#and shit the hymns still move me too

[pineapple-split]

Personally I find Flanagan’s work to be hit or miss but I really think Midnight Mass is his best. I love the transformation of Catholic communion to actual monstrosity (I say as a former Catholic who never questioned the “eat my body drink my blood thing” until long after I left).

I love that Riley, the recovering alcoholic who killed someone, is the one to recognize the “gift” for the evil it is, and put the wheels in motion to stop it. Like, of course. Of course. Who would better understand fighting against an internal destructive force?

I love how much of a goddamn hypocrite Bev is - a true coward through and through, with no real faith at the end of the day. Just a bitter, miserable woman who latched onto religion as a way to feel superior.

I love that Sheriff Hassan did do his little bit to save the world, and he and Ali faced their death praying to Allah, totally at peace.

I like that the story is grounded in a working class setting, in a community that’s slowly dying. Not to show that these people are more stupid and thus more susceptible, but to demonstrate how and why people desperately reach for miracles when everything in life has been taken from them. And then how the influence of a bad actor can lead to fanaticism and ultimately tragedy.

And I really like that for all the show comes down hard on some specifics of religion, it never condemns faith. It admires faith. Envies it, almost.

[therosehost]

ShuririWeek: D1

Fluff + "Don't Go"

cw: allusions to nsfw content

Shuri doesn't hear the humming at first. She's too frustrated.

She isn't Queen, nor is she the heir anymore, but the Elders hold her hostage in meetings and at inane ceremonies for hours as if she still were. It grinds at her skin like sandpaper.

Especially because Shuri knows why they do it. They care. They've watched Shuri grow from a glimmer in her mother's eye to a white-draped shadow by her casket. The elders care for her, Shuri knows this. But that doesn't make the overbearing attitudes any less irritating.

Today's latest antics had involved them - particularly Elder M'Kathu - insisting that every member of the council attend the Prayer of the Hymned Beetle. Shuri had wanted to throw her chair out the window with herself inside.

That biannual prayer had started in the river tribe as a joke ceremony. It was just an excuse for people to be off from work and drink themselves to incompetence.

It had never been taken seriously, that is, until Elder M'Kathu got it into his head that Shuri singing the Hymned Beetle's lament would somehow make her happier.

HA!

By the time Shuri escapes (just barely) and returns home, she's still wallowing in incredulous anger. She doesn't hear the humming, but when she yanks the bedroom door open she definitely sees the dancing.

Riri, as usual, is beautiful. And she's even more so as the golden silks she currently wears make her glitter in the setting sun.

Positioned in the center of the small garden's inner courtyard, Riri's prayer forms are uncertain. Sometimes her knees don't bend all the way they're supposed to. And at one point her arm doesn't extend to the full ninety degree angle the instructions scrolls describe.

But that doesn't matter because of why her beautiful talented dedicated genius girlfriend is praying. Or rather, to whom.

Shuri knows the prayer that slips low and careful from Riri's lips. She knows every note and syllable. It is her mother's funeral hymn. The Honor of Ramonda's is a celebration of her mother's birth and life, and a bitter bemoan of her death. There's a promise there at the end, humming with a grief that Shuri knows in her heart will last all her life.

She had poured her soul into creating a prayer dedicated to her mother. When Riri sings it, Shuri almost wants to cry.

It's beautiful. Her girlfriend is beautiful. Her girlfriend singing the prayer is beautiful.

Shuri moves forward, past the door where she's stopped in her tracks, and stops only a foot away. Riri's robes swirl around her, a red whirlpool of gauze that stops short when Shuri comes into sight.

Riri watches Shuri with wide eyes, lips parted to express her surprise.

"Your form is all wrong," Shuri says and then wants to shove a fist in her mouth. Damnit.

Riri puts her hands on her hips and laughs, her blouse rising up at the movement. "How are you this awkward?" The skin of Riri's stomach peaks out. Shuri stares. The blessed oils make the skin glisten. Shuri bets if she steps closer she could smell the spiced lotuses.

"I'm not being awkward." It's a distracted mumble instead of the annoyed tut she intended but Shuri can't bring herself to care. She wants to lick Riri.

Riri narrows her eyes, crosses her arms under her breasts, and gives a fox like grin when Shuri licks her lips. "Oh, you not?'" she laughs again. "Then what would you call it?"

Shuri pouts. "Giving constructive criticism, of course".

"Criticism." Riri says the word slowly as if tasting the letters. "I think I've heard of that before but I'm not real familiar. Why don't you stop hovering over there and come show me."

It sounds like an invitation to fight or fuck. Shuri is willing to do either or both of it means she can touch her girlfriend. But-

Shuri shakes her head and moves back towards the threshold. "I want to let you finish though."

"I thought my form was shit?" Riri raises an eyebrow.

"It was, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you pray." Shuri's words are a lovesick trill.

Riri snorts but presses a hand against her own cheek like she does when she's trying to stop blushing "Nah, see, now my feelings hurt. It was supposed to be a surprise but I don't even want to do it anymore."

"Ok, I apologize. I take it back. Finish the prayer."

Riri hums, rocks back and forth from heel to toe, and then reaches for the towel on the stone bench behind her. Shuri flails.

"You have completely mesmerized me and I want to watch you dance forever," She almost gets on her knees. "Please please please finish."

Riri clucks her tongue, watching Shuri with a sly smile as she backs away. "Naaaah, I lost the motivation. Maybe I'll go hire an instructor instead."

Shuri huffs, rushes forward, and catches Riri around the waist. It startles a laugh out of Riri and Shuri huffs again. "Don't go. I'll help you. We'll pray to my mother together. Just, please, dance for me." She makes her voice as soft as her heart feels.

Riri cups Shuri's cheeks, rubbing a thumb under her eye and kissing her. It's a light brush against the lips really, but it's enough to send Shuri's heart into a frenzy in her chest.

"If you're so desperate," Riri says, her voice is sultry, smile teasing, "then I guess I'll entertain you a bit."

"Yes. I am very desperate." Shuri nods firmly.

Riri wiggles out of her hold with a groan. "Don't do that. I feel guilty for being mean when you get all earnest and shit."

"I like to when you're mean to me though."

Riri groans again and throws the towel she'd dropped at Shuri's head. "Shut up and help me already." Her plush lips form a pout around the words.

Shuri laughs and catches the towel. "Anything you want, my love."

"Uggggggggh. Please stop!"

a/n: this is rushed as shit and mostly unedited. but, ya know, fuck it. i really wanted to participate in shuririweek at least one day so here it is!

@shuririweek

[valdiis]

Tagged: Altitis Edition

So as it turns out, @catscratching, I had not yet been tagged in this one, but was sort of hoping I would be!

Favorite | This is like asking me to choose which child is best. Rude. I have two answers for this. The first is Hadeon, the character that brought me to tumblr when my WoW guild at the time gave up forums for this format. Hadeon is a tragic, sad, beautiful character and I love him dearly, even if I don’t write for him anymore. The second answer is Daephrin - be it Starsworn - WoW - or Astramente - FFXIV. He’s just such a clever dumbass, and I love him, officer.

-

Oldest | Oh gods... Did you know I’ve been RPing since 1995? And I still remember my first character: Tiena Nightrose. She’s a cat shapeshifter and elemental mage. These days, she’s got a wonderful grandmotherly air in my head. Imagine a plump-faced cat mom with crow’s feet and greying hair with a black streak near the front. That said, if we’re talking about age, the oldest is Hadeon by several thousand years. He’s an Argus-old Draenei.

-

Newest | Kazuya Ryouichi, a big Au Ra Raen courtesan from Thavnair. He was raised by Hingashi parents in Radz-at-Han and is consistently torn between two worlds - that of serenity and that of adventure. He doesn’t get nearly enough of my time, sadly.

-

Meanest | Oof. I don’t play mean characters as a generality, because I don’t enjoy them. Probably Calleis An’aidei, then. He’s kind of a bastard. Grumpy, doesn’t like people, has a hidden drug habit...

-

Softest | I’d say Vy’thanis (Felbane - WoW - or Lusignon - FFXIV) is the softest character of mine and he’d probably be offended to hear that. But he is gentle and kind and happy, and deserves all good things in the world.

-

Most Aloof/Standoffish | That would probably be Calleis again. See the aforementioned “doesn’t like people.” He gets by as an alchemist selling potions - including healing ones - but he doesn’t do it because he wants to do good in the world. Alternately, I might say Mathaes Silverton, because he’s very much a loner who avoids everyone but his boyfriend when he can.

-

Dumbest (Affectionate) | Daephrin by a mile. He’s supposed to be so silver-tongued and smooth, but he’s got the emotional perceptiveness of gouda cheese and is always screwing up what should be a good thing for himself.

-

Dumbest (Derogatory) | Oh no. Though I wanted to say another character first, further thought on this answer gave me the truth: Ilva Swift. Ilva is a worgen thief and oh, she is so gullible. Her partner in crime is a snake oil salesman (among other things) and the two of them get up to the dumbest adventures. They stole a priest’s underwear drawer one time.

-

Smartest | I’d say Hadeon is the smartest. Aside from having twenty-five-thousand years to perfect his 3D Chess game (I actually made up a sort of 3D checkers that I imagined Draenei played), he’s just really savvy. He’s constantly coming up with new developments in metallurgy and he’s got memorized a staggering amount of ancient hymns. He is a master strategist (far beyond what I can write) and he is regularly a step ahead of everyone around him.

-

Horniest | Again, by a mile, Daephrin. But probably also Zayneth Shadowspite, my failed demon hunter blood elf. The two of them both would bang anything that moves. Of the two, Daephrin’s gotten up to the kinkier shit.

-

Character You’d Bang | Part of me wants to say Daephrin, but I know what happens when you put two bottoms in a room together. Probably either Vy’thanis or Zayneth. Which is a bit ironic, as their WoW incarnations were in a friends-with-benefits situation and Vy’thanis learned much of what he knows about sex from Zayneth. His FFXIV incarnation, however, learned mostly from trial and error with various flings. Either way, they’re both sweet, sexy, a little dominant, and lots of fun to be around. Big after-sex cuddlers too.

-

Character You’d Be RL Besties With | Either Vy’thanis or Lysonde Riverblade. Vyth, of course, is soft and kind and happy, and he loves rocks and shiny things, just like me. He’d be the kind of friend who perks up your whole day when you see them. Lysonde would be the glamorous bestie, the one always showing up with a story about where she last traveled to and who she met there, but she’s never a mean girl about it; she genuinely loves to share the world with her friends and she would be incredibly supportive as a bestie.

-

Now, who to tag... I don’t expect they’ll see this, but I think I’ll tag @canalstreetbaker and @chocoblep. I’m very curious to see their answers to this and I might be curious enough to actually poke them outside of tumblr just so they see the tag.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

uh oh, I goofed- there are actually 10 new teaser pages for Clementine Book Two

Yeeeeeeah, so remember how I said there were only four new teasers from Tillie’s insta? I was deceived, and it’s all Skybound’s fault >:[ I place all blame on them. Couldn’t be my fault. :/

@arielsprospera informed me that Skybound posted the pages on twitter, and since I avoid twitter like my entire existence depends on it, I never would’ve known had someone not informed me, so thank you! 

So for real this time, let’s look over the new pages and discuss.

Okie dokie, I think it’s safe to say they got away from the two dudes who grabbed Olivia. It was a close one, but they’re three young girls so it’s easy to underestimate them and that’s always a good advantage. 

I love that Olivia has a wound on her face and Ricca just sticks her fingers in it like, “Scars are cool.” Girl don’t do that, you’re hands are dirty, that’s how infections happen!

Speaking of-- for me the big thing with this page is Clementine saying, “My other leg hurts more, though. Something’s up with it...” 

....Clementine. What do you mean something’s up with it? Something as in you’re not caring for it properly and now it’s swelling with infection??

You’ll change the world, Clementine? “It won’t be like this forever”?

Interesting, that’s the kind of attitude I’d expect to see from S1 and S2 Clementine. ANF Clementine is where she lost a lot of that hope that the world would get better and believed things would get better, which made sense given all the shit that happened to her to lead up to that. 

She was a little more hopeful in TFS, like when Tenn tells the group he doesn’t believe the walkers will be around forever, but at this point she’s mostly accepted that this is just how the world works now and you have to do what you can to survive. 

So, what’s changed? 

