#It's a heavy burden but one he must bear (he's insane)

[beanphomet]

I love the name Cassius, so, I have a few character q's for him!

1. Is there a story or reason behind the name?

2. How does he deal with potentially being exposed to religious iconography and art in the company of "other" toreadors?

3. What's the go to move to make himself seem the saddest and wettest?

"Oh dang mixed up my t clans in that ask but the question stands!"

--

Thank you for asking bout my lil guy :D

1) Honestly, I have to admit that I chose the name because I think it was very pretty. However looking up what it means, or rather what it's association with, it's very funny and fitting seeing it be related to the assassination of Ceasar and Usurper. The meaning vain doesn't apply that much to him, although he does count on others peoples vanity to keep him hidden. But hollow? Oh yeah.

I don't think Cass himself knows of the connection though. His last name is also Grant which I chose because it sounds fairly normal. However it does make his name 'vain/hollow and tall'

2) He'd most likely would either try and fight trough it or hope his image as a pathetic idiot would get him trough and twist it that he's actually super devoted. Generally he avoids them but he's a good liar so he believes in his ability to weasel his way out. (also i do the same sometimes, where i confuse my t clans so mood)

3) Mostly he works with body language and voice. Trying to make himself small, looking shabby with messy clothes and hair, talking in a higher pitch with stutters. Letting himself be exploited and acting like he believes that everyone has his best intentions in mind.

It's very funny when comparing it to the almost leadership role he takes when with the others and how he started all this because he lost hope for humanity, how steady his hand is when he drives the sacrificial dagger into a victim.

[anastasia12]

lower your inhibitions

lower your inhibitions ; simon “ghost” riley.

You love Simon, you really do.

How could you not? How could you not fall for him? He’s the one who rescued you from a fate worse than death, the one who washes your body for you even though the both of you know that you’re fully capable of showering alone (he loves you so much, he’s constantly craving to touch you in any way he can), the one who took apart one of his honorary medals for his services and melted it down so it could be manipulated and turned into the band on your engagement ring.

(Did you know that the medal he used is the one he got from the mission where you two first met, the fateful mission where he both saved and changed your whole entire life?)

And you know that Simon would do absolutely anything for you. He whispers it to you in the dead of night, holding you so close to his chest like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. He lets you be the one who removes his mask, and if he can do something so intimately vulnerable, then you suppose you can do this for him.

This is giving into one of his latest fantasies, one that he’s been hinting at for quite some time now.

You know that his line of work is difficult at best and life-threatening all the time. You know that he bears a heavy burden on his shoulders — it’s not just his weaponry and equipment that weighs him down, but the fact that so many lives are resting in his hands. You do your best to relieve him of any stress when he gets home: a warm meal waiting for him, fresh clothes set out for him to change into, long nights where you spend all your time and energy determined to give him the reward he deserves for being a hero.

He mentions it in passing, usually when you’re so far gone in the throes of pleasure that you don’t even consciously acknowledge his little comments. Sneaky bastard; he’s been making sure it stays ingrained in your subconscious, though.

Baby, I could spend forever here. You’re certain that’s what he was groaning out the last time you had spread your legs for him and allowed him to eagerly lap at your pussy. You’re not entirely too sure, though — the only thing you can clearly remember through the foggy haze of intense passion was the feeling of him pleasuring you with just his mouth and bringing you to climax on his tongue at least twice that night.

You can only imagine what he must have planned for you tonight.

You’re sure that Simon has an insane amount of stamina as a result of his work. The only thing keeping you, his little soon-to-be housewife, still alive from all of these little entanglements is the fact that you love him enough to do anything he asks of you. So when he tells you that the only thing that’ll help him take his mind off of his latest assignment is to have you sitting on his face, you oblige.

According to him, this is a foolproof plan because only an idiot would be thinking about something else when he’s got the prettiest pussy in the world on top of him.

You could feel your face heating up at his vulgar compliment, but you’re not entirely innocent. The heat was building up towards the lower half of your body after that comment, too.

And now you find yourself nervously straddling your fiance, looking into his eyes.

“You know where you need to be, pretty girl,” His voice is already thick with arousal, and you recognize that hungry glint in his eyes. You pray to anyone out there who’s listening to pretty please give you the strength to survive tonight.

“B-but Simon—” You’re whispering, even though this house is the only residence in the area. (Thank God for that; if the two of you had neighbors, they surely would have filed a noise complaint.)

“Yes, my love?” You can recognize the teasing tone in his voice, and you can hear the smirk he must be wearing on his face.

“How am I supposed to… You know, get on your face and let you do what you want when your mask is still on?”

His infamous balaclava with the skull design etched onto the fabric seems to taunt you. It doesn’t scare you, especially since you’re well aware of who the man behind the mask truly is, but you can’t quite figure out why he hasn’t taken it off yet.

“Oh. I didn’t tell you yet?” He has to be smiling underneath the mask because your reaction to his next words is enough to have him chuckling.

“I’m not eating you out ‘til you’re so wet for me that I can feel you dripping through the mask.”

You immediately freeze up, wondering if he truly means what he just said.

(It’s Simon; of course, he meant every word of it.)

“Sweetheart, I thought you were going to be a good girl for me tonight.” The disapproval he douses his words with isn’t real — you know he’s just trying to tease you because it’s what he loves to do. Still, you find yourself nodding your head and slowly but surely making your way up his resting body before you find yourself hovering uncertainly above his face.

You let out an adorable little yelp of surprise as he suddenly grips the back of your thighs and forces you down on his mask-covered face. For a man his size, the strength isn’t surprising, but it’s his stealth and dexterity that always catches you off guard.

“Can’t wait to taste you.” His voice sounds muffled now due to the pressure being applied to his mouth, and you can feel the slight movements of his mouth despite the thick fabric of his balaclava acting as a barrier between you and him. His eyes are already deepening with desire, and you swallow hard, knowing that it’ll please him if you truly give it your all. You’ve known him for what feels like forever, and you’re engaged to the man. There’s no more room for shyness to take root in this relationship.

It’s time for you to lower your inhibitions.

Your first movements are a bit uncertain, but his groan of appreciation acts as reassurance. You move back and forth slowly, carefully grinding against the mask, and occasionally, your clit will brush against the covered tip of his nose, only adding to your pleasure and allowing you to give into your depravity without worry.

“Just like that, love. You’re doing so well for me.” You can barely make out the words he’s saying, but you give him a shaky smile as you continue to grind against him, your hands finding purchase on the pillow he’s resting his head on. You grip it, trying to hold yourself steady as you continue to buck against him, your arousal practically leaking out of you, a constant stream of juices that is soaking through the fabric, leaving a distinct wet stain on the front of it.

Simon grins at a mission successfully accomplished. Not only can he feel your arousal through the mask, but you’re so soaked for him that he’s certain he can taste you already, too.

One strong hand grips your waist, pausing your jerky movements, and you look down, blinking and trying to ground yourself into reality. You watch as he uses his other hand to tear off the balaclava, tossing it somewhere on the floor of your shared bedroom.

His chin and lips are already shining just the slightest — just how wet for him are you? He gives you a cheeky grin, and you’re still so close to him that when he speaks, his lips brush against your slick folds.

“Don’t stop now, darling. You promised you’d sit on my face.”

He’s so close to helping you get rid of the ache in between your legs, and you find yourself lowering yourself fully, your soft thighs encasing his head, and your soaking cunt landing right on his mouth. You’re already leaking all the way down to his chin, and his groans of pleasure only serve to make you even wetter.

He can’t speak right now; not when he’s too occupied with the meal you’ve so generously decided to grace him with. The room is filled with the obscene sounds of him lapping up everything you’re spilling out.

His tongue slides through your entrance with ease, and you moan in ecstasy, throwing your head back as you start to instinctually buck against his face, practically riding his tongue.

He’s sucking up your arousal, eager to please you but also insanely happy at the position he’s finally in. This is exactly what he needed: pure, unadulterated access to your pussy. Your thighs are surrounding him, and he uses both hands to squeeze harshly at your ass. The slight pain only makes you squeal and jerk up just the slightest, but he growls before forcing you back down on his face, right where you belong.

The ministrations of his tongue are entirely too much. The noises the two of you are making sounds as if the two of you are filming a porno, and you know you can’t last much longer.

Using both of your hands, your fingers curl into the thick locks of his hair, tugging just enough to him groan against your pussy, and you mewl out his name as you cum all over his face.

Your body feels like jelly; this isn’t the first time that Simon has fucked you boneless before, but this orgasm was intense. You think you can still feel some aftershocks of it, and you moan out weakly as you struggle to remain in your seated position on his face.

He’s still lapping everything up, his tongue still exploring every centimeter of yourself you have to offer him. After that climax, your poor pussy is feeling too sensitive, and every time he slightly moves his head, his nose continues to bump against your clit. You’re ultra-aware of every movement of his, extra susceptible to every flick of his tongue and the pleasure is only painfully heightened. You’re too weak to fight him off and while giving in will surely leave you unable to leave the bed all day tomorrow, you can’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop.

“Si-mon.” You whine out his name, but it comes out garbled and broken. Your mind doesn’t know how to react to the constant pleasure he’s inflicting on you and your sensitive little cunt. Your body, though, is eager to receive more of what he has to offer. It’s evident in the way your hole starts to clench around nothing every time he teasingly withdraws his tongue to force you to beg him for more. Even though you feel like you’re unable to move, you still find enough strength left in you to grind against him, rubbing your pussy and spreading your slick all over his face before you cum once again, this one leaving you all the more disorientated.

His visage is a sight to behold: cheeks are flushed red, eyes wild and dark with desire, the lower half of his face stained with your cum and arousal. You should be embarrassed at what a mess you’ve made of your fiance, but he only licks his lips. His eyes almost roll back as he realizes the taste of you will forever be on his tastebuds.

“Taste so good, love.” He gasps out. His hair is messy from the way you’ve shamelessly tugged at his locks. “I need more. You gonna give it to me?”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t even wait for your affirmation before forcing you down onto his mouth once again.

He wasn’t lying when he made the claim that he could live in between your legs forever. After tonight, you know you’re never going to deny him the chance to prove it, though.

comment if you want your @ in heree

[voraciousvore]

In the Belly of the Giant (24/39)

***Contains violent, non-consensual sex***

Chapter 24

Eren woke up before Trent did as the gray early morning light filtered through the blinds. She felt dejected as she stared at her gloomy prison and watched a giant roach crawl up the smudged glass. She thought Joey would’ve found her by now. She began to wonder, drowning in melancholy, if she was going to be trapped here for the rest of her life, at the mercy of the evil giant. The idea was too heavy a burden to bear, but she could no longer avoid it. She was a lost soul, imprisoned in the bowels of hell. 

Trent’s cellphone rang, shattering the silence. He picked it up with a groan and mumbled a greeting as he answered it. From across the room, Eren was able to hear the rumble of a sonorous voice on the other end, which she assumed must be Mr. Greenwood. Trent sustained a short conversation before hanging up and dropping his phone on the bed. He sat up, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. 

“Man, that was one hell of a drug,” he muttered to himself, massaging his head as he fried up an egg sandwich using one of his unwashed pans. Eren watched nervously as he cracked a beer and bit into his sandwich. He hadn’t acknowledged her this morning, which was a good sign that he wasn’t going to eat her or torment her, but he hadn’t fed her either. She was hungry. 

He ate the entire sandwich and polished off his beer. He pulled on some stained jeans and his black leather jacket, then pocketed his knife and stuck his gun in his pants. As he collected his things and prepared to leave, he paused and looked over at the terrarium. Eren tensed up. With a sigh, he tossed in a plain slice of bread so she wouldn’t starve. 

“I’ll be back soon enough,” he announced, as if he believed that Eren would miss him. Eren curled her lip with disgust, but the expression was lost on Trent as he turned away and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Eren exhaled as she was granted a brief respite from having to be around the despicable giant. 

With nothing else to do, Eren snacked on the bread, wallowed in her own misery, and made friends with the roaches all day. She spent the entire day in isolation, feeling like she was slowly going insane. As the daylight started to seep out of the room, Trent returned with a half-eaten bag of fast food. He scarfed down the remainder of his fries, wiped the grease on his pants, and carelessly tossed the wrappers on the grimy carpet, as additional fodder for the roach army. 

Eren observed him with consternation, waiting with dread for his next move. She hoped, since he had already eaten his dinner, she wouldn’t be on the menu tonight. Trent seemed to be in a good mood. He undressed, stripping off his pants, jacket, and tank top so he was just in his boxers. He approached the terrarium, so Eren found herself staring at his pasty bare belly, as wide across as a movie theater screen. She backed up into the far wall and looked up at his revolting, leering face. He unclasped the lid and reached his huge hand inside. 

“Please, Trent, no!” Eren begged, hiding under her blanket. “I can’t take it anymore!” 

Trent smirked and ripped the blanket out of her hands. “Relax, Eren,” he said, in an unusually soft tone. “I’m not gonna eat you this time.” Needless to say, Eren didn’t trust his words. He scooped her up in his hand, despite her protests. She trembled in his palm as he carried her over to his bed and flopped down. Eren anticipated the worst. She wondered if he was going to torture her, toy with her, or just eat her anyway. Instead, he held her against his bare chest and petted her with his fingers. Eren tried to pull away, but he pressed her up to his body tighter. 

Eren hated Trent. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him, even if he wasn’t actively hurting her. Hearing his heartbeat and breathing reminded her of being trapped inside his titanic body. However, no matter how much she fought against him, she couldn’t win against his giant strength. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was somewhere else, anywhere really. She tried to pretend she was with Joey instead. Lamentably, though she could deceive her eyes, her nose was not fooled. When Joey embraced her with the warm softness of his body, he always had a pleasant scent. Joey showered regularly and sometimes even wore cologne. Trent, on the other hand, was a scummy brute that reeked of body odor. He smelled like he had been rolling around in a hot dumpster all day. Eren wrinkled her nose and tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he pushed her down harder. 

Trent sat up, and Eren could feel his muscles bulging in his chest and abs as he moved his arms. She glanced over to see what he was doing. To her horror, he slid his boxers down his legs, revealing a massive, throbbing erection. She turned around to look at his face, and he gazed back down at her with a toothy, lecherous grin. She realized all at once what he had planned for her as he pushed her down his belly toward his crotch. She frantically tried to grab at his body hair or the cave of his belly button to slow her descent, and cried out helplessly as he shoved her up against his giant penis and started vigorously stroking her up and down against it. 

Eren flailed and screamed, but her actions only succeeded in getting Trent more stimulated. He rubbed her all over his shaft and the head of his penis, nearly stuffing her face in his oozing cock hole. He used her body to massage his ballsack next, rubbing her all over his scrotum, in between the balls, underneath, on his taint. He was breathing hard, moaning with pleasure, and sweating. He maneuvered Eren back up and she could feel the blood rushing to his cock through the massive vein sticking out on the side. The rest of his colossal body loomed over her, muscles flexing. Her wounded heart filled with bitter wrath. She wasn’t just going to let this execrable demon do whatever he wanted to her. Before she considered the sagacity of her decision, she opened her mouth and bit him on the skin of his phallus as hard as she possibly could, with all the force of her resentment in her jaws. 

Trent flinched back with a shout. Eren gripped her teeth together like a vice and refused to let go as he tried to pull her off. Finally, he seized her by her hair and wrenched her off, then lifted her up the incredible height to his face. Eren shrieked in pain and grabbed at her scalp. The giant was livid with rage. Eren realized, too late, that she had made a grave mistake. 

Trent was so furious, he could barely talk. “You... you...” he stuttered, his face turning purple before he launched into an explosive rant. “You fucking cunt! I’ll eviscerate you for that! I’ll tear off your limbs and decapitate you! I’ll hunt down your precious Joey, torture him in front of you, and squash him like a bug!” Despite her disorientation from being picked up by her hair and screamed at, Eren ascertained from this statement that Trent assumed Joey was a human. She squinted as flecks of spittle splashed her face while Trent continued his verbal assault. 

“You’re expendable, you hear me! You're nothing! You’re a worthless piece of shit! I can fucking slaughter you and get another human slave as I please! I’ll devour you and let you die inside me! I’ll break every bone in your body, snap your spine, and piss on your mangled corpse!” Froth accumulated at the corners of his lips as he yelled. Continuing to scream expletives and vulgar threats, he shoved Eren against his junk with renewed force, pulling her head back with her hair so she couldn’t bite him again. He scrubbed her hard against his dick, tearing a chunk of her hair out, before throwing her down on the bedsheets.  

Eren saw him plant his huge knees down on the bed, straddling her on both sides with his mammoth weight pressing down into the mattress, before he slapped his meat down on top of her and grinded all over her. Eren felt like she was going to be squashed under his weight as she sank into the cushion of the bed, springs popping and creaking underneath her with the force of Trent’s violence. She attempted to crawl out from underneath him but the pressure from his gigantic penis thrusting over her pinned her down. He was lobbing insults at her the entire time. Eren realized, with a sickened twist in her gut, that Trent was actually getting turned on more by his anger. He enjoyed it and thrived on it. 

Just when she felt like she was going to suffocate under his mass, he raised himself back up. She sucked in a breath of air and tried to scramble away from the insane giant. Before she could move, however, Trent dumped his load all over her. She collapsed back on the sheets, stunned, as a waterfall of warm cum splattered all over her. 

“How do you like that, you fucking bitch?” Trent shouted, gasping hard with exertion. “Useless, hideous, repulsive, inferior human!” Eren could only lay in the milky puddle with shock. He remained in the same position as well, kneeling over her with his thick hairy legs on either side of her like giant walls of flesh. Eren, shaking, sat up and tried to clean the slimy fluids off her face, but her hands were coated with the substance too. She groped for a dry section of the bedsheets and wiped his gross cum off her hands and face. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at Trent, even as the nude giant towered over her, casting his sinister shadow over her.  

Overwhelmed, she started to cry. Trent, delighted to see her tears, laughed cruelly. He stood up off the bed, knocking Eren over with his rough movements. She fell face-first back into the wet mess in the sheets. Trent grabbed himself a cigarette off the table and smoked it with obscene satisfaction, parading around the apartment with his pale, lean body fully exposed, as if proud of himself. Eren pulled herself out of the goopy filth, choking and spitting. She felt beyond repulsed. She felt violated and used. She wanted Trent to die and go to hell and burn in eternal fire. She tried to scrape the thick globs of cum off her naked body as best she could. 

Trent’s shadow encompassed her again and she yelped as he seized her in his hand. She expected him to take her to the sink and wash her off, but instead he returned her to the terrarium. He dropped her inside and collected the dirty rags she had been using for a bed, leaving her glass enclosure bare of any comfort or privacy. All she had left was a crust of bread, the water bowl, and the bucket. Eren, still soaked with Trent’s vile seed, stared up at the spiteful giant with horror. 

“You can’t do this to me, Trent!” she exclaimed, tears running down her cheeks. 

“Shut up!” he retorted viciously, crouching down so his gigantic face was level with Eren. “This is your punishment for what you did! You got off easy this time! Next time I’ll really make you suffer!” He chomped his teeth for emphasis and Eren fell silent. Trent stood up and went to the bathroom to wash the cum off his hands. He glanced down at his limp dick, examining the mini bruise on the side where Eren had bit him. Honestly, she hadn’t hurt him too badly. Her teeth hadn’t even broken the skin or drawn blood. He had reacted with savage anger, but he secretly liked her spirited resistance. It turned him on even more. He wasn’t accustomed to his little living sex dolls putting up such a fight. He resolved to keep her alive as long as he could. He still had to punish her, of course, to keep her in her place, but he needed to be careful not to completely break her. Maybe next time he’d just play with her a little bit, like a cat with a mouse. 

Eren sobbed and curled her body up into a fetal position on the piece of bread, the only soft surface left in the terrarium. She wished desperately that she could take a shower, or even just have her blankets back so she could clean herself off and hide her shame. Above all, she wanted to be home, safe with Joey. 

“Joey,” she whispered to herself. “Where are you?” 

Chapter 25

Chapter 1

[randomfandomimagine]

I Love You Too (Barry Allen x Reader)

Characters: Barry Allen, Bruce Wayne, Arthur Curry, Clark Kent, Diana Prince, Victor Stone

Fandom: Justice League (Snyder) / DC

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, fluff, hurt / comfort, no spoilers

Warnings: Slight angst

Word Count: 2,1k words

Summary: Barry must make a great sacrifice, but Y/N wants to tell him something before he does. Unable to tell him, Y/N deals with the result of Barry’s sacrifice and wonders whether or not he reciprocated those feelings.

A/N: To no one’s surprise, I fell in love with Ezra’s Barry when I watched the Snyder Cut (he’s just so cute!), so here’s a ficlet based on an idea I had when watching the movie. Enjoy, and give this some love, please!!

Link: AO3

GIF CREDIT

Barry Allen x Gender Neutral Reader

Your world had turned upside down in just a second. Not too long ago, you were joking and laughing with Barry, playfully pushing each other. You had been having fun together like you had known each other all your lives despite having met for the first time a few days ago. You had been there to comfort each other during that insane and frightening mission, like you could read each other’s minds and recognized how scary it was for the other and how much you needed that comfort.

And now…

The others’ voices became but a muffled mumble to your whistling ears. The sudden weight that had settled in your stomach made you nauseous as you turned to them.

“What…?” You asked Bruce in a daze, even if you had heard him loud and clear.

“Are you serious?” Arthur muttered, staring at him as well.

“That would kill him!” You reply in outrage, turning to Barry. The speedster didn’t say anything, only reciprocating your gaze with a neutral expression that you knew hid his fear.

“It’s the only way...” Bruce looked down, clenching his jaw.

A loud silence hung over the group. None of you broke it until Barry himself spoke up. Much to your horror, it was to agree with Bruce’s plan.

“I’ll do it” He replied, bearing a grin on his lips but heaviness in his dark eyes.

“Barry...” You began, knowing him well enough to realize he would not hesitate to do the right thing. He would not hesitate to sacrifice himself to save the world.

“It’ll be okay” Barry smiled at you, even if you could tell it was a fake one.

“Wait, no! I have to...” You reached out to hold on to him, but he was already gone. “Tell you how I feel...”

You closed your hands into fists so tight that your nails painfully digged in your palms. A hand gently squeezed your arm, so you looked up to Diana. She showed you a friendly yet sad smile.

“He knows, Y/N” Were her only words, which didn’t bring you as much comfort as any of you’d hoped.

