#anyway hi i had a very stupid january that kept me from art. But if everything that happened didnt i prob. wouldnt have watched severance

[gyrmirr]

i think they would have a lot to talk about :')

[worm-death]

Manga I Started in 2024

I read a lot of manga last year, and a lot of them deserve more attention, so I wanna talk about them. But I'll mention everything, the good and the bad

Claymore

I guess I am technically cheating with this since I started it in very late December of 2023, but the bulk of it was read in January, and I think it'd be a shame not to talk about it anyway. This was given to me as a "Secret Santa present" for MyAnimeList, and I'm really glad I got a seemingly random suggestion

Clare is part of an organization comprised of female fighters with half Yoma blood. The Yoma are beasts that ravage villages, and they're tasked with defeating the Yoma. But as the story goes on, Clare starts to discover the shady underbelly of the organization and life she's always known.

This was the first of what can be considered the fantasy genre for me, so this was a cool setting to explore. The story is mysterious and always kept me on edge. The fight choreography is impressive, and the whole visual style is unique and cool. There aren't many purely good or evil characters, making the manga complex and makes you more invested in each character. Clare and Raki of course, are the duo I always root for. Their older sister-younger-brother dynamic is charming.

Super Psychic Policeman Chojo

This is probably the biggest reason I wanted to make this list because I think this manga deserves a lot more love. I only decided to check it out because the character designs looked cool and flashy. I really like police/detective manga and anime, so this was perfect for me. Mix in psychic powers and silly humor and it's got everything I need.

Chojo is a police officer who's scared away all his work partners with his powers, except for when Ippongi is assigned to him; sometimes, Chojo's more scared of her than she is of him. Each chapter focuses on a new crazy case the two are faced with in the insane district of Chinjuku.

I love ensemble casts, and the manga is constantly adding a new character that leads to a fun story all the time. Chojo is a complete loser and obsessed with his model kits and tokusatsu heroes, which I love about him. The characters are all stupid to a degree, and it's extremely entertaining. The robot, Cop Bot, is probably the only straight man, but there's not a single character in this I consider truly serious. Goofy police antics are great, and I really encourage anyone to check it out. It recently had a cancelation scare, so I think it deserves way more love.

The Ichinose Family's Deadly Sins

I first heard of this manga because Chainsaw Man's mangaka recommended it, but this quickly surpassed Chainsaw Man and became my favorite manga of the year.

The Ichinose family all wake up in the hospital to find out they all have amnesia, and although they don't know each other, they're all able to bond, and they know as long as they have each other, that's all that matters! But after they return home from the hospital, they've all left clues behind to hint at a much sinister past...

This manga seriously is the biggest roller coaster I've ever been on. Since it's short, it doesn't let you breathe for a second, which some people definitely don't like about the constant trauma, but as a psychological thriller fanatic, I was fully engrossed. There are a few stories that make me this emotionally invested, and this was one of them. I recommended this manga to a friend, and they told me they were actually yelling while reading this, it's definitely an emotional ride. The characters are interesting and mysterious, and I'm a massive fan of the art style, and I want to study it more. I will warn you, I'd only recommend this to those who can stand it, it's heavy and deals with a lot of dark subject matter that may not be suited for a lot of people.

Star: Strike it Rich

My friend pestered me for a while to read this, and I wasn't really sure I'd like it. I don't like sports manga of any kind, so it seemed like it wouldn't be for me. But man, I'm glad I checked it out anyway. This manga is INTENSE, fights are crazy and super impactful.

Nozomi Tenma has to give up her dreams of becoming a professional fighter when she severely injures her eye. So, she decides to create her own underground fighting facility with her best friends, a yakuza and a corrupt cop. One of the first fighters they hire is a mysterious and terrifying girl named Hina.

I guess it comes with the territory, but why is fighting manga so insane. Like, I can't even explain to people what's going on with Baki. And this has death cults and women built like actual beasts. It's awesome and insane in all the best ways. The fights feel explosive and impactful, and the underlying story is just as intriguing. It's kind of nice to let loose for once; there aren't many characters you can call "good". They're all vulgar and crazy, and sometimes it's just fun to watch people destroy each other with a bit of grounded fighting logic.

Witch Hat Atelier

This one probably doesn't need any introduction since it's about to get an anime adaptation, but that just gives me all the more reason to push people to check this manga out before it releases.

Coco has always wanted to learn how to do magic, but that's kept secret from anyone not born into a family of witches. But after she discretely catches a glimpse at how spells are cast, she unknowingly endangers her mother's life and now must be apprenticed to a witch in order to save her.

This manga's entire vibe and visual style feel straight out of a fairy tale children's book, so it stands out with a strong sense of nostalgia. The world is beautifully crafted and feels like one of the most lived-in worlds I've had the treat to experience. At the end of every volume, it details the different creatures, herbs, locations, different kinds of witch hats, etc. Every aspect is thought out carefully. The characters are all great and leave me warm as you see Coco's bond with her teacher and fellow apprentices. There's a certain magical connection you can easily form with the story and characters because of how in-depth the world is, you don't have to passively watch the characters go through experiences, you can come up with your own solutions to these witchy problems because the rules and casting system are explained well enough. So, this manga really sends you directly into the story, certainly something everyone should experience.

Ghost Fixers

By the same mangaka as Summertime Rendering, I was excited to see another work by him. It's pretty much just SCP Foundation: the manga, which is pretty awesome.

Hifumin has recently been made a Ghost Fixer and is partnered with Kirarazaka. Together, the are tasked with fixing the messes paranormal phenomena cause in Mikurigaoka.

It's hard to give this one much summary outside of that. There's been a lot of world-building to separate this world's versions of ghosts from the typical definition. As I said, it's more of an SCP-type thing, where it's not so much about busting ghouls but more like finding the source of strange and dangerous phenomena. The manga already has a lot of lore established and too many new terms to talk about in-depth here. The stakes keep escalating with each new case, and more of the story is unraveling, I'd highly encourage checking it out.

Gift of Poison

This is the only outright bad manga I read all year, and it's really bad...

After Gift steals paint from a friend, his classmate, Kadomi, records it and sends him further into despair, blackmailing him into doing worse and worse things.

And that's the basic premise, it's not all too exciting. I started reading this manga the day the first chapter dropped, so I kept expecting Gift to snap and do something crazy. this is where the plot would really get going, but it just doesn't. Kadomi is a loser who blackmails Gifts to steal from a local art store, asks out his crush, but then kisses Kadomi in front of her, stuff like that. It's pretty petty. Eventually, Gift's friends ask him why he's always acting so weird, and he confesses to only stealing from the art store. And they have his back entirely, so what's the big deal? Well, fast forward a bit, and he eventually confesses to having stolen his friend's paints as well. And now they've been sent into a fit of rage. Taima's been betrayed, and his girlfriend Kokomi thought they would never hide secrets from each other. It's basically just petty drama only teenagers would get so emotionally invested in. As an artist, I simply cannot understand why the reactions. I get it; art supplies are expensive; if my friend needed to borrow a little bit of something from me, I'd understand. I wouldn't punch my best friend. And the cherry on top of this whole stupid fiasco is the manga ends with a "HE SAID IT! HE SAID THE THING!!" moment where they say, "I was the gift of poison." Something like that, anyway, it's very stupid.

Some people argued with me on my stance on this manga, saying that these characters have some sort of mental problem, but that's never something mentioned in the manga or really even alluded to. The characters just seem petty, and either way, it's just a bad story because there's basically no payoff. I don't think poor writing should be excused with headcanons. The only lore we get into why Gift seems so unhinged is that his parents divorced, and for Kadomi, her supposed friends stole a sticker from her that meant a lot to her as a kid. As a child of divorced parents, I can confirm that it would not bring someone to the point of murder.,,

And one thing this manga has received some praise for is the art, but it's also not good? I think the color spreads look cool, but the panels themselves are rouuuugh. I swear a lot of these look like the mangaka just used 3d model bases and traced over them and slapped hair and clothes on them. A lot of the posing looks really stiff and awkward, and again, hair and clothes look thrown on at the last second. It's just not good at all.

Centuria

Another one I just decided to check out since I saw its first chapter release. But the art style is very unique and it's already paid off in the story.

Julian is a boy sold into slavery after his mother abandons him. He's able to form a found family with a woman who wants to be his new mother but also feels comforted by the other enslaved people on a ship. However, the crewmates go on a killing massacre, killing most of the slaves, but a god of the ocean disrupts the voyage and kills everyone except for the woman and Julian, one must sacrifice themselves in order for the other to survive, the woman, Mira, gives birth and then sacrifices herself, asking Julian to promise to take care of her. When she sacrifices herself, Julian is given the powers of the sea and the strength of the hundred slaves that were killed that day. Julian promises to live his life to the fullest for not only his sake but for his new baby sister, Diana, and the lives of all the other slaves.

Sometimes, I forget this manga is only 38 chapters so far because I feel like I've seen the characters struggle through so much. With how awful Julian's situation has been and still is, it's hard not to have an immediate connection with him. This has a similar vibe to Claymore in some ways, so I've been really enjoying myself with it so far. I really like the art style, I've never seen anything like it. And I'm honestly glad this series doesn't have any color spreads, it looks way better in black and white, it just speaks really well to the overall style. I think this manga has a large story to tell, and we'll see these characters go through a lot throughout their lives. It's too early to say a whole lot about this manga, but I think it's been great so far and has a promising future.

Yokai Buster Murakami

This was a genuine shame it got canceled so early, I really enjoyed this manga a lot for only ending up being 24 chapters. I love yokai, and that's all it needed to sell me.

Kuin is a low-level yokai hunter who's too afraid of the yokai to even do his job, but his friend Murakami logics his way out of any situation and can defeat any yokai on a battle of wits.

This is one of the few comedy manga I found really funny. It was fun seeing these ancient monsters have 21st-century logic applied to them. But it's certainly an acquired taste, this manga never got enough readership to stay afloat, unfortunately. There were definitely a lot of directions this manga wanted to go and a lot of characters that were waiting to get more development. But I'm still glad I got to experience it at all, and I hope to hear more from Daiki Ihara in future manga stories.

Magus of the Library

Theo has been bullied his whole life for his looks, and after some librarians come to town, he decides from then on he'll work hard to become a librarian and work in the Central Library, the biggest library in the world with the biggest collection of books.

A really sweet and refreshing story into fantasy with a real love for books. The manga handles a lot of real-world topics with so much dignity and honesty that it's a real treat. Racism, classism, and the erasure of history are all major conflicts within the manga, and we see the pretty grim world in which Theo lives. But what I love is this manga shows the unity of a simple love for books that brings people together. It embraces differences of all sorts and shows how everyone has value and how we'd never know other perspectives if we didn't give everyone the chance to shine. Theo has the ability to form such great connections with all sorts of people, and I really do love the light he shines on everyone. As a massive book fan myself, there's a lot I can appreciate in a passion for books.

Similar to Witch Hat Atelier, it has a vibrant fantasy setting with so much thought and care put into each of the main races, their culture, religions, regions, languages, and everything. Another world so well crafted that it feels like you're truly exploring a new world as Theo does.

Smother Me

Akio is given away to an assassin and is raised and trained to become one of Detroit's best killers, but after meeting a blind woman who shows him kindness, he suddenly feels the desire to put an end to the crime bosses ruling the city.

This was a surprisingly short read since it just ended today, a total of 15 chapters. Unfortunately, because of its incredibly short run, I didn't get a whole lot of time to attach myself to anything. It was definitely enjoyable, and the characters had a lot of intrigue, but it could have used a bit more fleshing out. Anyway, what originally drew me to the manga was the visual style of it. The color spreads look beautiful and trippy, and the art of the actual manga is just as unique. It goes for a sort of ink brush-type look with its lines, so it's a cool manga to look at. It's not a bad story, and you can get through the entire thing super quickly, so why not check it out?

Yattara

Now we're really getting into new, new manga territory so it'll be harder to talk about these. This one, as of writing this, only has 8 chapters out.

Yattara is a demon or monster-like creature who only wants to eat humans but decides it decides to treat itself. Children already have a better taste, but once it forms a connection with 3 kids, it realizes that the more it can form a connection, the better the taste. However, Yattara doesn't talk, so the 3 children don't know its motive, and the oldest sister, Setomi, and youngest brother, Yuma, see it as a savior. While the middle brother, Nanato, is very wary.

There are a lot of places I think this manga plans to go, and after the most recent chapter, I think it's going in another direction as well. The manga makes a lot of commentary about the hypocritical world of immigration politics, and we get to see this through the perspective of three immigrant children on the brink of death. The manga has mainly been confined to an apartment, but there's a lot I think the story wants to say. And Yattara has certainly formed a strange relationship with the kids, I still hope deep down it learns to love them instead of just wanting to eat them, but we shall have to wait and see!!

Bug Ego

Well, this one kind of speaks for itself; it was written by One; how can I not read this? But I can't believe I was sad that One wasn't the artist as well, because Kiyoto Shitara is an amazing artist able to convey the most viseral of emotions.

Kokudou introduces his friend, Hitsujiya, to the world of hacking in the real world. By performing a certain set of rituals, one can make anything happen. Getting to write your own dreams, grow taller, you name it. But while Kokudou has perfected these, Hitsujiya manages to mess it up in some way, leading him to some of the most terrifying fates.

One's never written anything this dark before and I'm all here for it. And it still sprinkles in that distinctly One sense of humor. The manga updates monthly, but it's worth the wait. Each chapter goes through an entire story, which would all be appropriate episode length. These hacks are fun but can always be twisted in the worst ways possible. It makes you feel bad for Hitsujiya, but these are the risks he takes if he wants to try these hacks. The unsettling stuff always hits you when you least expect it. Oh, cool, they're having a fun dream together, and then it's just "ah sweet, man-made horrors beyond my comprehension" type moments. It gives you whiplash in the most fun way possible; it's a wild ride I encourage people to read if you like a bit of comedy sprinkled into your existential dread.

Ryouta Killed His Brother

Man, I realize these are getting really dark, but that's the kinda stuff I like, lol. Another really recent one, so it's hard to say too much, but I'm very interested to see where it heads.

Hayato realizes his best friend, Ryouta, has progressively looked unwell and tries to look into it. Ryouta has to take care of his little brother since his mom died giving birth to him, but it's not so simple. Chi is harming him. Ryouta has killed him so many times to stop the torture, but no matter what he does, he always comes back, seemingly unaware anything even happened.

I wonder where this is planning to go. It subverted me after the 2nd chapter so I always look forward to where it's headed. I was almost worried it would fall into showing a terrifying death or Chi is a monster visual in each chapter, but the story is progressing, and I need to cut it a little slack since it's only 4 chapters in so far. But I'm interested and would say it's worth checking out, too.

Asura's Verdict

Asura's mother always told him that those who do bad deeds will always receive divine punishment, but he quickly realizes his problems can't just be wished away. A mysterious old man hands him a key that, when placed into someone's head, will send that person directly to Hell. So, Asura takes it upon himself to punish those that deserve it.

This manga gripped me instantly, I think the character designs are really good, and there's something very cute yet extremely unnerving about Asura's face and his perpetual smile. One complaint this manga has received so far is that all the bad guys over the top evil people. It makes it easy for Asura to make these decisions, but I'm hoping this is just in the beginning and Asura will come across more moral dilemmas in the future. But it is very satisfying to see awful people get what they asked for. The manga has been compared to Death Note, but I like this approach more. Asura is a naive kid who wants the world to be happy, he doesn't have a god complex (not yet anyway) and doesn't have higher ambitions, he just hates to see the people around him get bullied. But this manga seems a lot more interesting. Asura meets several kids on hard times and we can sympathize with them more. Plus, Asura can't sit there in the comfort of his own room writing names down on a notebook, he has to put himself in danger in order to stick the key in people's heads. Anyway, I like where this manga's going, and it recently got endorsed by Hirohiko Araki, so take his word for it.

Hirayasumi

Last but certainly not least, I started reading Hirayasumi last month for the latest MAL Secret Santa, and I was gifted another amazing manga.

Hirayasumi follows the daily lives of many people going through their ups and downs. Hiroto works part-time and spends the rest of his days doing what he enjoys, while his cousin Natsumi frets over debuting as a mangaka while attending art school. But there are a lot of other characters like the clumsy yet dedicated Yomogi and stressed new dad Hideki.

There are a lot more characters, but I won't get into that here. At some point, if a character gets introduced, you'll learn about them, which is nice. While Hiroto would probably be called the main character, there really aren't any. Everyone has their own equally stressful problems, and they can only bring themselves up with the help of everyone around them. It's a really sweet manga. I asked for an iyashikei manga, and it was more than delivered for me. The art style is really simple and welcoming, and all the characters are relatable in some way. For me, that would especially be Natsumi. As an art student myself fretting about a future career in the industry, there's a lot that whirls around my head, so I get Natsumi on a very personal level. And I even look like her too lol. But then there are many times when I relate to characters like Yomogi or Hiroto. There's a lot here for anyone to enjoy, and I think anyone should read this manga because I think it adds just a little bit of comfort to our daily stresses.

Misc Mentions

Alongside everything else I've started I've been continuing to read Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and this year I completed Parts 3, 4, and 5 and started 6, it's on the back burning till I catch up to Hirayasumi. I don't really feel like I need to make an entry for these though since it's y'know Jojo.

Only in 2024 did I start One Piece. I'm caught up with the anime but I'm extremely late to the manga party. And again, since it's literally One Piece, it needs no promotion.

There were a couple of new manga I tried out but decided not to keep following after the first chapter.

The Urban Legend Files: I was still coming off my Yokai Buster Murakami depression and so I really didn't have it in me to start a fairly similar premise. And it didn't hook me nearly as much so I just decided I didn't need want to read it. I've been open to checking it out again, maybe if I hear more good things about it, but as it stands, I'm not very interested.

Syd Craft: Love is a Mystery: The art style looked cute and one of my absolute favorite genres is mystery. However, romance is not. I think this would appeal to a lot of people. And if romance wasn't extremely integral to the plot, I'd probably enjoy it more since it seems like something a Detective Conan fan would be all over. This one simply isn't for me, but I think plenty of people could enjoy it.

Drama Queen: This immediately got hit by controversy because of the awful protagonist, and I have to say I'm in that camp. She's written to be awful, sure, but I draw the line at not respecting pronouns. In one of the first pages, she gets mad because someone refers to their partner as their partner instead of boyfriend or girlfriend. This draws the line for me between likably bad and just bad. I also felt like the politics of it are a bit morally grey. Some say it's more of a critique of imperialism, while others say it's anti-immigration. I have a feeling, or at least I'd like to think it's more about imperialism, but you never know. Anyway, this manga just made me feel icky and I dropped it real quickly.

Anyway, that's it. I just thought I'd spread the word on all the cool manga I read this year and hopefully get some much deserved eyes on these titles. I'd like to make this an annual thing even if no one else cares lol.

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon. 

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!! 

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Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile. 

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them. 

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly. 

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning. 

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious. 

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place. 

You tried not to let your heartbreak show. 

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him." 

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up. 

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better. 

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line. 

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being. 

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice. 

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards. 

You introduced yourself with a small bow. 

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this. 

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?" 

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him. 

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs. 

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed. 

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him. 

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands. 

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?" 

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way." 

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left. 

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him. 

The room sounded quiet. 

You counted to three. Knocked. 

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted. 

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks. 

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold. 

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances. 

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else. 

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done. 

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room. 

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point. 

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him. 

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest. 

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that. 

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw. 

"I still have my heels on." You replied. 

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked. 

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem. 

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long. 

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered. 

You allowed him. 

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly. 

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball. 

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle. 

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes. 

It was fried chicken. 

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered. 

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him. 

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back. 

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome. 

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it." 

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway. 

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh. 

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway. 

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously. 

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other. 

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system. 

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite. 

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side. 

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty. 

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call. 

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though. 

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented. 

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers." 

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm. 

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on. 

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this. 

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences. 

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones. 

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips. 

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate. 

"Joon." 

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded. 

He laced his hand with yours. 

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly. 

It felt like a slap, his full name. 

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all. 

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else. 

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder. 

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him. 

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show. 

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh. 

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank. 

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama. 

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby." 

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra. 

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out. 

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal. 

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes. 

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval. 

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain. 

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly. 

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you. 

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined. 

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?" 

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged. 

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again. 

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch. 

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast. 

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness. 

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. ���I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped. 

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding. 

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there. 

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

“Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined. 

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command. 

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees. 

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane. 

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked. 

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix. 

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach. 

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle. 

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner. 

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting. 

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile. 

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips. 

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour. 

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth. 

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely. 

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp. 

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever. 

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it. 

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way. 

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth. 

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked. 

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs. 

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice. 

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks. 

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps. 

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim. 

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause. 

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could. 

"Why should I, uh?" He teased. 

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain. 

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking. 

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him. 

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused. 

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you. 

"Yes, daddy." You replied. 

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him. 

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy." 

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles. 

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress. 

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream. 

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy. 

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes." 

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him. 

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod. 

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?" 

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle. 

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?" 

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly. 

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?" 

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up. 

This would be the last time, he decided. 

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did. 

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured. 

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?" 

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded. 

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place. 

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?" 

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him. 

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead. 

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling. 

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined. 

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times. 

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap. 

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears? 

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed. 

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed. 

"Stop." You murmured. 

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me." 

He shook his head. "I can't." 

"Namjoon." You reprimanded. 

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame. 

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you. 

You quickly decided what to do. 

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?" 

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate. 

"What is it?" You asked again. 

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper. 

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused. 

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice. 

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?" 

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed. 

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued. 

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—" 

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere." 

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears. 

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words. 

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified. 

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated. 

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you. 

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him. 

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face. 

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked. 

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child. 

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling. 

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful. 

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him. 

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck. 

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan. 

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass. 

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out. 

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?" 

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?" 

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back. 

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…" 

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured. 

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you. 

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up. 

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained. 

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close. 

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark. 

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high. 

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you. 

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him. 

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa. 

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered. 

"Blanket?" You asked. 

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face. 

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him. 

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself. 

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face. 

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave. 

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation. 

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat. 

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage. 

"Sorry." He murmured. 

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk. 

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights. 

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass. 

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it. 

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on. 

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?" 

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?" 

You hummed in confirmation. 

"Let's go." 

[not-all-dead]

angstpril day twenty: the silent treatment

CW: mentions of a breakup but that’s pretty much the worst of it

fic under the cut

November 3rd, 142

Lin,

Mom made me promise I’d write to you, so here’s me doing that. Grandma and Grandpa say hi, and they want you to visit soon. School’s boring as ever and I have no friends here which is just great. Thanks for that. At least they have good food here, the chef is pretty amazing. Still, I think I’m going to run away soon, just for the sake of it. Maybe I’ll find a family actually worth keeping. Anyway, I don’t miss you or mom, have fun arresting people or whatever.

Su

February 7th, 143

Lin,

Heard you’re chief now. Congrats I guess. Does mom finally pay attention to you? Who am I kidding, of course she doesn’t. Anyway, I left Grandma and Grandpa’s. I’m part of this cool travelling circus right now, but I think I’m going to try something new soon. It’s been fun though, lots of flying through the air above lava pits and other super dangerous things. I bet I’m having a better time than you are, stuck in the stupid city.

I call Grandma every week or two to keep her updated on what I’m doing, otherwise she’ll freak out and think I’m dead or something. She told me today that mom called her yesterday. Mom said she was going to Gaoling to drop off her things before travelling wherever just like I’m doing. Guess I have more in common with her than I thought. I also guess that means you’ve got the apartment to yourself now, must be nice.

How’s Tenzin? You two still madly in love? Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t really care. Not that you’re going to respond to this at all. Whatever. I’ve got a performance to get to, so bye.

Su

December 19th, 145

Lin,

I wish you’d write back. I’m much older now, and I’d be happy to talk things out with you if you’d respond. But I guess that’s something you have to want too, and clearly you still hate me, so I won’t count on it.

I know I haven’t written in a while. I was on a pirate ship for a while, learning to sail and such, and we didn’t dock often. Any paper we had on board was constantly damp, too, so I didn’t see the point. After that I live in a sandbender commune. It was really interesting to see how different people lived, especially different earthbenders. I tried learning to sandbend but it didn’t go so well.

But that’s all past now. I’m building a city now, a city entirely of metal. I’ve got this wonderful architect named Baatar helping me with it, and thank goodness I do. I honestly don’t know how I’d execute my plans without him. I think I might ask him to marry me. I mean, I really do like him, and the idea of a family sounds so nice. If I did I’d really like for you to be there.

I hope everything in the city is alright. Last time I spoke to mom, a couple years ago now, she said you were still going steady with Tenzin. I don’t know how you two have stayed together this long already, you always seemed so different from one another to me. I guess opposites really do attract, as they always say. I’ll write again soon.

Su

April 2nd, 146

Lin,

It would mean the world to me if you could make it. Please come if you can, I’d really like to see you again.

Su

March 27th, 147

Lin,

You have a nephew! I was bummed that you didn’t come to the wedding, but it’s alright. Maybe you’d like to come and meet Baatar Jr. sometime this year… we’d welcome you here in Zaofu if you did. We’re still working on building up the outer cities, but the central hub where our house is is fully operational. I’d love to show you how it all works, we have metalbender staff in training to operate practically every part of the city. It’s a busy time, with the new baby and all the construction.

Please tell me you and your airhead of a boyfriend are getting married soon. I mean, come on! It’s been ten years already, I don’t see how you can possibly still be “taking it slow”. You make no sense to me sometimes, Lin. But then again, I’m sure you feel the same about me.

Mom’s been visiting Zaofu pretty regularly. She’s coming in next week to meet Baatar Jr. for the first time. She still seems to be holding a grudge against me. You two really are cut from the same cloth, you know. I might try to talk things out with her when she comes this time, or at least set a time sometime soon for us to flush things over. It would be great if you’d come too so we could put all this family drama nonsense behind us.

Su

May 30th, 150

Lin,

I’m disappointed that you still refuse to answer. Honestly, mom and I have spent two years talking and figuring things out. We’re good now, and there were plenty of opportunities we gave you to join us. I’m sorry you’re still so bitter.