Oh, and hands... Clementine and Ricca’s hands are touching. Much romance. 

Not much to say about this page other than it looks nice. I like it. Tillie does establishing shots well. 

Again, Clementine... I have a hard time feeling too bad about your leg. I get that y’all want to keep moving to get... wherever it is you’re going, but you’re not going to get far if your leg kills you. 

The group’s a mess, really. It’s not great when Olivia is the most stable, given Ricca’s vision is deteriorating and Clementine’s leg is in terrible condition from lack of proper care.

Also, I see two strangers and horse in the corner. They could just be random people they want to avoid, or maybe those two dudes had a bigger group that’s in the area and it’s best to avoid them. 

.......uhhhh

”Don’t, I’ll n-never get him back on.”  ..........what do you mean? Clementine, you took it off on page 19, you’ve taken your prosthetic off plenty of times? Unless her leg is so swollen now that it no long fits, which is not a great sign. 

And she has a fever. Because of course she does. 

Also, blegh... I still cannot get over the fact that she named her leg Kenny. This is a great example of “bad fan service,” I actually hate it so much. 

I’m just going to paste what I wrote before about this section:

Clementine’s got a fever and they’re covered in mud, shit, and blood...not great things to have on an infected leg, y’all.

Also, “We’ll eat fish.” .....insert AJ’s “I like fish!” line here.

Oh wait, you can’t, because AJ’s not here. Because he’s back at Ericson. Because Clementine left. I bet her leg wouldn’t be covered in mud if she had just stayed... just sayin’.

Not a great sign that she’s practically passed out and can’t form words. 

I looked up the song Ricca’s singing here since you never know, might have some good ol’ symbolism and pertain thematically to the story, why else put a song in, y’know? And: “a Jewish hymn recited on Friday night before the Sabbath (Shabbat) meal. The poem is based on the legend of the sages in the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabbat.”

And yeah, from what these translations tell me, there are angels.

Oh boy, Clementine’s not doing so good. She won’t wake up, Ricca’s crying, and Olivia’s...still not doing much tbh. 

Oh boy, a boat... I wonder if that boat will take them to an island community, hmm? 

I actually really like this page, but mostly for everything except the characters. The sky is lovely and I like the texture of the sand. The characters don’t look too bad, even here they look better than they might’ve in Book One, but still. 

Also I wonder if we’re going to get another dream sequence? I mean, is it really a Clementine story without a Lee dream shoved in? And if Clementine’s passed out, this is the perfect opportunity. 

Unless Tillie decides to give her a different dream involving AJ, or Kenny... actually I’ll be surprised if AJ gets another appearance or a mention in the rest of the trilogy. He’s not important, y’know... blegh. 

There we have it. 

Clementine, Ricca, and Olivia got away from the two dudes who grabbed them, Clementine’s leg is probably infected and she’s sick with fever, and they’re going to get help from a boat in the distance who will likely bring them to the island community. 

Once again: Do y’all have thoughts? Are you excited for Clementine Book Two? I doubt you are since most aren’t, but you never know.

Personally, I’m excited to be disappointed, but hopeful to be proven wrong. Either way, I win.

[allupinmyfries]

I believe in destiny, but only sometimes.

I believe that my belief is the beginning and end of the story, and if destiny is a thing molded with clumsy hands everyday, then fate is its god. The all seeing and all knowing, and yet it’s the only entity in the universe I seem hellbent on befriending.

The rough part of that is I don’t believe in fate in the same breath as I dread it. I ask for it to greet me and ignore it. It’s every friendship I’ve ever had on a loop. Every blood relative. Fate plays in the shadow of my roots, blamed and blameless. God. Angels. The unseen thing we sing in hymns and teach children.

The reason I tell you this, reader, is because I tell you everything. I have for years. At the bottom of math quizzes and painted across notebook covers. In thousands of untitled documents, agonizing over the how and why of my fiction. In poems and recycled lyrics.

I do think they’re about more than just you. I think the old ones are the past living presently, stuck in a moment but never asking to be freed. Living in the lie of fate.

Yes, they were about him and her and them and that place – but they were for you. They were the story of me in verse, millions of letters scattered in the only act of destiny I had. I became a god over my words and made the stars; I mapped out constellations. When freedom was a question I didn’t know how to ask, I explained it to you from the beginning.

Is that fate because I didn’t know? Or destiny tangled in nonlinear time. A manifestation and prediction, because I think they’re the same. An imaginary friend who was always real, holding the matching tin can on the other end of the red string.

You’ll realize soon, or you already have, that I talk a lot about days. Today. Yesterday. One day. Daylight.

I am a present being, forever living in my body in the current moment as if nothing came before and nothing will after. Aware of myself, unable to live in a past that spins and loops around itself, tangling like my words when I speak. My history, an odyssey wrapped in a soap opera and held together haphazardly with the tiniest bit of horror, is a story I’ve reiterated just to get it right, so when I tell you, maybe you’ll see the parts of me not even I do. I’ve spent my life understanding myself and learning I’ll never know everything. That fate is a path and destiny isn’t in moving forward, but how I take the steps.

Maybe this is a lot for you — the idea that you’re the secret dedication in everything I’ve written that even I didn’t know about. That the reason I never throw away an ounce of my writing is because you wouldn’t want me to. There’s something in all of it. Something good or interesting or funny. Something so intrinsically me that you couldn’t bear to part with it, so I didn’t. That you’ll want to read my silly stories, especially the bad ones – because it’s the part of me no one has ever witnessed. And it’s yours, just like I am or maybe always have been.

Maybe that’s fate. Maybe that’s as close to fate as people get, holding onto things just to finally—finally—share them.

Do I still believe the universe is uncaring? Yes. I think the universe does not give a shit. I think the fate of me and you has little to do with the fate of the stars. I think fate is energy, just like we are energy and all the versions of us recycle that energy into a new story that goes largely unseen outside of us. And we will be oblivion one day.

One day.

One day is not today. My destiny was never to find you. That’s fate, our little piece of that universal energy going on into infinity in every direction. My destiny is to create, and so is yours. My destiny is to write flawed, beautiful words as long as I can, to reach as many people as I can, to be loved and hated and seen and heard enough to run into you along the way. You are not a goal. You’re a companion on a very long road as I catch the briefest glimpses of you through the trees. Sometimes, when I turn away, I think you see me too. And as the roads converge, only now do we have the opportunity to say hello.

Fate. Grief and opportunity. Time. The road.

Destiny is in the words. It always has been. It's hard to believe in when I'm not rattling out my thoughts to paper, so I'll write more. I've kept them all. I have so many to share with you.

the road, part one. 1.19.25

[violetsystems]

#personal

Having a weekend contextually beats screaming at the wall indefinitely for the record. It was a short week last week but a bit of a stressful one in terms of a brain dump. I think it helps that I know a lot about IT but that's more for my sanity. My experience if you will at play. Which is to say that I am experienced but not in the Hendrix tradition. I will have a new boss next week but that's for another time. The simple fact that I'm working again and have health benefits that aren't falling apart is a good feeling. I've been mentally, emotionally and physically in a hole for much of COVID. But it's more of shock than actual damage returning to public. I would have liked to see a dermatologist for a less experimental routine. But there's a lot of things I can do right now that I couldn't. I still stay home mostly on the weekends aside from shopping. Socially I don't want to do anything other than hardcore nerd shit. Which is why being next to the comic book store where I played constructed drafts is pretty cool. Hyde Park is a bit of a ride down but the transit is pretty predictable in either way. I like where I live and where I work because door to door is a block either way. The religious atmosphere can be a disorienting at first but it's inter faith so it feels more welcoming than overbearing. I didn't have to be Lutheran to work there. My dad's family comes from that tradition and my uncle Howie is a musician in his own right. He wrote a hymn with a guy from Tanzania and reworked it. The fact that people know who he is there is kind of cool. His daughter is one of the people I visited when I traveled alone to China in Hong Kong. So I'm the kind of person who likes threading the loops in a long elaborate way. I appreciate my isolation a whole lot more when I can come back and be quiet. People still follow me around. It depends on the day. I feel like if you can tell I came home mad then the city could learn something. Everybody is conditioned to be up in everyone's face now. Which isn't very welcoming at all. Which judging from my anarchic disposition, how is it I can get along in a situation where I'm not in control and work diligently but be bothered all day when I step into public. I'm not famous, am I?

Maybe I should be. Maybe I already am or was. Maybe that hadn't had shit to do with why I focus on what I focus on. The world doesn't give a fuck primarily. And thus, I spent a good three years pushing myself to find somewhere where my talents would be appreciated. And get paid for them. After losing a job I worked over twenty years at in a community where I was so in awe but so looked down upon. It's weird to be working now with people I worked with back there. But not in a disturbing way. I felt thrown out. And when you have to tell somebody you had a Korean copy of Neuromancer who is your favorite author and not be able to tell them why. That is what people asked me at the staff meeting. I said William Gibson. That's the kind of matter of fact shit you want your coworkers to want to get to know. But everything I brought to my office to keep me company at the old job just got thrown out. Nobody saved anything. I was lucky they saved my references. But the most important thing was that I got out of a situation I was in. Not having a job sucks. Not being appreciated for being someone talented just to make someone less talented feel better about themselves sucks too. But that's the way shit goes out here. And if you can appreciate one thing about me now it's that when I have problems I try to deal with them. Sometimes yelling at a wall so that my neighbors can hear me is therapeutic. But it doesn't solve the problem of respect. To simply judge someone based on what little you know of them is such a fearful move. I've lived in my apartment now over thirteen years. This is my culture and history. Even waking up on a Saturday and talking shit on Tumblr to the few people I hang out with on a daily basis in my dash. You could have understood I wrote these for years and left treasure troves of personality bits for the AI to scrobble. I had a meeting where the AI included in our synopsis a light hearted anecdote about pizza toppings. I was blown away reading it's impression of what we did for an hour. Why can it see the finer points of my charisma and other people not?

Free will? Such a theological dagger. But the argument for me is the most salient in my life. I know sometimes people say "oh it was fate that everything worked out." God was smiling upon you or some shit. You could have just sat there and basked in the countenance and did nothing. Luck maybe had more to do with it. But luck doesn't push buttons. Poltergeists do. I am still under review for a bunch of positions that trickle in with rejections. I had to send so many resumes out before the right fit. But the choice was put there before me maybe laid out in a dark pattern that defies human logic. I saw the job in my LinkedIn feed. I would have had to stay on LinkedIn for three years to find it. I applied for it after getting angry at my dad projecting I wouldn't ever find a job because of the way I look. Tattoos and all. I would have had to have a resume that competed with other candidates. I would have had to pass a background check where it clears me of being a sex offender or a terrorist. I would have had to take the time to interview and present myself well. In short I had to actively do a lot of things that weren't fun. I had to crawl my way out of a box. And I'm still largely unhappy to a point. This wasn't the life I envisioned for myself. So much of the narrative was hijacked and still disrespected to this day. And the way I look at it. I made a choice that unfolded in very mysterious ways and still does. I have a comparable salary to where I left off. I had to be the person I am to get this and you have people following me around comparing themselves to me. Looking for strength from me by either idolizing me secretly or crucifying me in public like Jesus over some dumb shit they hijacked from my browser history. I'm sure you know how lonely it is for me to just sit out here and hate myself because people don't know how to love themselves. There is still something very much wrong with me for doing things the way I do. For keeping to myself. For defending the freedom that I've inherited by living in this country from the country itself. You have free will to be a op. And the dagger lies in the fact that the choices given to us are defined by the ones we choose however risky or unfathomable that is to other people. And you make the choice to fuck with me. Positively or negatively. I'm going to make the choice to make note of it and act accordingly. <3 Tim

[mylyricpages]

'THE GREAT MIGRATION' ( FULL LENGTH VERSION ) ( 2017 )

THE ROAD AHEAD OF US

HEART OF THE CITY

HEAVENLY RAIN

ANCIENT HYMNS

MEET YOU IN THE MORNING

BROKEN DAYS

SAIL YOUR SEAS WISELY

O’ REST MY WEARY SOUL

ODE TO YOU ( SONG FOR JAYDEN )

OLDER THAN YESTERDAY

WILL YOU WEEP? ( I TRIED MY VERY BEST )