Contradictory feelings created a lump in your throat. You knew he had to do it, and you knew Victor needed his help. It was selfish of you to not want Barry to do it. You wanted him to, to fix everything, but… you didn’t want to lose him. Tears reached your eyes, so you averted your gaze from your friends. Arthur sighed in resignation next to you. Bruce swore under his breath. You knew Victor would try to come up with a different plan if he wasn’t inside. If Clark wasn’t so focused on keeping Steppenwolf busy, you know he would have some objections himself.

Just when you felt the tears started rolling down your cheeks, a sudden presence made you jump up in startle. Before you could even turn around, you felt something against your cheek. By the time you met face to face with Barry, you had realized what graced your cheek were his lips.

“Be right back” He muttered, even though his voice cracked.

“No, you won’t” You saddly replied, staring into his eyes. “Barry, I...”

He lingered for just a moment before running off. A sob escaped your throat. None of you spoke, and that awful silence was making your heart race. A blue streak illuminated the surroundings as Barry caught speed.

Diana suddenly held your hand, so tightly that you could almost read her thoughts as she made them so palpable. You squeezed back, joining her in what you assumed were mental prayers for Barry to make it back alive.

“C’mon, kid...” Arthur whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

The atmosphere became strange around you as Barry reached maximum speed. You grimaced, waiting for the inevitable. Chaos ensued for a moment when Barry managed to achieve his mission, creating a loud commotion that created enough energy to save the day. A pause lasting only a second followed. It was the longest second of your entire life.

The breath hitched in your throat when the electric blue streak passed before your eyes and stopped just a few meters away from the group. You gulped when it dissipated and a reddish blur became a familiar figure. The silence had returned, albeit awed this once.

“I made it” Barry gulped, heaving something between a chuckle and an exhalation. A second after, his eyes rolled into his head and he was limply falling to the ground.

“Barry!” You let go of Diana’s hand and ran to help him, faster than any of them. “Barry, no!!“

You threw yourself to the ground with such force that you scraped your knees. That pain was nothing compared to the one that held your heart ransom. You repeatedly called his name, desperately shaking him. No response. Trembling from head to toe, you then went to hurriedly take his helmet off. The sweaty dark hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were closed. He looked terribly pale. When you held his face in your hands, he still didn’t move.

“Y/N...” Arthur miserably said as he approached the two of you. The pained word brought a sob to your throat. You knew what he meant when he called your name like that. Barry was gone.

Bruce kneeled by your side. Diana stood on her foot, hovering behind you.

“He’s alive” Bruce suddenly uttered, causing your heart to race. For the first time since you joined the team, it was a good sign.

“He’s alive?!”

“He’s alive...”

_

Your eyes closed, but you didn’t give in to sleep. He needed you.

Thoughts plagued your mind, so many and so varied that your head hurt. You were mad at him for being so reckless. But proud that he didn’t hesitate to save everyone. At the same time, you were sad that he had exerted himself like that, if only because of how dangerous it was. And you were worried about his health. Your temples throbbed.

“You haven’t moved in two days” Clark’s sudden voice scared you. Nonetheless, you didn’t have the strength to flinch. “Get some rest, Y/N”

“No, I have to stay here with him” You watched Barry as he slept peacefully in his bed, hooked to the machine that tracked his vitals. Fortunately, it kept beeping with his heartbeat.

“We’ll tell you if he wakes up”

“I’ll be here when he does”

Returning to focus on Barry, you squeezed his hand. You had been holding on to it for so long that your hands had seemed to fuse together. It had been your only comfort these days. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was still alive.

“You’ll get sick too” Clark lingered on his gentle tone, empathizing with you and being worried himself despite not really knowing Barry like you did.

But he could tell. Anyone could tell Barry had a heart of gold. That he was kind and warm. Still, Clark didn’t know. He didn’t know how much Barry made you laugh. Not him not anyone knew how much you treasured his reassuring presence next to you as you fought to save the world. How much you appreciated his light-hearted jokes and efforts to relief the tension. No one knew how especial Barry was to you.

No, you refused to get up from that chair. You only stared at Barry still, mentally begging for him to wake up like you could will that thought into existence. Your throat began to hurt from how fiercely you fought the tears. Seeing your resolve, your friend shook you a little.

“Y/N, you...” Judging by Clark’s tone, you saw a soft reprimand coming. You were too tired to put up with one, no matter how well-intentioned it was.

“No, Clark!” You stood up, something you didn’t do in days. “I... I…”

You had moved so quickly that you got a headrush. Clark held you by the arm when you wobbled, but you angrily swatted him away.

“I’m not leaving him! I need to be with him, because...” Your confident and loud voice grew lower and sadder. “If I’m not…”

Clark’s own eyes looked watery. He frowned and nodded his head, silently providing you with the understanding you so badly needed. It didn’t help with the burden of guilt and remorse that filled your chest, though.

The beeping of the machine filled the stillness, followed by a different sound.

“Can you... keep it down?” A groggy voice muttered. “I’m trying to sleep”

You and Clark gasped at thet same time, quickly turning to your friend lying on the bed. Barry’s eyes were open, even if heavy with weakness, as he slowly turned his head in your direction.

“You slept for two days, buddy” Clark grinned, fondly looking at him.

“That’s a long nap” Barry smiled, tiredly closing his eyes.

“You’re so stupid!” You softly punched him in the arm, forcing him to look back at you.

“Ow” He barely had the strength to reach out to hold the spot. “Easy, I’m convalescent”

“You scared me half to death!”

Barry’s prior small smile vanished in favor of a concerned frown when he got a good look at you.

“You look exhausted…”

“We kept telling Y/N to get some rest” Clark piped up, looking from one to the other.

“And I kept telling you I wasn’t going to leave him!” In response to your reply, Clark only smiled fondly. Shaking his head a little, he scooped you into his arms and carefully laid you down on Barry’s bed next to him.

“There, you can look after each other now” He carefully patted Barry’s arm. “Everyone’s happy”

You barely paid any attention to Clark anymore as he muttered he was going to tell the others that Barry was awake. Instead, you were far too busy tightly hugging Barry and hoping you weren’t hurting him. When the door closed, signaling Clark’s departure, you were nuzzling Barry’s shoulder.

“Wow, hey” He chuckled, playfully patting your back. “Missed me, I see”

“Shut up”

“Were you worried?”

“Was I worried”

“Yeah”

“If you pull something like that ever again, you better believe I won’t need your speed to catch up to you and kill you myself, Barry Allen!”

Barry weakly laughed at the stupid line you had just said. Realizing the silliness of it yourself, you joined him in his chuckles.

“I love you too” Barry playfully replied, bearing a joking grin.

Your eyebrows arched in surprise, and then he gawked at you.

“N-No... I didn’t mean...” Barry corrected himself. “I didn’t mean I love you as a... It was a joke! I-I mean, it’s not that I don’t love you, but... but... uh..."

When everything stilled, however, you realized how truly close you two were lying down together. There was barely enough room in that small bed to fit the two of you even as you were on your sides. Being so close to him, you wonderred how you hadn't realized how beautiful his eyes were before. You took his face in your hands, chuckling again. His lips suffocated your laughter as well as his babbling when they connected with yours. It was a slow and delicate kiss, nearly a peck. You both were still very tired, and that wonderful exchange made you so calm that you felt your eyes close both in exhaustion and happiness.

When the kiss ended, you both lingered in that closeness. Barry tenderly pressed his forehead against yours, leaning into your touch. Your hands were still on his face while his had clumsily found their way to the small of your back.

“Thanks for looking after me” He whispered, dedicating you a tired smile.

“Thanks for coming back to me” As you said it, you wondered if the smitten way he was looking at you was the same way you were looking at him without realizing.

“I told you I would” Barry reached out to press his hand against yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

You melted in a loving embrace, and everything was alright with the world again. As you rested against his chest, Barry’s heartbeat under your ear brought you peace. Linger in the hug, that you wished you could stretch out forever, you gazed into each other’s eyes.

“How about we actually listen to our friends and get some rest?” You mumbled, slowly reaching out to hold his hand.

“That sounds great” Barry intertwined his fingers with you, smiling wide.

Finally feeling like you could relax after days of being on edge, you fully lied down with him. Barry was beaming, his smile never faltering as you got comfortable beside him. Your hands were linked together like they had been for days now. This time he squeezed yours back. You felt the slumber take you as you groggily repeated the words he had said to you first. I love you too.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @locke-writes / @emmacata / @galactic-magick​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! 

[orionlakehastodie]

Darklina Week Day One: Song Lyrics

Mal tells her she should regret it, when she withdrew the knife from the Darkling's heart and stabbed him with her mouth instead.

When instead of taking Morozova's third amplifier from him - she took the most powerful of all - Aleksander Morozova himself.

Mal tells her she should regret it when, finally she accepted the fact that she will always love Aleksander and she could never live without him.

Mal tells her she should have regretted it when she clutched the Darkling's arm as he sent his Nichevoya onto Nikolai Lantsov, at last claiming the crown of Ravka for himself.

Mal tells her she should regret it. Regret that she loved the Darkling too much.

And maybe she should.

Her husband ruled Ravka with an iron fist.

Their enemies live in fear of their Fold. Of their nichevoya. Of them. He wasn't a loved king.

But Grisha were safe. For once their borders are not under threat. They stop losing their kind to experiments in Shu Han and sacrifices in Fjerda.

Her husband was not a good man. But he was fair and just. And she loved him. And he was hers. And she would do anything to keep him hers. Especially now that she knows, her husband fears the dark. His shadows his burden to bear.

She walks into his bedroom willingly. He likes to pretend, her darling Darkling. Likes to pretend that this is a political marriage. That he doesn't ache for her like she does for him. Her darling Darkling husband who thinks she's still in love with Mal or Nikolai and tries to give her space.

So he sleeps alone when he could be beside her, and treats her with utmost courtesy when he would be defiling her every night.

He doesn't know, he couldn't know all the things she did just so she could keep him.

He thrashes in his sleep, haunted by dark and shadows. Her poor husband. Her poor darling husband.

Every light is burning in his room. She sighs and shakes her head. He should have asked upon her to come. He should have asked her to chase the shadows.

Doesn't he know how much she loves him? Doesn't she know that the thought of losing him was so painful it almost drove her insane? Doesn't he know that on that moment, inside the Fold, when she could have destroyed it by killing him, when she could have saved all the world by ending his life, when she could have plunged the dagger into his heart - she chose to throw away everything just so she can have him? Just so she can love him?

Doesn't he know she would have done worse for him?

She removes the thin robe from around her shoulders and climbs into the bed in her nightgown.

Her husband lies on his side, curled into a tiny ball, hands gripping the sheets so tight, chased by his own demons in his dreams.

She climbs in beside him and lies on her side, wrapping her small hand around his fist. She almost wants to cry, at the terror in his face. Even in sleep Aleksander was not at peace. But not anymore. Not while she was here.

"Aleksander." She rubs her thumb acoss his knuckles. Smiling a little when his grip relaxes once her skin touches her. His forehead knots and she lifts his heavy arm now that his grip is released and moves into him, draping his heavy arm around him. His knees dig into her belly, but she doesn't mind. She slides her hand under his head, sliding until she can curve her arm underneath and strokes the back of his head with her hand.

She cranes her head, tucking Aleksander's head under her chin and letting his nose rest against her neck. Her scent hits him and every muscle in his body seem to relax and he lets out a deep sigh.

"I'm here, my darling. I'm right here."

With her free hand she gently shoves his knees down and takes one heavy thigh and hitches it over her waist. He grumbles a little at the intrusion, his nose digging in against her skin, his arm tugging her closer.

She smiles a little and wraps her remaining arm around his back, now that his knees were out of the way.

"I'll keep the darkness away, my darling."

She pats at his back, soothing him, and presses tiny butterfly kisses over his brow, pulling back a little and grinning when his mouth slackens, and he lets out a tiny snore.

"You should have shared my bed, and then you wouldn't be in distress now would you?"

She presses a kiss to his head again, and cuddles him closer, letting the sound of his soft snores lull her to sleep.

---

The first thing he notices was that it was so bright.

He blinks his eyes blearily, at the sunlight streaming into his windows.

He was a light sleeper, he often woke before dawn, and now the sun was so high in the sky it was blinding him.

"Bloody sun."

The next thing he notices was a giggle in his ear and he blinks blearily and sees creamy skin, a sea of it, a pale lilac silk gown.

The last thing he notices was that his cheek was on said creamy skin and his arm and leg were curved around a wriggly figure and he raises himself on one arm and is greeted by the sight of his smiling wife, whose hair was tousled on his pillow.

"Alina." It was half disbelief and half wonder. He wasn't completely sure he was awake at this point in time.

"You snore. And you drool. It's adorable."

His hand curves away from her waist and wipes at - as she said - a trail of drool.

He feels his cheeks heat and her eyes widen and her smile crinkles her eyes and her hands cup his cheeks. "And you blush. Aleksander." Her tone was warm, so warm, and his eyes almost pop out of it's sockets when she reaches up to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"Alina..."

His voice wobbles as his hand curves to cup her cheek.

"I must be dreaming."

Her eyes soften and she leans forward and presses her lips to his. The way she kissed him all those years ago.

"I'm here, Sasha."

The little nickname she used, when they were only able to see each other through a bond.

She pushed up to a sitting position, forcing him to sit back, his arms caging her and she lifts both arms to wrap around his neck and her face buries in his shoulder.

"I'm here now Aleksander. I've been here for a while, but you don't ever come to me."

He blinks, still not certain this isn't a dream, but he wraps his arm around her, tightening and tightening when she does not disappear from his arms.

"I thought you hated me." He says in half wonder, half fear.

"You don't know the things I did, just so I can call you mine." She whispers in his ear. Betrayed friends. A country she let burn. But she remembers, so clearly, the look on his face, the break in his heart and she just grew tired. Why should she have to hurt for a world that did not care for her, or Aleksander?

She rubs his hands up and down his back, and he closes his eyes and buries his face against her hair, hands so tight around her. He could hardly believe it. Could not really fathom it. Alina was hugging him.

Him.

"You're my favorite crime." Alina says, a smile on her face as she held on to her husband. She pulls back to rest her forehead on his. "And you will always be mine. You're not alone. Not anymore."

Warm sunlight bathes around him. And for the first time in a long time, Aleksander feels at home.

[ariesrondeletia]

Yandere Muzan x Reader: Corpses

This got a little off the rails and didn’t got the way I expected, but hey, Muzan’s a bastard who can flip between charming and cruel. 

tw: gore, murder, suggestive themes, overall bastardness

Word Count: 1,095

Prompt: Corpses

Why was it you always ended up back here? To the side of Muzan himself. You had been called for various reasons before, but you racked your brain as to why he would involve the lower moons. The six knelt in front of him, while you sat on a deep red cushion Nakime had prepared. Muzan being the only one standing, a blatant show of power. The moon didn’t dare look up from the hardwood, but you could tell they were curious as to who you were. Muzan looked down at them disapprovingly before speaking.

“I called you together to introduce you to (Name). She will join your ranks of the lower moons and I fully expect you to help her in any way she requires. Serve her as you would me.”

His words sent shock throughout the room, though no one spoke a tense atmosphere fell over the room. You could feel the hatred bubbling off of the moons. You noticed the way the fourth moon clenched his fist in anger. They considered you undeserving of respect, that much was clear. And yet none of them had the guts to voice their opinion. You didn’t want this tension between the moons and yourself. It was clear that they were so much stronger than you. You’d only been a demon for a year, there was no way you were prepared for this. Most of your food had come from Muzan summoning you to dine with him, as you were unable to kill someone yourself.  

The third moon lifted his eyes from the floor to glare up at you. His harsh stare cut deep. ‘You don’t deserve this’ it said and you knew it was true. You lowered your head in shame. His stare was snapped away from you as Muzan glowered above him. 

“There’s no place for her? Then I suppose that you’ll have to give up your rank to accommodate.” 

“Lord Muzan, no! I can prove myself to be more useful than some-” He rose from his kneeling position only to have his body splatter across the far wall. You gasped and felt dizziness consume you. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? Muzan had been so kind to you, how could he kill one of his own servants in cold blood? The other demons feared for their lives, but seemed unsurprised. Was he always this cruel? 

You remembered how he had summoned you only a week ago. He had been charming, acting as a perfect gentleman as he took your coat from you and pulled out your chair before sitting in his own. You ate what looked like steak, but you knew what it truly was. You apologized for being a burden, but he laughed it off. He said he didn’t mind and you thanked him. He had been sweet as you talked for hours, the two of you never running out of topics to banter about. He was sweet, his compliments genuine, and his looks to die for. It felt as though he was god incarnate, but where was that man now? That polite smile was gone and any semblance of kindness was lost as he stared at the remaining lives before him. 

Part of you wanted to run, but knew you would meet the same end so you forced yourself to remain still. Every nerve in your body screamed to get away from the monster, and yet he turned to you. The smile played across his lips and the facade came over him once more. The blood still stained his hands, even though you had never seen him move to kill the demon. Was he messing with you? He must be trying to get you to trust him through these loving stares and soft touches, but why would he do such a thing? What did he gain?

“Go join them now, love.” His tone was soft and coaxing. It gave you whiplash to see the difference between his two selves. You remained frozen, unable to fully comprehend the situation. One hand wrapped around your waist as he lifted you up and forced your legs to move forward. You stood before the still kneeling moons. Come to think of it, they had been kneeling ever since you had arrived. It was as though they were statues. 

“Welcome her.” The harshness was back as he spoke to them. 

Eager to impress, the second moon rose to greet you. He kept his gaze lowered as he approached. He bowed before you, a show of respect you weren’t worthy of. You nodded to reciprocate, the hand on your waist keeping you from doing anything more. He took your hand to lead you to the place the third moon had once occupied. That had been the wrong thing to do. 

Insanity filled your senses as anger engulfed Muzan. You didn’t dare look behind you, knowing that his bloodied eyes would burn through you. The pressure intensified as the second moon pulled his hand away from yours. He rushed to return to his place and you could feel his death pressing upon you. The weight was heavy enough that you spun to face Muzan.

His eyes were exactly as you feared, the rage behind them almost making you drop to your knees out of fear. He hadn’t seemed to take notice of you, so focused on the indiscretion. Your voice caught in your throat, but the death was coming closer and closer and you couldn’t bear to watch it happen again. 

“M-Muzan,” your voice wavered pathetically. His eyes snapped to you and the anger masked itself a second too late and you felt his fury for a moment. Your blood ran cold. His expression softened, but you couldn’t forget the power behind a single look. He tilted his head, prompting you to continue. “I don’t want you to kill him. Please, don’t.”

He didn’t mask his annoyance, but the tension dissolved somewhat. He gestured for you to take your place as the new third lower moon and you were only too happy to run to the empty place. You knelt as best you could, trying not to get too much blood on your kimono and trying not to think of what had transpired seconds ago. This place wasn’t really for you and everyone felt it. He redirected his attention back to the demon who touched you. But he was calm for the most part. His tone was ice cold and you believed his words as he spoke.

“The next time you touch what’s mine, I’ll destroy you.”

[as-the-stars-foretold]

Misconceptions

Achilles Come Down song fic, The Pandava Chronicles

~ ~ ~

You're scaring us

And all of us

Some of us love you

Achilles, it's not much but there's proof

Aru stood at the edge of the cliff. She wasn't going to jump, of course not. She was too much of a coward to do that. A humorless chuckle escaped her. A coward. That's all she was, really. A coward. She was pressured into lighting the lamp by her classmates, she couldn't finish her... father when she needed to, she couldn't even tell the truth properly. What kind of heroine was she, if she was so... unheroic? Distantly she heard Mini telling her to be careful, that she was too close to the edge. She would be careful, maybe. And maybe she was too close to the edge. The edge of what, she doesn't know.

. . .

You crazy assed cosmonaut

Remember your virtue

Redemption lies plainly in truth

Mini had never been one to lie or hide the truth, despite her working with shadows. But sometimes, sometimes it was better to stay quiet. So she did, letting them do what they wanted to. It's not like anyone listened to her anyway. Even if they did, would they respect her? No, likely not. With a sigh, she walked over to her sister who had nicked herself, doing what she always did. What she always would do.

. . .

The self is not so weightless

Nor whole and unbroken

Remember the pact of our youth

Brynne panted, shielding her working sisters from the oncoming mob of demons. This was her purpose wasn't it? Be the muscle of the group, that she could do. But she wanted to do something more. Could she though? The fleeting thought, that little bit of doubt shook her out of her reverie, rattling her to her core. Of course she could, she was strong! She could do anything she wanted to.

Where you go

I'm going

So jump and I'm jumping

Since there is no me without you

Aiden stood next to her, gaze flitting to meet hers. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. It was scary, almost. Fascinating, but scary. "Careful, Bee. We're not unbreakable, and you know I'm going down with you. Remember our promise?"

"I... I remember."

. . .

So self-indulgent

And self-referential

No audience could ever want you

You crave the applause

Yet hate the attention

Then miss it, your act is a ruse

Rudy was a lot of things. Some would say selfish. Some would say annoying. Some would say over the top. Sure, he may have been all of those things. But what they didn't know was that he craved something else. Something no amount of money, fame, or persuasion could get you. Something you had to work for, and work to keep. Something he didn't have and never would.

He craved being wanted, being needed. But he had yet to learn you couldn't have everything you wanted. And so, the snake prince tried desperately to prove himself. All to no avail.

. . .

It's chaos, confusion

And wholly unworthy

Of feeding and it's wholly untrue

Nikita called upon thorns to skewer the enemies and vines to strangle them, beautiful but deadly flowers to poison them. She could do all of that, of course she could! It was a dance, a beautiful one of gore and death. She was known for beauty, after all. And yet... and yet a seedling of doubt planted itself in her heart. But it couldn't grow unless she watered it... right?

You may feel no purpose

Nor a point for existing

It's all just conjecture and gloom

Sheela knew too much. Far, far too much for a girl her age. Barely eleven, and yet she carries the weight of the future upon her. Sheela was the Atlas of the new age, the bearing the burden no one else could. It drove her insane, really. Her only purpose was to give the prophecies wasn't it? And then she'd be thrown away, discarded by everyone once she fulfilled her purpose. The future was foggy, shadowy, but heavy nonetheless. And quite the burden for her to carry. But alas, what could she do? They were all bound by the chains of fate, after all.

. . .

You want the acclaim

The mother of mothers (it's not worth it Achilles)

More poignant than fame

Or the taste of another (don't listen Achilles)

But be real and just jump

You dense motherfucker (you're worth more, Achilles)

You will not be more

Than a rat in the gutter (so much more than a rat)

You want my opinion (no one asked your opinion)

My opinion you've got

You asked for my counsel (no one asked for your thoughts)

I gave you my thoughts

Be done with this now

And jump off the roof

Can you hear me Achilles?