Baatar Jr. is three now, you’d know if you ever cared to visit. He hasn’t shown any signs of bending yet, but Baatar is a non-bender and I started bending late so that’s not too surprising. We’ve got another one on the way, due in a couple weeks actually. I think if it’s a boy we’ll name him Huan, and if it’s a girl probably Hei-Ran. Again, I wish you’d come and actually be a part of my kids’ lives, but you seem dead set against it.

Kya actually dropped by not too long ago. I hadn’t seen her in ages, so it was a nice surprise. She says her travels have been going well, and she’d visited practically every place on the planet! I loved my time travelling, but ultimately family life is what suited me best. She said she was heading back to Republic City soon, so maybe she’ll drop in on you, too. Anyway, hope the triads aren’t causing too too much havoc for you, Chief.

Su

January 16th, 151

Lin,

Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ve given up. If you’re really that set on giving me the cold shoulder, so be it. I’ll stop writing at all.

Sorry you’re not mature enough to handle this like an adult.

If you were wondering, Huan is very healthy and strong. Baatar Jr. too. Baatar Sr. took ill a while back, but he’s alright now.

I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this when I know you don’t care. Well. Sorry I’m such a bother to you.

Su

August 4th, 156

Lin,

Mom told me what happened with you and Tenzin. He’s an asshole, good on you for wrecking the island. You were always too good for him anyway. I know I haven’t written in a long time, I just didn’t see the point if you kept ignoring me. Maybe now you’ll come and see your family, it might be nice after losing Tenzin.

You’ve got a niece, now, too. And four nephews, the youngest being the twins. They’re only just over a year old now, and Opal recently turned three. I tell them stories about their Aunt Lin, you know. The older boys would really like to meet you, and I’m sure Opal and the twins will too when they’re a little bit more grown up. I want to see you again too, Lin, and I wish you’d at least try to let go of the past. Even just a letter back would make my day.

Hope you’re holding up as Chief there, not too much trouble with the triads or whomever else is committing crime these days.

Su

November 7th, 158

Lin,

Baatar Jr. is now eleven, and seems to be quite the budding architect just like his father. Huan has taken up metalbending little sculptures, so for his eighth birthday he got a little studio just for his art. Opal is five now, and growing up fast. I’ve never seen a five year old read as well as she does. Wing and Wei are still just three, but they seem to enjoy throwing pebbles at one another. I think they’ll be strong benders when they're older.

Mom and I finally made up properly. It’s nice to see her with the kids. She said she wrote to you asking you to come and chat too, but you ignored her. No surprises there. I might stop writing again if you keep this up, so don’t act shocked.

Su

October 21st, 160

Lin,

Mom’s here for a few weeks. Opal turned seven this year, Baatar Jr. thirteen, Huan ten, and the twins five. Wing and Wei invented a game for themselves to help with their metalbending training, they call it “power disk”.

I’m not sure what else to say to you anymore. I’m not sure why I’m even writing this now, after eighteen years. Eighteen years, Lin, and you haven’t even bothered to write back. At least I’ve tried to reach out. But now, I’m done. For real this time. Write if you want, I don’t care. I’m not going to keep sending these anymore.

Su

December 6th, 170

Lin,

Are you alright?! Mom had to tell me about you losing your bending, and she only found out through Katara! I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like. All I can say is that it would undoubtedly be awful.

I miss you, you know. It’s been almost thirty years since we last spoke. I know mom misses you too, and my kids would really like to meet their Aunt. It makes me sad that you’re still so sour about what happened, even after so much time has passed. We’ve both grown and changed as people, and I don’t understand why you can’t see that. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s only me who’s changed at all. Even so, I do miss you, and I wish you’d write. Or visit.

I hope you’re alright, Lin, I really do.

Su

[gentlemancrow]

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

OK so I saw @hey-there-hunter ‘s JMart Wedding Challenge and I pretty much fan ficced immediately??  Like it was an instantaneous plot bunny that stabbed me in the brain and would not let me free until I made it exist.  SO HERE YOU GO!  Read it here or head on over to AO3 below!  And enjoy some unapologetically aggressive fluff with weddings!  Also subtitled someday Crow will stop abusing excessive astral imagery and symbolism for extended metaphors, but today is not that day.

Read on AO3 instead!

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

Jonathan Sims always thought of himself as a man with a deep appreciation for the great literature of the world.  A passionate turn of phrase, crystalline motes of clear imagery like snowflakes reflecting light in his mental scape, a devastating contemplation on the nature of good and evil in the hearts of all mankind, everything that could express the beauty and tragedy of the world in ways he never could.  Prose was a bright paintbrush on a ragged canvas of the universe he had known from an early age was swathed in shadow and pain and evil, and those words on those pages, for at least a moment, were another world he could hold in his hands, could cradle and protect, could mourn.  He liked the power of them as well, of the tinkling brightness of alliteration, the oaky sophistication of a well-aged metaphor, the evocativeness of the idiosyncrasy in a simple simile, laying bare truths in ways he never could have articulated for himself.

There was one thing he could not abide by in language, however, one cardinal sin liable to besmirch any piece of lush and sparkling verse or prose and taint it forever.  And that was idioms.

Jon loathed idioms and their dismally quirky cliches dressed in familiarity’s tacky clothing almost as much as he hated spiders.  Perhaps it was something about their reliance on common knowledge and repetition.  He couldn’t bear reading the same book twice, or even a book that felt too familiar, it only made sense that hearing a hackneyed phrase repeated in that awful singsong sardonic tone of someone who knows full well they’re saying something asinine that has been repeated ad nauseum for millennia would scrape at the back of his skull and down his spine.  They were too whimsical and blasé, crutch words for when one’s limited lexicon came up empty, or worse, for ill comedic effect.  They reinforced that staunchly English notion of skirting about the true depth and breadth of emotion for clipped niceties and unfeeling banalities.  Idioms to him were mere verbal window boxes, colorful and meaningless, dressings for untold disasters behind the shining windows they peacocked before.  

He hated them all with vaguely equal rancor, but there was one he could definitely single out as the one he hated the most, and that was the one about hanging the moon.  Such and such thinks you hung the moon, to me you hung the moon, and so on.  This particular rhetorical felony attracted his wrath only marginally because any moon symbolism never failed to feel outlandish and infantile, a mawkish image of love and care rampant in nursery rhymes and cheap commercialized slogans for t-shirts and wall art.  That was the least of it.  He hated the idea of hanging the moon mostly because once, another lifetime ago now it seemed, Tim Stoker had lobbed it in his face in a fit of smoldering rage and he had been completely, complacently, ignorant of its magnitude.  

Funny thing was, he couldn’t even remember what the actual fight had been about any longer.  Though he could remember exactly where he was standing, cornered next to the file cabinet for the year 1985, January through February, and the label had been peeling up on the upper left-hand corner.  He remembered he’d discovered a hole in the elbow of his jumper that morning and he had been obsessing over it all day, fussing with the dangling green thread and tugging at the knit as if it might magically close the wound.  He’d put his finger clean through it with his arms crossed haughtily over his chest without even realizing he’d been fiddling with it when something flippant about Martin came out of his mouth.  It hadn’t even been cruel, he couldn’t even remember how Martin had come up in the argument in the first place, he could only remember Tim’s mouth moving like he wanted to say something else, then him forcibly stopping himself before he snarled.

“Yeah well, god knows why, but he thinks you hung the moon, so you might try treating him at the very least like a human being once in a while.”

It was such a small thing.  Small words for a small feeling cloaked in a chintzy veneer of idiomatic dismissal.  A trembling little bird cupped in his scarred and battered hands and smothered.  Or so he thought.  Sometimes trembling little birds turn out to be phoenixes, and those who looked to someone else to hang the comfort of a wise, silvery moon in the sky already have the hammer and the picture wire at the ready.

As far as Jon was concerned, the moon only rose on their Somewhere Else because Martin deigned to pull the strings every night, not him.

It was Martin who brought him tea every morning, set it down on the breakfast table with that little flip of the tag and the deft, one-fingered turn of the handle toward him.  It was Martin who scolded him because whites are a separate load, Jon, were you raised in a barn?  Martin who talked him through every episode of the Doctor Who reruns that were the only thing their ancient aerial could pick up.  Martin who planted flowers in the garden and brought muffins from the sweet old lady at the grocers because they traded baking recipes.  Martin who still looked at him with diaphanous pools of ethereal moonlight in his eyes and his smile like he alone hung it in the sky over his head to wash him in its radiance.

Even after everything.

Even after it had been Martin who had to hold the knife buried in his chest as he lay gasping wetly for breath in an alleyway in Another Chelsea to keep the hemorrhaging at bay.  Martin who had cupped his face in his bloody hands with tears streaming down his and forced him to focus, furious love blazing in his sea mist eyes as they locked with his, screaming at him and him only, heedless of anything else.

“Look at me.  LOOK at me, Jon!  Stay with me!  Stay with me, DAMN YOU!”

Stay with me had not been a plea, it had been a command.  He had never once said please because it was never an option.  Shivering, breathing blood through his teeth, the streetlights a fading, star studded halo in Martin’s strawberry blond curls be damned, he was right.  Against every tangled thread of fate twisted deep into his flesh, or perhaps because they had been the only thing that held his torn innards together, he made it to the part where he awoke a few fractured times to nothingness, and then to fingers he knew every inch of inextricably bound up in his and a fierce whisper in his ear.

“I’m here, Jon.  I’m still here.  I’ve got you.  I’m going to fix this.  I’m going to get us out of here.  We’re going to be okay.”

It had been Martin who orchestrated their clandestine escape from the hospital the moment they both agreed he was well enough to survive under his rudimentary medical care and before the authorities got too invested in an urban ghost story of two men who didn’t exist.  Not to mention one of which should, by all medical and logical law, be dead.  It had been Martin who had stolen the necessary antibiotics, drugs, and wound care supplies, Martin who had picked enough pockets to buy passage on a midnight train to the only place they could think to go, and expressly told Jon not to ask where he learned how, even though he knew full well he would later.  Martin who had fought for everything and kept him hidden and safe while he lay in a dingy hotel room somewhere in Scotland, drifting in and out of consciousness between kisses, cold compresses, spoonfuls of whatever he could get him to swallow and keep down, and desperate ‘I love you’s.

Martin had been the one who hung the moon even on the nights Jon couldn’t see it, just so he knew it was there, that the light might finally guide him home.  Not him.  He could have never done something so selfless and simple and beautiful.  No not him.  Not The Archivist.  How could he have ever known that?  Stupid, myopic, pedantic, all-seeing and blind.  A blustering, sanctimonious Tiresias in a sweater vest and half-moon glasses.  And how important was the moon, anyway that he was expected to hang it too?  Would not night still come and the stars still shine?  The stupid, vapid saying should have been about the sun anyway.  Something that nourished and guided and warmed.  Not the moon.  Not the thing of night and hungry wolves and quiet loneliness.  Not a thing of the darkness they fought and still not won, not exactly, not in a way that mattered.  How could he have known the weight of such a thoughtless, frivolous, meaningless phrase and how far and how long Martin had borne it for him to protect he who hung his moon?  

He could see the weight of it so clearly now.  He could see it especially on the darkest days, which came, in grotesque mockery, the moment they found something like their safehouse and rest at last.  Jon had conned his way into a job at the village library with an ancient head librarian who didn’t care much for too many questions, or background or credit checks, and was more than happy to pay in cash.  With Martin’s help of course.  Martin himself had taken up stocking at the village grocers, and their life had teetered onto something so close to quaint and normal it suddenly laid bare the gravity of the depths of darkness they had escaped.

No longer did they have to run, no longer did they have to fight, they could finally lay down the chase and curl in upon each other to lick their wounds in quiet.  But without the driving, primal instinct to live, to survive, that ushered in the days where all the hurt came back to roost and brood and fester.  The days where he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, or the days Martin couldn’t bear the sound of his voice, or the days they shouted themselves hoarse, stormed apart for hours then came back, silent and broken, red-eyed and exhausted to hold each other and weep into the spaces between neck and shoulder where it still smelled like love and home.

He could see so painfully clearly the toll following him to the ends of the cosmos and back had etched its marks into his goodness, his body and soul, see how often he would walk down the road from their cabin, just a little ways, to stand on the heather spotted hills and gaze out into the frigid infinity of the gray sea.  Cold terror would grip him then, incite a desperate want to run after him, to throw his arms around him and bring him home, but also the fear it would only be to have him turn to mist and slip through his fingers forever.  He always had a cup of steaming tea waiting for him when he came back, just in case.

But again, and always.  It was Martin who would pick up Jon’s hands, kiss every slender, scarred finger through his tears and be the first one to utter ‘I’m sorry.’  Martin who told him with just a single scathing flash of stern blue eyes and not a single word uttered that he was certainly coming to bed and not banishing himself to the couch like an idiot.  Martin who wrapped him in his arms and warmth and boundless love and reminded him, “One way or another.  Together.  That was the deal, right?  You don’t get to back out now.  No returns, refunds, or exchanges, I’m afraid.”

And even through the deepest sobs he would find the laugh Jon didn’t think was in him.  Martin sifted through the mire and the muck and held fast to the tiny, shining things so easy to lose in the darkness.  Things Jon was certain were lost forever, only to be reignited and hung in the brightening sky of their story.  Even if they weren’t quite the moon yet.

It had also been Martin who, on a perfectly ordinary day, on a simple walk through the local farmers market, stopped to peruse one of the usual unremarkable stalls filled with crystals and oils and trinkets.  Jon had wandered off to procure the parsnips and the strawberries, unrelated recipes Martin swore, he had been tasked with finding.  When he returned he found him, a radiant monument tall among the faceless locals, rusty curls caressing his face in the salty breeze, carved of marble and rose quartz and gazing down at a pair of hematite rings on a velvet display box.  His eyes were distant, but not in the enthralled, disembodied way they were when he looked at the sea, or the broken way when they weren’t speaking, but in the contemplative, regarding of puzzle pieces way when he would look into the fire during their talks and turn his words in his mind over and over again like a rock tumbler until they were polished just right.

“Getting into crystals now, are we?” Jon had joked, “Surely I’m not so dull to be around that that’s becoming an attractive hobby.”

Martin snorted and shook his head.

“Supposed to mean healing, or grounding, or something.  Aligning your meridians, I think the lady said?  Whatever that means,” he elaborated, reaching out to touch.

They clinked weightily together, thick and glossy and the dark astral gray of a moonless night.  Martin turned over the card that went with them and read.

“’A grounding stone that belongs to the planet Mars.  It strengthens our connections to the earth and aids the warrior on their journey.  It is a stone of invincibility, but also fragility.  It balances yin and yang energies with its magnetic properties for the perfect reflection upon one’s own soul, astral, physical, and spiritual.’”

“Hematite, is it?” Jon asked, “Also more commonly called bloodstone.  You know if you scratch it, it leaves a red mark.  Like it’s bleeding.  Watch.”

He picked up one of the rings and firmly ran it down the corner of the card Martin had been reading from.  Sure enough, the black stone had left a faint, but starkly crimson mark on the yellowed paper.

“It BLEEDS?” Martin exclaimed in horror.

“It’s just a kind of iron oxide, so, rust, basically,” Jon explained with a chuckle, “Kind of weirdly romantic if you think about it?  This intimidating shiny black stone like armor, made of iron to boot, but with a bleeding heart at its core.”

“I just thought it was pretty, I didn’t know it bleeds,” Martin had laughed in that incredulous way he always did when Jon was telling him something he didn’t actually want to know, but appreciated anyway.

“I find that the strongest, prettiest things often do,” Jon had said in reply.  He remembered saying that particularly clearly, waxing poetic, feeling a swell of affection for the hugely beautiful man he leaned against and was adorably aghast at bleeding rocks.

“Yeah, I reckon they do,” Martin murmured back.

And then his cheeks had flushed bright red under his freckles and the stone steps of his shoulders crumbled a bit under the crushing ancientness and vastness of what he had originally been pondering.

“So, I mean, before you spoiled it with the blood thing.  I was thinking… Well, I was just having a browse and I saw these and I thought they were quite fetching, and then the lady told me they meant grounding and healing and a journey, like on the card.  A-And there were two of them, all by themselves, and everything else was so colorful and flashy these were just so… Um.  Maybe the blood and rusty iron thing makes it more poetic now, actually?  I don’t know.  Sorry I-  This sounded so much better in my head.”

It wasn’t his fault, Jon remembered thinking.  Martin couldn’t find the words because there weren’t any.  Not in this universe or any other.  Not for what they’d gone through, and especially not for what they meant to each other.

“I guess I was just thinking.  If… I bought one.  And wore it.  Sort of like.  Um.  You know.  Would… Would you-?” he had asked, his voice trembling.

Jon had never said yes, yes of course he would, faster or with more conviction in his life.  And there was that look again, rising from the ashes, that flooding of golden, unbound love and light, of eyes turned sky blue, of looking at the man who hung his moon in the sky come back to him.  He could still hang Martin’s moon all over again after so many nights of black clouds and darkness, even if it was only paper.  They’d paid for the rings in rumpled bills, exchanged them right then and there, and kissed each other as the crowd of oblivious people in a world they did not belong in flowed like a river around them.  Jon forgot the bag with the parsnips and strawberries.

But it didn’t matter.  It didn’t even matter that Martin’s fit nicely on his ring finger, but Jon had to wear his on his thumb, and even then sometimes on a chain around his neck for fear of losing it.  It didn’t matter that it was the closest thing they were ever going to get to a proposal and a wedding, consigned now forever to the shadows in a borrowed reality with only each other.  Because it was theirs, and they could begin to figure out how their broken pieces fit back together again.

But like most things that don’t matter, it didn’t until it did.

It began as simple things.  Seeing a wedding on some program they weren’t actually paying much attention to and Martin making a flippant, innocuous comment as he combed his fingers lovingly through Jon’s long and silvered chestnut hair in his lap about how he would have loved to have a cake that had a different flavor on every tier at their wedding.  Just so everyone could have something they liked.  And Jon woke up from his half catlike stupor and looked up at him with such aching regret as those words settled into the pit of his heart alongside ‘he thinks you hung the moon.’  

And soon they began to gather a collection of completely innocent remarks that ran the gamut from ‘would they have worn black or white?  Or one of each?  I don’t know… does it really matter?  And were these engagement rings or wedding rings?  I don’t know.  Neither?  both?  And do we say husband instead of boyfriend now?  Fiancé?  Whatever you want, Martin…’ To the heavier, cancerous weights that sank to the bottom of his gut, even below hanging the moon, like ‘I know Tim would have thrown the most amazing bachelor party for both of us, and his mum had always talked about him getting married someday like it was a farfetched pipe dream, but she would be happy for them, he thinks.’

He could never answer those questions.  There was too much at stake, too much finality and familiarity in them, a strange weightlessness in a world that weighed far too much.  The sun and moon continued their eternal dance of time, ignorant, unbothered, but Jon kept collecting those silent debts of normal life, secreting them away in a hidden singularity in his heart that only grew heavier and metastasized farther the more times Martin walked out at night, not him, beaming starlight from his eyes and his fingertips, to hang the moon again.  So soft, so full of wooly cows and pink heather and the smell of tea and sea salt and Martin’s shampoo on the pillow next to him did it become, that it was almost inevitable that one morning Jon awoke absolutely convinced none of it could be real.  

The moment he decided that, everything made so much more sense.  He could breathe again.  There was a reason he could never sit still, never just feel at ease or talk about the future like it was a real thing that could still happen.  He knew why the silence made his brain itch and why he still glanced around corners and glowered at anyone who dared let their gaze linger on his Martin too long.  Why Martin’s ring fit and his didn’t.  There was too much debt to the universe to be paid, too many broken promises, too many corpses in his wake, he had done nothing to deserve this idyllic life of love and peace and smallness and Martin.  It had to be Her doing, It’s doing, some carefully woven torture chamber that would lure them to the apex of their joy, the center of the web, where they would just be devoured over and over to empty husks and set up like chess pieces to fill with love and light just to knock down again.  He wasn’t free after all.

Jon had been halfway into his coat and halfway out the door to do, he didn’t know, something, anything, to go to the library to use their computer and research something he didn’t know he was looking for when Martin had seized his hand and whirled him around.

“Jon.  STOP.  It’s over.”

And he’d stopped.  He’d looked into those baleful blue eyes, fallen into their depths, landed on the precipice of madness, and broken.  It wasn’t over.  Not for him.  He finally understood.  It was still there.  The Eye.  It always had been.  Though not really, he understood slowly as he wept on his knees in their doorway into Martin’s chest, it had indeed closed forever on him, but it lingered as distant static, like a phantom limb, a metaphysical itch that could never be scratched.  Martin had cradled him close and listened, listened so patiently as he ripped the jagged black fear from the deepest, ugliest part of his heart, hauled it up bloody and messy from his throat and finally laid it bare for both of them to see.  And when it was done and he couldn’t cry anymore Martin had locked eyes with him in a way that made him forget any others could have ever existed outside of crystalline blue and filled with moonlight.

“Listen to me.  I know you think you have some cosmic burden to bear.  That you’re still wearing some… some fucked up crown and sitting on a throne of skulls and death and eyeballs or whatever image you want to put there, and that you have to sit and hurt and watch over everything so it doesn’t happen again, but...  Sorry, Jon, but that’s bullshit.  It’s just a scar now.  That’s all.  Just like the rest of them.  Ugly and beautiful and proof that you —Jonathan Sims— are still alive.  And you are not The Archivist anymore.  You’re just mine.  My Jon.”

He’d held his Jon’s stunned face in his hands and peppered kisses over the pock marks in his skin, over the slash on his throat, the burnt fingers that still couldn’t bend quite right, even the one on his chest, the one almost always hidden by fabric but the one he didn’t need to see to find.  His heart and fingers would always remember exactly where it was.  And he’d kept his lips there a moment, then turned his ear to his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist to listen to his heartbeat like a trembling little bird.

“If I can hear it and feel it.  So can you,” he whispered.

Unsteady fingers curled desperately into Martin’s silky locks, hematite loop cool against his scalp, “Thank you…”

Martin stayed for the kiss on top of his head he knew was coming and smiled.

“Okay, so it’s simple to fix if you think about it,” he murmured into Jon’s chest, “We just need that thing, you know?  The thing that makes you feel like you’re still doing the thing, but you’re not.  What was the word for it again?  A placeholder?  Like when you quit smoking and you hold a pencil or a straw or something that’s not actually a cigarette so you can wean yourself off the ritual?”

Jon blinked owlishly down at him as he dried his eyes.

“A… placebo?  Are you talking about a placebo?”

“Yeah!  That’s it!  We just need to find you a placebo for Knowing things!  That’s all.  Like… reality shows, or-or zoo cams or something!  We’ll figure it out together.  Alright, love?  I promise you.  It’ll be okay.”

Jon was skeptical, so very skeptical, but if Martin was determined to find a balm to soothe his jagged, ontological scars he would happily play the part of lab rat for him.  They’d tried a myriad things to replicate the feeling of Knowing and looking something deep within him still craved.  The zoo and animal livestreams were a bust, cute and entertaining as they were, but animals weren’t ever the purview of The Eye and the camera itself was barely a scrap.  Reality shows came closer, the more salacious the better, but even that temporary fix wore off when Jon’s disgust with the overall content and participants outweighed any benefit.  Martin was just happy to have finally converted him to Bake Off, at least.  They tried people watching in the square in the village, but it made Jon far too self-conscious and guilty.  He used the binoculars exactly once, and that was to look at the cows in the fields, and the choose-your-own-adventure books Martin had been certain would strike a sagacious chord wound up in the donation bin at the library.  But that was when he was struck with a bolt of genius.

Unbeknownst to Jon, which brought him no small measure of glee, Martin ordered, received, and then set up with a literal bow in their back garden the finest telescope he could afford on his meager savings.  He’d researched for days, asked on every amateur astronomer forum he could find, and had it delivered to the grocers so he could make it a proper surprise.  He’d even gone so far as to attack and blindfold a hapless Jon the moment he made it home from work on the day it was ready, and stood behind him giddily bouncing as he tore the tea towel away from his eyes.

“A… Telescope?” he’d blurted dumbly.

“Yes!  It’s perfect, right?  I asked around to find the one that had all the best features, and this one has the best overall magnification and the most lenses, but it doesn’t have the little satellite positioning thing?  I figured you wouldn’t want that anyway, you always like figuring things out and finding things on your own better.”

Martin had been positively radiant.  Jon had just stared at the gawping black tube and chewed the inside of his cheek as he processed what to say.

“I mean… thank you, Martin, really.  It was a sweet thought, but if the binoculars didn’t-“

“Screw the binoculars!  This is different!” Martin happily insisted, “You can look at so much more!  Stars and planets and galaxies and what have you, and it can maybe be sort of like you’re looking for other worlds?  Wormholes or whatever?  Or signs of The Fears and where they’ve gone?  Or even if the stars are the same here as they were back before?  Space literally has so many things to LOOK at we can’t even count them!  This has got to be it!”

Jon tried to smile and laugh and agree to try it out, at the very least, if only because Martin was beaming so sweetly with pride and hope.  Though that first night he didn’t, ushering them back in with promises of tomorrow, Martin, I promise tomorrow.  Tomorrow had been a lie.  As had been the next night.  In fact, it took Jon a full week to even remember they even had a telescope, and that was only after getting the smuggest, Cheshire grin out of Martin after casually mentioning there would be a visible, if partial, lunar eclipse that night.  He’d relented, only because he’d entrapped himself, and they’d both bundled up, looked in the manual for the best size lens to view the moon with, poured a few glasses of wine, and turned their eyes to the stars.

Martin had gone first, gripping the eyepiece and adjusting the focus all the while gasping in awe.  It was so beautiful he’d burst into poetry with a crooked grin.

“Art thou pale for weariness?  Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth, and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth its constancy?  Sounds a little familiar, eh?” he joked, casting a wry look over his shoulder.

Jon rolled his eyes fondly.

“Gross.  Keats again?”

“Nope, Shelley this time, and even he thinks you ought to have a look at the moon.  I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”

Jon had sighed obligingly and shuffled to the telescope, fully expecting to look at something bright and round with a bit of a shadow on it that was distinctly unremarkable, have another glass of wine, and then go back inside to snuggle by the fire.  What he saw in that tiny pinhole of light pierced straight through the hazel brown of his eye and plunged him into another world entirely.

