#It's all about death and rebirth and love

[illuminatedquill]

Dichen Lachman, Gemma Scout’s actress, has done some interviews in the wake of 2x07. I’ve clipped some stuff I found interesting, along with some of my own thoughts.

Spoilers ahead, be warned:

God, she’s been trying for years. My poor girl.

It hurts to see that this recent escape attempt has finally broken Gemma’s resolve. But Dichen thinks that although Gemma is resigned to her fate, she still holds onto the slim hope that Lumon will let her go when the experiments are over (spoiler alert: that is extremely unlikely).

Anyone who’s seen Dollhouse probably got a sense of deja vu when watching this episode. I’m glad that Dichen shares that same feeling. I don’t know, I just found it amusing.

THIS!!!

“The chikhai bardo is a Buddhist belief about a transitional state between death and rebirth, which could point to reintegration for both Mark and Gemma”

Both Mark and Gemma will never be able to reclaim the life they once had. That’s the tragedy. Those versions of them are gone. Dead.

Mark is reintegrating and becoming something new with the melding of his outie and innie personalities; Gemma, splintered into multiple versions of herself that are exposed through endless petty cruelties and psychological torture that she doesn’t remember, fighting tooth and nail to return home. They are becoming something new.

And I think these two new people should have a chance to find a new path forward. Together. Despite it all, despite the horrors and obstacles and misery, their love still endures. It won’t fix anything, it won’t guarantee a happy ending but it will be a new start. They deserve that.

The severance chips are being prepped for mass consumption. Gemma being put through all these varying situations - which are probably her own personal stressors - is to refine these chips perfectly so that people would never have to suffer again. But that’s so antithetical to life. We experience the joys so richly because of our lows, our suffering. You cannot have one without the other. That isn’t life!

All that remains is Cold Harbor. Ominous name. What horrible experience remains for Gemma to suffer through?

Still convinced that Gemma definitely signed up for something regarding the infertility issues but it’s evident that she wasn’t told the full extent of what Lumon would do with her. There’s more story to be told about how they got to her, I’m sure.

THE ENDGAME: Hades and Persephone

After having a full day to process this episode I am, admittedly, filled with a weird sense of optimism. Although Gemma’s fate seems all but sealed, I think the writers are smarter than to lay all this tragedy on characters only to end it in . . . well, more tragedy. There won’t be any healing or progression for either Mark or Gemma’s characters until she is freed from Lumon’s clutches.

Mark already tried to do that and he couldn’t. The only way he could fall in love again is if he never met Gemma. Don’t forget that.

Gemma needs to be free and be reunited with Mark. It won’t fix anything, I assure you. All that grief and yearning and suffering won’t magically disappear because they are back together. There’s so many interesting dynamics to play out.

The unresolved issues they had before she was taken by Lumon.

And then there’s Mark, fully reintegrated, remembering Helly and his love for her. Gemma having to reconcile the fact that there is a part of her husband that loved someone else.

The half-remembered nightmares and waking up with aches. Endless hallways and rooms that fill you with dread. An elevator that only goes down and never back up. Both Mark and Gemma will literally leave pieces of themselves behind in Lumon that they will never get back.

I think we’ve been looking at this wrong. Mark and Gemma being so tragic and Orpheus/Eurydice coded. They’re doomed by the narrative, it seems.

But . . . it doesn’t quite fit anymore now that we know that Gemma is alive and wants to go home.

I think Mark and Gemma are more like Hades and Persephone now. The other pairing in Orpheus and Eurydice’s story. In Hadestown, Orpheus’ song reignites their love and trust in each other, allowing them to try again after their relationship had become so strained.

So who is Orpheus and Eurydice now?

Who do you think.

[dichenlachmandaily]

Severance’s Dichen Lachman Gets Inside Gemma’s Head

“I definitely think she doesn’t want to be down there,” the actress says of her mysterious character, “and I don’t think Gemma would volunteer to be severed.”

[Spoilers ahead.]

For three long years, Severance fans were left clinging to two words at the end of the season 1 finale: “She’s alive!” In that thrilling scene, protagonist Mark S. (Adam Scott)—who underwent the severance procedure that separates his working self (“Innie”) from his personal self (“Outie”) after his wife Gemma (Dichen Lachman) died—desperately tries to tell his sister that Gemma isn’t dead after all. As we, and Mark’s Innnie, found out in season 1, Gemma is still very much alive and wandering the stark white halls of Lumon Industries as the wellness director Ms. Casey.

In season 2, we finally get some answers about Gemma’s journey. The seventh episode, titled “Chikhai Bardo,” chronicles her relationship with Mark, showing their meet-cute while donating blood, their happy life as college professors, and a devastating miscarriage that changes their marriage. The episode directed by Jessica Lee Gagné (who primarily works on the show as a cinematographer) jumps through time, flashing between these intimate moments between the couple and rare glimpses into where Gemma is now. She’s kept like a prisoner on Lumon’s testing floor and is forced to repeatedly enter rooms where she faces bizarre situations like writing thank-you cards on Christmas or riding an airplane amid turbulence. (Viewers might recognize the names of those rooms as the projects that Mark is working on with the Macrodata Refinement team.)

While Severance is known for its fan theories and mind-boggling sci-fi elements, Mark and Gemma’s love for each other is deep in the show’s core. It was crucial to Lachman that audiences “understand why Mark did what he did [to become severed], to feel the loss of that relationship,” she told ELLE.com over a Zoom call. While she didn’t feel comfortable speculating on the meaning of the seventh episode title—the chikhai bardo is a Buddhist belief about a transitional state between death and rebirth, which could point to reintegration for both Mark and Gemma—she did agree that the severance procedure is all about transforming, something both characters are grappling with throughout the series.

So why—and how—is Gemma at Lumon and what is going on with the rooms on the testing floor? Will she ever be able to escape, especially after we witness a failed attempt in “Chikhai Bardo”? Lachman spoke to us about what she thinks is going on at the company, her layered performance, and how she and Adam Scott established their chemistry in this standout episode.

This is the first time we really see Mark and Gemma together. How did you and Adam Scott create and establish your chemistry?

Adam is just such a generous actor. Up to this point, I was sort of left out, so for me it was like, I gotta get in, I gotta deliver, and I’ve got to be absolutely on point. Adam went out of his way to make me feel comfortable, and I think that that chemistry is there because of his generosity. Also the writing helps and Jessica really did a wonderful job framing it. Severance is in a very controlled, oppressive, and symmetrical setting, but this episode had so much more movement and was so much freer. With the combination of the medium and style changing a little bit, Adam’s generosity, and obviously all the other departments who were so integral in telling the story, that all helped make everything just click and feel really lived-in.

This episode reveals how Mark and Gemma coped with the grief of a miscarriage. How did it feel to portray that as part of Gemma’s story?

I thought it was a really important story to tell, because it’s such a common thing that women go through. A lot of women feel very isolated when that happens to them, so it was nice to be able to represent that story even when it’s not the most important part of the show. I appreciated that, and because two men [Dan Erickson and Mark Friedman] were writing the scripts, they were open to input from Jessica and myself in terms of delicately playing with the balance of that.

Blood was a recurring motif in the episode: Mark and Gemma meet while donating blood, Gemma suffers a miscarriage, and a Lumon employee pricks her finger to gain access to the various rooms. Blood can represent a lot of things, from life and death to family. What do you think it symbolizes in Gemma’s story?

That’s something that I hadn’t thought about, but perhaps it’s a reminder that we’re all human. If you prick us, do we not bleed?

Your performance had to be nuanced when balancing the different versions of Gemma. How did you keep all of it straight?

That was really tricky. I used my body to transition into the given circumstances. We don’t get to spend a lot of time with these Innies; it’s just part of the the torture Gemma’s subjected to everyday. There are a lot of rooms down there, and we’re only seeing the Christmas room and the airplane, but what else could possibly be down there that’s even darker than that? The Innies don’t really understand the outside world, so I leaned into the circumstance that each Innie had a different physicality. I would be in a position of fear or boredom or a rebellious teenager. It was subtly working on the physicality, and internally figuring out what that Innie was going through.

Do you remember any specific direction you got from director Jessica Lee Gagné?

Specifically with the Christmas scene, it was that adolescence and that defiance, and we went from internalizing that to getting quite angry with [Doctor, played by Robby Benson]. [Gagné] really wanted to test scenes in lots of different ways, so we had the time to go through such a spectrum of intensities.

One of the big themes of the season is the consciousness of the Innie vs. the Outie. Do you think your Innies are fully aware of what’s happening to them within Lumon’s walls?

I wonder about that too—maybe it depends on how much time is spent as that Innie. But also everyone reacts to things differently. Like, ibuprofen will really affect me but my friend will pop them whenever they have a bad back. It’s got to be the same thing. I feel like if you’re going to get a chip in the back of your head, the length of time of it being there and the amount of time spent as that person has to affect [the experience].

Why do you think Gemma signed up for this program at Lumon?

That is still a mystery to me. But you’ll notice that they’re living in a Lumon world—everything they come in contact with is Lumon branded. The card that she's looking at in the mail in this episode is from Lumon, the Christmas tree in their house is reminiscent of the Christmas tree in the Christmas room. So there’s some bigger involvement in terms of this town and this world. The possibilities are endless.

What are they trying to get from Gemma by putting her into these rooms and having her experience these different scenarios?

In our society, we have this desire to avoid anything unpleasant. I think Lumon is trying to develop a chip so that no one ever has to experience anything unpleasant, like going to a job they don’t like or giving birth or going to the dentist, like we see Gemma do in this episode. Our society is going in a direction where we don’t want to experience or feel anything unpleasant, and this is a way of shutting all of that out. But I would probably never get this severance chip because you can’t experience joy, fun, pleasure, or leisure without the contrast of the things that you don’t like.

Do you think she regrets signing up for whatever is happening inside the Lumon walls?

She definitely doesn’t want to be there. You’ll notice in the flashbacks that the doctor is present in the fertility clinic, he walks by in the background. So I definitely think she doesn’t want to be down there, and I don’t think Gemma would volunteer to be severed.

The doctor tells her that Mark remarried and has a daughter now; Gemma responds by hitting the doctor on the head with a chair. Why do you think she doesn’t believe their manipulation?

It’s funny that you bring that up, because we did that scene a few different ways. I’m glad they chose the one where she’s not affected, because it shows her resilience. Down there, time moves at a different pace, and in the episode before, [Severance] alludes to the fact that she broke [the doctor’s] fingers at one point—I think that that’s why Jessica wanted a little bit of that rebelliousness to come out in that Christmas scene. Because even if you compartmentalize the pain, there’s going to be qualities that end up in these Innies.

Gemma’s severed personality, Ms. Casey, appears when she tries to escape and winds up on the severed floor. Ms. Casey seems to sense that something was amiss and it felt like a glimpse of Gemma’s consciousness was pushing through there. Did you read that scene like that as well?

Yes. Ms. Casey is wearing a completely strange outfit, she doesn’t have her hair, and she’s kind of confused. The last time she was in that hallway, it was to say goodbye, and she wasn’t given any answers. So she’s a little bit like, Oh, I’m coming back, but it feels different because she’s just been through something. That was a tricky one to film because I also wondered, would she physically have a little bit of that adrenaline from escaping running through her and maybe that's why she feels a little weird?

How many times do you think this cycle has happened, where Gemma tries to escape but gets stuck in the loop of exiting on the severed floor?

I want to believe that it happened many times, and that she just doesn’t give up—every now and then she’s like, I’m just gonna go for it again. Maybe this time it’ll work. To me, she’s been trying to get out of there since the moment she got in.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

[windsweptinred]

Hear me out, here me out…

“And that it was from Chaos that the first three primordial gods sprang forth: Gaea (Earth), Tartarus (the Underworld), and Eros (Love) - Hesiod's Theogony

Gaea/Earth: Ariadne 

Tartarus/The Underworld: Eurydice

Eros/Love: Caeneus

Purely me headcanoning my heart little away. But I love how in a sense they all represent the three eternal beings ‘of chaos’ that make up creation incarnate. 

Ariadne: Who is now the ‘Mother of her people and her land’ as president. A representation of feminine power. Life

Eurydice: The first person to return from the Underworld and essentially, conquer/master death. Death 

Caeneus: Sweet, sweet Caeneus who embodies love, the driving force of creation. Love

They don't embody the return to Chaos per say, rather the power that sprang from it. The necessary cycle of death and rebirth, destruction and creation that Zeus has selfishly stalled. That they, as a trio will restart.

[beingnotseeming]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron) Characters: Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Additional Tags: here is a fic my tumblr followers have been losing it over for months., since i wrote the first two parts in october and the last part literally last night., So., hope yall like 💀💀 i think its a good one!!, also i just checked i lied i started this in november not october oops, Anyways, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, you'll see - Freeform, Complicated Relationships, Miscommunication, but not in the cringe annoying way promise, Insecurity, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Keith/Lance (Voltron), Soft Keith (Voltron), Whipped Keith (Voltron), he loves lance so bad yall, although in his defense....., if i spent two years constantly watching visions of my future self falling in love with someone, i would be insane about them too, Pining Lance (Voltron), Voltron: Legendary Defender Season/Series 07 Fix-It, Autistic Lance (Voltron), Tall Keith (Voltron), Brown-Eyed Lance (Voltron), for once this isnt explicit.....but as you know it is true, Team as Family, but there is tension, anyways enjoy Series: Part 1 of s7 fix it Summary:

“Mm-what,” he mumbles, muffled into his roughed shoulder pads, words smushed together.

Keith sighs instead of answering. For half a second Lance tenses. But Keith only shifts again, not pushing Lance off but moving so Lance is pressed closer to him, and then the heat of his breath tickles the shell of Lance’s ear, and he tenses for a whole different reason.

And then there is, inexplicably, the feeling of what must be Keith’s lips, pressed to the side of Lance’s skull, gentle and lingering, and Lance thinks clearly to himself: what the fresh actual and genuine fuck.

“‘M sorry,” says Keith, so quiet it would be impossible to hear were his mouth not one single inch away from Lance’s ear. He kisses again, and he almost sags into the motion, into Lance. “I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of you earlier. I was stressed. I missed you, too.”

Lance opens his mouth. He muffles a choking sound with all of his strength.

“All good in the hood,” he finally manages, and then wants to strangle himself. “We’re — tight, Keithalicious.” --- OR: Somebody lied to Keith, and now he thinks he and Lance are...lovers, of some kind. They are not.

Lance struggles to correct him.

[ballpitbee]

I absolutely love your streetlamp city stuff and how you can just look at all your toontown characters and make a whole new world for them. It's like that one post with how au art of mlp characters eventually evolved into their own characters with separate lore and names. It's so cool

THANK YOU!! I realised that aphter a while I was having more phun doing my own thing with my own rules and world building - so I yoinked those phellas away and put them in my new place!

(Course, I still LOOOOVE toontown- but nothing theres nothing I love better than going wild with ideas and whatnot X3)

[frogatz]

monthly calypsoworld tag ramble :]

[thirdtimed]

unfortunately if i ever developed the lifeseries orv au in my head in earnest i would in no capacity whatsoever manage to be normal about it at all and like. i mean it

[saints-who-never-existed]

“Death has an opposite, but the opposite is not mere living. 

It is not courage or faith or human will. 

The opposite of death is love. 

How had I missed that? How does anyone miss that? 

Love is our only weapon. 

Only love can turn mere life into a miracle, and draw precious meaning from suffering and fear. 

For a brief, magical moment, all my fears lifted, and I knew that I would not let death control me. I would walk through the godforsaken country that separated me from my home with love and hope in my heart. 

I would walk until I had walked all the life out of me, and when I fell I would die that much closer to my father.”

- Nando Parrado, Miracle in the Andes, 2006. 

[impossible-rat-babies]

1.0 making Direct Eye Contact and breathing heavily while [redacted] makes a giant mess of her house like

[heartevent]

i will say something i did NOT expect in the SLIGHTEST was how much of a theme pregnancy and birth is in adventure time

[sharkylass]

ALRIGHT, I ASKED FOREVER AGO, BUT WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT MY ISA LOOPS AU??

Heads up this contains a lot, and I mean A LOT of spoilers for In Stars And Time. Including: = Act 6 spoilers, including main mystery and secret encounter = Minimal Act 5 stuff = And a bunch of extra stuff that happens through Act 3 and 4. SO BASICALLY ALMOST EVERYTHING, FINISH THIS GAME COMPLETELY BEFORE READING (ESPECIALLY THAT ACT 6 ENCOUNTER, IT WILL LITERALLY BE THE FIRST THING I MENTION UNDER THE CUT)

With all those warnings out of the way-

IN REPETITION AND CHANGE

Initial Concepts:

I feel it's important to show these sketches because they were the first ideas I ever had. I wasn't even entirely sure I wanted to make an AU at this point, I didn't even know how I'd approach it. But I started sketching and it's been on my mind since- SO! Isa is stuck in the timeloop. I know what his wish is and he DOES have a Loop equivalent! The grumpy dandelion guy is Roboro (it/they/he). Their name is a very small play on Ouroboros and they call Isa "Seedling". However, this post is not about them, as I'm gonna talk about it and Isa's dynamic in a separate post. In short, Isa is his normal loud self up until Act 3, right? They beat the King, they reach the end, and whoops, the loop isn't broken. So now, what happens is that Isa starts getting his brains out. He starts thinking more analytically and tries to problem solve.

The more stuck he gets in his head, the less he's able to perceive his friends as real people, and more like them holding him back. Because even if Isa explains that he's smart, that they shouldn't be surprised if he says something, shock of all shocks, reasonable- They'll forget it the next loop.