I'm talking to you

I'm talking to you

I'm talking to you

I'm talking to you

Achilles come down

Achilles come down

They each felt so alone, so wrapped up and suffocated by their own struggles. In times like these, they forget that they aren't alone. That they have each other, and must rely on one another to succeed. But those lessons are hard to learn, and even harder to take to heart. But they must, for if they don't, the results could be worse than anyone had ever known.

. . .

Throw yourself into the unknown

With pace and a fury defiant

Clothe yourself in beauty untold

And see life as a means to a triumph

Today of all days

See

How the most dangerous thing is to love

How you will heal and you'll rise above

Crowned by an overture bold and beyond

Ah, it's more courageous to overcome

They stood side by side on the battle field, shoulder to shoulder. They'd win this war, together. It was a hard journey for all of them. Fights and mishaps, pain and understanding. All of it happened, but they stuck together nonetheless. And they'd be together one last time.

[risalei-nur]

The Words - The Twenty-third  Word - Part 5

THIRD POINT: Belief is both light and power. Those who attain true belief can challenge the universe and, in proportion to their belief’s strength, be relieved of the pressures of events. Relying on God, they travel safely through the mountainous waves of events in the ship of life. Having entrusted their burdens to the Absolutely Powerful One’s Hand of Power, they voyage through the world comfortably until their last day. The grave will be a resting place, after which they will fly to Paradise to attain eternal bliss. If, however, they do not rely upon God, their worldly life will force them down to the lowest depths. That means, belief requires affirming Divine Unity; affirmation of Divine Unity requires submitting to God; sub- mission to God requires relying on God; and reliance on God yields happiness in both worlds. But do not misunderstand reliance on God; it does not mean ignoring cause and effect and complete negligence of the means to attain a goal. Rather, it means that one should think of causes or means as a veil before the Power’s hand. One observes them by seeking to comply with the Divine Will, which is a sort of prayer in action. However, such desire and seeking is not enough to secure a particular effect. We must understand that,

in accordance with right belief, the result is to be expected only from God, the All-Mighty. As He is the sole producer of effects, we always should be grateful to Him.

The one who relies on God and one who does not are like the two men in the following parable:

Once two people boarded a royal ship with heavy burdens. One put his burden on the deck immediately after boarding and sat on it to keep it safe. The other one, even after being told to lay his burden down, refused to do so and said: “I won’t put it down, because it might get lost. Besides, I’m strong enough to carry it.” He was told:

This reliable royal ship, which carries us, is stronger and can hold it better. You will most probably get tired, feel dizzy, and fall into the sea with your burden. Your strength will fail, and then how will you bear this burden that gets heavier every moment? If the captain sees you in this state, he might say you are insane and expel you from the ship. Or maybe he will think you do not trust them and make fun of them, and he will order you to be imprisoned. Also, you will be marked out and become the butt of jokes. Your vanity reveals your weakness, your arrogance reveals your impotence, and your pretension betrays your humiliation. And so you have become a laughing- stock—look how everybody is laughing at you.

These words convinced him to follow his companion’s example. He told him: “May God be pleased with you. I have obtained relief and am no longer subject to imprisonment or becoming a laughing-stock.” So trust in God and come to your senses, as the man in the parable did. Put your trust in God and be delivered from begging from creation and trembling in fear at each happening. Doing so will deliver you from self-conceit, being ridiculous, the pressures of this life, and the torments of the Hereafter.

[tfw-no-tennis]

animorphssss.....2!

ok one L abt reading the series on my ereader is that the flipbook illustrations arent there ;_; those were my favvvvv

anyways I love animorphs still

I feel like I'll end up repeating myself a lot during these little liveblogs lmao but mannnn it’s so good. its so hardcore. like I know that that’s the whole Thing but I still get shocked by some of the stuff that happens 

like a big theme in the series centers around the morality of killing your enemies - and it’s so all over the place bc in book 6 you have jake boiling a bunch of yeerks alive, which is kinda gnarly if you think abt it, but the alternative would be to leave them there and let them infest people soo...? and that’s basically the point, that there are never any easy choices in war 

also I went on the animorphs wiki to look at trivia bc I love doing that and I cant BELIEVE (some of) the books were reissued in 2011 and they changed/removed some of the references to be more ‘modern’ omfg....talk about erasing 90s culture smh 

likeeee I was born in 97 so I didn't exactly grow up in the 90s and therefore some of the references go over my head but its so charming and fun to have them there! and it makes sense given that the books are SET in the 90s

I don't remember ever being confused by any of the references as a kid (tho for sure a lot of them went over my head), but then again I read the books in like 2008 sooo

also some of the stuff that they change - like changing ‘recorded w/a vcr’ to ‘recorded w/the TV’ or ‘floppy disc’ to ‘flash drive’ may make more sense to modern audiences, but doesn't make sense in the context of the story still being set in the 90s

tho it is funny that the books use the phrase ‘hook up’ to mean ‘meet up’ a lot bc that is a phrase that definitely has a different meaning nowadays

alsooooo as it turns out I'm p sure I only read a couple of the spinoffs - the hork-bajir chronicles and the ellimist chronicles (which was confusing lmao), bc my library didn’t have the others :( 2007/2008 woes....

but now I get to read the spinoffs woooooooo so I read the first megamorphs and the andalite chronicles 

I'm reading them in the chronological order (I think?) which is good bc part of the problem was that I read the ellimist book at a completely weird time and it confused me more lmao

megamorphs 1 basically felt like a regular animorphs book except longer, but the plot didn't feel like it needed all that extra page space tbh? even so it was an entertaining adventure

and rachel having amnesia was great, amnesia is one of my fav tropes lmao. and it was a lot of fun here, though a bit underutilized 

another favorite trope of mine is time travel, so I'm gonna have a really fun time here w/that

as for the andalite chronicles, I really enjoyed that one. I thought it was a well done story about the horrors of war (which is a theme animorphs does excellently), kind of similar to the overarching story of the whole series, but fit into one book without feeling rushed

the way the story starts out with elfangor wanting to be a hero, not understanding what that entails, to the end where he IS going to be a hero, and he knows now that this is a burden rather than a reward 

the horror elements are also really strong, with the taxxon morph being horrifying of course

and mannnn I loved that we got to see more of the taxxons as a species, and see that not all taxxons submitted to the yeerks - which breaks the previous theme of ‘all the taxxons are evil just because’ 

this book also establishes that the taxxons gave themselves over to the yeerks due to their constant hunger being unbearable, so it isn’t just that they’re evil for fun 

animorphs does such an excellent job showing that each ‘side’ of a war will have good and bad (or at least sympathetic and unsympathetic) people 

also loren was awesome, what a cool character. though I didn't realize she was literally like 13 until the very end of the book, holy shit. that's crazy. i thought she was 16 at the youngest....geez. her throwing a rock at visser 3 is even more iconic knowing she's a middle schooler at the time

and chapman was here! I'm assuming this must be the same chapman as the assistant principal controller... I thought it was a little strange to put chapman in that role, bc in this book he was a huge asshole basically the entire time, but in the previous (’future’) book it was revealed that he became a controller willingly only to spare his daughter, which is pretty far from this book where he’s actively trying to sell humanity out to the yeerks...people change I guess? (also he got his memory erased so I guess there's that)

alloran was a really interesting character. horrors of war again - we hear from his old buddy that he used to be a fun, witty guy, but war changed him into somebody who would do horrible things 

and him becoming a controller was horrifying, obviously, but I like that alloran wasn't portrayed as some perfect, holy guy in order to make it all the more tragic when he got infested. its already fucked up enough as it is, and making him flawed was a lot more meaningful 

and him wanting to flush all the yeerks out into space....oooooof the (later) parallels hurt 

plus the fact that elfangor refusing to commit genocide against the helpless yeerks (even though they’re the enemy) directly contributing to alloran becoming a controller.....oof. I love that it shows that even making the morally correct decisions during war can lead to awful things happening, but not in a way that endorses evil actions - the story isn’t saying that elfangor should have killed the yeerks, it’s saying that there are no good choices in war 

arbron being trapped as a taxxon was fucked up. but also really intriguing, especially how he found purpose and led a free taxxon uprising. I don't remember if we hear from him/the free taxxons again but I hope so

also the plot twist of tobias being elfangors SON...bruh. I do remember that despite not having read this book so it must come up in the main story later but my memory of that is vauge so I’m excited to see how that plays out. it’s always gonna be hilarious to me that ax is technically tobias’s uncle 

and then the ellimist drops in and wacks up the time stream even more. classic. I love the crazy time travel stuff in animorphs

omfg and the bits where elfangor is a human tech guy and talked about his friends bill and steve LMAOOOOO

also the scene where elfangor drives the yellow mustang while blasting '(I cant get no) satisfaction’ by the rolling stones was one of the most iconic things I've ever read

basically I loved all the angles of war fucking people up. from loren’s dad, to alloran, to elfangor himself learning about the true horrors of war...v well done imo

ok back to the main series - so my pick for the most fucked up scene SO FAR (in my own personal opinion) - the scene where they're in the jungle and rachel passes out in bear morph and a bunch of rainforest ants start EATING HER ALIVE and like crawling into her ears and mouth and HGGGGGG that was genuinely so fucking disturbing

its a good thing that the time travel made it so rachel couldn't remember that bc that was fuuuuucked

another contender is a scene we don't actually see - erek having his capacity for violence instated and then slaughtering a ton of human and hork-bajir controllers 

like damn, you know its fucked up when its too fucked up for ANIMORPHS to even ‘show.’ this is a series that doesn't pull punches but evidentially that would've been Too Much to actually portray (understandably). also i feel like seeing the aftermath/everyone’s reactions had more of an impact than describing erek killing a bunch of people would have

also I forgot that marco Literally Fucking Dies during that scene and that's why he doesn't get to see the slaughter. wow

and then in the very next book JAKE dies too. jesus

oh it was also so sad and fucked up when marco’s dad told him that he and his wife used to fight sometimes, but then all of a sudden they stopped fighting, and their relationship was basically entirely peaceful and perfect - and this is how marco knows exactly when his mom was made into a controller, bc of course a yeerk wouldn't care enough to get into petty arguments like that....ooooof

Okay and book 15 really got me...that was fucking heavy man. Geeeez. Everything w/Marco and his mom is so fucked uppppp

Like he literally has to deal with so much awful traumatizing shit. The scene where he pretends to be a controller and is face to face w/visser one and THAT HIS MOM but he can’t even do anything, and he just sees the evil in her eyes and thinks about how there’s no way she had been controlled by a yeerk that long before bc he’s never seen her look like that...that was so fucking sad.

Plus Marcos mom now thinking that Marco is a controller...aughh...and then later Marco knows he can’t even think-speak to her bc he’ll just talk about everything he’s wanted to talk about to his mom this whole time... ;_;

And the parts where Marcos humor slips and the utter rage he feels towards the situation comes through...man

Plus everything about him being understandably afraid of sharks after being nearly torn in half by one back during their first dolphin adventure

Augh oh and jake telling Marco that everyone can tell something is up bc Marco isn’t joking around and talking about how insane their plan is like usual, so Marco fakes it sand does all that even tho he’s terrified and conflicted...aughhhh

Ok and the last scene where Marco is thinking about a future where he and his parents can talk plainly about how awful and traumatizing everything is, and then eventually they’ll feel okay enough to joke about it, bc Marcos mom is the one who taught him to look at the funny side of life...Oh The Pain

There were a lot of great fucked up individual lines in this book too. I’m just so sad about these poor middle schoolers jfc

Also I do distinctly remember the scene where they collapse the shark tank at Ocean World or w/e, it was weird af reading it bc I remembered none of the rest of the book but got weird deja vu reading that scene and remembering having read it like 13+ years ago

if it’s not clear by now I have a pretty terrible memory for media which is honestly good bc then I can reread things and it’s like new

Also jake...man...I said it previously but I was kinda eh about jake when I first read these bc he’s kinda the ‘basic’ character, but now I find his story much more interesting

His conflict over being leader is really good. KAA does a fantastic job capturing the pressure he’s under bc he was chosen by his friends to be the leader, so he REALLY can’t back out, and he doesn’t necessarily feel up to it, but feels he has no choice in the matter...

And constantly having to make really difficult decisions that could get his friends killed...geez. It’s so much pressure. And he talks about wanting to go back to being a normal kid when this is all over, and it kinda strikes me as him being in denial - like, there’s no way things can ever be ‘normal’ again, but that’s his way of coping.

Especially with Tom and all that. That conflict is so compelling...jake having to play all these different roles - as leader, as a son/student, as a regular brother to Tom - he’s constantly having to act a certain way and rarely gets to be Himself

It’s actually kinda relatable in a way - that feeling of being In Charge, but in a somewhat abstract and informal way, so you feel like regular old you, but you have to carefully regulate how you act bc the people around you expect a certain standard of behavior from you...

And all the morally grey situations they’re put in are fucked up, but especially for jake who has the final say on what they do, even when knowing it could lead to his friends being killed or made into controllers

Like in the book with the cannibal yeerk guy - there’s basically no good choices there. Jake lets the cannibal live, and (at first) implies that it’s for the best that he’s cannibalizing other yeerks and therefore helping get rid of some yeerks - except that he kills their hosts too

but the alternative would be to directly kill another human being who isn't actively fighting/resisting you, which is a fucked up thing for a middle schooler to have to do 

And the conflict between jake and Cassie is really excellent bc jake has to make these awful decisions, and Cassie is the type of person who can’t stand that sort of thing, so it gets left up to jake a lot, but then she’s upset with jake for doing something awful, even while knowing that there were no better options

like, her asking jake to kill the cannibal guy for her was really fucked up, but also entirely understandable for cassie as a character to ask. it was an emotionally charged situation, and cassie is an emotional person. she’s also somebody who like to Act, to do concrete good, and getting rid of an Evil Bad Guy in front of her would be a definite action

But Cassie is a great source of morality to the group - most of them are pretty jaded, but Cassie is able to hope in a way none of the rest are. It creates a really compelling dynamic between jake and Cassie that I kinda dismissed when I was like 10 or w/e

Also the scene where jake as a fly gets crushed and starts dying? Seriously fucked. And then after when he’s nearly breaking down in the airport and Cassie comforts him...that was a really good scene. Cassie is so good  

And the continuity is so excellent - I love how in book 17, Cassie (and jake to an extent) doesn’t really weigh in on the moral debate abt the oatmeal bc she’s still shaken up by asking jake to murder a guy for her, and then (presumably) going ahead and lighting his house on fire when jake doesn’t kill him

And augh jake and Marco have such a good and interesting dynamic - the entire group kinda pushes each other into their respective ‘roles’ in the group, but for a few books that’s really true for jake and marco

I don't remember what book it was but at some point marco (I think) mentions that jake understands what marco is dealing with w/his mom being a controller bc of tom, but that they don’t talk about it bc they ‘don't talk about stuff like that’ or something and I'm just like noooo talk to each other :( 

but at this point jake feels like he can’t really express doubt and fear and stuff like that bc he’s the Leader and they look to him to be strong (which is ironically very similar to how rachel feels), and marco feels like he can’t be serious bc he’s the funny guy. 

Basically I love all the different dynamics in the group. How Cassie and Rachel are such opposites but are best friends and get along well, while Marco and Cassie are more directly opposed - as jake says, Marco is ruthless, and Cassie definitely isn’t. Rachel and Marco are also pretty different which is interesting, bc they have a lot in common, and actually agree on a lot (even if they disagree out loud) but their commonalities combined with their circumstances make them react very differently to the same situations

I also love seeing the differences between characters from each other’s POV - like, p much all the characters think that Rachel is completely fearless, but when the book is from her POV, we get to see that that isn’t true at all - she feels plenty of fear, but she recognizes that her role in the group is to be the fearless one, so she pushes aside her fear to fit into that role (which inadvertently pushes her more and more into that ‘fearless warrior’ box - something that happens to all the characters more and more as the story goes on, like jake as ‘the leader’ and Marco as ‘the jokester’).

Also I loooove the grey morality of literally everything. Like the book where ax discovers an andalite traitor - not a controller, just an andalite who betrayed them to the yeerks. This leads to the deaths of like a hundred other andalites, and that whole scene you really just feel for ax, bc he feels so awful about everyone else dying while he escapes, yet he’s also so grateful to be alive, which he in turn feels bad about...

And ax’s conflict about being torn between his home w/his fellow andalites and his new home on earth w/his friends is great

And oh man I fucking love book 19. Any of the books where it goes more into the yeerks and their side of things are so good, just like the book where jake was made into a controller.

And book 19, where we meet a sympathetic yeerk, comes right after 18, where we meet an andalite traitor - again, I love how we clearly see that no one side is completely good or completely bad

So yeah book 19 fucking slapped. That shit was so compelling. I love how Cassie made a bunch of foolish decisions based on naïve hope, but it worked out!! Things aren’t always bleak and awful!

Except there were plenty bleak and awful parts of this book. It had a great balance of moods tbh, even though a lot of the situations were extremely contrived lmao. I love the stuff that aftran says, which is basically what I was thinking when I started my reread - being a yeerk fucking sucks, you’re literally a blind slug but also completely and fully sentient, on the same level as humans and andalites - and as afran pointed out this book, the yeerks are born as parasites, just as humans are born as predators - why is it okay for the humans to kill countless animals to eat, but not for the yeerks to enslave races to act as hosts? Well, the situation isn’t totally comparable, which Cassie and Marco both point out when aftran makes that comparison - the yeerks are enslaving sentient species, and cows and chickens are not the same as the humans and hork-bajir (though the story understandably doesn’t fall too deeply into the ‘who deserves what right/animal sentience’ rabbit hole).

And I like that aftran points out that the yeerks basically have 2 options currently - stay helpless and blind in a yeerk pool, or enslave a host. It’s interesting to hear that a lot of yeerks don’t like doing this but see it as the only options, as opposed to complete sensory deprivation. It makes me wonder if there are yeerks who are so staunchly against it that they elect to stay as pool-bound slugs forever

Also maybe it’s the shounen anime fan in me but I don’t even care that much that Cassie’s entire plan was completely off the rails and hinged on only the slightest chance of success - with failure being much more likely and completely catastrophic, with the animorphs and their loved ones all being wiped out, vs success being unlikely and also achieving...a moral victory? Peace between two enemy combatants in a huge war? nothing all that concrete...anyways it was a bunch of good-faith horrible decisions on Cassie’s part, but I don’t even care? I love stories where hope and love save the day against all odds, especially when they’re wielded like weapons by a character and make everything end nicely

This is especially true here bc animorphs is generally a series that leans very far away from that type of thing, so when it does happen, it feels like a victory. Plus the David trilogy is next so we kinda need a happy ending while we can

also bc I compared animorphs to hxh last time, I now have to compare it to the other series I've (partially) liveblogged, transformers mtmte.

this is gonna be more abstract and brief but basically. mtmte is all about after the war, and everyone has so much trauma and everything just sucks, so they all go on a space cruise and work on themselves. basically.

but the series does a lot of exploration of how war fucks people up - same as animorphs, tho animorphs spans the beginning of the war (for the main characters at least) until the end, whereas mtmte starts when the war ends.

but the point is. both series do an excellent job showcasing the wide range of reactions people have to being put in unthinkable situations during wartime. all the major characters in mtmte go through arcs where they heal/change from the war, some more subtle than others

basically the animorphs needs to go on a wacky space cruise adventure with a bunch of other fucked up people and figure their shit out, mtmte style

ok this is wicked long already so I’m gonna end it here. also I feel like I should start the next liveblog w/the david triology bc I’m for sure gonna have a lot to say abt that

[harryandmolly]

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *1*

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, big angst but with a purpose

wc: 5k

+

July 2019

Lilly’s fingers are sunk into the curls at the back of his head, perhaps subconsciously clinging to something already lost. Maybe something she never even had.

His kiss is so brief. It’s a flutter against her lips, followed by a jerk of his head that’s so certain in expressing his desire to be away from her that he may as well have already said it. He steps back, the corners of his lips lifting, soft and timid.

Lilly’s fingers fall. He doesn’t catch them.

“No,” she whispers. Her chin starts to go first. She’s like a cartoon character when she cries. Her chin begins to wobble, then her pillowy lips. Her round cheeks get rounder. Her blue eyes go an eerie sort of green.

She’s watched it happen before, in mirrors when she’s alone. He’s seen it, too. But never from so very, very far away.

“I don’t…” she begins, her voice a painful rake across its cords, “I didn’t know.”

He’s appropriately solemn in that horrible way that feels schooled, like he practiced, like he’s getting through it to get through it. He hunches his broad shoulders, bows his head a little like he’s sorry. God, is he even sorry?

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and holy fuck, no one’s voice has ever hurt so much. She wants to rip it away from him, maybe that would cause him as much pain.

Her numbing fingers cup her arms across her chest, guarding her explosive heart. She can’t even look at him now. She used to think he wanted her to look at him. Did he ever?

“I don’t really know what to say,” he confesses, scrubbing at the back of his neck, keeping his eyes down at his shoes, “I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t think she was ever going to want me.”

Lilly’s back hits the wall and it gets his attention. He blinks up at her, startled, then snaps back into well-trodden guilt.

He doesn’t have to tell her who he means. Anyone who was half paying attention could do that. Because even though he’s the one breaking her heart, she still gets to be called the fool who let him.

“I trusted you,” she breathes, and it’s acid, “When you looked at me, when you held me, when you loved me, when you told me it was me, I fucking trusted you.”

He looks somehow hurt now, like she’s hitting below the belt. Because how dare she question the farce he strung her along for, for his own erstwhile entertainment?

“Don’t do this,” he scolds, shaking his head like he’s the one who’s disappointed.

She is all rage, and it’s bliss. It’s jet fuel and it won’t last her and somewhere buried below the molten spite she knows when she inevitably burns through it, she’ll be just whatever’s left, but it has to ignite, it has to go somewhere.

“All this time, it was always her,” she seethes, dropping her head back against the wall because if she doesn’t anchor herself, she might take a running start at him, “Was it ever, even for a second, was it ever me?”

His heavy eyes drift shut. He looks exhausted. Lying is fucking draining.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, and Lilly believes him. She shakes her head.

“You stupid boy,” she spits, watching as his eyes slam open again, offended, “You stupid fucking child.”

“Stop,” he grunts, defensive again. It’s a red flag to a bull.

She lifts off the wall, fists in her hair. “You had me so fooled. I thought you were so mature. God, you wore it well. The way you talk about your music and your family and your future. I thought you were a goddamn adult. No. You’re not. You’re a child.”

“You sound insane!” he cries, squaring off his perfect jaw.