The sands of the moon glowed the purest white in the refracted light of the distant sun with which it waltzed.  He could see in crisp, shadowy relief the innumerable scars she bore, the depth and breadth of Ptolemaeus, the boundless lonely flatness of the maria, named for the oceans they were once thought to be, an insult to the rock plains forged a millennia ago in birth by cataclysmic fire.  Every crater remained wrought in perfect, frozen detail with no erosion or foliage to slowly heal them over, and she beamed them proudly, ostentatiously in her heavenly light.  A hulking, ancient protectorate, hung by the hands of creation at the dawn of time for a fledgling planet, hundreds of thousands of miles away, and yet so crystal clear and unafraid as he perused her millions of years of cosmic sentinel through a lens.  It was dwarfing, humbling, viscerally awe inspiring in a way he dared not voice for fear of snuffing out the fragile glow of wonder and excitement welling in his chest he had been so certain was gone forever.

Astronomy had never been something that had particularly interested Jon, back when his entire reality from the moment his childish hands had touched a single book was spent peering into shadows and watching his own back.  There was no point in wondering what lay among the stars when danger and death lurked so close behind with slavering jaws ever poised at his throat on terra firma, but now.  Now, he had been living in an alternate world, dimension, reality, somewhere, he couldn’t even say for sure.  He’d been hurled potentially through the very stars that twinkled coquettishly above, flashed through their nebulous veils and curtains under their indifferent gaseous gazes, but seen nothing.  Here was a vast expanse of complete chaotic indefiniteness inviting him in to see what few had ever seen, to guess and hypothesize and gesture wildly at secrets only the stars could keep.  To Know.

Jon had jerked back so suddenly from the telescope to survey the entirety of the astral dome above them that Martin had choked on his wine.

“Jon?  Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, I…” he’d murmured, only even half hearing that Martin had said anything at all, stars reflected in his wondering dark eyes, “I’m fine, I just… How… How much more can this see?  How deep does it go?”

Jon hadn’t seen the victorious smirk on Martin’s face as he set down his wine glass and picked up the instruction manual and lens guide.  They’d watched the rest of the eclipse, of course, marveling through the lens at the inky trickle of shadow over craggy white, but then they’d changed the lens to the strongest one, according to the guide, and spent the rest of the evening triangulating their position beneath their slice of the universe and plotting out the various stars, planets, and constellations above.  Jon had even dashed inside to grab a mostly blank notebook and had filled several pages with notes and observations and things to research later, all while Martin held back tears watching him come so alive over a project he didn’t even know he needed.  Eventually though, sleepiness and cold claimed him, and he kissed his beloved goodnight and left him, more than gladly, to ride out the intellectual flare up until it burnt both him and itself out.  

Martin had no clue what time it was when he finally returned, and it didn’t even matter.  All that mattered was at some point, a practically frozen Jon had climbed into bed, snuggled up close behind and wrapped his arms around him to kiss the back of his neck so softly like the wings of a butterfly and whisper.

“Thank you.”

Another victorious smirk and a loving murmur.

“Told you so.”

Where there had been nothing but an Eye shaped hole in him, scarred around the edges and aching in its vacuum, Jon had filled it with the names of nebulas and quasars, of the myth of Andromeda, and Orion, and Castor and Pollux, or Hercules, and why they had all been hung in the stars for eternity.  The stories were much the same as he remembered, but he’d found slight eccentricities, tiny irregularities in the sky which fascinated him even more so.  Night after night he would look at a different astral body, chart it down in his notebook, then come bounding in with starlight beaming from his eyes and his fingertips with some cry of eureka.

“Martin!  Did you know here Polaris is in the south and Sirius is in the north?”

“Martin!  Did you know the Andromeda Galaxy is actually a little closer to the Milky Way here?”

“Martin, you have to come see this!  Oh, no it’s not weird this time, it’s just I finally got Saturn in the telescope and you can actually see the rings!”

His nightly herald would always be different, but Martin would always rise from the comfort of the couch, put his slippers on, and let Jon talk as long as he needed to about his latest discovery, watching him smile again while he, too, watched the matching smile it never failed to ignite illuminate Martin’s face and they lit each other up in the fused brilliance of a binary star.

Martin no longer hung the moon for Jon, he’d finally just up and quite literally given it to him, and there was no mortal way to repay him for that.  Or so he’d thought.  It came to him, as most flashes of brilliance do, on a night he hadn’t even been thinking about it at all.  All he had been doing was sitting in a lawn chair with his telescope long after Martin had gone to bed, chewing his pencil idly, vaguely missing a cigarette and pondering notes on Vega and Lyra between watching it through his lens.  He’d been stuck for days on Vega and its potentiality for another solar system and what that could imply for their new Earth and their new sun, as well as Lyra and the tragic tale of Orpheus and his doomed love.  Even in their new reality he still turned back at the end of the story, still could not contain the roiling, effusive adoration to his own downfall.

Bitterness had risen like bile in the back of Jon’s throat as he replayed the myth again in his head, unsure why it was vexing him and rewinding in his brain so torturously.  “Stupid, stupid man, if he’d only just…” he’d thought again and again, each time giving the star-crossed musician a different decision, a different choice, urging him down another path somewhere, anywhere along his journey, but in the end, he’d always looped back around to the original.  It was the point of the story, after all.  Not so much the love itself or even the loss of it, but the power of it over one man and the creation born from his mourning and eventual destruction.  Patently Greek.  But the chorus would always begin again in Jon’s head.  If he’d kept his Eurydice, if his songs had been happy, if he hadn’t spent the rest of his life mourning so intensely he was eventually destroyed for it, would he have become the paragon of healing he was, the oracle, the lynchpin of the fate of the world he had eventually become?  Which of them was the stupider man?

Jon was only mortal now, he was no longer all-seeing oracle and dark savior, he had no authority to say, but it was a trifle easier to ponder the hubris of Orpheus instead of his own.  He couldn’t help but think, achingly, sometimes the heroes just deserved to pull their beloved from the pit of Tartarus, promise to love them for eternity, and then simply get married, ride off into the sunset, and live happily ever after.  A story wasn’t a story if it didn’t write itself upon the very bones and sinews of its heroes, that was the law of the universe, but when the story was done and the cracks and fissures in their tissues had faded to myth and legend, what became of the heroes who did not die a tragic or heroic death and were not hung in the stars?  What happened to heroes left behind?  Twisting his bloodstone ring on his thumb idly as it caught the shivering fire of those stars in its dark mirrored surface, the musical arrow of the muses pierced his heart, wide-eyed in wonder.  He’d asked the universe, but he already knew the answer.  He’d always known.  He knew, and he knew it with such clarion joy as he had never known anything before.

He could no longer be the man who hung Martin’s moon, he hadn’t been for a long time.  That much was clear to him, but he could certainly do something else.  Perhaps they had grown past the need for moon hangings in the first place.  He knew how their story ended.

It took months of saving, secreting, preparation, and then finally just simply waiting for the perfect, clear night.  The moment it came, the moment he knew it was the night, Jon struck without hesitation.  Poor Martin wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch, into Jon, when he returned from a late shift at the grocers, but found himself instead stuffed right back into his coat with a picnic basket in hand and hauled out into the frigid night in a flurry of Jon with little time to protest.  He bounded up the hill behind their little cottage beneath a perfect blanket of stars flaming coldly overhead, trailing Martin’s hand in his behind with his breath coming in silvery puffs of clouds, and paying no heed to the whining.

“Jon, whatever it is, does it have to be NOW?” Martin panted, “I am absolutely knackered and it’s beyond freezing and wouldn’t it be nicer just to curl up with a cuppa and fall asleep in front of Star Wars or something?  Doesn’t that have enough stars and space in it?”

Dauntless, Jon only tugged harder.

“There’s tea in the basket, and I’ve seen Star Wars.  And yes, it has to be tonight, it’s really important, I promise.”

“Look.  I love you.  So much.  You know this, and please know it is with the utmost love and deepest affection in my heart that I point out that you say that every time, and you’ve still shown me Pluto like, a hundred separate times.  While I quite like it, and I still feel sorry for it being bumped out of the solar system and all, it’s just a dot?  How many times can you look at a dot?” Martin sighed.

His words finally threw a caltrop into Jon’s warpath, and he paused, turning over his shoulder woundedly.

“What?  No, it’s not Pluto, I swear just- Please, Martin?  I’ll never ask again if you don’t want to, but just for tonight, please?” he pleaded.

Martin winced, and immediately folded under the onslaught of doleful honeyed brown eyes under a nimbus of stars.

“Oh, lord there you go with the puppy dog eyes.  Okay, okay fine, but there better be a nip of whiskey in this,” he chided lovingly with a gesture at the thermos in the basket.

The smile flared back to life brightly on Jon’s face as he turned back up the craggy little footpath to the top of the hill.

“Of course, hot toddy with tea.”

“Ooh, lovely, you do know me.”

The rest of the way was trivially short to the small, flat hilltop surrounded by heather where Jon had already set up a blanket and the telescope over a pristine vista of the dark line where the stars sank into the sea.  He ushered Martin to sit down first, then perched on his hip beside him and poured him a generous helping of tea and whiskey from the thermos before pouring his own.

“Thanks, much.  Right then, what exactly are we up here to look at that we couldn’t see from our garden?” Martin asked, accepting his cup of potent hot toddy and sipping it gratefully around the lemony steam that billowed up.

Taken aback by the sudden logic lobbed into the center of his romantic posturing, Jon looked momentarily stunned, as if someone had slapped him upside the head.

“Oh!  Oh, um, well-!  Ahah, that is to say- Uh.  There is a reason for all this.  It’s not that we couldn’t see it from our garden, we very much could have.  B-But it’s so beautiful up here, and you can kind of hear the sea?  And it’s nice and peaceful, and the heather is still blooming a bit and um…” he trailed off, cheeks burning.

“Okay…?” Martin probed, frowning a little.

“Er, actually...  It’s less about the stars than it is- W-Well it is about the stars.  Let’s get that clear.  But to be completely honest I mostly just… I-I well.  There’s something I need to tell you?”

Jon was ill-prepared for the look of abject horror on Martin’s face as he went paler than the moon overhead.

“Shit, what is it?  Did you find something?  You saw something?  There’s been a sign of The Fears?  Oh god it’s not HER is it?” he asked frantically, nearly slopping hot toddy all over his lap.

“What?  No!  No, none of that!” Jon spluttered, aghast.

Martin regained a modicum of color in his face and breathed in measuredly.

“Okay, so then what is it?  Oh god, you’re not… Jon you’re not ill, or something, are you?  Please, you can just tell me if-“

“No, I am not ill either, damn it, Martin!  If you would just listen to me!  I-!” Jon moaned exasperatedly, “I just wanted to do something… nice.  Something nice for you.  And nicer than I normally would because I am apparently much worse at crafting romantic moments than I thought and-“

“Wait…” Martin cut in, eyes gleaming with realization, “Jonathan Sims… Are you grand gesturing?”

“Well I am certainly trying but you are making it exceedingly difficult!” he retorted, red in the face and breathless.

“Oh my god, you are!  I’m so sorry!” Martin laughed brightly, “Oh god Jon you poor thing I’m so sorry, I’m awful, I’m the absolute worst!  No please!  Don’t let me spoil it.  Please go on.”

Grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead, Jon tried to summon the words again, only for Martin’s strong, warm hands to take it from him and tip his chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“Hey.  Hey, Jon.  Look at me,” he breathed, looking into his eyes idolatrously, “I’m sorry.  I love you.  You can tell me.”

Taking the steadiness from those clear blue depths he needed, Jon focused on them, on the strawberry blond curls tossing in the icy breeze, of the kiss of chilled pink under his freckles, and that eternal, sunshine smile.

“Okay,” he finally answered, smiling softly.

With a deep, shuddering breath, and a long swig of whiskey laced tea for good measure, Jon drew himself up and fished deep in his soul for the words he had waited a millennium to say.

“Okay… So here it is.  Um… I’ve um, I’ve had a lot of time alone lately with my new hobby, as it were.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  A lot of it is overly complicated and ridiculous and doesn’t deserve to live outside of my head but… a lot of it has been about you, about us.  And I know we don’t need to-to put a label on us or put us into a… a box or anything like that.  But every time I look at this ring on my finger, I can’t help but remember we never actually talked about what they meant,” he began, holding out his left hand and fidgeting with the loose band around his thumb.

“Oh Jon, don’t worry about that.  It was just me being a big sappy, sentimental dork.  And if I recall correctly, we’d had a pretty awful row a night or two before, and I just wanted to feel close to you again, I guess?  We both know what they mean to us.  It doesn’t matter,” Martin assured him sweetly.

“Except that it does!” Jon insisted passionately, “That’s the point!  You are a big sappy, sentimental dork, Martin.  I bet you were the kid that had a dream wedding all planned in a notebook with pictures cut out of magazines and everything.  I adore that about you, but big sappy sentimental dorks should have big sappy, sentimental moments like huge, expensive seaside weddings with three-flavor cakes and all your friends and family and rose petals and dove releases and whatever else your heart could dream up.”

Martin snickered and shook his head, charmed at least by the mental image of kissing Jon on a seaside cliff at sunset while doves flew in glorious formation around them and everyone they had ever known and loved cheered.

“Pfft, I don’t need a grand wedding and all that, I just need-”

“Me.  I know,” Jon finished for him with a smirk, “I knew you’d say that.  Maybe not.  But you deserve one.  And I know I don’t use that word lightly, but it’s necessary in this case.  You deserve it.  All of it.  Me on one knee with a ring in a box, you deserve us picking out flowers and tuxedos and arguing over the font on the invitations.  You deserve Tim’s awful bachelor party and laughing at me at the altar because I had to read my vows off a card and they’re still so stiff and awkward and they pale in comparison to the beautiful poem you wrote about me.  You deserve smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and crying as we exchange rings.  All of it.”

Martin weighed his words carefully on his tongue with a sip of his boozy tea to chase away ghosts of things that never even were.

“I mean, sure, not going to say I never wanted that.  And I did have that stupid wedding notebook, by the way.  But all that became a pipe dream the minute we wound up here, right?  No use being upset about something that can never be.”

“That may be so, but the crux of it is… you also contented yourself with the idea of it never coming true not because we’re here, but because you didn’t think I wanted it,” Jon answered, his unspoken truth hanging heavy in the chill night air between them, “Every time you tried to tell me you wanted to be with me forever, I brushed it off and painted it gray and tucked it away and carried on the way we always were like nothing happened and it didn’t matter.  Because it was alright, really, you were just so happy to have what we have, that I didn’t die in your arms that night, that we were still together after everything.  That I at least kept that promise after I’d broken so many.  You were so grateful just for what you were gifted after we thought we would end with nothing you didn’t dare think to ask the universe for more and I am so, so sorry it took me so long to see that, Martin.  I’m so sorry.”

His voice broke.  The breath caught in Martin’s chest as he reached out to touch his wrist comfortingly.

“Jon, I-“

“No, please.  Please let me finish I… I can’t give you any of those things.  I can’t give you our friends back, I can’t give you cake and doves and the sunset and crying through vows in front of the vicar.  I can’t even give you an elopement at the register office because we still don’t legally exist.  And I guess for a long time I resented myself for that.  For all of it.  For stealing that from you, for dragging you through literal hell only to give you a shadow of a life stuck here with me because I betrayed you.  But- no stop, don’t say anything yet I’m not done.  B-But now I finally realize.  You’re right, Martin.  You were always right.  It doesn’t matter.  Those things are all just… things.  I said to you once, a long time ago, and I’m still not even sure if you really heard me, that I didn’t want to just survive.  It was true then, and maybe it wasn’t true for a while, but it’s certainly true again.  We did not fight tooth and nail to just survive.  We fought to live, and live together.  So what I’m saying is… I know now I don’t have to give you tuxedos and white roses as long as I give you something… Something to prove to you that you are my everything, my entire world, something to show you that I love you more than I have loved anything in my entire life.  That I want forever with you.  S-So I…” he trailed off, sucking in his breath to give his gesture of undying love the ardor and grandeur it deserved, “I bought us a star.”

The proclamation rang out like the toll of a bell, its gravity sonorous and quaking.  Martin blinked.

“You… I’m sorry?” he squeaked.

Jon set his empty thermos cup aside, flailed his hands in the air and shook his head frantically

“I-I know, I know it sounds mental just hear me out!” he protested, “Technically I didn’t buy the star, if we want to get picky about it.  I mean obviously no one can own a star.  Just the rights to name it?  It’s a thing you can do online.  I was a bit gobsmacked it was real to be honest.  I just had this silly idea when I was out looking at the stars.  I was looking at Lyra and thinking about you and Orpheus, and I… W-Well I just typed it in, ‘can you name a star?’ and it came right up.  Right then and there.  It um… comes with… hold on.”

Remembrance placed a gentle bookmark down on Jon’s fluttering thoughts, and he rummaged in the picnic basket for a moment before pulling out a navy-blue manila folder covered in stars and full of the paperwork and certificates that had come with registering theirs.  He handed it to Martin, who took it in place of his own empty cup, numb, muscles quivering under his jaw, and opened it to the glittering gold typeface that proclaimed ‘Congratulations!’.

“It comes with paperwork, too!  See?  So, it’s official, at least?  The Jon-Martin star.  Not a marriage license I know, but at least our names are together on something legal?  Our real names?  I figured even if we manage the fake identity thing we’d have to get married as not us.  Not really.  So…  I-It could be like our marriage certificate?” Jon explained, chewing his lower lip.

Martin said nothing as his hand turned the pages of the documentation, his eyes distant in a way Jon had never seen before.  Not disembodied and enthralled, not broken, not even regarding puzzle pieces.

“Oh!  Um, also I-I got us a binary star.  I forgot to mention that bit,” he went on, filling the sudden void, “It’s, ah- What a binary star is- It’s technically two?  But they’re caught up in each other’s gravity and they orbit each other so tightly they look like one star together, one that just shines a little brighter.  They’re bound together forever by the most powerful cosmic force in the universe.  Just like us.”

Only silence answered, punctuated by one last crisp whisper of paper, and then the folder closing with Martin’s spread fingers atop it, bloodstone gleaming in the vivid pale light of the night.  Jon’s heart pitched frantically in his chest, and desperate, stranded tears pricked at his eyes.

“I uh… I would have rather gotten us a whole constellation.  Heh, you know?  But they don’t do that, obviously,” he tried softly, his fingers barely brushing Martin’s knuckles, “They record heroes in constellations, after all.  Great deeds, doomed romances, lovers who can be together no other way… That would have been a better way to honor us, I think.  Our story.  A-And who knows?  Maybe back on our world there are a few new stars to remember what we did, to mark the place we left it, so that everyone we left behind can look up and remember us.  They don’t know how the story really ended, and they probably never will, but we do.  We do, and I want to end it right here, right now.  With our star shining above us ‘and they lived happily ever after.’”

Martin still said nothing, but his head bowed, casting a slice of shadow over his eyes, and his shoulders quivered as a thin, bright line of wet silver trickled down his cheek.  Jon felt the very sky shatter above and begin to crumble around him.

“Please… M-Make no mistake, Martin.  P-Perhaps the gesture is silly and meaningless, but it was all I could think to do to go with everything I’ve said tonight.  Martin… Martin, don’t you see?  These are my wedding vows to you.  This is me saying ‘I do’ and also ‘Martin K. Blackwood would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the universe?’  All at once.  This is me saying I swear to you I will be yours, through everything, until the end of time.  M-Maybe I wasn’t before.  Maybe I was still punishing myself, but I’m telling you, I’m ready now to have my happily ever after.  With you, Martin.  If you’ll have me.  If I haven’t-“

He would never finish.  In a dizzying blur of blue folder, flashing hematite, and a wreath of golden curls, Martin kissed the words off his lips.  He kissed him so hard and so fierce, through wracking sobs with his hands woven so raptly into his long, wavy locks he thought his lips would bruise and his fragile soul would finally shatter to pieces in Martin’s arms.  Undone, all Jon could do was surrender and kiss him back with equal passion, thumbing away the hot tears as they spilled freely down his cheeks and anointed them both with their cleansing, hoary heat.  Their lips parted and they panted softly against each other in the space between, each afraid to break the sacred, pulsing silence.

“You’re crying,” Jon whispered at length, “I’ve said something wrong. Martin, darling I’m so sorry.  I never meant to-”

Martin laughed, raspy with tears, but ethereal, sparkling, like stardust floating on the breeze.

“People are allowed to cry when they’re happy you stupid, silly man,” he murmured in between kissing him again, and again.

“Oh.  Oh.”

He kissed him one last time, that idiot man who always burnt the toast and always knew the facts but never knew what to say, who finally figured it out and bought him a star, and threw his arms around him, enveloping his slight, fragile form protectively in his embrace.

“I love you.  I love you so much.”

Jon sank into that warm, familiar comfort and buried his face in his shoulder.

“I love you, too, Martin.  I want to be yours for the rest of my life.  I want to be me, I want to be us.”

“I know.  I’ve always known.  Oh god, you do know that right?  I know that you love me, it’s written in everything you do and say.  I have never, ever once doubted you love me with everything you are.  Even in the moments I was afraid that… that maybe we just weren’t meant to be together, I still knew it wouldn’t be because you didn’t love me.  Never because you didn’t love me.  Just maybe that we didn’t fit together anymore,” Martin replied in a small voice through his tears as they spilled down his cheeks.

As much as he wanted to vehemently deny there was ever a chance they might have not fit back together again after they had both been so shattered, to kiss him and tell him not in a million years would there ever have been a future where they weren’t Jon and Martin against the world, Jon knew it to be inescapably true.

“I’m so sorry you ever had to be afraid of that,” he swore, digging his fingers into Martin’s back pointedly, “After everything.  After we fought so hard to escape fear itself.  That I almost let it truly win in the end.  That I couldn’t just let go… Because… Because this was never about The Eye, was it?”

A heave of breath and its shuddering exhale shook Martin’s body free of lifetimes of grief, and fear, of ugliness carried far beyond the borders of their souls.  His fingers curled tighter in unspoken reply.

“No Jon, no it wasn’t, but I’m so very glad you finally figured that out.”

“Me, too…” he whispered.

They held each other in the quiet wake of being a moment and let the astral plane wheel calmly overhead.  An impatient star twinkled.

“Wait… you never answered me,” Jon finally said as he pulled back, sliding his elegant fingers down Martin’s strong arms.

“Huh?” Martin blurted, scrubbing under his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.

“About marrying me tonight.  You never actually said yes, so…”

A twinkle in his eye and a slight mischief to his grin, Jon dove back into the picnic basket and emerged with a velvet ring box.  Martin’s hands flew to his mouth.

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did!  Nothing fancy, but I thought it was high time to retire the blood rings,” he explained rising from his former perch on his hip to kneel properly.

The box cracked neatly open, and inside lay a simple, white gold band with a tiny circle of milky moonstone embedded in it on a midnight-blue satin cushion, blindingly bright against the dark.  Martin sobbed joyfully all over again.

“So, uh… I suppose if it had just been us, if we’d just been together, without everything, and we’d arrived at this moment.  I would have done much the same.  I would have brought you somewhere beautiful, somewhere I could teach you some inane fact you didn’t actually care about, but liked because it came from me.  Emulsifiers in ice cream and rum raisin…” they both snickered, “And I would have tried my best to make it into some sort of romantic metaphor but completely bunged it up and you would be laughing as I got down on one knee, just like this.  And it would have just been simple.  To the point.  Just… Will you marry me?  So…”

Jon assumed the traditional position, on one knee, arms outstretched, his every slender point a star in a perfect constellation of love.

“Will you marry me?”

Their eyes met, across a thousand different realities, across a thousand different worlds, carried on celestial winds to fall hopelessly, inexorably, into each other’s orbit.

“Yes, yes I do believe I will.”

With one last farewell kiss upon it for what it had meant for them both, Jon slipped the bloodstone ring from Martin’s finger and replaced it with the delicate band made of starlight.  It took its place radiantly, and shone as Martin drew his hand back to admire it with an equally radiant grin before it dimmed with concern.

“But what about you?” he asked worriedly as he watched the old ring entombed lovingly in the box.

Jon only smirked and produced a second box from the basket, which he offered on his open palm out to Martin.

“Naturally, I got one for myself.  Couldn’t pass up a chance to get a wedding ring that actually fits, could I?  It’s just… Don’t you think you deserve to give it to me the way you would want?” he urged.

Martin took the box eagerly, biting his lower lip in thought.

“Not sure you want to give me that freedom.  I had about five different ways of asking you in my head and all of them you would have hated so, so much.  But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t kind of the point,” he answered wryly.

Jon chortled.

“Sorry I, the unromantic one, sprung this on you, the romantic one.  But I did want to surprise you.  I-I mean you can still write me a vows poem later?  If you want to, of course.  I’d love to have it, even if I don’t actually get to hear it at our wedding.”

Martin’s face flushed immediate crimson and his eyes darted coyly away as he toyed with the wedding band box in his lap.

“Oh that?  A-Actually I… I have it memorized, i-if you really wanted to hear it.”

“You- WHAT?” gasped Jon, his cheeks flushing in tandem.

“Oh yeah, I wrote my vows poem for you ages ago and I’ve gone over it so many times I know it by heart.  It was comforting, okay?  I-I’d read it again when times were good and I thought maybe you’d actually- um… a-and when times were not so good, when you were gone, in your own head, when I was afraid we were broken for good, whenever I needed it.  I’ve read it over a thousand times and never changed a thing from the first time I penned it.  Never needed to.  I’m surprised I haven’t recited it in my sleep at this point,” Martin admitted sheepishly.

Jon’s entire body flushed with a solar heat that melted his joints and his heart into a swirling flare of adulation.

“I can think of no better way, then, to receive my ring,” he breathed, reaching out to cup Martin’s cheek in his hand, “I’ve had my turn, now it’s yours.”

In mirror ballets of love exchanges, Martin cradled Jon’s hand against his cheek as he spoke the first lines of the vows etched ever on his being softly into his palm.

“Let he who, shadow dwelling, must In paper, pen, and book be bound Shake off the chains of dark and rust And chart his own bright fate unfound.

Let he with lifelong burdens borne Cut paper wings with thread of gold And hand in hand, the sky forsworn Flit clouds and sun in laughter bold.

Let he whose blood and soldier’s ken The world did shield from dark and fear Heal fast those wounds, be whole again And sleep at last, held close and dear.

Bring him to me with spirit free With stars in eyes and music sung From lips a joyful promise be One soul conjoined, one fate’s thread strung.

Two hearts rejoice in love renowned. We lift our heads, alive, uncrowned.”