So Isa is stuck with trying to portray his confident, loud, supportive facade- Which is fine! It wouldn't be the first time! But it progressively gets more and more frustrating, as he tries to find answers and simply looses the energy to pretend to be stupid.

TL;DR: Isa in the timeloop, unlike Siffrin, becomes more distant and cold rather then something more akin to Sif's mania.

NOW, MORE ART!!!

KILL KILL KILL:

I imagine Isa didn't have this encounter the same way that Sif did. Yeah, frankly, Isa is pissed with the sadness- But that's not why he goes through with this.

In this moment, Isa is trying to kill two birds with one stone. He's trying to get through this quickly, as well as reassure Mira that they can do this! If he shows how strong he is, then she'll feel safe right???

Poor Isabeau forgot that whenever he shows that he thinks ahead, he scares people. How could he forget that? How could he forget that he's inherently---

Family Quest:

I still think Odile is the one to call out to him (same with sus quest).

The hangouts I'm still figuring out, cause I don't think they'd too similar to base game- But, fun fact, at the end of this run, everyone agrees to keep travel together!

Isabeau brings it up, can't hurt if you can fix your mistakes right? And everyone agrees. The relief on Siffrin is the most palpable thing Isabeau has ever seen.

In this moment they love you. In this moment they all love you. In this moment---

Death Screen:

He loops back anyways. (This is one of the initial concepts that I ended up animating. This line in particular is when he reaches the end)

Act 5 Tarot Card:

NOW TO SEE MORE OF HIS PASSIVE AGRESSIVE SIDE

Thanks to @the-bitter-ocean for prescribing tarot cards to Isa (THEY ALL FUCK SO HARD) and for the RAW ASS LINE

If interacted with in act 5, predictably, Isa tears it apart. He doesn't need the divine judgement upon him, he's faced everyone's perception his entire life.

However, he tears it methodically. Tears it once in even pieces, twice, three times, and one of the pieces once more. In a way he isn't even getting his emotions out, it's like he's actively trying to tear it apart so it stops nagging him, like he wants to shut it up. Though, the Judgement card symbolizes rebirth, absolution and inner calling. In Act 6 he'd be able to look at it and find comfort and confidence in the card.

Act 5 Mirror:

And lastly, I have the Act 5 mirror picture. I haven't quite figured out how to make the normal ones work yet, however, I couldn't let go of the idea that Isa would not want to be in the picture.

The idea of seeing himself at all makes his head hurt and his stomach squeeze. The memory haunts him as he stands to the side and says the word. He didn't think the mirror would catch him.

AAAAND THAT'S ALL THE ART STUFF FOR NOW!!

I still have quite a bit of it to post, especially about Roboro, but I'm gonna leave it here for now.

I still gotta figure out the hangouts and potentially the dagger equivalent- but I have ideas for Bad Touch, the glass equivalent, and some extra little things that didn't happen in Siffrin's loops.

I needed to yap about this, because I've been slowly stacking up ideas and writing and I needed to share it at some point- If anyone read all this and has questions and stuff I fully welcome 'em!!

[kabuki-writes]

And All Eyes Were Set On Brutus

chapter: 3 chapter 1 | 2 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: After their visit of the Colosseum, Marcus Acacius worries even more about his beloved daughter. Meanwhile a dangerous rumor finds its way into the Emperor's ears.

warning(s): NSFW | mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support and your comments on my previous chapters✨🙇‍♀️! I really enjoy to write this fic as a Geta and Cara stan myself and it honors me that you continue to share your love for these two and this fic. I really hope you like this chapter as well, because this time it gets a little more... spicy.🌶️

word count: 3.6k

Rome was becoming nothing more than a painful cage for General Acacius. From the very first day he had to wear the white armor of victory, he felt like a slave with no other choices than to watch how everything he had known changed for the worse. He despised himself for not being able to protect his own daughter from the eyes of the Emperors, that were now set on her. He should've never taken her with him, he should've sticked with his principles. But then again, what choice did he even have, when he faced an order by the most powerful men in the world.

There was no chance to defy them openly, speaking up now would bring danger to his whole family as they would have to face the consequences of Marcus Acacius' actions. He wasn't so delusional and naive to think that the anger of the Emperors would only befall him alone, no, they weren't like that. So when the day came and a senator stepped forward to the General, he hesitated. Geta and Caracalla were beloved by the people as they gave them victories, bread and games - as long as the plebs had that, no one gave a damn about who sat on top. For them it was all the same, but the senate was different.

After the death of Emperor Commodus, the senate reestablished the Roman Republic, but wasn't able to secure their power. Many cities and regions took their chance to rebel against Rome as most of the generals refused to serve the new order - that included Marcus Acacius as well, who quickly sided with his old friend and brother-in-arms Septimius Severus, the father of the now ruling Emperors Geta and Caracalla. They took their legions and marched on Rome, where Severus took the power from the senate again only one year after the rebirth of the Republic. Acacius did believe in Severus, he did believe in the vision his friend had for Rome as well as his strength and wisdom as Emperor. Nearly two decades he was not disappointed while he served his old friend as a close advisor and his first general.

The senate got reduced to nothing more than a theater stage, with no real power or influence. And Acacius was sure that they would forever hate him for the service he did to Severus. Yet men like Gracchus must've sensed that the general was getting more and more delusional given the current reign of the twins. So the politicians approached him carefully and together they formed an alliance in the shadows. Their plan: Overthrowing the two Emperors and install the Republic again. Acacius stood never on the side of the senate... but nothing was as terrible as Geta's and Caracalla's tyranny. And if that is a way to protect his daughter and his family from them, he happily claimed himself a Roman Republican now.

Coming from one of his nightly visits at senator Gracchus' home, Acacius noticed that there was someone still sitting in the inner garden of his Roman city residence. He took off his cloak and approached you slowly as you watched the turtles in the small pond between the plants and flowers, while the water of a small fountain rippled in the silence. "Your mother told me, that you were sitting here the whole day", he said with a low tone, careful not to scare you with his sudden appearence, before he took a seat right next to you on the stone bench. When he watched your face, he saw all the thoughts that were probably going through your head after the situation in the Collosseum yesterday. For a long moment, the two of you simply sat in silence, while one of the turtles walked along a mosaic before it fell into the water.

"I am not a child anymore, i don't want you or mother to protect me any longer", you suddenly whispered, before your head turned to your father. In your eyes he saw how you struggled to maintain your neutrality as you faced the danger that may come over you, if you'd accept this new attention further. "And yet i don't know how to deal with... them? I suppose i cannot refuse any of this?" Your question carried a sense of pain, because you already knew the answer and it was equally as hard for your father to shake his head in response.

"I thought so...", you mumbled and leaned forward give one of the turtles a leaf of salad you had snached from the dinner table earlier. Acacius had seen many battles and many terrible things, but nothing was harder than to see you like this. And nothing was harder than to feel helpless. All he could do was laying his hand softly and reassuring on your shoulder.

„You’re my daughter, y/n. And you’re right, even if I want it to, I can not protect you anymore… all I can promise you, that it is going to be alright."

He searched for a way to fix all of this, even though he couldn't tell you how. It was better this way as it would only drag you deeper into the dead end that your own father had already set up. The mere thought about it made his heart grow even more painful.

"Do you regret it sometimes?", you suddenly asked, looking at the vibrant clear water of the pond. "What do you mean?"

"That you marched with Emperor Severus back then?"

This question wasn't easy to answer, it was written on Acacius face, as he turned his face to the turtles and sighed.

"I did believe in Severus... i still do. Under him, Rome was able to secure itself and become strong again. What comes after that now - only time will tell. But what i know is that i have to leave in a few weeks with my troups again. An order of the Emperors."

It wasn't a particular surprising news, but nonetheless your fingers digged themselves into the fabric of your toga-like blue dress, while you still hept your head high. Despair was no useful emotion and not a good thought right now. You needed to stay calm, stick to yourself and find a way on how to deal with all of the things that were happening. As you'd said you were no child anymore - you will find a way out if this, even without your father.

You didn't say a word in response, however you closed your arms around him as the fear that with him being gone it could get even worse, lingered on your mind. Little did you know that the world you had known was already on the brink of falling apart.

_____________________________________________

The smell of incence, wine, sweet perfume and sweat filled the rooms of Emperor Caracalla's chambers, while naked bodies moved themselves to the rythm of a small group of musicians. The melodies of their instruments mixed themselves with the moans of the men and women in ecstacy, the worshippers of Bacchus - god of wine, euphoria and madness. Drinking and making love was the way they prayed nearly every night as Caracalla found in it a way to escape the reality that almost drove him crazy. Here in his chambers, the only Emperor that mattered was him, the only word that was heard was his own. At least one small realm for himself, while he had to share the rest of the world with his twin brother.

But it was different this time, when he stared at the scenery with a mind clouded in intoxication. His breaths went ragged, while he sat on a bed decorated with velvet cushions, a young man kneeled between his legs and sent him to elysium with his tongue, while he was surrounded by beautiful slaves, women with golden chains, that decorated their naked breasts and hips. And yet even in a scenery like this, where he usually found a way to calm his restless mind, he was still thinking about her. Not only her, sadly - that goddamn General was another thought. The hero of Rome was no pleasant figure for him anymore, he was nothing more than a Brutus, but Caracalla was not the one to end up like Julius Caesar.

The mere thought of killing this treacherous son of a whore hit Caracalla's brain and made him cum into the mouth of the slave that had his dick deep in his throat. This peak of his pleasure would've helped him to relax if not one of the praetorian guards stepped in and walked with his black and lilac amror through the voyeristic scenery like it was a halluzination in front of the Emperor's eyes. Without a second thought, Caracalla simply pushed the young slave, who was still sitting at his feet, to the side and stood up. His hand quickly grabbed the white toga that layed on the floor which he threw over his own naked, pale body. "Why do you disturb me!?", he hissed, as if he wasn't already expecting him.

The soldier ignored the music, the slaves that layed on the ground and fucked each other, just as he ignored the half-naked Emperor right in front of him, who still wore his golden laurel crown and his jewelries. "Emperor Geta waits for you."

For a moment, the young man with the gingerblonde hair stared at his guard, before he nodded quickly, as if it got him out of a daydream. "Yes, yes i will come to him, i am right there, tell him that. And get that slave Marcellus here," he answered, hand waving him away before his tone shifted and he screamed at his 'guests'. "Get out, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!" The music stopped immediately and all eyes were set on Caracalla, while the first slaves already got to their feet again. „NOW,“ he repeated in a louder and added in a hissing tone „…or I will claim your tongue with a dagger!“

Caracalla was impossible to read fully, just as he was impulsive. It would’ve not been the first time one participant of this nightly debaucheries had lost his tongue or another part of his body.

_____________________________________________

Emperor Geta waited in his embroidered night robe, which was half open, exposing his bare and pale chest. Sitting on a cushioned wooden chair, he stared with tired eyes out the window of the balcony, the darkness of Rome in front of him. Just as his brother he had someone in his chambers, but instead of a whole horde of slaves he had chosen one good whore with hairs that reminded him of you. It was just a dull replacement, he knew that, yet it was enough for a good fuck before he would’ve went to sleep.

If there was not his twin brother, who‘d call for him in the middle of the goddamn night. By the gods he hated to be disturbed like that, especially after countless of times his brother got him here only to share uninteresting - sometimes even paranoid - gossip with him, which Caracalla had heard from the mouth of one of his slaves.

When the curtains of the attached room opened and Geta saw his brother entering with his wild hair and only with a toga over his bare body, his nose twitched in anger. „Don‘t tell me you disturbed my sleep and called for my immediate coming while you were fucking whores at your damn orgy!? When you’re telling me that your problem is, that you can’t sleep now, I will cross you myself!“ Yes, it wasn’t the first time Caracalla had called him for such nonesense. And usually Geta had a lot of patience with him, given his psychological condition, but not tonight.

Caracalla stopped in an instant and looked at his brother with big eyes as if he tries to convince him that he wasn’t guilty of anything. „Yes, but- I had a reason for that!“ he insisted, which only fueled Geta's anger. „Lucinius, bring us the slave!“ Caracalla quickly said and the Praetorian guard who just had informed him about his brother came in with a skinny, yet tall young man. He was a slave but given the clothes he wore, it was clear that he had a higher rank within the household he was serving in.

„Who is that, one of your toy boys?“ Geta asked, eying the stranger he‘d never seen before. But Caracalla shook his head and stepped forth to place his hand on the shoulder of that slave.

„No! He is a slave from the household of senator Gracchus,“ he explained and couldn’t hide an almost devilish smile as this said slave was here for one reason alone - to tell them everything. „Marcellus, tell him,“ he ordered and whispered into his ear. „I promised you your freedom and a good amount of gold, to return to your family. You want to see your daughter again, right? So don’t disappoint me now.“ With those words he stepped back for a moment, giving the slave a moment to breath as he seemingly tried to find the right words. He was nervous, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes were glued to the marble ground under his feet.

"I... i am a servant in the household of senator Gracchus for nearly a decade now", Marcellus began and forced himself to look up into the testing eyes of Geta, who was growing more impatient with each second passing. "The General... General Acacius as well as a couple of other senators visit my master regularly in the middle of the night and they always retreat into a secret room in the cellar of his villa."

With an amused whistle Geta interrupted him. "Why should we care for the sexual escapades of a group of old men?", he hissed, but Caracalla threw in with a darkened shimmer in his eyes. "Wait for it, you will be furious, trust me! Continue."

Marcellus needed a second to calm himself down and stop to shake as he formed his next words. "When i brought them wine once, they stopped with their conversation as long as i stayed in the room, but when i was in the corridor, they spoke again. They didn't know that i was still there, so i just listened and- it was clear that they questioned you, my Emperors. They questioned your leadership and the general - i wouldn't dare to speak out loud such a blasphemy against your rule, if it was not what i've heard with my own ears."

Geta's face darkened with every new information Marcellus was telling him and slowly he realized why his brother was so eager to get him here. The laugh of his twin filled the room, which turned hysterical. "Tell him, Marcellus!"

"General Acacius and the senators Gracchus, Livinidus, Galba and Erebus plan to overthrow you with the legions that are under Acacius' command," he said and had to force every word out of his mouth, afraid of the anger that cooked like a vulcano in Geta. His hands formed fists and he bit his tongue. All this time, Acacius - the hero - was a traitor, a Brutus. And now he connected the dots, thinking about every time this General wined about going off to war. This maggot.

"And this is true!?", he asked in a loud, demanding tone. "If that is a lie, we will punish you in the most terrible ways you could imagine and feed you to the lions in the Colosseum!" Marcellus eyes were filled with tears of fear, yet he shook his head heavily.

"No, please! I speak the truth, i swear it! I swear it in front of Jupiter himself, please, you must believe me! I came to Emperor Caracalla, who promised me my freedom if i tell it here again. It is no lie!"

"Kill him", Geta ordered in a cold tone and before Marcellus could even scream, it was the blade of the Praetorial Guard that cut his head off from behind, making it fall to the ground like a ball of bones and meat, followed by his body. Under the resounding laugh of Caracalla, Geta ordered the Guard to leave them so that he could speak to his brother in private.

"You just read my mind, dear brother! I wouldn't have let him go either", Caracalla sang. "We should kill them all, that bastard Acacius and his old senate sluts! Let's cut off their heads and spike them on the Palatin for all to see!"

But Geta was already two steps ahead when he closed the distance between him and his twin. Yes, he was furious, it took him all restraints to not give in the urge of ordering their murder. "No," he said, which drew a questioning look on his brothers face.

"What no?! Those are traitors, TRAITORS! You've heard the same things i did!?"

"I did, but the senators are no danger. These old men talk about the republic which is nothing more than dust and ashes! A faded dream and without any backing, they just continue to shit themselves in the senate. When our father took Rome, the people cheered to him, because they didn't want a Republic but a strong Emperor to guide them, remember? The head of the snake is Acacius! He must die, and he will die, but not yet!", Geta started and turned to the balcony, leaving his brother for a moment as he stood in the darkness with his his white toga. "We need his legion, and we will make him our fucking dog, who has no chance to ever decline any order of us, if we have his beloved daughter. If he doesn't do as we say, then she will die."

But he will, Geta knew that. Nothing seemed to be more precious in Acacius' life than his family and especially his dear daughter. And this whole situation had a bonus for Geta, because when he turned to face Caracalla again, he announced. "I will force him with an order to marry his daughter to me!"

Caracalla froze in place, his eyes staring at his brother as if he just had a bad dream. "What?", he simply asked again, while his brother's anger turned into anticipation. "With a marriage we bind her to our reign and therefore we will bind the General. Acacius delivers us his own daughter and his own head on a silver tablet with his treacherous nonsense!"

Geta wanted to place his hands on his twin's shoulders, but Caracalla slapped them out of his way. "I don't accept this! NO! I DON'T ACCEPT THIS!", he screamed at him, which really irritated his twin. "Why can't I be the One to marry her!?"

There it was. For the first time, the twins revealed in front of each other that they longed for the same girl. And that made it complicated. Nonetheless Geta was still confused, why his brother reacted like that, so he reminded him of what Caracalla said all those years.

"You never wanted to marry? How many times did you told our father before he died? Every time he said to us, that we would need to find ourselves someone to take as a wife, you refused. You were too busy indulging in your late night activities and Bacchus rituals."

