#also… i still have so much false hope that Dream will change his mind and apply again 😭

[sweetpeaslut]

I miss mcc :(

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 10

I LIVEEEEEEEEEE.

Sorry this took so long guys, I really wanted to take my time to prepare for the next big arc that's coming soon.

Also life got in the way.

But here it is,

Part 10!

Doing something a lil different this time, let me know what you guys think! Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~~

It’s a lot quieter these days. More peaceful.

Not that wasn’t peaceful before, but that peace was different, more charged.

Back then, he was recovering from Durin’s poison after all.

He lay alone in the ruins of Decarabian, waiting for his wounds to heal.

He may have been the Dragon of the East of Mondstadt's Four Winds.

But it was still painfully slow.

Emphasis on slow.

Even after the war was done and the battle had passed.

The mental wounds heal much slower than the physical ones.

So no, it was never truly peaceful, even when it was quiet.

He was asleep most of the time, but it didn't stop him from feeling the passage of time.

Didn't stop him from reliving that battle in his dreams.

That battle had been painful beyond words.

And not just from the poisonous blood.

Durin was a dragon.

Not a true dragon mind you, his form was synthetic and his powers false.

But,

He was still draconic, in a sense.

Far more draconic than the Vishaps that his people became.

And, well.

He was so young.

Even when they fought, he could tell that Durin was not used to flight.

Nor to the winds and freedoms of Mondstadt. 

If it weren’t for the fact that his poisonous blood had already wreaked so much havoc, Dvalin would’ve tried reasoning with him.

Not that he didn’t in the first place.

For he did, 

And, well

Durin was so painfully young,

So obviously innocent and clueless to the ways of the world.

He didn’t know that he was causing pain to those around him.

He didn’t even know that he himself was getting injured when they fought.

At the time it was infuriating.

This young arrogant creature causing havoc and fear all the whilst singing about a dance with him and the people of Mondstadt. 

It wasn’t until they had started landing blows, when he realized the truth.

Durin didn’t know kindness from pain.

His cursed creator never bothered to give him the chance to learn what singing and dancing was.

No opportunities to know life without pain, without injury.

At first he thought they enjoyed the adrenaline of battle, the thrill of landing and receiving blows from a worthy opponent.

He soon realized that their fight may have been one of the only times that Durin had been touched.

That his heavy blows may have been the first bit of warmth this youngling had ever felt.

A child who’d never known love, would think violence and pain was the norm.

Unknowingly hurting those around him in search of connection.

He never had a chance.

When Davlin bit into his neck, he bit deep and he bit hard.

Hoping that it would make this quick and painless.

Hoping that after all this, Durin might be able to find some peace.

That they could perhaps find a new form to see the world.

To learn what it truly means to sing and dance with the people of Mondstadt.

He had wept for Durin, 

Privately of course.

Whilst he did not want to hide Durin’s true nature from the world, he also knew that minds were difficult to change. 

The people of Mondstadt saw only a terrifying beast with poison for blood. 

A monster that had razed their lands and hurt their people.

How could he even begin to explain how none of it was intentional.

That Durin just wanted to make friends.

No,

They would not believe him,

Or even if they did, they would not understand, could not understand.

They were simply too human to see the woes of a dragon.

It was easier for everyone if,

Well,

If he kept his mouth shut,

And let the humans spin their tales as they see fit.

The trust of humans is hard won, especially for a dragon. 

He had only received their trust at the word of their Archon, he could not afford to shake it, not during such turbulent times.

Barbatos’s word is powerful, but not all encompassing.

That is by choice,

He would not order his people to trust or accept anyone. 

He would simply offer protection to those he deemed worthy.

Durin was not worthy.

To this day he is still unsure whether Barbatos knew of Durin’s true nature.

And well,

He doesn't want to.

Because, well. 

He doesn’t know which would be worse.

If he didn’t, then that means one more person sees Durin as nothing more than a bloodthirsty evil dragon.

If he did,

Then,

Well,

Dvalin doesn’t want to jump to conclusions.

However, he can’t deny that he was far from peaceful back when he and Barbatos met.

He was nowhere the force of destruction Durin was, mind you.

It was simply that he had no love for humans.

They were no more important to him than the nearest squirrel or hog.

Barbatos was the one that taught him about the beauty in humanity.

As well as how to use his abilities to protect them.

If it weren’t for Barbatos giving him a chance.

Would he have ended up like Durin?

Would Barbatos have killed him, like he did to Durin?

Those were questions that plagued his mind whilst he was recovering.

The pain from his wounds and the poison didn’t help.

Not to mention Barbados had gone to sleep.

It was lonely.

His mental barriers were down, and that’s when the Abyss Order had decided to strike.

Taking advantage of his weakened state, and his doubts in his friends.

They turned him into what he feared he would become.

An evil dragon.

Just like Durin.

He thought Barbatos would abandon him.

Would order his death like he did Durin.

But he didn’t,

He trusted him.

Helped him.

Healed him.

Things are better now,

Now

Well,

Barbatos visits,

Sometimes

He never got the answer to his question, and he still daren’t ask.

But that’s alright.

Because Dvalin is not Durin.

Becuase he met Barbatos, and learned about humans.

Because he gained their trust and respect.

Because when he fell, they came and saved him.

Davlin no longer worries about having to prove himself worthy of their trust.

He is, 

At peace.

A bit too peaceful actually.

The days of the Archon war were filled with patrols and meetings and well,

There was always something to do.

Now,

Barbatos may not be sleeping, but he rarely visits.

Andrius is occupied with his wolf pack.

Davlin is alone most of the time.

Barring the occasional adventurous human who travel to the ruins in order to gawk at him.

They should of course, he is magnificent.

But, well, 

He wouldn’t be terribly upset if they’d gone up to him and struck up a conversation.

Not that he wants to converse with someone.

He is the mighty Dvalin, Erstwhile King of the Skies. 

Not that there’s really much to rule over.

They are at peace after all

He can’t deny he missed the days of the action war, when he’d fly amongst the people and spend time with Barbados and Andrius and the rest.

Now that is all ancient history.

Not a living human remembers that time.

Well,

Depending on your definition of human.

Dvalin sighs, his breath echoing through the ruins of Decerrbian.

He could hear the bright chattering of hilichurls.

It seems that a couple more encampments have been set up during his last flight.

Hilichurls lack many qualities, but persistence was never one of them.

His ear twitched as he considered his next course of action.

He could chase them off.

Wouldn’t be hard at all, considering his power and their frailty. 

But it wouldn’t solve anything would it, not in the long term.

They’d just be back again before long.

The tip of his tail twitched slightly with irritation.

From the outside, he looked the very picture of a sleeping dragon. His azure body curled up in an elegant sprawl, with his head resting on claws.

His eyes were closed, not that he needed them open to monitor the world around him.

As a creature of Anemo, the wind itself were his eyes. He could feel the vibrations of the world around him, it’s humming giving him a perfect sense of what is happening.

And it seems that one foolish hilichurl decided to try its luck today.

He felt the pitter patter of its feet as it approached his resting form.

The former Dragon of the East feigned sleep, and allowed the creature to lower its guard.

He let his breaths slow down, feigning sleep.

The light steps of a particularly adventurous hilichurl approaches his ears.

If he concentrates, he can feel the hum of the celestial curse placed on their body.

He always found it so ironic, that the biggest enemies humanity had to face were those that they created themselves.

A species so desperate for survival, whose greatest strength is in their tenacity and ability to cooperate.

A species whose greatest enemy is ultimately themselves.

Not that dragons did not have their own disputes.

At least, he’s fairly sure that they did.

He was never involved in any himself, having been born near the end of the war between Celestia and dragonkind.

Perhaps that’s what made him so different from the rest of his kin, beside the whole being alive and unsealed part.

He was too young to truly remember what life in Teyvat under the rule of dragons was like.

He remembers some things.

The air was much different, much wilder and ferocious, flying these days is akin to gliding. 

Back then, the ability to fly was one hard fought and learned, one had to prove themselves to the wind that they were worthy of using their power. 

The landscape was more jagged, more free. No neatly trimmed paths or smooth top mountains.

Most of all, the sky.

The sky was different.

There were no stars in the land of dragons.

Only the moon and sun.

A truly different time to be sure.

The sound of footsteps bring him out of his thoughts

Ah, yes the little monster approaches.

He is quite curious on what it plans to do, after all this was no abyss mage, simply a hilichurl, a cursed human.

A trespasser that he was free to deal with as he deems fit.

He can feel it getting closer, the faint hum of the celestial curse on their body gets stronger with every movement it makes.

The desire to tense in anticipation is strong, however the image of a peaceful sleeping dragon is integral for this ruse, tensing up would be too noticeable, especially at this distance.

A moment passes,

Then two.

What is the hilichurl even doing, they’re close enough to touch, yet they just stand their idly as if-

A diary hand reaches out and yanks on his whiskers.

Dvalin’s eyes fly open as he roars, flinging his head up in the air, the hilichurl with it.

His tail lashes out, smacking into one of the collapsed walls, sending puffs of dust and rock raining down.

He leaps to his feet, all pretense of sleep gone. It seems that that daring little monster decided it wanted to pull on his whiskers.

He could still see it dangling onto his through the corner of his eye. 

Growling with anger, the Anemo dragon shakes his head furiously, summoning Anemo power to get this unwanted pest off of his body. 

With a mighty gust, the hilichurl is dislodged, flying off of Dvalin’s whisker.

The screech of the hilichurl that pulled on his whiskers fades into the distance, as its body fades from view.

It seems he had flung it a lot farther than he thought. Considering his remarkable senses, the fact that he can no longer see, nor hear the little monster, well-

 It was their decision to poke a sleeping dragon, or well, pull on one.

The other hilichurls, presumably from that same hilichurl’s camp, all scramble. Their screeches and grunts of panic filling the air.

No doubt hearing his rage at having his appendage pulled. 

And rightfully so, the audacity to disturb the rest of the Erstwhile King of the Skies deserves nothing less than his anger.

He ignores the fact that technically he did allow it to get this close. As well as pretended to be asleep just to see what it would do. 

Even so, the sheer disrespect cannot be overlooked.

With a couple beats of his wings, Dvalin takes to the sky, intent on scattering the rest of the hilichurls that have gathered in the ruins of Decarabian.

He does a couple of loops around the ruins, idly scattering the tribes that have settled there.

It didn’t take long before it was quiet once more.

Nothing more than the sounds of nature to fill his ears.

Quiet once more,

Until a small spark of energy catches his attention.

He peers over the edge of his platform to see the Barbatos and the blonde traveler with their flying companion. 

How they managed to get here without him noticing is truly beyond him.

Regardless, it would be difficult for them to navigate up to him, from their position besides Barbato’s Statue of the Seven

The traveler turned their head to nod at him, whilst Barbatos leaned heavily on his statue, an empty wine bottle clutched in his arms.

He glides down to meet them, careful not to knock them off the platform with the wind.

As he approaches, he can smell the stench of alcohol wafting off of Barbatos.

Dvalin turned to the blonde traveler, “How much did he drink?”

They turned to him with dead eyes. 

“He chugged the entire bottle,”

Dvalin sighed, the air hitting Barbatos, sending his cape into his face.

The wind spirit sputtered, waving his arms at Dvalin in annoyance. 

“Hey, don’t judge me, I’ve had a difficult day,” he whined, face still flushed from the alcohol.

“Oh,” Davlin hummed judgmentally, “I can’t imagine what difficulties you must be facing,”

“He’s not wrong,” the Traveler defended, stepping forward.

The dragon turned his gaze to them.

The blonde haired figure sighed, most likely realizing that Barbatos was too drunk to participate in this conversation.

They opened their mouth and began to explain.

And the world, as he knew it

Changed

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

I honestly love the story of Durin and Dvalin, made me cry the first time I read it.

Durin's just such a tragic character, all of Gold's creations are to an extent.

This chapter truly is, the calm before the storm.

Ah well, as always my askbox is always open!

Thank you guys so much for reading!

Taglist:

@bunniotomia,@lucid-stories, @ymechi, @chocogi,  @ra404, @ash1, @esthelily, @tottybear, @mmeatt, @quacking-simp, @reemthetheme, @universallyenthusiastsage, @resident-cryptid, @fantasyhopperhea, @thedevioussmirk, @etherisy, @naynayaa ,@mel-star636, @chericia, @aithane, @mmeatt, @xrosegorex, @amidst-the-tempest, @8-sinner-8, @reapersan, @elementalia ,@strangeygirl, @chaoticfivesworld, @scalyalpaca, @avalordream ,@ranshin03, @vvyeislazzy, @wishicouldart, @raykayrei,@izzieg3987, @time-shardz, @nugsanart09, @mavix,@beary-kalkus, @lunarapple, @keirennyx

[purinfelix]

Joao with actress reader 👀

just an act ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: actress reader x joao felix (established relationship) summary: in which your boyfriend's possessive tendencies are put to the test warnings: none! w/c: 1.1k

a/n: take a shot everytime i apologise for being ia challenge !! also this is a teensy bit rushed and i'm not entirely happy with it but, i hope it's alright !! tysm anon for the req (and for waiting for so long for me to answer it 😭)

“Joao, you’re sure you’re okay with it?”

“How many times are you going to ask me that?” your boyfriend huffed, “I’m fine! Really!”

“You literally skipped out on training to follow me to work,” you reminded him, with a slightly teasing tone.

“So?”

You let out a sigh for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour and tried your best to maintain your composure. Around you, the atmosphere of an active film set roared with its flurry of light, noise, and movement. Neither your hair nor makeup were close to being done, and you were still standing wrapped in the plush white robe the costuming staff had given you before you changed into your outfit for your scene. Somewhere to your right you watched the director and his entourage of nervous interns scrounge around the perfect the set’s lighting, and push all of the cameras and mics in their right places. Behind you, your costar sat on his chair, waiting impatiently, ready for the scene the two of you were shooting today.

And yet, the only thing you found your attention being drawn to was the boy that stood in front of you, with floppy hair and pleading eyes and a pout that was just too hard to deny.

“So, are you sure you’re alright with this? With me kissing another man?” you repeated, slowly, growing more aware of how little time you had until the cameras were set to start rolling.

When you had come home a couple of weeks ago with the news - that the new movie you were starring in would involve a kissing scene between you and your costar - you were nervous, to say the least. You knew Joao was the type to value your career just as much as you did, and would never do anything to stop you from achieving your dreams. However, you were equally aware that he had possessive tendencies, as much as he pretended not to. Of course, he had acted casual about the news at first, telling you that as long as you were comfortable with it, he was too.

But now that the time to shoot the scene had actually come, it seemed like he was having second thoughts - evidenced by the fact he had insisted on following you to work and had spent the past hour or so hovering around as you got ready, expression equal parts nervous and stern. Despite this, you knew he’d rather die than admit how he really felt, even if you prodded him a thousand times just to say what was clearly on his mind.

“Yep! Totally fine!” he chirped out in a falsely cheery tone. The way his eyes flickered anxiously between you, and your costar waiting in the distance, seemed to suggest otherwise.

You could only rub his arm reassuringly though, offering a look that you hoped conveyed your gratefulness at the fact he trusted you enough to not get in your way, but also cared enough to be so watchful. Still, the staff around you waited for no one, and soon enough you were ushered back into your makeup chair, from which you watched your boyfriend linger behind the cameras, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“Joao, baby.”

You were starting to feel like a broken record at this point.

The scene had gone well, and you had only had to reshoot it a couple of times because of either you or your costar forgetting or stumbling over your lines. But the two of you had done your best to maintain an air of professionalism surrounding the intimate scene - your boyfriend however hadn’t been so well.

“I’m fine.” His tone, and the fact that his back was facing you as the two of you lay in bed together, told you otherwise.

The kiss - or kisses as Joao had corrected you - had only lasted seconds, nothing more than quick pecks in fleeting moments. You hadn’t thought much of them before, during, and now after them but it was clear he didn’t share the same sentiment.

“You said you were okay with it,” you sighed softly, trying your best to push the understanding tone in your voice.

“I am.”

“It doesn’t really seem like it.” Whilst it seemed like the bare minimum for him to let you go ahead with something your job required of you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for him putting aside his feelings for you - or at least trying to. A part of you found it slightly adorable as well, that he was trying so hard to hide his slight jealousy - evidenced by his moody demeanour the entire afternoon after you got back from shooting.

“What makes you think that?” You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely clueless or whether he was just messing with you. Struggling against your mattress, you pushed yourself up and leaned over to him, resting your chin on his shoulder - from where you could see his side profile, and furrowed brows.

“Hmm, I wonder,” you hum, fingers moving to gently interlace his fingers with yours as a silent way of saying I know something’s wrong.

“It’s just,” he began, and you felt a weight lift off of your shoulders at finally breaking through to him, “that costar of yours, Andy or whatever his name is, seemed a little bit too into it.”

You had to stop yourself from giggling, given how sincere his words were, but you couldn’t help but find his jealousy a little bit adorable.

“Joao, his name is Andrew,” you corrected him, “and he has a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and she’s lovely,” you chuckled softly, relief washing over you as you watched your boyfriend break into a small smile for what felt like the first time all day. You could physically feel the tension in his shoulders melt away as he let out a sigh of relief he must’ve been holding ever since you had come home with the news.

“Thank God,” he finally mumbled, turning back around to face you as he pulled you in close. You felt his grip tightly around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing deeply.

“Plus, it’s not like he would pose much competition anyways,” you added, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around him. He only hummed in response, not saying much more. You pecked the top of his forehead, relishing the fact that you had finally managed to heal his mood. After all, whilst acting was your job, you knew that at times like this - away from any cameras and in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms - none of it was an act.

[cowboyjen68]

i am 24, from chicago and i have a crush on youuuu

You are very sweet to tell me and this is my opportunity to talk about how healthy internet personalities or "celebrity" crushes are to young lesbians finding thier own sexuality in a world that mostly assumes people straight (becuase statisically that is objectively true).

I still, to this day, remember, as a teen and young woman having a crush on Christy McNichol, Nancy McKeon (or more particularly her character Jo), and Tatum O Neal. There were older women like Markie Post and Erin Gray who I crushed on. "Ooo older women, they are so steady and have their shit together .. and HOT". I actually knew very little about them off screen. My Teen magazines were featuring TEEN stars, for good reason.

But I still crushed on them and watching thier sitcoms. Most of these women were straight but that was not really important. What was important was they were not really real. I could build them to be how I want to be in my mind using the superficial things I could see about them or learn from little interviews etc.

