasive when Zagreus stumbles upon them.

They don't fight him, which Zagreus counts among his greatest blessings, although Achilles still seems to have an interest. It makes him twitchy and he jumps when Achilles finally lifts his spear and swings it around in his third time in their little glade only to bump the flat of the blade against elbow and tell him to keep it in more towards his body. Zagreus blinks rapidly at him before adjusting his arm.

Achilles helps him here and there, tips and tricks and valuable advice, but he never gives anything near the thorough instruction he did in canon. On one hand, he doesn't need to. Zagreus is a self made fighter and it leaves him with weaknesses but it is also a powerful thing. He is unpredictable and incredibly adaptable and he only continues to improve.

On the other hand, there's no room for it. Achilles is gentle with his guidance, but Zagreus is rubbed raw by all the fighting he's done and all that still depends on it. He doesn't want to always focus on the weapon in his hands. Patroclus notices and curbs Achilles' input when it exceeds its bounds. He sits aside and observers carefully when they spar. Zagreus doesn't need another's direction which is fine by him, who's lost all desire for combat. He gives his aid through his assortment of trinkets that carry Zagreus further to the surface.

Zagreus barely knows what to do with himself in the face of their care. He's so unaccustomed to such generous and genuine support, interest devoid of expectation or blame. As familiarity between the three of them grows, their interactions grow warmer, more tender and comfortable. Their care lays on a foundation, not a hinge, and Zagreus grapples with understanding that he really can lean on it. It all leaves him so uncertain yet so desperate because he wants more than anything to have joy and conversation and company with others where he doesn't shoulder heavy guilt from unspoken accusations over his escaping the house and to have a place he feels he belongs without being an intrusion.

He does at first believe he's intruding, though. Intruding on their time together in the peace of Elysium. It takes them time to convince him that they value his presence immeasurably. The opportunity to stay together in the Underworld has been invaluable for Achilles and Patroclus, but the peace of Elysium is a deceptive thing. It wears away and prickles at them, pressing down in odd warping ways. Patroclus is beyond pleased to have the war behind him and that it can never force him to fight again, and despite Achilles retaining an interest in competition and combat, he does feel the same way. Having a cause though, something to believe in and worth devoting their efforts towards... They didn't realize how deeply they missed it until Zagreus. It is revitalizing. They thrive in his genuine, boundless kindness and long to support him.

The drawings of Orpheus arguing with Hades and Zagreus fighting with Nyx is from one of my plot point ideas. Later down the line, together, Hades, Persephone, and Nyx agree to forbid Zagreus from seeing Achilles and Patroclus at Nyx's behest. Similarly to how she talks about Dusa in canon, she sees mortal shades as beneath his station and that it's highly unbecoming for the prince to be consorting with them. Zagreus fights against the idea ferociously and is only smothered by the threat that, if he seeks them out anyway, Hades will void Achilles' agreement and have Patroclus moved to the proper plane of the Underworld.

It crushes Zagreus. He loves them and cares about them so much and being torn apart from them is a wound that cuts so deep. But even more than that, what breaks him open most, is the fact that it came from someone he cared for and trusted most. Nyx was the one person in the House he could depend on most and this betrayal at her hand is devastating. And for such a worthless reason as propriety and godly vanity. It's not her place to force those upon him. It hurts Zagreus to the core.

Orpheus is the only one willing to stick up for him in this, deeply empathetic to the grief of being separated from loved ones and well acquainted with the fact that such punishments will only damage, never correct. After all, his stint of punishment in Erebus didn't revive his desire to sing, it was Zagreus's dedication and vibrancy that did that. One of the many invaluable gifts Zagreus gave him, including reuniting him with Eurydice, making him happier than he'd been since her death. Orpheus can't keep biting his tongue when all these gods refuse to see any of this.

It all comes to a head dramatically and painfully and I've thought of a few variations on how it would play out. I'll leave it for now though, I might draw it or write it later >:3c  Also this got really long lol. Hopefully the idea is at least somewhat interesting!