He stepped forward with an intense glaze in his eyes. This way of being instructive, while Caracalla was still his twin and technically even older than him, made his brother's mouth twitch in response to his next words. "May i remind you about the fact that i am the one of us dealing with most of the political responsibilities, because you always wanted to stick to your fun."

Those words were indeed true, as Caracalla hated those senate discussions, which lead to nothing and were only for show - an illusion for both the plebs and the upper-classes. Geta continued, but not without making clear that he saw himself worthier of you being his wife, bound in front of the gods. "All of that is fine, brother. I've always protected you from the boring senators and hypocrites of the Roman elite, while you collected the most beautiful slaves and enjoyed yourself. You have no duties, as long as i take them off your shoulders and finally shut up all the people, finally demanding a royal marriage after all those years. And given all of that, i do think i deserve to marry before you to present Rome an Empress."

Caracalla stared at him, straight into the eyes of his twin Geta and his fingers twitched. If he would just have a dagger now? But he had none right here and given the fact that his brother was always taller and stronger with his statue, it wouldn't make sense to start a fight. In fact he couldn't even argue against him, as it was true, he was never an Emperor that bothered himself with any political nonesense. Yet he couldn't shake off the urge to kill Geta for this. Again, he took a thing from him he wanted to own for himself - only for himself. Even though his twin showed his goodwill, as he always did. His hands layed itself on Caracalla's cheeks and he gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear brother. I am not above sharing her divine presence with you. But she will always be my wife," he whispered, followed by a smile on his lips.

With those words he simply turned and left the room, leaving Caracalla, who was still wearing his white toga over his naked body, as well as the body of Marcellus alone in the dark. His mind got corrupted with so many thoughts in this very moment, but the most prominentely thought was anger. So he screamed hysterically and grabbed the table that stood at the side to throw it down, taking the vase on top and hurled it straight through the room, followed by the head of that damn slave. He hated Geta. He hated him so much and still they had shared the whomb of their mother, which made them share the same blood.

How long would he be able to hold the urge to murder his own brother - especially now as Geta claimed you?

_____________________________________________

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[phoenixrisingastro]

𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔚𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔓𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔜𝔬𝔲: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔄𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

There are lovers you forget, faces that blur into the past like whispers in the wind. And then, there are those who mark you, stain you, haunt you. The ones you can’t shake no matter how many years pass, the ones who live inside you like an unrelenting ghost.

Some people are designed to be unforgettable. Their energy lingers, their presence intoxicates, their touch leaves permanent fingerprints on your soul. These are the people who possess you—or the ones who make you crave to possess them.

So what makes someone unshakable? What makes someone a walking addiction, a fever that never breaks? Look to the stars. Because some people are just born to be worshiped… or feared.

The Placements That Make You a Living Obsession

Some people don’t just love—they devour. They don’t just leave an impression—they imprint. They pull you into a world where time doesn’t exist, where they are all you can think about, all you can crave.

If you have any of these placements, consider yourself a walking temptation—dangerous, hypnotic, inescapable.

Pluto Conjunct the Sun, Moon, Venus, or Ascendant

Pluto is raw power, magnetic dominance, the abyss you can’t escape. When it fuses with personal planets, you don’t just exist—you consume.

Pluto-Sun: Your very existence commands reverence and fear. People will try to break you, tame you, but they never will.

Pluto-Moon: Love with you is trauma-bonding. Once someone loves you, they never truly stop. You own them, even after they walk away.

Pluto-Venus: Your lovers either worship you or destroy themselves trying to have you. Even if they escape, they’ll compare everyone to you forever.

Pluto-Ascendant: The world sees you and wants more, but they don’t realize that once they get close, they’ll never leave whole.

You’re not just a lover—you’re a religion.

Venus in Scorpio or the 8th House

Venus in Scorpio is not here for a “normal” love. They don’t want surface-level connections. They want blood oaths, psychic bonds, vows spoken in whispers against bare skin.

Love with them feels like jumping off a cliff—once you fall, there’s no coming back.

They have a way of looking at you that makes you forget how to breathe.

Even if they never touch you, you’ll feel owned by them.

They don’t love lightly. They possess.

Lilith Conjunct the Sun, Moon, Venus, or Mars

Lilith is the forbidden, the untamed, the bite of desire that tastes like sin. If you have Lilith touching personal planets, you exude an energy that makes people act out of character.

Lilith-Sun: You are unapologetic in your darkness. People both despise and crave you.

Lilith-Moon: You awaken people’s deepest taboos, their secret fantasies they’ve never spoken aloud.

Lilith-Venus: Your beauty isn’t just attractive—it’s dangerous. People see you as a temptation, an obsession, a curse they can’t escape.

Lilith-Mars: People don’t just desire you—they want to conquer you. But once they get close, they realize they’re the ones under your control.

You are the unholy temptation they can’t resist.

Mars in the 8th House

Sex with you feels like a ritual, a death, a rebirth. Mars in the 8th house isn’t interested in meaningless pleasure—they want to merge, to own, to ruin and be ruined.

You pull people in without trying. Even those who swear they’ll keep their distance find themselves crawling back.

When you leave, you don’t just go—you haunt.

Lovers will remember you for a lifetime, even if they don’t understand why.

You don’t just take lovers—you consume them.

Aspects That Make You Addictive

Some synastry aspects make people feel like they’ve known each other forever. Some make them want to escape but never will. And then there are the aspects that make people willing to burn their lives down just to keep tasting you.

These are the aspects that make love feel like a spell, a hex, an inescapable fate.

Venus-Pluto Aspects (Synastry & Natal)

This is the mark of obsession, possession, destruction.

Love feels fated, intoxicating, irreversible.

Even when it’s over, it’s never over.

Someone always comes back… even if they shouldn’t.

Mars-Pluto Aspects (Synastry & Natal)

Lust at first sight? No. Lust that feels like a past-life curse.

The sex will ruin you for anyone else.

Power struggles, jealous rages, nights of passion followed by days of war.

Even after you walk away, you’ll dream about them.

Moon-Pluto Aspects (Synastry & Natal)

This is not just a connection—it’s a soul contract.

They will see the deepest parts of you, even the ones you hide.

When they touch you, you’ll feel exposed, vulnerable, like you belong to them.

No matter how far they run, they’ll always feel your energy around them.

Pluto never lets go.

Are You the Possessor or the Possessed?

You know the feeling.

You meet someone, and suddenly, they live in your thoughts rent-free. You tell yourself it’s nothing, that you can stop thinking about them whenever you want.

And then you realize—you can’t.

Maybe it’s their energy, their mystery, the way they see through you like no one else has. Maybe it’s the way they touch you—like they already own you.

Or maybe… just maybe…

You are the one who possesses.

Maybe you’re the one who lingers in their mind, the one they can’t shake, can’t leave, can’t replace.

Maybe you’re the reason they check their phone at 3 AM.

Maybe you’re the reason they stare at their ceiling at night, wondering why they can’t stop craving you.

Look at your chart.

Look at theirs.

Then ask yourself…

Are you the hunter? Or the prey?

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[niningtori]

the way we were before | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you've been in love with beomgyu for as long as you've known him. deep down, you've always thought that he loved you, too; so when he tells you that he's engaged to another woman, you decide to break it all off after a nasty fight in which he shows you just how little you mean to him. a life-ending accident seems to put your feelings to rest, for good. just when you think it's all over, however, you awaken to a time before everything fell apart; and you're determined not to repeat the same mistakes. it's just that beomgyu can't seem to let you go.

genre: ANGST (literally so much angst it's not even funny), romance, second chance!au, rebirth!au, she falls first but he falls harder, possessive!beomgyu

warnings: mcd (and rebirth), somewhat graphic depictions of death/a corpse, suicidal thoughts, you can interpret a scene at the end as somewhat suggestive but not really

word count: 12.7k

notes: this work contains a lot of angst... and that's coming from ME. this might be too sad to the point of being corny but luckily i was born on the cob. don't be mean to me tho i'm going thru it rn. feedback also means the world 2 me <3

some things are a matter of course. for example, when you were initially paired with beomgyu for a project in your senior year of college, it was a matter of course to fall in love with him. supporting him morally and emotionally while he struggled throughout the rest of the year and well into his adult career? well, that was a matter of course, too. being with him every day, spending every spare second you had with the intention to make him happy, and giving up any concept of self-preservation in exchange for even a morsel of his affection? the answer doesn’t even need to be said. through it all, you’ve suspected that all of the intimacy that you’ve nurtured will inevitably end up with you two being together, of course. 

you haven’t done any of it for the outcome. truly, you haven't. you make him happy simply because it makes you happy just to see him shine. he’s always been such a bright, sunny boy, and it’s always been enough just to be the one who helps maintain his true personality. it absolutely kills you to see him hurting, so it isn’t unusual to drop everything, be it work or social events, just to give him advice, give him comfort, or even just give him company. while he certainly doesn't show his affection towards you as profusely as you do to him, you know he cares about you. you can see it in the way he notices the little things about you, and in the way he listens to you with full attentiveness, even when you have nothing particularly interesting to tell him. when everyone talks over you, he tells you that he wants to hear what you have to say. and that’s enough.  

with all of this in mind, you jump at his invitation to hang out at his apartment. he’s been a little distracted lately, cancelling plans together for reasons unknown. it’s been odd, to be sure, but you know he’ll tell you whatever’s been bothering him soon enough. he always does. you greet him with takeout from his favorite restaurant in tow as a surprise, and he takes it with that smile you love so damn much. he looks a little nervous, but happy, mostly, and you don’t have to wait for very long before he clears his throat and announces that he has something important to tell you.

you try not to get your hopes up, but who can blame you for feeling a hint of anticipation? maybe he’ll finally confess his feelings to you. maybe that’s why he’s been a little weird. naturally, since your mind is racing so much with romantic hypotheticals, of course it comes as a shock to you that he simply says, “i’m getting married.”

beomgyu, notorious for never even having the time nor interest to date around, is not only dating, but engaged. your jaw drops when he tells you that it all happened so quickly, he doesn’t even know how it unfolded. all he knows is that once he met her, a whirlwind romance swept him up, and just a few months have been more than enough for him to know that she’s the one. in fact, as he so fondly declares, he knew it from the very first moment he saw her at the dinner between the company you two work for and her own. the one where you were his “date”. you knew that it wasn’t a real proclamation of love or affection for him to ask you to accompany him, but you can’t say that you weren’t beaming with pride and validation at you being his natural choice. when you arrived at the dinner, you remember some of your coworkers jokingly whispering to you to just make it official already. you spent the night mostly by his side, looking up at him in admiration and love. as it turns out, the time you spent fawning over him was equally spent with him falling in love at first sight with another woman. you weren’t even apart for very long, but apparently he met her when you two broke apart to mingle. 

it’s a kick in the chest, to put it bluntly. you feel the wind being knocked out of your lungs, and you’re struggling to breathe. the first time you caught a glimpse of him, you knew that any attempts to stop yourself from falling in love with him were hopeless. his smile, his charm, his playfulness immediately had you enraptured. you’ve always, always known that he didn't have a similar experience with you, but you just assumed that he simply isn’t the type to be caught up in such childish romanticism. you've always loved him outwardly and persistently, and you've shown him that in every single way you possibly know how. you dared to hope that maybe he was just the type to quietly reciprocate. obviously, with how emphatically he’s professing his love for another woman, you were very, very wrong.

“what's the matter? aren't you happy for me?” you struggle to answer, but he continues as if he doesn’t notice. “you know, i was thinking you could be, like, my best man. i've seen people do it these days—you'd pretty much be my best woman. i really want you to do it. there's no one else i can think of to—well, actually, there's soobin, but you’re my—”

“beomgyu,” you sharply interrupt, wetness pooling in your waterlines. beomgyu may be a little emotionally slow, but he’s not stupid. you know he knows that you've had feelings for him since forever ago. while it hurts, the fact of them being unrequited isn't what really gets you; it’s the fact that he doesn’t have the decency to just tell the truth. he took advantage of your love for him, always calling for you when he needed you, without ever really doing the same for you. “what… what about us?” 

“what about us? you’re my best friend, and i want you to be part of my wedding,” he says smoothly, but you level him with a watery stare. as if realization finally dawns on him, he replies in a way you sincerely did not anticipate.

“c’mon, you know i don’t see you like that,” he chuckles with a wave of his hand, and you really would’ve rathered him say literally anything else. you’d prefer it if he had just punched you in the stomach, actually, because that would feel considerably better than this… this humiliation. you’re silent for a moment before you feel the tears you’ve been struggling to keep in cascade down your face. to his credit, he has the decency to look uncomfortable, and his playful smile drops. before he can reply, however, you speak again.

“you knew how i felt about you this whole fucking time, you were just too much of a coward to be honest with me,“ you declare. “if… if you had just told me, i would’ve understood. i-i would've—you didn't have to do it this way.”

“listen, i’m sorry that you’re hurt, but i really didn’t mean—” 

“are you really sorry that i’m hurt, or are you sorry that i showed you i’m hurt?” you cut in. “beomgyu, you don’t care about how i feel, just as long as you don’t have to be the one to deal with it.” 

“i’m—you're being unfair. i didn't want to hurt your feelings, i just wanted us to stay friends. what's so bad about that? don't you want that?” he seems genuinely puzzled, as if he can't wrap his head around why you'd ever be indignant at the fact that he stayed friends with you mainly for his own comfort.

“jesus christ, beomgyu! a real friend would never do this. you kept me around so i’d keep helping you with work, with life, with what the fuck ever. why can't you just be honest, after all this time? just don’t lie,” you spit.

“i'm not lying! you've helped me a lot, and i'm grateful for that, but you can't expect me to just owe you my feelings,” he snaps.

“that's not what this is about, and you know it,” you tremblingly reply, dignity cut right to the bone.

“seriously? that's exactly what this is about. you're the altruistic angel who does nothing wrong, and i'm just a fucking scumbag who takes advantage of you, right? well, i'm sorry, but it's not my fault that you're acting so goddamn crazy over something so stupid.” your eyes burn with an intensity so great, it feels like they're being seared out of your skull. in this moment, you realize that he will never, ever respect you enough to consider you worthy of being leveled with. he doesn't think you're even worth the time. you're his silly, lovesick best friend who's absolutely delusional to the point of being laughable for suggesting that he actually take you seriously, for once. and that revelation breaks you like nothing else.

you won’t do this anymore. you couldn’t even if you wanted to, and you don’t. 

“i never want to see you again,” you sob, and while it may seem juvenile to say, you truly mean it. before you can hear beomgyu reply, you dash out of the building and to your car. 

everything is a blur when you peel out of the parking lot and onto the road. your eyes are pouring out thick, hot tears, and you try your best to swipe them away as soon as they come, but it’s difficult when they’re seemingly endless. you don’t even attempt to hold in your sobs—they’re far too deep and frequent for that. if someone were to glance at you through their window, they’d think you were absolutely insane. and maybe you are, you don’t know. maybe you’re insane for thinking that things could’ve ever been any different. maybe you were just imagining everything that seemed like confirmation that he loved you back. maybe it was all a delusion because you wanted it so fucking badly. and maybe that’s your fault.

but did he really have to crush you like this? he knew you were in in love with him. he knew you were waiting for him. he knew what he meant to you. why couldn’t he have just been honest instead of stringing you along? to ask for him to return your feelings would’ve been too much, you've always understood that to be the case; but even to the bitter end, he’ll call you crazy before he tells you the truth. 

you try to keep yourself focused, but everything’s a blur with your eyes bleary with a film of tears. you have half a mind to just pull over and have a meltdown on the side of the road, but before you can do that, you hear your phone ringing. you pick it up in a frenzy, silently hoping that it’s beomgyu with an apology, but the number is unknown. you don’t even have time to feel disappointed before you look up and see that you’re barrelling past a red light. in a panic, you realize that you’re about to crash headfirst into another car. you swerve your steering wheel as hard as you can, seemingly avoiding danger, but the sight of a tree coming closer and closer into your vision paralyzes you with fear. you try to brake, but you’re going too quickly for it to be of any use. 

the collision is bone-shattering in the literal sense. you’d think you’d feel adrenaline alone in such a situation, but you can feel pain bursting out of every cell of your body as you still after being thrown back and forth in your seat. every organ, every bone, feels like it’s just been crushed, and not for the first time today, you’re struggling to breathe. 

as you slip out of consciousness, one immovable thought resounds in your head: i wish i'd never met him.

-

the sound of your alarm ringing pulls you out of the darkness. your eyes shoot open and you sit straight up in pure shock. while you pant—just trying to catch your breath—you grab your chest, clutching at your shirt as you feel your heart drumming erratically. did you survive? you scramble out of your bed and look in the mirror. there’s nothing on your face. no fresh wounds, bruises, no scars from what just happened. that can’t be right. you know you were torn up from the collision, and there’s no earthly way you came out of it unscathed. was it a dream? it can’t be; you can still feel the phantom of pain on every inch of you, even when there’s no indication of any material harm. you remember every second you spent before and after wrapping yourself around that tree. does that mean you’re dead? are you in the afterlife? 

that doesn’t seem right, either. you don’t know much about what the afterlife is supposed to be like, if there’s even one at all, but this feels too real and familiar. you reach for your phone, with its alarm still blaring, and as you hit snooze, you notice the date. it’s just a few months before… before everything happened. did you go back in time? is that even possible? you try to reconcile yourself with that fact for a long, long time. so long, in fact, that you don't even realize you're supposed to be heading to work until it's five minutes after you're supposed to be there. 

as if on cue, your phone rings with your boss’ contact displayed on the screen.