The internet has changed that dynamic slightly. I am accessible. Reachable. A real person. I wonder if someday media experts will refer to"CowboyJen" as a character I created. They would be wrong but I would understand the thought process. There are aspects of my life I don't share. No one wants to see me ass dragging at 10 pm after a 15 hour shift sitting on my bed trying to untie my shoes before I fall asleep or cleaning my bathroom . My life is entwined with others and I protect their privacy unless they agree to participate.

I do answer DM's. I do respond to comments. I am not simply a character on a small screen that does not interact with the audience. That is a shift in the "celebrity" paradigm. And it can make crushes seem much more real.

What I want to address is that crushes and fantasizing about other women IS NORMAL and healthy and a tool to help us figure what we like, learn to enjoy our sexuality. I remember feeling shame for thinking about these women because it was "dirty" and "creepy". In reality it was no such thing. It is just a normal part of being human, to seek out a safe outlet for fantasy, day dreaming and forming our dislikes and likes in our own head and heart so we can translate that to our real dating/love life.

Crushes don't stop at the teens or 20's. I would argue most adults experience crushes as well and it is just another tool in our humanity that we use to navigate the world we live in.

The largest difference is my generation's crushes were relatively unreachable. Fan mail was mostly answered by an employee or a hired service. Any contact in real life with back stage passes or "meet and greets" were heavily controlled and monitored for safety and to protect the image of the celebrity. And also to often to prevent the musician or actor from over stepping his/her bounds too.

Now many smaller scale recognizable people are accessible in real life. We live and work in our communities. I didn't create a character I just share my life and my reality because I think it can truly give other lesbians and women hope that we are not destined to life of stereotypes because we are butch, or lesbian, or bi or female or not rich or any number of things that get false expectations attached to it.

I guess what I am saying is your crush is healthy and normal and I would never shame anyone for having such feelings towards me. It is also my duty as a role model to not breech appropriate boundaries and I take that job very seriously. The fact is I travel to Chicago on occasion and I am out and about in the real world so the chances of me meeting followers like you and and others is highly likely at some point. I love meeting people and often to respond to and meet followers, who become my friends, in person. We are all people and I am dead serious about forming intergenerational lesbian connections in real life.

Your crush is your safe place to explore emotions and attractions so enjoy.

Side note: I don't not consider myself a "celebrity" LOL I am using that word in the broad sense as meaning a recognizable person outside of my in-person friends and community.

[magnusbae]

If you're interested, here's a prompt from the ones who just shared:

"Then why did you do it?" "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

No rush hehe I hope you get rest and have fun writing this!

Now, see, I could have taken this as an open prompt and went with something else, but I know you like dreamling and so I was good.

Thanks for the prompt dear! 💖 Also special thanks goes to @cuubism for actually going through it 🌻🌻🌻 any mistakes are me ignoring her wisdom or straight up forgetting to edit it. one of the two.

Dreamling - some flavor of hurt/comfort(?) 'you dare?' kind of situation going on there, 1,394w

▾▾▾

“I cannot fathom why—” 

Dream halts mid-sentence, his outrage rendering him speechless for a precious moment in which Hob tries, fruitlessly, to come up with a way to placate him, to explain in a way that will somehow pass as acceptable to Dream. The betrayal is tangible in the air, so charged that Hob’s hair actually stands on end as if from static. It feels like standing at your front door, still safe but seeing the hurricane on the horizon, knowing that this false safety can and will change in moments. Hob cannot think of a single thing. 

“You.” Dream grits his teeth so tightly that they scrape loudly, the sound of it making Hob’s own teeth ache uncomfortably. “Know.” Dream says each word as if it takes a great burden to even use human speech and not simply burn a hole in Hob’s mind. Given Dream’s past record, which Hob had recently learnt of, perhaps it does. “You know I do not ask.”

“I know.” Hob winces.

There’s no denying that he knew. Knew full well that asking Dream’s sibling for help was a guaranteed way to not only outrage him, but also land Hob a very creative punishment and the end of their long friendship.

He knew that, and did it anyway. 

Would again, if he had to.

He will not apologize for that.

Dream seems to come to the same conclusion, cheeks reddening in a surprising display of humanity, of lack of control over his appearance. The darkness that creeps into his eyes is distinctly not human. Hob shudders but fixes his eyes on Dream’s, refusing to avert his eyes like a reprimanded youth. He did what he did, and he’s not sorry.

''Then.” To Hob’s surprise, Dream seems to level himself, to school the darkness out of his eyes and ask with a calm that is somehow more unnerving than his rage. “Why did you do it?" There is a finality to this question, like a judge asking for one last confession to tip the scale one way or another. There will be judgment at the end of it, Hob knows. 

“Because…” he sucks in a breath, there’s a ball of nerves in his stomach and frustration, surprising him with its intensity, it feels almost like anger.

Why is he here, searching for excuses for something he believes in wholeheartedly? He doesn’t want to learn firsthand of Dream’s notorious pettiness but he’s not here to play these sort of games. 

The outraged huff is stuck in his throat— he didn’t even realize he had raised his voice this much, not until the ring of it strains his ears. He is practically shouting. And he doesn’t care. 

 ''BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.''

There’s anger in it, frustration, a measure of desperation.

“I bloody love you more than I fear you, that’s why.” His own cheeks burn, itch, tingle with the indignation of it all. “Because I’m a besotted fool who would make a pact with the devil if I had to, if it meant helping you.” He gestures curtly at Dream, then spreads his arm in an exaggerated motion of question. “Why else? Seriously, why else?!” He stops at that, breathing harshly. This is not how he had imagined, not even close. Fuck it. And fuck Lucifer, too. And Dream’s all too pleased sibling, on top.

Through his outburst Hob had stopped paying attention to Dream’s face, only his eyes, latching onto them as if they were his anchor in this universe, the only constant thing, in life, in this.

When he finally looks, really looks, he realizes with a start that Dream’s cheeks are no longer red with anger, that his eyebrows are not as tightly knitted, that his pale lips form a small and lax ‘o’. 

His friend looks taken aback, pacified and…surprised.

Like he couldn’t fathom this being the reason for Hob’s supposed betrayal of trust. Like this was the last rationale he had expected to hear, like he, an Endless being of incomprehensible wisdom, is unable to conceive this simple truth. Like he’s at a loss now.

Like he’s a bloody idiot. Hob shakes his head in amazement, his own anger evaporating as quickly as it came. Yet again he wonders how it is possible to be all knowing and yet so blind, so oblivious to such a simple truth, one Hob didn’t even try too hard to hide, really.

“I know you didn’t want me to,” he softens his voice, speaking more quietly “but I really didn’t have a choice. If I could do this on my own, you know I would have, I’d do worse for you.” He smiles at Dream, he doesn’t even try to sound self-deprecating, it’s the honest truth. He would.

His hand drops by his side and he awaits then, for his judgment.

“You love, me?”

Hob doesn't know how to respond to such a simple question other than–

“I do.”

There’s nothing else to add to that, he said it all, he did it all, even Dream must understand this is no passing fancy. One does not risk their immortal soul for something insignificant. Especially not Hob. One does it when it means everything. And in this case, it did. Dream did. 

Dream seems to again, come to the same conclusion. 

He wilts, shoulders sagging. He looks both much older and much younger at the same time, like this knowledge has stricken him, hurt him.

“You shouldn’t” is all he says. 

“But I do.” Hob answers in return. 

“I see that.” Dream’s voice is a whisper carried by the breeze, gentle, endless, aching. He looks torn in that moment, the judge whose scales no longer measure in any understandable manner. He casts his gaze down. 

“Just let me,” Hob says. He did not come here demanding boons, nor love, only to help Dream. “Forgive my impudent human inclinations to save what I love, and let us continue as we were. Friends. “

“Friends…” Dream repeats after him, as if in disbelief.

Dream opens his mouth to say more—to accept or refuse, Hob doesn’t know—but in that exact moment Matthew half-crashes, half-lands on Dream’s shoulder, a flutter of black feathers and barely muffled curses.

“Boss! Oh for fuck’s sake— I mean cracker’s sake— I mean what the hell— I mean you’re fine—you’re actually okay, I was sure that this time you’re like legit—” he notices Hob then, and cawing loudly he curses again “You actually did it you son of a bitch— you really did!” His wings open excitedly, brushing against Dream’s face, covering it up.

“Matthew.” 

“Uh-” Matthew folds his wings immediately. 

Hob looks at Dream then, the moment is decidedly broken but he has to know if he’d see him again, he can’t just go on not knowing, it’ll drive him insane. “Dream—” he starts, but Dream speaks over him.

“We will discuss this—” Dream’s lips tighten, eyes flicking to Matthew and then back at Hob. “At a later time.” He concludes rather curtly, seemingly deciding that addressing exactly what they will be discussing is not something he wants his Raven to be privy to.

“Right…” Hob murmurs, not speaking further of the topic either. It’s one thing to break Dream’s boundaries over life and death, another entirely over his own impatience and need to know. Dream wanting to see him again at all is already a damn good sign, and Hob will take it, gladly.

“I’ll see you later then, Dream” He uses the name even while not being sure he is still permitted to, that he did not lose the privilege. Dream tilts his head but doesn’t object, instead he nods once and disappears in a swirl of golden sand.

“Show off…” Hob murmurs into the empty air, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a good feeling in his gut, he should probably be worried but he has a feeling that things will work out, that it all will be just fine. He can’t explain it, but he has learnt to trust his gut over the years. After all, it once led him to believe that he would never die.

It was right then, and it’ll be right now too. He and Dream will figure it out and will be better for it. Just like the other time, just like always. 

[digitaldiarystuff]

False Hope Pt.3

so… i’m kinda back, well i at least hope so after ditching the blog completely lol

i’ll try to be a little more active starting with some requests after this, please don’t hate me 🥺

————

pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Y/N

summary: you’re close friends with Pedri and pretty much in love with him, pretending you’re not you went to comfort him but he seeks the comfort in a different way than you would’ve expected

genre: suggestive but not quite, angst

————

“I’m outside, come out”

Your eyes scanned the text a million times just to make sure it was real and you weren’t actually dreaming. It was only when James reached over and touched your cheek that you came back to your senses.

“Is everything alright?” he asked concerned and you looked up at him with terror in your eyes.

Your mind was so full that you couldn’t even comprehend the situation, why was Pedri here? Did he check your location to find out where you were? Was the black Porsche his? And most importantly, what are you going to do now?

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just my friend, she reminded me of a quiz we have tomorrow.” that was the first lie you could come up with.

“Do you have to get back home?” James asked with slight disappointment.

You looked at your phone once more and up at him, Pedri has occupied your mind for years at this point and gave you false hope that there may be something more between you two but that had to end. You knew if you decide to walk out now, you’d be stuck in the same cycle you always have and wait for him to finally pick you, but you deserve more. You were moving on and choosing your own happiness over his.

“No no, I’m not going anywhere.” you smiled hoping he’d buy your lie and didn’t question it too much and judging by his mood change he ate it up.

You placed your phone back into your purse also shutting it off hoping Pedri would realize you weren’t going to respond and leave quickly because you knew if he’d send you any more texts it’d be over.

Out of sight, out of mind you thought and reached for James’ collar pulling him in. He got the message and quickly started kissing you, you closed your eyes trying your best to enjoy the moment and it was nice. It was good, actually but you couldn’t help but wish it was someone else’s hands finding your hips pulling you into him and pressing sloppy kisses across your neck and cleavage. That’s when you opened your eyes and saw Pedri’s dark eyes instead of James’ and freaked out pulling back immediately.

James looked worried asking you if everything’s okay or if he did something wrong.

“No, no it’s not you. I’m sorry I just need to handle this quiz tomorrow. I have to get home and deal with it.” you apologized knowing you couldn’t go any further with him. Your mind and heart wouldn’t let you knowing Pedri may be out there waiting for you and you hated yourself for it. You even felt like you were cheating on Pedri even though you were not in any sort of relationship, this was stupid but you couldn’t help your feelings.

You apologized to James a couple more times, grabbed your things and left the room in a hurry. You felt bad to leave him high and dry and couldn’t face him anymore. On the way to the lobby you turned your phone on trying to see if Pedri sent any more texts but found none and that made you feel sorry for yourself. You had a great guy trying to give you exactly what you wanted and deserved but still left him hanging just because Pedri sent a single text.

You exited the elevator hurriedly hoping he didn’t leave just yet when you heard his voice. At first you thought you were dreaming and scolded yourself for being this obsessed but soon you realized he was standing at the reception talking to the receptionist.

“And I understand your policy but I need the room number and yes I don’t know the last name but…”

You heard him talking, asking about James’ room number. You didn’t even know he knew the name but Sara probably told them at the club.

“Pedri” you walked over to him and he immediately turned your way his eyes softening as he released a sigh of relief.

“Y/N” he walked over without even glancing back at the receptionist and pulled you in a hug.

“What are you doing here?” you asked apprehensively.

“I came looking for you when you didn’t answer me and she wouldn’t let me look at the guest list. She said it was against hotel policy and I was just telling her the name but she still didn’t tell me anything.” he started rambling but didn’t give you a clear answer.

“That’s not what I’m asking, why are you here Pedri?”

He pulled back possibly realizing you didn’t hug him back and gave him cold shoulder. His eyes were so soft this time.

“I… I just came to check on you.” he shyly said as he looked down at his shoes.

“Why?” you pressed. “I already told Ferran I was good.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what Pedri?” you raised your voice a little and he warily looked around hoping no one could hear you.

“Can we go out to the car please? Let’s not do this here.” he tried ushering you out but you didn’t budge.

“You can’t stay here.” he said as if he was stating the obvious.

“Why do you care if I stay here or not?”

“Look Y/N, there are people here. Let’s go back to mine and talk there, calmly.” he tried again this time reaching for your arm to pull you but you pulled back from his grip immediately.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Well you’re not staying here.” he firmly stood. You considered your options, you could either go with him and set everything on the table possibly ruining your friendship but no matter what happens you could say you tried or leave on your own getting in a taxi and try to forget this night, fight or flight.

You made up your mind and started walking past Pedri, he took a couple seconds but followed suit. Once you reached the front door of the hotel he caught up with you and opened the car door for you to get in. Even though you were upset with him, you felt a slight sense of warmth with his gesture.

“Do you want to talk now, or we could just wait until we get home.” he offered once you both were settled.

“Let’s talk here.” you coldly replied.

“Okay” he whispered.

“Talk”

“I don’t know what to say”

“You don’t know what to say.” you turned round him and laughed but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“You ignore me and leave the club, then follow me to a hotel where I’m with a guy, text me to come out, try to find my room number to come get me yourself when I don’t and when I’m right in front of you you don’t know what to say. Be so for fucking real Pedri” you started yelling and he put his face in his hands huffing.

“What do you want me to say Y/N?” he asked also raising his voice.

“I want you to be honest for god’s sake!”

“I was worried.” he finally said.

“Why?”

“You just met this guy and you go to a hotel with him, this isn’t you.”

“Oh so it’s okay when you do it but when I do it’s not me.”

“Yes, I know this sounds hypocritical but yes it’s not you.”

“You’re so right. It’s hypocritical.” you sighed and leaned back in your seat.

“I needed to forget, that’s why I came here.” you admitted because you realized he was never going to give you what you’re looking for. You finally accepted the fact that after tonight, Pedri wasn’t going to be a part of your life and you needed to get everything out of your chest.

“Forget what?”

“You” you simply said and closed your eyes afraid of his answer but nothing came out of his mouth.

“Why did you kiss me that day?”

He sighed loudly.

“Because I wanted to.”

You laughed a little.

“I’m serious.”

“No you’re not. You’re never serious Pedro.”

“Pedri” he corrected.

“I don’t think we’re on that basis anymore.” you admitted and his eyes turned to you in shock.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, tonight we say everything we need to and tomorrow we live our lives like we did before we met.”

“No” he started protesting but you held your hand up stopping him.

“I can’t go on like this, Pedri. This has to stop before it’s too late. I can’t wait for you any longer.”

“Y/N it doesn’t have to be like this, we can just go back to our normal ways.”

“You can, I can’t.”

“But I don’t want to let you go.” he whined and you felt your heart breaking, you really didn’t want to cause him any pain but you also couldn’t carry on any longer.

“Do you love me?”

You could easily cut the tension in the car with a knife now, it was dead silent.

“That’s the reason we can’t go back to how it was. Because I love you.” you said without opening your eyes but still felt tears start running. Pedri shuffled in his seat and placed his hand on your cheek wiping the tear away. You couldn’t fight it any longer and leaned into his touch and placed your hand over his.

“I love you too.” he whispered and you opened your eyes to see him staring.

“I know, it’s just not the same kind of love.” you sadly smiled. “It’s okay, I’ll be okay.” you reassured him because as much as you were hurting you never wanted him to.

“But I’m not.”

“It’ll pass.”

He pulled you closer and you leaned over the console to lie on his chest. He kissed your head and you placed your hand on his heart feeling its rhythm. You stayed like that for what felt like hours just holding each other knowing it’s the last time you’ll do it.

As sad as it sounds, you felt more at peace than any other moment.

[leonenjoyer69]

I hope you don't mind this ask, but I'm in a huge Jekyll and Hyde hyperfixation rn (both TGS and OG novella) and I saw a post from you about how "Cotard's Solution" fits his Vibe; did you ever go on a ramble of Will Wood songs that fit Jekyll/Hyde? I'd love to hear them! I'm usually either an emo rock or hyperpop fan but I'd love to dip my toes into more Will Wood ever since my friends have shown me his songs :] I hope this isn't too much of an ask!

OF COURSE I DON'T MIND HEHEHE >:3 (also I'm so so sorry I kept forgetting about this 💀 BUT I'VE FINALLY DONE IT), I did originally connect a bunch of will wood songs to TGS characters in this post, and then I talked a bit about my Jekyll and Hyde playlist here (tho these are all various artists and Chonny Jash, not will wood, still a good collection of songs imo! Especially if you like emo rock and Hyper pop!!), but I would gladly go into detail about a bunch of Will Wood songs and how I connect them to TGS/J&H once more >:3

I LOVE WILL WOOD I'M SO NORMAL (also if there's any specific song from that first post, the honorable mentions in this, or my playlist that anyone wants an explanation for, just ask, bc idrk off the top of my head what to explain lmao, and if I have the thinking capacity to, I love explaining my reasoning!! :3)

OKAY OKAY, I'm probably not gonna hit many songs, but I'll try to get a few :3 I usually don't do these this in depth and I don't wanna make it too horribly long 💀

FIRST UP, A FRESH ONE I HAVEN'T TALKED ABOUT (bc apparently it hasn't been on my main playlist... I'm kinda slow sometimes): SKELETON APPRECIATION DAY

HEAR ME OUT, the "bones" could be interpreted as Hyde, or just all of Jekyll's hidden parts-- anything that isn't the perfect gentleman he prefers to show. And like!!! The lyrics can be connected so easily!! "While my cracking backbone lacks but backs up my false starts" transformation, next.