He waited until the last couplet to pull the ring from the box and slide it onto Jon’s finger where it too, fit perfectly, like it had always been there, and shone defiantly bright in the moonlight.  Jon wept.  He had been weeping since the first words of verse left his beloved’s lips, but seeing that ring like a piece of his missing soul returned to him undammed the tears effusively.

“God that was… Martin, I don’t have words.  I-It was… so beautiful.  You’re so beautiful.  Thank you,” he cried fervently, “I wish I could tell you properly how much that meant, but I just-“

“Hey… That’s alright.  I’m the words guy.  You’re the emulsifiers guy.  Making you cry is all I need to see to know how you feel,” Martin assured him warmly, reaching out to brush his tears away as he chuckled.

“Yeah… add this one to the running tally.”

“Oh, I have,” Martin snickered, “Speaking of!  Now we’ve done the crying through vows bit.  Shouldn’t we say the ‘I do’ bit, as well?”

Jon pursed his lips with a shrug as he reached out with his left hand to take Martin’s left as well, twining their fingers together

“Yes, I suppose we should.  I don’t see why not.  Well then, Martin, do you?”

“I do.  And Jon, do you?”

“I do.”

“You may now soundly snog the groom.”

“Martin…”

The emphatic drawl of his name the way Jon only called it when he was frustratingly enamored of him perished gently against Martin’s velvet lips as they caressed his.  They kissed slowly and reverently, sealing a pact ordained by the heavens long before either of them had seen the stars in the other’s eyes, lighting with white flame the torch to guide them for the first time, forward.  They broke it only to punctuate it with two more featherlight kisses and a breathless laugh, bowing their foreheads together in deference to the forces of fate and the universe.

“I know this isn’t the wedding either of us ever dreamed of, but as far as I’m concerned, it was perfect,” Jon murmured, nuzzling closer into his husband, swaddling the new, fledgling and beautiful word in his heart.

“Well, hey, what is a wedding really other than just a formal declaration that this is it?  This is us, we’re forever, no matter what.  We did it.  And you did it for me, in the STARS, Jon… Can we just remember that again?  You put us in the actual stars.  I am so writing a ballad for our constellation later, you do know this.”

“Oh lord.  Of course you are.  But really, it was the least I could do, after you’ve done so much for me, sacrificed everything for me.  Waited for me for so long.”

“And you came back to me,” Martin reminded him passionately, “And I don’t just mean back to life, here, in this world.  I mean you came back, Jon, MY Jon, the Jon I was in love with the moment I laid eyes on him.  The fidgety and obstinate Jon who can’t make a decent cup of tea to save his life, who puts on two different socks in the morning because his nose is already in the paper or a book, who teaches me about bleeding rocks and binary stars and still reacts to the simplest acts of kindness like a warm cranberry orange scone without asking for one like they’re divine miracles he is undeserving of, who looks at me like I hung the moon or something every time.  Even when I thought I was a complete and total waste of a human being, you, Jonathan Sims, the most beautiful, amazing, brilliant man to ever walk the Earth, looked at me like I hung the moon.  And that was… Still is… everything to me.”

The heavens shifted, the stars wheeled, the last piece clicked smartly, smugly into place.

“W-What did you say…?” Jon asked with such urgency, grabbing his hands so fiercely, Martin startled.

“Wh-I-I don’t-?  Which part?  The moon hanging part?” he stuttered, rolling his eyes fondly as he realized mid-sentence, “Oh, right.  Ugh, Jon are you seriously going to get after me about your weird vendetta against idioms at our wedding?  Because if you are that would be annoyingly adorable and so intensely you and kind of perfect, but also can you not on THIS particular occasion?”

The laugh that tore from Jon’s throat was half mad, half euphoric as the weight of the moon lifted from his shoulders and became naught but an indifferent sentinel disc in the sky once more.

“No no no, it’s just… It’s funny, I had more than a few things very, very wrong for a very, very long time.  That’s all.  Don’t worry about it,” he explained, leaning in and pressing a delicate kiss to Martin’s forehead, “If you’re the one who hung the moon after all, then I suppose ‘written in the stars’ will have to do for me.”

Martin lit up with literary glee.

“Oh ho!  Two space related idioms in one go?  What a rare treat!  Maybe this is your gateway drug into puns…” he teased impishly.

“Absolutely no chance in hell.”

They both laughed, laughed with the billowing icy breath that reached with victorious fingers up to the heavens.  They laughed, messily sniffing back the pesky drip of tears and cold.  They laughed with lightness of the encumbrance of hematite armor shed, its bloody protections no longer needed to cage wounded hearts and keep them safe and close.  They laughed in breath and also in the dancing points of light in their eyes as they fell into one another free from gravity.

“So uh… Do I get to see my star tonight, or don’t I?” Martin finally remembered, relishing the utterly horrified yelp from Jon.

“Oh god I completely-!  Y-Yes!  Yes of course, it’s already set up at the proper coordinates!” he had already sprung to his feet, “Oh, though, hang on, it took longer to get to the star viewing part than I anticipated, so I might need to adjust it a bit.  Oh!  And I have a little strawberries and champagne, if you like?”

“I do like, please and thank you!”

Jon set to readjusting the telescope to the proper ascension and declination while Martin poured them two glasses of crisply bubbling champagne.  They twined their arms to drink a toast from each other’s glass, ‘to us’ or ‘to happily ever afters’, or to several other messily rambled toast worthy sentiments.  They couldn’t decide and toasted to all of it.  They ate plump red strawberries and licked the juice from each other’s fingers as they looked at their star, which was, after everything, just a dot, just like Pluto, but Martin had to admit that he rather liked looking at dots after all.  And that one was their dot.  The warm intoxication of love and champagne begged for music, and someone fumbled in the cold for a wedding playlist on some app, somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as they could join hands, gaze into each other’s eyes and dance inelegantly, stepping on each other’s toes, under the umbrella of stars in a gentle rain of moonlight.

“I don’t see your problem with cliches, idioms and all that, really…” Martin mused at length, laying his head on Jon’s shoulder as they slowly spun to the rhythm of a longing ballad and the song of the sea, “Like this stupid, great song.  They’re familiar and cozy and everyone knows them.  They’re like… like old friends.  Always there to rely on when we can’t come up with the words ourselves, because sometimes we can’t.  And if something trite and silly sums up the way you feel, why not just let it be?  Sometimes things are said over and over again because some truths are universal, you know?  They’re just… human.”

Jon pressed a kiss into the mop of curls that tickled his nose and smelled faintly of toasted sugar and lavender and mused on all of the romantic cliches that had just passed through his mind unbidden.  Who was he to deny he was but one star in the sky, a single gear in the grand mortal mechanism of the universe.  If he had handed himself over to the humanity of it all instead of rusting, stopping, looking outside where there was never anything to see, perhaps he could have had this dance much sooner.  It didn’t matter though, until it did, because that night Martin took his breath away, made his world go round, he was head over heels for his match made in heaven, and better than heaven, they were written in the stars.

“You know what, Martin?” Jon laughed in reply, “Tonight, being what it is, I am willing to concede.  You are absolutely right.”

“I’m glad…” came the tender acceptance, followed by a distinctly puckish beat of silence, “Then does this mean I can I start saying love you to the moon and back?”

“Don’t push your luck...”

[adhd-disaster-willie]

Seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 1/4

Summary: Just some snippets of backstory for the one and only Alex Mercer; aka my comfort character. Each moment will have a date attached so you can understand the timeline. Angst with fluffy found family moments :)

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing

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As I’m sure you could guess, there are numerous problems that come with being the only out gay kid at your school in 1994. It’s not so bad if you keep your head down and persuade your friends not to get into a fight with everyone who throws a slur your way, but regardless. That pink hoodie that you’ve been wearing since you were 14 and is honestly too small at this point but your parents refuse to buy you another one? Well it’s a target on your back and apparently everyone at the school is now a professional archer. Or at least, they’re all very proficient in the art of unoriginal insults that cut deeper than they should. All of this is to say, don’t come out to your religious parents in 1994. Ever.

---

Alex Mercer was born into a perfect nuclear family, in a two story house with a white picket fence, brick columns, and a clean cut yard that was unsettlingly green. His parents were as religious as anyone could get; straight-laced, good Catholic parents who kept their hands tight around Alex’s shoulders. He went to church every Sunday and tried to ignore the way his neck itched from the too-tight collar and his mother swatting at his hands until he had to sit on them to refrain from drumming on the nearest surface. He was good at hiding the way he payed undivided attention to his little sister’s ballet classes, good at pretending to stare at the girls in the hallways that all his friends drooled after, and especially good at convincing everyone that he drummed and sang to… impress said girls. Right. But unfortunately, Alex was even better at accidentally outing himself a day into the New Year, consequentially losing all of his parents’ affection.

He didn’t even exist to them anymore. Maybe it would’ve been better if they’d given him a million restrictions and curfews and basically chained his hands together, because this was unsettling. And lonely. Family dinners were a thing of the past, and he’d really begun to sympathize with Reggie and his microwaved, half-cold meals every morning and night. But it could always be worse. They hadn’t kicked him out… yet.

---

January 25, 1994

“Alex, dude!”

Alex flinched upon realizing Reggie’s hand waving in front of his face. He looked up and smiled guiltily, realizing the way he’d frozen, spaced out staring at the wall and absentmindedly hitting his sticks against his legs with a beat that didn’t at all match the song they were supposed to be rehearsing.

Luke sighed, wiping the pout off his face. “Alex, come on man! We aren’t gonna get any gigs if you keep…” He waved his hands vaguely and slapped Alex’s shoulder. “Just, pay attention dude.”

“Right,” Alex replied, his voice strained. He was staring down at his shoes and he could feel his bandmates having a silent conversation above his head which he could only deduce Luke was not happy with, probably meaning they were stopping rehearsal. He didn’t want them to stop for him; it made him feel like a burden, and Luke was right, if they were gonna make it anywhere, they had to be all in.

“Alex, you okay?” Reggie asked, his eyebrows knit together in concern.

Alex nodded briefly and kept his gaze trained on his feet. His sneakers were too small and he had to curl his toes in for them to fit but he was afraid of the reaction he’d get from telling his parents he needed something.

“It’s not one of those homophobic jackasses again, right?” Bobby asked, moving closer, his eyes narrowing. “I swear, this time I will cave Josh’s fucking face in-”

“It’s not!” Alex clarified, finally lifting his head. “It isn’t…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look it’s just my parents alright? They…”

Reggie’s eyes widened and he began fiddling with his flannel sleeves. “They didn’t… they didn’t hurt you did they?” He asked, his voice small.

“No, no they didn’t hurt me… not physically at least.” He laughed ruefully. “They’re just being stupid, alright? Ignoring me like they have for the past 3 weeks.” Alex stood up, well aware that at this point band practice was a thing of the past. He walked to the couch, the other three boys in tow.

“Hey!” Luke elbowed Alex’s side before throwing an arm over his shoulders. “That new Green Day album is coming out in like, a week.” He grinned, eyes lighting up. “I’ve been saving up to buy it, and we can use that new cassette player I got for Christmas to listen to it.”

Alex nodded, smiling softly and letting his head relax on the back of the couch. “Yea that sounds great. Promise you won’t listen to it without us?”

“Of course ‘Lex; we all gotta be there to find which songs we’re gonna cover.”

Reggie wrinkled his nose in confusion. “I thought you said we’d moved past being a cover band?”

“It’s Luke, he’ll make an exception for anything if it involves Green Day,” Bobby chuckled.

Several beats of silence passed in which the sun seemed to get increasingly lower in the sky, before Bobby sighed in resignation. “You’re all staying here tonight, aren’t you?”

Luke beamed, clapping Bobby’s shoulders. “You know us so well.”

“Sleepover!” Reggie laughed, pumping a fist in the air. “Does it count as a sleepover if we all basically live here at this point?”

“Shhh ‘Lex, don’t ruin our fun,” Luke responded.

Alex smiled hesitantly. Yea, he was okay.

---

May, 1994

Michael Williams had dark hair brushing the tips of his shoulders, eyes that were almost golden in certain lights and a smile that gave Alex butterflies. Not to mention he was in theater and had a reputation for flipping off the homophobic jocks that were constantly on Alex’s tail. Not that he did it specifically for Alex, but still. The only problem was that talking to cute boys that he hadn’t known since 3rd grade was far from Alex’s strong point.

“Come on Alex!” Luke groaned, sliding into the last open seat at their lunch table. “Just talk to him before I literally combust.” He punctuated his sentence by waving at Alex with a cold french fry.

Alex grumbled something, his face in his arms in a futile attempt to hide the red dusting his cheeks.

“Hey Luke, if you explode because Alex refuses to talk to his crush, can I have your CD’s?” Reggie quipped, a lopsided grin on his face.

Luke gasped in mock offense. “Reginald-!”

“Still not my name.”

“I will be buried with my music,” Luke said. “Both of my guitars too-”

“Even your amp?” Bobby questioned.

“Yes.”

“Seems like a waste of space. Can you even fit all that in a coffin?”

Luke shrugged. ���You guys can figure it out. Don’t betray my dying wish.”

Something that would’ve been silence had Luke ever been taught how to chew like a normal person passed over the table, in which Alex’s attention drifted lazily back to Michael Williams, who was chatting enthusiastically with one of the girls in his theater class. Alex didn’t know her name but they had biology together and she never gave him dirty looks, so he liked her.

“10 bucks if you go talk to him,” Bobby said, nudging Alex and waggling his eyebrows.

“No. No,” Alex said. “Not happening.”

“15.”

“Where is this money coming from?” Alex squeaked, although the prospect of $15 was all too tempting. He could get some decent shoes for that.

“20,” Bobby continued, grinning maniacally.

“Dude!” Luke laughed. “How are your parents gonna like you asking for money to fulfill a bet?”

Bobby slapped a hand over Luke’s mouth.

“I’m gonna regret this,” Alex sighed, already moving to stand up.

Reggie giggled like a child and offered a shit-eating grin to Alex, who promptly flipped him off before heading across the cafeteria.

---

December 17, 1994

Alex was screwed. No. Alex was completely fucked. Alex Mercer was likely seconds away from living in a ditch. Because of course it had to be his sister who caught him making out with a guy after school. And of course she was too young to understand why she couldn’t tell Mom and Dad. Because she would’ve done the same if he’d been kissing a girl because kissing is gross and it’s funny to tell your parents that your big brother was kissing someone.

“Hey Mom, guess what Alex did today?” Angie asked, giggling. She was perched on the counter, licking frosting from her fingers while their mother brushed cookie crumbs from her dress. And Alex was frozen at the top of the stairs, crouched down, his heart pounding so loud he was sure it could be heard downstairs. He dug his nails into his palms and prayed that his mother would pretend he didn’t exist when he wanted her to. It was one thing, them knowing. But this? This was something else. Alex’s parents lived on the philosophy that homosexual thoughts got you an eternity in hell, but homosexual actions got you shunned and thrown out. So yea, he was screwed.

“What did Alex do today?” His mother asked, plastering a false smile onto her face, her voice sounding like she was already packing his bags. Alex wanted to get up and run. He wanted to go to his room and jump out the window and fly away. But it was like the sweat on his palms was superglue keeping him stuck to the carpet, and his brain had short-circuited.

Angie laughed again, trying to get it out through her snickering. “Alex was kissing someone today.” She sang, her small feet swinging back and forth, the noise of her heels against the counter like knives in Alex’s ears. “That boy Michael that used to go to our church.” The innocence in her voice made Alex ache.

“Angie.” His mother’s voice was cold now. “Leave please.”

Angie’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she scurried up the stairs anyway, giving Alex a tearful hug on the way because even at ten, she knew that that voice meant trouble. “Sorry ‘Lex. I shouldn’t ‘a told your secret,” She whispered, before sprinting to her room and leaving Alex wondering if he’d get to see her after tonight.

“Alex Mercer, please come downstairs.” Her voice chilled him to the bone, like shards of ice penetrating his skin and seeping into his blood. But he walked down anyway.

Alex tightened the muscles in his hands and feet, willing himself to stay still and planted to the wooden floor, facing his mother head-on, as if the look in her eyes wasn’t terrifying him to the point of tears. But he wouldn’t let her see that she was getting to him, he wouldn’t. So he bit his tongue and counted down from ten inwardly.

“What is this nonsense?” She hissed, reaching out and gripping his forearm, her nails a millimeter away from digging into his skin.

Alex swallowed roughly. “I- I don’t know. Angie’s just… she’s-”

“Don’t lie to me!” His mother snapped. She brought her hand back, curling her fingers in with a look of disgust, as if she’d been touching fire. And then she was speaking again, but Alex couldn’t hear her over the pounding in his ears. He tightened his jaw and shut his eyes momentarily. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Get out.”

His eyes snapped open. Alex stood still in front of her, searching her eyes for the slightest bit of remorse. But there was nothing but ice. So he left. He left with tears running down his face and he couldn’t even bring himself to say goodbye to Angie. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the block when he realized that he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a backpack full of everything he could fit, and no where to go. He collapsed on the ground, the cold night air finally hitting him, seeping into his bones. He looked up and wiped his eyes, sniffling. It was odd, the way that the Christmas lights were able to look so beautiful when he felt so broken inside. It felt almost unfair that everything outside of him was moving at a normal pace like nothing had changed. But Alex knew better than that. Everything had changed.

---

These are the people who expressed interest in reading this when I posted about it a few days ago :)

@edgeofgillespie @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @lookingthroughmirrors

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

[hwrryscherry]

which songs of harry do u think would be about model y/n?

alright so at 1st i want to say that today, January 8th it's Harry and model Y/N 3rd anniversary🥺🥺🥺 anyway, so they weren't together on HS1 so let's focus on Fine Line.

Sunflower vol.6 - I can TOTALLY see it as a song about model y/n because her favorite flower is sunflowers(duh) but not only this. So right at the beggining of the song, Harry says "let me inside, wish I could get to know you", what could represent that when they met and started their friendship it was really hard for Harry to "read" her because model y/n is actually a very closed person and it takes a while to actually have her to be all open and her real persona around you, and that phrase just represents how much he put on a effort about wanting to make her feel comfortable enough around him. And then he says "i don't wanna make you feel bad. But I've been trying hard not to talk to you", what represents their first fight. It was pretty much a stupid fight about jealousy and after storming out and staying a little time apart while things calmed down, I think it was very hard for them to keep that distance because they were already so used to having the other around and talking everyday and Harry knew the fight was stupid and it wasn't her fault. And then "i couldn't want you any more. Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor.", here he makes a reference about the beggining their relationship when no one actually knew they were together so they'd have indoors dates, so they created the tradition of cooking together everyday and how they kept their tradition along the way. Then he says "I've got your face hung up high in the gallery. I love this shade, sunflower, sunflower", Harry makes a reference about how head over heels he is for her. He literally kisses the floor she walks by and she just have that classic academia vibes and it's really into art and some days she and Harry would just make a mess with painting while listening to some songs.

Adore You - Adore you is a for sure! Harry said once that Adore you is about that honeymoon phase of a relationship and how devoted you are to the other person at that stage. Harry and Model Y/N would be that type of couple to go out doing such simple things like having a picnic, painting, walking at the beach, baking together or just sitting around talking about the songs they've been listening to and it would be so fun. When he says "you don't have to say you love me. you don't have to say nothing. you don't have to say you're mine", he's also talking about her being so private at the beggining and how he never wanted to rush her or rush things between them because he really liked her and he was afraid that he'd ruin it by rushing things. And when he says "i'd walk through fire for you, just let me adore you like it's the only thing I'll ever do", it's the exact moment when she opened up for him and he just fell completely in love with who she is. All the summer references he did in it would be about their first trip together in which they had their first kiss that was a trip with some friends to Ibiza.

Canyon Moon - Oh god, Canyon Moon would be about all the times they are apart. Those moments when Harry is on tour or doing promo and she is traveling doing fashion shows everywhere and they're thinking about getting back to each other because the sky looks way more blue when they're together. The yellow door could maybe make a reference about Harry's house in London because yellow is one of Y/N's favorite colors so I just think when he'd take her there, she'd just say that they had to paint his front door yellow. And then he says "I'll be gone too long from you" "two weeks and I'll be home", just represents how much he wanted to be with her and how her company makes him feel good. And the "she plays songs I've never heard. An old lover's hippie music, pretends not to know the words" gotta be my favorite part. I just think that they would get together and show each others the new songs in their playlists and she'd come over with some really cool and hippie songs from the 70's and show Harry and then even though she knows the songs he's showing to him, she'd just pretend like she doesn't because he gets so happy explaining it to her.

[gnarf]

Gnarf’s 2020

and what a fucking year that was... Anyways, let’s talk about the good things, shall we?

I made it through 2020 alive and without going insane! Yay! So lets see what else I did. (This is a long post)

In the beginning of 2020 I said I won’t participate in many fests. Only three or something like that. Lets check how that went!

Fests Gnarf participated in: 9

@lockdownfest @lcdrarry @hd-wireless @hpfluff-fest @hd-hurtfest @hd-fan-fair @hd-erised @gameofdrarry in drarropoly @wireless-festive-minifest​

Haha yup, three. Sounds legit. I also wandered off to try if I can art! No worries, I gave that up :D Mad respect to all Artists, arting is exhausting and the progress is too slow for me.

If you really want to check out my attempts, here’s what made its way onto AO3:

Dont Blink! for LCDrarry, it includes the Angels from Doctor Who and was a pain in the arse.

If you knew... was made for H/D Wireless and has the armiest arm i ever saw, very proud of that one. Its also the last thing I made.

Home Sweet Home was also made for H/D Wireless, and the first bigger art piece I tried my hand on.

A muffled groan which is rather explicit and I entirely forgot about making it :D it has a ficlet going with it too.

(I think theres other Art stuff here with the tag #gnarf draws or something)

I reached my yearly goal of writing 100k words once again!

Fics and Ficlets I wrote this year: 20(ish)

Better Side of the Bed (Lock Down Fest, T, 2k)

It was all Malfoy's fault. Harry could be at the Burrow right now, but instead he was trapped in Malfoy's tiny flat. All because that dick couldn't stop bothering him about a stupid life debt he didn't even care about.

Doing What's Best (G, ~800 words)

Lucius looked down at the little bundle currently sleeping in Narcissa's arms and felt terror shoot through his body. A little boy, his hair so white it was nearly invisible. Born only a few hours ago, taking his first breath in the light of the rising sun. Narcissa had whispered a welcome, her eyes wet, her smile bigger than ever. But they both knew, even though temporarily safe, he really wasn't. Draco was born into a world ruled by war. If only it'd end soon.

I better be hallucinating this (T, 3.8k)

After the war Draco Malfoy is sentenced to Azkaban for a really long sentence. Apparently aiding in Dumbledore's death overrules any argument Harry could put up for him. After the trial, as the days pass by, Harry is more and more outraged at the sentence. He can't stop obsessing over the fact that Draco Malfoy saved his life and aided him during the war and is very much capable of redemption. Not to mention that Malfoy has always been a delicate git and would never survive Azkaban. After a few weeks obsessing Harry decides that Malfoy indeed can't remain unjustly in Azkaban and starts to plot a way to break him out of jail and hide him in Grimmauld Place. When Hermione finds out she's not amused. Ron is horrified. Draco still thinks he's hallucinating.

Keep Holding On (Wireless, M. 33.333) A collab with @maesterchill​ who surprised me with lovely art for it!

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fall into their own battles with their mental states. Draco is sent to Azkaban, and Harry turns to drinking, hoping to forget. Months later, Harry visits St Mungo’s new ward on the request of a friend, only to find Draco in a deep vegetative state. Not willing to give him up, Harry stays by his side, while simultaneously dealing with the Ministry's newest grand idea to make everything worse. Making new allies, and losing old ones along the way, will hopefully be worth it in the end.

Age is just a number (Fluff Fest, T, 1.5k)

Married for decades, their life is perfect. Until Harry gets a call and hears the following words: "Mr Potter, we caught your husband stealing ten large packs of King Sized condoms."

There was still hope (Hurt Fest, M, 3.1k)

Draco winced as pain shot through his leg with every step. This secret, back-alley laboratory had been his last chance, last hope, to find the potion. But nobody had it in stock, and there was no time left to brew it himself. Panic was slowly overtaking his entire mind as he crept out of the store and back to the nearest alley to Apparate back home. He already felt off, and it was still early in the day. Of course this thestral-shit had to happen to him, of all people. As if life wasn't bad enough for him already.

Desire (E, 1.7k)

"Auror Potter, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here. What can I do for you?" "Stop the show, Malfoy. There's no one around, and I'm not here as an Auror." Draco watched Potter move closer until they were nearly nose to nose, only the small counter of his shop kept Potter at distance. Potter's eyes were dark with something Draco couldn't exactly name, his face was flushed and the air surrounding him felt somehow static. Draco felt the urge to lean further over his counter, to drink in his sight, to touch the man on the other side—but he didn't.

Drarropoly 2020 currently holds 7 ficlets and is in a Series. The highest rating is Mature and its 3.2k in total at this point.

Let's not wait for France (Fan Fair, T, 17.7k)

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy. An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw. Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

Love letters for the oblivious (Mini Wireless, T, 716 words)

Draco had gotten the strangest letters all week long, which wasn't what anyone needed at Christmas. Especially not him. Either someone was taking the piss, or he had a very dumb and inefficient secret admirer. And Draco didn't know which would be worse.

Double-Booked (Mini Wireless, T, 2.1k)

Finally, peace and quiet, and— "Malfoy?!?" Or the one where Harry thought he could enjoy a quiet Christmas far from everyone, just to find out that the cabin he had booked already accommodated another guest.

The best Christmas he ever had (Mini WirelessT, 1.9k)

Christmas had never been less appealing to him than this year. That was until Arthur Weasley showed up at his door, dressed as Santa, inviting him to the Burrow.

Anon Fests to be added

Whoever made it to this point: yoooo! Friend! Lots of love to you! I also got tagged in many get to know me posts, plenty of love in my Inbox giving me love slaps left and right (honestly, im bruised, stop slapping me), amazing person awards, top 5 fics, and whatever you can think of.

To make up for not answering most of them because I’m a horrible person:

My favourite colour: purple My age: I’ll be 30 next year in April, I expect gifts, I don’t accept first borns My favourite trope: eight year My favourite animal: cat My favourite ice cream: Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough Here’s my writing Playlist, it’s the worst you’ll ever see, and yes, I use YouTube, I’m old.