“hello,” he says as casually as anyone ever can. this just solidifies the idea that your accident must never have happened, because if it had, he certainly wouldn’t be greeting you as if it’s just another day. 

“h-hey,” you attempt to reply, and your voice is so choked and thick with emotion, he can hear how badly you’re struggling to speak at all. 

“is everything alright?” he asks, concern laced in his tone. that’s enough to make you break, and before you can stop it, you’re outright sobbing into the phone. 

“i’m—i just—i don’t think i can come in today.” you fumble for an excuse, but it’s difficult to think straight as you feel your mind breaking down. “i, um, i—” 

“hey, it’s okay. you can take the day off, alright? don’t worry about anything, just focus on feeling better.” his words, so comforting in nature, do nothing but make you cry even harder. it feels nice to be cared for like this. if you had the coherence to think so, you’d wonder how baffled he must be at your behavior. luckily, you’re far too gone to care. you think you end up stammering out something similar to a thank you, but you’re not quite sure. either way, the call ends, and you collapse onto your bed. you curl yourself up and tuck your knees to your chest as you grip yourself as tightly as you can. this is real. you’ve gone back. thank god, you’ve gone back. 

you cry and cry until no more tears will come out, and while you try to keep yourself awake as the hours pass by, the relief you feel coalesces with the enticing nature of your soft bed, so you can't help but drift off. it’s different from the way you drifted off mere hours ago. it’s a lot warmer and kinder, and you're so, so fucking tired, you don’t even want to fight it anymore. 

a knock on your door wakes you from your sleep. it’s a good thing, too, because you were having a nightmare. rejection, devastation, primal fear, mind-numbing pain, then total darkness repeated incessantly in your head for hours on end. you swipe away your tears, but they continue to flow as you practically drag yourself to your door. you’re so disoriented, you don’t even think to check to see who it is before opening it. what a mistake that turns out to be.

“hey! whoa—are you okay?” he asks, and who else could it be besides beomgyu? your heart pounds in your chest, and even more tears stream down your face as you let out a sob. his mouth contorts into a frown. his face, previously so endearing to you, makes you feel absolutely repulsed. you lost everything for the figure standing before you, and he has the nerve to ask you if you’re okay. a fire is ignited in your stomach, and you feel yourself on the precipice of carnal rage. while you’re trying to suppress that feeling, he speaks again. 

“i heard you called in, so i thought i’d check on you. do you have a fever?” he questions, reaching out his hand to check your forehead for abnormal warmth. without even thinking about it, you smack his hand away.

“don’t touch me,” you all but growl, but beomgyu is undeterred. 

“what’s the matter? i don’t care if you get me sick; i could use the time off,” he teases with a grin, but your face remains twisted up in pure anger. 

“get out,” you mumble between clenched teeth.

“what?” he asks, and it's unclear if that's because he's confused, or because he simply didn't hear you. either way, you don't care.

“get out,” you repeat, louder this time, but not lacking any of the previous anger. your erratic behavior is enough to finally irritate beomgyu. 

“fine, whatever. forget i even bothered,” he scoffs as he stalks out of the door. you slam it behind him before falling to the floor. this is your chance. you came back too late to avoid ever meeting him again, but it’s still good enough for you. from now on, you two will live completely separate lives spent being nothing to each other. owing nothing to each other. again, you find yourself sobbing in relief. 

-

when you return to work the next day, the first thing you do is head to your boss’ office. he looks relieved to see you for a moment before he notices the envelope in your hand. with the way his smile drops, you know he immediately knows what it is. 

“what’s that?” he asks, though the tension in the air is more than enough confirmation that he has no doubts about what the letter reads.

“my resignation,” you tell him. 

“may i ask what this is about?” he probes. no, he can’t, because even if you told him, he’d never believe you.  

“i just don’t think this position is right for me,” you deadpan, and the look on his face shows that he doesn’t really buy it.

“you’ve worked so hard for so long, and you want to give up now?” he has a point. your company is on the brink of a major deal with another company, which will result in a financial breakthrough like none other, if successful. as fate would have it, said company is the one in which beomgyu’s future wife works, and the dinner where the two of them met is the celebratory party for such success. you’d laugh at the circumstances if you could. “whatever the issue is, we can work it out. just don’t leave before we do this. we need you, and even if you want to leave after we close the deal, you’ll still be rewarded for everything you’ve done. don’t you want to see that happen?” you do. you really, really do. you’ve given so much of yourself for this opportunity, and you really want to see it work out. you guess, in a way, you already have seen it; but if you leave now, that’ll never happen. this particular project needs you to get off of its feet.

but can you really stand to see beomgyu for a second longer? have his mere presence fuck with your head? is it even worth it? you’re about to declare that it most certainly is not, but you stop yourself. the money will be good for you to start a new life. maybe you’ll move buildings, maybe even to a new city, maybe across the country, who knows? you’ll be more than comfortable with this potential payout, and then you can start a new life somewhere where you know nobody, and nobody knows you. 

“i want a new partner, at least,” you counter, and his face morphs into a grimace. he’s undoubtedly confused at your sudden aversion towards beomgyu, but he doesn't mention it to you. 

“that’ll be difficult. i need you both for this to work.” you’re about to flatout deny him, but he continues. “if you can just make it through this, i promise that you can go wherever you want to go, and i’ll even give you a bonus for your trouble. deal?” you purse your lips as you mull it over. if you can suffer through being partners with beomgyu, your move will be considerably easier. still, you’re undecided before you have an epiphany: in just a few months, beomgyu will meet his future wife and fall head over heels in love with her. all you have to do is ignore him until then, and he’ll inevitably leave you alone once he meets her. so what if beomgyu’s here? you don’t want to care about him anymore. and once everything’s settled, you’ll pack your life away and start somewhere without the bad memories. 

“okay,” you reply, and his face breaks out into a grin. 

-

beomgyu is very visibly ruffled today, which you would immediately notice if you just spared him a glance, but you do no such thing. your lack of attention towards him serves to only rile him up even further. he wants to be stubborn—act out until you apologize to him, but once he realizes you have no intention of doing so, he finally relents and approaches you.

“hey,” he says coolly, still a little annoyed, but prepared to forgive you. you look up at him blankly, and he’s unsettled by just how empty your eyes look, so he nervously asks you, “are you… are you feeling better?” you look at him as if he just spouted the most asinine question of all time, and for the first time ever, he feels small under your gaze. he shifts awkwardly on his feet before you break the silence. 

“i’m fine,” you tell him. he waits for you to ask him how he is, but the words never come. in fact, you turn away and bury your nose in your work as if he’s not standing there, waiting dumbly for you to respond as you usually would. well, whatever. you’ll have to talk to him, eventually. especially since you two are working on such a big project. 

you don’t really talk to him, though, aside from what’s absolutely necessary. for most of the day, you silently slide papers over to him without even deigning to look at him while you do it. when you do have to speak to him, your words are cold and detached, as if even speaking to him is a chore. it’s like you’re looking past him, almost. like you don’t even really see him, and he’s never felt as unsettled by a gaze in his life. 

at lunch, you quietly remain at your desk instead of joining beomgyu like you usually would, and you can't quite bring yourself to eat. you just feel sick by this entire situation, and while you know you need food to survive, you’re sure you’ll vomit if you try to eat anything. 

beomgyu, on his part, leaves you alone, though he desperately wants to try to get you to eat with him. he won’t admit it, but he’s actually afraid that you’ll reject him again. he doesn't know why, but the thought of you doing so slashes at his heart. this is a mystery to him. he shouldn’t really care if you reject him or not, since he’s been quietly rejecting you for years, but he can’t help it. still, as he watches you space out at your desk, he tries to will himself to bear the brunt of a possible denial before a coworker he recognizes approaches you.

you don’t even notice mingi walking up to you, so you jump in surprise when he greets you. you’re pretty familiar with him, but you’re not particularly close, so you’re a bit surprised by his arrival. 

“can i sit with you?” he asks, grinning as he asks it. you nod in response, and he grins even wider before he pulls up a chair and seats himself in front of you.

“are you going to eat?” he questions, and you shake your head.

“not hungry,” you reply. he frowns.

“you still need to eat. you need energy, especially since you’re working so hard.” you’re actually a little sheepish because of his words. so he’s noticed how hard you’ve been working? it feels nice to be appreciated. is he worried about you? 

“i’ll eat later,” you lie. he seems a bit reluctant, but he eventually nods. 

“make sure you eat, okay? i’ll—i’ll text you and make sure you have. is that alright?” you’re stunned for a few seconds before agreeing, and he ends up sliding you his phone so you can put your number in it.

beomgyu watches it all from his desk, and he feels a sense of loss. is it because you’re directing your attention elsewhere? that has to be it, right? it can't be any deeper than that, but somewhere nearly unreachable inside of him, he feels an unfamiliar sensation scratching at his heart, begging him to  acknowledge it. but he shakes away the thought. you’re acting really weird, but that’s okay. you love him, and you’ll get back to normal really soon.

that’s what he tells himself, but you remain as cold as ever throughout the rest of the week. you don’t look at him with those adoring eyes, and you don’t even crack a smile at his attempted jokes. he feels like he's going insane, as if he's on the brink of understanding something really important, but he can't quite make it there. 

it all comes to a head when beomgyu shows up late back from grabbing lunch. he's done this a million times before, and he's always been greeted by your insistence that his tardiness isn't a big deal. in spite of the tension between you two, he still assumes that you'll be as forgiving as ever.

“hey, sorry i'm late. i got caught up with eating and didn't realize how late it was getting,” he says casually. he searches your face for any traces of leniency, for the indulgence you used to give him, but there is none. only anger, and maybe even something like regret, though he can't quite understand the latter.

“don't be late again. we don't have time for this,” you say coldly before sticking your nose back into your computer, effectively ignoring anything else beomgyu could say to placate you.

you two work late into the night. beomgyu gets so caught up in his work, too afraid to draw your ire again, but when he realizes he hasn't heard any noise coming from you in a while, he peers over to see you staring blankly at the wall. your face seems expressionless, but your eyes are what horrifies him. dead, empty, hopeless. “a-are you okay?”

the sound of his voice does nothing to break you out of your trance, however. in fact, it seems to have triggered something in you, decimated a dam that was already leaking. your eyes still look blank as tears begin to leak out of your eyes. they fall slowly at first, then incessantly. it's hard to reconcile the steady stream with the way your face remains completely devoid of emotion. 

tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. suddenly, you're jolted awake, eyes now looking as composed and indifferent as ever.

“are you okay? w-what's wrong?” he asks anxiously, 

you hurriedly wipe away your tears before you say, “nothing. just thinking about something.” you redirect your attention to your work, just trying to fully shake the way you were just locked into the memory of you dying alone.

“what could you possibly be thinking about to make you look like that?” he asks concernedly, his voice unintentionally rising in frustration. your eyes harden before you turn to him.

“none of your business,” you say firmly. before he can say anything, you're packing up your things. “i'm going to call it a night and go home.”

“wait! talk to me! what's been bothering you so much lately? you've been weird for a while now, so just tell me what's going on with you. i'm here. i'm listening,” he says as gently as he can.

“you're here? you're listening?” you sneer. “i'm so honored that you finally give a fuck about how i'm feeling,” you say sarcastically. he frowns at your words.

“what are you talking about? i'm always here for you,” he says, and he looks so genuine, it makes you even angrier. he sincerely thinks he's telling the truth. so fucking clueless and selfish.

“are you? do you think offering up your ear once in a blue moon makes you an altruistic angel or something?” you know he can't understand that you're throwing his own words back in his face, because he can't even remember saying them, but you don't care. it just feels too damn vindicating to stop yourself. “beomgyu, you're only as available to me as is convenient to you. you'd never put yourself out of your way to comfort me. meanwhile, i've always been ‘here’ and ‘listening’ at your will. i don't need your pity, and i certainly don't want it.” he's stunned into silence. you're absolutely correct, he realizes with a sinking feeling. before he can formulate the words to defend himself, you pack up your things and leave the office.

-

in the following weeks, you realize that mingi is… nice. really, really nice. you’re not used to prospective romantic partners actually seeming to like you, so the feeling is foreign, but not unwelcome. do you have feelings for him outside of appreciation? well, not really. in the back of your mind, you honestly doubt that you’re even capable of having feelings for other people anymore, but you try not to think about it too much. if you seriously search for an answer, you fear you won’t like what you find.

mingi is diligent, though, and you like that about him. now that you’ve made it clear that you’re not involved with beomgyu (and never want to be), he’s pulling out all the stops to charm you. lunches you would previously spend with beomgyu are now spent laughing with mingi. in the same way, downtime at work, which would normally entail catching up with beomgyu and maybe helping with a few of his assignments, are now reserved for chats with mingi. as beomgyu watches you two giggle with your heads together, he wonders what you two could possibly be talking about to ever be that funny. his jaw ticks in irritation at the scene. most notably, though, is the fact that instead of spending your off days with him, you flatout reject him with no explanation. not even with a perfunctory “sorry”. he doesn't have to wonder what you’ve been doing when he hears your coworkers gossiping about how you're always hanging out with mingi. 

beomgyu feels you slipping away, and it brings a sense of panic he’s never known before. but why? he shouldn't care about your romantic endeavors. granted, you haven’t had one during the entire time that you've known him, but it’s only natural that he supports you as your best friend. best friend. does that term even apply to him anymore? he wants to insist that it does, but as the weeks turn into months, your disgust for him becomes clearer and clearer. as he sits across from you and mingi at an after-work dinner with your department, he watches as mingi flirtatiously whispers into your ear. when some of your coworkers tease the two of you about it, he realizes with sickening certainty that he doesn't just want to be your best friend, he wants to be the one who sits next to you. he wants to be the one your coworkers joke about being your boyfriend, and he wants them to be right about it. the time you two have spent apart has shown him that he can't imagine anyone else occupying the space beside you. with an overwhelming sense of clarity, beomgyu realizes that this feeling, so deep and all-consuming, is love.

how could he not love you? regardless of everything you've done for him, you're still so perfect to him, for him. he finds himself appreciating things he previously took for granted. you're beautiful, caring, funny, and smart. he loves your smile, your laugh, your company. he loves the way you look when you're focused, the way you look so innocent when you sleep. you're the first person he wants to tell any time something happens, good or bad. you're the face he wants to wake up to in the morning. you're the only person he trusts to be his partner for the rest of his life. and now, it's clear that he can't just let you go without a fight.

as everyone begins to leave the restaurant one by one, he follows you out into the parking lot, determined to make his feelings known. even if you don't reciprocate them anymore, he's willing to put in the effort to make you love him again. and even if you don't… even if you can't… the desire to simply be next to you supersedes the need to be loved back. 

you don't realize that beomgyu is trailing after you until you get to your car. he calls out your name as you're about to pull the door handle. with a sigh, you turn around.

“what is it?” you ask flatly.

“are you serious about mingi?” he asks firmly, but he already knows that you are not. the way you look at mingi is laughable compared to the way you looked at beomgyu before your sudden change in behavior.

“yep,” you say.

“no, you're not. i can tell,” he argues with conviction.

“oh, and you know me so fucking well, huh?” you snark.

“i do,” he tells you, stepping closer. “i know you, and i know you don't really like him. not really.” damn. he caught you.

“just because i don’t like him now, doesn't mean i can’t like him later,” you insist.

“so what? you’re just going to string him along while hoping you’ll like him someday? are you just going to spend the rest of your life never really caring about anyone? you can't live like that.” his words leave no room for argument, but you’ll be damned before you don't at least try.

“you’re right, i shouldn’t lead him on, but what’s it matter to you? even if it doesn't work out with him, maybe i’ll meet somebody who i can tolerate, and who can tolerate me. i don’t think i need anything more than that.” beomgyu flinches at your bizarre words, but he's already reconciled with the idea that even if you don't want him anymore, he'll still take whatever you want to give him with a smile on his face.

“then what about me? i… i can be that person.” he's so nervous, you can tell that it took all of his courage to say that. but who cares? 

“you can’t,” you argue.

“why not?” 

“that would mean i’d have to be able to tolerate you, and i don’t want to do that.” not anymore.

“why are you acting like this? you’re acting like i’m so fucking horrible, but you used to lo—” he stops himself, but you both know he was going to bring up the love you had for him. “i just want to know what changed.”

“i did. i changed.”

“but why? i mean, i didn’t realize it before, and i know i wasn’t always the best, but i’ve always had feelings for y—” 

“don’t even bother finishing that sentence. you don't like me at all,” you sneer, “you just don’t like seeing me move on.” this makes him pause, and even you don’t have the heart to pretend like you can’t see the hurt in his eyes.

“why can’t you ever just believe me?” he asks quietly. “i’m telling you i love you, but you don’t even care. i’m saying that it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but you’re acting like… like i'm disgusting to you.” he looks like he's about to cry, and it makes you all the more frustrated.

“you don’t understand,” you reply in between clenched teeth. 

“then help me understand. i just want to know why. i just want to know how to fix it. how can i bring you back?” 

“you can't. look, i’m—” and you’re about to apologize, but you just can’t make yourself do it. “you’ll get it really, really soon. you won’t even remember feeling this way, i can promise you that, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“what are you talking about?” he says exasperatedly. beomgyu may not have always been the best of friends towards you, but he can recognize when you’re holding yourself back. “what aren't you telling me?” you purse your lips in response. 

“nothing. there's no point in saying anything, because you wouldn't understand even if you tried. you wouldn't remember—fuck, never mind. just let it go, beomgyu. i have.” but he can't just let it go. this whole fucking thing as an enigma to him. but your words are… odd. what do you mean he wouldn't remember? there's nothing to remember, no matter how much he tries. before he can respond, you get into your car and drive away.