"All nightmares start as dreams and I hear my subconscious screaming" I don't even feel like I gotta say anything on that one.

"All love starts as a scheme, So wake me up, I'm tired of sleeping" bro literally didn't believe Lanyon loved him, the 'waking up' could be the first transformation.

And like!! The chorus!! "Bones, bones, bones, let me see your bones / Well, I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home /Bones, bones, bones, hell, we're all alone / If I come home, baby, will you show your bones?" Hell, I can see this as Jekyll asking (or at least wishing for) Lanyon to be more vulnerable, but!! Better yet, Lanyon asking/wishing that of Jekyll, since he knows how Jekyll just tends to cover everything up.

Idk, maybe I'm just talkin outta my ass, but I think this is really up there on my list of TGS-able Will Wood songs.

NEXT (another fresh song I haven't rambled about before): HALF-DECADE HANGOVER

I LOVE THIS SONG SM!!! I EAT IT UP EVERY TIME IT COMES ON!! PROBABLY MY FAV WILL WOOD SONG RN!!

Anyways, this song is so so soooo angstily Jekyll coded, let's go straight to the lyrics >:3

"Wonder how I didn't die / This is not my life. I'm no survivor, I only happened to survive" right out the gate, first lines. Bro literally drank chemicals and now shares half his life with an entirely different consciousness.

"Down the days I have left, with one eye open"- could be him drinking the potion, with the one eye open being only half of him--"That was me screaming "Bitch, I am reality" / And stumbling off to lose myself in a brown paper bag cause me and / Sweet Evan Williams got a date down on Avenue / A staving shakes scraping change till daybreak / Turns out anyone can eat out the trash / Then wake up on the freeway mid-crash" could literally just be Hyde doing stupid shit and Henry regaining control 'mid-crash', ie when problems arise because of either of them tbh.

And the chorus!!! "Cause I was drunk when I made my bed / Now with a half-decade hangover I lay down in it /What have I done? Don't know what I've said / It's a half-decade hangover, either this, in jail, or dead / It's a half-decade hangover, Jesus Christ my aching head" bro was at his worst when he made that potion, and now he's stuck with the consequences. And the "this, in jail, or dead" those are the only options he thinks he has to deal with Hyde now!!

"Tripped on a couple steps, and collapsed on the stairs / Broke my neck on the backs of those who I've hurt and scared" my guy has been lying to everyone around him for years, but now everythings falling apart and it's coming back to bite him in the ass so hard now.

LAST LYRIC BC AT THIS RATE I'LL THROW THE WHOLE SONG IN-- "Sober, but still so much still hangs over / Please believe me when I say I poured my whole past down the drain / Say that a second chance is a chance I can take" first of all, the poured my whole past down the drain could be him literally giving up the man he was and taking the potion, OR, him dumping all the potions in that one scene, teehee. Secondly, the second chance part and the lines that follow in the song, totally him at Lanyon.

Next: OUTLIARS AND HYPPOCRATES

This one to me is a very Hyde song, specifically him talking to Jekyll.

"Cause I doubt that you would even if you could change / You think it makes you special, but it makes you strange / I doubt that you would even if you could change / The things that make you special are the things that make you strange" could be Hyde tellin Jekyll that he wouldn't get rid of him, even if he could, because it makes Jekyll fell better about his "lonely prince" persona, as Jasper put it lmao.

"I am the shadows cast aside by gallows, and you the red-hot sky" I just really like thinking about this line with them bc ✨imagery✨. Like, shadow Hyde, check. Gallows? Hell yeah. Red-hot sky? We got color AND, by proxy, sun and moon references, Let's go 🗣️

"You become immune to my toxic fumes / My dose-dependent presence in your life / It's all subjective, all due respect to the collective mind" I mean like. Toxic looking green potion. 'Collective mind', they're both parts of the same guy.

"Horrified at the sight of my reflection in your eyes, I don't belong there" mmmmm bodyswap mishaps 🤤

"Well, it's your conclusions that make mine delusions, so I make you sane / You can thank me later" idk how to explain it but the way this is said just gives major Hyde vibes, you get it, right chat?

"Who'd want to belong to anyone? (Ay, ay, ay, ay) I mean, what do people even do? / So, if you love me, let me let you go, my love (ay, ay, ay, ay), so I can be no one" him and his little crush/loathing on Lanyon, the silly

Next!!: MR CAPGRAS ENCOUNTERS A SECONDHAND VANITY

Literally the Jekyll and Hyde song ever. I mean, it starts with "you're trying to replace yourself" 💀

"Carving out a fact from a reckoning! /Beckoning your back, skin sagging off its skeleton / Levitating off the ground / Is another man wearing your face" LIKE DO I EVEN GOTTA SAY ANYTHING? This whole song is about false identities 😭

"All the other false identities / Remedies or enemies to mitigate your memories / Shuddered at what they found / When they stripped away the grace" like...

"Damn, I thought you're not your imposter / You're so sure you're not gonna get caught / Dead in your own skin / But you didn't choose what you were born in" this song gives big vibes for chapter 14 and 15, with the constant switching and fear of identity reveal and such.

"What you feel and what you do, are those things really you? / And if not, then what is? (Never, never, never) / So, my God, what's wrong with you? / And I'm still asking who that is" I really like thinking about this part as Lanyon asking Jekyll those things, even without an identity reveal! Since he puts up this gentleman facade and hides everything, Lanyon barely knows who Jekyll is.

"You'll never take me alive, baby (this is not enough) / You'll never take me alive (this is not enough to prove it yet) / You'll never take me, you'll never take me, you better pray that I die (no, I need to hit the bottom)" This part feels like a simultaneous Hyde and Jekyll part, with Jekyll being the parenthesised parts. Hyde being all cocky n shit while Jekyll tries to figure things out or something, idk lmao running low on explanation brain cells.

Honorable mentions that I just don't feel like explaining in depth rn, but probably could!!

The Song With 5 Names- very Jekyll coded

Dr Sunshine is Dead- kinda Jekyll coded, but VERY Hyde coded

2econd 2ight 2eer- the Hyde song ever

6up 5oh Copout- another mega Hyde song, if I could animate it would be over for y'all

Against The Kitchen Floor- Jekyll and Lanyon, these gay people make me upset

Cicada Days- also very Jekyll and Lanyon :(

Hand Me My Shovel!- Jekyll coded, I like to think of him making the potion

Basically, 90% of Will Woods discography can be spun to fit these silly characters. I love Will Wood guys :3 sometimes I wish I could verbally ramble about this kinda stuff, but also words are hard (and it makes me feel annoying lmao) 💔💔 but anyways!!! Thank you for the ask! I hope Will Wood consumes you just as well as it has most of the TGS fandom :3 <333

[ashyronfire]

Consequences || Chapter 01: When I Meet Death

Title: 01 - When I Meet Death Rating: M Characters: Grimm, The Pale King Warnings: Disturbing Content, Horror, Gore, Unreliable Narrator, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Read On Ao3: Beginning || Current Chapter

Summary:

Nothing consumed by the void truly dies. Not even the fallen king of Hallownest.

Author’s Notes: This fic has a LOT of warnings that it needs, but in truth, a lot of them are also spoilers. I don't want to spoil it so I will just warn you that it has some of the most graphic things I've ever written, on top of which it is best classified as a horror hurt-no-comfort. If you're squeamish, don't read. Please.

Also, this fic is only 10 chapters long. So if you're someone who is scared of committing to one of my longfics, lmao, surprise, this one's multipart but not terribly long.

CHAPTER 01: WHEN I MEET DEATH

For some, the endless night came with a kind of peace. A people once revered it as the still calm of death: a sea that stretched on unto eternity, where the beginning and the end could be found. That ancient civilization had regarded the ancient force they shared space with as an inevitable, but welcome friend, and they’d gone into its sweet embrace at the end of their days with no hesitation at all.

But the Pale King’s heart was heavy, and he was not so blessed. For him, that infinite black was not still at all. It was tumultuous, a storm threatening to devour all, and he’d known – he’d always known – that what awaited him was anything but peace.

When the shadows rose from the abyss, creeping through the dream of the White Palace, staining marble with shifting void, he’d accepted his fate with as much dignity and grace as someone in his position could be expected to.

He’d screamed, cried, and tried to beg, and it was all for naught.

The void claimed what it was owed: his heart, his mind, his life.

And demanded so much more.

What should have been still, should have been a vast reservoir of empty nothing, was instead full of souls and they cried out for retribution.

The void did not offer him death, for death would have been a mercy.

The void did not offer him peace, for he had not yet earned it.

And within that maelstrom of power, of hunger and rage, of glowing white eyes filled with disappointment and betrayal, with pain that he’d put there, he learned the cost of regret. The anchor of his mistakes pulled him down, crushed him beneath their fury. Words echoed, cacophonous, everyone and no one at once, and he could say and do nothing to stop it.

Nothing within the swirling tempest was dead. Nor was it alive. They existed instead in a state somewhere between, locked in the moment of a memory that replayed itself over and over again, whispers of ‘Father?...’ like a mantra between screams. Horrible, resonant screams and the void made sure that he heard every single one.

In that place of darkness, what need had anyone for a light? He was without worth.

As he’d always been, really.

A king whose resolution had been to sacrifice everything on a hope and a dream – against hope and against dreams. What folly.

He saw their eyes. Hundreds of white, burning eyes that stared through him with a luminescence that rivaled his own, starlight winking in the shadows and full, so full, of promise, of demands.

What good to scream?

What good to plead, to beg?

Had it ever done anyone any good?

Hallownest would live on and so would he.

Nothing the void claimed had ever truly died. It might have changed hands. It might have changed forms. But memory was an eternal thing, and the void would never forget that which it touched, that which it birthed, that which it had claimed before any other false idols had wandered into its lands.

And compared to that primordial force, he was a false idol. So was she. They both were.

He fell and the distance was endless. There was no ground to break himself upon, no surface for his wings to catch. There was only the expanse, fathomless.

If a black hole existed, it was surely this: memories replaying around him, his voice and others, scenes like a vision most terrible, and the screams. Always the screams.

Those haunting starlight eyes were a beacon by which to guide himself, but he controlled not where he went. He could turn. He could flip himself upside down, as if he might see where he was destined to land – except that there was nothing to see. There would never be anything to see again.

Until there was.

Another glint of white, the flash of steel, and an uneasy bleeding of red. Disoriented, the Pale King turned over and held one claw out toward the difference, the color amidst the monochrome that had painted his world.

He reached out and he was met with claws that seized around his wrist. They moored him, snatched him from where he was drifting, and then a face leaned terribly close to his, breath licking his shell like flames. His heart raced while ice flowed through him, freezing the air in his lungs like needlepoints, icicles forming inside of him in an attempt to jut outward. He’d been afraid before. Recognition of the figure that caught him did little to assist with that.

“My, my.”

Scarlet horns and a cheshire smile that knew too much. Confusion settled at the back of the wyrm’s throat, stole away his words, and he gazed up at the floating figure that had caught him on his descent.

The counterpart to the blazing light of morning. The ruler of the other half of the realm of dreams.

The Nightmare King.

“What a sorry, pathetic state I find you in.”

All around him, those glowing white eyes turned, and the voices joined in unison to repeat one word: Grimm. The confusion of the Pale King intensified as the shadows laid over one another in a discordant melody. Grimm. Grimm. Grimm.

How did they know his name, the wyrm would have asked, but when he tried to speak, he found himself with no words.

That was a fitting punishment, perhaps.

He’d denied his children the ability to cry out their agony, to prevent himself from ever having to hear them weep – and they’d still found a way to scream. The Hollow Knight had screamed in agony before their death, and it was only a matter of time before their successor – for there would always be a successor; he’d ensured that any of the vessels who escaped would find their way back to take their place in the chain, each a link in the bonds that held Her at bay – followed suit.

That he should find himself without the ability to wail his despair –

“Nevertheless, I have found you. At last.” Razor-sharp claws plunged deeper, nesting through his chitin to break it, to hold onto the tissue beneath, and he was surprised to find that whatever the void had done to him, he could yet bleed.

Or could he? Was it in his head?

Scarlet eyes left his face and Grimm’s strangely knowing smile settled on the shimmering orbs above them. They flickered and phantom touches settled on the Pale King’s sides. He felt scratching and petting in the same motion. Grimm did not let go of his wrist and did not acknowledge the fact that shadows were winding up to choke the wyrm, cloaking him in ribbons of darkness, blotting out his light.

Some of the void snaked down the Pale King’s wrist, settled at the back of his hand, moved as though to touch Grimm’s, and then drew back with a shiver.

It was not fear. The shadows did not find frightening a force far less remarkable than they. And yet there was a reverence to the way they devoured him, leaving Grimm untouched; there was an almost affectionate way that they surrounded black claws, never touching him.

Fondness, the Pale King realized. There was something in the void that was fond of the god of fear.

“A provisional lease, if you please,” the Nightmare King murmured, and if the darkness answered, the Pale King did not hear it.

He woke instead.

o

The sharp incline of his body told him that he was crashing into consciousness. The waking world was a violent thing, seizing muscles, stiff fingers, broken wings. Blurring white, blue, violet, and crimson filled his vision, obscuring all but the hard dirt ground beneath his body.

The Pale King turned over and choked. His throat was a raw thing, dry and burning, and his claws – what he could make out – were stained with void.

The terrible realization that he was alive tore his confidence asunder.

He was alive. But he hadn’t survived. He was a living thing that hadn’t been allowed to die and he’d been brought back, dragged from the eternal sea with intent and purpose.

He retched and what came out was black.

It took him a moment to realize that it was more of a murky red when the light hit it. Chunks of discarded flesh and fragmented bone mingled within coagulated blood, peppering the darkness with discolored sludges of gray, of white, of sickly green. The smell seized his stomach, threatened to pull it taut once more, vile putrefaction turning his insides into something more liquid than any organ ought to have been.

Something moved. It had wings. And beneath it, wriggling, were slightly translucent white forms.

Larvae.

He was decaying, and smaller insects were laying their larvae within what had once been his corpse.

And that ghastly, grinning specter had put him back inside of it.

Waking horror made his claws shake and he brought one up to scratch the side of his face. Trembling, the wyrm took in the shadow that loomed over him, stretching far taller than he was, and he longed to curse.

When he opened his mouth, though, no sound came out, and the chuckle that Grimm offered was an awful thing: smug, condescending, and very self-satisfied.

“It will be some time before you are allowed the privilege of words,” he said, circling the Pale King’s half-doubled over form.

Just as in the void, just as in his prison of shadow, he had no voice with which to beg and plead for salvation.

Not that Grimm represented it. No, that harbinger of the end offered nothing that the Pale King wanted, and yet…

They were in the Basin, he realized.

His vision cleared enough for him to recognize the void-stained earth on which he was sitting. The smells carried heavily – roses, magnolias, and chrysanthemums, the flowers that his Root had planted so long ago – and he could taste them on the back of a half-decomposed tongue.

He lifted his head, secondary arms wrapping around himself for comfort, his expression impassive as outrage worked its way through him. The great caverns he’d once carved with his own claws lay in ruins around him, stained and ruined by the gaping maw of darkness on which he’d built his kingdom. Vegetation rested lifeless, the abyss draining all semblance of color away until the rocky gray earth was peppered with black veining in place of roots. Amidst it all, the decrepit arched entrance of his Palace stood, guarded by a lifeless kingsmould, but the structure itself was long gone.

Sent away. He’d sent it away, and himself with it. He remembered that, if little else was clear in the haze of pain and the awful stench of darkness that felt like damp salt in his throat.

Grimm hadn’t simply retrieved him from the void. He’d put him into his old body, which meant he’d found it somewhere in the Dream World. And he hadn’t bothered to heal any of it. Would he continue to rot and decompose? Die properly, then, as all things did when their organs shut down?

“You will have to settle for mine instead,” Grimm continued. He crouched in front of the wyrm, wings pooling at his feet, claws coming up to settle on his mask, though it did little to disguise the self-satisfied smile that he wore. “More’s the pity for you, I expect.”

A foot settled under his chin and then, violently, it smashed into the bottom of his chin and knocked him onto his back.

Any delusions that he might have held that this was an act of mercy were immediately dispelled. Pain shot through his face, settling as a searing ache in his throat, and he scraped his claws along the ground to brace himself. He felt Soul thrum beneath them, the living pulse of the world, but – where he could have called it, made it sing for him, before, it was distant now, far away, as if at some great height.

“Get up,” Grimm pressed. There was no malice in his tone, despite the violent outburst, but there was also no mercy: it was a command and he expected to be obeyed. “We have places to be.”

A far easier demand to make than to execute. He struggled, claws scrambling over cracked and disheveled rocks, to pull himself upright. Flecks of chitin broke away from his carapace where he’d been kicked and he choked again, gagging. The reflexive urge to vomit rose anew, blurring his vision, but this time – this time it was accompanied by the fleeting chill of fear and the worry that if he let himself become distracted by excising the tiny parasites using his body as host, he would be kicked again for his trouble.

They’d met before, he and the Nightmare King, and he had not found Grimm impressive then. His main feelings toward the butterfly had been that he was a flickering light where his counterpart had been brilliant, and that whatever had birthed nightmare had been something that the blazing light of morning had found repulsive, shameful, a thing to be hidden away in the dark. He’d looked down upon him and was met with coy, mocking terms of endearment, ‘How fascinating, the view from your tower made of glass. May it not come crumbling down upon you bathed in flame, dear wyrm – whatever would you do then?’

It was one meeting. The Pale King had believed they’d never again see one another.

Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.

One could not outrun death.

His stomach lurched and he vomited again. The sensation was a distant one, writhing maggots in his mouth, and each little spit had more and more of them, along with the fractured chunks of his internal mechanisms.

He should not have been alive. No creature deserved to live on in such a state, undead and wrong.

Hadn’t he wanted to spare his kingdom’s people such atrocities? Was that not the point?