“You’ve been waiting around for years. What do you think? You get a Calvin Klein campaign,” He scoffs and takes off toward the door, but she follows, “And now she’s suddenly paying attention, but whatever, it must be real? This is it? She’s finally yours? So fucking naive.”

He slams a solid fist against the doorframe. “You don’t know! You don’t know shit about us. Stop talking like you know anything. You’re fucking jealous.”

“Jealous!” she screeches, clutching her chest with both hands, choking on every breath, “Of course I’m fucking jealous! Were you waiting to hear me say that? Of course I’m jealous. Because I’m in love with you! While you had one eye on her and one hand on me, I was in this. I was all in. I love you. I love you! And you love her!”

For no good reason at all, saying it out loud knocks out the ignition. She nearly crumples. With an almost theatrically shuddering breath, she steps back.

He stares at her, bewildered. What could he possibly have expected? Did he really think she wasn’t going to remind him? Worse, did he really think maybe she was lying, too?

Lilly shakes her head, slow and deliberate, pressing a rolled up sweaterpaw to one of her gushing eyes. She is cracking apart. Part of her wants him to go so she can do it alone. The spiteful part wants him to watch what he’s done.

Lilly wonders if she’s waiting for him. She wonders where. At her place? At a hotel? Maybe she’s in a Lyft outside Lilly’s house. She almost wants to check. She manages to keep her feet planted because Camila Cabello is not worth life in prison.

“I just want you to know,” Lilly begins, and her voice is as painful coming out as it is to hear it, “That I really want to hate you. And that should mean something to you. I can’t hate you yet, but I cannot wait for that to kick in. Until then, I’m stuck with loving you. But know when you’re falling asleep with her tonight, brushing your lips against her hair, playing with her fingers, know that I love you, but I want nothing more than to hate you.”

Finally, the guilt looks real. Finally, the shock has his own breath shaking. Finally, she managed to set one little fire from the sparks of her blaze.

He leaves without another word. And she’s left with the wreckage.

+

March 27, 2020

Lilly used to read creepy stories on the internet. It was one of her many fads. She’d hunt through Reddit and Buzzfeed and Tumblr, trolling for words that made her skin crawl. There was a post once somewhere about the world’s shortest scary stories. 

The last man on earth sat alone in a room. Then came a knock at the door.

She’s been preoccupied by that one lately, but she’s unsure why. Maybe it’s because she’d rather be alone right now instead of holed up with seven roommates. Maybe it’s because she’s grateful not to be alone.

The stay-at-home order in Los Angeles has been in place for eight days. Lilly’s been home for ten, when production on her series shut down. No production, no need for a freelance PA. That night, she held her breath and applied for unemployment just like six million other Americans.

She’s gone a bit nocturnal, staying up until 2 or 3am and waking up around noon. She does yoga, paints her nails, washes her hair every day, which makes it brittle and dull. She re-paints her nails, then bites them off while she checks Twitter.

She talks to her mom, who agonizes about the choice to keep Lilly in LA though she and Lilly’s dad would so much rather have her home and close. Lilly’s mom has a respiratory condition that makes her immunocompromised. If she goes home, she risks her mother’s health. She can’t bear the burden.

She talks to her friends and coworkers. Everyone is still in a state of shock for the first week -- scared, anxious, not yet angry. The anger will come later. Lilly understands in her own much smaller way the convoluted route anger takes through fear and numbness. That anger that’s taken a merciful backseat in her mind in recent months feels completely unimportant now, when it crosses her mind at all.

She talks to herself a little, too. It’s not unusual for her, exactly -- being an only child, sometimes it was the only way to make conversation growing up. But more and more as she attempts to self-isolate in her basement bedroom, avoiding her roommates with more fervor than usual, she worries about her growing dependence on it.

When the knock at her door comes, she’s mid-sentence, telling herself putting on the leggings is the hardest part of a workout, and she should just fucking do it and--

It’s two short raps at the door leading to the pool deck. The scary short story flashes behind her eyes as she blinks quickly, startled by interaction from the outside world.

She waits a few beats too long before she goes to the door, pausing with her fingers on the handle. She decides to believe it’s one of her roommates that got locked out upstairs, even if somewhere deeper she knows it’s not.

He had backed up off her little porch after knocking. Lilly’s not sure if it was out of a respect for social distancing or a concern that she might take a swipe at him. Either way, smart move.

Words seem superfluous. Lilly prides herself on a sharp, well-delivered line, but combing through the tangles of her brain, she has nothing. And she’s disappointed to discover the clawing in her throat and the increase in her heart rate that indicate if she tries to talk now, she might just start crying.

“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve called.”

He says it like he definitely thought about it and decided not to. She probably wouldn’t have answered. He once knew her well enough to know that.

She continues staring, wrapping her arms over her chest. He lifts a hand into his shaggy curls, longer than she’s seen on him before, but not totally unkempt. She can’t say the same about his facial hair.

“I needed to talk to you,” he continues. He’s doing the thing where he ducks his head and looks up through his lashes to be sweet and non-threatening.

Ever heard of a phone?

Funny, you haven’t needed to talk to me in nine fucking months.

Nothing feels right, so her jaw stays locked. She continues staring.

“I don’t want to come in, I just got off a plane--” he starts, and she finds her voice.

“Did it look like I was about to invite you in?”

He blinks hard and shifts on his feet. “N-no, I mean, I didn’t mean it like that, I just--”

“Shawn, I have no idea what you think you’re doing here, but you need to say it quickly before I walk straight into the deep end and sink like a rock just to get out of this conversation.”

His pretty lips part. He exhales sharply. After a moment, he squares his shoulders and jaw and she almost has to look away because he’s staring straight into her and it makes her squirm.

“I made a mistake, Lilly.”

Lilly gives him one long, wary glance. She turns away, steps inside, and shuts the door.

+

Shawn bounds up to the door and watches, confused, as she draws back the curtains and lifts the light filtering blinds. A pane of glass sits between them.

“What are you doing?” he calls through to her.

“Social distancing,” she snaps, cocking her head and pursing her lips. He rakes a hand through his hair.

“Please come out,” he requests, dropping a heavy hand to the wooden frame of the door. She jumps a little.

“I don’t need to, I can hear you from in here.”

He goes from warm and sheepish to annoyed quickly. “What, are you scared of me?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, so honestly. He flinches and stares at her.

“You just got off a plane from Miami, you’re probably one big walking coronavirus.”

Shawn wets his lips and lifts a shoulder. “I didn’t come from Miami, I came from Toronto.”

Lilly’s ire is interrupted by her confusion. She knows he was in Miami with her. The paparazzi were at her house the day after they got there. Lilly doesn’t avoid the pictures like the plague anymore. They don’t cause insane, uncontrollable crying jags anymore.

He no longer has that kind of power.

“You went home?” she asks.

“Last week,” he reports with a nod, propping himself up with his hands on either side of her door. She thinks maybe he got taller. It’s unimaginable.

Lilly will not ask. He seems to have come here to tell her, so she’s not sure how much point there is in her not asking but a scraping in her gut tells her to cling to her pride.

He drops his head. His hair looks greasy. He exhales in a huff.

“What, Shawn?” she prods, voice raspy but harsh.

He lifts his head like it’s extra heavy. “I ended it.”

Lilly shuts her eyes. She hates every piece of this feeling, even hates that she can name them all, sort them alphabetically, can imagine putting them in little baskets like she’s been doing since last summer. She thought she was done with that. Why is he doing this?

She drops her forehead to the glass door and then springs off it just as fast, fisting a hand in her hair. It’s too close.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she hears herself pant, maybe more to herself than him, “Shawn, what the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” he pleads, eyes wide and lost, “I just really needed-- fuck, I wanted… Lilly, I missed you. I just… wanted to see you.”

She presses her hands together in front of her lips like she’s praying for patience. “You… Jesus Christ, you have to see how crazy this is. I… Shawn, it’s been nine months. And… and you left me.”

The wrinkle in his brow deepens. He was expecting that. He cocks his head slightly and looks pained. “I know. I’m… I still wanted to talk to you after. I just didn’t know how.”

Lilly’s eye roll is so epic she feels the tectonic plates beneath them shift. “It’s hard to be friends with the woman whose heart you broke, I guess.”

Again, he looks wounded. He plays it off better now than he did during the actual breakup. Or until her final parting words, at which he did look genuinely hurt. It was her only consolation.

“I’m so sorry. You have no idea--”

“I have no idea how sorry you are?!” she finishes for him, jerking back to life, her voice reaching a dangerous pitch. Shawn squares his jaw to take it.

“You know normal people get to just unfollow, block, whatever, and they can hide from the person that dumped them and their new relationship? There was no hiding from you two. Especially when you made fucking zero effort to be modest at all. Shawn, I could not escape it. So how sorry you are is nothing compared to how sorry I am.”

Shawn’s hands slide off the door. He takes a little step back, but refuses to drop his eyes. Lilly stares, swallows hard, and looks away when it becomes too much.

“I wanted…” he starts, clears his throat, “Wanted to see how you are. If you need anything. I know, I mean, I remembered your mom has that respiratory thing so you can’t go home.”

Somehow hearing it out loud, maybe hearing it from him, puts her over the edge. Two hot, fast tears trickle down her cheeks. Shawn looks startled, then stricken.

“Is she ok?”

Lilly, embarrassed and angry, goes magenta and swipes at her face with sweaterpaws. “She’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t know why I’m-- It’s ok.”

Shawn still looks concerned. He shoves his hands in his front pockets. “And your roommates? Is everyone ok?”

If she had any sense at all, any hope of self-preservation, she’d lie through her teeth. He wouldn’t know the goddamn difference. But he knocked out her ability to reason when he brought up her mom.

“Casey is sick,” she croaks, bringing her palms up over her eyes. She shakes her head, “We don’t-- I mean, she can’t get a fucking test. Mae is staying with us and living with her in her room, taking care of her.”

Shawn looks horrified and half ready to come through the glass at a run. “Lilly, you can’t stay here.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” she snaps.

He searches desperately for an answer in the cool, muggy air around him. It’ll rain again soon. Another thing for Lilly to cry about.

“With me!” he finally spits, his eyes lighting up, “My place in Toronto. You can, I mean, the guest bedroom--”

“Shawn, no,” she grunts, “I’m not doing that. That’s… what? No.”

The idea of holing up with Shawn in his lavish but small two-bedroom condo is the kind of vision that would’ve made her knees weak a year ago. She would’ve killed for this kind of time. Now, she honestly can’t believe she’s hearing him suggest it.

Shawn seems to go back to the mental drawing board. Lilly continues shaking her head and sniffling, ready to reject any idea he comes up with.

“What if we stayed here? Like at a hotel or something?”

“I’m not staying with you at a hotel for several reasons.”

He starts to look a little frustrated, and it’s oddly gratifying. Lilly crosses her arms.

“Ok, a house. I’ll rent a fucking house. Lill, please. I know you hate me. I totally don’t blame you. Please let me do something good for the first time in a fucking year. Please. Let me do this for you.”

Her teeth come together sharply when he uses her nickname. He doesn’t seem to notice.

She shakes her head for what feels like five minutes. “I really don’t know what to do. The fact that I’m even considering this doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

It’s the boost he needed to let the tension in his shoulders drop. He tilts his head and watches her tenderly as she roils inside.

“Are you as scared as I am?”

Lilly blinks and looks up at him. With a deep sigh, she releases the anger she grabbed onto, the anger she’d stowed months ago, the anger she picked back up as soon as she found him on her back porch. It’s not permanently gone. She knows better than to imagine that. It leaves exhaustion in its wake.

“Yeah. I am,” she admits, swallowing harshly. She drops to the tile floor and watches as he slowly, carefully lowers himself to prop against the other side of the glass door.

He looks different. There are new tattoos she knows about -- the stories behind them, she doesn’t. He’s wearing his hair longer on the back and sides. She thinks she likes it that way. He has a pimple, probably from stress, on the right side of his forehead. And he’s staring at her like he knows her inside and out. She shifts uncomfortably against her side of the glass.

“I replay that night over and over again in my head all the time,” he admits, squinting toward where the sun halos the banana trees at the far end of her yard, “I can’t fucking believe I treated you like that.”

Lilly sighs again, heavy-hearted. “Shawn, if this is something you think I need to hear, you should just go because I’ve dealt with it. It’s over. I’m… I’m not mad at you anymore. I don’t want to be. And if you’re here to deal with your guilt then honestly I think that’s selfish.”

Shawn sniffs and nods slowly. “It is selfish. I am selfish. I was selfish then and I’m probably being selfish now but all I want is to make sure you’re safe. I came here to apologize. I don’t know what I wanted out of that, I don’t know what I expected. But now I can’t leave without knowing you’re going to be safe.”

He looks as sincere as she’s ever seen him. It’s like an out-of-body experience. Just an hour ago she would’ve bet serious money on never seeing him in person again.

She shoves her head into her hands between her knees. She groans, “I’ve probably already been exposed to it. I could get you sick.”

“I’ve been on three planes in the last two and a half weeks, I’ve almost definitely been exposed, too. But at least in a big house with space we can really self-quarantine without you dealing with your roommates.”

He’s perked up a little, lifted his head off the door. He knows she’s considering it seriously. He seems afraid to breathe the wrong way and change her mind.

She chews thoughtfully at the inside of her lip and is silent for almost a full minute before she speaks again. “You could just go back to Toronto. You could go home and stay at the condo for a while, then be back with your parents in a week or two. You could just go home, Shawn.”

A piece of her hates him a little for having that option when she doesn’t.

He looks absolutely certain when he nods, wets his lips, and speaks.

“I could. But I don’t want to.”

+

It’s less than 36 hours later when Shawn texts her the address. It’s tucked up in Mandeville Canyon, gated and quiet, he assures her. He says it like he went out of his way to find them a place out of the public eye and the cynical piece of her says that’s less for her than for him. From what she can tell on social media and gossip sites, no one even knows he left Toronto. For Shawn to get in and out of LAX without the Army knowing about it, she figures he must be serious about keeping a low profile.

She waits two hours before letting him know that she has to pack, pick up groceries and prepare her roommates for the idea that she might be gone a while.

By the time she arrives, thumbing at the keypad with the code Shawn provided to open the driveway gate, it’s almost 9pm. Pavilions was a post-apocalyptic nightmare and made her feel more alone than she’s felt in weeks since the pandemic picked up media steam in the US. She dropped over $200 on whatever stable goods she could get her hands on and enough fresh stuff she hoped to be able to freeze. Exhausted, and a little traumatized, Lilly turns off the car and steps out to look around.

On the outside, the house is surrounded by tall white stucco walls and expertly trimmed hedges. The windows are wide for light but obscured tastefully by tall palms and sun-scorched banana trees. On the inside, beyond the stoic gates, it’s a little wilder, but in a relaxed, thoughtful way. The bases of trees and plants are illuminated by lights, giving the home a warm glow from the outside in, though Shawn seems to have turned on every light in the house. Wrapped in lush greenness, the house is classic prohibition-era LA -- stucco walls, adobe roof, some Mediterranean and Moroccan influences in the rounded archways and mosaic accents. The windows are all framed in hunter green. Lilly likes that.

There’s a balcony wrapped all the way around what looks to be one room on the second floor. Lilly stares up at it thoughtfully until the side door by the kitchen slams shut.

Shawn practically leaps off the tile steps to the stone pathway, his grin bashful as he tries to smooth it down. He jerks a hand through his hair, which looks cleaner than she last saw it. He’s barefoot in gray sweats and an old t-shirt. Lilly’s chest pulses with the sensation to walk right into him for a kiss. It’s a bizarre phantom instinct that she almost has to physically shake off. She tries to smile back, but it’s a grimace.

“Hey. How was it?” he asks.

Shawn stays a perfectly reasonable six feet away, but it feels further. Lilly swallows.

“It was fine. The lines were long.”

Sharing the vulnerability of telling him how grocery shopping in the midst of a global health crisis made her feel seems too much to handle. So she pops her trunk and looks around while he eagerly loads reusable bags into his very capable arms.

“This place is like something out of a Nancy Meyers movie,” she marvels.

Shawn grins again, that kind of smile it’s hard not to smile at.

“You like it?”

Lilly mashes her lips together and nods, forcing the corners of her mouth up. Again, it feels false. She drops it with a sigh. 

“Sorry, I’m… really tired.”

Shawn looks at her suspiciously for a moment before his face clears up. He nods and heads for the door.

“I get it. I can show you your room. How much do I owe you for these?”

He gestures to the herculean number of grocery bags in his hands. Lilly reaches for the last few and shrugs, following him inside.

“It’s fine. You rented the house, I can pick up groceries.”

Lilly knows better than to imagine she won this battle so easily. It’s one of Shawn’s great joys in life to pay for stuff. It’s part of the Leo in him. But he seems to sense she’s not in a place to be argued with right now, about anything.

“I brought antibacterial wipes,” Lilly suddenly announces as the center island of the all-white kitchen gets cluttered with boxes and bags and containers and jars.

“Oh,” Shawn says with a grateful nod, clearly confused.

“The store was totally out of them but I brought some from home. And there was no toilet paper, weirdly,” Lilly muses.

“Huh,” Shawn murmurs, loading a bag of bell peppers into the vegetable drawer of the oversized fridge. Lilly watches, drumming her fingers against the white granite countertop. Shawn glances up at her as he sniffs and inspects the cabinets, deciding where to put the canisters of oatmeal.

Lilly shakes her head and backs up against the edge of the sink, crossing her arms. “This is so weird.”

“What?”

“Stocking up for the apocalypse in a mansion with my ex-boyfriend.”

Shawn looks like he wants to protest, but he shifts tactics. “Yeah. I guess it is weird. The whole fucking world is… weird.”

From six feet or a hundred thousand miles away across a countertop, Shawn and Lilly face each other. As for what’s between them, beyond the space, it will remain there for tonight and probably nights to come.

Shawn gives Lilly a truncated version of a house tour on the way to her room. He talks nervously, explaining that he took the master because he thought she’d want this room more, anyway. With each step, suitcase hurtling along noisily behind her over the stone tile, Lilly’s sense of panic grows.

This was a mistake. You’re insane to have considered it. Pathetic, even. Ridiculous. Immature.

Shawn wishes her a good night a few feet from the door. She smiles shallowly. Mercifully, the master bedroom is on the other side of the sprawling house. She waits until his footsteps fade to release her stress tears and gasping, short breaths.

The room is gorgeous. Simple white walls like the rest of the house with clean, neutral furniture, comfortable but stylish, with pops of color and lots of plants. Old California. But the real selling point is the balcony. It wraps around the guest suite and is accessible through wide set French doors. 

Lilly sits on the end of the bed and attempts to reason with herself. She squeezes her eyes shut. She’s had an overwhelming couple of days. She needs to sleep. If she’s still miserable in the morning, she can leave, Shawn and his pretty house be damned.

+

Lilly wakes up fully clothed, half under the covers of the enormous bed. The curtains are still drawn open. The room is so bright it could be noon. In frantic confusion, Lilly flips over her dying phone to check the time. It’s 8am. She slept for almost 12 hours. She’s not entirely surprised.

She cranks herself up to sitting and assesses. The exhaustion-fueled panic that had her half-ready to stride back to her car to take herself home is gone. Her suitcase is where she left it in the middle of the room. Her face is tight and dry from salty tears.

And she can hear him.

She knows it’s not recorded music. She knows it’s him. She even knows which acoustic he’s playing. It’s his favorite. Hers too.

On crackling ankles and knees, she stands and shuffles to one of the balcony doors, pausing with her hand on the knob. She sighs and bites at her dry lips, pressing her forehead against the glass, looking over the balcony into the gardens below.

He’s barefoot again like he almost always is in LA. He used to complain that it’s too cold in Toronto to go barefoot even inside when the heat is on. She used to tell him he imagined it. He’s bobbing his head and strumming slowly like he does when he’s playing through a few chords to decide where he’s going next. He takes big, slow steps away from the house toward a bunch of lavender bushes near the edge of the property. Before he can pivot and turn to head back the other way, Lilly steps back.

She glances at her suitcase. She’ll think about it again after breakfast.

+

Taglist: @smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft​ @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod​ @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven

[and-the-world-is-quiet-here]

Ballad of a silent song bird

chapter 3: The good times.

Once, there lived a little girl with no name to call herself, who knew but a few things; and she loved them dearly. She knew the body, her father, the trainers, the room, and the sky. In her small world there was no room for hate. To hate was to give up one of her precious few, and if she were to do so, she thought she would go insane. So instead of hate, she learned to love, Love the damp smell of mold after a heavy rain, love the rough hands of the trainers as they sent punches that threw her across the room, love the knives, the guns, the punishments for noise. She was determined to survive, so she grew to love the pain. To say that she loved all these things, did not mean she did not favor some over others. She liked the teachers with pencils and dances over the ones with swords. She liked the light in the window more than she liked the darkness of the corners. But most of all, the girl loved father, until she didn't….until she didn't?

Did she not love her father? The scent of smoke filled her nose and the carpet began to itch under her feet. It was too much, the smoke, the sounds, the scent of hot chocolate and the continuous thump of their heartbeats, each pounding in their own rhythm. She wanted to scream. She couldn't scream. Why? Why? Why, why, why, why, WHY? She was losing her grip on reality. She was looking back, back into things she shouldn't and it hurt. The iron tang of blood filled her mouth and she realized she had bitten through her lip, and reopened a very, very old wound. Why could she not remember getting it?

Whispers echoed around her and she opened her eyes, surprised to see heads leering above her; their faces glowing in the light of the fire. When had she fallen on the floor? “Steph” her fingers were pale and wrinkly. Trembling ever so slightly as they moved through the signs. “Steph” she whispered “Im here, I'm here Cass.” She looked at Steph and thought how familiar those clear blue eyes were. Like rivers of glass, so fragile, so easy to break….. She tried once more to start again. ”Once…...Once there..” She paused, her head hurt. And she didn't know why. Why was this happening? What was happening? She was drowning in her confusion, unable to swim through the sea of new memories that flooded her mind. She broke through the surface for a moment, just a few seconds, but a second was all it took. It was the psychic she realized, all those months before, rooting around her head, he had awoken something he shouldn't have, something inside her, something long forgotten, and it would not go back to bed. Memories were rushing at her. A tidal wave of her own history, Somehow so familiar and yet…....not. She Tried, she tried so hard to tell Steph, to tell them all what was happening to her. What had happened to her, but she couldn't. The version they wanted to hear was wrong! They wanted a story, a simple tale with a monster to hate, but she didn't have one. Real life was messy, her life was messy, it was gray and shifty and there was no good or evil, just bad and worse. They wanted hate, this family thrived on hate, they wanted Cain to be a monster, another villain they could vanquish, but the only monster she knew was herself.