And here, have the lines from these two drawings because I like the way they look

[zeldas-cigarrette]

Jealousy. (request)

I was wondering if I could send in a request for a Farah Dowling x female student( legal age of course) this is my first time requesting for her so it’s a bit cliche and simple but would you be able to do a fix where Farah gets jealous of the reader like someone flirts with the reader and Farah gets very riled up and is even cold but she softens at the sight of reader and there’s a lot of sexual and emotional tension and eventually there’s a confrontation and feelings come to light? ♥️

I hope you like it sweetheart:) And I am so so sorry for the long wait !! (It’s probably not quite what you wanted but I tried???)

for @suckerformadamsatan ✨

Alfea was a wonderful new opportunity for a new start and you integrated well in your first couple of months. It had been strange at first, you just found out that you’re a fairy and the next logical step was to bring you to Alfea. Though it was strange for a while, you adapted pretty quickly. Farah Dowling, the Headmistress, mesmerized you from the very beginning. Her whole presence radiated power and even though you thought that she wasn’t very fond of you, you were proven wrong one particular day.

The sun was swallowed by thick layers of grey clouds, which seemed to have a lot of water saved in them. It was almost certain that the whole otherworld; Solaria, wouldn’t have a dry spot in a few hours. You spent your break in the cafeteria, listening to Bloom, Terra and Aisha talk about some big stuff coming up. You were distracted by Farah, who was talking to Saul on the other side of the room. She looked beautiful, flawless. You wanted to get up and kiss her right in front of all the people. But it was inappropriate, highly. Also, she wouldn’t even feel the same and be embarrassed about the whole thing. What you didn’t know was that Farah did take a liking to you. She felt drawn to you and every time you were focusing on your magic in class, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. It was a strange feeling in the woman’s gut, she had never dared to fall for a student. She swore to compose herself and be careful with her looks.

You fantasized about how her hand would feel on your hips, holding you close. It was top secret, though you always could tell Musa, you didn’t allow yourself to think about her when you spent time with your friend. As hard as it was, you managed to store your thought deep down in your brain, unable to read them for everyone around you.

The room was filled with a hint of thyme. Everybody seemed to be chatting or eating their lunch, so you felt safe to dedicate some of your thoughts to the woman in the corner. Farah’s hair was done up in a way you couldn’t quite wrap your mind around. „What do you think about it?” Aisha’s voice tore you out of your state. You had no clue what she was talking about, so you just stared at her with big eyes. „Y/n, did you even listen?” Terra asked, eating her last piece of potatoes on her plate. „No, I’m sorry could you repeat it maybe?”

„We were thinking about going to the party tonight and we were wondering if you’d join us,” the earth fairy energetically repeated and was expecting a yes. Since you weren’t really much of a party girl, you had to politely decline. Big crowds, loud music; never was your thing, never will be.

The bell rang and a bunch of people made their way to the classrooms. Bloom and Terra didn’t bother to move, while Aisha shoved pieces of apples in her mouth. A tap on your shoulder made you avert your gaze from the leaving students and made you focus on the person who wished for your attention. In front of you appeared a tall guy, brown curly hair. „Can I help you?” you raised an eyebrow. You had never seen him before. „I’m Brian,” he cleared his throat, „I watched you for some time.” His eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said, „I didn’t mean it that way, I just find you entrancing and I wanted to ask if you’d like to go to the party with me tonight.”

You gulped, you hated telling people off. You were sure what you wanted and what you didn’t but sometimes you failed to communicate it correctly. Moments of silence lingered in the air and you felt the stares of the girls on you. It was awkward, to say the least. „I’m sorry…” you forgot his name. „Brian,” he added seeing that his name wasn’t present in your head. „I’m sorry Brian but I don’t really like to party that much so,” you weren’t sure if that was convincing enough. He nodded. Since you wanted to escape this awkward tension as quickly as possible you got up from the chair, gathered your things, and were about to rush out of the cafeteria. Not even halfway through the door, you got held back by a hand on your wrist. It was him again. You internally rolled your eyes but kept a friendly face. „How about we just go for a walk then, in the moonlight?” his voice was soaked with sugar.