Grimm gazed down at him with that unearthly scarlet stare and fury settled in his claws as they dug into the ground for purchase. His mouth curled back in a snarl, bearing needle-like fangs, and when he met the Nightmare’s eyes, a growl rattled in his chest.

He was met with laughter.

“Be careful,” Grimm said, rocking on the ends of his feet, wicked smile lingering on his mask. “Wouldn’t want to disrupt any more parts of your internal organs.” He turned and nudged the mess between them, splattered gelatinous blood solidifying on lifeless dirt, with the end of his paw. “I believe that might be a chunk of your liver.”

The growling subsided. The Pale King dropped his gaze to the chunk of tissue, of flesh, of organ meat within the oozing puddle of bile-filled blood, and then straightened his jaw. It realigned, hinging back on itself, teeth slowly folding downward within his mouth.

It was, indeed, a chunk of his liver.

He should have been dead. He should have wished for such peace. Fear held him in a vice grip, though, and despite the itching sensation that resembled thousands of little feet skittering across his shell, the wyrm made it to his feet. His vision blurred and disoriented him, but he dared not reach out to brace himself, dared not show further that he was struggling in the catastrophic state that he was in.

Grimm needed no further ammunition for the unvoiced laughter and his pride struggled beneath the weight of the blows.

That he should sink so low as to be at the mercy of a creature barely qualifying as a god himself –

That he should be obedient, subservient, to a mere fragment of his enemy’s power that dared to think and breathe on its own –

The thought chafed.

“We have quite the walk ahead of us,” Grimm purred. To hear such a tone from so deep, so damaged a voice, was unsettling. The unadulterated joy in Grimm’s eyes felt like nails slamming through the wyrm to his core and he looked at the ground rather than meet laughing scarlet. “Dirtmouth. You do remember the way, do you not? To your little hub town, your connection to the outside world? When all else of your kingdom lay in ruins, they yet live on. The further from your grace they are, the more stable they remain.”

Dirtmouth…?

The name brought to mind images of small, dilapidated buildings and a failed tram project that he’d meant to connect Hallownest with; it brought to mind great cliffs and the moth tribe’s altar to the morning in the distance; it brought to mind the howling cliffs and transients who knew little about his kingdom and even less about its monarch. He’d largely left Dirtmouth as it was, with it serving as a waypoint for those coming from the wastes who would have sought greater prospects in the underground kingdom.

It did not surprise him to hear it was largely untouched by the plague of dreams. Why attack those who meant nothing to him, when there were so many that she could hurt him with?

She’d left them to the tender care of her counterpart, ambassador of death that he was, it would seem. Whether or not his wings were merciful would remain to be seen.

The Pale King wanted to ask Grimm if he would be gentle when he swept Hallownest into oblivion. That was what the Nightmare Troupe did, was it not? They came to the ruins of a dying land and feasted on its corpse, carrion creatures that they were, and then they left it barebones and forgotten. He’d encountered many in the wilds, before he’d become… this. He knew how they operated. Not with malice, but with purpose. Was it so for the butterfly and his people?

Words failed. He had no way to ask.

He had no right to, either.

He’d failed Hallownest and all hope that he had for a better future hinged on a plan that required sacrifice after sacrifice, death after death, links in a chain, congruent suffering until their lives all ran out.

Time frozen. The last eternal kingdom.

What a fool he’d been. What a fool he still was.

He let Grimm lead the way and fell into shambling steps behind him, each movement its own new agony, muscles and shell pulling on parts of his body that should have dissolved long ago. The void was taking its time reminding him of his failure over and over again, and as much as he longed to argue, he could not.

Hallownest was dying and there was nothing that he could do about it. Grimm’s presence there was proof.

But why was he alive?

The question was answered by an all-too-familiar mantra within his mind, made up of thousands of voices overlaying over top of one another. A chill made him tremble anew as he recognized his own words recited back to him in empty, callous answer:  

No cost too great.

No mind to think.

No will to break.

No voice to cry suffering.

Born of God and Void.

You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams.

You are the vessel.

But the last line –

The last line never came.

[setzappersto-pew]

I think we all need to take a step back, temper our expectations, try to have some critical thinking skills, and judge the show for what it is instead of what it could or should be. This is Rick Riordan retelling the story for a new generation (in a new medium, which necessitates change--a novel is not the same as a TV/film script) from a future perspective, knowing what the future holds for these characters. He can introduce themes and ideas earlier and hammer them in harder, work on character development in a different way, create slightly altered scenarios to make more tension and drama...because he has a full plan now, not just a bedtime story. Is this future planning a good thing? Debatable. But I'm here for it if it can be done well.

Let's look at episode 6.

While I like our trio just stumbling into places and being dumb kids about it, just vibing at the arcade games while the world spins on...going to the Lotus Hotel with a purpose gives them more agency and drives the story more, even though they still fall into the inevitable trap because they can't escape that magic. Grover's deep desire to be a Searcher (a theme that comes to fruition in the future) is what keeps him stuck there. Percy and Annabeth find Hermes, which brings the conversation back around to Luke; Annabeth's so close to Luke, and Percy is his literary foil, so naturally that's what keeps them trapped. On that subject, focusing so much on Luke and bringing in his backstory so early really hammers in the theme of the gods needing to step up as parents lest they ruin their children's lives and start wars...and the idea that Luke was right, he just chose to do horrible things about it (while also being manipulated by Kronos, I know). We're setting up Kronos and the idea of something much bigger than just the bolt being stolen, which was likely not on Rick's mind in 2005. My point here is that there's more of a thematic purpose with the deviations, and the themes are indicative of a larger story. The downside of this, however, is Hermes kind of giving them the answer--and also keeping them there--instead of Percy figuring out that too much time has passed. You win some, you lose some.

Percy's been given 4 pearls instead of 3? It's meant to set up false hope. One will likely break or get lost, and Percy will still have to make that choice. We hear him say "Hold fast, Mom" in the teaser for episode 7, implying she will stay behind and he will fail to save what matters most. I also think this shows that Poseidon still cares for Sally and Percy, since he seemingly intended for Percy to save Sally too.

The solstice has already passed? Adds higher stakes. Gives Percy a choice: go back to camp, like he wanted to when they were only in New Jersey, or stay the course. He chooses to continue, to do the right thing and try to stop this war and anything beyond (and to save Sally too obviously), the complete opposite of him at first refusing to even go on this quest. He's seen a glimpse of his father's care, has a different perspective on the gods' parenting from Hermes, knows there are worse things to come thanks to his Kronos-dreams, and chooses to hold fast and brave the storm.

Episode 5 had similar complaints. Hephaestus's trap was different, but the goal here was to showcase Percy and Annabeth's growing fondness for each other and Percy's self-sacrificial tendencies and Fatal Flaw of loyalty, as well as establishing Hephaestus as more of a sympathetic ally. No spiders to show Annabeth does get scared (a logistical nightmare they tried but couldn't get to work, according to Rick), but she is scared of being abandoned and of losing Percy just like she did Thalia. Again, this changes Percy and Annabeth defeating the trap by their own skills, but it emphasizes the mindset that Percy holds about the gods being "correct" and the ability for the stubborn gods to be swayed. Grover was just a sidekick in this book chapter, but here he's unfurling the mystery, using his powerful empathy to understand Ares and subsequently trick him into saying too much, providing the misdirection of Clarisse, etc.

Some people need to have a little more patience with this too. No Fates when Percy's leaving Yancy, but we get them later when they show Annabeth the string they cut--which is Luke's lifeline, not Percy's, further tying her to these two characters. I saw some complaints that they skipped the Oracle, only to get it first thing the next episode. Others were worried about Percy's fugitive plotline being gone, when the first real instance of this in the book was after he gets out of the Mississippi River anyway...so, right where we got it in the episode (there was a small instance before they left camp, but I think that's okay to gloss over). Ares presents them with more of this plotline instead of them catching it on a TV, which is such an Ares thing to do so it works for me. No Iris Message in Denver, but we got it in episode 6 when they have more suspicions to report; Luke is still kinda shifty in the call and now he has another person to blame directly, making the misdirection even more fun. Percy and Annabeth don't have their iconic talk in the truck, but they've touched on a lot of it already in other conversations and maybe they will do more before Percy's fight with Ares (she still gives him her necklace as we can see in teasers, so this seems likely). Percy's getting wet under the water instead of staying dry, and we have yet to see him talk to a horse (the zebra is barely seen in episode 6, which I will admit is just silly given the episode title); maybe we'll get those later when it matters more to the plot, instead of just tacking it on as more stuff he can do.

My point here is this: this is not a beat-for-beat adaptation, and I don't think it should be. This is a retelling with the ultimate series themes and events in mind, not just the immediate events. It's got the vibes and the soul of the world and the characters. The deviations still feel like the characters would have made those choices, they still fit in this fictional world. Some are attempting to fix details that worked in 2005 but don't in 2023/2024, or that were extraneous details that filled the pages but not the plot. Some changes emphasize different themes like the gods being able to be swayed in their mindset, while no longer showcasing our heroes skills and abilities--but their skills and abilities are shown in different scenes. It's a trade-off that usually pays off. There are some missteps and pacing issues and exposition issues, but it's a show aimed at kids who don't know the finer points of Greek mythology with 30-40 minute episodes (the latter is Disney's fault). I see the changes and understand that most of them are used to tell the greater story, the story of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, not just The Lightning Thief.

Bottom line: I'm having a good time! This show is making me really happy, while also nailing the emotional beats to really wreck me, and that's all I expected and wanted out of it. I like that some of the changes are making me wonder how things will play out differently with the same end goal ahead; it keeps it fresh and reinvigorates my love for this story. These kids are ACTING, they are these characters, and they have stolen my heart! Do I wish some things weren't changed? Maybe. But different doesn't mean bad. People are allowed to not like it, but I hope they have a good reason for not liking it besides "it's different than the books", especially when it's very much not different in the grand scheme of adaptations. If people would stop crying foul immediately and have some perspective instead, they might have a better experience.

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Spoilers for Our Flag Means Death finale.

I just needed to talk things through as a crew.

So, I already posted something about how I felt about Izzy's death immediately after watching the finale. Now that I've given myself more time to mull it over though, I'm not quite as satisfied with the ending as I thought. But I think I know why I'm not exactly angry about it either.

I think I just see it as an open ending for next season? Like, I can see how Izzy's death brings parts of the story around full circle. (Mainly in Ed growing out of being Blackbeard who wasn't really Blackbeard without Izzy Hands.) However, after thinking about it some and reading some other people's thoughts about it, it doesn't really work for bringing Izzy's story around full circle, does it? No, really, does it? I'm still not entirely sure.

On the one hand, I've seen people talk about how Izzy represents piracy and piracy is coming to an end, so it makes sense for him to die with piracy. With his talk with Ricky about how they may die, but they'll live on in other ways, it makes sense.

On another hand, I also see people talking about the fact that Izzy survived a suicide attempt (potentially for the reason of protecting the crew) only to end the season saying he wants to die...

This choice just makes me a bit queasy because it invalidates some of the hope I've had building up with every episode I watched, especially in season 2, where Izzy goes through the bulk of what I feel is (at least mostly) such an amazing character arc.

On a third hand, I saw someone saying that Izzy should captain the Revenge while Stede and Ed go off to run their inn. I had thought this was going to happen too until I started seeing the foreshadowing for Izzy's death and started doubting that theory.

Part of the reason this makes so much sense is because, firstly, Izzy runs the ship already. Plus, he's changed his priorities to be about the crew.

Remember in season 1 episode 9, when the crew is planning to mutiny against Izzy and are trying to decide who should be captain next. And Oluwande says,

"It's gotta be someone we can all trust. Someone who's got the whole crew in mind. Not just themselves."

Izzy didn't make a good captain in that episode because he still didn't trust them, they didn't trust him, and he was doing everything for himself.

In season 2, none of that is true anymore.

The crew DOES trust him. He DOES think about the crew first and foremost. And, we even get to see him learn to trust the crew as well. Learn that they see him as not just a part of the crew they have to deal with like in most of season 1, but a crucial part of the crew and a person they all care about.

In short, it really would have made so much sense to make him Captain.

"Okay, but why do you think his death is an open ending? Death is typically a decidedly very closed off ending."

Ah, I see the point I keep losing is back.

How many times has someone been "dead" only to come back later. How many times has IZZY "died" to come back later. Granted, Izzy going through this multiple times is part of what foreshadows the idea that he's going to not come back this time, so it's possibly just false hope to think he'll come back (assuming we get a third season).

But think about it. Izzy has died. Stede gave up his pirating dream, which seems how likely to stick? And Ed thinks he's going to be able to work a customer service job? And both Stede and Ed think they'll be good at running a business they don't know jackshit about? Ed has proved to be lousy at working a "simple" life. Ed's subconscious said so. Pop-pop said so. Even Jackie sees this as a "wish I was a regular dude phase." Also, Stede has proved that he can be a decent pirate. Zheng said so. Spanish Jackie said so. The entire Republic of Pirates said so. The Pirate Queen said so.

I guess I just have a hard time believing the creators of ofmd couldn't bring Izzy back somehow and turn out a new plot for another season if they wanted to.

At the end of season one, Ed and Stede resign themselves to a future that is not ideal for them and Lucius "dies."

At the end of season 2, Ed and Stede decide to try for a future that is arguably also not ideal for them (it's just less angsty than season 1) and Izzy "dies."

I dunno. I guess what I'm saying is, it makes enough sense for an ending, but not this story's ending. And this show actually managed to make me feel things in my mucky rustbucket of a heart and gave me hope like not many things do. I'm just not ready to give up on it yet.

. . . . .

Maybe they didn't want to make Izzy captain because then if/when Stede and/or Ed come back wanting to be Captain, they'd have to decide how to make that work? But that wouldn't be too hard to figure out, right? I mean, they already decided a ship can have two captains. Why not 3?

Here's some of those posts I was talking about:

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 2: Family, friends, loved ones. ~ Aemond Targaryen/OC [1,243 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

A/N: So I do intend to write a full-blown Aemond fic one day, I have vague plans in place for how it’ll go, and it’ll probably be with this OC. That being said, as of right now I probably wouldn’t recommend going into that with whatever oneshots I write for him now in mind, because there’s every likelihood that there won’t be any consistency plot-wise between these and that, other than bare bones characterisations – which is why I’m using the same name here for the OC. Sort of test-driving her character, if nothing else.

Also, her name being Jeyne was something I went back and forth on because of Jeyne Poole in the ASOIAF books, who this character is definitely not, but we’re in a world with twenty Viserys’ and fifty billion Aegons, so we can deal.

Though Jeyne would never admit it, she had – when she was younger – fallen into the pastime that many other young ladies did of imagining what her wedding celebrations might look like. Occasionally. When there was nothing else to do. For a moment or two.

Not that interrogation under threat of torture could ever pry that fact out of her.

Still, in her imaginings there were two things she’d never once dreamed of, both of which were now a reality. The first was the groom in question. As the firstborn daughter of a House of some significance, it was expected that she’d marry reasonably well. Lord something-or-other with either gold, good land, or useful connections. Perhaps two of those three.

If she was very lucky, she would like her husband. Somewhat lucky, and he’d leave her to her own affairs beyond seeing that their duty was conducted. Mostly she felt herself daring when she hoped for the latter.

Which was why she was left pinching herself when it was announced that House Greenstone would join with House Targaryen, through the marriage of Lady Jeyne to Prince Aemond. There was no shortage of tittering over her House name when it was announced, but she was much too distracted to heed it much because it turned out she actually liked the Prince. Not even in spite of his notoriously surly demeanour, but perhaps because of it.

Were he his older brother, she would find herself more inclined to distrust the surprising rapport she’d built with her intended throughout their carefully orchestrated courting process. Yes, she was not so naïve as to think that there wouldn’t been a bit of artifice to it in the beginning. Prince Aemond was a man of duty, and if his duty was to behave in a courtly manner to her in the run-up to their wedding, then he would do so. But could the same not be said for any who were polite to those they hoped to one day call an ally?

But polite, if not awkward and stilted, conversations, had – to her shock, as well as that of everybody else – morphed into real conversations. One where her mind was on simply talking to him, and not what Lady Jeyne should be saying to Prince Aemond.

If she had to mark when exactly the change had happened, she would have said it was during their third meeting. They’d exhausted the gardens, and the galleries, and so he’d asked her where in the Red Keep she might like to see next. Without thinking, she’d answered the library – and then faltered, wondering if the correct answer wouldn’t have been the personal sept used by the family here. But Prince Aemond had blinked at her, watching her carefully with his one violet eye, and then slowly informed her that the library housed historical accounts, factual accounts, more than they did song and legend.

Something in his prim and proper princely act had threatened to slip through then – not that all that came beforehand had suddenly felt false, but his words to her in that instance hadn’t felt quite so pre-prepared and indifferent.

Then, the unamused expression had slipped onto her face in response to his assumption before she could think better of it – and he’d liked it.

Which was how, over the weeks of their long engagement (for short ones led to rumours of accidents, as her mother liked to insist), they’d gotten here. To Jeyne sitting by her intended’s side – situated to his right, so he could easily look in her direction - at their final engagement feast in the run-up to the wedding, blushing as he looked at her like she was some sort of strange and wonderful phenomenon that he had yet to figure out. He kept his face impassive, gazing straight ahead as whispers reached them of how some gathered felt sympathy for her despite her sharp rise in station, for he would surely eat her alive. Jeyne followed his lead, and offered no reaction when other whispers floated by that while she was not bad looking, a prince surely could have found a fairer bride. It was easier to do when his fingers found hers beneath the table, tentatively toying with them, growing bolder but never inappropriate when she did not quickly pull back.

The crowd, she reasoned, would likely blame all of the eyes upon her for her blushes.

No, she never could have foreseen this.

The second thing, however, was something she should have seen coming. Her family. Although, to be fair to herself, it was no wonder that they held no place in her idealised daydreams.

So great was the royal family, even without Rhaenyra and her branch present (apparently Prince Daemon’s response on behalf of he and the princess to the wedding invitation did not bear repeating), there was no room for any of the Greenstones to sit. Bar herself, of course. Which meant that Jeyne was afforded the opportunity to watch in horror, from her seat at the high table in her pretty mint-green dress, as her kin made fools of themselves.

Her mother, it seemed, was determined to pick apart every aspect of the event – the décor, the bards, the gowns of the other ladies; the latter of which she made a distinct point of looking up and down with a wrinkled nose…before quickly becoming meek as a mouse the moment any of them looked back. Her father, meanwhile, was attempting to swap war stories with the seasoned knights in attendance…despite never having swung a sword in his life. Not at a moving target, anyway.