No matter what they thought, she knew the truth. Father wasn't really bad, he could be good, great even. He had cared for her, protected her, raised her and hopefully, loved her. He hit, he kicked, he hurt, and hated, yet how much worse could it have been if he was not there? If he had not stopped aggressive trainers? If he had not cared for her in her infancy? She owed her life to him. Every breath she took, it belonged to him. She was an extension of him, she was him!! But they would not understand. Bruce could not understand that sometimes, parents who hurt still loved. Jason and Steph, sweet, sweet, Steph, they could not understand a child who had been hurt, still loving. She knew that their fathers were monsters, Drake, Row, Brown, Todd, all of them worse than the next. No one, no one should ever hurt a child, especially not her siblings. But her father was good. It was just different. She searched with her empty hand, unaware of what she's looking for until she found it. She caressed the side of Damian's face. Like someone had done to her all those years ago, and, for a second, thought his eyes blue. She stared into them, those frozen oceans, and heard the echoes of long forgotten laughter…..his true voice shook her out of her reverie. “Cass? Cass?” She blinked. “She doesn't have to tell us. It's none of our goddamn business why she was out there in that pond.” Urged Duke. There seemed to be a general sense of agreement amongst the family. They wanted to know what happend. But she didn't have to tell them Panic coiled in her stomach, and the weight of her past settled heavily back down on her shoulders. This childhood, that had been hers, and hers alone to bare……. It was killing her. She looked back at Damian, who was perhaps the only person in the room who could understand. Understand what it was like to fight to breathe, to take up space, to go to sleep with the knowledge that they had been victimised by the people that were supposed to protect them. That they still loved them anyway, that they had lived through hell and would never be given the answers as to why? But most importantly her little brother understood what it was like to bear the affection of someone who’s idea of love was torture. “No” Damian spoke softly. “She doesn't have to tell us, but she really wants to.” It was a burden she had to bear, but maybe, just maybe, she might not have to do it alone anymore. Maybe in this family, where the beds were alway warm, the food was always there, and love was never withheld…...It was okay to fall apart. Damian was there, to remind her of what she had fought for. Jason to guide her through it. Steph to comfort. Duke to make light of it. Alfred to listen, The family to protect. And dad to pick up the pieces and put her back together again. So she began.

Once upon a time there was a little girl, who, despite all his actions, loved her father very much. She was born into a hot summer night on an island, deep in the depths of a crystal ocean. It was a humid night, the kind of night where the very air pressed down upon the nape of your neck, and an inescapable dampness encased one’s skin. She came out of the darkness kicking and screaming, sobbing until her face turned red and she had to stop for breath. She released shrieks of outrage and joy for anyone who cared to listen. She wanted the world to hear her. Immediately upon her arrival, she learned to want. Want for food, for touch, for affection. She learned to sense. The air was hot and salty, the blanket soft, and the taste of the woman sweet. She saw the world in shades of gray. White and silver streaks of light running through her vision as the world blurred and she was lifted up, up off the soft blanket, and back onto the chest of the woman. It was warm here but she wondered where the blanket had gone, if she couldn't see it was it still there? She could see herself, the woman, the edge of the bed, the evidence of their existence was inescapable, but what happened next? When she looked away did they move? And why were they here? For five whole minutes she laid awkwardly in the crook of the woman's arms. Uneased by the silence, and cold detachment that radiated off of her. The delight she had felt at the warmth of contact and the sweetness of new life faded, replaced by a growing sense of dread. Coldness, the woman was cold. Was she supposed to be that cold? It didn't feel right, something was missing. But what? She began to cry, but the distance between the two only seemed to greaten. Water fell down the woman's face. Her terrified gaze falling directly back upon the little girl, she was looking through her like she was glass. Fragile and easy to break, the transparentness of her newborn eyes hiding the ghosts of dead ones. Her cries turned to screams, and she soon found herself plucked out of those indifferent arms and nestled into the safety of the man, her fathers, chest. She began to quiet down in this new warmth, the hands here were calloused, old with age, and they gently cradled her head in their arms, slowly rocking her to sleep. The warmth here was different; it only grew with time. It was steady and consistent, unlike the sad coldness of the woman that creeped along her spine. It was……...nice. This, she realized, was what she had been missing. This fire, it was love. It must be, she decided, the reason she was here at all. The man turned and she got another glimpse of the woman, short and lanky, with brown eyes and wavy black hair that was plastered to her forehead with sweat. The woman looked at her again, in the arms of her father, and something replaced the coldness inside, a fiery dislike, disgust, hatred. It was even worse than the indifference. The woman rolled over onto her side, turning her back to the little girl and they left, without so much as a word of goodbye. It was the last time she ever saw her mother.

Father was kind, with firm but gentle hands that could raise her into the sky or through her down, down, on the ground. It depended on her perfection. He had strong arms that he used to carry her far into the wilderness. In the first days of her life, they hiked and hiked, with each step pushing deeper into the darkness of the dense forest. The tree shifting and blurring in her vision until the streaks of gray and silver grew darker, faded, and were replaced with the richness life provided her. She saw her first color on that second night, strapped to her fathers back, she stared, mesmerized by a flash of black over a dark blue sky. It turned and twirled amongst the stars, the darkness of it's coat contrasting against the bright pinpricks of light that dotted the night sky. It swooped and a rush of anxiety seized her for the first time. What if it fell? It hurt to fall, didn't it? But her fears were assuaged when another shadow surged towards the animal, flying at speed. They walked onwards and she stared into the distance as a volley of young creatures joined the beast, and together, they flew out into the night sky. She released a breath. She later came to learn they were bats.

They moved onwards, father unaware of this new development, hiking until they stumbled out, into a clearing as wide as it was beautiful. It stretched out over the land, a soft green nursery for the new life of spring. It had a wild grove to the left, the edge thick with the sweet perfume of freshly ripening fruit, big thick bushels of holly lay on either side, a quiet brook ran down the right side and a lush grassy mat sprawled out over the majority of the clearing, soft and thick, perfect for the unsteady legs of the toddler to come, just learning to walk. It called to them, welcomed them with open arms. It was big and isolated, nurturing and soft, with clear boundaries on the edges that stood strong and firm, steadfast in it's warning not to cross them. In other words; it was perfect. He used his strong arms and rough hands to chop trees and gather stones, her development marked by the progress of the house. A frame and she could hold her head up and stare at the birds, a kitchen and she learned to roll over, falling from her back and landing with a gentle thud on the soft baby fat of her stomach. He finished the bedrooms and she crawled, reaching for a daisy just out of reach by the corner of the blanket. She learned to live and father worked, bit by bit raising a house from the earth until a stone cottage towered over her youth. Two stories high, with wood braces, covered in the blossoms of late summer flowers and leafy ivy. The roof was straw and by the time she could walk, it began to leak by the back of her bed. And sometimes, if she looked hard, she could see the faint rings of distant planets from the sil of her bedroom window. There in the grove, father taught her to crawl, to walk, to jump, to hit and run. In the summer they ran down the border of bushes, pulling down berries from their leafy branches. The girl, sneaking some, and both ignoring the pink juices that dribble down from the corners of her cherried lips. In the fall they made cider from the crab apples that grew in the grove, they jumped on beds, and drew pictures of plants in the dying light of a winter evening. They climbed trees together, ate together, slept together, played together. Any notion Of “I” and “He” faded, it was them, together. They had never been apart, she had never not sensed the comfort of that watchful eye on her back, she had never strayed from the edges of the meadow, never been refused comfort or hugs. And so what could have been a lonely existence, instead became a lovely one. They crafted boats out of branches to sail in the pond, built a fort, high up in the trees, so that she could watch the birds sing in the morning sunrise. They made lanterns, soft with the glow of fireflies, and waded through the brook, splashing each other as they searched for the shadows of tadpoles in the few spare minutes before supper. In the winter, when it was too cold to go outside and play, and snow covered the earth like a soft white blanket. She would sit on his feet as he sewed new clothes out of old sheets by the fire. And then she'd dance in a dress made from pillowcases in the gentle light of a thousand flickering candles. They did anything and everything together, but by far her favorite thing to do was watch the stars. In the middle of the night, when even the songbirds had long since fallen asleep, and all that was left was the soft chirps of a lonely cricket. They would creep out of bed, a trail of blankets and stolen treats disturbing the long grass behind them. Father would blow out all the candles with a quiet rush of air that escaped from his lips and she would run around the meadow, trying, fruitlessly, to catch all the fireflies so that their soft glow would not scare away the stars. Father was the best at setting the picnic blanket, and she lay still, stiff as a board, as he used his wrist to flick the sheet high up with a loud snap. And she watched intently as it gently fell down, down, down. Until there was an inch of air between her and the material, and it landed on her nose so gently she'd sneeze! Then again, and again, she’d slap the ground with her tiny fists and wiggle her toes until up went the sheet and it was falling down, down, down, all over again! The thrill of safety and danger pulled at her heart, and she’d scrunch her face with terrified delight until father magically knew it was time, and then they'd go sit down on the blanket. Her naming the different constellations with her hands until the sky got greedy and swallowed the moon; and she had to stand on her tippy toes and beg it to come back. Or a sneaky star would fly across the sky; and she had to close her eyes really tight and try to think of a want she could not have. She could never think of anything. And yes, They trained together, they trained, from dawn till dusk, in heat, in cold, in painful ways that she later learned were terribly, terribly wrong. But the pain was born from love, and love alone. And around her pain, her abuse, her loss of innocence, was childhood. In the absence of the life she could have had, the life she should have had. Something else was born. An unfortunate series of events, destined to create an unbreakable spirit, a sharp intelligence, and a kind smile. There was something in her, something that was integrally her, something created in that time of light to carry with her through the dark. And The darkness of those shadows only made the light seem that much brighter, and father, kinder. These memories, these precious few memories, are the strong arms that would carry her when father could not, they were the shoulders, strong enough to carry the burden of what came after the end of light, they where the good times

She grew rapidly, rising with the cherry trees that blew in the cool breeze of the meadow. The leaves turned to snow, and the snow, to rain. Until the rubbery skin of her infancy that had cushioned her falls when she roled, and eased her knees when she crawled, gave way to chubby legs and arms thick with baby fat. Perfect for waddling through the trees hunting for flowers. Boats, stars, cider, sheets, seasons passed and the little girl grew taller, faster, smarter. She learned new things, lost old ones, and gained more. But as much as her childhood was similar to others, it was different. She had no name, there was no need for one, the intent to call for her was enough to make her follow. For her, a look was all it took to understand, and she was never not looking. She grew, and grew; and as all things do, the time came for more. More instruction, more communication, more complexity. So a new kind of language was formed, nouns, verbs, simple adjectives, like slow or fast. It was easy to understand, but she was intelligent, and hungry for knowledge. Hungry for something more, and she built upon what father gave her. She, like other children, learned new words with each passing day, but her words were different. Her words, her world, was formed in the tensing of muscles, the static electricity that crackled through her brain and into her legs that spoke of joy, curiosity, and surprise. Lungs, muscles, bones, skin, fingers and groans, they all moved and spoke with intent. She learned to speak the language, showing with her body, the punctuation in her face. The pause between her expressions, or a sudden change in direction, marking the transition from “New, Happy” to “New, Dislike”. Her hunger for more drove her forwards, spurring her onwards, and soon she was far more proficient in language than any speaking child would be. The ability to read people coming naturally to her, like some ancient memory of a time before words had been unleashed, and the link between her, and her ancestors in the earth strengthened. They breathed the hot rush of humanity into her the moment she was born, imbuing her with their long forgotten language, and she, into them, breathed the air of new life, carrying the ghosts of their traditions into the modern world. The elimination of vocal cords, tense, subject, conjugation, or lung control, pushed her onward, past her peer group, into a class of her own. By two she was the master of a language beautiful and complex in it's own right. Accomplished in an art form lost to time and terror. It should have been lonely, it certainly could have been lonely, if it were not for father. He saw what she was doing to language and allowed it, learned with her, or some may say, from her. They jumped into isolation together, clutching the other as they became separate from humanity, living, breathing, speaking, something, somewhere else. Until it seemed near impossible for the little girl to ever live a life amongst the rest of humanity. He loved it. Father was something different, something better than the rest of mankind. The species he was born to were pathetic. They let feelings and empathy govern their lives, and they found themselves defenseless because of it. That burning fire of love all that children are born with dimmed in him over time. Until all that was left was the shadows of dead flames, and the crackles of hateful embers, and he couldn't find love for anyone but himself. He tried, he tried to gift humanity with his brilliance, the dull dispondance that fosters greatness, but they shunned him, feared him and his excellence, so he retreated into himself. He ran experiment after failed experiment to create a companion, an equal, but they all failed. And again, like in his youth, he turned back to the importance of blood. Blood was the great unequalizer, the tool that set apart the excellent from the turning masses of the long celebrated ignorant. He realized that he was the last of a dying bloodline, and an equal did not exist, no one was as great as him, to ask them to try would be cruel; so he would have to create an extension of himself. He devised a plan, one born of murder and pain, he stole a young girl, 19, maybe 20, barely a woman, but of optimal child baring age. She was a promising fighter from Michigan, lithe and fiery with a passion to change the world. Long legs, flexible, quick reaction times, intelligent and unassuming in her small stature, she was the perfect host. He isolated her, broke her like he had the others until she had no emotion, and then he burned her down, raising from the ashes a daughter, a champion, finally, an equal. She was to be the perfect successor to his brutal dynasty, she was both pain and joy, a phoenix born from fire. And for the first time in possibly forever, a flame flickered in his heart, rising from the ashes just as his daughter had. For the first time, he felt the heat of love.

*update* The tag list is now open, comment down below, submit an ask, or reblog with your request to enter!!

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Hotsy Totsy PT. 2 (T.C.)

Soooo obviously the posting schedule isn’t all I had planned 😅 I’m just going to start posting as I have them ready for you so I don’t put undue pressure on myself and procrastinate my life away lol

Enjoy!!

Stepping out of the wild club and into the cool of the summer night gave Timothée a dizzying sense of deja vu, sending an ache through his chest. Your name reverberated through his mind like a shout in a cave. His trembling hands reached up and ran through his hair as he fought to gain his bearings.

“Tim? What’s going on?” Nick’s brow was drawn together in concern as he followed his friend out into the alleyway. Timothée had always been a hard person to keep up with as he was very connected to his emotions. It often was stressful, but being so close to someone so eccentric was refreshing to Nick; he’d dealt with far too many fake people in his life.

Timothée’s hands fell, meeting his friend’s eyes. “That’s her, man. That’s the girl. That’s-

“Y/N,” they said in sync.

Suddenly, it clicked. Nick felt stupid for not putting the pieces together sooner. He’d known that you had attended college to study musical theater on your parents wealth and your gifted vocal talents, but he didn’t realize that it was the same college Timothée had attended there in New York; he hadn’t even known of the young actor at the time. There had only ever been murmurings of this girl Timothée had met before he’d been drafted, all of which were prompted by heavy alcohol consumption. He’d known her name was Y/N, but he didn’t ever think that it could be his Y/N. He’d only really known you when you were both small children through family events. A little surprised smile crept onto Nick’s face. “Well, this is perfect then! I can get you in to see her-”

“Are you insane? I can’t see her” Timmy interrupted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He shook his head and anxiety filled his stomach, his arms locked tightly around his torso; there was just no way, not yet at least. He wasn’t prepared for that at all.

“Well, why not? Weren’t you two close?”

Timothée scoffed, turning away from Nick. “I just- I can’t even begin to explain this to you now. I’m going home.”

Nick felt that tug at him a bit. Timothée told him everything, sometimes to a degree that was uncomfortable. However, he continued to refuse to speak about you and what had caused all this tension between you. He stood and watched his best friend’s lanky form disappear around the corner, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

***

The next day, you woke up in your husband’s arms from dreams that made you wish you could sleep all day. Flashes of bouncing brunette curls and honey-pot eyes made you ache to your very soul. However, that was pushed to the back of your mind as James’ blue eyes blinked open, feeling you shift in his arms. “Hello, dollface,” he smiled, his voice rough with sleep and his stick-straight, black hair sticking his way and that, making you laugh softly.

“Good morning, Jamesy,” you smiled. Giggles escaped you as he began pressing tickling kisses along your neck before slipping out of bed and heading into the en suite bathroom in all his naked glory. He was handsome, charming, and a businessman, but now, it suddenly felt like something was missing. Perhaps there always had been. You stood, cursing yourself silently and pushing the corrosive thoughts away once again. You followed after him, slipping into your silky kimono before allowing your hands to snake around his middle while watching him carefully shave his face in the mirror.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” he chuckled, feeling you press kisses along his shoulder.

“I just… miss you, sugar” you murmured, pressing your nearly naked body against his. This made it obvious to you when he tensed up, rejecting your touches.

“Sorry, toots, don’t have time to play. I’ve got to meet up with a new girl today.”

You cringed at his words, retracting from him to rest your back against the wall, your robe drawn tight and your arms crossed over your chest.

Seeing your face in the mirror, he quickly rephrased. “A new act, darling, a new act.” You just sighed and left the bathroom, a scowl on your face. He didn’t make it any easier for you to pretend you weren’t still thinking about the night before.

***

Nick hung up the phone and stood, slipping on his jacket.

“Where are you headed? Don’t tell me you’re still out chasing that bearcat, are you?” Timothée questioned, a tired but teasing look on his face. He sat cross legged on the floor with his shirt sleeves cuffed up to his elbows and his hair disheveled as he read over a new script. A hundred fine, luxury options for seating in his home, and yet he chose the rug next to the fireplace every time. Nick had never seen him look quite so aged.

Nick laughed, shaking his head. “Mildred? I’m afraid she’s engaged to marry next weekend,” he said in a bittersweet tone.

“Ah,” Tim replied awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it, Nick. You’ll find her soon.”

However, his girl problems were far from the first thing on Nick’s mind. He had just received a call informing him that he was invited to join his cousin for lunch. Before Timothée could ask more questions, he gave him a curt nod and left the room, travelling down the long flight of stairs to the front door. Thoughts swirled in his mind as he hailed their driver. He figured you had seen him with Timothée the night before, and that was what had prompted your call. Perhaps he’d have better luck getting information out of you than he had with Timothée. He hopped into the backseat, relaying the address you’d given him to the driver, trying to put the pieces together.

Meanwhile, you were preparing for his arrival. You wore a simple shift dress with a long string of pearls and wave in your hair as you laid out on the loveseat.

“Why are you having him all the sudden? Hasn’t he lived in the city for awhile now?” Jordan asked, sitting down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Well... because I’m setting you two up, of course!” you replied with a teasing grin, feigning innocence. You weren’t sure if even you knew your true intentions behind having your cousin come to visit, if you were honest with yourself.

On cue, the doorbell sounded.

Nick was greeted by the butler who kindly welcomed him and escorted him into the parlor where you were chatting idly with Jordan. You sat up, peeking at him over the back of the sofa. “Cousin Nicky! Oh, you are so much taller than I remembered you! My goodness, just look at you! You are a real charmer now,” you beamed, making him blush and look at his shoes a bit.

“Oh, stop it, Y/N,” he grinned. You hopped up, hurrying over to him and enveloping him in a tight hug. Something about seeing him eased anxiety pinching in your chest. Nick grinned and hugged you back, relishing how familiar you were to him even after so long.

“Look at me? Look at you! You’re a star, darling,” he flattered, giving you a little spin and making you giggle. Nick felt the warm glow radiating off of you that always lured everyone in, making you so irresistible. However, unlike the others, he could also still see that little girl who had performed loud and proud to all their captive family members at every Sunday brunch. You’d always been a crowd pleaser, often to a fault.

Jordan cleared her throat a bit, reminding you of her presence. “Oh, yes! Nicky, this is my best gal, Jordan,” you said, gesturing to her. She approached Nick, allowing him to take her hand and press a gentle kiss against the back of it. Jordan was tall with an athletic build and an overwhelming aura of confidence. He had short, black hair that framed her sharp facial features, but warm eyes full of mischief. Nick was instantly intrigued and also incredibly intimidated.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she smiled, trying to play nice though it was hardly in her nature.

“The pleasure is mine,” Nick replied coolly, giving her his charming smile.

The afternoon was spent over tea and sandwiches and scones, the three sharing many laughs and stories, becoming acquainted with one another. The girls spoke of show biz while Nick expressed his newfound interest in writing.

However, you were all interrupted by the arrival of the man of the house. You stiffened a bit at first but quickly slipped back into yourself. “Darling, you’re home!” you cooed, hopping up and wrapping yourself around his arm.

James grinned, giving you a little spin, completely opposite of his attitude that morning. “Hello, doll,” he hummed, pulling you to meet his lips.

Nick tried to hide his shock and sipped his tea. He felt silly for thinking she lived in this big house alone, but he really hadn’t even considered a husband being in the picture. He took the man in as he stood to shake his hand; he was average height with a stocky gait and, though he was dressed as a businessman, he was clearly disheveled and smelled of alcohol. Jordan let out a little sigh at his presence before getting up and fixing a cocktail.

Nick struggled not to grimace as James took his hand, giving it a hardy shake. “You must be Nicky, my girl’s cousin. Nice to meet you. James Elliot is the name” he greeted.

“It’s just Nick, actually, but it’s nice to meet you too. I’m afraid I really should be going-“

“Oh don’t be ridiculous! You must stay for dinner,” you interjected, hoping he could sense your underlying tone.

Nick forced a little smile. “Alright, Y/N. I would hate to be a burden.”

The group gathered around the table making idle chat over a chicken dinner. You giggled over James’ every word and spoke as if everything was a shade of rose, nauseating Nick and Jordan who kept matching sideways glances at each other. It was as if you were playing a scripted role. About three quarters of the way through dinner, however, the phone rang from the parlor, silencing you in the middle of your story. Nick sensed tension settle over the table and watched curiously as James hopped up to answer it. He quirked a brow at Jordan, but she simply shrugged and sipped on her wine. You were quiet for the first time that evening, looking down at your food with sickness settling in your stomach. Nick could see that James was smiling into the phone before he hung up and returned to his place at the head of the table.

“Who was calling, James? It seems a bit late,” Jordan questioned.

“Oh, just business,” he replied nonchalantly.

The phone began to ring again.

You audibly sighed, giving James a look. Every night, it was the same game; only this was even more humiliating with your cousin there. You never asked because you didn’t want to know. Maybe because you already did. He placed a warning hand on your shoulder and squeezed as he brushed by to go answer the phone for the second time, making your hands shake.