ODYSSEY OF YOU & I

February 2017 - March 2017

THE ROAD AHEAD OF US

You’re wrapped up in all your old memories stood on an unfamiliar corner cause your old street’s no longer there you’re driving past the same old places you and I used to know so very well where we used to live our lives without a single care reminded of all the times you and I would hang all the good time rock and roll songs you and I sang with the boys and girls on a Saturday night

We had our glory days, our halcyon days we knew we had to keep going the horizon always calling us the road always ahead of us

We’re always gonna need the road ahead of us We’re always gonna need the ground beneath our feet We’re always gonna need the horizon to be just out of reach

You’re caught up with all your old ghosts in the ruins of our shared past looking for something that’s no longer there you’re driving past the old Royal where you and I spent so many nights where everyone we knew was always gonna be there reminded of all the times when we used to laugh all the precious moments that so quickly passed with the jukebox poets on a Friday night

We had our glory days, our halcyon days we knew we had to keep going the horizon always calling us the road always ahead of us

We’re always gonna need the road ahead of us We’re always gonna need the ground beneath our feet We’re always gonna need the horizon to be just out of reach

It don’t matter how good some things are we all need to change in the end we all need to move on be something new something else instead always follow the road follow the road ahead of us

the road ahead of us the road always ahead of us

HEART OF THE CITY

Mourning for the morning, living for the night making enemies, starting bloody fights throwing biblical stones breaking every bone falling in love, living on lust no gold, just rust everything or nothing everybody wants something gonna lose, gonna win gonna be good gonna sin

no money, get a life, living on empty edge of a knife another poison trip, a lonely night strip inject through the eyes tell tale lies hit out hard, vicious greeting card back against the wall in blood we shall scrawl waiting for the call never gonna fall so fuck ‘em all

guess it’s better than most so raise a fuckin’ toast to all the lost like you and me

Welcome to the underground Welcome to the underground Welcome to the heart of the city

Surviving till morning, scrambling through the night grasping hands, one night stands flame on a spoon, gone way too soon vague like a whisper burn like a blister needle’s chill, poppin’ a pill shoot from the hip don’t give a shit bullet proof, stone cold aloof a sassy bitch, gotta scratch that itch

self soothing, body abusing, the longest race a pretty face the loneliest girl, a scary world a slow romance, the dead can’t dance he who prayed, last of the glitter brigade up against the wall still standing tall never gonna crawl so fuck ‘em all

guess it’s better than most so raise a fuckin’ toast to all the lost like you and me

Welcome to the underground Welcome to the underground Welcome to the heart of the city

Well, look at the junkie angel shooting up in front of heaven’s gates So blissfully unaware of the all mighty’s stare as she struggles to get her daily kicks guess when it comes right down to it she’s just like you and me another lonely soul lost in the heart of the big bad city

HEAVENLY RAIN

You are the headlights through the fog you are the lighthouse through the storm the first light of every dawn you are the recurring image in every stolen dream you are the most beautiful soul I have ever seen

Oh, say you’ll take me home tonight Oh, say you’ll take me home tonight

Oh, you feel like heavenly rain upon my face Oh, you wash all of my sins away

Without a single trace without a trace

You are the sunshine on the grey days You are the brightness through the winter days the sweet scent of early may You are the soul I knew in another time You are the dream I have dreamt my entire life

Oh, say you’ll take me home tonight Oh, say you’ll take me home tonight

Oh, you feel like heavenly rain upon my face Oh, you wash all of my sins away

Without a single trace without a trace

I can see the sunset reflected in your eyes see our love writ large across the sky as the night sweeps in around us

All I wish every time I wake is to spend the rest of my days with you All I wish every time I wake is to spend the rest of my days with you

All I wish All I wish

ANCIENT HYMNS

I long to return and stay and not forever roam I long to return to my sweet ancestral home I long to see the shadowed spires high against the red evening sky I long to sleep in the place where I also wish to die I long to see the silver moonlight ‘a shining in a star filled night I long to see thatched roofs a’ silhouetted at morning light I long to hear the words of all the timeless stories long since untold I long to dream forgotten memories of a time long ago

I long, I long, oh how I long

I long to see such ancient buildings of old I long to see the scars of the countless centuries unfold I long to sing the words of the ballads and the sweet blessed hymns I long to stand high upon them ol’ rolling hills I long to stand beneath clear skies while I’m awake from dawn till dusk I long to see our forgotten history gathered in the dust I long to return to those fair dales of ever English green I long to wander in all the places so very rarely seen

I long, I long, oh how I long

I long to return to where the trees gently sway I long to see crops shine like gold in the sweet light of day I long to see the rivers ‘a gently glisten in the beams I long to see the waters of the purest streams I long to see the summer a’ slowly growing I long to see the horizon still a’ softly glowing I long to hear those distant but familiar chimes I long to return to such hallowed times I long to find the secret place of that old oak tree I long to find the secret place where I first met thee

I long, I long, oh how I long to see it all once again I long, I long, oh how I long to see thee once again

I long to sing, sing such ancient hymns for thee I long to sing, sing such ancient hymns for thee

MEET YOU IN THE MORNING

Darling, put your head against my shoulder I’ll hold you through the dark of night until the dawn I’ll hold you in my arms I’ll carry your hopes I’ll carry your fears let me hold your dreams when all your strength is gone

I’ll meet you in the morning I’ll meet you in the morning

Darling, put your head upon my chest I’ll comfort you in the dark until the day begins to dawn I’ll hold you in my arms I’ll carry your angels I’ll carry your ghosts let me hold your dreams when all your strength is gone

I’ll meet you in the morning I’ll meet you in the morning

Lying here, hearing your song waiting for you to wake up you can sweep it all away turn everything around just like the first time I met you

I’ll meet you in the morning I’ll see you in the morning When you open your eyes

BROKEN DAYS

No one ever showed us how to punch out against the sadness in our lives No one ever taught us how to find that single truth in an avalanche of lies No one ever showed us how to stumble through each and every single day to keep picking ourselves back up again No one ever taught us how to turn it all around when we know we’ve really had enough

No one ever showed us how to be so grown up when somehow nothing ever seems to go right No one ever taught us how to sleep soundly when all our fears find us in the dark of the night No one ever taught us the words of this ever changing song I guess somehow we just made it all up as we went along

I guess we just learnt how to figure it out be ourselves and always shout aloud I guess we just learnt all the many ways we could get through our broken days

You and me, you and me we’re bullet proof angels nothing can bring us down nothing can bring us down You and me, you and me we’re bullet proof angels we’ll carry on we’ll carry on

SAIL YOUR SEAS WISELY

We were the few, the foolish and the brave but we really knew nothing at all We thought we heard the alarms we carried on and we kept ourselves calm we thought we heard the rallying calls but soon we found out we really knew nothing at all

We let ourselves be dragged before the court of our elders we let ourselves be put on trial never put our case forward no words of denial put ourselves before our peers exposed our hopes our desires, our fears let the bastards judge if we should really be free simply because we were young

Well, in the ever changing days of our lives it was a moment in time never to be forgotten we knew the road stretched ever onwards as soon as the opportunity arose we were already gone left everything we knew behind us

Well, everything’s taken for granted and nothing’s ever for free we take our chances and we pay our dues and most days that’s good enough for me

Well, real magic isn’t pulled from the air it’s from taking chances when life’s really not playing fair And when we get where we’re going I’ll meet you there

And if anyone should put you down tell them to go fuck themselves and never go to ground and if you can, walk away your head held high and look every enemy squarely in the eye

Oh, sail your seas wisely my friend, sail your seas wisely

Oh, sail your seas wisely my friend

O’ REST MY WEARY SOUL

O’ rest my weary soul now all my fields are finally sown take me back faraway to the place where I once was known O’ rest my weary soul now all my dreams have never dawned take me back faraway to the place where I once was born

O’ rest my weary soul now I’ve returned to the sea take me back faraway to the place where once I felt so free O’ rest my weary soul now all my long days have begun to gently fade take me back faraway now all my debts have been repaid

O’ rest my weary soul now all my promises are made take me back faraway to the place that always reminds me of younger days O’ rest my weary soul now my soul’s no longer mine to sell take me back faraway to the place I’ve always known so very well

Well, I’ve walked many long roads crossed many rivers and seas memories and places are the things that really matter to me and when I’m lost to them I know I’m truly free

O’ I know I’m truly free

ODE TO YOU ( SONG FOR JAYDEN )

Well, here’s to you, dear nephew with brave of soul and shining eyes of blue Well, here’s to you, dear nephew young of spirit, may goodness always follow you

May your life never be empty May all your fields always grow aplenty May sadness never weigh down upon you in all your given days

Well, here’s to you, dear nephew with strength of will and beating heart so true Well, here’s to you, dear nephew free of spirit, may happiness always follow you

May your life never be sad May all your times always be glad May darkness never weigh down upon you in all your given days

All I’ve learned in this life I’ll try to pass on to you show you all the roads I’ve taken all the many chances I’ve foolishly forsaken All the bad choices I’ve made all the good days that will never fade All the mistakes I wish I could somehow always take back all the things that always pull us from our proper path

I can tell you all these things yet I know you have to make your own way upon this road I have no real answers but I can show you what I think I know maybe help you on your way as you change and as you grow

For the ‘Little Punk’

OLDER THAN YESTERDAY

Staring in the mirror at the lines on my face seeing a man with a sadness he just can’t hide I’m getting older but am I really getting any wiser inside still somehow I keep on trying while the heart inside of me keeps on dying I’m tired and broken and fucked up but there’s one thing you should know I got it somewhere inside me to change and to grow

I’m just a simple man I’m doing all I can to change the way I used to be but I’m fragile and I’m weak I’m just a simple man

Always, it’s the kind of thing that keeps you up at night wonderin’ how they really do see you

Always, it’s the kind of thing that keeps you up at night wonderin’ how you’re gonna make it through to the day

I remember all the songs I used to sing about sleepless nights and hard living and waking up in unfamiliar places I remember the words of every song all those special ones I never invited along and carried on upon my own road with no regret or doubt at all

Now I’m so much older than yesterday I remember all the things I used to say now all my regrets I finally feel for all the precious moments I did steal and I wish to one day gladly wake somehow turn back the clock and soundly forsake all the stupid choices I made back in the day

WILL YOU WEEP? ( I TRIED MY VERY BEST )

Will you weep for me, will you weep for me will you say I lived my life well Will you eulogise my name or damn my soul to hell

Will you weep for me, will you weep for me will you sing my name in the streets Will you sing all my songs to the ancient seas

Will you weep for me, will you weep for me Will you carve my name in ancient stone Will you tell fond stories of the days when I walked this fair land alone

Will you weep for me, will you weep for me Will you call my name into the howling wind Will you stand at my graveside until time itself grows still

Will you all weep when I go and die will you remember the man who used to be the boy yes, I fucked up so many goddamn times and all of the rest but I hope you know I tried my very best

Will you all weep when I go away will you hold all night parties, hang banners in my name yes, I fucked up too many goddamn times, to that I will attest but I hope you know I tried my very best

I tried my very best I tried my very best but things never quite went the way I’d hoped for

ODYSSEY OF YOU & I

You and I, memory fades, pale hands, eyes deep sea blue You and I, dreams linger minds still asleep smell of day newly arriving birdsong and early morning breeze You and I, solitude clings sleepy shapes grow into woken dreams You and I, puzzle the many pieces missing no sense of grey hope rises and love is born

You and I, watching the crashing of eternal waves footprints like memories in the sand You and I, echoes of each other bare feet on grass under blue sky You and I, entwined upon the same path lost in our footsteps always moving on You and I, an endless odyssey of only one always looking forward moments lost forever gone

And so it goes on and so it goes on

[chiwhorei]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

𝐚𝐤𝐚: 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐑𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬!!

pairing: t. amajiki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~1.3k

tags: pervy!tamaki, mean!tamaki, dubcon, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, tentacles in all of readers holes, dacryphilia, choking

a/n: this is my very late contribution to the whorehouse porn compilation, the rest of this questionable browser history can be found here! strap in because this might be the grossest shit i’ve written so far. no plot, porn is the point here friends.

(cross posted to Ao3!)

hymn: gooey by the glass animals

The first time was an accident, genuinely.

He meant to text you he would be home early, ever the courteous roommate, but it truly just slipped his mind. Surprise would be an understatement when he swings the front door open to the high pitched whines coming from your bedroom.