Her younger sister – who clearly felt a particular way about plain Jeyne being betrothed to a prince, even if it was “the dour one who’s missing an eye” and not the “funnier, handsomer” Aegon – was doing everything she could to commandeer the attention of all within a twenty foot vicinity of her. Prince Aegon openly laughed at the spectacle at the other side of Prince Aemond…but in a way that seemed to be laughing at her sister, rather than with her. Her brother, at least, seemed to feel much the same way Jeyne did, his head down, enduring the feast as best he could. When he met her gaze, he offered a rueful smile and lifted his cup to her.

Jeyne breathed a laugh, but that was enough to get the prince’s attention.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Before she could think better of it, too. For would it be worse to acknowledge the spectacle they were making of themselves? Or would politely pretending not to see it make him think she really did not see.

“For laughing?” he responded, just as quietly, his fingers still toying with hers. “It’s a feast.”

“For…” she trailed off. “All of that. My friends, family…loved ones…”

She did love them. Truly. She had to, did she not? They were her family. At the moment, however, she just wasn’t much of a fan of their behaviour. Prince Aemond was silent for a moment, and she was too nervous to look over and see how he responded to that. But then he made a low sort of hm noise in the back of his throat, and properly took her hand in his then beneath the table.

“In less than a week’s time, you’ll have new friends. New family…”

New loved ones. The words were unsaid, but her cheeks blazed all the same.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[amphiptere-art]

*watching the newest episode of Tsams. Everyone sitting in silence in front of the theater screen.*

*Cygnus slowly clenches his fist, creating scratches. Looking over to blackstar with a snarl.*

Cygnus: So. Are we finally going to head over there and help them?

Black Star: Not yet. There's always a chance-

Cygnus: Fuck your chances! He can't get out of there, and Ruin's bringing moon! It's going to die idiot! You said we were-

Blackstar: I said we would help when they're really wasn't any other chances! It's not like he's being harmed-

Cygnus: Harmed! Here I thought you were the soppy fella! He's already been harmed enough by his brain or whatever!

Black Star: He still has a chance, ruin wanted to help-

Cygnus: What type of opinion is that blasted British idiot has that will change moon's mind! Nothing stops him from coating his hands in blood or oil!

Black Star: We have to wait!

Cygnus: If we wait any longer he could die!

Black Star: And there's also a chance things can turn around! Maybe this is the version of us that actually gets a happy ending.

Cygnus: Don't kid yourself. Every iteration of us has died by moon's hands, or by his plans! Not once has he ever regretted it!

Blackstar: Earth could still-

Cygnus: Earth doesn't know anything! Moon's too much of a defensive coward to tell her of his plans of murder!

Black Star: Sun's been thinking it through-

Cygnus: Sun isn't going to fight his brother! He's just as much of a coward!

Black Star: He's still been speaking out more-

Cygnus: After the fact!

Black Star: Look we can't just take him! I can teleport in and out of there in seconds, I'm not going to let him die! This comes out minutes before anyways for us. It's not like I won't have a chance.

Cygnus: And you want him to live through that! To know that he was seconds before being scrapped to pieces!

Black Star: He won't be dead.

Cygnus: He won't be alive!

Antares: Look, Cygnus! You don't have the multi-dimensional teleportation powers. Black Star is the only one who has it. If you can't convince him now. You're not going to convince him otherwise.

Rigel: Pretty sure Black Star is serious about not letting them die. He just seems stuck on waiting.

Cygnus: Yah, stuck like you are believing lunar thinks you're a robot.

Rigel: Hey!

Cygnus: Oh, shut up! *Looking back towards Black Star* If you want to be an idiot and make Algol live through watching himself almost get torn to pieces, That's your problem! I told you he was going to die, And you decided to ignore it! You know just as much as anyone else here. That we are all destined to die or fall at moon's hands. Never once has that changed. The only happy endings, are the ones created by fantastical aftermaths! That are so off the Cannon road, They aren't even cannon! You are running off of the idea of a fantasy, that only comes out of wildest dreams. That hope you hold on to, is a dream! You know it! You're the fucking creation of one! You and your stupid god. You know that your fantasy is a lie! Why can't you just accept it that way!

*Silence spans like an overwhelming blanket in the area. Covering everything except for the hum of the projector. Cygnus stands firm in front of Black Star. Shaking in rage. Blackstar stairs back at him. His eyes portray the husk that they have to come. Unable to deny or confirm. Cygnus screams and slashes his rage towards a theater chair*

Cygnus: Fuck off then! Live in your false reality! Don't come looking for me! I'll tear you to bits if you do!

*Cygnus storms off. Briskly leaving the theater. Antares sits up from his chair. Slowly walking out of the theater himself.*

Antares: He's right you know. We're all exaggerated cut off from what is true. Expecting anything better than the standard will just make everything hurt more.

*Antares leaves the theater. The silence returning as Rigel and Black Star stay in their places. Black Star finally raising up his arms and letting out a silent sob. Hiding his face in his hands.*

Rigel: ... If it's anything. I hope you're right.

Black Star: God I hope so. Huuh! I really hope so.

[fairylandblog]

Faerie Hoaxes

For centuries, people have been interested in faerie hoaxes because they combine the supernatural with the art of lying. Most of the time, these lies are about finding or seeing faeries, which are mythical beings with roots in many different cultures' tales and legends. Faeries have always been fascinating to people, even in ancient times. This shows that people have always wanted to connect with the mysterious and the unknown. One of the most well-known faerie hoaxes was the Cottingley Fairies event in 1917. A young cousin pair named Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths said they had taken pictures of real fairies in their yard in Cottingley, England. The pictures of delicate beings with wings, closely related to the girls, immediately drew people in. The pictures piqued the interest of many people, even persuading prominent figures such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes and a fervent spiritualist. Doyle used the pictures to support his claims that supernatural things happen, which gave the fake a convincing look.

Some people were skeptical at first, but for many years, most people believed the photos to be real. In the early 1980s, Elsie and Frances finally told everyone that the pictures were fakes made with cardboard shapes and basic photography skills. Even though they told the truth, people were still very interested in faeries. Instead, it showed how strong belief is and how much people are willing to believe the impossible, especially when society and culture are in chaos. The so-called "Fairy Investigation Society" project from the 1920s is another fascinating example of a possible faerie hoax. This group said it would record and look into faerie sightings, and it drew members who really believed in the reality of these magical beings. Despite society's skepticism, the group garnered significant attention and demonstrated the enduring desire for magic in an increasingly rational world. Even though these endeavors are ultimately false, they often come from people's deep-seated desire to find comfort and wonder in the supernatural. Faerie tales are also an intriguing way to look at the social and cultural settings in which they appear. They often do best when things are changing quickly or when people are feeling unsure, because that's when people are more likely to look for comfort in the supernatural. One example is the Cottingley Fairies, who first appeared after World War I, a time of enormous loss and change. The idea of friendly, fun faeries was a refreshing break from the harsh facts of the time. Furthermore, faerie hoaxes show how people tend to mix up truth and fantasy in general. They show how the desire to be amazed can make even the smartest think illogically. This has happened throughout human history, not just in certain cultures. From stories about faeries in the Middle Ages to modern reports of supernatural events, people have always been interested in the mysterious.

Faerie hoaxes are intriguing from both a psychological and a social point of view. They tell us a lot about how people deal with the unknown and how the group mind works. A lot of the time, people use these scams as a way to escape reality for a short time, slipping into a world of magic and possibility. This kind of escape can be especially helpful during times of trouble, giving people hope and wonder when they need it the most. Basically, faerie hoaxes show how much people love telling stories and how powerful stories about the supernatural are in our minds. The amalgamation of these stories demonstrates the blurring of reality and dreams, as well as the transcendence of logic and reason in the quest for amazement. Even when perceived as harmless jokes or complex scams, people still find faerie hoaxes interesting. They demonstrate how much people have always desired the magical and the mysterious.

[anastacialy]

guys.

i figured out who e!false is.

but if i'm right i'm going to be so annoyed!! (/positive)

so i've seen a bunch of people stipulate that she might be a time traveler, which is definitely a great theory — but i have a specific type of time traveler in mind. this may sound silly, but hear me out, there's lots of evidence pointing toward this conclusion. i'm not just mashing fandoms senselessly.

false is a time lord.

or, at the very least, parts of her backstory may take inspiration from them. for those unfamiliar with doctor who, time lords are a species of alien from the planet gallifrey. they can travel through time and space through the use of their TARDIS, if they have one — not every time lord has access, as has been established in the show. they are able to regenerate when they die, (though it is a limited amount of times, time lords get twelve lives - correspondent to the hours on a standard clock.) and when they do so, they can change in appearance, gender, personality, and have some trouble remembering their previous lives for the first moments of their regeneration. and they have two hearts — but that might not be as important.

what's this have to do with false? well, not much yet. it's clear that e!false isn't a regeneration of hc!false, because they look exactly alike. but it's been implied that hc!false put e!false into another world, and didn't expect to see her when she went through the rift. so, how's that time lord behavior? see, there's a key point we're missing. when time lords are in serious danger, as a last effort to hide from their enemies, they can become a human: shutting off one of their hearts, and removing all their memories, locking them away in a golden pocketwatch.

i think hc!false took her past—or future—self, removed her memories via the golden pocketwatch (represented by the in-game minecraft clock) and dropped her through the timestream and into another world.

here are some points that helped me reach this conclusion.

- in e!false's series, she has established that she's been having dreams of her past life. this was key when the doctor had hidden as a human - he dreamed of his life as a time lord, wrote about it and sketched in his diary about what adventures he'd gone on, under the impression that he merely had a wild imagination. e!false seems to have figured out that it's her past life right away, as it seems hc!false, in a hurry to transform her, did not provide her human counterpart any false (ha) memories. she even remarks in empires episode nine, that the dreams were "about time and space and things." however, later in the episode she also seems to pull a 180° much like the doctor did, and claim that her dreams aren't of a past life at all, and that she's meerly very creative in her dreams.

- hc!false knows of e!false's existence, but e!false does not know of hers. hc!false remarked, in episode thirty-one of hermitcraft, that "time and space is obviously unstable," and that "if [she] were to get too close this world could collapse" which is a common theme in doctor who. she also remarks that she hopes e!false's "memory loss is still working," and that she "tried [her] absolute best" which is confirmation that she's the one who took e!falses memories away.

- e!false's old world shares some similarities with gallifrey. mostly built in copper-like metals, the scenery of gallifrey seems influenced by steampunk design, with huge spires of gears like the interworkings of a clock. with false's latest clocktower, she may be attempting to recapture that aesthetic.

- in one of her latest episodes, e!false started hearing strange voices in her dreams, saying things like "tick, tock, tick, tock" and "time is running out." in doctor who, when the doctor was going to be losing what they thought was their last life, an ever-changing nursery rhyme was played at the end of several episodes. the first and third lines were consistently: "tick, tock, goes the clock, [changing second line] tick, tock, goes the clock, [changing fourth line.]"

- the small clocks, which happen to also be gold, that were strewn about e!false's base in episode nine absolutely felt like a clue she left for herself to check the watch, to me. only by opening the golden pocketwatch would her memories fully return.

- gallifrey is not a nice place to live. while much of early-days and new-who doctor who doesn't touch on this, it has been revealed in later seasons that the time lords create an oppressive society, difficult to live within. in the earlier seasons, the doctor regretted their involvement in the time war, and wished desperately to save and return to their home planet—once it was available to them, they avoided it, wanted nothing to do with the current rulers of gallifrey, fearing what might happen if they came home. similarly, earlier episodes of false's showed a yearning to return to her old life, while the voices said: "i don't want to go back." (also possibly referencing the tenth doctor's death, in which he tearfully remarks "i don't want to go," before regenerating into his eleventh (technically twelfth) life.

- both of their continued references to other planets — e!false assumes, again in episode nine, that the pumpkin man that has been following her is not a creature of this world. while there are plenty of oddities in the world of empires, including the magic each empire seems to posess, she latches onto the idea that the pumpkin watching her is an alien specifically.

- in doctor who, it's established that you'll run into your past and future self eventually. while it's something that's not supposed to happen, and tends to be implied that the past version of the time lord won't retain the memory while the future self will, it happens consistently throughout the canon. and it isn't just the doctor — the master, another time lord, has also run into their past self.

- even if this isn't the true backstory of e!false, other empires are also being openly inspired by pieces of popular media. in sausage's first episode, he establishes that sanctuary is inspired by disney's encanto, and joey makes references to pirates of the caribbean often. plus, everyone's seen how many toy story references there have been! so cc!false is perfectly within her rights to draw heavy inspiration from doctor who.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

favourite crime | rockstar!bucky

pairing: rockstar!bucky x popstar!reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, sexual themes, toxic behaviour, swearing, toxic media

masterlist (false god)

all the things i did just so i could call you mine. the things you did, well, i hope i was your favourite crime. it's bittersweet to think about the damage that we do 'cause i was going down, but i was doing it with you

6 years ago 

Y/N turned around in bed once again, her head tight as she pushed the fleece duvet onto her head as she attempted to shield from any light coming from the windows. Whatever the universe had in store for her had to be some heavy karma because since last Monday she had been down in bed with a headache and a high fever, losing out of work days which were sure to make a big dent on the month’s income. She twisted in bed once again trying to find a better position to no avail. She accepted this was her fate, looking up at the ceiling of the bedroom until the door was opened. 

      - Princess, are you awake? - Bucky’s voice echoed, making her smile.

      - I couldn’t go to sleep. - she sighed. - I wanted to see if I could get some sleep and possibly get to work tomorrow. 

      - Absolutely not. - he sat next to her. - I will pick up some extra shifts.

      - Jamie, no. - she held his hand. - You have your band meeting tomorrow with the new guys. I don’t want you to seem like a jerk.

      - It’s okay, princess. - he combed his fingers through her her hair. - I don’t want you going to work sick. 

      - But Jamie ...

      - Hey, don’t fight me. - he kissed her forehead. - I even got you some of your favourite restaurant leftovers.  

Present

Y/N stared at the ceiling of the studio, her cheeks hot and her chest heaving in and out in a slow pace. While she was looking at the ceiling, Bucky couldn’t stop looking at her. He had missed seeing her like this, laid next to him, looking peaceful. Bucky hadn’t realised how much he missed her until he didn’t have her. He missed her so much, he missed every little thing about her, even the things which used to annoy him. He even missed how she used to make them go back to check if they had locked the door. He missed her and he still loved her. Heck, he’d never loved anyone like he loved her. Y/N was not only the picture of a fantasy but also the real thing. She was his dream come true, the only person he could see himself settling down with and she loved him. She loved him, the woman he loved, loved him back. 

     - Princess. - his fingers played with her hair. - Go on a date with me.

     - Bucky ... - she sighed. 

     - Please. Just one date, I promise I’ll make it worth a while.  

She knew she should’ve said no; actually, she knew she should be as away from Bucky as possible. Y/N had promised herself, and Val, but mostly herself that she would stay away from him. She couldn’t, it was clear to her that she couldn’t. He still meant something, heck, he was the only significant relationship she’d ever had and possibly the only one until she had time to actually go find someone else. Maybe she should give him one date, maybe he’d explain himself. Yet again, she also knew this was the worse thing she could do. Go on a date with her ex boyfriend? Not good, not good if she wants to say goodbye to him. Yet again, maybe they needed some time to discuss this and maybe she needed to express this in a nice quiet environment.

     - Okay. 

     - Okay? - he questioned, almost waiting for her to change her mind. When she didn’t, he smiled like a fool moving in to kiss her. - You’re not gonna regret it, I promise. 

     - Bucky, it’s just a date. It’s not a we are back together date.

     - That’s more than enough for me. I’ll pick you up, tonight.

     - I need to go back. I have the demo to deliver and ...

     - Sure. - he helped her up, her soft hand touching his. God, he loved this woman.

She smiled at him before grabbing her purse and the demo tape. She could almost hear Val’s words echoing against her brains, telling her this was a terrible, stupid idea and that she was gonna get hurt again and that they no longer made the ice cream that she liked to eat when upset. Y/N made it to her publicist office, dropping the demo tape before making it back home. As she closed down the house, almost like a haunting of her bad decisions, Val was sat on the couch watching Netflix. 

    - How are you in here?

    - Flower pot key. - she shrugged. - Where were you by the way? Where’s Bucky by the way?

    - Not now, Val. - she crossed her arms. - You told him, you fucking told him. 

    - I told you I was sorry besides I told you before that he should’ve known. 

    - It wasn’t like Bucky was speaking with me back then, Valerie. 

    - You said you wouldn’t speak with him again yet how did you finish the demo? Anne said you did, how did you? You have no drummer! 

    - I WILL NOT DISCUSS MY LOVE LIFE WITH YOU!

Y/N was not one to yell, at least to anyone who wasn’t their family. She wasn’t a confrontational person at all, yet here she was yelling at her best friend. Valerie immediately shut up, looking up at her best friends before sighing. 

    - I’m sorry. - she sighed. - It wasn’t none of my business. 

    - It wasn’t. 

    - I just don’t like how he treated you and I don’t think he’s changed. 

    - I know, Val, but I need this. I need this closure. - she put her purse back. - He’s taking me out tonight and after that ... after that, I promise I will not see him again. 

    - Is that what you want?

    - Yes. - no, that’s not what she wanted. - It’s for the best. 

She never dreaded a date more in her life and she used to love going out with Bucky. The two of them didn’t use to have enough money to afford going anywhere and would just climb up to the top of an abandoned restaurant with a picnic basket. It wasn’t fine dining but she used to love it, she used to lay down with on top of whatever blanket they had brought and point out different stars and constellations. It was really bliss, always. Now she was just dreading having to tell him that she didn’t want to see him, that it was best if she didn’t. She’d never thought it’d ended this way, but here she was. She remained sat in the couch, dressing in a black flower pattern dress until the bell rang. Her steps were slow as she opened the door and the sight broke her heart. Bucky remained there, trying to look as normal as he could, holding a single white lily.

    - You said roses were overrated. - he scratched the back of his head nervously. 

    - Yeah. - that’s all she said, not knowing exactly what to say. 

If she thought the single lily was heartbreaking, as he took her up the stairs of a building she recognised, she got even more heartbroken as she saw their very old red chess blanket with a wick basket and several tall candles. Bucky held her hand, leading towards the blanket which this time had several pillows. How come none of them had thought of pillows before?