If you had been at a loss of words you could’ve stopped him from rambling on. „And I can pick you up at nine and we could also have dinner before.” Slightly, you shook your head before you found the right words, „I think you’re a good guy, but I’m just not into guys you know? So no, I don’t think I’d like to do this.” A sad expression spread on his face but he seemed to acknowledge it. The boy turned around and quickly walked away. It must’ve been awful for him, you thought to yourself. Still, you made your way out of the cafeteria to head for your next class. You saw the last few students in the hallway scurry to their rooms when a hand on your shoulder made you stop immediately. It has to be that Brian guy again.

—♡︎

Farah watched the whole thing happen from her position and she felt her blood boil from the scene that was offered. It took her a long time to figure out what was going on, every time the older fairy saw you; something in her stomach twirled (in a good way). Brian seemed to be persistent although she could see that you clearly didn’t enjoy his presence, Farah felt a hint of jealousy creeping up in her. She wanted to be the one asking you out, holding your hand. She let Saul talk without showing him a hint of interest. When she saw you rushing out of the room, the fairy saw an opportunity.

—♡︎

„God Brian, didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” it was almost anger that filled your voice. As you turned around, you almost choked on your own saliva. Her features weren’t easy to read, you had no idea what she was thinking. The little wrinkles around her eyes were soon gone when she unclenched her jaw. „In my office!” It almost scared you, have you been that rude just now? Nonetheless, you followed her, looking down on your feet. Arriving at her office, the older fairy pulled you inside almost hectic if you hadn’t known better.

Farah had both of her arms braced on her hips, inspecting every little detail of you as if she had never done that before. „What have I done?” you asked shyly not knowing what trouble you now caused. „Actually…” Farah began and hesitated, „nothing?” It was remarkable that not even the headmistress knew what was going on. „So am I allowed to leave?” no doubt you enjoyed her presence but that was awkward. While waiting for an answer, you studied your surroundings. A huge wooden desk stood in the middle of the room, paperwork, pencils, and other things you couldn’t quite make out covered the top. The room was barely agleam, only a thin ray of sun threw a slight light in the room. A few lit scented candles took the job and made the room glow in a crimson-like shade.

„I have to confess something,” Farah’s voice sounded almost as if she was afraid. As if the whole situation wasn’t weird enough, she had to confess something…? Her eyes scanned you for approval before she just went on. The fairy turned around to now face the wall. „Well,” the woman drew in a long breath, „I was jealous?” It sounded like a question. „About what?” that was quicker than you had intended to. Her head quickly jolted in your direction. Silence between the two of you settled again. Realization hit just a couple of seconds after, it was about what happened with Brian. „He was flirting with you and I- I just…” she stuttered. Farah’s features softened when she saw the slight smile tugging on your lips. You walked over to her, thinking about if this was right twice, and took her hands in yours. A delicate smile graced her lips and that was when you knew it was mutual. Farah’s right hand went up to your face to cup your cheek, she pulled your face closer until her lips landed on yours. The kiss was in sync, it felt unreal; like heaven.

What you didn’t know was that Farah had spent nights thinking about you, thinking about what could go wrong. She had scolded herself for having those feelings for a student. At that moment every doubt was forgotten. She had lightly pushed you against her desk, letting her hands roam around on your body. Of all the times you stood close to her you never realized how heavenly she smelt, like a field of lavender.

—♡︎

It didn’t take long until the two of you became inseparable, you spent almost every minute with her (except when you had to be in class). You knew she could easily get jealous. Every time someone talked to you, she had this look on her face that made your heart skip a beat. She was so afraid of losing you to someone younger than her. The little „I love you.”’s before you went to sleep every night, they reassured her that you wouldn’t leave.