Curiosity piquing, Tamaki lines his shoes up by the door and follows the noise. He can see the outline of light seeping through your open door and hears another round of cries. 

“Hey, are you ok--” His words flop lifelessly on the floor in front of him. Oh.

Oh.

His eyes trail up from the end of your bed. The open laptop propped in between your legs, the bottle of lube sitting next to your knee, your bare thighs and--

“Do you like what you see, Suneater?”

Tamaki flushes, heat starting at the bridge of his nose and spreading across every inch of skin. He should really say something, or better yet, close your fucking door and do the rest of his processing on the other side. 

He can’t seem to do anything but stand and stare at the dripping wet toy still being pumping in and out of your cunt. It seems to have completely hypnotized him, watching the way the silicone disappears in between your slick folds, he swears he can see the quiver.

“What do you think about my toy?” Purple and oblong, you pull it all the way out. Tamaki’s stare burns right into the suction cup ridges and slim, curved tip. You drag it in a wet line up your skin, meeting your lips with a pout. 

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

* * *

First time, shame on you.

That’s what they say, but Tamaki finds himself pressing against your doorframe and peering into your room for the 3rd time this week. His feet pull him here like a nasty habit, the crack in your door is far too welcoming. 

You left it open just for him.

Tamaki’s ears twitch, forehead tacky with sweat as he presses against the frame. Every time he finds himself in this very same position, shame trickles down his spine like poison.

Every inch of your skin is exposed to his stare. Looking upon you is invasive and slimy and wrong but fuck, with every movement of your toy, pumping in tandem with the hand around his painfully hard cock, the more each stolen glance feels intravenous. Tamaki is addicted. 

All he wants to do is touch you. Wrap you in his hold and explore every inch. He wants to know what your skin feels like. 

What does your hair smell like up close? He’s only ever been privy to the occasional carryover of strawberry as you walk by him in the kitchen. How do your moans feel vibrating just above his mouth? Would you cry out for him to stop or to keep going?

He’s never stepped closer than the line between carpet and hardwood, but that's really only a technicality. 

You feel it, foreign but unmistakable. The touch of something crawling up your leg, soft and sticky. It wraps around your leg, crawling upwards in salacious vines. Your voice rings in Tamaki’s ears. He repeats every syllable like prayer, his invitation.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

There’s no movement to stop him, you don’t scream or tell him to fuck off. Your body seems to welcome him, back arching as five quirked fingers wrap around your arms and hips. The popping of suction cups trail from your belly button, dragging against your breasts before you feel pressure at your neck. Your skin will be covered in round bruises in the morning. The kindling in Tamaki’s stomach feels more like a wildfire, shy demeanor melting away. The man in front of you isn’t going to waste any more time hesitating.  

“You’re such a little tease. You like fucking with me don’t you, princess?” Tamaki’s question is sneering, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

The tentacle wrapping around your neck squeezes tight enough to make you gasp, he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He doesn’t really want you to answer him.

As soon as your lips part, your mouth is invaded. The tendril reaches all the way to the back of your throat before it lets up, your jaw already hurting at the stretch. Your vision blurs, the taste of briny-sweet flesh mixes with the salty tears running down your face.

You’re given only a moment to sputter, catching your breath before it’s taken away again, the squeals and cries bubbling in your throat are wasted energy.

“Always leaving your door open, teasing me. I’m not playing your games anymore.” Tamaki’s voice is unwavering, he’s serious.

You wail around the rubbery texture as another tentacle wraps around your breasts, suctioning on the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Tamaki moves closer with each sound he can pull from you, finally breaching the last shreds of privacy and shuffling across the carpet. All five fingers on his right hand are busy probing parts of your pliant body and restraining others. Through the haze you can’t deny how dexterous he is while making a mess of you. 

It would be impressive if you could think straight.

Each arm and leg is caught in the reddish-purple web, writhing against his hold only makes Tamaki’s grip tighter.

“I could do anything to this sweet little body, what could you do to stop me?” His words should scare you, but only one thing runs through your foggy head. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

If you could, the scream pressed against your makeshift gag would definitely alert your neighbors to the depravity just a wall away. You feel attention turning to the toy still plugging your weeping hole, a tentacle wrapping around the base and pulling it free with a squelch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the shiny plastic as it’s thrown to the other side of the room, hitting your wall with a hollow thud.

The tip of one tentacle prods at your clit for good measure before poking inside. Fear runs through your blood, cooling when mixed with overwhelming pleasure. Tamaki can reach places you’ve never felt before.

“So tight, so fucking warm.” Tamaki can feel you with each clench of your pussy, sliding in until he can feel tight band of your cervix. He could ruin you if he wanted, he ventures to guess you would let him.

You’re crying in long, fat streaks around the apples of your cheeks. With the help of another set of weaponized fingers, your legs are spread further and pushed to your chest. Tamaki’s cock aches, now ignored in favor of manipulating your body into a new angle so your ass is propped up. Muscles tense as he swipes the tip of his tentacle to trace around your rigid ring of muscle.

“I’ll take every one of these slutty little holes. You’ll feel me on your skin for days.” He promises you, pushing past your resistant muscles, they’re no match.

Your head is swimming now, logic is replaced with the feeling of being so full.

Stimulation assaults your senses from every direction, Tamaki fucking into your body with fatal rhythm. Going farther, deeper, harder. All you’re left with is shaking limbs and muted whines.

It hurts, it feels so good. It’s so disgusting but so hot. You’re meek, bushy roommate has made you little more than a fucktoy with what seems like minimal effort. You’re hurdled to a sloppy wet orgasm faster than ever before. 

Tamaki can tell that you’re close, studying the way your eyes screw up and brows furrow before falling over the edge for weeks from the comfort of your door jam. The consuming bliss overtakes your body, every muscle tensing, shaking from exhaustion as the cord pulls tight and snaps with fury. If you could, you would scream out the name of your captor, all you can manage a garbled sound from deep in your chest.

The next few moments find you in pieces. The feeling of emptiness knocks at your hypersensitive body as you’re flipped to balance weakly on your hands in knees. You’re not left alone for long, Tamaki’s just getting started.

He’s never been one to play with his food, but you’re just too tasty.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[unabashednightmarekitten]

Rating and recommending some of the kdramas that made me sad because sometimes we all just need a good cry. Enjoy the pain x

Goblin- do I even have to say it? 9/10

Mr Sunshine- the same writer as goblin...so take a guess 9/10

Scarlet Heart- expected trauma and was not disappointed 8/10

Splash Splash Love- (less)bitter(more)sweet 8/10

Hymn of Death- the title really should have prepared me but I'm dumb 7/10

Black- more death and even more tears 10/10

Prison Playbook- I just wanted to give Je Hyeok a hug 9/10

Hospital Playlist- I mean a place full of sick people? 9/10

It's Okay Not To Be Okay- contrary to the title I did not find it ok how not ok this show made me 11/10

Move to Heaven- literally traumatised, cried every episode. Go back once in a while just to feel something 1000/10

My Name- All I wanted was to see Ji Woo smile at least once, was that too much to ask for? Lots of tears but watching her kick the shit out of men and that one dilf definitely made up for it 10/10

Hometown cha cha cha- couldn't stop crying the whole last episode because I was so happy but also because I was extremely depressed that I would never experience moving to a rural coastal town and falling in love with gods gift to creation 10/10

Moon Embracing the Sun- how could I watch Kim Soo Hyun cry and not cry myself?? 10/10

The Red Sleeve- Heartbroken, literally shattered into a million pieces and never recovered. If I could go back in time and not watch the last episode I 100% would. Usually, I'm all for emotional final episodes but this one took it too far. Still loved it though. 10000000/10

Hi Bye, Mama- If you want to save your mental health then stay away. I loved it, but it took me a while to finish because every episode left me emotionally drained. The amount of tears I shed is not wise. Proceed with care and watch at your own risk. 9.5/10

Beyond Evil- omg this drama was a masterpiece bonus points for making me cry like a baby at the end 100/10

P.S. Please send your recommendations my way, as you can tell I'm a sucker for a good emotional drama.

[assortedfruitsnacks212]

Antis are nothing new.

Okay, someone on this post called standing up to antis "kinda punk actually" and I've been screaming about it ever since.

Yes—YES, it's very punk. Very rock and roll. And saying that is not a stretch! We're literally seeing the same dynamic at work. The purity police are just wearing a progressive disguise this time.

When rock and roll first came on the scene, it was deeply offensive to the purity-minded. Hell, in my childhood circles it still was, even in the 2000s. We weren't allowed to listen to it unless it was "Christian," and even then it stayed on thin fkn ice. My parents set an example by only listening to gospel hymns and Celtic music... or so I thought. (I later found out—and this should surprise no one—my dad harbored a secret love for Pink Floyd.) (He's more open about it now that I listen to them too.)

I ran across this pic the other day, and I recognized it instantly as a snippet from an old gospel tract. I read a ton of these as a kid, and they were nothing but an endless stream of moral panic. (Chick Tracts, anyone?)

Christian parents were so worried about rock music corrupting their children (!) that, rather than let them make their own choices, they took those choices away. I lived that life, y'all, and it sucked. I heard the sentence "I don't want that crap in my house" more times than I care for.

But it didn't end at music. Oh no, the moral panic overshadowed every part of our lives. In addition to the ban on secular rock music, kids in my church were forbidden from:

having sex before marriage (obviously)

watching sex scenes in movies

watching (or reading) any porn whatsoever

swearing (even saying "oh my god" was problematic—you're taking the Lord's name in vain)

doing drugs of any kind, even weed

showing too much skin

wearing too much makeup or jewelry

reading Harry Potter (not because JKR is a terf, but because she's teaching children witchcraft)

dating in high school (because that's opening the door to temptation)

being alone with a member of the opposite sex (TEMPTATION!)

dancing (TEMPTATION!)

even letting a shadow of a queer thought pass through your mind

a thousand other things I've forgotten about

Funny, isn't it, how most of these anxieties center on sexuality?? Don't do it before marriage. Don't do anything that might even make you think about doing it. Don't dress like this, don't move like that, don't read or watch anything that will cause you to "dishonor God in your mind."

Um, hello? This is anti logic. Keep your thoughts pure or else.

If the list of "don't's" I rattled off seems overwhelming, rest assured antis want the same level of control over you. They're arrogant enough to believe they have the right to police not only your actions, but your thoughts too. And they're just as hung up on sex as the pastors in my old church.

Well, guess what? I left my church because I found out they weren't the moral authorities they pretended to be. I studied American history in college, and I realized that, for all their moral posturing, my teachers* had never told me about the history of racial violence in our state. Even worse, they'd tried to defend the Confederacy by claiming slaves were "happy."

They were morally bankrupt, just like antis are when they harass and suicide-bait strangers.

Nowadays, I don't listen to any of them. Pastors or antis. I love rock music, I love sex, I watch porn, I write smut, I wear ripped-up crop tops, I curse freely, I ship age gap ships, and I embrace my attraction to women. All with the knowledge that none of those things makes me a bad person.

Don't let antis make you question yourself. They ain't shit.

*I was homeschooled through my church, so my teachers and pastors formed an unbroken wall of 'moral authority.' Neat, huh?

[keilemlucent]

a nice break

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~3k

keigo really is just such a good boy for you, isn't he?

warnings: peggings, strap ons, wing kink, praise kink, spit kink, sub hawks, soft hawks, light religious imagery in the literal imagery, aftercare

enjoy some subby hawks pegging ;^))) 

||||||||||||||

Keigo had the prettiest voice.

Fuck whatever ‘bird of prey’ act he put on, the man was a songbird like no other. Perhaps not always, but it wasn’t particularly hard to get him to sing either. Unabashed pleasure would send Keigo into fits of cries and lamentations.

“Oh fuck, please—!” Keigo’s voice broke above you. He was straining so hard to keep any semblance of usual composure despite his wrecked state. It wasn’t like it was doing him much good with how beyond fucked out he was, but you appreciated the effort.

How long had you had him bouncing on your strap? Long enough that he had begged you to let him rest, his wobbly legs growing weak despite their tone and muscle. Yet, not long enough to award him a moment of respite. You had rolled your hips up, jamming your metaphorical thick cock against his prostate as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

Keigo’s face had grown bright red, freckles dimming with the flush of his cheeks. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, drool escaping from the corners of his lips. He occasionally tried to wipe up the bodily filth on his face, but the action only served to make him even more of a mess. Keigo didn’t mean to, but his subtle, cute actions just debauched him more.