   - There’s a working restaurant now but I convinced them to let them come up here. 

   - Bucky ... - her hand stood over her chest. - I ... I’m sorry. 

   - What are you sorry about, princess? I wanted to do something nice. Do you not like it? We can go somewhere else or ...

   - I was gonna tell you I couldn’t speak to you anymore. - she interrupted. - I can’t keep doing this.

   - What?

   - You left me and I don’t know if I can forgive that. - she played with her own fingers, too anxious to even look up. - You left.

   - I had to.

   - Not the way you did. - she interrupted, her lip pouting as she attempted not to start crying. - You could’ve told me. 

   - No, I couldn’t.

   - Why? You couldn’t text or send a message or ...

   - Because if I hadn’t left the way I did, I would have stayed and I was tired, Y/N. I was reaching thirty and I had nothing to account for, I was working my ass off and I couldn’t afford a single thing. We could barely afford rent and you were head full of dreams. 

   - Why did you steal my song? 

   - I had ... I had no choice. The producer saw it in my files and he liked it. He said he wouldn’t sign us if that wasn’t our single. 

   - That doesn’t explain leaving me alone.

   - I know, it doesn’t. I made a mistake but it brought me here, it gave me the life I wanted but I ... I need you. Y/N, you’re the love of my life. 

This was not going according to plan. He was not supposed to make a big romantic gesture and he was not supposed to have an excuse. He was supposed to be an asshole, to be the guy they painted him to be in the media, so she could easily put an end to it. He was not supposed to be her Jamie, he was not supposed to be the man she loved, he was not supposed to remember all these things. She leaned her head against his shoulder. 

   - I’m so sorry. - he spoke out. - I am and I would do anything to have you back in my life. I really would.

   - I need time, James. - she got up, looking at the scenario around her before making the decision which was best for her. - I have to go.

She left him there, in the date he had set, the date she had loved to be in all these years ago. It was hard, it was so hard but she needed to think straight, she needed to understand what was going on in her head. Instead of thinking, she just decided to fall asleep, to ignore that she had probably been as casually cruel as he’d been to her. She fell asleep, almost lost in dark colours, no dreams, just nothingness. It wasn’t rest, it was just not thinking for a while, at least until her door was viciously open. She wasn’t sure what time it was, there was sunlight beaming through the room and Anne was walking towards her holding her TV remote. 

   - You need to turn on the TV, now.

Y/N furrowed her brows, turning on the TV onto the very first channel. She expected it to be about an award show or maybe a sale record, but instead what she saw was her face, six years ago. Those were photographs, polaroids, they used to take together. They. Y/N and Bucky. Oh no.

   - It appears America’s Sweetheart is not as much of a innocent as she says.

taglist: @prettywhenicry4​​ @bubblespeare @blackwood-bodecker-housewife​​ @silkeiy @rowanthomasknapp​​ @smallestsnarkestgirl​​ @broco8​​ @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer​​ @cosmicevans​​​ @davten74  @rowanthomasknapp​

[nochuvalencia]

𝐁 𝐁 𝐇 𝐌 𝐌 - jjk

I was basically inspired by these ^^^ pics of jk bc wow hot hi

⚠️ ALSO QUICK DISCLAIMER :: this is my first fanfic on here so it might be terrible but enjoy anyway. ⚠️

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 :: reader x crimeboss!jk

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: bitch you better have his money.

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 :: ABSOLUTE SMUTTY FILTH heh angst too ig

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 :: 11.9k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 :: long haired tatted jk, that’s it, that’s the warning, uh kinda sketchy plot hsjsjsj, WOW ANGST ASF at the beginning tho, dub!con towards the middle don’t hurt me, fuck or die ig, gunplay????? yeah????? jks BLATANT OVERUSE of pet names, dacryphillia, major-ish character death, describing the injuries on a dead body, jk has a sir kink ig??? um excessive over exaggerated choking bc jks hands yum, explicit seggs, rough jk, he’s kinda mean, dom!jk, sub!reader, oral m&f receiving (facefucking on both ends), coochie sniff if you squint, coochie slaps if u squint too, spanking, OVERSTIMULATION, unprotected seggs, degradation, he calls her a bitch once idk, other bad names, praise too ig, jk gives an ultimatum, SLIGHT aftercare, he kinda like switches from flirty to murderous like a bunch of times it’s kinda weird, jk has an impossibly huge shlong obv, contemplating death, super mature themes, reader is a BIG fucking crybaby, overuse of the word fuck, corruption kink at the end if u squint super hard, also DUB!CON in case you didn’t see it, at this point I should just write what it doesn’t have

“If you’re not out of my house in 3.4 seconds, I'm dragging you out by the testicles” you uttered, your alarmingly calm voice laced with raw brutality as hot tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your arm outstretched and pointed toward the blinding light of the hallway that contrasted with your dark bedroom. You said nothing more, with your eyes trained angrily at one of the four blank tan walls nearby, not possibly being able to bear speaking to or sparing a glance into the eyes of a cheating whore. The woman you had just caught him with scurried past you wearily, a terrified and confused glint in her eyes as she passed your frigid frame sans underwear, with her sparkly silver pumps dangling from her fingers and a wrinkly silver dress hanging limply from the clutches of her other hand. The man in question shuffled cautiously around the bed, clutching the exposed parts of his body and approaching you with extreme hesitation and outstretched hands, as if trying to calm the already blazing flames of your fury. He laid a cold, rough hand on your shoulder squeezing softly, a motion that once brought you comfort but only added the all consuming hatred that bubbled up inside you akin to ravenous bile filling up the pit of your belly. “Did you not hear what I said? Get out.” You spat, glossy eyes still pointed toward anything but him.

“____ please” he croaked, like the slimy frog he truly was, his voice dripping in false agony which only neared you closer to the brink of undoubtedly committing an act of extreme violence against that man. “Please baby it wasn’t-'' you blanked. He was about to make an excuse. A stupid, rediculous, horrible, completely false excuse which you had absolutely no patience to hear. So you snapped, harshly shrugging your shoulder and sending his arm flying back to his side. He stepped back, ceasing his incessant chatter as he stared at you, a surprised expression painting his “pained” features. He wasn’t accustomed to you acting like this, you were never one to raise your voice or act out in any sort of way so he stood there, eyes widened in dumbfounded silence and you took this chance, bending down, scooping up as much of his discarded clothing as you possibly could and throwing it in his face, your rage bubbling over into something much more carnal as you inhaled deeply through your nose.

“Shut the fuck up and leave!” He scrambled to catch as many clothes as he could and was taken aback by your abrupt outburst. He stood silent once again though this time, he was making the face he often made when forcing himself to cry. It was the face he made around his mother to get out of family responsibilities. The face he made around his friends when guilt tripping them into buying him drinks, and now he's using it for you. To guilt you into taking pity on his pathetic actions which merely was the catalyst for your unforgiving violence. In an instant you were behind him, heaving him out of the door with your bare hands, pushing with all your might, using the immense pain coursing through your limbs as motivation to drive his beefy frame further and further out of the bedroom, down the hallway, into the living room and closer to the door yelling “I said leave! Leave! Now!” Pushing harder and harder with every word you choked out. The tears began to flow faster, clouding and distorting your vision as your face contorted into an expression of pure anguish until finally, he was forced out of the open doorway and into the main hallway of your apartment building. You promptly slammed the door in his face and the only thought traveling though your mind was ‘thank god she left that door open’ because you wouldn’t have been able to force him through it otherwise.

You stood silently for a few seconds, back to the door, face still slick with tears as the cool wood on your back shook senselessly with every beat of his fist and muffled shout of his voice crying phrases like “____ open the fuking door!” , “this is my apartment too baby come on” and other variations of the sort. Your mind was empty while you remained there, letting the harsh reality sink in like the slowest molasses. You allowed that man, that pig, to take 10 years of your life. 10 years of your prime. 10 years that you'll never get back no matter how much you beg and plead for it. Come to think of it, you had shaped your entire life around him. His influence was there no matter how much you wished it wasn’t. His residue staining your life like the blackest ink of which you would never be able to rid yourself. At the surfacing of these thoughts, you’d finally broke down and cried, like ugly cried. Broken heaves and sobs escaped your throat until you felt like you were suffocating as you slid down the door, not caring if he heard your wails and whines of torment on the other side of the polished mahogany. You actually hoped he did hear, you wanted him to hear the anguish and grief he put you through. You wanted him to hear you cry out all of your attachment and love for him until there was none left, so he knows the tears flowing from your body hold all of the affection you harbor for him. All ten years of attraction flowing out in a gigantic tsunami of grief that can only end in a new start.

Your mind played through all the memories, and the small amount of good times you had with each other while you sobbed mercilessly, also coming to the realization that he never did anything for you. Ever since you were 14 you’d been changing everything about yourself for him, while he merely lived his life, dragging you along like a supportive little puppy and rewarding you with cheap token gifts and mediocre sex once in a blue moon.

He wanted to attend university in your hometown so you abandoned your dream school, which accepted you, to attend a closer college. He made the decision to study abroad, so you had to drop everything and move to Australia for him. He wanted to wait to have kids so you froze your fucking eggs for him. He got a great new job at a large company in Asia, so you dropped everything again and moved to South Korea. You learned Korean for him. You have the same friends as him. You even cut a few family members off because he was “uncomfy” around them. He wouldn’t even go down on you because it also made him ‘uncomfy’, which should’ve been a red flag from the start. You did all of this bullshit in the haze of love. The promise that he’d reciprocate all of it in affection and adoration, which he didn’t, and now you’re sitting in your living room bawling your brains out because you were too lovestruck to see the signs.

After sobbing hysterically for what seemed like hours, you’d sat limply in front of your door, slouching back onto it as if it were a plush armchair and staring blankly into space, your mind completely empty. Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted beyond belief, you leaned forward, groaning in anguish as your tired muscles cried out in distress after being immobile for more than four hours. Crawling over to the couch, you tiredly flung your nearly paralyzed body onto the soft cushions with a sigh, not even bothering to pull the fluffy throw blanket over your body as your entire frame began to steadily shut down. Before your eyes completely shut, you caught a glimpse of the clock perched on the wooden tv stand which read 11:11 and scoffing quietly as you thought to yourself, ‘I thought that was supposed to mean good luck’ and you gave in to the delicious expanse of slumber.

You were startled awake by the incessant pounding of your now ex-boyfriends fist on the door, again. For the past 4 days since you’d forced him out, he’d show up outside your door at the ass crack of dawn just banging on the door profusely, as if that would persuade you to open it an inch. He had a schedule, he’d come at 5am, before he went off to work, then at 12:30 on his lunch break, then again at 9:45 just to make you miserable before you went to bed. You’re actually surprised the neighbors haven’t complained to the landlords yet. You tossed the blanket off of your sticky body, kicking and thrashing wildly due to the annoyance caused by that nuisance.

You cried more times than you can count during these last 4 days, especially during the times he would attempt to win you over with sappy shit like “baby, you’re my everything, you’re all i’ve ever wanted”, the lyrics to one of your favorite songs or, “you’re my forever ____, you can’t just throw 10 years away babe” to which you cried about for 3 hours after he’d said it, after realizing that he actually wasted 10 fucking years of your life. Anger bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you listened to the repetitive banging of his fist and at this point you had enough and came to the decision it was finally time to pack his shit. Stomping into the living room, you grabbed a necessary box of bags that sat on the coffee table in the center of the room, figuring you were ready to use it. With a final nod of your head, you marched into your shared bedroom and opened all of the cabinets and drawers that contained the plethora of his belongings and flinging them on the floor, grabbing the box of xl trash bags you’d snagged on your march in here and started tossing things in left and right, not caring about the brand name or the state of the fabric or anything for that matter. All you saw was red as your eyes welled up with tears for the first and probably not last time that day.

“I can’t do this” you sobbed out, voice hoarse as you fell to your knees, ignoring the rugburn that was soon to form on those areas as your shoulders shook with every harsh breath you took. You had been dreading this task. Dreading it only for its significance that once you packed all his things and tossed them out, your relationship would be truly over. You definitely didn’t want him back but this would be the first time you’ve been alone in 10+ years and you were not certain you were prepared for that let alone wanting it. Inhaling shakily, you sniffed, ridding your face of any moisture as you cleared your throat and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of chardonnay from your anniversary that fell on the week prior and venturing back into the closet to resume your task. You weren’t much of a drinker but for this task, you’d need a bottle or two.

A few hours later, he’d finally went off to work and you sat in the doorway of the closet, drunkenly dressed in the wedding gown you were made to be wed in this summer still combing through all of his clothing and tossing them messily into a bag that laid open on the floor beside you. You took a swig from the bottle, hissing softly at the satisfying burn that seared it’s way down your throat and rubbing at your puffy eyes with the knuckle of your index finger. The closet was mostly bare, except for a rack with some of his clothes and one rack of semi-expensive clothing his cheap ass reluctantly purchased for you and you glanced around, catching a glimpse of some ugly floral fabric in the corner of the small space. Getting on your hands and knees you reached a limp hand out, taking hold of the horrendous fabric and dragging it out with a groan, eyes wide at the surprising heft of the object in your hand.

It was a pillowcase. A pillowcase full of something brick shaped. You raised an eyebrow quizzically before reaching into the bag and pulling out a fat stack of cash. Taking a sharp intake of breath you paused, staring blankly at the wrapped wad in your hand and cocking your head to the side. You peeked over into the bag after a few minutes, eyes popping out of your skull as they feasted on more huge stacks of money. It was Korean currency but there had to be at least 250k USD worth in the entire sack. You furrowed your brows, tossing the money back into the pillowcase forcefully as a tornado of thoughts whirled in your mind. Had he been saving behind your back? Was he planning on getting rich then eventually hanging you out to dry for some younger girl? How long has he had all of this? Where the fuck did it all come from?

You looked back at the money then back at the corner you found it in, squinting as you spotted some more ugly purple fabric. Crawling behind the clothing earnestly, you managed to fish out 4 more pillowcases full of money. You stifled a laugh, having never been in the presence of so much currency, you guessed it had to be more than 1 million dollars. You smiled for the first time in 4 days, lips curling up into a wide joy filled expression as you dumped all of the money onto the rugged floor of the closet. With all of the alcohol coursing through your veins, (almost a whole bottle) you didn’t hesitate to grab the biggest tote bag you own and stuff as much money as it could hold inside. You figured it was the least he could do after cheating on you.

He deserved to pay, and you obviously deserved a raise.

It was a full on shopping spree. After throwing all of his shit into bags, you tossed them outside your door and left with as much money as you could carry before he could come back on his lunch break. You even came back to get some more money, just to go out and spend it again. To say you splurged would be an understatement, you spent almost half of the money on clothes, shoes, a hair and makeup appointment, a manicure, a new car, and you even paid rent for six months after taking his name off the lease.

So here you were, struggling up the stairs as quick as you could, due to the fact that it was 9:30 and you were trying to avoid seeing him at his 9:45 visit. Your feet screamed in agony in your new jimmy choo pumps, because you’d been on them all day, and you had at least six shopping bags hanging from each arm, all full with an assortment of gaudy items such as shoe boxes, makeup products, and clothing. You had finally reached the door after a while, smiling at the absence of his bags which meant he took them and swiftly unlocked the door, clamoring in and tiredly dropping the bags in your hands. With a sigh, you locked the door, running a hand through your freshly styled hair as you rid your face of the designer sunglasses that shielded it. Kicking off your shoes, you hummed gratifyingly at the pleasurable feeling of bare feet and shuffled over to your couch, plopping down on the end cushion groggily.

A soft buzz in your back pocket caught your attention as you carefully fished out the new phone you purchased and unlocked it with your perfectly manicured fingers, raising an eyebrow quizzically as the texts rolled in, ‘i thought i blocked him’ you thought, preparing to do it a second time before a few texts caught your attention and you froze on the spot, chuckling heartlessly at his words.

+82 2 2263 5950 : whose car is in our parking spot?

+82 2 2263 5950 : did you already move on?

+82 2 2263 5950 : wow whore

You rolled your eyes, wondering where he attained the gaul to accuse you of a feat such as that. Calling you a whore as if that name isn’t suitable for himself. Even more so than you. You decided to text him back, feeding off of an unknown source of confidence as your fingers furiously tapped along the screen.

me : it’s my car asshole

me : bought it with the money u left me

me :thx baby <3

+82 2 2263 5950 : what money?

me : the money in the closet you didn’t bother telling me abt u dumb fuck

+82 2 2263 5950 : don’t use that money

me : why should i listen to you?

me : you aren’t my bf

+82 2 2263 5950 : no seriously ____ don’t use that money wtf is wrong with u

me : already did bye babe

You blocked him as quickly as you could, face burning with absolute anger as you tossed your phone on the cushion beside you. Who is he to tell you what you could or couldn’t do? You had come to the decision then and there that you wouldn't let him treat you like a child. He wasn’t your dad. Thanks to him you barely speak to your dad. The only thought going through your mind at the time was ‘fuck him.’ Before you could delve into your thoughts any further, it started. His incessant pounding on the door. Again. Although, this time it was much more frantic, desperate. He was much louder with his pathetic pleas and whines, crying out “please don’t use that money!”, “Listen to me god damn it!”, “___ open the fucking door now!” But you stood your ground, ignoring him once again as you did for the past few days.

Just to escape the racket of his wails of desperation, you retreated to your room, slipping on one of his expensive balenciaga sweatshirts you kept for yourself and climbing into the cool blankets, burying yourself under the plush fabric and folding your pillow over your ears. You knew this would be the longest night of your life..

And you were correct, It was the longest night of your life. He never truly got the memo that you would not be coming out to communicate with him so he finally left at around 1:30 in the morning. You had slept horribly, tossing and turning as the aftermath of his cries and pleads left a print on your mind and tormented you at all hours of the night, you didn’t manage to get any real sleep until around eight and woke up a mere five hours later in a state of confusion. It was well past noon and yet it was silent, you had woken up of your own volition, not because of some crazy man outside of your apartment screaming like a banshee. In due time, you had come to the conclusion that he had finally given up and gone about his day without banging on his ex-girlfriend's apartment door like an idiot at all hours of the day.

This theory was almost set in your mind until you heard a knock. Groaning violently, you stared up at your ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you erased that theory from the whiteboard in your cortex. Fully prepared to ignore the person at the door, you rolled over to your side until another knock was heard. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him. The knocks were way too soft, they lacked an element of urgency, desperation. They were simply just way too calm. So, you sat up, swinging your legs over and reluctantly standing up, before making your way into the living room to be greeted with another knock and a smooth male voice calling out. “Miss ___ ___?”