-

“c’mon, you know i don’t see you like that,” beomgyu tells you, forcing an awkward laugh. your expression immediately crumbles, and he begins to shift uncomfortably when he realizes that he must’ve said the wrong thing. your silence is deafening, ringing in his ears, but he still tries to maintain a smile. maybe you’ll lighten up. maybe you’ll go back to the way you were before. maybe you’ll even crack at smile at this ridiculous situation when you realize that he’s right in his assumption that you’re just being emotional. your feelings for him can only go so deep, right? you can go back to being friends after this, just the way he likes it. 

his smile is wiped clean off of his face when your eyes redden and well up in pure, unadulterated hurt. hurt he’s never seen before. he fumbles for the right words, but before he can find them, you break the suffocating silence. 

“you knew how i felt about you this whole fucking time, you were just too much of a coward to be honest with me. if… if you had just told me, i would’ve understood. i-i would've—you didn't have to do it this way.” any delusions beomgyu has that you’ll just let this go are promptly flushed away at your biting tone. jesus christ. you’re right, and he knows it. he flounders for a response, but nothing he can possibly say could really be enough. 

he spends the duration of the argument mainly trying to defend himself. honestly? he doesn't want to remember everything you two say, but he knows he's being nasty in an effort to keep himself from reconciling with the fact that he is, indeed, a coward. he knows he’s never been the greatest friend to you, though he’s always justified it by recalling the times where he did do thoughtful things for you. when you tell him that your resentment isn’t about the fact that he doesn't feel the same way, but because of the fact that he won’t own up to his actions, he feels a stab to his pride. before he can stop himself, he lashes out. 

“seriously? that's exactly what this is about. you're the altruistic angel who does nothing wrong, and i'm just a fucking scumbag who takes advantage of you, right? well, i'm sorry, but it's not my fault that you're acting so goddamn crazy over something so stupid.” he regrets the words as soon as as he says them. every syllable seems so vile as they leave his lips, but he can't stop himself. when he sees you crack at his words, he really wishes he had just kept his fucking mouth shut. 

“i never want to see you again,” you choke out between sobs, and he feels a piercing pain shoot through his body, all the way down to his bones. you don’t mean that. there’s no way you mean that. you care about him. you love him, and even if he doesn't feel quite the same way, he loves you, too. but one look at your resolute face is enough to tell him that you mean it. he wills himself to say something—anything—but you rush out of the door before he can quite muster up the courage to speak.

he stands in a stunned silence for longer than he could ever rightfully justify, but a call from an unfamiliar number eventually pulls him out of his daze. usually, he’d reject it and chalk it up to spam, but something tells him that he should—needs to—answer it. with shaky hands, he accepts the call. 

“h-hello?”

the response mostly sounds rather clinical in nature, really. there’s a perfunctory greeting before the monotone voice detachedly states that there’s been an accident, and he will need to come to the coroner’s office to accurately identify the corpse, which had been declared deceased at the scene. as it turns out, he was your first emergency contact. 

“we are deeply, deeply sorry.” the final words are the only ones that seem to hold any hint of an emotion in them, but beomgyu is too preoccupied to hear it. in a daze, he gets in his car and makes his way to the coroner’s office. hoping, praying, needing for this to be a bad dream. as he comes to find out, it is not. 

-

beomgyu’s head whips up in horror, and he’s panting like mad in between whimpers. tears incessantly pour out of his eyes, wetting his flushed cheeks. was it all a dream? there’s no way; it was too real to be a dream. he was there—he lived it. no, no, no…

“beomgyu?” a voice says, somewhat breaking him out of his panic. his bleary eyes snap up to the doorway to see you standing there, your eyebrows knit with concern and confusion. you two have been working late again, awkwardly alone together once more after his confession. you saw that he had fallen asleep, but he looked so tired, you couldn't bring yourself to wake him up. “are… are you okay?” he's absolutely frozen as you tentatively approach him, pausing a bit uncertainly before approaching him to get a closer look. he grabs you and tugs you towards him, wrapping his arms around you in an almost bruising grip. he nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent in between shudders. 

“beomgyu, are you sick? did you have a bad dream?” you ask. his heart would flutter at your concern, concern you haven’t shown him for so long, in any other context; but as it is, he’s far too distraught to appreciate it. 

“i… i remember,” he croaks, trying to get even closer to you, as if doing so is the only way to keep you safe. you’d like to break out of his embrace, but he’s so distraught while you’re so off-guard, you don’t do it just yet. 

“remember what? something about the project? we can—” 

“no. i’m—i remember… i remember losing you.” he can’t quite bring himself to be any clearer, but you seem to understand him, anyway. you stiffen in his arms before prying him off of you. he fumbles for you, just to touch you again, but you push him away. you exert very little force, but it’s firm and unrelenting. 

“oh,” you reply, looking a little lost, but mostly just cold. he's basically wailing now, but he tries his best to answer.

“i’m so, so fucking sorry. i didn’t—” 

“what, you didn’t mean to? you’re sorry? maybe so, but  does it matter?” you cut in, almost snarling. now that he remembers, all of the feelings, all of the resentment you’ve kept bottled up come tumbling out of your mouth. “what's the point in telling me this now, after everything? you’re not sorry, beomgyu. you only care because i’m—because i was gone. i don’t want to hear about your regrets; they’re worthless to me.” he recoils as if you just punched him. his eyes turn even redder than they were before, too, and he’s silent at your words. 

he wants to tell you that you’re wrong, because he really is sorry, but can he truthfully say that he’d realize his feelings if you didn’t… go? he can’t. for all he knows, he’d have rejected you forever. he's so ashamed, he'd rather die than feel this way. even so, he wants to attempt to explain himself; you deserve that much. before he can reply, however, you rise and stalk towards the doorway. it’s reminiscent of the way you left when everything happened, and he desperately tries to follow you, grabbing your arm before you can make it out the door. 

“don’t touch me. don’t you ever touch me,” you seethe, ripping yourself out of his grip as if the mere feeling of his hands on you burns through your skin, and he staggers backwards. he keeps his arm somewhat outstretched, though. just in case you change your mind.

“don’t leave like this. i-i don’t want you to get hurt.” not again.

“what’s it matter to you?” you sneer. “you didn’t care before, so i won’t waste my life on you ever again.” his eyes widen in terror, and tears fall even more profusely than they already were. you begin to leave, but to your regret—and to his anguish, the angriest part of you forces you to turn around and face him again.

“do you want to know what my last thought was?” you ask, face mostly blank besides the slight traces of disdain in your eyes, and he’s too terrified to move or even speak at all. he knows whatever you say will be something that breaks him, so he tries to shrink himself to be as small as possible; subconsciously praying that doing so will make him disappear in the face of your anger. still, your eyes remain locked on his face—narrowing in on him regardless of his efforts. “it was of you, actually. i was wishing i’d never met you.” he visibly flinches as he gasps sharply, feeling like you just knocked the air out of his lungs. he feels like he can’t breathe. it would have felt better if you had just ripped his heart out of his chest, because as it is, it’s aching so badly, he wishes you had. 

his lips tremble, and he looks like he’s just heard the worst news of his life. and he has. you hate him that much? you regret all of the time you had together to the point of wishing it had never happened? he’s never, ever regretted a moment he’s spent with you, but he guesses your company has always been better than his. how could it not be? you’ve always given him more than he could ever reasonably ask for, and even if you hadn’t, you’re still a much better person than he is. better to the extent of making him realize just how unworthy he is.

he lets you leave, but his anxiety makes him frantically pace about the room. he tugs at his hair, willing himself to calm down, but he just can’t. after a few minutes, he texts you and asks if you made it home. to his relief, it says that you’ve read the message, so he knows you must be okay. still, you don’t respond. 

-

the deal is tied up exceptionally smoothly; you’ve done it before, after all, so that comes as no surprise. on the night of the celebratory dinner, you take mingi as your date. you’ve already told him that you don’t see things panning out, but he actually takes it really well. maybe telling him that you’re planning on moving helped smooth things over. still, he insists that you accompany him to the dinner, just as friends. you oblige. 

it’s mostly the same as you remember. you spend the night mixing with your coworkers for the last time, and it’s bittersweet. they don’t know that this will be the last time you see them, as your two weeks before resignation have already passed in secret, and you’ll spend the next few weeks just packing and finding a new place to stay far, far away from here. it’s freeing, in a way. 

at some point, your manager announces that he’ll be making a toast, and the room quiets as everyone’s attention is placed on him. 

“firstly, i’d like to celebrate the success of this collaboration. everyone has worked hard to make everything come to fruition. secondly, i’d like to recognize two of the people who made this possible.” he specially thanks you and beomgyu, which is normal, but the unexpected happens when he voices his regret that you’ll be resigning. 

your coworkers look at you in shock, but one person in particular is especially stunned. beomgyu. your manager probably thanks employees of the other company, too, but he doesn’t hear it. other voices, other people, are drowned out by the buzzing in his ears. you’re leaving, and it's all because of him. 

he tries to drown his feelings in alcohol, stomach burning with every round, but the regret never seems to numb. the room seems to be spinning, and he looks visibly ill. eventually, a familiar figure takes a seat next to him. ah. his previous fiancée.

“hey,” she says, somewhat coyly. he doesn't respond. “wow, are you okay? you look a little green. how are you getting home?” again, he doesn't respond. she actually appears to be embarrassed, but she tries one more time. 

“i actually—i came over here because you're really… cute. if you don't have a way home, i can take you. i won't try anything on you, but i can't just let you go home alone. and maybe, you know, when you're sober, we can—”

“beat it,” he snaps. he knows it’s not her fault, and that she hasn’t done anything, but he still can’t help his resentment, even when it should all be directed towards himself. but his recognition of his unfairness isn’t enough for him to care. she blinks in surprise and embarrassment, rising from her seat in defeat. 

beomgyu continues to drink until he’s on the verge of passing out, putting his face in his hands. he draws attention from everyone, but he doesn’t have the mind to care. people try to approach him, but he flatly rejects everyone who attempts to offer their help in order to ensure that he gets home safely. 

“should you… should you take him home?” mingi asks. it’s obvious who he’s referring to.

“it’s not my problem,” you reply, a bit more curtly than you intended. 

“you’re right, it’s not. but you’re the only one he’ll listen to, and i think you know that.” mingi argues. you sigh. he’s right. as much as you want to blame beomgyu for everything, you’ve come to realize that after the conversation—more like confrontation—you two had, you’re not angry anymore. it was hard to see in the moment, but you’ve begun to question your merciless stance towards him. isn’t it partially your fault that things turned out the way they did? he didn't make you check your phone that day, so isn’t it unfair to completely blame him for everything? 

with this in mind, you approach him. he initially bats you away, assuming you’re just another one of his coworkers, but your voice pulls him out of his drunken stupor.

“c’mon. i’ll take you home.” his head whips up in surprise, and he almost thinks you’re joking, but your face is completely serious.

“o-okay,” he replies, sounding extremely docile. you don’t respond, but you begin to walk ahead of him as you head to the exit. he’s having a hard time even following you as he clumsily staggers through the crowd, following you like a lost puppy. hesitantly, he reaches out for your hand, though the fear of you telling him not to touch you remains. you turn back to see his fingers hesitantly outstretched to your hand, and with a look of resignation, you let him grab it as you lead him out.

the ride to his home is a silent one. beomgyu rests his head upon the cold window as he stares at the scenery outside. he doesn’t really take anything in, far too dazed to appreciate the view, but he looks, anyway. 

when you enter his apartment, begrudgingly letting him lean on you for support, you take him to his bedroom. he plops down onto his bed in an unnaturally clumsy manner. 

“th-thanks for taking me home,” he says meekly. 

“mm,” you reply, no inflection of emotion in your tone, getting ready to leave and head to your apartment. 

“w-wait! can you… can you stay here tonight?” you look at him doubtfully, but before you can resolutely deny him, he begins to retch. with widened eyes, you pull him up and drag him to his bathroom. he hunches over the toilet and lets everything go. he’s trembling after he’s finished, and you clean him up as best as you can. he melts into your touch as you gently wipe his face. you’re not soothing him with your words like you would’ve a few months ago, but your care, no matter how unwilling you seem to give it, is something he revels in. he brushes his teeth, but he keeps his eyes on your pensive reflection in the mirror. after he's finished, you speak.

“i’ll stay,” you tell him. 

“w-what?” he questions, eyes watery.

“i’ll stay for tonight. i’ll take the couch. i just don’t want to leave you when you’re feeling like this. it’s dangerous.” 

“n-no! you can stay in the guest room.” 

“i need to be able to hear you if something happens,” you argue. 

“th-then i’ll sleep on the couch. i don’t want you to—” 

“beomgyu, you need to properly rest. if you don’t sleep in your room, i’ll leave.” his face crumbles before he acquiesces with a strained nod.

“good,” you say with a ghost of a smile at his blind obedience, but he's too drunk to notice it. if he had, he would’ve clung to it like a man drowning. 

“thank you,” he solemnly whispers.  

“goodnight, beomgyu.”

“goodnight,” he says, and you rifle through his drawer for some clothes before heading to his living room and changing. you pull out spare blankets from his linen closet before sliding onto his couch.

you sleep rather peacefully, but beomgyu has no such luck. instead, he's pulled into a dream—one he comes to realize is a memory.

-

when beomgyu arrives at the coroner’s office, there is a moment, albeit brief, that he sickly hopes that it’s literally anyone else in the world, but when he sees you—body mangled nearly beyond recognition—he realizes that there is no such mercy. apparently, you didn't even die on impact, but by the time somebody reached you, you were already gone. he doesn't want to imagine how you must've felt, being alone in your last moments, but he feels like he should. against the warnings of the coroner and surrounding police officers, he demands for your face to be uncovered. he can surely identify you based on frame and clothing alone, but for reasons he doesn’t dare to dwell on, he feels like he just has to see. he just has to be sure. he just has to know what he did to you. 

and he does come to know it. to his eternal regret, he begins to know it at that moment, and consequently, every moment after. as it turns out, they suspect that you were looking at your phone before you swerved off of the road. he doesn’t know how, but he’s instinctively sure that it’s because you were waiting on his call. one  resounding thought thrums incessantly in his head: it’s all his fault, all his fault, all his fault.

your face is bloody, barely even showing any of the underlying skin, and marred from shattered glass. he swallows thickly as he reaches out to touch you, running his hands over the gashes on your face as softly as he can as to avoid hurting you, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s at all possible for him to tend to your wounds. he would go over single one, softly patching you up back to normal; but you're already cold to the touch, and though you definitely can’t feel anything, his mind imagines how much it must hurt to have him caress the gaping wounds on your face. he snatches back his hand, as if his touch is poison to you. 

“s-sorry, i’m really sorry!” he panickedly exclaims. “i-i won’t—i didn’t mean to hurt you.” he’s unsure if he means that in the current physical or the previous emotional sense, but does that really matter? he already has. besides, you can’t feel anything anymore. all of your muscles are relaxed, leaving you devoid of any expression as your eyes hollowly stare up at the ceiling. for a moment, he wishes the hurt he saw in them a mere hour ago was still there. anything would be better than the current blankness of your features. 

the blankness remains, however, even after all of the makeup and superficial repairs done to make you look like you’re only peacefully asleep. to him, you just look dead, no matter how badly he wishes the former were the case. as much as he wants to speak at your funeral, he does not. he doesn't deserve the dignity to speak, much less to properly mourn you. not after what he said to you. not when everything that's happened is all his fault.

the breakup with his girlfriend—or fiancée—is more bothersome than he can handle. in between her pleas and attempts to reason, all he can do is coolly recite the constant refrain: “i’m sorry, i just don’t want to be with you.” she tells him he’s just grieving, that he’ll get over it with time, and she wants to support him while he does it; but he montonously repeats his words as if they're the only ones he knows. in her anger and desperation, she tells him he’s making a mistake, and that he’s just feeling guilty because of your unrequited love, which ultimately proves itself to be the categorically worst thing to say. he finally explodes, telling her that she was the mistake, that he doesn't know what he ever saw in her that even closely compares to you, and he'd take every moment with her back if he could. she's the biggest regret of his life, which previously felt like it had only just begun, but now feels like it stretches far beyond what he can tolerate. 

in the days, weeks, months that follow, he struggles to understand how something so unjust could occur. it doesn't make sense. really, it just doesn't make sense. eventually, even his initially patient friends grow weary of his neurotic harping upon how unfair it is, how sudden and wrong it all is. he should be punished. you shouldn’t have had to be the one to suffer, but you were. what kind of justice is that? what kind of universe allows something so cruel to happen right under its nose?

when everyone finally tells him that it’s time to move on and let go, he resorts to speaking to the only person who can’t argue back. you. he visits you every day, bringing you gifts on christmas and your birthday, and even just when he sees something he think you'd like. in a way, they’re almost like sacrifices to you to atone for what he did. his contrition. he spends many of his visits by raving like a man gone mad at a stone slab. he likes to think that you’re agreeing with him, that you see the unfairness for what it is. he’s realized that he loves you, has always loved you, but he was too self-absorbed to notice. as hypocritical as it is, he’s only noticed after you… left, and he’s more disgusted by himself than he ever thought possible. still, he thinks you deserve to know. you deserve for him to be brave and tell the truth, but who cares? what’s the use of only recognizing it after everything he’s done? 