Other things that happened in 2020 that made me happy:

I kicked out my mentally/emotionally abusive partner of 7 years in January

I kept my grandma alive through this *waves hand at world*

I was able to share my birthday cake with my family becaus I got to leave my first quarantine a few days before my birthday

I got to keep my job

I found a lot of lovely friends in this fandom, and got to keep them through this year

My cats are their usual little jerks and actually enjoyed me being at home due to the raging pandemic

I finally cut off my hair

I’m about to hit 3.5k followers here and I love you all

I’m also tagging everyone who sees this and wants to do something similiar! Show us what you did in 2020, the things you’re proud of, and the things you loved! Let’s spread some happy for the end of the year 💜🥰

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part 17 of ??)

Hello everyone! Thank you all for being so patient! I had pretty bad writers block and couldn’t figure out where I wanted the story to go from the last chapter. I was also dealing with some irl problems as well. It seems like a lot of creators were having the same problems though January and February though. Hopefully March will make everything smooth out! I think I figured out where to go from here (I have the end all planned out, but getting there without ruining the pacing is what’s been giving me problems). I appreciate everyone’s patience while I figured things out, and hopefully I can get back on a normalized schedule!

Anywho, if you’re new to this story and would like to start at the beginning, here’s the link to part 1. Every chapter should have a link to the next part at the end, so hopefully you decide to read it all :D

Tags <3 : @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan @theuglypugling @oofthelazyweeb @mammonismyfirstman (I’m not great about putting this on every chapter, but if you want to be added to the tags list, just comment below asking to be added (I don’t want to assume everyone commenting wants a tag so just make sure to mention tag in the comment) or you can send me a DM :) Also, I just went through all the chapters so far and I think I have everyone. If I missed you just remind me and I’ll put you in!)

Word Count: 2566

TW: some angst relating to last chapter but that’s about it

Satan sat in his room, contemplating whether telling Mc about Michael was a good idea or not. It’d been a couple days since she’d come over and he hadn’t heard anything from her. It was worrying him more than he wanted to admit, but he knew from spending a lot of time with her as a human, it would be a better idea for him to leave her alone until she was ready to talk to him. From the way she speaks about him, it’s pretty clear their relationship is a bit strained. Actually, it reminds me a bit of me and Lucifer, though with obvious differences. 

While the Avatar of Wrath would never admit it aloud, he did have a kind of respect for Lucifer. It took a different form than anyone else’s mostly because he knew him. All of him. Flaws, strengths, weaknesses, secrets. Well, at least up until his birth. He’d had no idea about Lilith and what Lucifer had done. Lucifer had definitely changed a lot since the Fall, but Satan could generally figure out what he was thinking or how he was going to respond to a situation. So, what was going on with Mc and Michael?

Obviously he didn’t want her talking with him at least. There was probably some fear she’d fall, taking the path of her ancestor but for a being in the Devildom. He couldn’t see any war resulting from her Falling. It would be from her own choice, with no forbidden fruit or humans involved. He was pretty sure Michael didn’t feel anything romantic for her, so it probably wasn’t anything involved in wanting her to stay for him. So why?

He was pulled from his thoughts by his DDD ringing. Hoping it was Mc, he answered by the second ring, “Hello?”

“Congratulations! You’ve won an-” Satan growled and hung up. Stupid solicitor.

There was a knock at his door, “Yo Satan. I got somethin’ for ya’,” Satan sighed, but got up to answer the door. Pulling it open, he saw Mammon and Mc on the other side, “Said she wanted ta talk ta ya. It sounded urgent so…” Mammon smiled a bit apologetically.

“That’s quite alright. Mc, hello. How lovely to see you. Do you want to come in?”

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” Mc entered his room as Satan shot daggers through his eyes at Mammon.

“A little warning next time would be nice.”

“Oi! If ya hadn’t been so… gloomy lately maybe I wouldn’t have been so worried- No, ya should just be grateful to the Great Mammon. I’m not an errand boy ya know,” and with that, Mammon stalked off down the hallway.

Satan rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything back. He understood Mammon was just trying to help him, “Well, it’s nice to see you Mc. How… Are you okay?” Mc was turning slowly, looking at his room in awe. He would’ve just figured she was simply impressed by his room like she had been the other first time she’d seen it, but she looked rattled.

“Oh! I was just… Umm… Your collection is really impressive,” she deflected his question, smiling. The unease remained in her eyes though.

“Yes. This is my personal collection,” Satan answered, leaving his question unanswered.

“It’s quite… impressive,” as she turned, Satan caught her frown again. Does she not like how messy it is?

“Though they’re not all on shelves, I make sure they’re all kept in good shape. I honestly just don’t have enough wall space or bookshelves for them all.”

“Oh… I understand. I tend to get book piles too,” Mc answered, a bit caught off guard. 

So it’s not the mess. What could it be?

“So, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you. I just haven’t heard from you for a couple days.”

“I’m sorry about that and just showing up out of the blue like this. I had a lot to think about after… last time, and some things to research. Then inspiration randomly struck for my next art show. Not to mention, Michael’s been keeping a close eye on me ever since he blew up. I wanted to see you, and I didn’t even think to message you first. I’m sorry about that.”

Satan was at a loss for words. She wanted to come see me. She wanted to see me so much, she just showed up. I should really say something to her right now, but I’m not sure what to say.

“You’re not angry with me, are you?” Mc turned back to him, looking worried.

“Of course not. I was afraid you were possibly upset with me, and Lucifer I suppose, for what we told you. I know hearing something like that must be hard.”

Mc smiled, “Well, that’s good to know. As to what you told me… I do trust you guys. More so than I trust most of the other angels in fact… But you are demons and what you told me was… Anyway, I was researching what you told me to see if I could corroborate your story and I did find a couple different mentions of Lilith, one of which told of a connection between her and the fruit. I couldn’t prove or disprove the claims that he… That he was the one that shot her, but with how defensive he immediately got after I mentioned seven angels falling instead of six… I… I can’t bring myself to believe he’d do something that terrible yet, but I do believe you guys on everything else, and… it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. In any case, the Celestial Realm definitely covered up much of the war, including its causes. I had a suspicion when I originally learned about it, but figured it was all just in my head,” Mc looked Satan straight in the eyes, “I want to thank you for being honest with me.”

“How are you so sure we didn’t lie to you? Like you said, we are demons.”

“Call it a hunch,” Mc smiled, “Anyway, I really appreciate it, and I wanted you to have this,” she handed him a very lifelike drawing, “I thought you might like cats, so I frew my favorite one from the Celestial Realm.”

Satan couldn’t believe his eyes, “Leo?”

“Huh?”

“That’s Leo. I… half adopted him a while ago.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, he’s got hearts all over him right? The one on his forehead and chest are the most prominent, but there’s a couple more on his back and stomach right? Hold on. I have a couple photos here,” and Satan went rustling through a drawer. It was hard to find a photo of him without Mc, but he knew there were some. Leo was a cat that he and Mc had adopted together. She’d used all her charm and reasoning skills to get Lucifer to agree to allowing a cat in the house. She had promised him it would only be the one cat, though they secretly were planning on getting another once Leo passed. They unfortunately didn’t get the chance to see that happen, as Mc passed away before Leo did. Lucifer had allowed Satan to keep the cat as a way to cope with Mc’s death. He listened to me! I told him to go find his Mom once he left me, and he did! I’m so happy!

He finally found a good picture to show Mc, “See? Same cat.”

“Oh my! You’re right! That’s incredible!”

“So, you said he was your favorite?”

“Yeah. Because of how transient most cats are, they don’t spend long in the Celestial Realm. He may not spend a lot of time with me, but I do see him around a lot, and he has comforted me before. A lot of the other angels think he was a pet of mine from my human life, and that's why he sticks around.”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to stay with you?”

Mc looked up at Satan, “You really think that?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You didn’t even know me then. What if I was boring or really dumb in the human realm?”

Satan slapped himself internally for not being more careful, “I highly doubt you were either of those two things. I know when people come down here, they don’t lose any of their personality.”

“Really?”

“Yup. It makes the whole process of breaking them so much more entertaining,” seeing Mc’s worried expression, he cleared his throat and moved on, “With that line of thinking, angels would be the same way. Your placement was just decided by how good you were in life.”

“What if I was a Wanderer though?”

Satan sucked in a breath at that. She had been a Wanderer? There was a chance she could have ended up here with him?

“There’s a lot of theories on why someone might Wander. None of them are conclusive though. I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you.”

“Satan?”

“Yes?”

“When the time comes, will you answer my questions?” Mc didn’t look at Satan, but he had the feeling this was an extremely important question.

“Of course I will.”

Satan watched some tension leave Mc’s body, as she turned to him and smiled sincerely, “Thank you.”

“Well, of course. That’s assuming I can answer them.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be able to,” she answered cryptically.

“Very well then. Since you’re here, would you like to stay and read? Or we can go somewhere if you’d like,” she turned to him, and he couldn’t help the words that fell from his lips, “I just want to spend some time with you.”

Mc looked a bit shocked, but then she smiled softly, “I’d really like that.”

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

They decided on reading, but not before they went downstairs to grab some snacks. As predicted, Beel was there as well.

“Hey Mc,” Beel grinned, his feast not yet begun.

“Hi Beelze… Actually, is it alright if I call you Beel?”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Beel cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“It’s just… I don’t know you very well, so I didn’t know if it was alright. Plus, they always refer to you as Beelzebub in the Celestial Realm.”

“Wait… Do they talk about us up in the Celestial Realm?”

“Not a lot, but when speaking about our history they do talk about you all, especially Lucifer.”

“What do they say about me?” Beel had grabbed his wrist.

“Yeah, what do they say about us? I wanna know,” Belphie’s head popped out from underneath the table, making Mc yelp a little and grabbed onto Satan’s arm. His hand automatically covered hers, a reflex from when she had been a human.

“Oh yeah. Belphie’s here too,” Beel added happily, watching the angel and his brother.

Belphie smirked, eyes on their arms, “So, what do they say about us?”

“You give me a near heart attack and then carry on like nothing happened?” Mc asked, a bit embarrassed.

“Your fault for not looking,” Belphie grunted, looking at Satan who was nearly frozen in place, his eyes focused on the point of contact, “You woke me up so maybe you should be apologizing to me.”

“Belphie, don’t be mean. You were hiding weren’t you?” Beel asked.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point. And how long are you going to keep clinging to my brother like that? I know he’s stronger than me, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

Mc looked to see she was still grabbing Satan’s arm, “Eep! S-Sorry! I didn’t realize,” she removed herself and took a step away, face burning.

“That’s quite alright Mc,” Satan managed to get out.

“So, what’d you guys come down here for?” Beel asked, frowning a bit at Belphie.

“Ah, right. Snacks. We came down for snacks,” Mc said quickly, face still flushed.

“I can help with that,” Beel said, “Come over here Mc and I’ll help you pick food out.” By the time their snacks were decided, both Mc and Satan had to carry them up to his room.

“We have way too many snacks,” Satan observed, “I’ll still have some in my room a month from now.”

“Awww, come on you guys! I went down to resupply early to avoid Beel taking everything, but it was really you two I needed to watch out for?”

“He was already there when we went down. He sent us back with all this,” Satan answered, not really wanting to deal with Levi at the moment. The twins had already taken up enough valuable reading time as it was.

“Of course he would. He never thinks about me when he cleans out the fridge. It’s not like it’s easy for me to just leave the house to go get something, but no one ever thinks about me. It’s probably because I’m a-”

“Oh, do you want these then?” Mc cut him off, extending her full arms.

“Wha…? You’re giving these to me?”

“Sure. Why not?” Mc smiled at him.

Levi’s eyes went wide and his lower lip quivered a bit, “You’re so kind. You’re truly an angel now.”

“Because I wasn’t before?” Mc chuckled.

Levi’s eyes got even wider and he looked down, “W-Well, I-I… Just… Thank you for the food. I think I need to go back to my room now!”

“Oh, sure. Here you go,” the snacks were handed off, Levi only dropping 3 in his haste, and then he was walking as quickly as he could down the hallway towards his room.

“That was weird,” Mc commented, watching him hurry down the hallway.

“He’s weird,” Satan sighed, extremely grumpy that Levi not only interrupted them but then said something so thoughtless, “Don’t worry about him.”

“Sure,” Mc replied, though he was sure she was still wondering about it.

“Let’s just get to my room before we’re interrupted by anyone else.”

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

Satan closed his book and stretched, enjoying the increase in blood flow throughout his body, “How are you enjoying- Oh,” Mc, who he had given the bed to, the place she had read before they would read cuddled together, was asleep. She was breathing deeply, book still clutched in her hand.

Chuckling, Satan padded over to the bed, and pulled a blanket over her. Coincidentally, it was one she had given him. She had been convinced it was the best blanket for reading ever. He had put a perseverance spell on it so it never got worn past where it was comfortable. Now that he had it for a long time, he found himself agreeing with her.

He allowed himself a moment to admire her sleeping form, the muntins in his window throwing a line across her face. She adjusted in her sleep, pulling the blanket closer. She smiled sleepily, murmuring something that almost sounded like his name. She truly is just as beautiful as before she left that last time. The last time I ever saw her alive…

His hand caressed her jaw line before he knew what he was doing, “I’ll never lose you again. For as long as you’ll allow me in your life, I’ll be here. I promise you that,” he whispered, leaning down and lightly pressing his lips to her forehead.

She stirred at the contact, eyes opening sleepily and focusing on him, “Mnh, Satan?”

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

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome! Until next time!

[iamanartichoke]

Thank you for the tag, @teadrinkingwolfgirl!

2020 Creator Wrap

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

So, this is pretty embarrassing, insofar as I have not created much of anything this year and therefore have little to link to. So there are 2 links and 1 excerpt of a WIP. 

A Graveyard of Stars. I am actually really proud of this one. It’s the first (and only, so far) attempt I’ve made at writing Endgame!Thor, whose depression and nervous breakdown have made him a very different Thor from the one I am used to writing. I like to think I did an okay job, but more than that, it was really a great writing exercise bc I enjoyed really just exploring what I could do with the character. 10/10, would create again. 

The Sea at the End of a Cliff. A perpetual work in progress, but in my defense, I do have a plan. It’s just the “being motivated to write it” part I’m struggling with. This had a few updates this year and some pretty significant plot developments (addressing Brunn’s alcoholism, which I have been trying to do; Loki and Brunn breaking up, bc love isn’t always enough (and also angst); Dagny developing more as an OC and building a friendship with Loki; Loki and Tony developing their friendship; Loki and Thor perpetually being Loki and Thor). So even though it’s not much, I think I can still count it as a win. 

And my current work-in-progress, which started as a seed of an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone and which is a little bit complicated, plot-wise, which I’m trying to work out. My original goal was for it to be 10k, but it might end up 15k. Since I can’t link it yet, here’s an excerpt (which is a continuation of the snippet I posted recently and still needs a lot of polishing but whatever):

“I wouldn’t worry, brother,” Thor says, when Loki gives voice to his concerns - not just the long voyage to Earth but what, exactly, Thor intends to do there once they arrive. Certainly, there is no love lost for Loki. It is in all of their best interests for Loki to be long gone before the Statesman ever breaches Earth’s atmosphere. 

“I have a feeling everything’s going to work out fine,” Thor adds. 

They are standing at the huge window in Thor’s quarters, beyond which lies the vast openness of the stars. Loki glances from the window to Thor, and then back again, a flicker of a smile crossing his features. There is absolutely no reason to believe that everything is going to work out fine - and, in fact, ample reason to believe that exactly the opposite - but just for a moment, Thor’s optimism is a touch endearing. 

Instead of responding outright, Loki just inches a bit closer and nudges Thor’s shoulder with his own. It takes both of them by surprise; neither can remember the last time Loki had reached out and willingly touched Thor first. “You can be quite stupid,” Loki says, before Thor can voice it. 

Thor’s eyebrows draw together. “Why?” 

“Not everything will magically work out. It’s naive to believe that. You’re king now. Naivete is dangerous.” 

“I prefer optimistic, not naive.” Thor lifts his shoulders a bit. “We’ve just gone through Ragnarok, Loki. The end of everything. How can you blame me for wanting to believe it’ll get better from here?” 

“I don’t blame you; I just think it’s short-sighted.” 

“Stupid, you mean,” Thor supplies flatly. 

“Yes.” 

A muscle moves in Thor’s jaw, which makes Loki step away again, re-establishing the space that he’d closed a moment ago. “I suppose you think you know better? After all, you have been ruler of Asgard the past four years. Or were you too busy drinking wine and attending the theatre to concern yourself with the rest of the Nine Realms?” 

Loki hunches his shoulders, refusing to meet Thor’s gaze. He had started this conversation, but Thor’s tone grates on him now and he wishes that he’d said nothing at all. “Forget it,” he snaps. “I’ll keep my concerns to myself from now on.” 

“You be sure to do that.” Thor turns away; he stalks over to the liquor shelf and busies himself with pouring a drink. Loki watches, an odd sensation creeping over him, like he wants to crawl out of his skin. Perhaps Loki had been too blunt in calling Thor stupid, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Thor has barely stepped foot on Asgard in the last four years - it is Loki who kept the realm afloat while Thor gallavanted around the galaxy doing norns knew what. 

Of course Loki enjoyed leisure time; any king would. That did not mean he’d shirked his responsibilities toward the throne. 

Stolen throne, a tiny voice nags him, a voice Loki resolutely ignores. It’s semantics anyway. 

“What,” Thor asks, when he realizes that Loki is just staring at him. 

Loki blinks and shakes his head. He intends to say nothing; instead, what comes out is, “I just wish you listened to me.” 

“You don’t have all the answers, brother, even if you like to pretend you do,” Thor counters. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sets down his half-empty glass. “I’m sorry. I value your opinion.” 

Loki snorts. 

“I do,” Thor insists. His gaze flickers over Loki and something in it softens. “I want you to be here with me, making decisions with me, helping me rebuild Asgard. It’s just that I hate it when you call me stupid. Always have.” 

Loki feels his shoulders slump a bit. “You’re not stupid,” he grants, “but you do stupid things. You act first, and think later. Our situation is so precarious now, I just …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I just worry.” 

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about the good of Asgard,” Thor responds, picking up his glass again. He takes a long swallow, so he doesn’t see the stricken look that surely crosses Loki’s face, if the way Loki’s heart drops without warning is any indication. 

Would I have come back if I didn’t? he wants to ask - but, Thor will likely just dismiss Loki’s actions as manipulative in some way, even if he had not yet figured out how. It is what always happens. 

Instead of giving voice to his hurt, Loki just shrugs. His features have recovered by the time Thor looks at him again.

My goal for January is to finish this fic, so we’ll see how it goes. But, there we are for my 2020 creations! Tagging @thelightofthingshopedfor @ms-aqua-marvella @wnnbdarklord @illwynd @lazy-cat-corner @writernotwaiting + anyone else who wants to! 

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 12

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge of art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

A/N: For some reason my taglist didn’t work last time. Some people didn’t get a noti so make sure you read ch. 11. Link in masterlist!! 

Masterlist

Best Excercise For The Heart? Getting Chased by Mob. 

Peter's heart was beating on another plane of existence.

His palms were sweaty and stomach just a bit queasy. He knew he shouldn't have had such a big breakfast, but it's not like May would let him leave the house without at least three pancakes shoved into his mouth.

Bucky greets Peter by slapping his hand over his shoulder making him jump in surprise.

"Woah, chill out kid," Bucky said with a chuckle.

"Sorry," he shook his head. "I'm just a little nervous."

"I got ya," Bucky replied. "Listen there's nothing to it, you just gotta sit there. The boss is gonna do all the talking. He just wants us there for backup. Natasha can’t make it so you’re gonna take her spot."

"But why does he want me there?" Peter asked curiously, "I'm still new and–"

"The big guy thinks you've got a lot of potential," Bucky explained and Peter's eyes grow wide in shock. The mob king thought he had potential? He smiles in hiding, trying to not let it get to him. Too late. Head full. Pride skyrocketing.

"Truth is, I don't see it," Bucky stated flatly, "but he's weird like that."

"Thanks, you're so nice," Peter replied, mildly sarcastic, but Bucky lets it go just this once. He shakes him with another pat on the back.

"Come on, get in," he pushes him into the office.

Peter takes a seat next to Sam who gives him a friendly smirk. At least he thinks it's friendly. He really can't tell with those two.

Steve enters the room and Peter sits straight up. The kingpin smiles warmly. “You brought the kid.”

“You told us to,” Bucky replied.

“Right,” Steve said as if he forgot. “How’s it goin’ kid? You and your girl doin’ alright?”

“Yes Sir!” he replied quickly. Steve Rogers remembers that he has a girlfriend. Wow, what a nice guy.

“Now listen here,” Sam brought him back to earth. “When the guy comes don’t get all bouncy. Just chill out and relax.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded.

“And don’t go blabbing random stuff, ya hear?” Bucky reminded him.

“I don’t do that!” he retorted.

“Only talk when spoken too, but never answer if you don’t know what to say,” Sam instructed. “Never show someone else that you’re unsure. Always be confident even when you’re not.”

“Talk but don’t talk,” Peter repeated. “Be confident even when you’re not. That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense,” Bucky retorted. “You’re just stupid.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Don’t mess this up, kid or your ass is grass,” Sam warned, earning a loud, guttural groan from Peter.

Steve chuckled. “Listen, Pete, just go with your gut, ya hear? Just go with what you know, alright?”

“Yes, Sir!” He nodded like a child.

A knock came at the door and opened.

“Mr. Rogers,” the secretary popped her head through the door. “Mr. Rumlow is here.”

“Let him in,” Steve waved towards him. She opens the door wider and Brock Rumlow enters. Peter observes him. A scar running across his left cheek with beady black eyes that just screamed sneaky. Not even a word and the boy already knew he couldn’t be trusted.

"Mr. Rogers," Rumlow greeted, extending his hand.  

"Mr. Rumlow," Steve shook his hand, "Just call me Steve."

"So the rumors are true, you're an easy man to talk to."

"I just hate the formality and if we can," Steve stated, "let's finish this quick."

"Of course, I know you're a busy man." Rumlow smiles, taking a seat in front of him. "What I'm here for. What I want from you is help," he said. "I need money, investment money. I need three million dollars in cash," he explained further.

Peter's eyes widened. He spoke as if it was a small amount and Steve looked at him with utter nonchalance as if he's just asking for spare change.

"And what else?" Steve question, hooking his leg over the other, tapping the ash off of his cigarette.

"I need connections and you have very powerful friends," Rumlow continued. "I need those politicians you keep in your back pocket."

"And what's in it for us?"

"Forty percent," Rumlow stated. "And by the end of the year you'll be raking in around eight to ten million," he estimated.

"And the Lucchese?"

Rumlow chuckles. "I'll take care of them from my own share."

Steve ponders on the information for a bit. His expression was hard to read, leaving the rest in the room waiting in anticipation of his decision. He sat relaxed in his chair, not slumped, but confident and nonchalant.

"So, I get forty percent for finance, political influence, and legal protection?" He points out, extending his fingers as the list goes.

"That's right." Rumlow nodded.

"Why me though?" Steve questioned with a shake of the hand. "Why do I deserve all this generosity?"

Rumlow scoffs. "If three to four million is a small price for you, kingpin, then cheers to you."

Steve's eyes look at him sharply, then he smiles. To Peter, it's more dangerous than friendly.

"I've heard you're a businessman," Steve reminded him, burning out his cigarette in an ashtray. "A serious man needed to be treated with respect."

Rumlow's cocky smile falls and twists into a subtle scowl.

"The thing is I've been looking into this new drug you're proposing. This is nasty stuff worse than any other drug on the market as of now," Steve criticized and Rumlow wasn't pleased.

"Now let's just say this stuff hits it big. Bigger than crack and weed, which it probably will," he stood up and paced the office. "Those crackheads will take anything that gets 'em off for a good ten minutes. But let's just say hypothetically, it gets stuck in the hands of a policeman or even worse—a kid, and he gets caught smoking or even worse dead with that crap. That causes a major issue for me," he points at himself while standing in front of Rumlow.

Rumlow looks up at him and it's like he already knows the answer.

"Yeah, I've got a lot of friends, but I don't think the mayor would be so friendly if he knew I was caught up in this stuff," Steve remarked. "That thing you got is nasty."

"Mr. Rogers," he retorted firmly.

"Listen, I don't care what a man does for a living," Steve cut him off. "I mean look at me. But your business is a bit dangerous."

"If you're worried about your investment. The Lucchese will take care of it." Rumlow assured.

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. The Lucchese were going to insure him? What was he some second rate gangster?

"My answer is final, Mr. Rumlow. It's a no." Steve stated firmly. "Good luck with your business. I know you'll do very well and I wish you all the best. As best as your interests don't conflict with mine." He wished him with a warning in his tone.

Rumlow stands up with a scornful smile. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers," he shook his hand. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Steve said, placing his hand over their hands and giving it a final good shake. "Buck, please see Mr. Rumlow to the door."

"No, no," he replied. "That won't be necessary. I can find it myself," he nods and leaves the room. “Not like I found much help here anyway.”

"Hey, Pete," Steve said, he points his head towards the door, "follow him out from a distance."

Peter nodded, dashing for the door.

"You think we did the right thing?" Bucky asked, leaning against the desk.

"We can't risk our connections, Buck," Steve said, lighting another stick. "Besides, me? Insured by the Lucchese? Get the fuck outta here," Steve remarked, a chuckle coloring his words making the two erupt in laughter, filling the room with a lighter air.

"You know you don't have to walk me to the bus stop anymore." You said, walking out of the restaurant. "It's only a block away."

A sudden blow of wind rushes past, making you snuggle into the wool scarf wrapped around your neck. You dig your hands deeper into your pockets and look over at Steve to find him unphased by the freezing temperatures of January. Freak.

"I take my job as your bodyguard very seriously." He replied.

"You're not my bodyguard. I don't need a man to protect me." You retorted defiantly.

"Woah there, Susan B. Anthony," Steve put his hands up in surrender, "I was just saying. Don't get all feminist on me."

"And what's wrong with being feminist?" You jabbed.

"Nothing. I love women. All of them. They're amazing. Absolutely wonderful," he complimented. "But not in a creepy way. More of a respectful and cool kinda way."

"Just stop talking, you're making my head spin," you sighed, shaking your head.

"You're so dramatic," he nudged you with his shoulder.

"You're the dramatic one," you pointed out.