Keigo had a tendency to be a brat. That was just his private personality. Effortlessly laid back charm was a face he wore incredibly well for the public, but in the solace of his penthouse apartment, the man was a raging devil.

He typically took the lead on things. Throwing you up over tables and counters with the help of his wings, fucking you stupid without a second thought.

You loved it. Immensely.

Nothing made you soak yourself more than being on your knees for Keigo just before he would fuck your face in earnest, cooing and praising about how well you took his cock. He loved to see you sloppy for him, demanding and pushing and pulling you whatever way suited his pleasure (and yours as well, of course.)

But you also loved seeing Keigo sloppy. You relished getting to break him down, picking at his crafted facade with personal pleasures you made all for him, and you made sure to tell him so.

Keigo loved to praise you, any time, not just in bed. He’d tell you what a good girl you were while spanking his hand on your backside for the umpteenth time, you teary-eyed and half-sobbing. He’d coo about how beautiful you were while he fucked you into yet another orgasm with his crooked fingers. He’d smooth you over and tell you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, as you cuddled into each other, fucked out, boneless and brainless. He’d come up behind you while you cooked dinner, kissing at your neck and whispering about how kind of partner you were. He’d grab your hand in public to lay gentle kisses over your knuckles, speaking lowly about how he cherished you and the time you were able to spend together.

It took you a while into your relationship to realize that Keigo also fed off praise. He showered you with love and compliments and craved receiving similar affections.

And, you weren’t one to deny him.

“Come on, Kei’, you can do it, you’re such a good boy,” You crooned, pushing your hips to press the thick dildo deeper in him.

Keigo sputtered, his hands flying to your chest for purchase, lip wobbling. His eyes flicked to meet your own, widened and pleading.

You just smirked.

“Keep going if you want to come.”

He cried out, lowering his head and wiping at the different smears of fluid that wetted his face. Slowly, he raised himself up, thighs trembling with exertion and exhaustion.

You tucked your arms behind your head, truly getting off on the beautiful sight before you.

Keigo looked god-like most of the time, all feathered and blood-colored. He was sculpted like a marble statue; sometimes, you felt unfit of touching him. Yet, you debauching him was one of your favorite acts. Turning Keigo into some defiled deity riding the silicone cock of a mortal, divine, crimson wings a backdrop to ambrosian pleasures that only the two of you knew. Despite how bratty he was, he loved falling apart while you fucked his cute little hole numb.

Keigo rode your cock so well, he knew it, you told him so. Despite how much his body ached and how he was chasing orgasm but never catching it, he tried really, really hard to make you happy. You could see it in the way how each of his actions was followed by an expectant look, delivered to you with puffy, kiss-bruised lips.

Who would’ve thought Hawks was a crybaby when getting fucked so well?

Below him, you smiled, languidly playing with your own sex while drowning in Keigo’s image. Your own slick coated your thighs, wetting your puffy clit as you stroked yourself slowly to Keigo’s display.

His cock was swollen, bright red, and weeping preek. The ring at its base was wet with lube, tightly holding Keigo back from any sort of proper satisfaction. All the while, his cock was so much more sensitive, not to mention how you’d been teasing him for what felt like hours. You wondered if Keigo felt edged or overstimulated. You could only hope that it was both.

You wrapped your fingers around his cock, moaning with Keigo in tandem. He wailed, voice shattering into pleads and begs for “more, please, more!” as you fucked his cock with your hand. He was so slicked and hot, weeping for release in more ways than one.

You removed your fingers from your own sex, frowning.

The slick covered fingers pressed at Keigo’s parted lips. He opened his mouth for you, letting you fuck his mouth with the digits, pressing gently on his tongue and the back of his throat. You felt the vibrations of his suppressed cries so well, it made your cunt ache. 

“Good boys don’t talk with their mouths full, do they?” You taunted, pressing harder and pumping your hand faster around Keigo’s cock.

Keigo screamed against your fingers, sweaty locks falling over his eyes as he shook his head. With all of his hero-refined skills, his thin hips couldn’t figure out how to both fuck down on the strap and fuck into your hand. The infuriating amount of stimulation without a thread of relief made tears leak from Keigo’s eyes anew, running rivers down his cheeks and drip onto your torso.

“Aw, baby, why are you crying?” You loved teasing Keigo like this. He’d never let you do this shit to him unless he was this fucked out. You knew he liked it too, based on how the degradation made his cock throb in your grip.

You squeezed, rubbing a thumb at its leaky head. Keigo sobbed around your fingers, “Pweaze! ”

“Pweaze’? ‘Pweaze’ what, baby? Use your words.” You sneered, watching spittle drip from his mouth onto your lap. To taunt him even more, you pressed your drenched fingers onto the back of his tongue as he tried to speak. Unintelligible, garbled syllables were all he could produce beyond chest sobs.

He just looked at you helplessly, nails digging into your sides.

You relented, removing your fingers and wiping them onto Keigo’s swollen dick, still pumping it slowly.

“Please, let me come, please!” Keigo’s voice curled so well when he begged. You fucked up into him sharply, Keigo’s hands clawing into your ribs as he screamed in white-hot pleasure. His spent thighs trembled around your own, wet with sweat and shaking with exhaustion.

You ran a hand through his hair, feeling the layer of thin sweat and boiling heat. He leaned into your touch immediately, doughy and glassy-eyed.

Keigo was art, sculpted all for you. Any bits of his public, bastardseque persona had been ground away with pleasure and coaxing. He had fallen apart for you, gently pleading for release like it was a hymn to his god.

You crooked a smile.

“I don’t know, baby. Have been good enough to come?” You hummed, grinning smugly as Keigo’s expression fell. His lips moved in horror as he began blubbering, fucking himself again on the strap, harder, faster, and with more vigor than before.

“I have b-been, I’ve been good!” Keigo sobbed, rubbed at his eyes as one of his legs gave out no a particularly rough thrust. Your hand slid up to support the spent muscles, knowing he was beginning to reach his limits.

“Tell me how and you can come, Keigo,” You said his name so sweetly, you felt another flood of pre dribbled sticky from his cock, “Tell me how you’re such a good boy, for me, Keigo.”

He shook his head, breathing harshly, but still managing to fuck himself half-heartedly. He bit his lip as he looked at you with red-rimmed eyes, wings fluttering at his back.

It gave you an idea.

You’d pay for it later, but that was a future problem.

All contact with Keigo’s cock and body went away, holding your hands on your chest, slowly rolling your hips and strap into Keigo’s tight hole.

You stilled for just a moment, drinking him in.

Your hands shot out, just brushing against Keigo’s sides before burying themselves at the tender roots of his wings.

“F-Fuck!” Keigo wailed, bowing his back and falling against your chest, unable to hold himself upright.

You adjusted your legs, allowing yourself to still fuck into Keigo. Even better, this position perfectly allowed you to ram his most sensitive spot, sobs and cries muffled into the skin of your chest. He pawed at one of your tits half-heartedly, but you knew he didn’t really have it in him.

Pleads and cries for mercy spilled from his lips as you massaged at the base of his wings. The downy feathers were petal-soft, all the betters for rubbing deep into as Keigo twitched and wailed.

“Just tell me why you’re a good boy, Keigo, you’re so close,” You encouraged him, shifting so that his head was pressed into your neck. You felt his cock, hard and hot against your stomach. With this position, Keigo could rest his body to some degree. But, it provided an absolutely obscene amount of friction that would be damn-near brutal mentally.

His wings splayed out above the two of you, cocooning you in vibrant reds and scarlets as you thumbed at individual feathers. Keigo finally found his voice as you dragged the strap back from his hole.

“I-I ate your pussy really good,” Keigo’s voice was high, stumbling on his words.

You hummed appreciatively, scrapping your nails down thin bones of his wings. He arched against you, hands flying your hair and pulling. He broke into bawling, tears wetting your neck and the sheets beneath you.

You fucking loved it.

“I l-let you sit on my face, and let you fuck- ME!” Keigo howled as you dug into his feathers, tsking lightly.

“Up, baby. Sit up for me,” You commanded, though softly. Keigo slowly righted himself, shaking like a leaf. You could tell by the way he shifted his hips that he was more than a bit sore and overworked. Not to mention that his cock was turning darker red and bulging hotly by the minute.

“Those are all good things you did, but that’s not why you’re a good boy,” You trailed one of your hands down one of the lovely curves of his lower back, cupping his ass and squeezing.

He sputtered, shaking his head, rubbing at his eyes, “Please, I’m sorry, just let me—”

You’d done this song and dance enough with Keigo to know the way to really get to his cock. After so much mental conditioning and training, parts of him were still left raw. To touch and stroke them just right was an art you had taken upon yourself to master and perfect. You’d do anything for Keigo, anything to help him chase pleasures that could be too fragile or fear-filled to voice.

“Keigo, you’re a good boy because you’re you,” You massaged at his aching, sore parts with warm hands. “You’re such a good boy for me, Kei’. You ride me so well. Can you just a little more?”

If Keigo hadn’t been fully crying, he was now.

He tearfully nodded, bouncing himself on the strap again, sending loud moans far and wide.

You helped him along, rolling your hips, “You’re such a sweet boy, Kei’. You sound so pretty when you wreck yourself for me.”

He keened.

The hand that wasn’t helping to hold him up went to palm at the head of his cock, “You are so sweet and so beautiful when you’re fucked out like this. All stupid for me, right, Kei’?”

You trailed a finger up his shaft as he drooled, eyes struggling to focus, “So good at listening and following my rules. Do you like being a good boy?”

He was fucked too silly to manage anything other than a nod.

“Do you want to come, baby?” You pumped his cock with your slick hand, almost mockingly.

“PLEASE!” Keigo screamed, nails breaking the skin of your breasts, but you could hardly care. His head bent forward as a mix of his tears, snot, and spit dripped between the two of you.

Keigo really did deserve it. You relented.

Your fingers dipped slipped the cock ring off in one motion, grabbing his face by the cheeks with the other hand, “Then, come for me, baby.”

And he did.

Keigo fucked himself down on the strap one final time before screaming in divine rapture.

He collapsed on top of you, crying out and curling into you as his cock sprayed your chests and thighs. Thick spurts of creamy cum dripped between the two of your bodies as Keigo rode out his orgasm, your hand still on his cock, milking him for all he had. Any words he tried to babble out were broken and meaningless, only serving to help Keigo release his pent up need for relief now that it was finally squashed.

You kept your hand wrapped around his cock, rolling your wrist from base to hip as Keigo rattled on top of your own sweaty frame.

He sniffled, pressing into your neck and weakly pushing your hand, “T-too much.”

You released him easily, shushing Keigo when he tried to move or assist you. You carefully slipped from his tight, lube-slicked hole and undid the harness of the strap on. Your own hips ached from exertion, skin bruised by the biting of the straps, but you were sure it was nothing compared to Keigo’s full-body ache. You’d had him every which way throughout the course of the night, you were sure he wouldn’t be standing correctly for a few days. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

You fell back with Keigo, pulling him to your chest. His head fell against you as his wings spread haphazardly and unsupported. For a moment, you worried he’d passed out, but a short groan and gentle squeeze proved you otherwise.

You set upon his trembling form with all the love you could show him.

“Oh, Keigo,” You peppered his forehead and hair with kisses as he hid his face at your sternum. “You did so well, you took me so, so well, baby. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much, 'Kei.”

He nuzzled into you, making small noises with not much sense to them. You gave him a sympathetic smile, rubbing circles into his lower back, “Would you like some water, baby? Or do you want to wait a little longer?”

Keigo shook his head, weakly kissing the top of your breasts, “N-now, please.”

You grabbed a bottle on the nightstand, pre-chilled in preparation for the inevitable outcome. Keigo slowly rose when you offered the bottle to him, hardly going far before downing mo of the liquid in a few gulps. It was obvious he needed it with the harsh flush of his face and the sweat growing cold on his skin.

He passed the bottle back to you, nestling back into you as he did. His wings quivered as they covered your forms, plumage soft and twitching as Keigo sweetly came down from his overstimulation and mushy mental state.

You set upon him with more sweet kisses and enough praise to drown a man with an ego smaller than Keigo’s. It was all gentle, coaxing him from his mental fog with lots of obvious love and attention. Keigo didn’t fall into submissive headspaces easily and that made it all the more imperative to be deliberate and ginger with helping him out.