he apologizes to you while crying about how much he misses you. he tries to tell you about other things, too. about the things he thinks you would’ve liked to hear. about current events he decides you’d find funny or interesting, about life updates on your friends that you’d want to know, about how a new album has been released by an artist you really liked, and that he can't quite bring himself to listen to it yet. he’ll definitely listen, though, someday. he’ll give you his opinions after describing each track in great detail, once he’s able to bear it, that is. you always look(ed) forward to their releases, so it’s the least he can do to repay his debt to you. 

but if you owe someone a debt as deep as their life, how can you repay that debt when they’re no longer here to collect it? if he really thinks about it, there are a lot of things he owes you. he owes you the years you spent caring about him when he couldn’t be bothered to reciprocate a fraction of the same courtesy. he owes you every thoughtful action, every encouraging word you wasted on him. he owes you the time you dedicated to make sure he always felt seen, felt understood, felt loved. yes, he owes you a lot of things—too many to properly account for, actually. and now, he even owes you your life. his debt is so heavy, he crumbles under it every day, squirming pathetically beneath the crushing weight of it all like an insect. the worst part is: he owes you more than you ever asked him for. all you wanted in return was honesty, but it appears that even that was too much to ask from him.

he wishes you were here to punish him, to scorn him for being such a fucking bastard. yell at him, hit him, kill him. anything would be fine—he’d tolerate it all—just as long as you were still here. he’d be perfectly content with your hatred, he’d revel in it, even; but he supposes that he doesn’t even deserve that much. as it is, your silence is the most punishment he can receive, but that doesn't feel like it's even close to enough. he finds himself praying for mercy, for some bizarre, cosmic event to put him out of his misery once and for all. he indulges in the idea that if he plays his cards right, if he begs and pleads enough, he’ll find you again. such a notion is initially enough to placate him, but it is to his horror when he realizes that he’s more afraid of that than anything else. what if he finds you, and you tell him, “i never want to see you again,” just like before? such a terrifying outcome is enough to keep him from snuffing out his own light with his own two hands for good. he’d rather live as if he were dead than hear those words again.

so he does. he lives like that for years, decades, until death mercifully takes him. he lives quietly and utterly alone. no wife, no children, and hardly any friends. if your life was robbed from you by his actions, then it’s only right that he lives as if his own were robbed from him, too. it’s the least he can do to atone for what he’s done. what keeps him up at night, though, is the possibility that it’s just not enough. if you do meet him again, what will you say? will you still tell him that you don't want to see him? that the lifetime he spent regretting everything he's ever done pales in comparison to the price you paid for caring about him? as the darkness overcomes him, however, he realizes that you deigning to say anything at all to him is better than your unbearable silence. his final thought before he's swallowed whole is: please, just let me see you one more time.

-

beomgyu awakens in a cold sweat, panting heavily as he struggles to understand where he is. is he still alive? that can’t be right—he clearly felt himself slipping away. but what if he can’t die? what if that’s his punishment? the thought alone is enough to elicit a guttural, “no, no, no!” out of him as he realizes that his nightmare is not yet over, and may very well never be. tears pour down his face as he wails like a child.

“beomgyu?” you say as you walk through the doorway, looking somewhat sleepy and disheveled in clothes he subconsciously registers as his own. when he looks at you, he's relieved, but the regret he feels is what overwhelms him.

“oh, god. i'm—it's all my fault.”

“what?” you ask, still a bit disoriented from just waking up, seeing as how it's still the middle of the night.

“it's all my fault. it's all my fucking fault. i did that to you.” suddenly, you realize what he’s saying, and your heart clenches at his words.

“beomgyu, no. i was distracted. i didn’t see—”

“you were distracted because of me. you thought i was calling you, i just know it. you were there because of me. because i’m a fucking coward who couldn't just tell you the truth.” you don’t know what to say. did he really blame himself for everything? even after all of this time? before you can answer, he speaks again.

“i saw—you just looked so small. i've never—i didn't even think anyone could bleed that much. you were so cold, a-and your face was—” 

“hey, hey, hey, stop it,” you say firmly, but gently, “you're not—” 

“they said you died at the scene, all… all alone. and i know i was the one who did that. if i had just listened to you, if i had just been honest with you, you would've been alright. but i called you crazy. i said you were being stupid. w-why did i say that? what did i do it for?” 

“look at me,” you say firmly, which makes his unfocused eyes zero in on you. “listen, listen to me. it's not your fault, okay? i used to feel like it was, but now i understand that you were scared. i know you couldn't control how you felt about her, and you were right about you not owing me your feelings. you could've been honest, but that doesn't mean you killed me.” 

“no, i did it. i did it. i did that to you. if i had just—”

“gyu,” you sigh, and his heart can’t help but stutter at the nickname you haven’t called him in months. “i’m telling you it’s not your fault. i used to blame it all on you, and i was wrong for doing that. but you get it now, right? you're supposed to be with her. you love her.”

“no, no, no! i don't. i really don't,” he desperately exclaims, trying to convince you in the only way he knows how.

“maybe not yet,” you concede, “but you will. once you get to know her, you'll want to spend the rest of your life with her. that's how it's supposed to be, just like before.”

“there is no before,” he cuts in pleadingly. “i lived and died alone, just like i deserved. i just—i love you so much, i couldn't stand to let you go.” you frown at his words—they make you actually feel guilty. even so, you guess that it's time to let the purgatory you find yourselves in go. besides, maybe he needs an apology to finally put it all to rest. 

“i'm sorry that—” his heart drops to his stomach. please don’t say it. he’s begging you not to say it. not to someone as unworthy and filthy as him.

“don't. please, please, don't apologize to m—”

“—i made you feel that way. even when i hated you, i never wanted you to live like that; but you can't mistake guilt for… something else. maybe this is another chance to get it right. you can be with her guilt-free, and i can live without regrets.”

“no, i-i didn’t break up with her because of guilt! i did it because i realized that if it’s not you, i don’t want it to be anyone else. it can’t be anyone else.” 

“you don’t know that,” you sigh. “you think you feel that way, but you’re just sad that things ended how they did.” 

“you’re wrong!” he exclaims. “i didn’t realize it—i was too stupid to realize it. and i know it’s disgusting of me, but i only… i only understood it after i lost you. i-i’m sorry i didn’t realize it before, but please don’t tell me how i feel. i spent every day wishing i would just fucking die so i could see you again. i just couldn’t stand living without you. that’s not normal—that’s not how friends feel, no matter how guilty they are. i just wanted to die.” you purse your lips at his words as you feel dread pooling in your stomach. at least when you died, you didn’t suffer for long, but he suffered for the rest of his life. in the same way, you didn’t want him to hurt himself, no matter how angry you were. 

beomgyu has begun to hyperventilate, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you—too afraid that you’ll disappear if he does. he’s probably having a panic attack as tears stream down his face, and he ruthlessly tugs at his hair in pure distress. all he can do is repeat that it's all his fault and how sorry he is, and any lingering resentment you may feel dissipates like smoke at his absolutely shattered state. it seems like he really can't live without you, so are you sure you can abandon him like this? you don't think so. although it may not be right, you still think that it's worth a shot. you don't think he has the capacity to hurt you ever again, and you realize that even after everything, you don't think you can love somebody the way that you love him. so, you're willing to let him try again.

“hey, hey. stop it,” you coax, seating yourself on his bed. but he can’t stop it, he physically can’t. he’s whimpering now, like a wild beast with a mortal wound. you don’t hesitate to take him into your arms, holding him tightly as you shush him. “shh, it’s okay, i’m here. don’t cry. i’m here, and i won’t leave again. i promise. just breathe, in… then out. that’s it, just like that. good job.” 

eventually, his breath begins to even out, though his body is still racked with shudders. you’re here. you’re okay. you promised that you won’t leave him, and you always keep your word when it comes to him. he finally feels like he can breathe, and even though he’s in so much pain, he still wishes this moment will never end. he wishes he could stay in your arms forever, never letting you leave his side. always staying where he can reach you.

“better?” you ask, pulling away to get a good look at him, but he shakily grips your sleeve in sheer desperation. he just has to be touching you, somehow. he forces himself to nod.

“good,” you say, eyes soft and lips slightly upturned in relief. he almost loses it again at the sight of your smile, no matter how small. he never thought he’d see it directed towards him again in this life or the next. “do you want to start over?” 

“s-start over?” he asks. he doesn't dare to let himself hope that you mean what he thinks you mean. 

“start over,” you nod. “we can try again, okay?” 

“oh, p-please,” he begs. he’s so pathetic. he doesn’t deserve your mercy, but he supposes he’s too selfish to reject it. you look at him for a long, long time with soft eyes. you’re not angry anymore—he’s suffered more than enough, and you finally believe that he loves you just as much as you love him, and maybe even a little more than that.

“you promise you won't hurt me again?”

“i promise. i swear to god—” 

without a second thought, you gently cup his face in your hands, which makes his words catch in his throat. his eyes widen as you lean in while pulling him towards you. when your lips meet, he’s electrified to his bones. he melts into the kiss, whimpering slightly at the feeling of your lips against his. when you break apart, you rest his forehead on his own, closing your eyes as he stares at you before he does the same. he clutches the hand you have on his face and grazes his thumb over it as he lets out a contented sigh. nobody has ever made him feel this way before, and if he could go back to the first day he met you, he’d tie you to him immediately. 

“thank you, thank you so much,” he whispers. with a smile, you press your lips against his again. he falls into the feeling just as easily as the first time, and you push him down before continuing to go even deeper. before completely giving in. 

you spend the night loving and being loved in a way that you never thought you could. you feel cherished to a degree you previously considered impossible. beomgyu reveres you as if you’re his god, and he shows you as much with how loving and gentle he is. when you’re finished, panting heavily against each other, he holds his hand against your cheek as he stares at you in awe.

“i missed you so much. i love you so much. i promise that nobody will ever love you as much as i do. i promise that nobody will ever treat you as well as i will. just don’t leave me, okay?” and when the time comes, even if you do leave first, he’ll be sure to follow you. he won't let you be alone ever again. but he definitely can’t tell you that, or else you’d yell at him for not caring about his life enough.

“okay,” you tell him with a sleepy smile, and he beams before kissing your forehead and letting you drift off. he stares at your peaceful face, resolving to always give you what you want, no matter what it costs him. even if it kills him, he'll gladly do whatever it takes to ensure that you're happier with him than you could ever be with anyone else. he'll prove to you how much he loves you, and he'll pay back the debt he owes you a million times over. you'll see. he’ll marry you, start a new life with you, and chain himself to you forever; which may sound selfish, but he’ll make up for his willfulness by being everything you could ever want and need. and finally, before he joins you to sleep, he thanks the universe for having mercy on him—for letting him see you again.

notes pt. 2: ... so? LMAOOOOO i hope this was worth the wait bc this work was so hard for me to get through it was making me so sad to write it. anyway, love yew. please don't be mean to me tho like if u don't like it just close your eyes n scroll 🙏

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[harmoonix]

🪄Hocus Pocus🧹

🎃 Halloween - Astro Observations 🎃

~In life there are bitches, there are snitches,

but there is nothing as good as WITCHES~

🎃 Libra Moon/Venus/Mercury have a soft love language. They often like to share the same love language as other people

☠️ Scorpio Rising in your solar return chart can indicate a year where you will experience rebirth/death themes in your life, something is leaving, and something new is coming

👻 Placements in the 9th house deserve the 'witch' title since it is the house of magic and occult, moon/pluto, or venus in the 9th house can give witch vibes

🖤 10th or 6th hosue ruler in the 9th hosue can make a job out of magic/spirituality even occult, tarot readers, astrologers and spiritual gurus can share these placements

💚 Earth Moons and Rising fit the 'green witch' archetype, healing witch, herbal witch, using plants and nature in your power

❤️ To fire risings, how they look plays a big role in their personality and the way they show themselves to the world. Fire Risings always love to present themselves

💜 For Air Risings and Mercury, their personality can be enchanting, air rules over communication and expression. They're the ones with a cool personality

💯 Pluto aspecting Sun or Ascendant can give you the aura or vibe of a villain. Even if that's not what you are, people can perceive it that way

🧹 I love it when people associate Capricorn with endings because that's what Saturn is all about. Where you have Capricorn in your chart is something you need to end

🪄 Sometimes, the 4th house ruler in the 9th house or 8th house can indicate that family members were also practicing witchcraft but also losing family members (if it is connected with the 8th house)

🐈‍⬛ Pluto Dominants have the luck of a black cat, always perceived the wrong way, always in the negative yet powerful energy

🕸 I observed Scorpio Moons really love to keep it all for themselves, which is so common among the Scorpio Placements, so secretive

🫶🏼 Mercury in the 12th house can be a very spooky placement manifesting as hearing, seeing, or sensing entities/ghosts, etc. It's a haunted house placement

🤎 Mercury in the 8th house or Mercury in Scorpio can be recognized by their deep/ gloomy voices, can posses a raspy voice

🌓 Those born on the last quarter of the moon (moon phase) nay have the tendency to cling up the past, especially when they're afraid to change for the better

🫦 Sun in the 10th house natives make sure to always be seen in a good light, and thats how they gain attention. Those people who never do wrong, to an extent they don't want ppl to see that

👻 Sun in the 3rd, 5th, or 11th house natives love to do crafts or creative things such as DIY because they always find something creative to do

🩶 Mercury aspecting Venus natives can be into finding other people's voice attractive/sensual/magnetic

💀 Pluto x Mercury aspects possess a very dark and deep humor. Making jokes not everyone gets/ understands

👹 Aries Placements, but especially Risings and Mars love to play the dominant card even though deep down they like when they're more soft with others

👾 Juno in the 5th spouse can share the same talents as you, sharing similar childhoods, similar view of a relationship

🩵 Sagittarius Juno all the way up standing there beside Aquarius Juno for having different relationships rather than a traditional one (my fav Juno placements)

🤬 Malefics in the 3rd house like Saturn, Pluto, or Mars can influence the native to be more harsh in their talk, communication, and self - expression

🎃 Moon in the 1st house can make your face, especially the cheeks, more prominent and overall a very shiny skin

🐈‍⬛ Pluto in your 11th house can give a dark energy in the way ppl see you. You can affect them deeply, they will not get you out of their heads

🩶 Saturn in the 7th house [If it's retrogade] can indicate more lessons in the area of relationships, spouse, the downfall of a slow relationship (you can't stop the tears from falling down..lol)

🪄 Saturn aspecting the Venus natives sometimes expects the worst in a relationship/situationship to happen. Overthinking if they're good enough

💙 Water Risings and Moons, telling their feelings early in a relationship matters a lot. They want their partners to feel the same things as them

🌙 You can find a comfort place in people who have their 4th house sign in the same sign as your 1st house

🎃 If both partners share the same Chiron Sign, they'll share the same wounds, pain, and suffering, but at the same time, they will heal the same wound

💢 Natives who will have their 9th house sign in the same sign as your Sun will want to teach you. They will want to share the same values with you

╰╮🎃╭╯🪄╰╮🎃╭╯

Halloween in my opinion will always have its magic, It doesn't matter how you celebrate, whether with horror movies, sweets or decorations, it's important to keep it in the heart.

I hope you had an amazing October month from the first to the last day!! 🎃🎃🪄

By: @harmoonix 🎃🪄 October 2024!!!

[woewriting]

cold to the touch

pairing: wednesday addams | reader summary: after visiting the other side afterwards almost being killed by the pilgrim, wednesday addams catches the attention of someone who's a bit curious about the girl who escaped death. word count: 8494 warnings: mdni, +18 only! no pronouns used, contains nsfw content.

masterlist

The rumors of a new transferred student filled the hallways of Nevermore, gossips about what kind of creature had just moved in. Everyone had a different theory, the glass-like eyes reminded Bianca of her own, the mermaids. The black-painted, sharp nails were a werewolf thing, Enid thought to herself as she eyed you from afar. The locks of your hair, hidden by the black beanie made it look like you were hiding something… snaky underneath it. But what caught the attention of everyone was the black and white suit that covered your body, similar to the one Wednesday Addams wears. The lack of color in your vests were enough to draw everyone’s attention, although, your beauty and the mystery around what you were, was an extra reason for the Addams girl to close the book in her hands and pay a small attention to your details, away from the crowd.

Following the tall woman, you stood by her side at the entrance to the courtyard. Everyone’s eyes on you.

“Attention, Nevermore, I’d like to introduce to you all our new student. I’m sure you’re gonna make her feel welcome during her journey in our school, isn’t that correct?”

Some heads nodded at the woman’s statement, others simply turned around and ignored their surroundings, a messy chatter growing louder and louder. The director touched your shoulder with a gentle smile before walking away, leaving you by yourself.

As you looked around the new faces you’d have to get used to, you noticed how things were different since the last time you’d actually been on earth wearing your human form. It’s been what, 3 years? Maybe a bit more… your memory failing to recap the last years, they were a messy and confusing blur. Ever since you became Death, your memories from your human life were slowly being erased as you kept on living as the undying creature, responsible for harvesting souls as they walked to you on the other side of the veil, waiting for your hand to touch their chest so they could rest in peace.

At first, your heart would break when they realized they were no longer allowed to live with the living ones, when they had to walk away and leave their loved ones behind and accept their destiny, waiting for their rebirth.