As James left again, you stood, deciding you’d had enough. You stepped out onto the patio attached to the dining room and fought to breathe. The anxiety attacks had come for about as long as you could remember, but they’d recently evolved into near episodes. Your knuckles were white around the railing as you stared across the bay through tear-fogged eyes, trying to get a grip. You barely registered the sound of Nick stepping out onto the balcony with you.

“Y/N, are you alright? What’s wrong, darling?” He couldn’t help but feel protective over you despite all the time you’d spent away from each other.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, trying to focus enough to speak. “I think everything is pretty terrible, Nicky.”

He took your hand in his, his back against the railing as he faced you with pleading eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“I have everything. I found everything I wanted in life, but it’s never enough.” You continued to stare blankly out at the water. “I fight every day to stay ignorant, to be a beautiful fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world.”

Nick watched you sadly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Never could he have imagined the girl he’d seen on the stage the night before coming home to be the wilted flower before him. He gently tugged on your hand, pulling you into a hug. You relented, feeling some of the tension release from your chest as you exhaled against his shoulder. Nick was just as safe as you’d remembered.

***

After a few awkward, tension-filled goodbyes, Nick and Jordan were escorted out to their drivers.

“It was nice to meet you,” Nick said, trying to be polite despite the obvious discomfort the evening had brought.

“He’s sneaking around with girls from the club,” she said bluntly, stopping Nick in his tracks.

He stared at her dumbly, trying to understand.

“I thought everyone knew,” she sighed, kicking at the gravel. “You know he owns the speakeasy, don't you? He’s sneaking around on Y/N, but she won't confront him because she’s afraid he won’t let her keep performing. He’s given her everything she has here.”

Suddenly, everything you had said on the balcony made sense. Nick ran his hand over his face, still speechless. “I-I just.. wow, um-“

“Yeah.” Jordan was your only confidant through everything that had been going on, and though she carried the weight like a champ, she did ache for you. The only reason she didn’t take things into her own hands was for your sake. “Well, Nick. I’ll see you around,” she said finally, giving him a sad smile before climbing into her cab. Nick did the same, feeling about a thousand pounds heavier than when he had arrived. It wasn’t until then that he remembered his mourning roommate back home. How was he going to relay all of this to him? Letting out a sigh, he laid his head back against the headrest, watching all the people and twinkling buildings pass by outside his window. Perhaps it could all just wait until tomorrow.

When he finally made it back to the mansion, Nick dragged himself up the stoop and inside. As he made his way up the staircase on his way to his room, he spotted Timothée in the same place he’d left him. He was gazing into the fire now with his script abandoned beside him.

“Aye, Tim. What are you still doing up?” Nick asked, leaning around the doorframe. Tim jolted and groaned, rubbing his eyes, clearly startled by his roommate’s return. Nick made his way upstairs toward his room, ready to be out of his suit and not yet ready to tell Timothée where he really had been and what he had learned while he was there.

Timmy held his head in his hands, his elbows propped against his knees. He’d spent the whole night concocting ideas of how he could see you without actually having to see you. All this along with feeling sorry for himself, of course. He’d imagined seeing you again for the past five years and yet, now that it was actually right before him, he had no idea what to do. He stood up with a heavy sigh, anger building internally with himself. Sipping down what was left of his whiskey, he resolved what he had to do.

Long legs carried him swiftly to Nick’s bedroom door where he knocked softly before opening it.

Nick raised a brow, in the process of getting changed. “What is it?” he questioned, seeing the slightly wild look in Timothée’s tired eyes.

“I need you to do me a really big favor.”

TAGLIST: @londonmademedoit @cathyoliveros10

[revengeoftheantichrist]

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Possessive behaviour

AO3  <<<Previous

Chapter 8: Cake

You had spent the journey from Paris to Calais in relative silence, not wanting to speak to your husband. He seemed to think your fever had come back, content with you leaning on him to sleep. The scenery through the window was marred by the rain and the clouds, bringing you back to the gloom of your wedding day. It would be difficult to avoid him on the ferry back to dover, he had to keep you close in case anything happened in the confined space. You were woken by Michael’s heavy breathing, opening your eyes to see him leaning over you, looking at you as if he were starving. “What’s wrong? You look so pale my love. Are you sick?” you asked, despite everything, the state he was in now worried you greatly. He looked fine when he went to bed, what had happened? You took his face in your hands, trying to get him to refocus and say something; his skin was so cold. He licked his lips, like a predator that had caught its prey. He seemed to snap out of it suddenly, shooting out of bed. “I’m fine, the sea air seems to be getting to me,” he began to pace the room. He was weak, you could tell by his staggered pace. “Michael? Please what’s wrong? Do we need to get a doctor?” “I’m fine just go back to sleep.” He crawled back into bed, pushing you down from the seated position. “You look sick, please let me help.” He looked agitated, gripping your chin like he did on the night you first travelled to Langdon castle, looking you in the eye, “I told you to go. To. Sleep.” He bit out. His hands were freezing. You tried to fight the feeling that washed over you, but within a matter of seconds you fell back into the pillows, eyes closing. You could have sworn you saw his eyes turn black before you succumbed to the darkness. Your nightmares returning. //// You woke up in pain. It hurt to breath. You were in your bed back in the castle. When had you arrived? Why didn’t you remember the last half of your journey? It was still dark. Michael had his arm around your waist, his other hand was lightly gripping your neck. He sensed you shuffling and seemed to tighten his hold. “Go back to sleep,” he mumbled. “I can’t breathe,” you whispered. His grip on you loosened, letting go of you completely. Instead of settling back down, he got out of bed, putting his robe on and slamming the bedroom door behind him. He didn’t return that night. You lay awake wondering where he had gone and what on earth was happening. Michael didn’t return to your side, leaving only a rose for you to wake up to. //// You looked at yourself in the mirror before your bath. The bruising that you had after the ball, had returned. Painfully purple marks littered your neck and breasts again. You had no idea where they came from. You decided to sit in the garden and start on your new embroidery piece. Working on black velvet that you had bought in Paris. Free handing and taking inspiration from the garden that surrounded you. The day had passed, still no sign of your husband. You knew he was home, but he hadn’t spoken to you since the previous night. As you packed your things to go back inside, you realised something, you knew nothing about Michael’s parents. “Medina? What do you know about the Late Count and Michael’s mother?” “I only started working here two years ago my Lady, they’re not spoken about much here. I can only tell you a little,” she replied. You motioned for her to sit and start talking. She hesitated a little before starting. “The late Count was murdered just before Count Michael’s birth. The loss of her husband drove Countess Vivienne insane. Apparently, she almost killed her son for looking too much like his father,” she whispered the last part. Your eyes were open wide with shock. “Lord Nathaniel took over the estate after Count Lucien’s death. The Family called him ‘Tate’ lovingly. He never took a wife but…” she looked around before starting again, “He took a liking to Lady Vivienne, when she refused his offer for marriage, he…. He took her against her will. Lady Constance just turned a blind eye to it all.” ‘How horrible’ you thought to yourself. “She had enough when Lord Michael was around 5. She attempted to run away with her physician, Dr Harmon. But Lord Tate murdered them before they could leave the grounds. They were hunted like animals apparently. The little Count waited for days at the door, for his mother to return home. She never did.” You began to cry for the boy your husband used to be. How horrible must it have been for your mother to never return. At his age, you’d cry if your mother was only in the next room. So much grief for such a little body. “What happened to Constance and Tate?” you pressed on. “Lord Tate was murdered five years ago. No one knows what happened, or where he’s buried, but it was horrific. As for Lady Constance, she took too much Laudanum and never woke up. Countess Elizabeth is the only blood relative that is still alive; she was his aunt Rose’s daughter. That makes Count Michael the last Langdon,” she finished. You were left speechless. What could you say to this? Such a heavy burden he had to bear. No wonder he hid that painting form the world. Seeing it must have brought painful memories back. You tried to compose yourself, ready to go back inside. The sun had set, making it dark outside. “This conversation stays between us Medina.” She nodded in reply. //// You began to grow irritated at Michael’s behaviour. You hadn’t seen him, let alone spoken to him in five days. You didn’t sleep together or dine together. There was only so much embroidery you could do to pass the time. The smell of the chocolate cake you were baking didn’t lure him out. If he wasn’t coming to you, you would go to him. You knew he was holed up in his office. So you took afternoon tea to him yourself, not even bothering to knock, you were not going to wait for a reply. The office was a tip. Papers everywhere on the desk and the floor. You were sure children were cleaner than this. “Do they not teach you how to knock in your little village,” he asked, glancing up from his paperwork. You decided not to reply; two could play the silent game. Instead you cleared some space on the desk, setting two of everything down and pouring the tea. You sat down right in front of him, cutting only one slice of cake. Michael reached to grab the plate, thinking it was for him. However, you decided to be childish, cutting the slice only for yourself. He was watching you as you devoured the slice, shocked at your bold behaviour. He wanted to have his cake and eat it. You wouldn’t make him stoop so low that he would have to cut his own slice? Would you? You were looking at anything but him, taking in the messy office around you. You stopped mid bite, noticing the picture on his desk. His eyes followed yours. It was the picture he stole from your brother. You raised your eyebrow in question and continued to chew. “Your brother gave it to me… after we got engaged,” he blushed a little. You just hummed in reply, reaching for your last bite. As you lifted the fork, Michael grabbed your wrist, smiling at you before yanking you forward, taking the last bite into his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction, while you were sprawled across his desk in shock. “Your cakes are always so good,” he moaned. “You can cut yourself a slice then.” “Never, I have people to do that for me,” he replied. “Then starve,” you finished collecting the tableware, about to leave, “You don’t have to look at the picture on your desk all day, I’m just upstairs you know,” with a final wink you shut the door, not waiting for a reply.

Next>>>

[israltale]

Darkness within

Alure smiled, while Kiros and Cobra trained at the Lake. They were now Three, if someone counted Solei who lived in the Vicinity of Order. Sadly to say, it wasn’t as peaceful as he had hoped.

Alure wasn’t sure if the King figured it out himself, had a spy or Solei couldn’t keep his mouth shut… but the Order Guards were now after them, especially after their Guardian. Kiros trained for that exact reason, to protect the Woman who was so Kind to them. 

“Hey.” Kiros stood in front of the thoughtful boy. 

“Oh… Yes?” He looked up to the Taller Hybrid. 

“So lost in thoughts, Nightlight?” Kiros asked, sitting down next to him. Cobra joined them only a little later.

“Yes… Actually i try to figure out how the King learned from us…” Kiros nodded.

“True… it only started recently. The Snake boy thought it would happen far sooner, but it’s apparently not to our changing… My changing was the last and is already almost six months past.” Alure nodded slowly. 

“Why is he after us anyway?” Of course he was curious of that. 

“It’s less you he is after and more Arisa who is in Danger.” Kiros blinked. 

“Why?” Cobra sighed. 

“It’s… a long Story and i don’t know if Arisa wants you to know about it. But the Gist of it is that the King wants her gone.” Alure shivered. 

“Is it because she is protecting us? From what you told me once… he hates everyone who is not Pure.” Cobra nodded slightly. 

“Yes, before the King could ascend the Throne, a lot of Citizen framed him for being a bastard Child… As you may have noticed in the Pure Blood Section is a certain… Colour line going. The King is actually a single coloured Dragon, which is normally only seen in the Citizen themselves.” Kiros blinked. 

“What do you mean?” Alure wanted to know as well. 

“You see… There is a colour class system in Isral… The normal citizen are mostly single Coloured, like Alure and Solei are.” Both Hybrids nodded. 

“The next class, mostly those who own a Shop are the double coloured dragon’s, like you Kiros. After that the Royalty and the high Generals, those are mostly Multi coloured. Meaning they have more than two colours.” Now Alure wondered how Millenia looked in her Dragon Form. Of Course she had to be one… Right?

“So what is the Thing with the King now? He is single coloured, so he should be multi coloured?” Cobra shook his Head. 

“That is the Point. Rulers are either double coloured or multi coloured, but there is a twist to them.” Both Hybrids stared at him. 

“The Rulers, or their Children change colour in the Light of Sun and Moon, so they are… hm let’s call it Holographic?” The smallest of the Three starred at him in awe, imagine how it must look to see a Ruler or their Offspring. 

“And that King doesn’t have that?” 

Cobra nodded. “Exactly.”

Kiros grumbled. “How did he got on the Throne then?” 

The Skeleton traced his three Scars. “At the Time the former King passed on, the older Sister and Potential Queen… The Citizen thought she was Dead.” 

Alure tilted his Head. There was something in his Phrasing. “But she isn’t?” 

Cobra smiled a bit. “Exactly. The older Sister is still alive and returned to her Home after some…. Complications.” The two Hybrids still didn’t understand why the King was after their Guardian. 

She was just the High Priest of the Land. It seemed to Click in Alure’s Mind. 

“Is the King after Lady Millenia, because she knows where the Princess is hiding?” Kiros blinked, that was actually a good reason. Cobra huffed, they were so careful about this, of course they didn’t catch the Hint. 

“Yeah… Arisa knows where the older Sister is… Being said, the older Sister is a threat to his Rule.” Kiros nodded in Understanding. 

“So he wants Millenia to find the Sister and execute her, so he won’t lose the Throne.” Cobra smiled a bit. 

“Something like that.” He somehow was glad they didn’t catch the hint. It was easier to leave them dumb, or they would do something stupid. On the Other hand, Cobra feared that it won’t take all to long for the Guards to arrive here and then not even Reeve can help them out anymore.

“Who would have thought, that the Personal Guard is watching some dirty Halfbreeds.” Cobra jumped to his Feet. 

“Grima…” A Man with snow white hair came out of the Shadows. 

Alure hid behind Cobra, while Kiros grabbed his Knives. 

“Where is she?” Grima commanded. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Grima sighed. 

“I thought you would say that, so i brought a present.” He snapped his Fingers. 

“LET ME DOWN YOU DISGUSTING ASSHOLE!” Alure gasped, a Soldier was holding Solei in a tight grasp. 

“Bring Nocturne… Or this Halfling will suffer terribly for Lying to the Excellency.” Cobra growled at Grima. 

“I’m impatient and you know that…” He said, about to snap his fingers again. 

“Let him down, Grima.” Kiros turned, only to see Millenia come up to them. 

“Ah… There you are.” Grima said with a disgustingly smug grin. 

“Arisa…” Cobra looked at her in worry. 

“I told you to let him down.” Grima nodded slightly.

“Yes you did, but i don’t take orders from you.” Millenia sighed. 

“I thought so… Sharyu.” A large Scythe appeared in her Hand. Grima shivered excited. 

“You could hurt your little halfling.” He warned, standing close to Solei. 

“Co.” The other nodded. 

“Kiros, i will get Solei, once he is here run with Alure and him.” Kiros grumbled. 

“Alright…” Alure blinked. Cobra shoots forward, he was fast and dangerous. 

The guard was knocked out fast and Cobra ushered Kiros to run with the Boys. He first feared Grima would follow them, but the Man was after something else.

 “Oh please, no reason for such Violence. The King only wants to talk with his dearest Sister.” Cobra didn’t believe him. They were after her life, not after a TALK. 

“Grima… If i go to see his Majesty… will you leave them alone?” 

Cobra starred at her. “Arisa.” 

Grima laughed. “Of course, Princess. King Lysander is not that cruel. Talk with him and see for yourself that he has no ill intentions.” Grima said. 

“Arisa!” Cobra grabbed her Hand. 

“Co.. Protect them for me. He can’t kill me, if he wants this Realm to still exist.” She whispered. 

“Arisa this is insane.” She nodded. 

“I know, but it is all i have to protect them.” He finally let go of her Hand. 

“Hold out only a bit… i will get you.” She smiled at him, before walking up to Grima, leaving with him to the Capital.

Alure stared out of the Window, while Kiros patched up Solei. 

“This asshole attacked me out of nowhere!” Solei grumbled. 

Finally the door opened, but only Cobra walked in. 

“Where is Lady Millenia?” Alure asked.

“Grima brought her to the Main City… Apparently the KING wants to talk with her.” Cobra said, while he himself didn’t believe it.

Solei huffed. Alure stood up slowly and walked to the Door.

“Where are you going?” Cobra asked. 

“I… I forgot my book at the Lake. I just wanted to get it really quick.” He said. Kiros stood up. 

“Hey Snake. take care of the little Shit, i will go with Nightlight.” He said, Cobra nodded only. 

“Be back in 30 minutes.” Both nodding before they left. 

“Did you really forgot a book there, Nightlight?” Kiros asked, as they were away from the house.

“No… i wanted to see if the Water is telling me anything…” Kiros sighed. 

“So you are worried to…” The purple Hybrid nodded. 

“It was odd… why didn’t he ordered her to tell him where the Princess is?” Kiros blinked, Alure was right! 

“You think…” Alure nodded.

“Lady Millenia said she is living here because of certain circumstances… She doesn’t know where the Princess is, she is the princess. That’s why she never showed us her Dragon form!” Kiros heaved a heavy sigh.

“That Flower sure is giving us some trouble.” Alure ran up to the Lake once there, but it was as if the Sky itself turned even darker. 

“She said once to me, that there are the Ancestors of Isral living in here..” Alure whispered. 

“I may not be a Pure Dragon, but i love this place…” He stared into the Water, noticing that it had became duller, not the shining fluid he was used to. But still it reacted to Alure, slightly riling before it showed Alure something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He could see the Great Castle from the order Vicinity, Soldiers bringing Millenia inside, thankfully she was unharmed. 

“It has been a while.” A Man said, Alure recognised him from Solei’s description, the King of Isral and also Millenia’s supposed to be Brother. 

“Your Highness.” Millenia said politely. Lysander seemed to rage the second he saw her.

“You really are gutsy, SISTER.” He spit out. 

“Raising an Army to get the Throne!” Millenia shook her head. 

“If i had wanted the Throne i would have taken it upon my return five years ago.” She said calmly. Lysander growled darkly.

“You simply couldn’t. But no matter now… I have good news, SISTER… I will once and for all, make sure you will never return here.” He said coldly. 

“Your Highness, it is impossible to kill the Dragon of Chaos… They simply will shatter once again.” One of his Men said. 

“I know, that is why, she will go to where she belongs… Some Brothels far away from Isral.” He began to laugh. 

“After all, that is all my dearest sister is good for. Spreading her legs for others.” Millenia stood there calmly. Alure starred at the Water, see ing the Soldiers bring his Guardian away from them even further. 

He wanted to scream at them, to cry, but then he heard her, as she glanced back to were the Vicinity is supposed to be.

“Sleep while the night is young. Dreams carry you far from harm. Free from alarm, safe in my arms, please live your life for you and for me.” He felt something around him, as if she was hugging him. 

“Still, you must carry on, bearing your burdens for long. My wish for you, can only come true… You’ll still be here when i am gone.” Alure sniffled, oh how often did he hear her sing this song, when he was about to fall asleep. His soul started to throb in pain. 

“Share your smile with the world. Live for the path you choose. Know you were the only one, that i could never bear to lose.” Alure felt hot, was this a song she used to sing for the King? Was it something precious to her? In the water he saw her turn her Head away from them. 

“Sleep while the night is young, dreams  carry you far from harm. My gift to you, too precious to lose… Know that you were the future i chose.” Kiros only could watch Alure stare in the water, not knowing what he saw. Then Alure screamed painfully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shit! Nightlight!”

Alure felt hot, painful and his soul throbbed. It was as if someone was ripping it out, while hate against the King was burning through him. 

The Dragon symbol in his soul, a dark purple, started to turn brighter, more blueish while it also started to bleed out of his Soul. Kiros was about to bolt to him, to grip his shoulders. 

‘Don’t touch him.’ Kiros stopped dead, a ghostly looking Woman in front of him. He never saw her before, but she felt familiar. A woman with shoulder long greyish purple hair and deep blue, sapphire like eyes. She wore a black dress as well, but she seemed… dead? 

“Nightlight is in Pain.” The Woman nodded. 

‘I know, but if YOU touch him his hate towards the King will devour you… Leave it to us.’ Kiros growled at this Woman. 

“Who are you?” The Woman smiled. 

‘Sharyu, i am the Scythe bound to Lady Millenia and a long passed Ancestor. Let us take care of sweet Alure.’ Kiros was still not convinced, but she was only there to keep him distracted, while other ghostly People surrounded Alure. 

The Small Hybrid yelped in Pain, but it also felt a bit like Relief. Someone was pulling out this painful Hate running through him. He blinked, only to see another Hybrid, with six large cyan coloured Horns. His sight was Hazy, as this Hybrid pulled him into a soft Hug. 

“Fear not, Alure. I shall safe what is dear to us all.” His voice sounded so Cold, so different from his Own, but he wanted to trust this Hybrid.

Kiros stared in disbelief. Alure was fine, but someone held him. Sharyu looked over her shoulder, seeing another Hybrid, the manifested Hate of Alure towards the King of all Dragons. Sitting there in the Cold light the Moon gave of. 

He had four tails and wings, while his six horns were Cyan coloured. 

“Tell me one thing.” He finally spoke, his Head raised to the Moon. 

‘This may be?’ Sharyu asked softly. Alure seemed to have passed out from the Pain his Hate had caused him.

“I was born under the Moon’s cold light… however this may be called?” Sharyu turned fully to him. 

’In our old Language… the word you may want to know is Narish.’ The Hybrid nodded slowly. 

“Then from this Day forth… my name shall be Narish, the Cold Light.” Kiros blinked. Finally noticing the similarities to his Boss. So this would be the corrupted Nightmare he knew and cherish so much. 

“Boss…” Kiros breathed. Narish finally gracing him with his one free eye light, this cold Cyan Kiros always loved. 

“There is one more, am i right?” Kiros grinned. 

“Yeah, Boss~ The Flowers personal Guard, he is back at the House.” Narish stood up, still cradling the passed out Alure.

“Then let us bring him there to rest and collect the other. Our Mission shall be to burn down all the Brothels in our way to find our Flower again.” Kiros smirked, that was something he really liked. 

“Alright, Boss~”

Cobra starred at them, as a way taller Hybrid walked in, with Alure in his Arms. Kiros was already a bit taller as Cobra, but this new one surpassed him even more. Cobra noticed that the new Hybrid was still shorter as his own Brother, but not by much he thought.

“This… doesn’t look like a book.” He said. Kiros chuckled. 

“Yeah, no Book. But the King also didn’t hold his promise… Boss here has more information.” Cobra turned his green eye lights to Narish. 

“Right, but first let us bring Alure to a Comfortable place.” Cobra nodded. 