You glanced wearily though your peep hole to be met with a tall male, dressed in a blue and white uniform. “Looks like a cop. He called the fucking cops on me, shit.” you whispered to yourself, voice small as you held onto the door handle. Figuring it’d be worse to make him wait, you opened the door, being met with the warm, dimpled smile, of the decorated individual. “Yes, i”m ____” you respond, shoving your hands into the pockets of your sweatshirt and looking everywhere but him, which probably seems more suspicious than anything but you were too riddled with anxiety to care. The officer clutched a navy blue manilla folder in his hand and opened it promptly in order to sift through its contents.

“Hi, i’m officer Kim.” he breathed out, calmly bowing and resuming his apparent spiel, “do you know this man?” he pondered, raising an eyebrow quizzically as he pulled a photo from his folder with calloused fingers and lifted it, spinning it around to face you. Your eyes widened slightly upon being shown a picture of your ex and you nodded hesitantly.

“He’s my ex boyfriend- well ex fiance I guess.” you responded, voice barely audible as your mind raced faster than the speed of sound. You asked yourself what he could’ve done that was bad enough for the police to show up at your door. Maybe you had been too harsh on him and he had gotten into one to many bar fights, maybe he robbed a bank at gunpoint, maybe he stole some old lady’s car and filled it with off brand mayonnaise before he returned it. All your questions- all your thoughts stopped as Officer Kim responded, running a tired hand through his hair.

“He passed, earlier today.” he paused, giving you time to digest things and you froze, staring at his face blankly as your mind processed what you had just been told and you hummed questioningly, your throat becoming tight with realization. “It happened around five this morning,” he paused again as you stood in complete silence. Sure you hated him but you’d never wish death upon another person, especially him. You hate him now but you were in love with him once too. You hate him now but, he was the closest person in your life. He was all of your firsts, your fiance, your best friend. You thought you wouldn’t be able to get all of that back because of the breakup but now you truly can never get any of it back, because he’s dead. Then, you started to cry, for the hundredth time this week but this one was different. You weren’t crying because you missed him, or wanted him to come back like all the other times, as horrible as it sounds. You were crying because you felt bad. Because of his short life that was ripped from him by the unforgiving hand of death. You weren’t crying because of him, you were crying for him. A hand on your shoulder interrupted your sobs and you wiped your face, glancing up at the culprit with glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss...” he paused, giving you a few moments to breathe as he rubbed your shoulder comfortingly before speaking again, “but we have an idea of who did it, it would be helpful if you just came down to the station with me for some questioning.” he asked softly as the shaking sobs and whimpers that came from your body slowed to a halt and you nodded.

“Yeah, uh. Let me just go get dressed.” You muttered, smiling up at him softly and shuffling back to your room to prepare. The longest night of your life was about to turn into the longest day.

And you were correct again as you stood in front of your apartment door after the absolute, and I cannot stress this enough, longest day of your life. Your ex was murdered, brutally, and they made sure to go over all of the gory details with you while you were at the precinct, they even took you to see his body, which made you cry because it was mangled almost beyond recognition and you were horrified. Apparently, he had been tortured for hours, which explained all the bruises, gashes, and burn marks on his body, strangled, thus the huge ring shaped mark around his neck, and dumped into a river, which made his body all pruny and wrinkled. You had spent 10 long hours at the police precinct and it was now nearing midnight as you fished your keys from your pocket in order to unlock the door. Inserting your key, you jiggle it around in the lock for a minute before realizing it was already unlocked initially. Figuring you had left it unlocked accidentally in your depressed haze, you pushed your way into your apartment and locked it promptly, pressing your forehead into the cool wood of the door. You sighed softly, relaxing only for a minute as you absorbed your surroundings before freezing as you heard the rhythmic tapping of someone's foot.

“Long day huh?” the voice was deep, one you hadn’t heard before as you remained facing the door, your grip of the handle tightening until your knuckles turned white. He spoke again, “you must be ____.” he murmured softly, sending a terrified shudder down your spine. “I’ve been wanting to meet you but he said you were off limits. You know, he talks about you a lot-...” he stopped himself as if realizing something, “well talked, I mean.” the man mused, an ominous chuckle flowing from his mouth.

“Who are you?” you rasped, attempting to conceal any cowardice but blinking your eyes harshly as your voice broke. You vaguely hoped this was one of your ex’s friends coming to visit, at an odd hour of the night, sitting ominously in the dark of your apartment waiting for you to come home just to say hi but the chances of that actuality was very slim.

“None of your business” the man retorted, a smirk evident in his ominous tone. “Now, let’s get down to business little dove,” you furrowed your brows at the nickname. You had never been called a nickname, especially by a man who randomly just snuck into your apartment one night. Your ex only ever called you baby or babe so little dove was different for you. It seemed endearing in the worst type of way. “I want the rest of my money.” he paused, “I found half of it in a closet here, and he said you might know where the rest is.” he paused again, only this time a sound is heard, a metal rattling of some sort that ricochets off of the walls of the apartment like a stray jumping bean in a pill case. Then it hits you, he has a gun, and he just shook it as if he intends to use it. . “Don’t make me ask again sweetheart.” Your eyes widen and well up as your head falls down, knowing you're going to die today and you take a deep breath, telling yourself you’d be ready for whatever happens so you decide, if you’re gonna die, you should at least know the name of the man that’s gonna kill you so you scrape together every last drop of confidence you can muster and ask once more.

“I said, w-who are yo-” you choked out, in an attempt to hold onto the last shred of your dignity as you blinked back the tears threatening to fall from your glassy eyes. However, your small shred of confidence is promptly ripped from your grasp as the man cuts you off mid sentence, slamming his gun down onto a hard surface with a loud clatter. You jolt, crying out softly as the tears you’d been holding back with all your might fall onto the ground before you.

“I said none of your fucking business bitch where’s my fucking money.” he spat, his sinister tone draing a choked sob from your thoat as you realized, you wouldn’t be getting anything you wanted today. “Answer me” he said, alarmingly calm as the sound of him cocking his gun travels directly to your mind.

“I spent it” you muttered between your soft hiccups and stiffened slightly upon hearing a heavy footstep approach you, then another footstep, and another, and another until they cease, and you can feel the man's warm breath raising the hair on the back of your neck. All your readiness for whatever happens and willingness to die flies out of the window as you lean your head on the door once more, taking a shaky breath as you begin to plead, aware of how pathetic you sound and part of the reason why you have such a strong urge to cry harder. “Please don’t kill me” you whined desperately as you feel the cold metal of the gun barrel resting on your shoulder.

“Relax little dove” he whispered, his lips brushing the back of your ear and sending a chill rushing through the entire expanse of your body. “Just find a way to pay me back and we’re even,” he continued calmly, his raspy voice reverberating in your eardrums as you think through what he just said carefully. You gasp and sniffle, shaking your head softly and lifting it slowly from the wooden door frame.

“I-” you stopped, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself as much as you could for his response then opened your mouth to continue. “I don’t have that kind of money” you whispered hesitantly, shutting your eyes tightly, allowing nothing to escape but the numerous tears that fell to the ground in anticipation of his actions. There was an eerie silence as he contemplated your words before he abruptly turned away, lifting the gun from your shoulder and holstering it in the waistband of his jeans, causing you to let out a wavering breath you’d been holding that entire time. His hand traveled back up, taking refuge on your left shoulder as the other hand made its way up your right arm, the warmth setting your skin aflame and sending a shockwave of warmth coursing through your body.

“There is another way you could pay me back.” his velvet voice rasped, stressing the word ‘another’ in a way that you immediately understood his insinuation and you took a sharp intake of air, bracing yourself for what he was about to say next. But he didn’t say anything for a moment, letting his hands do the talking for him as he gripped your arms softly, using his hands to spin you around and face him. You whirled around, yelping in surprise but stopping when you were met with the most exquisite, carnivorous brown eyes you had ever seen in your life that were accompanied by full pink lips and a tousled bunch of fluffy black hair you just wanted to run your hands through. Even in the darkness of night, the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated the room enough for you to trail your eyes down his face and get a vivid idea of what he’d look like with illumination.

Yummy as fuck.

Your eyes began to wander down to his exposed collarbone and before they could travel any lower, his fingers roughly grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upward until you met his borderline cannibalistic gaze, which crushed you into nothing. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes as the corner of his lips turn upward slightly. “He was always bragging about you… saying,” he speaks, his sultry tone lulling you into a state of compliance as he spoke, “you’re such a good fuck,” he continues, placing his left hand gently on your waist and stepping even closer, if that’s possible, his soft breath hitting your face with every word as he speaks. “Your sweet little cunt is so tight” he glances down at your lips, running his thumb over your bottom lip “your mouth feels like heaven” he pauses again, running his hand down to hold the side of your neck softly to which you gasp “maybe i’d like a demonstration little dove.” he smiles, a twisted horrifying smile that snaps you out of his seductive trance and back to reality as your eyes widen and you pull yourself quickly out of his hold, running over to the couch and bracing yourself on it.

“No” you cry out, out of breath for some reason as you swallow thickly and shake your head. “No, I'll find a way to pay you back, I promise.” you plead, praying he wasn’t going to kill you on the spot and that he hadn’t noticed your blatant ogling. He probably did but at this point you didn’t care, you just wanted him gone.

“Whatever you say sweetheart” he replied, emitting a dark chuckle “call me if you change your mind, my number’s in your phone” he opened the front door and you glanced back at him, noticing the way his all black attire contrasts with his tan skin, and most of all, you notice the full sleeve of tattoos that ran down his right arm. Heat crawled up to your face as you realized you were gawking again and you nodded in response, feeling unable to form the words to respond with. He only uttered the words “you have a week.” before the door slammed and you were left alone in the dark.

You ran your fingers along the side of your neck where the aftermath of his touch lingered like a searing residue. No one had ever touched you like that, especially your ex. He was the man that took your virginity and was the man there for every time after so you’d become accustomed to his textbook missionary vanilla sex that left you touch starved and unfinished every. single. time. But you’d finish yourself off each time, feeling bad because you thought he was trying his hardest and truly didn’t understand how to please women. But as time went on, you realized he didn’t care about your pleasure and too enveloped in his own release to ever worry about your needs, but were too deep in love with him to care.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone went off to signal a text and upon picking it up there were two text messages from an unknown number that sent a shiver down your spine which read.

+82 2 5284 8735 : don’t try to run

+82 2 5284 8735 : we’ll hunt you down little dove

“Can’t you just take the shit back?” You questioned frantically, clutching the phone by your head until your knuckles turned white, rolling your eyes tiredly when you got no response. “They hung up, great” you deadpanned, plopping onto the couch you had been pacing in front of. It has been 6 days since the man showed up and you were running out of time and hadn’t slept in two days, your mind running frantically with the thought of him coming back to see you nearly empty handed. Well, not exactly empty handed. You had managed to get 253k of the whopping +400k dollars you had spent of his money and after not being able to return the car, manicure, hair appointment, rent, and a bunch of clothes and shoes, you were manic. Some might even say a bit crazy. Many of the stores and the dealership knew you by name because of the amount of times you called them. You dropped your phone into your lap, burying your face in your hands and wishing someone was here to console you through this but the only person you knew even remotely enough to offer any consolation was your ex. You wish he was alive so you could punch that bitch in the face and ask him what kind of shit he got himself into because the man that paid you a visit was most definitely not from corporate.

You sat for a silent minute deliberating if you should text the mystery man and take him up on his offer. You had asked yourself, is it really worth your life? Were you really going to die because you didn’t want to sleep with the hot guy you stole money from? The answer at first was yes because you still had your pride intact then but now, you had been starting to second guess your confidence in getting all the money back. After all, the deadline is tomorrow. You still had your hesitations, the only man who has ever seen you in such a lewd nature was your ex. You didn’t know if you were ready for sex with another person, even if he was the hottest man you’d ever seen. But, against your better nature, you convinced yourself that your ex was gone and this was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not sooner?

You grabbed your phone in earnest before anything inside you could convince you to stop and unlocked it, opening the messages for his number and typing out your text, hitting send before any sort of regret had the chance to sink in.

me : i’ll take your offer

me : this is ____ btw

You placed your phone down on the couch cushions beside you and chewed nervously on the not so fresh manicure that was still on your nails. To your surprise, his reply came in quickly and you frantically reached for your phone as the dings came rolling in.

+82 2 5284 8735 : i know who you are

+82 2 5284 8735 : i'll be there in 20

+82 2 5284 8735 : be ready sweetheart

Your heart thumped restlessly as you shot up from your seat shouting “twenty minutes?!” and you cried out nervously. You hadn’t even seen his face in good lighting and you didn't know his name so you’d basically be fucking a complete stranger which scared you enough as it is but the fact that that stranger held you at gunpoint merely a week prior is what scared you shitless.

In the limited time that he gave you, you decided to freshen up a bit so you hopped in the shower. Your first shower in a few days after your psychotic state worsened. Humming in bliss, you relished in the feeling of the scalding water flowing over your skin as you took your time washing , shaving, and singing, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrendous nerves that overtook your senses. After reluctantly stepping out of the steamy oasis, you’d decided on a white lingerie set you had gotten yourself for christmas but never got to wear for anyone because your significant other was always “working” or too tired/busy to take the time of day for you. Pairing the set with a matching white silk robe and not bothering to wear any shoes because you’re in your own house, you slicked your lips in a thick coat of gloss and applied some mascara and eyeliner to your tired eyes just to spruce up a bit. You figured, if you put effort into your appearance, then maybe he’d spare your life after the sex. You stared at yourself in the mirror, tying your robe, smacking your glossed lips together and ogling your appearance before a soft knocking was heard from the living room. “He’s here” you told yourself with a deep shaky breath as you vacated the bathroom and slowly ventured toward the door.

You stood silently before the front door, contemplating whether this was a mistake or if it was too late to turn back. As much as you hated to admit, there was no logical solution to your problem that was in compliance with any standing laws. Heck, what you were doing was probably illegal in everywhere but Las Vegas so you had no other choice than to twist the handle, open the door and stare up at the most alluring man you had ever laid eyes on. You ran your eyes all over his body, studying him, his features, his gorgeous eyes, impeccable nose, plush lips, smooth hair, and strong arms that lead to a presumed strong chest hidden under his plain white tee. He noticed you blatantly checking him out to which he placed a finger on your chin, lifting your face up so your eyes met and making you watch as he rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment. Oh how you wished that was your lip.

“You ready little dove?” he asked, his tone seductive and smooth like chocolate as he walked closer to you, closing the door behind him and backing you up until you stood patiently before the couch staring up at him, a wistful glint in your eyes as you nodded. He reached up, using a finger to push your robe off of your right shoulder and cocking his head quizzically. “All dressed up just for me?” he pondered, his eyes trained on the white lace peeking out from under the robe. You nodded, to which he gripped your chin roughly, furrowing his eyebrows at your response. “Use your words sweetheart” he warned, loosening his grip so you could speak in affirmation.

“Yes…” your voice trailed off, thinking of what to call him, as you still didn’t know his name, so you addressed him as you would any man you didn’t know, “yes, sir. I dressed up just for you” you concluded, your voice barely greater than a whisper as the corners of his lips turned up. He let out an animalistic growl at the name you gave for him, obviously satisfied and moved his hand from your chin to grip the back of your neck promptly.

“It’s Jungkook, but sir will do nicely” he basically growled before latching onto your lips with carnal aggressiveness. You whined heartily into his mouth as his tongue slipped deftly into yours and intertwined with yours, causing your mind to fall into a haze as he coiled his arm around your waist, bringing your body flush against his toned frame. You reached up with shaky hands, fumbling with his shirt, eager to get it off of him and gaze upon the expanse of his abdomen. His lips detached for a moment, giving you the chance to pull his shirt over his head, which he gladly obliged and lifted his hands over his head, swiftly resuming their positions when his shirt formed a pile on the floor beside you. You leaned back in, attempting to capture his lips in another phenomenal kiss but he pulled back, leaving you to chase him and whine when you ultimately lose, to which he laughs mischievously, taking his hands off of your body and toying with the silk tie on the front of your robe.

“How do you want it baby?” he pondered, the new nickname sending shivers down your spine as you glanced at him quizzically, as if asking what he meant. He chuckled softly, tugging at the ribbon and opening your robe as he brought his hands up, carefully sliding it down your arms and bending down so his face was level with your collarbone. He placed a gentle kiss there, leaving fire in the wake of his lips as he spoke, his breath cooling the seared flesh, “would you like me to be gentle?” he asked leaving more hot kisses along the expanse of your shoulder and neck, drawing salacious sounds from your parted lips as he brought his hand up to rest at the base of your neck. “Or…” he paused, sliding his hand up and increasing the intensity of his grip on your throat, restricting the blood flow to your brain as your mind became hazy and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “Do you want me to be rough?” he continued, lifting his head to watch your face as he loosened his grip. “It’s your choice little dove.”

You were elated, ecstatic and a little disappointed when he loosened his grip on your neck. Your ex was always into sex that lindered toward the vanilla side, as mentioned before, so he would never think to try anything like choking, which always intrigued you just a little bit. You wished you would have experienced other styles of love before you met him but you didn't, and this was your chance to try them out now. Your fingers travelled up, lightly grazing over that hand that was tightly wrapped around your neck. Whining quietly you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it softly as your other hand came up and wrapped around Jungkook’s forearm.

“I wanna try it rough” you mumbled, eyes closing as you relished in the hazy feeling this restriction gave you which only heightened as he tightened his grip.

“Perfect.” he groaned out almost inaudibly as he pulled your face to his, colliding your lips in the roughest, most passion filled kiss you’d ever experienced. He devoured your mouth with gluttonous amusement, his grip on your airway never wavering for a moment as he tongued you down, his carnal need prevalent and present in the thick air of the room. You reached up, completing a task you’d been wanting to do for days, tangling your hand in the messy black mass that fell upon his head, and relishing in the soft feeling of his waves. Then he detached from your lips and moved away, forcing your hands to fall from his hair and onto his broad shoulders, which, while pleasurable to touch, didn’t even come close to frolicking your fingers through his locks. He moved his hand from your neck to your shoulder, to which you whined with a small pout, missing the new contact as he chuckled at your eagerness. He stared at your lips, before leaning down and capturing your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it voraciously before he spoke. “Do you want me to put this slutty little mouth of yours to use little dove?” he asked, pulling back as if waiting for an answer, to which you obliged.