You had the same expression on your face when you saw your lifeless body on the hospital bed, surrounded by doctors that tried everything in their power to bring you back. You stood there for minutes, crying as you felt farther and farther from your human life, taking steps back until everything around you turned into a white forest, with long trees that swung with the cold breeze, you felt nostalgia as you walked around the empty garden, as if you had returned home after a long trip. It was warm, like watching the sunrise at the beach, the soft sound of waves crashing down the white sand, the birds chirping around you with a calming melody, and the breeze… so light and refreshing, ready to embrace you in your new life as a new day rose in front of your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes, the white forest turned into a beach with a few waves crashing at your feet, the pinkish sky painted with a few clouds in shapes of things you loved when you were alive.

That’s when it hit you, like a punch in the stomach you fell to your knees, the tears dropping from your face onto the clear blue water, mixing in together as your new life was being written in the sand. You were alone, but something inside you was saying to look around, to look for her. She would help you to start over. She would guide you until you were to move on your own. But she would never leave you alone.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A soft voice came from behind you.

You looked over your shoulder, feeling the warm water hit your legs.

A woman was standing a few steps away from where you kneeled down. She had her eyes closed, enjoying the early breeze of the morning as the sun turned the sky into a yellowish tone with a few splashes of light blue.

She was beautiful.

“What do I do now?” You ask as you brushed off the tears that still insisted on falling down your cheeks. “Where do I go?”

When her eyes opened, your heart missed a beat. It had no color in them, yet you could still see the universe in the bright white color, they were glowing as she stared down at you, reaching her hand out to help you up to your feet.

“Oh, honey.” She smiled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Aren’t you an angel?”

The woman in white, silky dress, laughed. Even the way she laughed was angelical and beautiful, you couldn’t help but smile at the heavenly view in front of you.

“I am an angel, but not the one you’re thinking of.” Her hand was soft against yours as she pulled you closer. Her other hand brushing your hair off your face. “I am Death, but I am not here to take your soul, I’m here to guide you on your new journey. When you wake up, you’ll be me. Your eyes will see every single particle of the universe around you. You will hear every heartbeat of those living around you. And when their time comes, you will be the one to embrace their souls as they leave this world.”

“You want me to become… death? You want me to kill people?”

She shook her head, hearing the missing beat your heart took as fear filled your body. Her hand rested on your chest, calming the racing organ.

“You won’t kill anyone, sweetheart, you only take the souls that will walk to you. You will become a beacon for those leaving the living world. You will help them to leave that life behind so they can move forward to their new one. It’s your duty to ease their fears, to leave all their anger, their sorrows, their pain, behind.”

“What about those who loved them?”

Deep down, Death knew your question was a personal one for you. She looked at the waves crashing over your shoulders.

“Death will come for everyone, love. It’s a hurtful, but necessary evil. Death exists to teach others that life will end, there’s nothing you can do to stop that from happening. I am here so that others can live their lives to the fullest, cherishing every moment with their loved ones, finding beauty in the small things, learning and enjoying the simplest things you can ever lay your hands on. This is yours.”

Turning around, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath.

Even though you felt like you couldn’t walk away from the life you had, you couldn’t jump back into your lifeless body that was still laying in that hospital bed. In the back of your head, you could still hear the machines attached to your chest.

 She was right.

Death was a lesson.

And everyone should learn about it so they can live without fear.

When a new wave crashed at your feet, a warmth embraced your body, lifting you from the ground as the air kept you floating. When you opened your eyes, you were still floating, but this time, cold and salty water surrounded you. You coughed a few times as you swam back to the shore.

It was the same beach; it had the same yellowish sky and the same rocks on its side. The water was not warm and the sand wasn’t as white as before, but you knew that after this moment, nothing would be the same anymore.

Your rebirth as the angel of Death was a few years ago, just when you had turned 18 years old. When you woke up, the memories of your loved ones had been erased, their faces disappearing like smoke in thin air. You didn’t remember much about your life as a human being, the only thing you could remember came after her, the beautiful angel with white eyes that carried the whole universe in them that touched your chest and embraced you in a warm hug.

And now, scanning the young faces, you were looking for a specific one, the reason why you abandoned your comfortable home to come here, the human side of your world. You’d never forget the brownish eyes surrounded by adorable freckles you saw months ago. You’d seen that face before, but the one with blonde hair didn’t carry the same attitude the one with black braids did. She was unique, and she hadn’t left your mind ever since.

Wednesday Addams… the girl that survived death and saved the small town of Jericho from an evil spirit in her last year of high-school. Your eyes looked for her, careful and sharp, paying attention to every single detail of the faces in front you, absorbing all the information you could.

Apparently, the girl was nowhere to be seen or heard. She was either really good at hiding or she wasn’t even there with the other students. You looked for another familiar face, easily finding the blonde girl sitting by the water fountain.

Enid smiled big at you, wrapping her arms around your body in a welcoming hug.

“Welcome to Nevermore!” Her voice was a high-pitched tone, nothing annoying but definitely louder than you were used to. “Are you going to high school or getting ready for college like us?” Her hand motioned to the small group sitting at the rock made structure.

“Do I look young enough to still be in high school?” You asked in a joking way.

“Well, you do look young,” She laughed, but judging by your uniform, she could’ve known you were no longer a teenager. “But it’s nice to have a new student in our class, we’ve been seeing the same faces for a really long time. The last time someone joined Nevermore, it was a mess… but we’re all good now, no danger at sight!”

Your eyes glowed at her saying, “I heard about that. A small girl saved this place, isn’t that right?”

Enid got closer to you, whispering in your ear. “Don’t call Wends small, she will kill you in your sleep. Don’t call her Wends too or she will kill me and I’m not ready to die.”

“Trust me, I’m not ready to die either.” You smiled.

➖

The days in Nevermore Academy were starting to become dull and annoying, causing you to flee out of the gates that surrounded the big buildings at night just to lay on top a big tree’s branches, watching the universe with your white eyes, witnessing the death of a supernova millions of years away from where you were, or even the birth of a new galaxy. It was in those moments that you were happy to be what you were meant to be. To this day, you don’t know much about why you were the chosen one, why the angel of Death had chosen you to be the next one wearing that ring.

Staring at it, the silvery ring on your left hand, you swear you saw it moving around your finger, shining like a small star. You had your theories on what that glow meant, but you were too lazy to go after the reason why it did that every now and then. You would wait for all the answers to fall from heaven into your lap, like an encyclopedia.

You took a closer look to the universe over the dark sky before jumping down, a few dry leaves cracking under your shoes.

“How did you get up there?” Turning around as you heard the monotone voice, you saw Wednesday coming out from behind a tree a few steps away from you.

“I climbed.” You easily lied. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m a very quiet girl, I can sneak into your dorm and you won’t even notice I was there.”

“Have you ever broken into my room?”

“Why would I break into your room?” The girl always had a serious expression on her pretty face. It was like Wednesday Addams couldn’t feel a thing.

You shrugged, “You said it first.”

“It was an example.” She explained. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I would do such a disrespectful action like breaking into your room. If I wanted to be in your room, I’d knock on the door.”

When you took a step closer, she took two steps back.

Wednesday was always a step back from everyone, even from those that she’s closer with, like Enid and Bianca. In the 3 months you were in Nevermore, you had never seen a single soul touch the black-haired girl, the only thing that was allowed to touch her was, well… Thing, the severed hand that would linger around her shoulder that still made your brain itch. What was Thing, anyway? Only one from the many secrets hidden behind the black and white girl.

“Well, if you ever need me for anything, I will be in my room.”

Turning on your heels to leave and return to the dorm's aisle, you heard the dry leaves cracking under her heavy boots.

“Why do you always climb that tree?” Despite the not-caring-like personality, Wednesday was a very curious girl, and she wanted to know everything about you.

Who the new girl was and what was she? Your human body could be a part of any outcast group in Nevermore Academy and not knowing what it was, was slowly driving her crazy.

“I like to watch the stars.” You answered honestly, walking to the Academy with the Addams following behind you. “What about you? Why were you hiding?”

“I was hiding from you.” The confession made you turn around, hands in the pockets of your jacket. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Instead of stopping on her tracks when you did, she allowed herself to come a bit closer, still keeping a safe distance. From this distance, you could smell her fainted perfume; it smelled so different from when you smelled it in her dorm when you would visit Enid to talk about music and trivial things that still made you feel like a human being, even if your heart wasn’t beating anymore.

“Are you stalking me, princess?”

“Call me princess again and I will easily break into your dorm and kill you in your sleep.” You let out a breathy laugh at the threatening tone in her voice. Adorable, you thought to yourself. “And yes, I want to know what you are.”

“What I am?” You asked with curiosity.

“Yes, that’s what everyone wants to know. Don’t you hear the gossip around the Academy?”

“I do.” After all, you could hear almost everything that surrounded you. As a newly angel of Death, the heartbeats would be a distraction when trying to listen to their voices, but you were getting the hang of it. “But why would anyone care about what I am? What if I am… a simple human being?’

“The last human being that stepped inside the walls of the school was a homicide maniac that tried to kill me and all the others outcast. I’d say it’s a terrible choice of place to stay.”

“I like the danger.”

“Should I kill you then? To prevent you from killing us?”

“I’d like to see you try, princess.”

Wednesday didn’t even notice how close to her you were until your hot breath hit her lips as you leaned into her personal space. Unlike before, the Addams didn’t flinch, instead, she lifted her chin and looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, never blinking.

For some reason, when looking into your eyes, Wednesday could see something else other than the pleasure in irritating her in them, she could see life in its most beautiful way. The more she kept her eyes locked on yours, the more she could see; it was like you had the entire universe trapped in them. It was at that moment she knew you weren’t human.

➖

After the small encounter you had with Wednesday at the woods behind the academy, somehow, you two became something like colleagues but not closer enough to be considered friends. The small girl had learned how to tolerate your presence as you lingered around her dorm, and now, you were getting closer and closer to find out all of her secrets, it was closer enough for Enid to leave her roommate alone with you, something she’d never done before, to attend tonight’s dance. Now, you were laying on her bed, head hanging off the comfortable mattress, staring at the back of Wednesday’s body as she kept on tapping the loud keyboards of her writing machine.

You sighed, loud. Addams did the same, her shoulders raising and falling with the deep breath she took.

“You’re an annoying creature.” She commented, still focused on the keys she had to click on, trying not to type a mistake as she had done to the previous five paper balls that were piling in the trash can near her desk.

“I’m bored.”

“Why didn’t you go to the party with Enid?”

“Why didn’t you?”

You sat correctly on the bed, crossing your legs.

“Last time I went to a party it rained blood, it was red paint, actually. After that disappointing event, I swore to never attend a party again.”

The silence around the room was a comfortable one, the only thing you could hear was the loud, mechanical sound of her writing machine and the calming beats of her heart.

Listening to her heart beats had become commonplace, you would stop anything you were doing just to listen to the tranquil sound. It didn’t matter if you were in the same room or if you were across the Ophelia Hall, on the other side of the building, you’d easily catch the unique sound.

“I’m hungry,” you whined like a small kid. “let’s go find something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But I am, and believe it or not, your company is not the worst.”

The mechanical sound stopped as Wednesdays turned to face you.

“I’ll pretend that didn’t offend me.” Before standing up, the girl removed the white page filled with words in black ink and placed in her drawer, on top of the others, words facing down. You remained sitting on the same spot, looking at her with doe eyes. “Are you waiting for me to take your hand and lead you down to the kitchen?”

You stretched out your hand to her, waiting. But the Addams would never do such a dangerous thing, despite the urge she felt in touching you sometimes, she felt drawn to you ever since the meeting you had in the woods during that cold night. The urge was still a mystery to her, but Wednesday always considered it was more of an urge to punch you every time you opened your mouth.

“Alright. Lead the way, miss Addams.” The other rolled her eyes.

As you walked down the hallways of Nevermore, you could hear the muffled songs and happy screams coming from the saloon where the party took place. It was a silly celebration for the first snow or something, something you didn’t care enough to celebrate, and neither did the girl that walked three steps ahead of you in complete silence. The light of the almost full moon crashing through the big windows and bathing your skin as you crossed the buildings in search for food. Not that you needed to eat, but still found pleasure in such a simple thing.

Wednesday led you to the kitchen, a few steps away from the ballroom, the music playing a bit louder inside your head now.

The girl waited patiently as you searched the pantry closet for something sweet. You knew that principal Weems always hid her chocolates and candies in the kitchen of the Academy, a place where the students were not allowed in. And now, you were in a forbidden place looking for something that didn’t belong to you, to satiate a silly desire that you barely felt in your stomach. Your body would crave random things from time to time, the longer you’d wear your human body, the stronger those urges would get.

“Can’t you get something from the table?” Behind you, there was a big counter filled with food that was being served to the ones that attended the party, but nothing you actually wanted to eat at the moment.

Tiptoeing, you tried to reach the top shelf of the pantry room. “I want chocolate, and I know Weems keeps hers in here. I saw her hiding them a few nights ago when I was going to the woods.”

“I will never understand the craving for things sweet like chocolate. It’s too sweet to enjoy.”

“Even semi-sweet chocolates?”

The girl pondered for a second as she watched you stretch out, whimpers coming out of your mouth as you kept trying to reach the high place. Was she really having small talk with you while you tried to steal the principal’s candies? It surely was something new to her, and, surprisingly, it was easy to do it with you.

“Those aren’t as repulsive, but it still isn’t something I crave in the middle of the night.”

You laughed, the tip of your finger recognizing the packaged at the end of the shelf, but before you could actually grab it in your hands, you heard familiar footsteps approaching, the sound of clicking heels on the wooden floor got louder and louder to you as principal Weems got closer to where you and Wednesday were. The human was so absorbed in your motions that she barely had the time to process your hand on her waist, pulling her body against yours and closing the door behind her.

Wednesday’s eyes shot wide open as she felt your hand covering her mouth, stopping her from making any sound, whilst your other arm wrapped around her waist to keep her closer to you in the small and dark space. When she heard the principal’s voice coming just from outside the pantry room, she stopped fighting against your hold and patiently waited for the voices to cease.

You gulped, the smell of her perfume and newly closeness distracting you from trying to listen to Weems’ and the cook’s heartbeat. All you could hear was hers, beating so erratically you could feel it in her back, pressed against your chest.

Looking over her shoulder, her eyes found yours, white taking over and galaxies shining in them.

What the fuck were you?

Once the footsteps moved away and out of the area your ability allowed you to hear, your hand uncovered her mouth and you let out a deep sigh, feeling your lungs burn. She turned in your arm to face you. Only then you noticed you still had your arm wrapped around her thin waist, but that didn’t seem like something that was bothering the girl.

“That was a close one.” You joked, trying to ease the tension that surrounded you two.

“Why is my touch not killing you?” Addams roamed her hands all over your chest, arms and face as if she was trying to find a spot where her curse would be the end of you. She wasn’t trying to kill you though; she was curious as to why you hadn’t dropped dead against the shelfs of the small space.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead, Wednesday.” You replied, humorously, enjoying the way her nails occasionally scratched the skin of your neck and chest because of the open buttons of your blouse.

“And I am the one they call ‘dramatic’.” She stopped touching you, taking a step back. “What are you?”

“I’m Death.”

“If you call yourself ‘death, destroyer of the world’, I will torture you and proceed to use a blind knife to slowly tear your limbs apart to feed it to the werewolves on the full moon tomorrow.”

“I’m not that cool, but I am Death. Death as in the angel, Death.” You explained calmly. “You’re a curious little thing, when I saw your cute face on the veil, I knew I had to get to know you.”

“Do not call me ‘a little thing’ or ‘cute’ ever again. Those words are sickening to my ears.”

Raising your hands, you smiled, leaning against the shelfs behind you, the chocolate forgotten on the top one. Wednesday crossed her arms, eyes traveling up and down your body, carefully studying the body that carried the most powerful being to ever walk the earth. And it was inside of… you. An annoying being that loved pet-names, pop music and disgustingly sweet candies, who would never leave her alone even if she’d threaten you with every terrible torture method she had in her vocabulary.

“Are you afraid of me?” You ask as her eyes analyzed your features, white color taking over your eyes as if on command.

The girl tilted her head, curious like a little kid that discovered a new, colorful animal in her backyard.

“Why would I be afraid of such an amazing creature such as yourself?” The words slipped easily, without giving much attention to its meaning. She wanted to know more about what was hidden under the undying body in front of her.

“You think I’m amazing, Addams?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, the annoyance growing bigger inside her. She was curious about what you are, but the arrogant tone you always carried around in your voice was something she could not bear for a long time.

“You do amaze me, if I’m being honest. I didn’t know angels could walk the earth.”

You shrugged. “I’m the only one that can come and go any time without breaking the balance of the universe. If others come, there will be chaos.”

“You said you saw my ‘cute’ face on the other side,” her voice choked at the endearment. “When was that?”

“A couple months ago, when that pilgrim almost killed you.” You start, taking an opened package of candy from your jacket’s pocket. Wednesday looked at you with an unbelievable look in her eyes at that; you had sweets with you the whole time and still tried to steal some more? A menace, indeed. “I’ve seen your ancestor, Goody, a few times. Even though you two are very similar, she’s not you.”

“How’s that?”

You chewed a few sour candies before answering.

“She doesn’t have that ‘I’m going to murder you in the most horrible way you could ever imagine’, look in her eyes, you do. And you have no idea how beautiful it looks on you.”

Wednesday seemed satisfied with your words, softening her posture and accepting the sour candy you offered to her.

For some reason, for her, it was hard to be away from you, something kept drawing her in; maybe it was the curious side of hers in wanting to know everything she could about everything, or maybe it was your charm. Or the fact that you could touch her, it was a different, new feeling; being touched, that is.