“Solei is sleeping in the Back, let’s bring Alure there.” Narish nodded, as Cobra took the smaller Hybrid from him to bring the sleeping one to the bed. After that the Guard went back to them and guided them to the Kitchen Table. 

“Alure saw her in the Water of the Lake.” Cobra tensed as Narish started. 

“The King has ordered to bring her away into a Brothel.” Kiros growled immediately. 

“What?” Cobra hissed. Narish watched him.

“I want you two to come with me and burn down any brothel to find our Guardian again.” Cobra nodded. 

“But what about the Kids.” He asked. 

‘I shall protect them.’ Cobra looked up. 

“Sharyu?” She smiled at Cobra. It took him a while before he nodded. 

“Alright, let’s get Arisa back.” He said, standing up and clenching the Crystal he always had on his hips. They would get her Back.

Thanks to Cobra they could sneak out of the Wood without being caught or getting lost in the deep Fog around the Kingdom.

“How far are the Brothels away?” Kiros asked. 

“The Question is rather… where did he brought her? Do you know anything about it?” Narish nodded.

“Indeed. Far as i know from what i for being part of Alure is that they wanted to bring her FAR away from Isral.” Cobra thought about it. 

“There is a Red light District almost two days away from here. They probably used portals after exiting Isral.” He said thoughtful. 

“It would be faster with Arisa’s help.” Narish sighed. 

“Well, so how do we get there fast?” Cobra thought about it. Then there was the Idea.

“I know how.” He said walking to a bit away, using his Crystal to open a Portal. Narish raised his Brow bone. 

“This is… interesting?” Cobra smiled a bit. 

“There is a connection to my Crystal that holds my soul weapon and Arisa’s Necklace she always wears, it helps to bring us fast to her.” Kiros was impressed, this would save them a lot of traveling, but they already lost a few hours. 

Narish walked through the Portal, they had a Mission after all. Kiros and Cobra followed a bit after. 

The Red-light District bustled in the moonlight while some Women were trying to lure Men in. Narish looked disgusted at them. Cobra sighed, there were a lot of Brothels in this Area, it was basically a whole town made of Brothels, finding Millenia here was like searching a needle within hay.

Kiros turned to them. “So? What is the Plan?” 

Narish huffed, tugging his wings closer to him. “We need to find her, but i don’t think they will make it easy for us.” 

Cobra nodded. “Sadly no. We would have it easier if she used her magic…” 

Narish looked at him. “How so?”

Cobra chuckled. “If Arisa uses her Song magic then we could easily make out the Brothel she is in, thanks to Black Flowers growing around it.” 

Narish tilted his head. “She sang as she was brought away.” 

Kiros was impressed, Alure and in that Narish saw all that through the Water? 

“She did? Alright then let’s see if we find Black Flowers that look completely out of Place.” 

Kiros turned around, looking a bit confused. “Like… those?” 

Cobra and Narish looked to where he was Pointing at. Black Flowers growing their way to a Brothel deeper into the Town. 

“Yup, that’s her flowers.” Cobra nodded. Kiros grinned, almost bolting down the Street. 

Narish chuckled a bit. “How convenient, you can barely miss that. So if she wants to be found, she certainly will.” 

Cobra laughed a bit. “Yeah.” 

They started to Follow Kiros, who probably went to the tallest, most expensive Brothel there. 

Cobra sighed. “Berelia.” He whispered, the Crystal giving off a soft glow before turning into a large sword. 

“Convenient.” Narish said, but Kiros was not to be seen. 

“You think he is inside already?” Cobra asked, as if the Answer wanted to give itself in the higher Floors someone were thrown out of the Window, already dusting as he landed, a Knife deeply buried in his Back. 

“I presume that means…. YES.” Narish said flatly, his hands behind his Back as he casually looked to the dusting Person.

Kiros felt very stabby today, not only threatened they Solei, to be honest he hated him, but he was still a Hybrid. Then they kidnapped their Flower and now he had to run up to the 9th floor to collect their Flower before something happened. Yes Kiros felt very stabby, he would STAB anyone in his Way. 

The other Two were still not here, but he actually didn’t care about that. Finally he was up in the last floor.

“You stupid whore, are you to dumb to do this Right?” Kiros twitched, kicking the Door open. 

The Men looked up, in his hand a bundle of red hair. Kiros felt something hot inside him. It wouldn’t be so bad the need to stab a trillion knives into that Man… BUT! Kiros looked down to Millenia, her clothes in sheds and a huge bruise on her Cheek. Oh this Man would die! 

Kiros growled darkly at that man. “Get out you asshole, i payed for this Bit….” Kiros wouldn’t let him Finish as he already threw the first Knife. It settled in his Shoulder. 

The Man screamed loudly, releasing Millenia.

“ARISA!” Cobra went inside the Room Finally. 

“Take the Flower out….” Kiros said, taking the next Knife. 

“I will deal with him….” Cobra nodded. 

“Alright.” He took of his Coat to place it around Millenia. 

“Let’s go.” He said softly. Millenia looked bad… a Bruise on her Check, some cuts, but now he needed to get her out. 

“Co..” He shook his Skull.

“Not now, Arisa… Let’s get out of here.” He said, bringing Millenia out, only for her to blink in surprise, seeing face to face with Narish. 

“Guardian.” He whispered, touching her uninjured Cheek. 

“What…” Cobra sighed. 

“He was born from Alure… His Name is Narish, it’s a long story.” He said, while the Screaming from the Brothel became louder and louder.

Cobra went back in to assist Kiros, who was going rampage by now. Narish was with Millenia outside. 

“So you were born from Alure?” Narish nodded. 

“Exactly, i am his hatred that rose after seeing what the King did to you.” She flinched a bit, before Narish made her look at him. 

“We all cherish you greatly…” Millenia sighed. 

“I am aware, but still…” Narish didn’t want to let her Finish as he bend down, pressing his teeth on her Lips. Her silver eyes widening, while he kissed her. 

She didn’t know what to do, before he released her, just in time for Cobra and Kiros to return. 

“Flower!” Kiros turned her around and looked at her. “Are you fine?”

She smiled a bit up at him. “Yeah, he just hit me a bit, nothing all to bad.” Kiros sighed in relieve, before he as well, kissed her.

Narish chuckled a bit, it was obvious they loved her so much. “Narish…” He turned to Cobra. 

“I will take Leadership for the Hybrids. Millenia had enough to deal with already, i shall protect her and the rest.” 

Kiros broke the Kiss. “Sounds good to me, Boss~” He said with a grin, Pulling Millenia closer to him. 

Once back they would build a castle for them to life and as Narish had announced, he took Leadership for the little Group they had. Kiros immediately raising as his Right hand Man, Cobra assigned to guard Millenia even more. 

Narish taking Leadership made the Vicinity of Chaos turn mostly into a darker Place, only the Lake had sunshine, but all of them were fine with that so far.

[jjkpls]

(y)our name 2 - one (m)

> genre : fluff, angst, light smut

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 6.7k

> warnings/content : friends to lovers, unrequited love, slice of life; a LOT of cursing, oc is... chaotic, thirsty, panicked; Bad Editing Le Retour™

You could not look any less serious. With your badly dried hair, your face glazing from the cream you just applied in a rush and your whole frame, vibrating in childish excitement. “You know what, Guk? We can decide to make it weird or we can decide to be two grownups, responsible and smart and like reliable and- and be like 'Well yeah we had sex, whatever, it’s not gonna change anything!'”

There's a heavy silence blaring in the hallway. You're too ecstatic to let it affect you but still, you wish he'd appear a little less impenetrable. He's not giving you anything to work with. And even though you can't imagine any other alternative than the one you just suggested, he has to confirm he's willing to go along. “Right?” You're defying him with your gaze, hands attached to your waist, head tilted to the side. The smile stretching your lips grow less natural and more rigid. Jungkook simply shrugs, shifting about on his feet.

“I guess you’re right.” He says but he doesn't look like he means it. He looks preoccupied. And a thought, disturbing, invades your mind. Something is burdening him. And from the frown on his adorable face, it's at least mildly serious.

“Are you okay?” You’re pouting as you ask, not meaning to tender him the way you do but you can see his troubled heart all over, in his stance, in his giant eyes. You feel bad for being the idiot concerned about that night when there is something wrong with him. Anything could have happened during those excruciatingly long and testing three weeks. Your merciless dumb ass may have missed a drama in your favourite boy’s life and the fact that you could have actually let it happen breaks your heart. “Is something wrong?” 

He gazes at you, wide-eyed. They’re shining with a curious apprehension. It’s as if he wants to say something. The tiny tremble of his lips hints there is something, just right there, at the tip of his tongue. A simple little push would have the words out. “Tell me.”

Instead, he shakes his head, one of his hands rising to mess with the already chaotic pile of dark locks. “S'nothing. I’m good.”

“Jungkook.” He’s already down a few steps, his back turned to you. “You’re not gonna tell me?” There’s a tiny little edge in your voice, as if your heart's been wounded. It brings him to spin around to peek your way. You’re not that stupid. You know three weeks of break in a friendship that has, in almost a decade and a half, never had any before, must impact it somehow. You detest the idea. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” He says, softly. He seems all tiny, hunched over as he is, several stairs down.

“Still, you’re not gonna say?” He looks up from his shoes. There's this contemplating pout on his mouth. Again, he looks like he's debating internally.

“If- It’s not important. If I need to, I will, ok?” Your heart stings. But you want to trust him.

“You promise?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, biting a smile back. “I don’t need to, you already know.” Grinning you jump on the step next to him, wrapping with great difficulty an arm around his shoulders, you lead him down the stairs.

You're rambling loud in the resonating hallway about how you spent the whole night watching your favourite zombie movies in prevision of the day you're about to spend. He doesn't need to hear you say it all as he already knows. His phone along with him didn't have any sleep last night, as you kept sending him messages of extreme importance regarding all the technics and strategies you were actively learning watching the films and how useful they were all going to be for the zombie apocalypse-themed escape game you had made reservations for.

You are so excited, you can't contain yourself. Finding him back after having missed him so much and for so long, you just can't accept to spend any more time without him. Which is ridiculous. You two would have to get back to your lives and go to work for starters, but not now. Now you've dumped your shift on your kindest colleague at work, quite last minute, so you could have the whole day with Jungkook. Planning on going to that escape game you two had been talking about for months, making a checklist of all the places you could visit afterwards to eat and take pretty pictures if he wanted to, adding a list of the potentially interesting movies now in theater if you still have time left. Yes, you really did miss him. You don't want to say it out loud as it's been said enough the night before, but you hope he knows from how hard you hug his arm against your heart that you're still overwhelmed by the joy brought from him filling the staggering void in your chest again as if he'd never left it.

Your phone lights up on a too-familiar face and a name you feel too uncomfortable to pronounce out loud. It’s Namjoon. Again. You see Jungkook’s eyes catch it before you turn it off, and they divert awkwardly as if terrified to meet your own. Your heart stings again. Like a sharp scorching needle piercing through the thing. You can’t bear the awkwardness. You used to be able to talk about anything. Even some things that require litres of liquid courage and lead to consequences such as burning ears and heavy sweating. But never anything has just been brushed over. The realization that something is installing itself between you hits. A new norm, where some subjects must remain unmentioned. It’s horrifying so quickly you blurt out, “We broke up!” Jungkook looks up from his bubble tea, eyes large like saucers. 

“Yeah, I heard so. From Jimin.” He doesn’t ask for more information and it’s upsetting. You want him to know he can ask anything. Anything that is yours, anything that is you is his too. 

He should know it all. 

“It’s just- he is- he is not an asshole but I don’t know, I guess we didn’t agree on everything. He wanted me to choose between you and him.” Your eyebrows raise, head shaking in remaining disbelief. He had some nerves. You felt bad momentarily because it meant Namjoon believed your relationship to be strong enough to face this kind of ultimatum. But he was so rude about it! So rude and assertive, it didn’t even give you the willing to clarify things up with him, to sort things out, consider a compromise. As if you’d ever sincerely only dare think about giving up Jungkook for anyone or anything else. You would never.

Jungkook smiles around the straw he's gnawing on and you chuckle. You're sharing the same mischievous glance you used to when younger, you would find some shenanigans to ditch a third party you were not inclined to stay with so you two could play and be yourselves exclusively together. Like a secret handshake, you have your secret smile. There you know you'll be fine.

After some time, he feels comfortable enough to bring Namjoon back to the conversation. It's just to apologize again about what happened. He doesn't leave on any more information, any answer to the burning question you've carried with you since the incident but you decide to not push it. It was fucking weird, this whole mess of a situation. So unlike him to hit someone. So unlike you to turn your back on him as if there would ever be a valid reason for you to stop loving him. A piece of the puzzle is missing, however, you trust him with it. Surely, he'll give it to you one day and that's fine.

You're cutting the calm quietness surrounding you with a sudden burst of giggles. He squints at you, eyebrows frowned as if he already knows and it makes you laugh harder.

“Shut up!” He groans while trying to reach for your phone on the table. Your reflexes are cat-like though, and before he knows it, the hilarious video you shot today of him, fighting incredibly poorly a zombie, plays for the two of you to enjoy. He's screaming so loud, cursing a bunch of profanities you've never heard him say, and when his ass hits the ground without the actor touching him you're throwing your head back, crying in hilarity. It's been torturing you for the past two hours. Each time your brain starts to putter, the video comes knocking and you just can't help the bubbling mess to rumble from your chest. You only stop when he starts to threaten you, saying he is going to leave and head home.

You really don't want to go home. Or more like, you don't mind going home but he has to come and stay with you. Why couldn't you have been born as Siamese twins?

Sticking the lollipop out of his mouth, he winces in pure disgust, “That'd be horrible!”

“What? Why? It'd be awesome! We'd be stuck to each other all the time!” Which is an enchanting thought -maybe it needs to be precise. You're sure he thinks the same. The grimace intensifying on his face is just comedy.

“We'd be siblings, by the way. Not best friends. That wouldn't work.”

“Let's hot glue the shit out of our hips so we can test this theory out!”

“What are you even-” You don't interrupt him, he does himself, deeming it's pointless. Halting his steps, sighing deep and loud as he stares down at you like you're crazy. Maybe you've turned a little bit insane. That's what too much Jungkook and sugar do to you: you're sincerely considering the whole hot-glueing thing. “Ok. You're going to bed.” It's a gasp that answers him and like a dad who knows how to handle his misbehaving child, he cuts you off before you even get to say anything.

“___, it’s 3 am. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I start at 5 pm!” You pester, hitting the ground with your foot.

“Still. Don’t be ridiculous. You need sleep.” His huge eyes blink slowly, his face contorting weirdly as he contains a yawn. He's the one who needs sleep but-

“But-”

“You really did miss me, huh?” 

He's all smug eyebrow-dance and wiggly shoulders so you decide to simply be honest, that'll shut him off. “Of course I did!” He tsks, not having expected this as he stares off the distance, looking anywhere but you. You pout, hitting his ugly sneakers with your own boots. “Why do you keep wearing those things?” The offending bulky things are daring you to criticize them further.

“You don’t know fashion.”

“Oh is that fashion? Ok, I guess I really don’t know then.” When you look up at him, grinning, he has that look on. Head slightly tilted to the side, tight-lipped smile, the one that pinches the skin around his mouth into a tiny dot, eyes looking soft but implacable. It’s the look he has when he’s telling you off and it makes you whine indignantly. “I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“But you will.” He decides, sticking the lollipop back against the inside of his cheek, gaze all ominous before he's throwing you on his shoulders. You'd scream if it were not the middle of the night and you didn't mind having people calling the police on you two for night fuss. 

It's not the end anyway. You're dramatic and greedy because it feels natural to be in these circumstances but you know you two will be fine. You should let him go home to sleep without fearing losing him again.

There's no doubt in your mind. Still, instead of your brain to sink in the happiness and let you fall peacefully asleep on your two ears, the uncooperative thing just wouldn't let you rest. Keeping you wide awake and alert, bringing thoughts way too joy-filled to not render you giddy and fidgety. 

I guess it wasn’t that terrible. It wasn’t bad at all. You did apprehend it. Not only were you two to start hanging out again after a pause that felt like an eternity, but you had also to do so after spending the night that you did together. It seemed easy enough on his part. Maybe because he seemed already preoccupied with something else. Either way, it went smoothly. Like riding a bike. Something you never just stop knowing how to do. Jungkook and you, it’s natural. It’s pure fated affection, there’s no place for any lagging. This you confirmed today. 

As the days pass, the routine reinstalls itself, with morning breakfasts shared, impromptu hellos, and stray kitties pictures sent out throughout the day.

It feels wonderful. You can appreciate what you used to have with a whole new level of intensity. It’s like hovering over the Earth on a candy cloud. You’re not lucky, you’re blessed, gifted. Nothing is that upsetting. Nothing is that tiring. Everything fixes before it even breaks because there’s Jungkook and the happiness he brings everywhere along with him. 

You’re not that bad at being cool about the whole one-night thing. Not as good as him but still good enough. You manage to prevent anything potentially compromising to slip, refract any impulsive gesture towards his arms or his chest or his thighs even. You do end up blushing furiously sometimes when an unexpected careless babe falls through his lips, or when he mutters your name quietly to bring your attention to him and the breathless calls from this one night remind themselves to you. And of course, it would be like this. How could it not? How could you just say each other’s name so casually when you heard them being moaned by the other the way you did. That’s what you think. But he doesn’t seem on the same page as you. And that puzzles you. Not greatly, you know him to be more used to unattached sexual affections, but still. 

How could he not be affected when you’re pretty sure you screamed his name? That’s the other thing about the fateful night and its consequences, the more time passes the less you remember every detail of it, and you dread it. You wish it would stay intact, untouched in your head, as grandiose as it was when it happened.

It’s worrying. How obsessed you are about the incident. But not for the reasons one could expect. 

Your friendship is not at stake per se. Or maybe it is in a way, and that’s why you’re not presenting yourself to him with those thoughts. 

It’s not about Jungkook or more so, it’s less about the feelings you adorn for him, and more about his skills. Because he does have skills. You have no idea where they come from. If he’s spent years secretly attending sexology seminars or if he was born an incubus and for some reasons you knew nothing about that, point of the matter is: he blew your mind. He ruined you, opened up a door inside you had no idea was there and it felt so good during and after, that you find yourself feeling miserable at the idea that maybe, you won’t ever fall upon a lover like him. 

Namjoon was fine. He didn’t have the best stamina and was a bit too stiff to plant and bloom passion as intense as Jungkook managed to in few minutes but he was ok. Taehyung was fine too. Perhaps tending to be a bit selfish, forgetting to give back if you didn’t remind him but for the most part decent -he did have a huge shrine that wasn’t so handy in practice but still managed to entice you and make you squirm before you realized that, except for pain and discomfort, the hugeness of it didn’t bring much more. 

And that’s the thing that annoys you the most: they used to be good. They used to be in your mind more than good enough. You didn’t question the possibility of having more. It was alright. You didn’t come each time. You never came more than once in one encounter. But it was fine for your standards. You didn’t know any better, that there could be more to it. Now Jungkook swirled in, wrecked you, leaving you a satisfyingly empty shell lain in a puddle of your own arousal and that’s the mind-blowing sex you want to have for the rest of your life. The thought that maybe he is one exceptionally proficient guy, member of a very rare and exclusive club of fucking abnormally phenomenal lovers that has the secret access to a secret magic to Orgasms -with a capital O because what you thought to identify as orgasms before definitely are not the same things as what you experienced with your best friend- it’s depressing and horrifying and makes you want to start a fucking riot against the universe and maybe against men for not all being as good. Because they should. Fuck, there would be no more cheating partners, no more lonely solo underdogs, eternal peace in the world if everyone dared be as good of a lover as Jungkook. 

Maybe you’re over exaggerating. Maybe. Probably not.

How, how in the hell are you supposed to just brush that memory like a simple anecdote, marking your history like any other tiny souvenir would, like that first time he cried in front of you right after he scratched his hands falling from his skateboard and you had kissed it better, or that time he lied for you so you wouldn’t get your ass beaten by your parents after having skipped two classes to go make out behind the school with Kim Seokjin. 

Well, you can’t. It’s impossible. And at first, it’s fine. It just means you spend a little more time in the shower, you're a little slower at work because you have to constantly bring your brain back to the task ahead, you’re overall a little more angsty and every time you meet up with Jungkook, there’s a little apprehension. It’s a little less 'I can’t wait to see that dumbass’ cute face even though he might bully me for not having showered', and a little more 'I’m going to meet with my good old friend who happens to be the man who fucked my brains out that one time, so maybe I should put on that skirt'. 

The permanent tension doesn’t last that long. He’s too much like he’s always been. You’re too happy with him like you’ve always been.

Things go along as they should. You repress actively your deviant brain, decide you’re going to get over him because he is not the only man on this fucking Earth and there’s no way, there’s no fucking way -it’d be too unfair- he is the only good man worthy of your time. 

Soon you realize that in fact, he is. In a way or another, by some curious black magic or something, he managed to make himself the only man left on this Earth. What a dick, you think. Because now he’s gotten back to his life, his awesome life of an awesome dude, unbothered, untroubled by whatever the fuck happened when you, on the other hand, are all broken. 

There's this thing about you. You used to fall a bit in love with every person you’d see when you'd be single. There would be this tall guy with his beanie low on his forehead pushing his fringe in his eyes, reading some manga on the train, and you’d start making up a sweet history for him and you’d wish he’d look up for a second and fall in love with you too. But he’d leave without noticing you and then this young woman would walk in with a dude on her toes. She’d look saddened while the guy would look annoyed and you’d start thinking about where you’d like to take that girl out and what cute pet name she’d like you to give her when you’re not even into girls -allegedly. You’re desperate for love. You’ve always been. Which could be surprising as instead of having a childhood deprived of it as often have the people who grow to be very demanding when it comes to affection, you were spoiled with it. Instead of curing you, the force-feed love rendered you addicted and you've always wanted more. More people to meet and discover and adore. Rarely enough. Except when you’re in a relationship. You’re not simply loyal you’re fully invested. You want to be good, to be the best, bring the most. You know how to direct all your time and attention and aspiration on one person without wanting to look away. 

And that’s what you need again. Maybe. Someone to prove you that sex is not it all. You never thought that before stupid Jungkook but now, you're questioning it. He did break you. You think constantly about it, not wondering what compliment that one stranger like to hear, what place that other stranger would love you to make them discover, you're wondering if they could make you feel good. If their bodies would be as hard and hot as Jungkook's. If their sexes could fill you up and stretch you, hard and right the way his did. And fuck Jungkook because not only did he change your way of considering people -which is fucked up, by the way, you feel like a creep every time you catch yourself doing it-, he made them all uninteresting. None, even in fantasy, do it for you. You don’t want them to touch you. You don’t want to touch them. You wonder what’s under their clothes without really wanting to know. That’s not that surprising. You’ve always been a very emotional person and perhaps it’s just not something for you. Perhaps you can’t fuck without affection. But at the same time, it’s what you want, it’s what you need. Just purely wild and relieving sex.