You started blowing and leaving kisses around his ears, making him jolt and giggle at you. It was something high and airy, a side only you got to see. You loved how it sounded and felt so close to you.

Keigo gently cupped your face, returning your affections, albeit weaker. With his sagging eyelids, he was clearly spent.

“Was all that okay? I know it was intense,” You asked, pressing into Keigo’s gesture. You needed a bit of extra attention too, and Keigo was more than willing to lavish you the best he could in his state.

All gooey himself, Keigo shook his head, wrapping his arms and legs around you in a tight embrace, “Very good. Still kinda fucked out though.”

“I can tell,” You laughed. You kissed into his honeyed hair, tangling your fingers to the scalp to massage and work any tension out of his neck. “Take all the time you need. I’m right here.”

Keigo purred around you, breaths evening out and slowing.

You silently slipped from the bed, running to the bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean him. When you re-entered the dimly lit room, Keigo was sitting up, rubbing at his eyes and finishing his water.

Keigo cracked you a smile, as you came back to kneel on the bed. His voice was hoarse with its prior activities and expletives, “You know, I’m gonna get you back for all of that. Even worse.”

You rolled your eyes, “I look forward to it.”

You pressed a kiss to the corner of Keigo’s mouth, urging him down to the sheets.

He didn’t fight you, but you were sure he would.

[atzsslut]

requested by @let-this-be-a-lesson from this, and this list.

chosen prompt(s) : 

#1 - “Is that my sweater?”

#11 - “If you were my boyfriend/girlfriend/partner, I’d probably never stop staring at you.”

pairing : bang chan x fem ! reader

genre : fluff 

warnings : long time best friends, very obvious crushing, kind of more than friends (unidentified relationship) to lovers, implied slow burn 

word count : 2.4k words

You promised to meet Chan almost an hour ago. 

The adrenaline coursed through your body as you ran out of the bathroom after a shower, which was relatively dangerous but you didn’t care, sprinting back to your room to get into some decent clothing. 

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost punched it from the frustration. But you didn’t, of course, as if you didn’t have enough bad luck already.  

Are you that stupid to have fallen asleep on the couch? You thought to yourself. You were much too thankful that you already washed your hair in the morning, so it looked good enough now. 

As you dropped your towel, you swore that you’ve never grabbed such a mismatched set of underwear and bra before, but it didn’t matter. You’d opt yourself to become quicksilver if it was for Chan. 

Your hands let themselves skim through until your phone lit up on top of your cupboard and showed three notifications from the man himself. You froze in your spot reading the following messages. 

chan: okay :( if u insist [5:02 PM]

chan: but since u seem tired [5:03 PM]

chan: i’ll pick u up since i’m only 10 mins away [5:03 PM]

Your mind went back to when you had woken up to three missed calls from Chan, various texts asking if you were alright since you never missed a ‘hangout’. At least, that’s what you two always called your frequent meets. 

Your first instinct was to call him back, your voice rather nasally from the blocked nose you always got after sleeping. His kind voice kept replaying in your head;

“Chan, I’m so so sorry-”

“Oh, did you just wake up?”

“I.. yes. Yes I did. I’m so sorry, I fell asleep because I ran a million errands up until 3pm.”

“Hey, no. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Do you want to move our hangout to some other day? I think I’m quite free this week.”

“No, no. I need to see you, honestly. My stress has piled up and it’ll be great to see you. You always cheer me up.”

“I try my best, Y/N. I’ll wait for you as long as you’d like. Go get ready!”

“Will do, Mr. Bang. Thank you so so much!”

The last thing you heard after the call ended was his farewell that was mixed in with his infectious laugh, and that was when you ran towards the shower to get the thin layer of sweat that always came after a nap in the living room.

Your fingers quickly typed away a ‘did god send u down to me as my angel or smthn THANK U BANG CHAN’ before going back to rushing to pick out a nicer outfit. 

Because of him willing to pick you up, you had an extra ten minutes to get ready but your mind was still blank from the adrenaline rush. You had picked yourself out a cream-coloured pleated skirt, but you had no idea what to pair it with until you saw a familiar black sweater pushed to the back of the drawer. 

You weren’t too sure why it was familiar to you, but it was nice enough for you to use with the skirt. For a reason you couldn’t pinpoint, it hugged your body well enough, but the area where you could see the stitch of the shoulders were clearly too broad for you, falling around the middle of your upper arms. 

Strange, you thought, I don’t remember buying this but it’s so comfortable. 

And just like he said, Chan was there in ten minutes, voice heard through your apartment intercom, asking you to come downstairs. Although you tried to ignore it, you were excited just from hearing his voice through that old system speaker. 

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, you smiled seeing the boy standing around, clearly waiting for you to come down, as he kept shifting his feet. 

It was music to his ears as well when he heard you call out his name. Although he would never admit it, or so he thinks, he swore that he heard a hymn whenever ‘Chan’ spilled from your lips. But he shook that away when he reached in for a side hug. 

“Hey you.” he said, “You look awfully fresh for someone who just woke up.”

“I work my magic.” you boasted, not wanting to admit the fuss you made for him. Since Chan was a bit taller than you, not by too much (which you teased him about, but he only let it be because it was you), you held onto him as well by slinging your arm around his waist. 

And as you both walked to the parking lot at the front, stuck together like two pieces of paper with a hefty amount of glue in the middle, that was when Chan stopped right in front of his car. 

You looked at him with concern, thinking that he’d probably left something inside, “Did you forget something?”  

He paused, looking at you with the face he’d make whenever Felix did something strange. That wasn’t new, but you felt flustered when he let you go and stood in front of you, arms crossed, eyes checking out your whole body. 

You looked at him strange, not understanding what he was doing. Your hand only clutched your bag strap harder, not understanding the situation. But before you could say anything, he cut you off. 

“Is that my sweater?”

And the realization hit you. 

A few months ago, Chan had gone to your place to spend some time with you after not getting to meet you for three weeks. But of course, the two of you did not look at the weather forecast when a rainstorm dawned over the whole of Seoul. 

You insisted that Chan should not be driving in this weather in fear of a accident, but he did have to get his car to the indoor parking lot incase it began to hail. However, once he had gotten back, the umbrella you had given him was soaked and so was he, the two of you getting into a hysterical laughing fit at the state he was in. 

In all seriousness, you did quickly get him out of the clothes he was wearing and washed them, shyly looking away when he directly began to take his shirt off in the living room until you yelled “Chan! I have a bathroom!”

However, as the night passed, after he slept in the same bed as you, finding his arm around your waist in the morning to which he quickly pulled away in surprise— he left with only his jeans and socks that had been dry cleaned. 

“Oh shit, this is your sweater!” you swore, the event having replayed itself in your forgetful mind, “I’ll clean it after this and give it back to you.”

“Oh, no. You look better in it than I do.” he complimented. 

In between your reminiscing, he had clicked the car key, making the vehicle make the familiar unlocking sound and flashing lights. Running over to your side, he opened the door for you. 

“M’lady.” he offered, 

“M’Chan.” you joked, only to laugh for a bit then go in with a murmured, “Sorry that was cheesy.” 

“It was!” he admitted, yelling so you could hear him through the car glass since you closed the door already. He did his little jog over to the drivers seat and went it rather smoothly, not that you were impressed by that. 

“So, arcade?” he asked, smiling when you nodded and tapped excitedly on his dashboard. 

Once again, in ten minutes, the two of you had reached the destination, quickly running out as if the both of you were six, and not in your early 20s. 

As you ran into building, fluorescent hitting your eyes with a familiar nostalgia coming alongside them, much too familiar from the high school days of you and Chan going to another arcade that was already closed down now. 

“So, what do you want to do first?” you asked, as if you didn’t guess the answer already. 

Chan looked forward, scanning the place more and finally seeing a row of big,  bulky, metal boxes that couldn’t be missed. He pointed at them, rather cutely to add, smiling down at you. 

You gave him an excited grin back, happy that you guessed right in your head. You walked ahead, pleased to hear him tread behind you at a faster pace to catch up with you.

Drawing back the curtain, the two of you went inside and swiped the arcade card that you had because of several trips that were forced by your auntie with your little cousins. Luckily, there was still money inside. 

The recognizable ‘twinkling’ sound of the photo booth rang in both your ears, opting you to choose the frame decor, etc. 

And as the screen showed both your faces, a robotic voice was heard through the same speakers at the sides of the booth, stating ‘please move more towards the centre, thank you’ 

But if anyone were to look inside, you and Chan were already considerably close, especially since the bench space wasn’t wide at all. But you side-eyed the boy, scooting closer to him as he did the same to you. 

You felt his arm squish against yours, feeling flustered at the sudden contact. 

“Can..uh..” he trailed, “Can I put my arm around you? I.. I think it’ll make the pictures look less awkward, don’t you think?”

“Y-yeah!” you responded a bit too enthusiastically. Clearing your throat, you gave him the gentle smile that he could never hate, “Yeah. Go ahead, Chan.”

He did as he asked. Unlike the playful hug that you two had shared in your apartment lobby, this one felt more intimate, especially when you saw the screen reflecting the two of you. 

You could feel his rings dig against his cotton sweater on your body, assuming now that it was yours, comfortable enough for you to feel secure— at home. Nevertheless, you always felt that Chan was your home. 

Your eyes fixated on the screen as you moved forward to press the red button that would soon make you both take simultaneous pictures together. 

We look good together, you thought to yourself, Wait what? Shut up. 

But why did this feel different? You two had taken hundreds of photos together, varied with ridiculous, attractive, and unnecessary ones. But you swallowed that wondering lump in your throat, quickly dismissing it as you posed with Chan for each one, your vision rather blurry for a reason you couldn’t pinpoint. 

And as the twelve clicks ended, Chan stood up first. You were quite upset about the absence of his embrace, but didn’t mind it when he smiled at you like he always did,

“Let’s see the pictures.” he held his hand out for you to take, which you graciously did, feeling the pit of your stomach drop as you, as per usual, questioned what your relationship with him was at this point. 

The two pairs of feet, albeit the both of you were wearing matching shoes on accident, met their way towards the printing area. Looking at the screen which read 99% complete, Chan heard the sound of the photo paper hit the stopper that avoided the prints from falling on the ground. 

He bent down and took it, showing it to you. Naturally, your arms went around his left bicep, hugging it to look closer. Chan sucked in his breath, knowing that if he was in a cartoon right now, his brown head of hair would be sticking up in all places as a silhouette of his heart pumped dramatically out of his chest. 

It was ironic, as most of your friends would say; it was ironic how you two hugged often but got shy whenever your hands would simpy graze, it was ironic how you two were so affectionate yet were so resistant, and it was very ironic that your ‘hangouts’ weren’t dates at this point. 

He watched as you pointed at his face from top to bottom, questioning, 

“You’re not even facing the camera in most of these! Stop looking at me and look at the lens next time. Do you want to retake these?”

Your question wasn’t too hard, but you didn’t understand why Chan looked at you with such solemn eyes, his eyebrows knitted together as if he was frustrated. But the look was soon replaced with one that held adoration, but that only increased your confusion. 

“I mean.. we don’t have to retake these, Chan. What do you want to do?” 

“If you were my girlfriend, I’d probably never stop staring at you.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Not a bone in his body was willing to let that out but his mind decided to play a little game of “thinking out loud”. The impulsivity of the statement made the two of your freeze in front of the photo booth.

But there was something that the both of you knew, something that neither of you wanted to admit. You had been friends for too long, had been too close for too long, but what was different now?

Why, after more than ten years of being best friends, was now the best time for you two to be together? 

But something resided within you, and in Chan as well. This was to atone for all the pain you two had experienced without one another. You and Chan always wondered why you’ve always loved, but never been in love truly. All this time, the person that was it from the start was right in front of your faces, but pent up denial never allowed it to happen. 

Until now. 

Somewhere, somehow, this was the universe’s way of telling you that today was that day. You woke up late, wore his sweater, and Chan had slipped up with his thoughts aloud. It made sense. 

So, you took a small step forward. 

It felt as if the gravity between your feet and floor was much heavier than before, especially watching Chan’s jaw clench out of nervousness, but you knew it was just you mustering up a ton of courage to finally ask, 

“Who’s stopping you from asking?” 

[tillidontneedfantasy]

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.  