“Give me your hand.” She reached out her hand, waiting for yours to rest on top of hers. You licked the sourly sugar from your fingertips before whipping them in your pants, finally doing as she said. “I can’t believe you’re the most powerful creature in the universe.” She mumbled like an old, grumpy lady. Hesitantly, she traced the lines on the palm of your hands, surprised at how warm your skin was. You were a dead creature after all, weren’t you? You watched with mesmerized eyes as she touched your forearms under the fabric of your blouse. She tilted her head up, eyes shining as she kept touching you with a light-feather touch.

“You’ve never touched anyone before?”

She shook her head, your voice lower and soft for some reason.

“Mother taught me to never allow someone to touch me, or to touch someone that wasn’t an Addams. It’s a curse placed on our family.”

“Who did it?”

“I’m not sure, mother doesn’t talk about this. And father is not allowed to. All I’ve been told is that it was a jealousy curse coming from someone in the school from when my parents were still students in Nevermore.” She shrugged. “My parents have been through a lot of resentment, it’s outlandish, if I’m being honest.”

“And how does it feel?”

Her eyes found yours, “Like a spider crawling up my fingers. It tickles.” It was a weird feeling, but still something she could get used to with time. “How old are you?”

“You should never ask a lady her age, Miss Addams. You, coming from such a fancy and well-mannered family should know that.”

“I’m starting to regret holding your hand in mine and not stabbing it.”

The silly threat got you laughing. Still, her fingers were tracing random lines in your forearm.

“I died when I turned 18 in a car accident.” You started, trying as hard as you could to remember those days. “This was… 5 years ago, maybe? I can’t remember much of it, my old life.” you specified. “All I remember is waking up at the beach. I’m not much older than you, I’m taller though.”

“I'm running out of offenses about how annoying you are. Death should be scary, not an irritating girl.”

“Should I wear a dark robe, listen to heavy metal and carry a reaping hook around?”

“It’s not about how you dress; it’s about how you act.”

You blinked a few times, pulling your hand from hers. “I guess I don’t want to lose the human part of me, it’s all that’s left.”

For the first time since you two met, Wednesday saw something different in your eyes before you turned your back to her. She saw a glimpse of sadness in the place it used to be filled with life.

Tiptoeing once again, you reached the package from the top shelf, waving it in front of you like a happy little kid.

“We can go now.”

For the first time in that chaotic night, you saw a flash of smile in her face.

➖

Even with headphones on and music blasting in your ears, you could hear the sound you loved the most getting louder as Wednesday crossed the hallways in her heavy boots, coming in the direction of your room. You jumped from your bed, taking the headphones off and placing them on the bedside table, opening the door before the girl could even raise her hand to knock, you asked with glowing eyes and sly smile:

“Can I help you, Miss Addams?”

“How did you know I was here?” Her dead eyes narrowed in your direction, eyeing you up and down. It was the first time she’d see you in your pajamas.

“I know when you’re around because I know the sound of your heart.”

You winked to the girl standing in the hallway, leaning on the door frame. That caught her off guard, eyes leaving yours to scan around your room.

It was definitely not what she had in mind, who would’ve thought that death is into pop and not soul-sucking type of music? Her eyes grew wider at the posters of girls glued to the brick wall.

After the pantry encounter and shocking revelation about who you were, Wednesday would often come to you with the most random, yet interesting questions a person could ask. You’d sit in the woods at night and watch the stars as she asked you if a supernova had occurred, or if it was raining on other planets. She’d ask with wide eyes if you could see life outside of Earth and would get annoyed when you refused to answer, creating a mystery that she would try hard to figure it out by the loose words you’d say.

Sometimes, she’d touch your arm like a kid to see if you’d still survive her curse every time you annoyed her. When she was feeling bold and in a good mood, her fingers would trace your skin in a soft touch as you fell asleep while watching the stars, comfortable in each other’s presence. As the days passed by, she’d find out your abilities and put them to test, walking to her dorm and asking if you could still hear her; after a couple minutes, you’d show up on her balcony to answer.

An amazing creature you were, indeed.

“You and Enid have the same music taste, a bitter mix of loud noises.” She commented in the same tone she always had in her voice.

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “I know, we talk a lot about it.”

In fact, even though you came to Nevermore to find the beautiful girl that somehow escaped you, you and the werewolf with pink hair became somewhat friends. Maybe it was a core memory from your life as a human-being, something that being friends with Enid would prevent it from drifting away from you; something you were not ready to let go yet. Something that kept you warm inside.

“Can I come in?”

With a nod of your head, Wednesday walked past you and stood in the middle of the room, eyes still analyzing her surroundings. That was the first time she’d been in your dorm even after the newly closeness you had, unlike you, who would visit hers almost every day to talk to her roommate and take away all the quietness she needed to work on her writing.

“So, did you like it?”

“Pardon?”

“My room. Is it what you imagined it would be like?”

Wednesday blinked once before turning to you. “Quite the opposite. I never thought Death would be a fan of KPOP to the point of having a collection of albums. Do you even speak Korean?”

“I don’t need to speak Korean to feel something.” You joke, taking a few steps towards the black and white girl. “And I do like ‘soul-sucking’ and ‘I hate myself’ type of music as well, they just don’t have cool posters to hang on the wall or photocards to collect.” As if you had read her mind, you explained.

“Fair enough.” She uncrossed her arms, lifting her head to face you as you got closer, a good inch taller than her. “But I didn’t come here to talk about music, I can do that with Enid if I ever wish to have a headache.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to offend you.”

You laugh, poking her shoulder. “I wasn’t offended, but my music taste is a lot better than Enid’s.”

“How’s that if you both listen to the same genres of music?”

The Addams girl was genuinely curious, outside of the classical world that filled her earphones and cello lessons, she didn’t have a clue about it. To her, it all had the same sound: noise. It was a messy and loud mix of words and instruments that she could not guess a single one of, almost impossible to appreciate for more than a couple minutes.

Her head was starting to hurt just from remembering some of the songs Enid would play while getting ready for classes early in the morning, even the birds that used to chirp outside the balcony window had disappeared.

“You see, there’s a lot of music styles inside of the KPOP world.” You start, loving the way Wednesday was close to you, attentively listening to you explain something she didn’t care at all. “For example: the songs BTS make today aren’t the same as the ones they made when they debuted. And BTS isn’t the same as Seventeen. And Seventeen is far from sounding the same as Dreamcatcher. And so it goes. It’s a big world, with different ways to produce music.”

“That’s interesting, indeed. But to my ears, it’s all noise. I have yet to learn how to tolerate it.” You smiled. Even though it was something the Addams wasn’t a fan of, she’d still try to tolerate it if it meant something to Enid, and to you. “Still, I didn’t come here to learn about music. I wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m all ears, princess.” Wednesday closed her eyes, taking a deep breath at the nickname you addressed her; you bit your bottom lip, catching the loud beat of her heart that was there every time you’d annoy her. “You don’t like being called ‘princess’. Do you, princess?”

“Keep calling me that and I will not hesitate on burning all of your album’s collection.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. Wednesday really was something else, she wasn’t afraid of you, you knew that, but to threaten you, even with something so small like burning a few pieces of paper with pretty people printed on them, that was a courage that many wouldn’t have around you knowing that you, literally, had their lives in the palm of your hand.

She was fascinating to your eyes.

Just as you were to hers. The girl wouldn’t admit out loud, but she wanted to cut you open and study whatever made you being what, or who, you were. The detective side of hers screaming in the back of her brain.

But, right now, she wanted to cut open something else, and only you could help her.

“You said you needed help… With what, exactly, love?”

Choosing to ignore the endearing nickname, she took a step forward. You mirrored her.

“I want you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Your head turned slightly at her words as if you were trying to have a clearer hearing of her voice even though you were one small step away from each other. From this distance, you could hear the blood traveling on her veins.

Wednesday took a deep breath, wondering if you really didn’t understand her or if you were, as always, joking around.

“I want you to touch me. What part of that did you not understand?”

“I just wanted to confirm, sweetheart.” You smiled. “It’s not every day that I get asked to touch something so beautiful and unique like yourself.”

The praise got to her, a small twinge of pain spreading on her stomach. A good type of pain.

“I wasn’t asking.”

You took the last step forward after her last words when you noticed she was stuck in the same spot, your finger tracing her jawline in a ghostly-like touch. Wednesday closed her eyes, goosebumps all over her body. It was weird and it tickled, but the warmth of your skin on hers was something she could tolerate.

Wednesday would always touch you, but you never touched her. It was the second time someone touched her and didn’t drop dead in a second, so she leaned into the caress. You bit your lower lip, leaning closer to her, whispering against her slightly open lips.

“Can I kiss you?” The words hit her like a flaming arrow.

Wednesday wasn’t the type to anticipate anything, her anxiety was always under her control, but having you, asking such delicate question, looking at her with soft eyes filled with stars, made her heart beat like crazy.

“You can.”

The arrow, shot with extreme precision, went through her body when your lips touched, spreading fire on her veins. It was her first kiss; you were her first kiss.

Gently, your hand reached her face, holding her in place as you deepened the kiss, sighing against her. The Addams closed her eyes, giving into your touch. Unsure what to do, her hands grabbed the soft fabric of your shirt, feeling the warmth that emanated from your body.

It was a funny thing to feel, Death being a hot body while Wednesday was cold to the touch. When your heart beat against hers, she melted against your embrace.

When you pulled back, a very small, satisfied smile drew on the corner of her lips. Her eyes shot open, a black glow shining on them.

“Was that your first kiss?” Your voice was nothing but a whisper, so low and soft that if you two weren’t glued to each other, the Addams wouldn’t have heard. She nodded. “How far do you wanna go tonight?”

“I’ll tell you when to stop.” Wednesday breathed out, licking her lips. “Now, can we do that again?”

“As many times as you want, princess.”

When you kissed her again, it wasn’t soft or calm, it turned rough, needy, with her nails scratching the back of your neck as she pulled you closer, hugging your body with an urge she’d never felt before. You were the first person outside the Addams family that could touch her, and she would enjoy every single minute of it, it didn’t matter if she seemed desperate or needy, right now, all she craved was your hands on her body, bruising the untouched skin.

Pulling her up, Wednesday wrapped her legs around your waist as you easily walked towards your bed, sitting down with her on your lap. The kiss was sloppy, wet and the way she was whimpering against your mouth was turning your head upside down. Kissing her was a lot different than you had ever imagined. When you pulled away to breath, a string of saliva connected your lips.

“Why did you stop?” Her voice came out as a lowly whisper, and she was soft against your body.

“I want to make sure you really want this; this whole touch thing is new to you. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” Your hand found the skin of her back under the shirt she wore to sleep, feeling the goosebumps as you roamed them up and down.

“I appreciate the concern,” Wednesday gulped hard. “but I can take it. I can take you.”

So you kissed her again, harder and deeper, deliciously moving your tongue on hers, allowing her to take control of that situation. Her hands found your hair, fingers pulling at the softness and making them a mess as you turned on your knees, laying her against the mattress of your bed.

The muffled sounds escaping her mouth became louder as your hands found her thigh, even over the fabric of her sleeping pants it felt nice to have someone touching her there, squeezing the flesh as you moved up, playing with the elastic of it. The tip of your fingers easily trespassing.

“It turns me on so badly knowing that I’m the only one that can touch you.” The confession got her head spinning, the blood rushing in her veins all the way up her cheeks, red color giving life to the pale skin. 

With your lips pressed against hers, you moved the kiss to her jawline, down to her neck. You could feel the blood flowing in her veins when your tongue licked her jugular before biting that spot, a soft moan escaping her parted lips, fingers locked in your hair as she pulled you impossibly closer, legs wrapping around your waist.

Wednesday’s hand moved down to your waist, lifting your shirt in a silent request for you to remove the useless fabric, she wanted to feel every centimeter of your warm skin. You were, unexplainable, burning under her fingerprints when you fixed your posture, removing the pajama and throwing it on the floor. The brunette licked her lips at the sight of you, black painted nails scratching your belly in her curious movements, a flash of bothersome in your eyes at the slight burning feeling.

Sitting up with you on her lap, Wednesday kissed alongside your neck, biting the collarbone, a purplish dot where her mouth previously was. She was aggressive with her mouth and you were loving it.

Despite being the first time she ever got to touch someone like that, Wednesday knew what she was doing with her mouth, and with her hands. The cold fingertips curiously moving down your spine and resting on your lower back, digging into the soft skin and making your hips moving against hers. 

“Do that again.” Once more, she wasn’t asking. She was demanding with a breathy voice that could’ve easily stolen a few years of your immortal life, forcing you to repeat the move with her bare hands. 

One of your hands was firm on the back of her neck while the other rested on the wooden headboard, applying the pressure you wanted to use on her, but couldn’t. Her small body could easily break under your touch. 

“I think…” You breathed out, letting your head fall back when her kisses moved to your neck. “I think we should switch positions, love.”

“You don’t think I can do this?” 

“Oh, I know you can.” You choked a laugh. “But this is your first time, I want to focus on you, princess. I want to make you feel good. I’ve been touched before.”

The innocent mention of her not being your first — like you were going to be hers — turned a key inside her that made her sink her teeths in the crook of your neck. A painful muffle scaping your throat, the twinge of pain spreading in your veins. 

“I really don’t want to think of others touching you right now.” Wednesday whispered as she licked the wounded skin. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

“That’s fair, Addams.” Swallowing hard, you pulled back, making her look at you. Her eyes were darker than usual, swallowed by the pleasure of having you gridding on her lap. You leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow kiss, distracting her with your tongue as you slowly pressure her down the mattress again, trying to fix yourself in between her legs. The Addams pushed her hips towards you. “Someone’s anxious.”

“Shut up.” She tried pulling you down with the heels of her feet, but you were stronger than her — even without using the strength of being Death gave you. “Why are you doing this?”

“This?”

“Just…touch me. I’m bothered.”

“Bothered?”

There you were once again, the little jerk that liked to tease her about everything. She knew you knew exactly what she meant with that word and, on other occasions, she would’ve played along and delayed her answer, but right now, with the annoying slick in between her legs, she went straight to the point. 

“Just fuck me already.” 

You smiled against her, biting on her lower lip.

“That’s a polite princess.” One of your hands travelled down her body, ignoring what you soon would give your undivided attention to, to rest in between her legs. When your finger pressed down the wet patch on her pants, your eyes flashed in white. “No underwear, Wednesday?”

“I didn't want anything making it harder for you to touch me.” She confessed, licking her lips and tasting the remains of yours. “But, clearly, I wasn't counting with you making it hard.”

The Addams rolled her hips against your fingers and, even through the fabric of her pajama, it still felt ten thousand times better than when she touched herself in the darkness of her room. 

You could feel how wet she was for you. How ready she was for you. 

Hooking your fingers in the elastic waistband, you pulled down her pants. Wednesday finished kicking the useless thing somewhere around your dorm, now resting along with your shirt. 

Unlike you thought she would be, the Addams wasn’t shy under your gaze, no… she had a satisfied smile. Her ego boosting at the way you licked your lips at the sight of her dripping cunt.  

Your hand travelled up her leg, the ghostly touch making her shiver and move anxiously. The closer your fingertips got to her inner thighs, the wetter she got. Literally dripping onto your sheets. She was desperate for you. 

Leaning down on your elbows, you were fast to collect that single drop, moaning at the bittersweet taste. You looked up, finding the black eyes focused on your mouth when your tongue slided against her, savoring her in a slow, torturous lick that seemed to last forever. 

“You taste so fucking good, Wednesday.” You whispered, turning your face to kiss her inner thigh. 

“Then why isn't your tongue inside me already?” The Addams was annoyed and impatient, you could tell by the way her hands moved from gripping the sheets to gripping your hair, trying to pull you closer. She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I despise you.”

Your sly smile didn’t last long as she gathered strength to push your face against her cunt, and you finally gave her what she wanted. 

Wednesday’s lips parted as a quiet breath escaped them, lost in the thick air that surrounded your  bedroom. Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging and pulling at the soft strands as your tongue moved in different directions, sometimes slow and sometimes fast, moving up and down her slit and kissing her cunt. Her juice dripping down your chin as your digit brushed over her clitoris, circling the swollen bundle of nerves carefully before pushing her bigger lips together with your thumb and index finger, creating more pressure when your tongue flickered on her clit. 

She nearly screamed when you kept doing that, your other hand resting on her belly, fingers intertwining as she squeezed your head with her legs. Luckily, you didn’t need to breathe. 

Your eyes fluttered shuttered for a few seconds as you focused on what you were doing, but when her hips pushed up and her fingers crushed yours, your eyes shot open in the whitest tone Wednesday ever saw. It was pure, magical, like the explosion of a supernova.  

The fingers that touched her turned into a soft caress, your slicky lips kissing around her reddened cunt, patiently waiting for her to come down from her high. 

Wednesday’s eyes were closed, the stars that once were in yours, now shone behind her closed lids. She never thought she’d be able to see the stars like that, with someone in between her legs, licking her clean. 

“Are you okay?” You asked in a low-pitched tone, climbing her body with kisses. 

“Is it always like that?” The Addams asked with a dry mouth, closing her legs as she still felt the spasms of her sensitive nerve. You laid next to her, chin resting on her shoulder. 

You shrugged. 

“It should be.” Your reply was simple. “Did you like it?”

“I can still see stars on the roof of your terribly decorated room. Yes, I did like it.”

“Good.” You let out a laugh, resting your face in the palm of your hand, while the other, once again moved on her inner thigh, finding its way in between the closed muscles. “Because we’re not done yet.”