"Am not," he retorted.

"Are you joking me right now?" You asked incredulously. "Oh heavens no, she doesn't speak the language of arts whatever shall I do?" You acted breathlessly desperate. Steve rolled his eyes and kept walking.

"How can someone be so simpleminded? I guess I'll just die right here." You fainted against his shoulder with your hand on your forehead and a dramatic sigh.

He pushes you off of him, secretly liking how open you're being with him.

"Ha ha ha, you're hilarious," Steve deadpanned.

"Thanks, I know," you replied boastfully.  He snorts, looking away so you wouldn't see him smiling.

He failed. It was hard to miss that pretty smile of his. I didn't mean that. It was a completely objective observation.

Even if you told him not to walk you to the bus stop, you had to admit you enjoyed his company. Your cold cheeks were brushed with a numbing red, but the rest of you was warm. You didn't say a word the rest of the way there, just listened and watched.

You quietly listened to the distant drone of traffic, watched the lights of houses flip on and off. Cool steam rose from the sewer holes and swept along the asphalt of the street. There's not a soul in sight and what sane person would want to be out on a cold night like this? Your footsteps grew gradually slower not really in a hurry to get anywhere. Like they're trying to make the journey last as long as it can.

You don't know why, but the air feels tense. Heavy with something you can't really find a name for, but something you knew all too well. You pull your sweaty hands out of your pockets, stretching them to get some air through the cracks.

Steve watches his footsteps and how they're in sync with yours. He feels more at peace here with you than he's felt in the past week. You're like a remedy to all his problems.

When he's with you, the pressures of the mob slowly fade away. The burden of working over a hundred men and maintaining his power disappears for just a moment of time. When he's with you, he's not the kingpin, he's just Steve. Just a normal guy. You've never really seen him as anything else and he hopes it'll stay like that forever.

"That's strange," you said, checking your phone for the time while approaching the bus stop. "The bus is usually here by now."

"Maybe it's just a few minutes late?"

"Maybe."

The two of you waited for the bus patiently. Ten minutes had passed and the bus was nowhere to be seen. You looked from side to side to check the street and your eyes fell onto the car standing right across you. It was black with tinted windows. You recalled seeing the same exact car outside the restaurant and that part of your brain stuffed with crime shows is finally starting to crank its gears.

The car was off and there was a good chance that no one was inside, but you were never one to believe in coincidences.

"Steve," you said making sure not to look at the car again.

"Yeah?" He asked and from his face, you think he's already noticed.

"I might be crazy but I feel like I've seen the car across the street," you said, calmly. "At the restaurant."

"So have I," he nodded with a smile as if he's just having a casual conversation.

"Then what do we do?" You asked, shrugging.

"Let's just walk," he replied, pulling you along with him.

You walked down the sidewalk side by side and while your expression was calm, your insides were a frantic mess.

The quick rhythmic beat of your steps against the cracked sidewalks wasn't the only thing breaking the deafening silence of the street as the sound of car doors slamming and burly footsteps shuffled behind you slowly.

Your fingers intertwined with Steve's instinctively and he squeezes your hand tight. You look at him, heart thumping and thoughts racing.

"Hey, baby, don't worry, I got you." He gave you an amused smile, masking his own fear.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened, or the second, or the third. It's happened many times just not with an innocent civilian by his side. He had a knack for being a bit reckless but with you here he couldn't take that risk. Your safety was his top priority.

You pouted with a huff. "Don't call me, baby," you warned, your strides growing wider to match his.

"At the corner, we make a run for it," he ordered.

You nodded, taking silent, deep breaths to calm your speeding heart. You didn't dare to take a look behind in fear of what you'd see. Not like you needed to see anything. The sound of their footsteps was enough to know that something was wrong, slow and anxiously needy. Each step towards the end of the street gets heavier. The ones behind getting dangerously closer.

Steve pulls on your hand as he makes a sharp turn at the bend, dragging you behind him like a kite in the wind. You don't even know how you're keeping up with him at this point. It's just one foot in front of the other powered by an extraordinary rush of adrenaline.

You can hear the baying howls of the men behind you, ordering you to stop as if you're actually going to do that.

Steve's death grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you anchored to the real world. Your thoughts are blank and all you can think of how you're possibly going to get out of this.

There are two of you against at least five of them.

Scratch that. More like one and a half against five.

You're screwed. This was where you died and you didn't even get to graduate from college yet.

Steve takes a sharp left at the corner and squeezes you into a tight alleyway between two buildings.

You put your hand over your mouth, muffling the sound of your breathing. Heavy footsteps draw nearer and continue past the alleyway until they fade into the distance. Your hand drops to your side allowing you to take free breaths of fresh air.

"You okay?" Steve asked, catching his own breath.

You look up at him and nodded. "Yeah."

The alleyway was narrow, very narrow, and the two of you were pressed against each other with only enough wiggle room for one to move.

Steve's cheeks redden by the way your body is pressed against his in all the right places. Sure he's imagined it before, but not exactly like this.  He looks at everything but you, so he doesn’t lose himself.

He's not alone in his embarrassment as you start to heat up despite the frigid temperatures of a midwinter's night.

"D-do you–um–do you think they're gone?" You whispered.

He shrugs unknowingly. You squeeze past him just enough to stick your head out. You look to the left then to right.

"I think the coast is clear," you said, getting out of the tight spot. Steve follows suit and pats the dust off his clothes.

"Well that was something," he chuckles nervously.

You place your hands on your hips with a judgemental look. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Steve scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

In the distance, the shrill screeching of wheels blares in the night with a blinding light coming in your direction.

You should run, but your legs feel like mush and getting caught sounded better than running right now. Steve covers you with himself as the car slows just in front of you.

The window rolls down to reveal a cheeky Bucky.

Steve groans for the whole neighborhood to hear. "For fuck's sake, Buck, you scared the shit out of me."

You peek out from behind him to find Bucky. His eyes meet yours and he smirks devilishly.

"Sorry, big boss, been lookin' everywhere for you," he gets out of the car with a chuckle. "And of course I'd find you canoodling with ya girl."

"I am no one's girl," you stated firmly, jumping out from behind.

"Right. We're not there yet," Bucky replied and Steve might just snap his neck if he keeps talking. "Anyways my name's Bucky, I'm an old friend of Stevie's. Nice to finally meet ya," he extends his hand. You shake it warily. "That's Sam," he points at the man standing against the car behind him and I guess you already know Pete."

"Hi, Y/N!" Peter waves, falling out of the back window with a gummy smile on his face.

You gasp at the sight of the curly-haired boy. You run up to him at the window.

"Peter! What are you doing here?" You questioned. "Do you know what time it is? Go home to your girlfriend!"

"I wish." Peter sighed sadly, arms dangling out of the car. "But I can't, I'm on night duty."

"Listen," Bucky directed towards Steve, "we got some trouble down at the dock in the Bronx. We think it's Rumlow."

Steve mutters a curse underneath his breath.  

"I guess he's the same bastard that tried to kill me like five minutes ago," he cursed. "Can't take no for an answer."

"Who's Rumlow? And why is he trying to kill you?" You asked, eyes solely on Steve, questioning his every gesture.

Steve sighed, not really wanting you to get involved in all of this. He knew it'd happen someday, but not this fast.

"I think it's best if we not talk about this out in the open," Sam advised. "So get in the car."

"Best idea you've had all day, Sammy," Bucky noted opening his door.

"Shut up."

Peter opens the door and scoots over to let you in and you have no choice but to go in. After what just happened, there's no way you're walking home alone.

Steve sits right next to you and closes the door behind him, signaling Sam to drive. It's kind of awkward being stuck in a car with a bunch of mobsters, but beggars can't be choosers. At least you know they won't kill you.

"Nat's already at the house," Bucky told Steve. "She's the one who found out about the whole mixup in the Bronx."

Steve nodded with a cautious look in his eye. Bucky knew exactly what he was saying without him even saying a word.

"Not in front of her."

"So where exactly are we going?" You asked.

"My place," Steve replied.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"If it's not a problem can you just drop me home?"

"I could but then I'd be worried about you all night," Steve said and it goes straight to the tips of your ears. It shouldn't have. The three snickered at Steve, but he ignored them. "Stay over my place for the night?"

“What? No, I can’t.” you denied. "I don’t even think they saw me,” you noted. “So it’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that sis?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "The mob ain’t as simple as it sounds. They’re probably already trying to figure out who you are.”

“Stop scaring her," Steve warned.

“I’m not scared.” you retorted. “I just don’t wanna intrude.”

“Or get involved," Bucky added.

“Maybe that too. So just drop me off please? I’ve got class in the morning.”

“Sorry, I can’t let that happen," Steve shakes his head in denial. "After what happened tonight who knows what’s gonna happen? I mean they could be trailing us for all we know. You really want those goons knowing where you live?”

“No," you whispered. You didn't think about it like that.

“Then just for tonight, okay?" He places his hand on top of yours and it feels nice, but not enough for you to accept. "I’ll drop you off first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky turned towards you from the front. “Stevie’s got a really nice place. With big fancy iron gates and a giant fountain. Never-ending fridge. The whole shebang."

Steve rolls his eyes. Sometimes he questioned why he even knew Bucky.  

"Besides you'll love Lucky," Sam pointed out.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Lucky? Who's Lucky?"

"It's the boss's dog," Peter answered.

Your jaw goes slack in shock. "YOU HAVE A DOG?"

"Yeah," he said nonchalantly.

"WHAT KIND?" You questioned shaking his arm violently, "HOW OLD?"

"It's a Samoyed and two." He replied, pushed up against the door by the way you're bouncing on the seat.

"Okay let's go to your place," you agreed. Steve chuckles with a shake of the head. "Hey, Sam right?"

"Yeah?"

"No offense man, but can you drive any faster?" You questioned.

"I don't want a speeding ticket," Sam confessed.

You look at him incredulously.

"The Brooklyn Mob is just a bunch of twinks," you jeered.

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed.

"And you're the biggest one."

TAGLIST: @ashwarren32​ @chuckennuggets1213​ @captainchrisstan​ @rootcrop​ @savedbystark​ @siriusement​ @little-dark-empress​ @great-goddess-of-sin​ @scuzmunkie​ @achishisha​ @calwitch​ @thirstybunz​ @littlebees-things​ @booktease21​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @voltage-my2dlove​ @boxofteenageideas​ @imsonick​

[palmerasenfuego]

january reading log

V. & Vineland, Thomas Pynchon

With a big ass pretentious Pynchon project percolatin’ on the back burner, I won't spend too much time discussing these novels here, neither of which I had read before. Maybe this will come up again in that project, but these two novels are interesting to compare because V. is emphatically "pre-feminist" Pynchon, with the women all serving merely opposite the men, femininity at times equated with the novel's bête noire "inanimacy," while Vineland seems to be explicitly engaged with feminism and feminine subjectivity. I wouldn't read Pynchon for his gender politics, though, even if I might defend him as a critic of phallocentricism and masculinity.

Dept. of Speculation, Jenny Offill

I was surprised by how expansive this slim novel (novella?) is. While not like, superb or totally mind-blowing, I think Dept. of Speculation does what the best autofiction is capable of doing, ie wring art from the banality of lived existence. There's real force and emotional sweep to the relationships depicted here, and Offill peppers her text with enough insights and bon mots to carry my bitchy ass through a tale of bourgeois anxieties. Sometimes I think I'm being hypocritical when I criticize a strain of literature concerned primarily with comfortable middle-class life, since 1) I live fairly comfortably middle class and 2) all artists are by definition bourgeois, but I refuse to believe that necessarily means Iowa-style fiction of the mundane is somehow the best we can hope for from our literature. Anyway, that's not really a complaint about this novel, which I quite liked.

“Manfred,” Lord Byron

Rereading this dramatic poem, I've come to agree with Ezra Pound who said that when reading a poem by Byron, you're liable to find at least seven serious flaws. Byron's work is important for the affect it expresses; his language is often prettily rendered but rarely very innovative. This poem does however contain these lines, which are imprinted onto my heart:

She was like me in lineaments -- her eyes, Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine; But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty; She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the universe: nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears -- which I had not; And tenderness -- but that I had for her; Humility -- and that I never had. Her faults were mine -- her virtues were her own-- I loved her, and destroy'd her!

The Lichtenberg Figures, Ben Lerner

I read this a few years ago and remembered enjoying it, so I spent an hour or so rereading these sonnets while at work. Again, I enjoyed it, and I think Lerner does some interesting things with form and repetition through the cycle that warrant attention, and I'm certain this is better than any of the novels he's written, which I have no interest in reading, but ultimately I already basically forgot what the poems say, which may honestly reflect more on my inability to retain information that on any flaw in the work. They're good, I suggest reading them, but maybe don't go out of your way.

Maldoror, Comte de Lautréamont

I quit reading this a little over halfway through because I felt like I "got" whatever I could get from reading this stream of amoral insanity translated from the French. Don't let me quitting on it reflect poorly on the work, I just didn't feel like I could get inside what's really happening in the text without reading it in French, because otherwise it's just an approximation of surreal images strung together in strangely constructed English. Probably should have kept reading until at least the famous scene where Maldoror kills a turtle by decorating its shell too extravagantly, but oh well there's too much to read, sorry Maldy.

ABC of Reading & Selected Poems, Ezra Pound

Ezra Pound was at least two things: the most important poet writing in English in the 20th century, and a latterly repentant fascist antisemite. The poems are unimpeachable: his antisemitism is less apparent in his work than Eliot's was in his (or even, for that matter, like, Hemingway's and Fitzgerald's), but people usually seem content to write him off because he was a vocal supporter of Mussolini. Pound says you know a bad critic when they spend their time talking about the writer and not the writing, and like with a lot of what Pound said, I mostly agree. My poor education requires me to defensively critique Pound's belief that you can't even learn to read if you only read English, but his extreme snobbishness and rigorous standards are often missing among the contemporary literati. I want to see more of it without it being saddled with the idiosyncratic fascism of an intensely bourgeois American.

There are three kinds of Pound poems: those written in idiomatic American English, a kind of modernist version of Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman, or William Carlos Williams but cosmopolitan--these are my favorites of his, because I'm too stupid to really understand the second kind, the High Modernist lyrics historicizing and stuffed with multiple languages, Chinese ideograms and allusions that fly about 17 miles over my head. The third kind is his translations, which admittedly I skipped over for no real reason other than I felt like it. If I weren't already working through reading all of Pynchon this year, I'd dive into the Cantos soon. I might still, stay tuned.

[randomoranges]

is it lame to do art or write fics for a character’s “birthday”? prolly. do i care? nah. Also guess the song referenced-ish in the title!

Party [For Three]

January 9th 2021

It would be silly to say that this plan had been in motion since late November, but the truth of the matter is that the plan had, in fact, been in motion, since the end of the month of November. On a day that Edward had been out on errands, Calvin had cornered Étienne between two classes to ask him whether or not he had given any thoughts to Edward’s birthday. Étienne had blinked, confused, and had reminded Calvin that Edward’s birthday was over a month away – they had time, but that yes, he had given it some thought in the vague sense that he was aware that Edward’s birthday was coming up, eventually, and that something should be done about it.

 Calvin had laughed in his face, patted him on the shoulder, and had then told him that he would e-mail him the Docs with his current brainstorming.

 Étienne had done the mistake of assuming that Calvin was kidding, but sure enough, ten minutes later, he had received a rather elaborate document titled “Brainstorm for Deadward’s Birthday – COVID LOCKDOWN EDITION 2021.”

 Étienne had – not been surprised.

 Therefore, he’d read the document and through it, the both of them had discreetly figured out what to do for their respective boyfriend for his birthday.

 Now, Edward never really bothered with his birthday. It was too close after the holidays and everyone was always tired from over-indulging and over-spending. It often went unnoticed and the post-holiday depression settled in on people. There wasn’t really anything to look forward to or to keep the moral up and so, Edward never really went out of his way, unlike some people he knew, to create a big bash or make a big deal of it. It was just another day, after all, and in his case, birthdays were highly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. On top of that, this year was even less than stellar, considering the current pandemic and the fact that nearly everything was shut down.

 Therefore, he planned to eat the, hopefully, last of the leftovers, sleep, spend a quiet day, do some cleaning and maybe watch a movie. Keep it lowkey and such.

 Still, he had to admit that the fact that both Calvin and Étienne were in town with him was rather nice. That was gift and indulgence enough. He’d had birthdays with Calvin, especially since they’d started dating, and Calvin always did do something special for him, which was nice, even if it always made him flustered. However, this would be the first time, in probably ever, that Étienne was here for his birthday – that they could celebrate it together. (He was partially to blame for that. He had never visited Étienne beyond a few days post New Year’s and he had shut down Étienne’s suggestion one year of coming back with him to spend the week until his birthday under the excuse of work and such. In his defence, he’d always assumed that Étienne didn’t want to come over or be with him for his birthday. Which, retrospectively was really stupid, considering the fact that Étienne always did something for him on their last day together for his birthday and then called him on the day of. Sometimes, he wondered if the drugs hadn’t actually affected his brain capacities at times.)

 What he failed to take into consideration, (or maybe he had and he was just playing along) was that both Calvin and Étienne would not stand for that and that they had, over the past month, developed an elaborate and full plan for his birthday. Cake included.

 Seeing as the possibility of activities was limited, Calvin and Étienne had agreed that they would focus on what they could do to make the day special. All chores and other such tasks were not to be done by Edward, regardless of what he said, no matter what, no questions asked. The cake would be delivered during the day by Edward’s favourite local bakery. They’d thought of baking something together, but with Edward around all the time, it would have been hard to hide the cake or the evidence. Even if they waited for him to be out of the house, Edward would most likely smell the cake upon his return and even if they hid the cake and made extra batter to say they had made cupcakes for fun, the risk of Edward finding the place where they would have hid the cake was too high. (Calvin had thought of all possible scenarios and Étienne had been surprisingly good into figuring out how Edward could find out.)

 Obviously, they could have made this easier on themselves by telling Edward that they wanted to plan something for him, but Calvin and Étienne had agreed that making this a “surprise” would be better and way more cooler. Plus, Edward would shoot the idea down and tell them both that he didn’t need anything special or something equally lame and boring and old man like.

 Hence, they kept to their secret document and tried to keep a low profile.

 “Y’know, the whole idea of birthday breakfast was for everything to be ready on time and for the food to be hot. How long does it take to make your parfaits? At this rate the French toast will be cold and the bacon will have coagulated!” Calvin complained for what felt like the seventy-third time since the sun had risen.

 “You can’t just rush art, McCall. Isn’t there some fancy “keep warm” option on that monster? It’s not my fault you decided to get up earlier still to get a head start. I told you to wake me up if I was still asleep!” Étienne tried to calmly retort as he added the delicate chocolate shavings on top of the parfait he was currently trying to finish.

 “Yeah, well, how the frig was I s’posed to know that your no-bake-super-fast-and-easy-parfaits would take literal hours to make?!” Calvin asked as he leaned over Étienne’s shoulder to observe his handy work.

 “I’ve been in this kitchen for less than twenty minutes. You’re the one who hogged the entire counter.” Étienne added as he nudged Calvin away so that he could reach over for the raspberries.

 “You said you didn’t need the kitchen!” Calvin whined.

 “Where the hell did you want me to assemble the parfaits; space?”

 “Well, that would’ve been interesting to see.”

 Étienne sighed and rolled his eyes, “Anyways, I’m done.”

 Their carefully constructed plan was to make breakfast for Edward. They’d established a menu, had gone over it more than once, and had had to find creative ways to put some of the ingredients on the grocery list without raising any questions. (Eventually, Calvin had gone out to get some of the things himself and had just hoped that Edward wouldn’t find them.) Their plan was also to make dinner for Edward but their collaboration wasn’t at its best. Still, they supposed it was the thought that counted and so long as the food was good and Edward liked it, they’d count it as a victory.

 The rest of the plan for the day could be summarised as “spend time with Edward” and “make sure he has a nice time” and “spoil him” and “give him gifts” and “make sure he doesn’t wash the dishes or do any laundry” and “do whatever it is he wants to do so long as it’s not a chore.”

 The stakes weren’t exactly very high, but considering the current situation, it was a pretty good plan.

 The bottom line was that they both wanted to do something nice for Edward and spend the day with him.

 The only problem that they hadn’t taken into consideration was the fact that their little discussion could have potentially woken up the one person they were trying to let sleep in for as long as humanly possible.

 “Ahem.”

 They both stopped their bickering and slowly turned in time towards the sound of the interruption, only to find Edward, sleep rumpled and small smirk in place, standing at the entrance of the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest.

 They blinked and looked at one another, trying to figure out how to solve this before their perfectly crafted plan fell to ashes and to smithereens.

 “Good morning, gentlemen, I hope you both slept well. I slept fine and I must say, that for as much as I did enjoy having a few hours to myself to hog the bed in any which way I wanted, I was a little bit disappointed to wake up and find it completely empty.”

 Calvin opened his mouth to say something, but Edward raised his hand to stop him, “I had been looking forward to at least one birthday morning cuddle on the day of my actual birthday, but even Mercury had abandoned her post. So, do enlighten me, what’s going on?” He asked with a kind smile that both Calvin and Étienne knew was entirely fake.

 Without missing a beat, the other two nodded and then Étienne stepped forward, “This is all a dreeeeeaaaaaammmmm,” He started, changing his voice and flailing his arms as if he were a ghost or something of the sorts.

 Calvin mimicked Étienne and did the same, “You are sleep waaaalkiiiiiiinnnnng. You have seen noooooothinggggggg.” He added, his voice low.

 Edward tried hit utmost best not to laugh at their antics.

 “Go back to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.” They finished off in unison as they walked towards Edward to shoo him back to the bedroom.

 “All right, all right, I’m going, I’m going. No need to be so rude, hallucinations. I’m gone.”

 Calvin and Étienne made sure that Edward was back in the bedroom, before they returned to the kitchen and slumped against the counter.

 “Well, that was close.” Étienne said as he stole a grape off the platter he’d been assembling earlier.

 “Think he actually fell for it?” Calvin asked him. They gave each other a look and then laughed, potentially knowing better. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

 They made sure to set everything on the table so that it was picture perfect, with every last detail accounted for, right down to the carefully folded napkins and the utensils placed the “proper way,” before going back to the bedroom to join Edward.

 --

 When Edward “came to”, it was to find Mercury using his chest as her personal pillow, Étienne with his legs sprawled over his own and Calvin sitting by his head, seemingly engrossed in his phone. Mercury was the first to notice that he was “awake” and proceeded to lick his face, despite his feeble attempts to gently nudge her away.

 “Good morning to you, sleeping beauty,” Calvin teased as he levelled with him to peck his other cheek.

 “So nice of you to join us,” Étienne piped in, grinning, as he slung an arm over Edward’s chest.

 Edward shook his head, fond and amused, and did his best to try to sit up, what with everyone seemingly draped over him in some way.

 “We have it on good authority that today is a special day, actually,” Étienne went on, his grin only growing.

 Edward played along and nodded.

 “Yeah, it’s Saturday! So we made brunch! Come with us!” Calvin added, before bounding off the bed.

 Before Edward had fully wrapped his mind around what was going on, he found himself once more in an empty bed, resigned himself to getting out of it, and followed them to the kitchen, he presumed.

 Edward padded after them and expected to find the table set with brunch, but he had failed to account for the fact that both Calvin and Étienne would most likely go all out for his birthday, again.

 “Surprise!” They shouted once he’d stepped in.

 Instead, he found the table covered with one of the nicer tablecloths. There was a painted banner that hung from the wall that had not been there earlier, the spread on the table was gorgeous and looked delicious, there were fresh flowers in the center of the table and there were even presents carefully stacked up together at the spot where he always sat.

 He was touched, moved, really.

 “Happy birthday!” Calvin said as he walked over to him to give him a hug he accepted without thought.

 “We love you,” Étienne added as he walked over as well and then added himself to the hug.

 Edward couldn’t quite form a coherent sentence, so instead he let both Calvin and Étienne shower him with hugs and attention for the time being.

 He would get his revenge, eventually – after they ate.

 It would be a shame to waste such a feast.

 FIN

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 18: Three’s Company, Four’s Divine

Sources

Ishtar

Open Richly Annotated Cuneiform Corpus: Mesopotamia Timeline

Open Richly Annotated Cuneiform Corpus: Inanna/Ishtar

Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature: Inanna and Enki

Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature: Inana's Descent to the Netherworld

Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative: Composite Text of Akkadian Descent of Ištar

Journal of Near Eastern Studies

CON­STRUCT­ING THE IM­AGE OF ASSINNU BY MARTTI NISSINEN SAANA SVÄRD

Further Learning: Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature: Epic of Gilgamesh, Epic of Gilgamesh: Standard Babylonian Version

Nüwa

Oxford Reference

Mythopedia

Google Arts & Culture

Further Learning: Remarks by Ambassador Cheng Jingye

Danu & Tuatha Dé Danann

The Goddess Danu (YouTube)

Danu - Irish Goddess (YouTube)

Ancient History of Ireland, Tuatha De Danaan, Scythians, and Phoenicians (YouTube)

Celtic Mythology - An Introduction to the Tuatha De Danann (YouTube)

Further learning: House Shadow Drake - Don and Dana, Celtic Myth and Legend, Poetry and Romance, The Sacred Isle: Belief and Religion in Pre-Christian Ireland, Life Understood from a Scientific and Religious Point of View, The History of Ireland

Persephone

Hesiod’s Theogony

Homer’s Hymn to Demeter

Madeline Miller

Further Learning: Lore Olympus (webcomic), Punderworld (webcomic)

Attributions: A Ghrà by Damiano Baldon

Click below for a transcript of this episode!