It’s the reason why you end up grabbing your phone, tapping your passcode in a fury because the print sensory thingy won't work and you’re already pissed enough as it is. Wrist hurting, breathing laboured, pussy quivering uselessly around nothing, you quickly get to your chat log with Jungkook. You’re mad. It’s the umpteenth time that you try to get yourself off and end up on the verge of crying from frustration because you can, physically, feel yourself craving for a cock to fill you up -possibly his. It’s the worst feeling. A degree of desperation like you never have felt before. And it is insane because never in a million years could you have imagined that sometimes a woman, and you of all, could have your cunt yearning for something that bad. It’s like it builds and builds, not phenomenal but seemingly good enough, and then it snaps but as you come, you feel the lacking spoiling completely your already low-quality orgasm. One of the worst experience of your life. You’re enraged and delirious from the dissatisfaction and that’s why you end up sending him this message:

you : thinking bout u

Read. Right away. There are the three little dots blinking on the screen, your brain adds a mental drumroll to accompany it. And then they disappear. Five minutes pass, you’re dying, feel like your pussy might catch a cold staying open like that -which is quite dumb and lewd but you’re so upset, you spent so much energy on attempting to get off that you can’t even get yourself to roll over to the side (it’s not even like he’s going to teleport himself there and just slip inside at any instant). The dots don’t come back so you decide to text him again, a bit more apprehensively. 

you : do u think about me?

jungkook : are you making a YouTube video?

You’re confused for a while, reading multiple times the text over, simply not getting it until the phone vibrates again in your palm. 

jungkook : like a lyric prank

Ah. 

you : Ah no. And why would I chose a song from 2009 to do that

jungkook : It’s not 2009 and cause you’re lame like that

This is absolutely not going the way you planned, you think finally closing your legs together. Then you remember that you didn't plan shit.

you : 😐

jungkook : What do you want anyway? Why aren’t you sleeping

jungkook : ?

you : I just told you

jungkook : I don’t know what you mean

Is he messing with you? Or does he sincerely not know? Fuck, you hate texting. You never know what the person on the other line genuinely means. You're not being a coward tonight though, so you send:

you : You said to tell you if I ever think about you

The torturous three musketeers are back, cackling right in your face as you stare, for an eternity, wishing for something, anything, to replace them. It’s outrageously long. It’s like he’s typing his eulogy or something. Until the dots are replaced but by worst than any text, no text at all. They disappear and nothing else comes through. The embarrassment is so overwhelming, your body finds the strength to fully wince, your legs jerking up to your chest and your whole body falling sideways from just the cringe. What a fucking idiot. Your face buried in the pillow, you wail and groan in emotional pain. Then it shakes again, the cellphone, the cursed object you shouldn’t be allowed to own. You grab it with your eyes shut close, terrified at what the screen has to show you. When you gather the courage to look, you frown: it’s a link. A URL you don’t recognize. You tap on it, gnawing nervously on your lip as Safari takes forever to load the page and once it's done, and the title of the page appears, you wish it wouldn’t have loaded at all. Fucking hell. You’re going to die. You’re dying of embarrassment tonight, it’s decided. 

'69 Best Masturbation Tips for Female Orgasm'. It’s an article about masturbation. He sent you that. To help probably. Because he doesn’t want to do it himself and doesn't know how to say it. Of fucking course he doesn’t want to and oh-my-fucking-god how could you have been so fucking stupid. 

you : Sorry

There are the dots again but you can’t bear to see them again so quickly you type a desperate:

you : I’m really sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Sorry sorry JK please just forget I said anything sorry good nighttt 😅 😅

It’s the worst moment of your entire life. And this thought, the thought that it’s so terrible, nothing will ever compete for that title, is the sole reason why you decide to not suffocate yourself to death in your pillows. The worst just happened.

You’ll just avoid him. For a few days. If he lets you. He probably will. The poor guy is probably feeling even more awkward than you. You were acting so normal, regular platonic friendliness and suddenly he learns that you’ve been lurking over his ass for all this time. For fuck's sake. You’re the worst. There's a tiny voice in your head that's not a bitch and keeps telling you that a couple of days would suffice and eventually your cheeks’ crimson will reduce and progressively the whole thing will be lost in your memory like those events that sometimes fade so far away, you’re not even sure if they were ever real or simple dreams. Except this one is a fucking nightmare and as you toss and turn around relentlessly for the whole night you’re sure you won’t ever forget it did happen and the shame that you felt. 

And you’re wrong about that. Because as you wake up the next morning after having successfully fallen asleep for an hour around 6 am, the memory is blurry. It’s flimsy. The burning devastating emotions are gone like they hardly ever existed and you can sigh in relief as you stretch out of bed, body sore and rusted but mind fresh and enthusiastic. You feel like you’ve just woken up from a power nap -you know the fatigue will strike you half-dead later, around 10 am or 2 pm, you’re not sure yet-, feeling positive and wanting to move the world with how productive you feel like being today. 

And then your initial hypothesis is proven right. As you reach for your phone by rote, meaning to check the time and your notifications as you usually do, you fall upon the text Jungkook sent you right after you shut your phone off, the night before.

jungkook : It’s okay

That’s it. Hell befalls once again on your stupid self. It’s like last night, all over again. Your eyes well up, aiming to fill up the tenuous rivers dried up on your cheeks. You fall on your face back in bed, yelling full-on in your mattress. It’s horrible. It’s horrible. It’s horrible. 

“Are you okay?!” You hear Eun ask from the other side of the wall. Her voice is all hoarse from sleep and now you feel even worse for having woken her up with your idiocy. Stupid and selfish you are. 

“Yes, sorry!” There’s a loud thump as you assume she lets herself fall back to sleep. You’re glad she’s too tired to register the tremble in your voice and the obvious desperation even you could decipher. 

'It’s okay' with no emoji, no nothing. The emptiest text you’ve ever received. It’s worse than one of those 'ok' assholes send sometimes as an answer to a long invested text. You know what it means. It means it is not okay. He is too sweet to tell you off the way he should or wants to. He knows you’re not an inconsiderate bitch and that you will read through the pixels with this simple two words that it is not okay, he’s not interested and he feels bad but that’s just how things are.

The alarm of your phone rings loud. You’re reminded of your stupid duty you’re supposed to attend to: your job. You feel like a teenager again. Well, in reality, you never really stopped feeling like one. When something would happen, you expected the whole world to stop for you to deal with it. You were too spoiled as a kid. People would actually stop. You remember walking down the playground, eager to play at something but not knowing what and sauntering about looking out for your different options and all the kids, no matter what they were busy playing at would stop and stare, sharing quick nods of approval before one of them, one for each group, would walk up to you and try to convince you to stay with them. Everybody liked you at the time, everybody always loved you without you completely realizing, only occasionally would you suspect it with a sheepish mischievous smile hidden in the corner of your lips. 

And now you’re twenty-three and someone, the person who’s supposedly is always cherishing you, doesn’t want you. Which is fair. Fair enough. You’re friends and it’s weird for him, you get it. But he said that you could call him whenever you thought about him. He said it. And he said something else. You can’t remember properly now but you remember what you thought at the time: that he was suggesting you’d do it again. That happened. Whatever the exact terms were, he did hint at wanting other times to happen. Then again, he did say a lot of things that night. And obviously, those were spurred in the heat of the moment. You guess he’s smooth along with being talented. His words are part of the whole thing and for good reasons, it works like a charm. 

But, therefore, of fucking course, you’d take it seriously. Of course, it’d take roots in your weak mind and bloom into invading, overpowering desires.

You’re pissed at him now, you realize as you struggle to apply mascara from how much your hand is shaking. You’re angry because he is the asshole behind all that. Even if he did not do it on purpose, he’s made you like that, fucking obsessing over his fucking dick like it’s the only one left and you’re meant to save humanity from extinction. He didn’t have to be that good to you. And why would he say those stuff if he didn’t mean them? That’s fucking sick. And why does he not want you anyway? He didn’t have a problem with you being best friends the first time. He sure enjoyed it, right? 

Right? 

Your memory is hazy. 

You’re not sure if you just made it all up from the pleasure you were experiencing. He is good. But maybe you suck? Maybe he just went along and concluded with you because he was too sweet to back up and stop in the middle of the course of action but in fact, he didn’t enjoy it. You didn’t do a lot, that much is true. You didn’t feel too bad about it before because you were sure he still had his fair share of pleasure but now that you’re not sure, now that you consider the idea that maybe your brain affected the real turn of events to spare your ego and feed that magical experience you had, you feel like shit. It must be it. With all those girls, beautiful, liberated you’ve seen him with over the years, he must have had expected and wanted more. He didn’t end up that talented with no one to practice with. And there you were, awkward potato who couldn’t keep the lights on -which apparently was such a big deal-, way more inexperienced than you thought yourself to be, giving him the worst sex of his life. Of fucking course, he wouldn’t want to do it again. 

It’s decided you’re never meeting him again. It’s not his fault. It’s yours. You suck balls. Or rather you don’t and that’s the issue. 

Fuck. This is so embarrassing. It's been a couple of hours since the curse text he's sent, and you don't feel any better. If only you could focus on those dumb coffee orders and forget about your stupid pussy for a second. 

It’s a little easier after a few mistaken cups of weird lattes, when your manager, perched like an owl on a bar stool, starts staring at you like she’s about to fly to you and bite your head off. 

It gets harder when you finish your shift and your mind is left to think about him again and the atrocious humiliation. You’re cringing the whole ride home. Having to stop yourself from growling out loud in frustration, not wanting to freak people out by making them think you’re rabid or something. And it turns the hardest when you have to walk past his door and ignore it, when it’s right fucking there, to quickly flee in your apartment. You’re sweating and shaking once you’re inside, pressing yourself against the door, praising the barrier protecting your ego from him. 

Wow. That’s insane but you don’t want to see him ever again. Or at least not until it quiets down. It’s too much. You know there shouldn’t be a seat for shame in your friendship but you can’t help it. It’s just Jungkook but it’s also the best lover you’ve ever had and, you can't deny it anymore, an extremely attractive man. And you’ve humiliated yourself in front of that man.

It’s the reason behind your avoiding him. You don’t even take the time to think about it and try to rationalize, think about what he might be feeling, think about the implications of your action, about how childish you’re being, you just do it. 

At first, it’s a blast. Knowing you would work hard to precisely avoid him makes it more bearable for your existence. You don’t wake up with an awful tummy ache and a migraine just considering having to talk to him and act fine and casual as if you’re not dying inside. You won’t see him so it’s fine. It requires a little effort though. A little checking the area for safety with an unsuspecting Eun. A little hustling as you have to steal all of your colleagues' early shifts so that you don’t have to be home for breakfast and see him land in your living-room to eat with you. A little stealth when you have to come home as you do in the early afternoons and you don’t know for sure if he’s not working from home, eagerly tending the ear to try and catch you coming home. His ear is very sharp and you know when you don’t pay attention and are loud climbing up the stairs, he can hear you from his apartment. He told you before that he recognizes the sound of your stepping, different from Eun’s and that’s how he knows you’re home safe when you get off work at ungodly hours of the night, and knows to send you a sweet encouraging text when he hears you leave ungodly early. 

It’s because of those messages that you start feeling too bad to handle. The first time, in a panic, you had answered the text with a raccoon gif. He responded with a sympathetic laughing emoji and you decided you sucked faking casualty and would simply restrain yourself from answering his morning texts. It’s been cleared out already that you should not be allowed to use a fucking cellphone. 

He's too powerful though. The kindness of his texts and the guilt you’re facing directly proportionate to it adds to the fact that you miss him. It’s been five days and you miss him immensely. It’s when Eun who asks why the boys haven’t been around in so long that you realize you’re really being a bitch. He deserves better than that. Therefore, laying down on the sofa, legs propped on the armchair, naked feet shaking in anxiety in the air, you pick up your phone because you never learn apparently. 

you : you wanna have a ““““spooky””””” movie night? Netflix put up the scream movies + pizzas

It's natural enough. Doesn't mention anything risky and that's perfect.

jungkook : I’m in busan rn

you : What? Why are you in Busan? 

you : And since when?

jungkook : Two days. I’m coming home tomorrow night 

jungkook : For a seminar

jungkook : And you would know if you were not so busy avoiding me

Well, here goes the not-mentioning-anything.

Another quirk of yours: when your mind is set on something, hardly anything can make your aim waver.

you : *gasp* I don’t appreciate being called out like that

Nicely played.

jungkook : Don’t care

But he's going to be difficult.

you :  😐 😐

jungkook : Are you embarrassed about the other night? That’s fucking dumb 

you : You fucking dumb 

jungkook : Why are you so embarrassed? I told you it’s fine

you : But it’s not though. I feel terrible still

jungkook : There’s no reason everybody gets horny

you : But I rubbed it in your face when clearly you don’t want it I’m verysorry 

jungkook : Stop apologizing

And again, as always, it just goes smoothly. You don't understand this. It used to be so simple being friends with him. But lately, it's like everything is a challenge. You always doubt before being proven that yes, things are like they've always been. You have no reason to doubt your friendship, nor him. The weight lifted off of your chest feels incredible as it leaves, bringing a few relief tears to the corner of your right eye. It's the end of it, at last.

jungkook :  who said I don’t want it

a/n : yes, it’s happening, (y)our name is back. Way sooner than expected but it’s kookie’s bday so i felt i had to give him another chance. So, there should be 2 other chapters to follow, all in reader’s pov. I’d really like to know what you guys think. I feel like it’s too messy (it took me a while to write and i’ve been feeling stressed out so i think it transpires too much). in any case, i really hope you enjoyed, i know a lot of you anticipated a sequel so i hope i don’t disappoint. i’ll try to have the second part up next week-end. until then, peace out boys scout!

& a happy birthday to our angel, please bid your well wishes hard enough so they can reach him.

Hugs and kisses and love to you all. 💜

▲  Comment ‘tag’ if you want to be tagged when I post the next part!  ▲  

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Fri,. May 22, 2020

Righteous Melchizedek, King of Salem

The Righteous Melchizedek was the King of Salem (Jerusalem). He was both a king and a priest, laying the foundations of the city where the Messiah would appear. According to Mar Jacob of Serugh, Melchizedek was a Canaanite, asserting that the very site of his kingdom bears witness to this. Therefore, his genealogy is not recorded. He must have been born, and he must have died, but the Scriptures deliberately conceal both events, assigning him neither beginning nor end, so that he might be called a priest forever. Melchizedek (who appears in the Scriptures suddenly, and then disappears) is regarded as a type of Christ (Hebrews 5:6, 10; Hebrews 6:20; Hebrews 7:2). He did not receive his priesthood from any other priest, nor did he pass on his priesthood to anyone else. In his homily "On Melchizedek, Priest of the Most High God," Mar Jacob of Serugh states that the priests of the past shed the blood of animals when offering sacrifices to God. By contrast, Melchizedek was made a priest "by the sacrifices of his soul," and did not sacrifice animals, nor did he offer anything but himself to God. Melchizedek did not adorn himself with splendid robes as Aaron did; and instead of offering bulls and rams, Melchizedek offered his holy prayers from a pure heart. The Son of God also resembles Melchizedek, because there is no beginning or end to His priesthood, and He offered Himself to the Father as a perfect sacrifice. As Priest, Christ brought Himself to the place of sacrifice, placing His body on the altar of the Cross, and shedding His blood for us.

In chapter 7 of the Epistle to the Hebrews, the Righteous Melchizedek is called the King of Salem, and also a "priest of the Most High God." By the interpretation of his name, he is called the King of righteousness and the King of Salem, in other words, the King of peace" (Hebrews 7:2).

Melchizedek met the Patriarch Abraham as he was returning from his victory over the kings (Genesis 14:18-24). He brought bread and wine to Abraham and blessed him, saying: "Blessed be Abram of the Most High God, Who made heaven and earth, and blessed be the Most High God, Who delivered thine enemies into thy power." By offering Abraham bread and wine, Melchizedek foreshadows the Church's Liturgy...keep reading OCA

Martyr Basiliscus, bishop of Comana

The Holy Martyr Basiliscus was a nephew of the Great Martyr Theodore the Recruit (February 17), and he suffered together with his brothers Eutropius and Kleonikos during the persecution of the emperor Maximian Galerius (305-311). The holy martyrs Kleonikos and Eutropius (March 3) were crucified, but the martyr Basiliscus was sent to Comana where he was detained in prison.

The governor Agrippa arrived in the city of Amasea, and started a persecution against Christians. Saint Basiliscus in prison prepared himself for his impending ordeal. The Lord appeared to him in a dream, promising the martyr His help, and foretold his martyric death at Comana. Saint Basiliscus asked the prison guards to let him go to his native village to bid his relatives farewell. They let him go, since they respected him for his holy life and working of miracles. Arriving home, Saint Basiliscus saw his family one last time, and urged them to stand firmly in the Faith.

When Agrippa learned that Saint Basiliscus had gone to see his relatives, he went into a rage. He chastized the prison guards, and he sent a detachment of soldiers after the martyr, headed by a cruel magistrianum (adjutant of the governor). Meeting Saint Basiliscus, who was actually on his way back, the magistrianum placed heavy chains on him, and shod him with metal sandals with nails driven into the soles, and set off to Comana.

Arriving at a certain village during the hot afternoon, the travellers stayed at the house of a woman named Troana. The soldiers went into the house to relax and refresh themselves with food, and they tied the martyr Basiliscus to a dry tree. Standing in the heavy chains beneath the scorching sun, the saint prayed to God. Suddenly a Voice was heard from above, “Fear not, for I am with you.”..keep reading OCA

Acts 15:5-34 NKJV

5 But some of the sect of the Pharisees who believed rose up, saying, “It is necessary to circumcise them, and to command them to keep the law of Moses.”

The Jerusalem Council

6 Now the apostles and elders came together to consider this matter. 7 And when there had been much dispute, Peter rose up and said to them: “Men and brethren, you know that a good while ago God chose among us, that by my mouth the Gentiles should hear the word of the gospel and believe. 8 So God, who knows the heart, [a]acknowledged them by giving them the Holy Spirit, just as He did to us, 9 and made no distinction between us and them, purifying their hearts by faith. 10 Now therefore, why do you test God by putting a yoke on the neck of the disciples which neither our fathers nor we were able to bear? 11 But we believe that through the grace of the Lord Jesus [b]Christ we shall be saved in the same manner as they.”

12 Then all the multitude kept silent and listened to Barnabas and Paul declaring how many miracles and wonders God had worked through them among the Gentiles. 13 And after they had [c]become silent, James answered, saying, “Men and brethren, listen to me: 14 Simon has declared how God at the first visited the Gentiles to take out of them a people for His name. 15 And with this the words of the prophets agree, just as it is written:

16 ‘After this I will return And will rebuild the tabernacle of David, which has fallen down; I will rebuild its ruins, And I will set it up; 17 So that the rest of mankind may seek the Lord, Even all the Gentiles who are called by My name, Says the [d]Lord who does all these things.’

18 [e]“Known to God from eternity are all His works. 19 Therefore I judge that we should not trouble those from among the Gentiles who are turning to God, 20 but that we write to them to abstain from things polluted by idols, from [f]sexual immorality, from things strangled, and from blood. 21 For Moses has had throughout many generations those who preach him in every city, being read in the synagogues every Sabbath.”

The Jerusalem Decree

22 Then it pleased the apostles and elders, with the whole church, to send chosen men of their own company to Antioch with Paul and Barnabas, namely, Judas who was also named Barsabas,[g] and Silas, leading men among the brethren.

23 They wrote this letter by them:

The apostles, the elders, and the brethren,

To the brethren who are of the Gentiles in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia:

Greetings.

24 Since we have heard that some who went out from us have troubled you with words, unsettling your souls, [h]saying, “You must be circumcised and keep the law”—to whom we gave no such commandment— 25 it seemed good to us, being assembled with one [i]accord, to send chosen men to you with our beloved Barnabas and Paul, 26 men who have risked their lives for the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. 27 We have therefore sent Judas and Silas, who will also report the same things by word of mouth. 28 For it seemed good to the Holy Spirit, and to us, to lay upon you no greater burden than these necessary things: 29 that you abstain from things offered to idols, from blood, from things strangled, and from sexual[j] immorality. If you keep yourselves from these, you will do well.

Farewell.

Continuing Ministry in Syria

30 So when they were sent off, they came to Antioch; and when they had gathered the multitude together, they delivered the letter. 31 When they had read it, they rejoiced over its encouragement. 32 Now Judas and Silas, themselves being prophets also, exhorted and strengthened the brethren with many words. 33 And after they had stayed there for a time, they were sent back with greetings from the brethren to [k]the apostles.

34 [l]However, it seemed good to Silas to remain there.

Footnotes:

Acts 15:8 bore witness to

Acts 15:11 NU, M omit Christ

Acts 15:13 stopped speaking

Acts 15:17 NU Lord, who makes these things

Acts 15:18 NU (continuing v. 17) known from eternity (of old).’

Acts 15:20 Or fornication

Acts 15:22 NU, M Barsabbas

Acts 15:24 NU omits saying, “You must be circumcised and keep the law”

Acts 15:25 purpose or mind

Acts 15:29 Or fornication

Acts 15:33 NU those who had sent them

Acts 15:34 NU, M omit v. 34.

John 10: 17-28 NKJV

17 “Therefore My Father loves Me, because I lay down My life that I may take it again. 18 No one takes it from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This command I have received from My Father.”

19 Therefore there was a division again among the Jews because of these sayings. 20 And many of them said, “He has a demon and is [a]mad. Why do you listen to Him?”

21 Others said, “These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?”

The Shepherd Knows His Sheep

22 Now it was the Feast of Dedication in Jerusalem, and it was winter. 23 And Jesus walked in the temple, in Solomon’s porch. 24 Then the Jews surrounded Him and said to Him, “How long do You keep us in [b]doubt? If You are the Christ, tell us plainly.”

25 Jesus answered them, “I told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in My Father’s name, they bear witness of Me. 26 But you do not believe, because you are not of My sheep, [c]as I said to you. 27 My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.28 And I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; neither shall anyone snatch them out of My hand.

Footnotes:

John 10:20 insane

John 10:24 Suspense

John 10:26 NU omits as I said to you