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ profane﹫jaehyun jung

profane - ashe vernon

pairing : jaehyun x reader (f)

genre : smut with little plot, fallen angel!jaehyun, best friends to lovers. 

warnings : actual filth, dry humping, passionate eating out, penetration (unprotected, be safe), body worship, slight begging and corruption, overstimulation, jaehyun’s wings are sensitive, creampie. 

word count : 3k exactly.

synopsis : fallen angel Jaehyun confesses to the one who saved him the night he fell from heaven five years ago, he shows you exactly how much he meant his words when he called you holy or : “ God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim,”

“The first time he calls you holy, you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.”

Jaehyun never even tried to hide his awe for your beauty, since the day of his fall. From the night you found him in the middle of the street, right after a rainy summer day, he never did. You were in your last year of high school, a teenager finding a bloodied, half clothed man on the hard concrete. You thought you were hallucinating, victim of one big, elaborated prank. You remember observing him for minutes, until he turned his scared face towards the noise of your boots cracking a dead branch. Oh, his face. Even in pain, even crying from the damnation he just faced, he looked ethereal. Correction, he was ethereal. A fallen angel, lost in this cruel, cruel world. Bloodied wings, sculpted body draped with a white sheet, trembling chestnut eyes. Big, white wings wrapped around himself in an attempt to protect his remaining dignity. Your heart dropped when he planted his eyes in yours. Jaehyun wondered if you were an angel of death here to finish the job, he never knew they were this pretty. Jaehyun remembers asking himself if he felt right to another kind of heaven he didn’t know about when you walked carefully towards him, pale moonlight enlightening your worried features. The first human face he’d see and yet, he'd bet you were crafted in his late home.

“You’re divine.”, was the first thing the fallen angel had told you. Ah, how he managed to get you even more intrigued with three words. You recall him not backing away from you when you kneeled in front of the man, offering a hand. He looked the same age, a deer caught in the bright lights of a truck. You’d hate yourself for leaving him here.

The red tint on his soft feathers stay imprinted in your mind, even after five years.

You never thought you’d be one to take an angel under your wing. But here you were, helping the fallen learn about life on the blue planet, one he never thought he’d live on himself. After all, the brunette never even formed the idea before, being dropped out of heaven was never on option for God’s old favorite. Years, and Jaehyun never stopped being dazed by your features. You even wondered where he’d get his compliments, always sounding like an old poet gushing over his best muse. Lovely, charming, delightful, ravishing, gorgeous, heavenly, stunning, artistic, magnificent. The list goes on. You quickly wondered if he wasn’t going too far, if he wasn’t too attached after you saved him, mind twisted by an illusion he created for himself. He saw what you couldn’t see in you. Words you never heard any man call another woman before, they all have the same effect on you. The feeling of heat pooling to your cheeks gets too familiar when you’re with Jaehyun. It’s to a point where his name only manages to burn your skin. However, the day the now almost normal man calls you “holy”, you don’t know how to react. His head rests on your stomach, strong arms wrapped around your body. You remember how frail they looked the night you met him. No matter the time flying by, the people he met, the number throwing themselves at him, Jaehyun never stopped looking at you like you held stars in your irises. Puppy dog eyes for what you then think is just equal, a puppy love.   “You’re holy.”, he had breathed against your skin, a small smile blooming on his face at your reaction. The weight of his head on you makes it heard to laugh and hard to breath properly, your sides hurt as you giggle in an attempt to brush it off. Thankfully, Jaehyun’s used to your off reactions to his words. He might even like it a bit too much. Even, it takes years for you to understand that Jaehyun’s isn’t just victim of a dumb infatuation. He means every word he says, he knows more than anyone else the meaning behind them all. It’s quite ironic. You think Jaehyun’s the one who needs to open his eyes but, when you do, you understand something bigger. Jaehyun isn’t as innocent as you thought he was. The ability to hide his wings and your presence guiding him had him walking on his Earth like any other human being, slowly becoming like every other young man of his age.

“The second time, you moan gospel around his fingers between your teeth. He has always surprised you into surprising yourself.”

The second time he calls you “holy”, your reaction is much, much different from any other. The slight salty taste of his fingertips lingers on your tongue, pink muscle lazily lapping against his skin. The fallen angel has two digits resting there, thumb lovingly stroking the skin of your check. Coating them with saliva, the muscle drags between ever so slowly. Hungry eyes catch every one of your reactions, drinking in the smallest of sighs and broken bat of the eyelashes for memories to cherish. It seems every important turn in your relationship with the fallen angel happens in summer, he even told you about how it was his favorite out of the four seasons. An anniversary of your meeting with the brunette turns confession of shared feelings between an improvised meal. He grew. He grew so much all thanks to you and yet, there he is. Body towering over you, using his power against you, the dynamic shifted long ago. His hips fits perfectly between your thighs, the blue jeans he’s wearing aren’t doing anything to hide his hardening member, longing to be touched. You wonder where he learned all of this, when he learned all of this. His hips roll against your clothed core in the most heavily way, it’s slow and hard, intentions clear. “You’re holy, doll.”, Jaehyun breathes again, watching your cheek heat up, your eyes roll back. You never heard this voice before, it dips lower, stained by years of want. “Crafted by the highest.” You moan around his fingers, teeth grazing over the tender skin. Jaehyun was never afraid to push you out of your comfort zone, there he was doing it again. You never thought you’d let your beloved angel sin with your help.

“Because he’s an angel hiding his halo behind his back and nothing has ever felt so filthy as plucking the wings from his shoulders - undressing his softness one feather at a time.”

Oh, how well he hides his halo. There’s no light in his eyes, no light in his voice when he asks you to undress. You wonder if he still has some powers with how easily you bend to his order, underwear adoring your skin. His jeans follow close behind. He got bigger with years, stronger, confident. One thing he doesn’t get rid of, his wings. He could, he could hide them like he does every day now, but he know how much they affect you. You’ve told him many times, never ran more than a light and careful hands on the majestic wings. Pure, white feathers create the perfect cocoon between your tangled bodies like he wants you to himself and him only. You don’t think he ever lost one single feather, never losing their pristine with time.

His hips never stop rolling against yours, now fully hard cock rubbing against your damp underwear. His grey boxers aren’t doing anything to hide his member anymore, one that makes your mouth water, eyes blow in need. One hand travels from his arm to the soft feather of his wing, bold fingers softly gazing over the small spaces between his plumes.

The surprised moan that tumbles from his lips takes your breath away, such a simple gesture that makes him keen under your touch. “Fuck.”, how can a curse sound so pure ? His finger leave your mouth to grip the pillow right next to your head. “Do that again.”

“God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim, and there’s no part of scripture that ever prepared you for his hands. Hand that map a communion in the cradle of your hips.”

“Shit, Jaehyun.” Nothing would have prepared you for the way his hips start moving to a faster pace. He has you moaning a bouquet of curses against his lips, hips bucking up against his. You know Jaehyun learns quickly, you see it when you tell him just how you like it and he obliges happily, hips rolling harder, and harder. The dark spot on his boxers’ a dead giveaway of your arousal building up, and up. His hands start wondering up your body, shamelessly sneaking under your bra. He maps your curves, learns by heart about the holy temple of your envelope. “Feels good ?” Another hand tightly grips your hip, fingers digging at your flesh, sure to leave small bruises there. He pushes your pelvis down against his mattress, until you aren’t able to create friction from your own. The fallen angel brings you to the border in minutes, he builds your orgasm up until you’re breathing against his bruised lips. He makes you jump with him and makes sure he has you all along, he holds you close when you ruin your underwear. Your orgasm blinds you for milliseconds, you probably moan too loudly for your neighbors but, right here and right now, it’s him. Jaehyun might come the very moment his name rolls out of your tongue, the prettiest prayer he ever had the chance to hear and, it was for him, him only.

“Hands that kiss hymns up your sides. He confesses how long he’s looked for a place to worship and, oh,”

“’ve been waiting for so long.”, the brunette confesses against the skin of your stomach. He places soft kisses there, like he wants you to see how much he worships your body. “Thought you’d never let me have a taste.”. There is the slightest bit of amusement in his voice when he kisses along the line of your ruined panties, a single digit teasingly running up and down your lips. He makes you shiver, sigh his name out and say his name in vain. You’d almost beg him to do it already, taste you already.

“Jaehyun, I-.”, you’d almost beg him, and oh.

Pink tongue boldly dips in your core, through the wet fabric. He hums at the slight taste of your arousal, like he cannot believe he’s finally there. His red lips form an -o where he knows your bud of never is, lightly sucking there. Where the fuck did he learn all of this. Oh, the sweet angel will be the death of you if you aren’t his.

“you put him on his knees. When he sinks to the floor and moans like he can’t help himself, you wonder if the other angels feel so sweet.”

Long gone are the years of blindness, years of pushing feelings away out of fear. A hand rests on his shoulder and you push him to his knees, he obliges easily under your touch. Knees to the floor, his knees hit the cold wood of his bedroom. Digits finally wrap around the fabric of your panties and finally. Finally, you reveal yourself to the fallen angel. Transparent fluid stick to your lips and the ruined piece of clothing, Jaehyun moans to himself like he’s been touched by grace.

Glittering eyes look up to you for reassurance and, when he has it, he doesn’t hesitate. Pushing your thighs apart, his eyes stay on your core like the finest of paintings, placing your legs on his strong shoulders. He waited and wanted too long to make the teasing last longer and, much like he did through the piece of fabric, his pink tongue drags up your slit. He collects every drop your give him in the dip of his muscle, he hums at the taste and goes for more. The tip digs between your lips and laps like he’s drinking the rarest of wines, like he’s drinking from the grail itself.

“Taste so fucking good.”, he hums to himself, lips shining with your own arousal. “Can’t get enough.”

You wonder if all angels are so good with their tongues, or maybe it’s the added effect Jaehyun has on you. He brings you to the clouds in what you feel like is seconds.

“He says his prayers between your thighs and you dig your heels into the base of his spine until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue. You will ruin him and he will thank you; he will say please.”

The words he mumbles against your core are foreign to you, your dazed, blurred mind doesn’t quite catch the meaning behind his sounds. However, his deep voice vibrates against your lips. It’s so much, too much. You’re almost too sensitive already from the first orgasm he got out of you. Your body reacts by itself when he lets his muscle explore between your lips a little more, a sigh tumbling from your lips. Your thighs close around his head until your heels dig between his wings, it makes the man moan and break away from your core. Your hand can only anchor itself between his brown locks, slightly tugging at his hair.

He’s breathless, a deep pink dust on his cheeks and chest alongside a thin sheet of sweat. Jaehyun looks so innocent and yet, so filthy, corrupted. When his lips methodically wraps around your button of nerves, you know you’re done for. “Jaehyun, Jae-. ‘m so close, gonna come.”, you warn, words turning incoherent at some point. Ah, Jaehyun loves the way your voice breaks for him, direct result of his actions. It fills his chest with pride and makes his wings bat the slightest bit around him.

“Please.”, he begs, and you have to look down at him to register the word. “Please Y/N, come on my tongue.”, he says again, fingers wrapping around your thighs. How can you say no to such plea ? Jaehyun might be the happiest fallen angel when he feels your thighs shaking around him, tightening around his head as you come for the second time that night. You might black out, the ringing in your ears doesn’t stop you from hearing the brunette’s greedy tongue lapping at your core, small kisses on your thighs. “Thank you.”

“No damnation ever looked as cozy as this, but you fit over his hips like they were made for you. You fit, you fit, you fit. On top of him, you are an ancient god that only he remembers and he offers up his skin. And you take it. Who knew sacrifice was so profane ?”

Fucked out, yet there’s no way you’re going to let Jaehyun like this. Your legs threaten to give out under your body when you sit on the fallen angel’s lap. Your abused core tightens around the head of his length, the slight pain of the stretch adds to the stained moan you let out against Jaehyun’s neck. He fits and he’s no one moaning about how you were made for him. Long gone are the pleas to make you come when he groans and growls about your tight cunt.

You take him, you take him entirely with a whine and fully sit on his thighs. You don’t think you ever felt so full in your entire life, you don’t think you ever felt this way before. His wings wrap around your bodies again, it seems like an old habit. He creates a world for you to rule in, he lets you take control and set the pace.