Haley: Which goddess is three point three seven feet tall? Kelsie: Three point three seven? Haley: Yes. Alana: Do– do you want us to say? Do you want to say? Lexi: These jokes are just a quiz for Kelsie. Haley: I have to have multiple jokes? I'm not ready. Alana: I have one it’s fine. Haley: Okay well it's Demeter. Alana: And you know you should also you know in in in COVID times, in COVID times you should be standing Demeters apart. Lexi: Oh. My. Lord Jesus. Oh my god. I should say oh my lord Ashera [Ash-er-a]. Kelsie: There you go. Alana: Oh, that's very funny. Haley: I love when Alana’s– Alana: Ashera [Ash-ay-ra], actually please. Lexi: Yeah, right. I knew as soon as I said it I said it wrong. Haley: Every couple of episodes Alana will… like Lexi and I will say something, and Alana will be like “oh that's like really funny” in this tone and like… I’m always funny. Don’t be surprised. I don't need this from you. Kelsie: Actually Haley, you're quite hilarious. Haley: Thank you. Lexi: Wait, but how does that tie into social media? Haley: I didn't get to the question yet. The question is because for… well my dad doesn't listen to my podcast, but for my dad is the worst person to get Christmas or birthday presents and his birthday is January 2, so like hop skip and a jump right after Christmas. But he loves board games, and his favorite board game is Codenames, so I have printed out over two hundred photos– like family photos– of the like stupidest photos in the world. And I'm laminating everything so it could be his own Codenames pictures, replacing all of it. Kelsie: That’s good. Haley: And my question is, is there a photo from your childhood where you're like what am I doing but you have that second jolt of like no this actually makes complete sense when you're realizing like what you're doing in the photo? For me it was crouching down in like the seventh grade next to a kangaroo, waking up a kangaroo, and then immediately after getting punched. I also had bangs but it was Australia and humidity or whatever climate that just didn't work with my curly hair. Lexi: So that was a set up so I could say that the picture of me digging up a dinosaur… Which, famously on this podcast I get mad when people think archaeologists dig up dinosaurs. Kelsie: As you should. Lexi: But yes, there is a picture of me, five years old, digging up a dinosaur. Not a real one. I don't think they’d let four year olds do that. Haley: But the best part is the goggles! Lexi: I have goggles on to protect me from the dirt. Kelsie: That’s important. You don’t want to get schmutz in your eyes. Lexi: But I’ve never been on a dig where I wore goggles. Kelsie: Maybe you should. Maybe you should wear goggles next season. Lexi: You know how much acne I’d get around my face if I wore goggles in the heat of Israel? Alana: Yeah, right? Kelsie: Who cares? Alana: No, go to Ireland! [INTRO MUSIC] Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly lady you missed in history class. We're back recording new episodes, so here is Lexi. Lexi, what would you be the goddess of? Lexi: Cross stitching and tricycles. Alana: Do you want to elaborate or just leave it at that? Lexi: Well right now I am cross stitching and it's what I do with my hands when I'm talking because I have mental problems and the only way I can focus on something is to do something else mindless. And the tricycle is because I have an adult tricycle and an anecdote my dad took that tries to go into the bike repair shop to get the brake fixed and he was too embarrassed to say it was his daughter’s so he said his wife bought it for his mother in law. Alana: And I really like that question so I'm also gonna ask Haley. Haley, what would you be the goddess of? Haley: I think I would be the goddess of eggs, just because I would control them and like not take it in because like I don't wanna be the goddess of something like I destroy, so like… Alana: For the irony. Haley: The irony. Eggs. Alana: And it's our third ever guest, Kelsie! Kelsie, tell the listeners a skosh about yourself. Kelsie: Hi everybody I'm Kelsie Ehalt. I am a Master’s student at Brandeis right now and I'm going to go and list the department I'm in. It's just a lot of words, so get ready. But I'm in the joint program in Near Eastern and Judaic Studies and Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, those are two different departments, but they both have ‘ands’ which makes things confusing. But basically I study ancient history via texts right now. I do archaeology as well but right now since digging’s not really a thing because we shouldn’t travel because of the pandemic, I'm really focusing on languages for my Masters. And then I also incorporate the gender studies side of things into the equation, so I'm just looking at how gender functions in the ancient world and thinking about it from a not straight white man perspective, basically, because that's basically all that’s been published. And there’s some better scholarship coming out now, but there's still some work to be done so I'm doing what I can there. Alana: We do love all of that. And I'm Alana and I tried to start an all goddess religion when I was like eight. (Haley laughing) Alana: Me and my friend Kay who is one of my like oldest friends in the whole world, they're gonna get a shout out a little bit later as well because they sort of helped me in my research. We like tried to start up polytheistic all goddess religion when we were like eight. We like had a list of goddesses that we wanted to name and we like created little rituals. A great time to be had. Kelsie: Everyone should have just a religion creation phase I think. Alana: Absolutely. We called it Selenism because the main goddess was Selene. Haley is shaking her head at me and it's making me feel… ways. Haley: I love it but also like… Lexi: I feel like I was like writing fan fiction before I knew it was fan fiction, while you simultaneously were making a religion. Haley: Like I'm not surprised that either of this happened. Not surprised at all. Alana: It's a true story, it's a fun story. We kept a lot of ash in bottles… related to this religion that we were making up. Kelsie: Where did you get ash from when you were like… Haley: Yeah, that’s the… Alana: I don't think we still have it, but like we had it for a while. Lexi: No no no, where did you acquire it? Kelsie: What were you burning? Alana: Oh. From like. I don't remember. Haley: No that's a body. Alana: I think we just like burned paper or something and collected the ash. Kelsie: Oh, that’s not exciting. Alana: We played with a lot of fire when I was… Kay and I… we played with a lot of fire. Haley: Yeah! Yes! Yes. Lexi: I don’t know what to say. Haley: No, playing with fire… Wait, were you a Girl Scout too? Alana: No, I was a Daisy for half an hour and then they wanted me to do all this like stupid weird shit like say my own name in a group of people so that was a no no for baby Alana. Alana said no no to being a Daisy. Kelsie: Alright so I'm going to talk about my girl Ishtar today. So Ishtar is the Akkadian name for the goddess of love and war but the Sumerian version of her name is Inanna so I might switch back and forth between Ishtar and Inanna but know that by the later period they're the same person. There's some debate about whether Ishtar was a separate goddess who became then sort of like coagulated in with this earlier Inanna, or if Ishtar is just like a direct connection to Inanna, there's a debate about this, it’s not quite clear. So I’ll probably refer to her as Ishtar. If I mess up and instead of Inanna it’s because I work with the later period stuff so I don't really see Inanna too much. But anyway so Ishtar, Inanna is the Mesopotamian goddess of love and war. And she's depicted in all kinds of different texts, but obviously we have the most interesting sort of goddess information about her from the mythological texts, but she also shows up in legal texts because they're just invoking her to you know validate decisions, things like that. And people in this period, well in Mesopotamia across all periods of history, have personal gods so she’s invoked in sort of just letters too if they're just like “hey bud I'm sending you this thing, you know, good luck, thanks Ishtar or Inanna.” like whatever, she's brought up a lot. But for today I'm gonna focus on a few of the mythological texts because I think that's where we get the most interesting information about who she is as a character in the Mesopotamian religion. So the biggest story, or the story where she has the biggest role, is– the title’s translated, there's not really a title, they don't always title these tablets. But it's translated as the Descent of Inanna or Ishtar into the Netherworld. So I'm gonna give you a little summary of what goes on in that story which is… it's a fun one. I actually– this is one of the first things I– the actual– first actual texts I worked on translating in Akkadian, not just working out of the exercise the book but actually working with text. So I'm gonna tell you the Sumerian version a slightly longer, and there are more details, so I'm gonna tell you that version, and then I can tell you how the later Akkadian versions differ later. So here, Inanna–because this is Sumerian– she's deciding to go down to the netherworld. It's kind of conceived as like a cavern type thing underground so I guess I should go over Mesopotamian cosmogony first so we have Earth here which is where you know humans and mortals lived, and above that is the heavens, which is pretty standard for what modern Abrahamic traditions follow as well. But then beneath the Earth, we have the netherworld or underworld. In Sumerian it’s kur, in Akkadian it's kurnigi… I'll just call it the netherworld. And then between the netherworld and the Earth we have the Apsu, which is sort of this underground water where things happened too, and that's where Enki lives. And that's also– that plays a role in the creation story of Enuma Elish where Tiamat, one of the primordial goddesses who's the goddess of fresh water...? Either freshwater or saltwater I’m forgetting. She mixes with Apsu which is either freshwater or saltwater, whichever one she's not, and they create the other gods from there. So the Apsu is really important because it's sort of the origin point of all of the gods within Mesopotamian… the Mesopotamian pantheon. It's also where Enki lives, and he's one of the head gods too and we'll talk about him some more in the story because he plays a role. Okay so in the Descent of Inanna… so she's going down to the underworld to visit her sister Ereshkigal, who is the goddess of the underworld. I'm forgetting what her name is in Sumerian, it might be still Ereshkigal. But she’s going down to visit Ereshkigal because her husband– Ereshkigal’s husband has died, so Inanna wants to go to his funeral. And before she goes down, she tells her assistant– it's translated as minister in the versions that I looked at– her minister whose name is Ninshubur– I'm not sure about the length of the vowels there, but Ninshubur is Inanna’s like assistant, I'm imagining like a PA. And so Inanna is like “okay Ninshubur, like I'm going down, it's kind of dangerous to go, people don't really go down to the netherworld, so if I'm not back in three days go ask these gods for help.” and she gives a list of gods. First is Enlil, and then Urim, Nanna, and Enki. That's important later because she gives a list of four and it's important that she gives a list of four because the first three don't help her, but we'll get to that in a minute. So Ninshubur is like “okay, great, have a good visit to the netherworld,” and off Inanna goes. So Inanna goes down, she’s stopped by the gatekeeper… and the gatekeeper says “hold up, what are you doing here and why are you here?” And so Inanna says “I'm visiting my sister because her husband died and I want to go to the funeral” and he's like “okay let me go ask her.” So he goes and asks Ereshkigal if it’s okay and Ereshkigal is concerned because before Inanna went down, she got these powers. And the powers are manifest in physical objects. So she gets a ring that has some sort of special power, and this lapis lazuli necklace that has a power, and there are seven other– seven total things, so five other things that have powers. And so Ereshkigal knows that Inanna brought these and she's concerned about them because there's a sort of not trusting dynamic between them even though they are sisters. So Inanna’s like okay you can let her in but close all seven gates and only open one at a time to let her in, and each gate take one of her things. So she goes through it's the same sort of structure throughout, in the Sumerian. And she goes to one gate, they take her ring. She goes to the second gate, they take her hat or whatever. And it goes on for seven gates. And then she gets to the last gate, they let her in, and basically it was a trap. Speaker 0: They… it's kind of confusing. The Sumerian is not really clear on what exactly happens. But I've sent Alana the link to the translation that I looked at, and so you can read it too if you want to see– Alana: That will be in our show notes at ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. Kelsie: Yeah. So I used the version that the… the Electronic Corpus of Sumerian Literature version which is trans– it's sort of a… It's a compilation of some different translations but it's a pretty standard not too fluffy interpretive translation, so I thought it was pretty good. But basically… so she gets the last gate and then they start yelling at Inanna and then she turns into a corpse and they put her on a hook. I'm not exactly sure what the process of these things are, but I’m imagining they're yelling at her and she just sort of like desicates and like dries up and they like put her on a hook. The motivation isn't super clear, I think, and some of the tablet is broken, so there… we might be missing some of the context, of course. And you know, of course, something important happens in a break, that's always the case, it’s never something boring. So maybe there’s some sort of other story, and maybe it's orally transmitted, detailing the drama between Ereshkigal and Inanna. Maybe there's a more specific reason why Ereshkigal does not trust Inanna and therefore wants to take her powers and then trick her to stay in the netherworld. Anyway, so Inanna's dried up, on a hook, and then three days passed and so Ninshubur, you know, being the loyal personal assistant, realizes three days have passed and Inanna’s not back, so she's like “oh shit, I better go get help.” So she goes to the first person that Inanna told her to ask for help from, Enlil. Enlil says “no, I’m not helping.” And then Ninshubur goes to Urim, Urim says “no I'm not helping.” And then Ninshubur goes to Nanna, and Nanna says “no, I’m not helping.” And finally she goes to Enki, who in some versions of myths is Inanna’s father. And in this version he… the wording is that he is her father, but we have to be careful with the wording about like familial relations in Near Eastern text because sometimes they’re just using them to describe power dynamics, not actual biological relations. So even though Enki here is you know referring to Inanna as his daughter, it might just be a power dynamic thing rather than a biological relation. That's not super clear, but in other versions of the story he’s also depicted as her father so I think that's fair enough to go for the narrative. But anyway, he’s like “okay fine I'll help, what is Inanna doing?” And so Ninshubur explains that she went down to the netherworld and is stuck. So Enki's like “okay I have a plan.” So he makes these two figures and these are gonna come up later because these figures are what I'm doing my thesis on. He takes dirt from his fingernail and he makes a kurgarru and in the Sumerian it’s galutera. In later Akkadian is just galu. But these two figures– and I’ll explain a little bit more later when I talk about what I'm doing for my thesis– there are some interesting gender performance things going on with these figures. But right now I’ll just leave them as helpers that Enki makes from dirt from under his fingernail. And he gives one of them a plant and he gives one of them water, and he’s like “okay, go down to the netherworld, and give… you're gonna see a corpse, and it's gonna be confusing, but that corpse is your queen.” So I love that saying, because he's like “you’re gonna see this dead body” so he knows what happened already, which I don't understand how that happened. But he's like “you're gonna see this corpse, give her the water, give her the food, and you'll be okay.” They go down, they give Inanna the water and the plant, and she– I assume like somehow revives. And I’m imagining like a sponge, like they put the water on her and like I said before, like I’m imagining like the yelling like desiccated her, so there was sort of like… like soaking up the water. And so okay… she's like “okay I'm fine now.” So they start to leave, and these two demons stop them, the group of three who are leaving, so there’s five of them now. And they say “well, no one ever leaves the netherworld, so you need to send someone to replace you.” And she's like “okay, who do you want” and they're like “we want your assistant” and she's like “no she's too loyal” and then they're like “we want your manicurist” and she's like “no she's too good” and then they're like “what about your husband” and Inanna’s like “okay sure, I guess.” There's some other stories about her husband Demuzi, that it was an arranged marriage too so Inanna is like not too keen on her husband. But so anyway, so the demons go to take Demuzi, and he's like “oh no, I don't want to go to the netherworld.” So he talks to his brother Utu, who lives in the heavens, and he's like “Utu, turn my limbs into snakes so I can escape the demons” and Utu is like “okay, that sounds like a good idea.” And so he turns his limbs into snakes, and he escapes the demons. And then the last part of the story is really fragmented, so I have no idea what's going on, but apparently Demuzi escapes, and then some other things happen, and then Inanna talks to a fly…  like a bug, a fly, who says “I know where your husband is, we can go find him.” And then apparently the fly helps her– it's broken so it's hard to know and then the story ends somewhere there. But that's the short, sort of humorous version of the Sumerian version of the descent of Ishtar, or Inanna, rather. And then the Akkadian version is a lot shorter, it leaves out a lot of the details of… it doesn't have the story afterward, after they leave the netherworld and the demons are trying to take someone back to replace Inanna, the Akkadian version doesn't have that. One of the notable things but the Akkadian version, I think, and this sort of links into my master's thesis, which I’ll get to in a second, is that when Ishtar, in this case since we're talking about the Akkadian, is stuck in the netherworld, there's a whole series of lines repeated twice or three times where it's like all of the animals and humans aren't having sex anymore. And things are bad. And so that's how they know that something's wrong with Ishtar, instead of the assistant sending people down to help, other people realize that something's wrong, which I think is interesting. And then, you know, then she gets back and it's okay. But yeah. So, to talk about my thesis a little bit. So I'm focusing on a couple different figures in the cult of Ishtar, the main ones I'm focusing on is the assinnu. The assinnu is the syllabic spelling of it in Akkadianin but there's also a logogram which in Sumerian is sagg or sag. That one you see sometimes the other one is urmunis which is literally man-woman. Haley: Fun fact, sag in Farsi is dog. Kelsie: Oh, really? Haley: Yeah. Kelsie: In Sumerian it’s head or like top. Haley: Oh that's fun. I was ready for you to be like wolf. Kelsie: No, it's the same as the Arabic it's kelb, kelbum in Akkadian. Anyway, so I think there's definitely something going on interesting gender-wise with these figures, and so actually I first came up with this topic because I was reading the descent of Ishtar in Akkadian, not the Sumerian version. But my first semester of Akkadian, and my professor was a PhD student and we got to a part where– the part where in the Akkadian version, Ea instead of Enki makes an assinnu. And it's the word assinnu in the Akkadian version, but it’s kurgarru and galla in the Sumerian version, but these are all kind of related. I'm throwing words out, I’ll explain the difference– and also the difference isn't super clear, so if you’re confused between them, everyone is. There's not a clear distinction between these roles that we found in the textual evidence so far. But I was like “okay what's an assinnu” because I never heard that word before, that's not a common word in Akkadian and he’s like “oh, it's like a third gender person” and like that raised red flags in my gender studies brain, I'm like okay like whenever you categorize something as third gender without any other discussion there's something interesting going on there. So I started reading some more about what people had written about the assinnu and it turned out to be pretty gross because as we all know being archaeology students and students of the ancient world, it's all white straight man… cis straight men writing about basically everything and so that's the case with gender as well, unfortunately. And so in all these different translations of texts, the assinnu are translated from everything as like cultic prostitute, to eunuch, to impersonator– all these gross words that I think… one, just really limit the conversation that you could have about gender in these figures because you're placing so many modern assumptions on them just with the single word that you're using, and two, especially words like eunuch and cultic prostitute like there's no textual evidence to support these interpretations anyway. So it's all this secondary scholarly interpretation being placed on these figures where you know there's not many textual instances of them, so it's hard to say what exactly is going on but there's not specific evidence for castration or prostitution. For my thesis I’m basically going through and writing about how the word assinnu and kurgarru and galu and kalu have been translated by scholars, and then going back and seeing like what can we figure out in terms of their gender performance from the actual textual evidence that we have, as opposed to just going to these simplistic, interpretive labels. And my proposition, too, at the end is to not translate words like that because any translation that we have is going to simplify the role of these figures and I think just leaving it in the Akkadian leaves more room open for describing the things that they did and leaving it open because we don't know a lot about them, and just leaving that sort of gray area there instead of just labeling them one thing or another. But yeah so that's what I'm working on for my thesis, and all of these figures are associated with Ishtar specifically. And I think there is something interesting there because of Ishtar’s liminality herself because she's the goddess of love and war and those are two kind of opposite things. And her own gender performance is kind of somewhere in between this binary because sometimes she's portrayed in cylinder seals and things with a beard, and her animal is a male lion, or a lion with a mane, at least. I mean there are female lions with manes too. So I think Ishtar herself has some interesting gender things going on, so it makes total sense that her cultic functionaries, her cultic personnel, also had some interesting gender things going on too. So I'm just trying to figure out what exactly we can say about what's going on within her temple. There’s not a lot of evidence, but just trying to figure out what's going on. Lexi: I love it. I love your thesis. Haley: My mind is blown. Lexi: I really struggled to settle on a lady for this episode because I wanted to do something interesting but I didn’t want my lady to be from the same region as like another lady that was already being covered by one of you in this episode and that's– the regions you are familiar with are the regions I am familiar with because we had the same professors. So I had to branch out of my comfort zone and explore a person I had never explored– well, a god I never explored because this is goddesses. So I did what any sensible person would do and I reached out to my sister– sorority sister, for everyone who's been following along. And I would like to thank my sister Amber for suggesting this lady. It was a very good suggestion. So I'm talking today about Nüwa. Clarification, as always, I do not speak Chinese, so that's the best that it’s going to get but it's probably not totally correct but do with that what you will. I speak Korean, not Chinese. Alana: Have I been Jewish yet? Have we said Sprinklebear McPuss-n-Boots yet? We got to get all three. Lexi: You got them in. We got them in. Nüwa is the mother goddess of traditional Chinese mythology, so you know we know of a lot of other mythologies from other parts of the world and there often is a mother figure… you know, a matriarch among the deities if you know what I mean. So she's that but in China. And her name is made up of two characters, nu which means woman and wa which is a unique character that is only a part of her name, so that's how it distinguishes her from women in general, it's Nu-Wa. And she is the sister and wife of emperor god Fuxi. And Fuxi is the god who created hunting and cooking, which is a fun combo like hunt then cook? Not vegan, but very relevant to each other. She is often depicted as a serpent, and it's her body is the figure of a serpent and she has a woman's head. And she is capable of shape shifting into anything she wants so she can change how she appears. And let me just say she looks really dope, like what a vibe, check out our Instagram, I’ll put up a picture there, or Google her, but I'm obsessed with the different looks that she has. In some depictions she's just drawn as a woman in traditional Chinese dress, which is hanfu and that's slightly less cool but like chill. And in the traditional Chinese creation story Nüwa created humankind from the earth. And we see this in a lot of creation myths. If you know of creation myths from around the world, a lot of times like the physical earth or clay or dirt is related to the creation of humankind. So the story goes that one day she was walking through the woods and she found the woods to be so beautiful that she was sad that she couldn't share the beauty with others. She wanted someone else to enjoy the beauty of the earth. So she decided to create humans from the clay around the river. So she stopped at the riverbank, she picked up the clay, and she's like “I can make humans out of this.” And it is said that she made the aristocracy, like the aristocratic class from yellow clay from the riverbank, and the lower classes were made from mud. And so Nüwa made the upper classes with her hands, she molded them, but her hands got tired and so she picked up a rope and she dipped in the mud, swung it around over her head, and the mud that dropped off became the lower classes. So there is a class distinction in this story, I assume it was at one point in history perpetuated by the upper classes to justify like the class divide in their society but that's how the story goes. And there are several versions that story with varying details so if you are curious to go explore it there are texts about her written in Chinese and Vietnamese and a couple other Asian languages, so if you speak any of those and want to go read it, feel free. But that's the general basic… things that seem to be true in every version of the story. She is credited with defeating the evil water god who is depicted as a black dragon and is named Gonggong, which… I love that name too, like I love the double syllable situation. It's like you could call a pet that, but I guess not since he's an evil water god, maybe it's not good luck to name your pet after him. And Gonggong he’d ripped a hole in the sky when he was battling another god– it was the fire god, so the water and fire god were like [fighting noises] you know? That was not good podcast audio, but they were going at it, him and the fire god. Alana: How am I supposed to transcribe that? Lexi: Ahhh noise! Kelsie: Throw in some vowels and some Hs. Lexi: They were going at it. And they were fighting. And Gonggong ripped down one of the pillars, which is a mountain. He ripped it down, and the sky got a big hole in it. This is a big problem because the sky protected the people from like crazy weather phenomena, so like rain, tsunami, crazy kind of like… crazy crap was happening in the sky. And so she repaired the hole and saved the humans because she loved them because they were her creation, and versions of the story also differ, with one suggesting that she died of exhaustion because she was so tired because she had like held up the sky and put it back together. But she saved humankind, so it was like her last great feat. And another version suggests that she could not repair the sky with just the material she had, so she herself became stone and put the sky back together. So there’s either the version of her dying of exhaustion or her actually becoming the material to repair the sky. Either way, this is her final story so she sacrifices herself to save humankind from Gonggong's mistake. Kelsie: Wait, so with the second version where she is repairing the sky herself is there like an astrological sort of connection to her then? Is there like a constellation representing her? Lexi: That's a good question. No source I read specifically dictated that. Particularly I think because she tends to be associated with the day, but I am unsure. There might be a constellation related to her. She's technically the goddess of marriage and fertility. Chinese religion has really changed over time, but despite that, Nüwa has remained an important figure to many people in China. There are many temples and shrines that are dedicated to her and preserved in her honor, including one that is seen as the ancestral shrine of all humanity, so she's very central in like the identity structure of China. And some women in China today pray to Nüwa for assistance in issues of fertility or marriage, so like if you want a husband you're supposed to go and be like “Nüwa! Give me a man!” and if you want to have a baby, you're supposed to go to Nüwa and be like “Nüwa! Birth me a son!” and so on and so forth. In addition to her role in religion, she also features prominently in pop culture in China and other parts of Asia. She has been a character in three video games, so you can go play Nüwa. I don't know exactly how these video games work, I have not played them. But if that's your jam, Google it. And in numerous television shows and films, there's films that depict all the different stories surrounding her and other deities so she factors into those stories too, and there have been film adaptations specifically of the sky fixing story. And on Earth Day in 2012, a statue of Nüwa created by a Chinese professor was revealed in Time Square as a representation of the importance of protecting the ozone layer because the theme of that year's Earth Day was the ozone layer. And so the ozone layer protects humans and is similar to the sky and Nüwa in her stories… so the statue is of her holding up a piece of the sky… Nüwa holding a piece of the sky…  and she's holding that up and that represents the ozone layer and the fact that we need to keep the ozone layer safe, so as you would give to Nüwa and worship Nüwa you should worship and protect the ozone layer… so on and so forth. Very very cool. And the statue was later moved to Vienna and I've included in the further reading the transcript of the speech that was given when the statue was installed in Vienna which is now where it lives forever, so it's really interesting if you're into that kind of thing. And also I will include a link to the Google Arts and Culture page that describes the statue and you can learn more about the statue and what it's made of if you like that kind of thing and what it looks like. Haley: I was having like a mental identity crisis with who I was gonna pick, and I was on TikTok, of course, scrolling through like just for inspiration. And I came on for my like For You Page. I think that's what it's called, the youths call it, a fun story about Danu and Tuatha Dé Danann. I really… Okay, so this is Irish mythology that we're doing a deep dive into, and I asked Robert how to pronounce these, and of course I forgot. So in Irish mythology, Danu, meaning the flowing one or the divine one who brings all things into being, is associated with both masculine and feminine things which is like right on. However, every time I pick– like, I couldn't decipher like, discern whether she was representation– like if you looked at her while she had her pronouns, or assuming from scholars now she/her pronouns, if she would represent both masculine and feminine or if she is just associated with because she's the divine one who brings all things into being. Because when you look at her it's– I put a lot in the further reading but I used a lot of YouTube videos of the people who are like kinda amateur experts in this… certainly not myself. And a lot of the representation that they put up were very feminine goddess like. Like very nature-esque, flowing long hair, flowing skirts and dresses, or sometimes like a warrior but really like honing in on that feminine side. And that's just my tangent. So she is also like the earth goddess of fertility and growth, abundance, agriculture, as well as intellect, change, and wisdom– and a whole host of others. She just does it all, apparently. She's also like the hypothetical mother goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann which is what I'm also going to talk about. But before that, because this group of people, the Tuatha Dé Danann, which is Old Irish for the people of the goddess of Danu and the anai– the A. N. A. I. within the name means wealth and that's kind of strange because this… when I'm reading Danu is D. A. N. U. and that’s not found in any like medieval Irish text which was kind of like a point in time where people were like okay it's not in this period and afterwards type of situation. That goes for a lot of her myths and legends. And if you let me nerd out for a sec, let's go into some etymology of the name Danu. Scholars believe that the name Danu is the nominative form and the genitive form is Danann, spelled as like D. A. N. A. N. N. or D. O. N. A. N. D. or D. A. N. A. N. D., which is seen in the primary sources, that’s also how the name Tuatha Dé Danann is spelled. It's the D. A. N. A. N. N., the genitive form of Danu. Again, with these people, they are the people of the goddess of Danu. And this is the story that I'm actually gonna focus on because spoiler it's great and it's also one of the most well known sources, just if you like do a Google search this is the one that keeps popping up with her. And it's about how… basically Ireland was kind of populated. So opening our book to a short story, while there are a bunch of little stories like within this one story, I'm kind of like lumping it all up. And in Irish mythology  Tuatha Dé Danann were the first people or tribe in Ireland. Since they're supernatural and they're not necessarily human but they are human, the way they arrived to Ireland was like via dark clouds and mist which also gets strange because they landed on Connacht. Am I saying that right, Alana? Alana: Connacht. Haley: Connacht. Alana: C. O. N. N. A. C. H. T.? Haley: Yes! Yes ma’am. Alana: Connacht. Yeah Haley: Which is on the west side of Ireland. And this is where– Alana: It's– throwback to episode two, that is around where Gráinne Ní Máille was born and lived and did her pirate-y thing. Haley: Exactly. So this is like why it gets weird, why I say it's like they arrived via dark clouds and mist because they also had boats. So when I was first reading this, I was expecting like people coming out of like dark mist and clouds because clouds are in the sky! But I think now like boats come along with it, so there might be spaceship boats or like water boats. But– Alana: Like in Treasure Planet. Haley: Exactly! That’s what I was thinking. Lexi: Ancient Aliens? The aliens brought boats down and created the Irish people? Haley: NO. Alana: No no no no. Treasure Planet. Treasure Planet is the analogy that we are going with, Treasure Planet. Haley: Yes. And when they arrived, they supposedly burned the boats, hence forcing them to settle in the land they like docked. Which made little to no sense-tentacles, because you literally like, again, rode in like a cloud of mist. And also I want to know when they settled, and they were like “okay, we have food, water, shelter. Let's burn them boats.” And that's fine, that's a great tradition, I'm not like saying for the tradition. But what if, like, if it was immediate, how did you know that was like a suitable habitat? Because like wouldn't you say “oh, we don't have like one of the three basic needs, four, five basic needs that we need, let's get back on our boats and travel around.” These are also supernatural beings and I'm just overanalyzing mythology. That's what I do. Also once they were settled, so like post-burning boats, I guess… It was said that they stayed there for centuries. And for the archaeologists and all of us here part of the myth that is the ring forts, are also called like the fairy forts… Alana is making a face. And that's because that– Alana: I dug a ring fort! Haley: Connection to you and Susan. Probably Susan, why I know this story. So– Alana: This is the Susan Johnston appreciation episode part two. Haley: I actually have a book that she gave me right next to me on my desk, I have with my library background. Anywho, the fairy forts are like often called fairy forts because the Tuatha Dé Danann used them as portals to another like world. And side note, if a human were to happen across the portal they would be forced to dance until they went mad. Honestly, that’s just like… I read that and it was also kind of like– Lexi: What a way to go. Haley: Exactly. Kelsie: It wouldn't take very long for me, like you know twenty minutes I'm gone. Haley: I know! I was like I can dance through like one album of ABBA but like if we get into an album of the Beatles I might like cease to exist. Alana: (Gagging noise) I hate the Beatles. Famously I hate the Beatles. Haley: Rude. And then she is on a podcast with like one of the best Beatles lovers ever. Lexi, right there and then I’m like a– Alana: I hate the Beatles. I think they're overrated. I think it's just like mediocre white men getting more credit than they deserve. Lexi: Well, Sergeant Pepper takes your note and kindly throws it out.The bird. Haley: He took a nice poop on it. Alana: That's fine. Whatever. Haley: Okay so back to my story, because it’s about me right now. We all went mad. And then lastly, this is my last note, so when the Celts invaded, the legend goes that they all turned themselves into fairies, hence, fairy forts! And then they keep watch over the land. That's them. That's Danu. Kelsie: What's the– I don't know if you know this, and maybe I… maybe there’s not an answer, but what's the significance of… between fairies and circles around things? Like when I think of like– like I know about ring forts, I didn't realize there was a connection to fairy forts. But then like winding up like fairies and circles like… Haley: Yeah. Kelsie: Mushrooms, like that’s also a circle-y thing on the ground. Is that a bigger thing? Haley: So, the circle is like the portal, and the reason why it's called fairies is that the legend says they turned into fairies. So it's like fairy forts, that’s their fort. Kelsie: That makes sense. Haley: That's the most I can tell you. I'm sure there's more. There are a lot of YouTubers out there. Lexi: Also, circles is magic. Alana: I'm talking about Persephone the Greek theological figure, ancient Greek. I identify with her very strongly because I also contain multitudes. There is a poem by Nichole McElhaney who is the author of A Sisterhood of Thorns and Vengeance, a book that apparently just like does not exist, because I cannot find it in print anywhere. But the poem goes “Do not worry about your contradictions - Persephone is both floral maiden and queen of death. You, too, can be both.” And I love that. But apparently like the book doesn't exist Nichole McElhaney has a couple of other poetry books with really interesting cool names similar to A Sisterhood of Thorns and Vengeance. She is also known as Proserpina in Rome, and also known as Kora or Kore, which means maiden. And she becomes Persephone when she is like queen of the underworld which we will get to… the stuff that you might know… because of the Percy Jackson series. So in Homer's Hymn to Demeter… Homer's Hymn to Demeter is kind of the primary source we have for the story of Persephone being taken to the underworld. Homer describes her as slim-ankled, which my friend Kay, shout out Kay, who I brought up earlier, we tried to make a religion together, they are an expert in classical literature and they said that that probably meant like a graceful or delicate or something along those lines. So the story is Hades saw her in a field, abducted her, and took her to the underworld and like made her his queen and something about pomegranate seeds, that he forced her only one in Homer’s hymn. It’s only like one seed. You hear it like three or six other places, but in Homer it's just one. Here's what you might not know about that myth, according to Homer. Hades had Zeus’s permission to do this, but not Demeter’s, who is Persephone’s mother. And Demeter goes searching all over like the whole world for Persephone, and everyone saw what happened– like the sun god saw what happened and was like yeah we're not gonna help you because like basically they said she could do a lot worse as far as a husband goes. She's like queen of the underworld right now. I think like that's a pretty good deal… you know Hades isn't going cheating on his wife like someone we know. Zeus. But according to Homer, one pomegranate seed meant three months in the underworld. Anyway Persephone– this is a really short story I'm sorry– Persephone. She is part of the agrarian triad which is a group of three agricultural slash harvest deities with Demeter and a god called Triptolemus. Kelsie: Lexi would call this an agricultural throuple. Alana: That's an excellent point. I don't think there is any evidence for that but I do like the idea of it being a throuple. So Persephone as queen of the underworld kind of gives a more pleasant face to the concept of death and the afterlife, so it kind of like helps Hades’s reputation and there's not as much stigma about it because yeah you're dying but look the goddess of spring is also queen of the underworld, so that's pretty cool. Now I'm going to cede the rest of my time to modern reinterpretations that are all written by women or some other marginalized group. The only one whose like gender I don't know is married to a man and cis straight men don't marry other men by definition, so this person is marginalized in some other way. I don't know if they know that, but it's really cool story. So first of all, Hadestown. Wow. Anais Mitchell. It's beautiful. It's jazzy. It's so much fun. It's Hades and Persephone but they've like fallen out of love after so long and also the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is in there. I want a live recording of it– it's a Broadway show– I want a live recording of it the way that Hamilton has been. I think that is what we deserve. There is also a couple of webcomics, the first one is Punderworld, which has a very– why are you shaking your head Kelsie? Kelsie: It’s such a bad pun and it has pun in the word! Alana: It’s a bad pun and it has pun in the word. It's a very realistic art style, there are not a ton of episodes, one of them made the rounds on tumblr while ago if you were still there. And it takes place in a more realistic like ancient Greek Olympian kind of setting. Links to the webcomics by the way will be in further learning which is what I've been calling it lately because it's not always reading. The other one is called Lore Olympus. There are a lot of episodes of this one. It is more whimsical but also somehow grittier? Like all the characters are kind of color-coded. Athena has a very androgynous, ace, butch lesbian vibe like someone else in the Zoom right now. So it’s like Olympus is a modern city, but the mortal realm is still in ancient Greece. It's really cool, I was up until five AM last night reading it because I just like gave up and was like I just have to read this. Shout out to my friend Em who told me about those webcomics. Also Madeline Miller, who wrote Circe which was an incredible book and Song of Achilles which I haven't read yet, wrote a really cool piece about Persephone several years ago that basically ends with if Madeline Miller were Persephone we would always have winter because she loves pomegranates so much and that is a mood. Lexi: I love that you brought up Percy Jackson because it always bothers me but there are so many cool modern literary takes on a lot of these things but that's the one that had to get famous? Haley: I'm rereading and I finished the Percy Jackson series, forgot how much like I invested myself into it. I think I only read like the first book and like half of the second because I don't remember the third, fourth, fifth but I have the next series which is like… Alana: The Heroes of Olympus or something? And it’s the Roman? Haley: Maybe. I think that's the next one. Alana: I read the first four Percy Jackson books in a weekend, and I would have read the fifth one in a weekend but it was not out yet. Lexi: I was a fan of them as a child. Alana: I was in like fourth grade. Lexi: Yeah probably fourth grade. But my mom decided I was still a fan of them and for my twenty third birthday I asked for a single ticket to go see Hamilton by myself, but for the same price my mother bought four tickets to see Percy Jackson the Musical. Picture this– Haley: Wait, where was it first? Lexi: It was on Broadway. I mean a real Broadway– Haley: They had Broadway? Lexi: Yes. Picture a thirty two year old gay twink dancing around the stage pretending to be a twelve year old boy. Alana: That just sounds like the Percy Jackson Lightning Thief movie. Lexi: Yes. Alana: But with singing. Haley: To be fair Logan Lehrman because I– Alana: Oh, Logan Lehrman is incredible. Lexi: Also, I won't spoil the musical, the musical's gone now it doesn't run anymore, but in case they ever do another iteration and people want to see I won’t completely spoil it. But it is written where there's only a cast of eight people but all the characters are covered by those eight people, and so there are some weird interesting things where that really take you out of the story because like they have to do double duty as characters and all they do to change is like throw on a jacket. Haley: Is it just the first book? Lexi: Yes and no like how the movie was the first book, but like not. You know I mean? Haley: Yeah. Lexi: It's not a truthful direct adaptation. The songs were like “when your dad’s a god, your dad's a god. The one other thing I want to say about it is my brother and I had both for the books as kids and were like okay we'll go see this as like a family thing, whatever. During the intermission, a girl behind us who was probably maybe fourteen or fifteen would not shut up about Percy Jackson to her family and my brother leaned in and was like if we’d come here seven years ago that would have been you. And I mean probably. But to that team who put that on. Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself. Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History. Haley: Next week on Lady History, she’s going to blind us with some science. We're doing a deep dive into the women of twentieth century science. Haley: We good. Alana: Amazing.