“Yes sir” You answered quite honestly in fact, as you felt all your hesitation and weariness about this task slip away. “Please put my mouth to use.” you pleaded, staring up at him, a wanton expression on your soft features.

“You’re so good for me .” he whispered, his soft breath fanning your face as you nodded in agreement, “such an obedient little dove, hmm?” he asked, to which you nodded once again, a bit more frantically this time as you awaited his cue. He used the hand on your shoulder to abruptly push you down with a small yelp so you were seated on the black leather couch behind you, the colder leather contrasting the burning lust in your entire body as you looked up at him. “Get to work slut.” Your eyes widened at the name. Maybe it was supposed to be an insult or he just liked calling you that but you couldn’t help the gargantuan wave of slick that coated your panties at the moment.

You looked down, a bit above eye level with his crotch as you reached up to palm him through his faded blue jeans. His scent was tantalizing, musky, and you couldn't get enough as you stared up at him through your eyelashes, your lips slightly parted as you gazed in awe. He gave you a warning glance, as if scolding you for teasing him for this long and you unzipped his pants. He held out his hand, as if to stop you before reaching behind his pants and pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. Your eyes widened, gaze now trained on the firearm in his hand, a horrified expression on your face as you ceased all actions. Which he noticed, peering down at you, a horrifying smile etched on his godlike features as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Relax darling, I won’t kill you,” he purred, reaching down and weaving the fingers of his free hand into the roots of your hair, grabbing and pulling back roughly so you have no other choice but to meet his dark eyes. “We’re only just getting started.” he lowered the gun, pressing the muzzle into the underside of your jaw, the cold metal like ice against your scalding skin. However, you felt no need to cry, felt no need to fear for your life even as this gun was pressed to your neck, aimed to kill, because you knew he wouldn’t do it. Through the dark facade and ominous gaze in his eyes there was something else that made you trust his inability to kill you. You realized you were enjoying the thrill, the excitement of putting your life in his hands. So, you did what any crazy bitch would do in this situation, you breathed out deeply, relaxing your shoulders and slouching yourself down to push your neck further onto the tip of the gun with a mischievous smile. Jungkook stared down at you in awe, running his tongue on the inside of his cheek and taking his gun off of your neck before tossing it over to the end of the couch behind you.

Resuming your actions with a shaky breath, you tugged his pants down until they fell to his ankles and placed your hands on the sides of his underwear clad hips. You might’ve been inexperienced in his style of fucking but you sure knew how to give a good blowjob, so you got to work, placing open mouthed kisses to his clothed appendage. You looked up at him once more seeing the lust clouded haze that filled his deep brown eyes. After a bit of teasing, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in a seductively slow manner as you allowed his needy cock to spring free, and you stared up at it with a gasp.

It was huge.

You didn’t really know what qualifies as huge because the only dick you’ve ever had was around 6 inches on a good day but this alluring appendage swinging before your face had to be at least 9 inches long and you wondered how the fuck you were going to fit it all in your mouth let alone your pussy, which was already aching for it. Your mouth involuntarily opened wider in anticipation of his delicious dick inside and you grabbed the base, with two hands, drawing a hiss from the man that stood over you as he kicked off his shoes and the rest of the clothing that pooled around his feet. You licked teasingly up the sides of his dick, stopping at the tip to swirl your tongue around it, and catching some salty precum when you did. You glanced up at him and he looked absolutely furious in the best sort of way. Frustrated to the max as you teased him mercilessly, only spending meere fleeting moments at the spots which needed the most attention.

Then he snapped, taking you by surprise and using his hand that was still tangled in your hair to hold you still while he shoved his cock in your mouth. You tried to gasp but it merely came out as a small strangled whimper that was cut off as his length reached that back of your throat. You moved your hands to the sides of his hips once again, bracing yourself as he slowly pulled his member out of your mouth, most likely winding up for another thrust. He propelled his hips forward once again, stuffing not nearly all of his cock into your mouth, as his tip grazed the back of your throat. The feeling of him completely filling your mouth had you livid, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you moaned, the vibrations reverberating onto his appendage which drew a salacious moan from his plush parted pink lips.

“Fuck, your mouth feels like heaven.” he moaned out, then he started to fuck your face, tears pooling in your eyes while his dick basically hit the back of your throat with every harsh stroke of his hips as he gripped on your hair tighter. After one particularly hard thrust, he held his length down your throat as tears rolled down your cheeks and you gagged around him. He took his cock out of your mouth, to which you gasped, swallowing the spit that pooled in your mouth with an aroused groan.

“Tastes so good.” you mumbled, not possibly being able to get enough as he shoved his cock back into your mouth and fucked your throat relentlessly. The tension building in you was too much to bear and your need to cum only heightened as his actions resumed. You arched your back slightly, pushing your clothed clit into the black leather cushions of the couch as you gyrated into it slowly, praying he wouldn’t notice and would be too invested in fucking your throat to realize.

You were wrong. He noticed immediately.

He halted all movements, taking his cock from your throat and grabbing your neck harshly, to which you gasped, whimpering as he pulled you up to stand in front of him, cock slapping the front of your body as you stared at his face in anticipation of his actions. You could imagine what you looked like right now swollen glossy lips, and tear stains running down your face because you didn’t bother to wear your waterproof mascara. You never needed it any other time so you figured why would you need it now. Oh how wrong you were.

“Dirty little dove, trying to get off on the couch because you want me that bad?” he rasped, nearing closer to your face with each word and you nodded frantically, basically begging him to do something, anything. “Words” he barked, drawing a cry from your lips as you thought of what to say.

“I want your cock, please sir.” you begged, before he groaned hungrily and captured your lips in a ravenous kiss, taking you by surprise. No one had ever kissed you after they’d fucked your throat before so why would he do it. You didn’t dwell on that thought for too long before melting into his touch and wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook took his free hand, trailing it around your body to unclasp the back of your bra, your eyes going wide at the skillful ease of his fingers. He snatched the white lace clothing off of your frame, tossing it to the other side of the room and reaching back up to cup one of your soft breasts in his hand, flicking the nipple with his index finger and making you sigh satisfactorily into his mouth. He leaned forward, taking you with him as he lowered both of you back onto the couch, settling himself between your newly opened legs and never breaking the kiss. He unlatched his hand from your neck, trailing it down your body as the other hand continued to knead your breast skillfully. His burning touch slowly ventured further and further down your abdomen until he reached the band of your panties and abruptly tore the thin while lace from your body to your dismay and discarding it on the floor beside him. You whined sadly, as those had been your favorite pair of underwear but barely had any sort of time to grieve as you felt two rough fingers dip into the wetness of your slit, trailing them up and stopping right over the spot you needed him to be at, pulling a moan from your still swollen lips.

He began kissing a trail down your body, stopping for a mere moment to suck on the pert bud of your free breast before resuming his path of destruction. He moved his hands to settle on the inner sides of your thighs, spreading them apart and sighing as he got a glimpse of the treasure between them. Your eyes widened upon realizing his destination as you scooched away, holding a handful of his tousled black hair in an attempt to grab his attention.

“I-…” you paused, chewing on your bottom lip and thinking of how to word your statement. “i’ve never asked anyone to do that for me before, so y- you don’t have to do it.” you stuttered wearily as the nerves set in. No one’s face had ever been remotely close to your womanhood and the thought of it sent a chill down your spine as you released his hair from your grasp. You wondered what it would even be like. He glanced up at you, eyes dilated as he chuckled, a dark chuckle that made you shiver as he tightened his grip on your thighs, yanking you closer to his face and taking a deep drag of your scent once you were close enough.

“Oh baby I want to” he basically moaned out, licking his lips and glancing down at your glistening slit, the corners of his lips turning up in a hungry smile. You raised an eyebrow, asking yourself ‘why the fuck would he want to do that?’, and ‘isn’t this for my pleasure?’, but all your concerns were answered once he spoke again. “I can’t wait to make you writhe on my tongue little dove” he muttered, causing your cheeks to burn with the intensity of a thousand suns as he talked into your soaking entrance. “... make you beg and cry without even using my cock.” he continued, releasing your left thigh from his grip as he placed a hand on your pubic mound, lowering his thumb and slowly beginning to circle your clit eliciting a loud wail from you. “You think, if I had the power to turn you into a messy little whore all for me just by using my mouth, I wouldn’t use it at any chance I could?” He asked and you whined, nodding as your hips stuttered up in desperate need of more friction. “It’s all about power baby, and I have it all here” he groaned, watching you clench pathetic around nothing.

Then, he finally gave you what you wanted. His hand resumed its grip on your thigh, forcing it away from the other as his thumb was swiftly replaced by his warm tongue licking up and down your wet sex. You moaned, placing your shaky hands on the mounds of your chest, toying with your nipples just to add to the pleasurable sensations he was creating with his tongue. This feeling was unlike any ecstasy you had ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. His tongue slipped deftly into your soaked entrance twisting and turning skillfully as you keened loudly. His warm wet appendage swirling around your wet cavern was the best feeling in the entire world and you knew if he continued ravaging you at this pace, you’d cum in no time. But, you needed this release. You needed to let go of all this pent up sexual frustration you didn’t even know you harbored. You needed to experience your first orgasm in months, if not years, that wasn’t self inflicted and you hoped and prayed with all your heart that it would come soon.

He switched his focus,, moving his tongue up to play with your aching clit and slipping two fingers into your formerly empty hole with a deep groan that reverberated through your core like a powerful vibrator which only intensified your moans and cries of pleasure. You looked down on yourself to see the delicious sight of him devouring your cunt ruthlessly, the sight alone almost tipping you over the edge as you brought your hands up, covering your eyes while you neared completion.

“Jungkook you’re gonna make me cum.” you called out, an exasperated cry leaving your lips when your impending orgasm was painfully ripped away from you as all his motion stopped. You uncovered your eyes, about to stare down when your body jolted, a harsh sting being felt directly on your clit, sending a wave of warmth barreling through your entire body. Then you understood, he slapped you, and you peered down at him, your eyes glassy due to the orgasm that was ripped from your grasp.

“Who? said you can cum.” he deadpanned menacingly, staring up at you through hooded eyes as you leaned your head back tiredly, realizing the error in your words and prepared to beg, just like he said you would.

“Sir” you cried, holding your arms limply over your head as you continued to plead. “Sir please, please make me cum.” you begged mercilessly, a tear of relief sliding down your cheek as he resumed his assault on your core, attacking at a steady pace and retrieving the all too familiar knot that formed in the pit of your stomach. You reached up, grabbing the edge of the couch with an iron grip, your knuckles turning white as your hips began circling on his face, your clit rubbing against his tongue with every movement and venturing you closer to your sweet release.”Please don’t stop sir, oh my god” you whined loudly, fucking his face relentlessly as you chased your high, nearing it more and more with each thrust of your hips until he finally pushed you off the brink of ecstasy, a scream leaving your lips as Jungkook continued his unrelenting attack on your pained pussy.

You rode out your high, writhing and panting before him, his pace never faltering, his fingers never slowing, his tongue never relenting and it soon became too much. The euphoric delirium quickly turned into madness as you barreled down the path into overstimulation. You wailed pathetically, thrashing under his hold as the pleasurable pain consumed your body and you could barely form a coherent sentence but you persevered, scraping all the coherent thoughts you could muster and turning them into tangible words that sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spoken. “Sir please, it's too much!” you cried to which Jungkook finally let up, slowing his pace to a halt and sitting back.

“Oh my god that was so fucking hot” he growled before sucking on his glossy fingers and cleaning around his mouth with his skilled tongue as he gazed amusedly upon your exhausted body. But he was nowhere near done with you. This fact made apparent when he stood and wrapped an arm around your hip, lifting your limp body and turning you over with ease, positioning you so your face was pressed into the now warm couch cushion and your ass was raised high into the air before him. His eyes rolled at the view of your swollen cunt bent over for him and he gave it a light smack, eliciting a pained, but tired yelp from you as he chuckled muttering “you’re going to drive me crazy little dove.” under his breath.

He crouched down, coming face to lips with your abused cunt as he wrapped his arms around your bent bottom, lacing his fingers together as they rested at the arch of your back and dragging his nose up the tortured path of your slit, drawing whines and cries of overstimulation from your wiggling frame as you tried to get away from the punishing menace that was his face. “No, please. I can't take anymore, it's too much.” You whimpered, your voice muffled as you leaned your face into the couch tiredly to which he obliged, reluctantly, as he stood, grabbing his neglected dick in hand and pointing it toward your pink entrance.

“I can’t wait to stretch your pretty little pussy ____.” he purred and you moaned at the sound of your name slipping off of his tongue like the creamiest butter. He dragged his tip along your swollen clit, abusing it again for what seemed like the millionth time that day as he covered his girth in your slick, a guttural groan emitting from the back of his throat. Then, abruptly, he sunk into your slippery cavern, barely all the way in but you’d never felt so full in your entire life as he pushed forward slowly, filling you up and providing you with the most delicious stretch you’d ever felt. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you whined, a desperate whine that you could barely register was your own voice as he pushed his length completely inside of you, his head falling back and your name, rolling off of his tongue once again.

After barely giving you time to adjust to his alarming size, he reeled his hips back before slamming into you again, and again, and again, over and over again until he was fucking you at an unrelenting speed you barely knew was possible to achieve. Suffering from the overwhelming pleasure he forced you to endure, you shut your eyes tight, crying out in strangled indulgence as you grasped onto the fluffy throw blanket strewn lazily over the couch in front of you. You relished in the sting of his girth, staring ahead blankly with glassy eyes as he rammed into you with a punishing speed and black mascara filled tears streamed down your cheeks.

You knew you were about to cum soon, again, only due to the all too familiar feeling accumulating in the pit of your belly. Jungkook reached down, placing a hand on your shoulder blade and pressing your chest further into the couch while he drilled into you, moaning and cursing at the feeling of you flexing deliciously around his cock. He felt you were close, so he moved his hand, snaking it around your waist and trailing his other hand to assume its position around your neck, hoisting you up so your back was arched against his abdomen and you had no choice but to stare up at him as he talked down on you, never slowing the snapping of his hips for a wavering moment.

“You’ve never been fucked this good have you?” he teased through clenched teeth as he leaned down, sucking and marking all over the expanse of your neck with grunts and growls of pleasure. You were way too fucked out to even think about the words to form a coherent sentence, barely being able to form whimpered versions of ‘mhm’ after he questioned you but he was having none of that. He unraveled his hand from your waist, tightening his grip on your throat and landing a hard slap to your left asscheek, drawing a shrill shriek from the depths of your throat as he warned in your ear. “Words little dove” he slapped you again, “how many times do I have to fucking warn you.” he concluded, landing another harsh smack to your abused flesh as you whimpered.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, I’m such a slut for you sir.” You sobbed out, “please let me cum, please fuck” you whined, drawing out your words and you reached back, tangling both hands in his unruly mop of hair as he split you open, moaning directly in your ear which in itself, was a thing that could make you cum on the spot.

“Cum then.” He said obviously, as if it was the most simple response, only it was this simple command that shoved you off the precipice of ecstasy for a second time. The feeling that bloomed deep in your stomach soon blossomed into a full blown orgasm that racked through your body quickly, leaving nothing but white hot pleasure in its wake as your legs trembled viciously, with one last loud cry of Jungkook’s name. But, he still did not falter, his pace quickening as he neared his own climax, the speed both too much and not nearly enough at the same time. You reached back, attempting to push him and escape the all consuming pleasure torturing your body like a blazing fire but your hands were caught quickly by Jungkook’s hands which crossed them tightly and held them behind your back, resuming his attack.

You shook your head, letting it hang as your tears fell freely onto the couch before you, his moans and groans of ecstasy increasing in volume and frequency as he neared his own climax, his hips faltering in their pace for the first time in a while as he worked to his own release. In what seemed like an instant, he released the most beautiful, salacious, strangled moan you had ever heard, pulling himself out of your soaked cunt, and painting the surface of your ass with his white hot ropes of cum. He finally let you go after a moment, watching as you fell limply to the couch, laying face down, panting exhaustively, your arms still crossed limply behind your back as he smirked down at your fucked out frame. He left you alone for just a bit, coming back but a few moments later before you felt the sore skin of your asscheeks being wiped off with what felt like a warm hand towel. You were relieved he had the respect to clean his mess, it made you respect him just a little bit more as a person but you were way too tired to dwell on the subject any longer.

“You did so good for me little dove” he cooed, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it as he placed a sweet chaste kiss on your lower back, caressing his hand up the side of your body. A simple touch that lacked any sort of sexual aspects, it felt comforting and you sighed, leaning further into the soft couch as you heard him begin to put his clothing on. You felt a pang of distress, seeing as you were more of a fuck and cuddle kind of girl, but you really hadn’t expected him to stay so why’d you feel the need to ask him to. Pushing the feeling deep inside your gut, you sighed deeply as he walked in front of you to bend forward and grab his gun that laid discarded on the opposite side of your couch, also grabbing the throw blanket beside it and tossing it over your naked frame before thinking about something. “So,” he started, tucking his gun in the back of his pants and humming, “I’m thinking that was worth about, hmm 50k” he started. You vaguely understood what he was saying and knew you’d flip out once you were conscious enough to truly comprehend his words. “I’ll keep in touch.” He said, pulling his shirt down and smiling deviously at you as you uttered a hoarse ‘huh?’ To which he answered simply, “if I wanna come collect some more money” and he spun on his heels, opening your door and sauntering out of the threshold.

When he got into the hallway, Jungkook burst into a wide smile, satisfied with the encounter he made today. He entered this agreement fully prepared to either fuck you once and take the money you’d earned back or just fuck you and kill you, but once he’d had a taste, he was insatiable. You were flawless, your compliance was impeccable. The way you obeyed him, begged for him, the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you looked. There was no way he could ever get enough and is probably the reason he kept overstimulating you like a frat boy with a bruised ego. There was no way he was gonna just let go of an absolute gem like you, so he made his excuse, a plan. Everytime you fuck him, you pay back a portion of the money. He was so tempted to tell you this session was only worth $100 just as an excuse to come back over and over and over until he had his fill, but he kept his composure, giving you hope that you’d ever be free of his grasp. Jungkook for once was extremely ecstatic, elated, excited to ruin you even more than he already had and he was dead set on making you want him just as much as he craved you no matter what it took. Though he was pretty sure you already did.