His moans are for your ears only when you finally start moving up, and down. Up, and down. Jaehyun’s arms wrap tightly around your waist, bringing your body impossibly close to his. His chest crashes against your own, lips bruising yours for the nth time that night. You fit, he won’t let you go. He fits, you grip around him. Jaehyun might just think you look like a goddess at this very moment, skin glowing under the light, wrapped around him, wrapped in him. He wonders if you aren’t just that, a goddess erased from the books, a goddess too powerful and threatening. Jaehyun might just think you’re Lilith. His head rolls back against the headboard of his bed, he unknowingly presents the skin of his pale neck and you take it. You take him, you mark him as yours. Red and purple petals bloom on his chest, marks he'd proudly parade.

“And once you’ve taught him how to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other, you will have forgotten every other word, except his name.”

The way his pupils grow wider the moment you bring his hand to your throat is almost comical. You teach him how to use his fingers and press on your neck, cut your breathing just the right way. Just enough to have you desperately clenching around his cock.

“I love you.”, you finally confess to him that night, words he thought he’d never hear at some point. There, the fallen angel has you in the palm of his hand, heartbeat pumping against his fingertips. There, Jaehyun gets his revenge on heaven. When he starts fucking up, sending your body crashing against his own, limp, he might fuck you even harder then. There, in the dead of the night, years after meeting him on the dot, his name is the only thing tumbling from his lips. Oh, what a pleasure to bring a goddess to this state, fucked out and babbling, shamelessly letting herself being used and filled. The fallen angel never thought he’d feed off someone’s tears but, when he hears you cry out for the third time that night, tear rolling down his neck, he comes.

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

-

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[sanjisock]

more than words

50 words; 50 sentences

ao3

#01 - Motion

A spinning kick, a swing of blade — the two meet and hit but don’t hurt, and Nami sighs exasperatedly at such a pathetic display of a mating dance.

#02 - Cool

Zoro stands his ground as his enemy — finally, finally — falls unceremoniously on his back, unconscious, and Sanji thinks for a moment that the sight of Zoro — wild and victorious and ready to take on the world — looks kind of, maybe, slightly cool.

  #03 - Young

Brook sees the two — dying to die for each other, the weight of their friends’ lives pulling down their shoulders — and he thinks too many people forget how young they still are.

  #04 - Last

The Cook is the last person Zoro would consider lending a hand in a fight — “who would want to work together with that dumbass anyway,” he lies whenever anyone asks, and doesn’t admit that it’s because he trusts Sanji’s ability to stand his ground, wholly and fully.

  #05 - Wrong

Sanji knows Zoro, like him, understands better than most — that this nakama thing isn’t just something you’d die for, but something you’d kill for, too.

  #06 - Gentle

Sanji manages to catch Kitetsu before it rolls off from the deck during a storm, and in that moment, Zoro knows, from the reverent way he regards the swords in his hands, that this isn’t the first time the Cook has wielded one.

  #07 - One

“Calm down, Marimo,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave of his hand when Zoro asks about the sword a few days later, “I’m not about to take your place as the ship’s swordsman; a cook doesn’t use his hands to fight, and I had a terrible teacher anyways.”

  #08 - Thousand

“I’m worth two thousand men,” Zoro grumpily says, almost sulking, and Nami can’t resist patting his head like she would to a little boy pulling the pigtail of a girl he has a crush on.

  #09 - King

You’re like the prince of Dumbass Kingdom, Zoro says, and it takes Sanji everything in him not to blurt out, Dumbass Kingdom sounds about right; wait ‘till you see the fucking king.

  #10 - Learn

Watching Sanji converse fluently with a couple of tourists in a Northern language, Zoro wonders when he will ever stop learning something new about Sanji — or if he ever will, at all.

  #11 - Blur

When Zoro finally comes to, the wounds from Bartholomeow Kuma is muted by Chopper’s medicine, a dull throb at the back of his consciousness; but the sharp pain against his heart feels raw still, visceral and razor-sharp, tucked alongside the ache of Sanji’s sacrifice.

#12 - Wait

“Wait,” he manages to croak out before Sanji flees the room, the word spilling out unbidden; he isn’t quite sure why, but he knows that he wants the Cook to stay.

  #13 - Change

“Have some fucking decency ,” Sanji yells, throwing a shirt at Zoro’s direction; the brute has been walking around the ship bare-chested like an eyesore ever since they entered the summer island, and Sanji is just trying to do everyone a favor — and definitely not because there’s a different kind of heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

#14 - Command

Robin watches the two in amusement — Zoro could have easily refused to be Sanji’s pack mule, and she can hear him grumbling about it still; and yet, here they are, once again, together at the island’s marketplace.

#15 - Hold

Sanji is rough around the edges, bristling at the slightest touch; Zoro knows he needs to be gentle, but he doesn’t quite remember the last time he held something that isn’t a hilt of a sword, without meaning to hurt . It’s a learning curve. 

  #16 - Need

Sanji knows Zoro is a dumbass, but it takes a special kind of stupid to think he would never be good enough for Sanji, when he’s all that Sanji has ever needed.

#17 - Vision

Zoro never regrets losing his eye, but he wishes, sometimes, he could still take in the sight of Sanji with an unimpaired vision, just to see more of him.

  #18 - Attention

“You’re starting a fight, Marimo?” Sanji growls, voice low and dangerous, and Zoro thinks, yes, yes, anything to get you to look at me.

  #19 - Soul

He loves the kid like a brother, but sometimes Zoro hates how Luffy can easily see past his gruff words and feigned ignorance; the way Luffy only needs to take one look at him to guess, “you’re worried about Sanji, aren’t you?”

  #20 - Picture

He carries around everyone’s bounty posters, Sanji tells himself, and tries not to think too hard about how the only one he kept in his breast pocket is Zoro’s, folded neatly against his heart.

  #21 - Fool

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done so far,” Sanji says when they part, lips still tingling from their earlier kiss, because Zoro’s love is fierce and consuming and Sanji knows, ever since he was just a kid with the iron mask, that he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  #22 - Mad

“Don’t you ever say that kind of shit again,” Zoro snarls, slamming the wall beside Sanji’s head, his voice trembling with a kind of anger Sanji has never seen him with before — frustrated, desperate. “You’re important to me, Cook.” 

  #23 - Child

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji tells himself every day, the voice ringing in his ears; you stopped being a child deserving of a dream the moment you chained Zeff down to the ground.

  #24 - Now

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji wants to tell himself, but the voice stutters, drowned out by the sight of the kid bleeding on the deck of Baratie — he’s a swordsman, too, acknowledged by none other than Dracule Mihawk himself — but a kid still, throwing himself headfirst towards the case of his dreams, steps unweighted by regrets.

  #25 - Shadow

Zoro doesn’t know which is worse — Sanji, forever running away from the shadow his brothers cast; or Zoro, chasing after someone who is no longer around to leave behind a shadow anymore.

  #26 - Goodbye

After Whole Cake Island, there’s a period of time where Zoro would follow Sanji around the ship like a lost puppy, unwilling to let the Cook out of his sight; Usopp definitely didn’t expect Zoro to have such a cute side, and crouches over his new invention to hide his smile.

  #27 - Hide

“We’re not doing that here,” Sanji hisses, and forces himself not to laugh at the pout on Zoro’s face; the galley might be secluded enough, but they’re still on the enemy ship’s galley.

  #28 - Fortune

It is annoying, the way Sanji keeps reminding Zoro that he could have collected Mihawk’s bounty and lived the rest of his life in wealth; especially when Zoro would trade any riches in the world just to stay by the Cook’s side.

  #29 - Safe

It catches Zoro off guard when Sanji starts talking about his mother; it’s a short anecdote, a single happy memory, but Zoro can tell by the way Sanji tells it — guarded and hesitant, like he wants to keep the words close and safe — that he has never shared it with anyone else before.

  #30 - Ghost

Usopp starts shaking like a leaf as soon as they enter the abandoned, dilapidated house, and Sanji gently tells him, sometimes the worst ghost is the one you create yourself; Zoro feels the weight of Wado on his hip, and agrees.

  #31 - Book

“I don’t need this,” Zoro grumbles with a blush, pushing the book back into Nami’s hands, trying hard to ignore Nami’s laughter and the words ROMANCE FOR DUMMIES emblazoned on the book’s jacket.

  #32 - Eye

Shusui sinks into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, and Zoro thinks of the way Sanji curled into himself as the man landed a lucky hit on the cook’s hand. An eye for an eye.

  #33 - Never

“This is my first time,” Zoro whispers, head ducking away as he feels his face flush at the admission; but Sanji’s hand rests on his cheek, encouraging, and he can feel the curve of Sanji’s smile as their lips meet and Sanji replies, “it’s mine, too.”

  #34 - Sing

Luffy cheers when Zoro and Sanji comes into view, and he lets them take on the next batch of enemies; a good fight is always fun, but watching Zoro and Sanji fight is even more so — like watching a dance that only those two know the melody to.

  #35 - Sudden

“What, are we supposed to be surprised?” Nami says, barely looking up from the map she’s working on; Sanji sputters, face redder than the tomatoes he served during breakfast, and Nami feels almost bad for him.

  #36 - Stop

“But we — Zoro and I — how did you know?” Sanji asks, and promptly stops asking questions when he realizes the rest of the crew aren’t surprised either; who could blame them, when his and Zoro’s sexual tension can be seen from a mile away.

  #37 - Time

Sanji knows they have to break apart soon, just to breathe, but right now all he cares about is to taste as much of Zoro as possible — he has waited two years for this, and it has been two years too long.

  #38 - Wash

They have their fair share of fighting — and how, considering the amount of repairs Usopp has to do for Merry just from their petty fights alone — but what the crew doesn’t know is that they also have this thing, this quiet thing, just him and the Cook and a stack of dirty plates between them.

  #39 - Torn

“In retrospect,” Robin observes, “dressing up our dear cook in a maid uniform would not only lower the enemy’s firepower, but also ours, considering how distracted our swordsman has clearly become.”

  #40 - History

“Why do you keep him around, mister?” The kid asks, pointing at the old swordsman with three swords and an eye scar by the peer; Sanji laughs, pats the kid on the head, and says, almost wistfully — “you can say we have some history.”

  #41 - Power

Sanji tugs at Zoro’s sleeve, and Zoro follows suit despite his complaints — Sanji thinks, distantly, how much of an honor it is, to have so much control over such a powerful man.

  #42 - Bother

“I didn’t have enough time to make this three-tier ice cream cake for our lovely Nami-san and Robin-chan because you distracted me!” Sanji says with a hard jab of a finger against Zoro’s chest, and Zoro thinks, good .

  #43 - God

Zoro does not believe in gods, but there’s a hymn of a noise when Zoro presses his lips against the crook of Sanji’s neck, the hallelujah of the world breaking apart as their bodies move together, and he thinks, close enough .

  #44 - Wall

 Zoro slams his fist into the wall of Polar Tang, and is taken aback by the depth of his own frustration; he knows Luffy and the others will get Sanji back from Big Mom’s place, but it unsettles him still, the way Sanji hides himself under layers of pretenses when Zoro has bared so much of himself to the Cook in return.

  #45 - Naked

“What the fuck was that for , Mosshead?!” Sanji shrieks, justifiably furious, leg raised and on fire after Zoro sliced his tray into two without preamble; Zoro can’t exactly tell the Cook he did it because he was too surprised at the sight of Sanji in a swimming trunk and nothing else.

  #46 - Drive

Why Zoro , people sometimes ask, but the answer is easy to Sanji — nobody drives him crazy the way Zoro does, and is that not what true love feels like?

  #47 - Harm

Zoro knows Sanji will be furious ; but as he faces Kuma, knowing at least the Cook is out of harm’s way, he knows he would do this a hundred times over, a thousand times over, a million times over.

  #48 - Precious

Sanji is sitting by the corner of the infirmary, face pale with red-rimmed eyes, and Zoro thinks he’s never had that, before — people who would weep for him, knowing that he is more than dried scars and calloused skin.

  #49 - Hunger

This thing we have is dangerous, Sanji tells him, but Zoro doesn’t care — he already has a craving, the same way he needs a booze when it’s been too long, except he thinks that this vice will surely kill him.

  #50 - Believe

This isn’t faith; this is the truth, Zoro’s truth, the same way he knows he will become the Greatest — Sanji will find that elusive sea of his, and Zoro will stay with him until it is the last thing he can do.