[missjosie27]

Year 2 Part 7- Second Attempt

Hey, guys. I’m sorry for those of you who were waiting for me to update my story. Quarantining ironically has given the worst bout of creative lapse I’ve ever experienced. The next one will come much sooner. Everyone stay safe and I hope you enjoy as always!

David’s fears proved to be correct about the holidays- they were agonizingly slow and his parents pestering didn’t help matters. And by “parents” that basically meant his mother, who wanted to know everything from his classes, to his friends, right down to the kind of shampoo he was using on a daily basis. On top of that, it was their turn to host Christmas dinner this year and that meant spending time with the MacMillans, who were a lively bunch to say the least. Unlike the Grants, that particular clan had quite a few aunts, uncles, and cousins, some of which he had barely spoke to before. At the very least, it allowed him some breathing room from his mother.

His return to Hogwarts was a welcome resumption of the ongoing goal- getting into the vault and breaking the curse. Dumbledore was back again, but only a week and a half into January he was gone again, presumably on the same business that had kept him away in the first place.

In other words, no one knew anything and the ice was still a problem.

There hadn’t been another student trapped since the incident before Christmas, but the sense of urgency increased all the same among the curse breaking crew. They were ready for another attempt but as always there were roadblocks. And not just from teachers or Filch. For David, the Slytherins continued to be a thorn in his side, none more so than Merula who clearly had designs of her own. This was encapsulated by a simple hallway interaction.

Rushing to Charms with a sandwich stuffed in his mouth, he suddenly felt himself lurch forward and tumble to the ground.

“ARGH!”

Checking that he hadn’t choked or broken anything, David dusted himself off and saw Merula Snyde standing a few feet away.

Why am I not surprised?

“Really? The trip jinx?” he spoke in a bored tone.

A falsely sweet smile crossed the Slytherin girl’s face.

“Sorry, it was the only way to get your attention.”

“You could have just said my name like any other normal person.”

Merula gave a half shrug to indicate her general indifference.

“Guess you were moving too fast. Anyway, quit whining, Grant, that’s not the reason I need to talk to you.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked sarcastically.

“It’s about your brother.”

David eyed her carefully.

“What about him?”

“Why do you think he was so obsessed with the vaults?”

It was an attempt to glean information out of him. Merula lacked subtlety and it was evident by the greedy look in her eyes.

“All you ever do is go on about my brother and what a mad nutter he was. Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I know where he is,” she replied simply with the air of someone dangling a carrot at the end of a pole. “And I know what happened to him.”

David wasn’t stupid. He knew that even if Merula knew what happened to his brother, such information wouldn’t come without a price. Part of him seriously considered it, however. The child of Death Eaters was probably privy to an inner circle he wasn’t familiar with. On the other hand, the second year Slytherin practically lived to manipulate people.

“What do you want in exchange?” he asked.

“Now you’re catching on. I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me more about what you found on the vaults. Promise me that and you have a deal.”

The longing David felt reared its ugly head once more, telling him that no information was too valuable to give up in order to find Jacob. But that was the whole point of the vaults in the first place. It was a risk, but he trusted that finding them would prove to be more useful in locating his brother than whatever Merula had to say. For all he knew, she could be lying.

No, it wasn’t worth it.

“I’m not promising anything,” he said flatly. “Do you really think I’d trust you after all the times you’ve lied to me and everyone else?”

“It’s your loss,” Merula said with an eyeroll. “Or do Gryffindors know nothing about the art of compromise?”

“I don’t compromise knowing that the minute I turn my back you’re going to stab it. And don’t think I’ve forgotten you sent Ismelda to attack me last November.”

He expected her to give him another snarky comment or even threaten him with another attempt on his person. But to his surprise, Merula looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Merula. I know it was on your orders.”

“I told her to follow you, not attack you,” Merula replied. “Whatever happened, I didn’t tell her to do it.”

David remained suspicious, but the expression on his rival’s face betrayed no lie or manipulation. It appeared she truly had no knowledge of what transpired until now.

“Whatever,” he muttered slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Just tell Ismelda if she wants to actually hit a moving target, she may have to consider seeing with two eyes instead of one.”

He turned and began walking away but not before one last warning from Merula.

“Have it your way then, Grant. My offer still stands. From what I hear, your brother won’t survive much longer…”

David had to resist turning back around and firing off a curse at her face.

She’s goading you, don’t react. That’s what she wants. Jacob is fine…Jacob is fine….

He repeated these words in his head over and over until he reached Charms, wondering that if he said it enough times, he’d start to believe it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thankfully, the day wasn’t completely ruined by the conversation with Merula. Rowan and Ben were in the library, but Bill had personally invited him to the courtyard for what he termed a “sparring session”. He hadn’t dueled the elder Weasley since he taught him a few spells in his first year, but he figured there was a good reason for it.

The day was brisk- cold but sunny and no wind. In other words, it was going to be the best kind of weather you could get in Scotland during January. Daylight was scarce so they met during lunch hour.

“I don’t need to tell you that we’re entering the vault soon,” Bill told him as they crunched across the snow laden courtyard.

“We have to break into it before the ice strikes again,” David nodded. “The school goes back to normal and problem solved.”

“I’m hesitant to ever call this place ‘normal’,” Bill chuckled. “Nevertheless, you’re right. The sooner this curse is broken the better. We’ve prepared for it as well as we can given the circumstances. But there’s one piece of business to take care of first.”

“A sparring session?”

“Correct. This goes beyond teaching you to defend yourself from a bully and if something happens to one of us, the other has to be ready to step in. So we’re going to duel each other for a few rounds just to see how far you’ve come.”

David agreed but he couldn’t but wonder if outcomes would be any different than they were last year when Bill had first trained him. He never managed to defeat the eldest Weasley, which was to be expected. However, if there was one thing David knew about himself, is that he was taking more pride every day in his dueling. Quite simply, he hated to lose.

The two took stances about fifteen feet apart from each other.

“Ready?” Bill asked him.

David gave one last icy breath before affirming.

“Give me your best shot.”

The first jinx was so quick out of the wand, David barely had time to duck out of the way. Indeed, it would set the tone for the first match as in the next five seconds, Bill had his wand spiraling into the air and caught it in his hand.

“That one doesn’t count,” David said lamely.

“Of course not,” Bill laughed. “Just like the next two won’t either.”

He wasn’t wrong. David performed better in their next two battles, firing off spells that kept Bill off balance, but still ended up on his behind both times.

Looks like Bill’s gotten better since last year as well, he lamented.

“Call me mental but I don’t think you were this good last year,” he said to Bill as he was pulled up on his feet.

“Neither were you. Your spellwork and quickness have all improved.”

“Don’t patronize me,” David said as he dusted off the snow from his jacket. “I swear to Merlin Madam Pomfrey’s going to have to put multiple bandages on my ass.”

The main issue was that though his spells were accurate, Bill was finding a way to essentially block them. His agility was better, but his opponent was a good deal taller with a far more experienced spell acumen.

“Alright, learning the shield charm definitely helped,” the red head conceded with a sly smile. “But don’t sell yourself short. I think you have what it takes to beat me. I’ve never seen a second year with your skill before.”

“You think so?”

Bill nodded in the affirmative.

“Sometimes, you have to think outside the box to beat an older more experienced opponent. Let’s go one more time.”

They went back to their respective positions and lined up once more, David racking his brains as he did so. If he couldn’t beat Bill the straight forward way as he had with Merula, another tactic was in order, something he wouldn’t see coming.

“Ready?” Bill called out.

They bowed and David rightly anticipated a disarming spell headed his way which he ducked to avoid. Feigning movement, he suddenly dropped low and pointed his wand just in front of Bill’s feet.

“Scintilla abitur!”

A burst of orange sparks shot out, momentarily distracting the elder Weasley as jumped to avoid them. Taking advantage of the lapse in time, David fired off his own disarming spell before his opponent’s shield went up.

“Expelliarmus!”

This time, it was David’s turn to catch a spinning wand from the air, grinning widely knowing he had finally bested the older Gryffindor. Bill couldn’t have looked more pleased.

“And that’s how it’s done,” he said. “The spark charm? Nice touch.”

“Found it in one of books Rowan lent me. ‘A Wizard’s Survival Guide to the Outdoors’. Supposed to help with kindling a fire without the risk of it spreading.”

“I told you,” Bill smiled. “It isn’t just about how many spells you know or how big you are. If you know how to move and press an advantage, you can win almost any time. Now let’s see your fire making spell one more time before we head in.”

David did so, casting a large amount of flame from his wind to demonstrate his full mastery.

“You got it. I reckon we’re ready to go into this vault tomorrow night.”

“Agreed. Best not to wait any longer. Merula came up to me today trying to pry more information.”

“She’s something else that girl,” Bill said shaking his head. “Makes me wonder though.”

A smirk began playing at the end of his lips, causing David to raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing…I just think there may be more to this than meets the eye.”

“Spill it already. In plain English, please.”

“I think she fancies you.”

David, who at that point had pulled out a flask of water spit out whatever he had consumed.

“Are you out of your mind?! Don’t even joke about stuff like that.”

But Bill’s grin didn’t subside, if anything it grew wider.

“I’m just saying. She’s obsessed with you, mate. Always following you around trying to catch your attention. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she has a little crush.”

“Thank you for the ghastly attempt at making me lose my lunch but nice try,” David scoffed.

“What’s the matter? I’d say she’s pretty cute for a Slytherin girl,” Bill continued to tease.

“Keep talking and I’ll tell Charlie that I beat you today in a duel by using a spark charm.”

The red head feigned offense.

“Now that’s just low, Dave.”

They continued to joke and rib each other as they made their way inside to the warm fire of the Gryffindor common room. It was comforting in a way that David hadn’t felt in a long time. A sensation similar to that of an older brother teasing you…

It was only then that the desire to reach the vault intensified that much more for the young Gryffindor.

Stay strong, Pip, the memory echoed in his mind.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next night, preparations were made, and everything was accounted for. Bill and David would be the ones to enter the vault while Rowan stood guard as he was still a bit spooked from the last attempt. He was more than happy to allow the eldest Weasley take a stab at it this time. In order to fool the cantankerous caretaker and his mangy cat, they would use the same method as last time, namely tempting Mrs. Norris with milk spiked with a sleeping potion expertly brewed by Penny. Now that they knew the location of the vault and its defenses, it would give them enough time to hopefully break through it before Filch found out.

David wasn’t overly concerned that only Bill would be accompanying him, as his presence alone ensured a stronger chance of getting rid of this curse. But he was a tad disappointed Ben would not be going. Indeed, his friend remained timid and apprehensive of anything related to curse breaking which was not surprising given the ordeal he had suffered earlier in the year. The blond boy never did recall what happened to him or have any clue who ‘R’ was. Confidence was a fleeting thing as due to being both a second year and muggle born was seen as a soft target by the older students and Slytherins in general.

“You’re one of the bravest people I know, Dave,” Ben told him the night before. “This is something you were made for. I’m not. Plain and simple.”

Try as he might, David couldn’t convince Ben to come along and he didn’t push it too hard. He could hardly blame him for that, but he did hope to continue assisting his friend in other ways, chief among them his fear of well…everything.

So, that aside it was time to take another crack at the vault. Doing their best not to wake the fat lady and avoid any other teachers that happened to be patrolling that night, the trio of Bill, David, and Rowan slowly and quietly made their way towards the 13th corridor. Sure enough, Mrs. Norris was there prowling around in her usual manner, stopping to occasionally lick her paws.

“Got the milk, Rowan?”

“Right here.”

His best friend produced the bowl and proceeded to pour the purplish sleeping potion inside. From there all took it was a simple levitation charm to place it only a few spots away from the hated feline. Sure enough, Mrs. Norris spotted the bowl and greedily licked it dry. From there it only took about thirty seconds for her to wobble around in confusion until finally dropping to the floor in a heap.

“You know, we should really tell Tonks about this little trick,” David joked. “She’d have a good time I bet.”

Rowan rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, in detention.”

Bill took a brief downward glance at the now unconscious cat remarking dryly, “Never did like this thing. Tried to catch me when I was late for class in my first year.”

“Join the club,” David told him as he took out his wand. He racked his brain to try and locate the exact spot he needed to apply his power. In particular he tried to pick out the coldest spot.

“McGonagall mentioned the other day you had mastered vanishing and revealing spells,” Bill told him. “That’s really impressive considering there are some sixth years that haven’t mastered them yet.”

“It’s his best subject,” Rowan added. “Only one he gets better marks than I do.”

“I seem to recall you’re pretty rubbish on a broom compared to me.”

The Indian boy flushed.

“That doesn’t count.”

Chuckling good naturedly, David pointed his wand and envisioned a darkened staircase full of eerie old statues of knights and other such medieval symbols complete with an icy chamber at the end. Though it still took a few seconds and a couple of flickers, the entrance yielded itself.

“Whoa!” Bill exclaimed quietly.

“I know, we said the same thing first time we saw it.”

Rowan gave them a thumbs up.

“I’ll be on the lookout. That potion should knock Mrs. Norris out for a couple of hours but Filch may still be around just in case.”

“Thanks, mate.”

He turned to Bill for one last warning.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? This is like nothing you’ve experienced before or probably ever will.”

“Not if I become a curse breaker,” Bill said with a wink before turning serious.

“Don’t worry, Dave I’ll be fine. There’s only so much you can prepare you. We have to do this.”

The young Gryffindor, despite anxiety over the negative possibilities nodded.

“As you may have noticed, the temperature is lower than average even by Scottish standards. We have to move as quickly as possible before it overcomes us. It nearly happened to Rowan and I the last time.”

“Got it,” Bill concurred. “Stay behind me so I know you’re safe.”

Without another word, the two boys headed up the stairs in a light jog to ensure the blood stayed warm whilst they broke the curse. As they entered the hall of knights, David began explaining to Bill what they needed to do.

“The main chamber is just ahead. Once we’re inside the door will probably begin firing freezing spells at us.”

“You weren’t kidding about this place,” Bill panted slightly. “I’ve experienced blizzards at the Burrow warmer than this.”

As they reached the entrance to the ice room, however, they found their pathway blocked by a wall of ice about ten feet high.

“That wasn’t there the last time,” David muttered. “This curse keeps getting stronger.”

Bill sized up the ice briefly.

“What do you make of it?”

“Must be the vaults defenses. I wish I knew who built them and why.”

“Time for that later, wands out,” he said. “You know what to do.”

Without hesitation they fired off simultaneous blasts of ‘incendio’ the large plumes of fire burning a hole large enough for an average man to walk through.

“Good enough. After you,” David gestured to Bill who obliged.

Upon arrival Bill threw out an arm to prevent him from going any further. His eyes cast a wondrous glance around the room. It was exactly the same as David remembered- resembling a vast ice castle (or igloo depending on one’s sense of humor) sparkling white and blue with vast amounts of snow. It also gave off a similar feeling as the hallway: that this was a place alive with ancient magic untapped for years by any witch or wizard.

But their focus quickly returned to the door, still guarded by an enormous snowflake shaped shield.

“Is that what attacked you and Rowan the last time?”

“Yup. Started firing off freezing charms as soon as we got too close.”

“That’s the mistake you made last time,” Bill counselled. “It attacked you before you had a chance to put up a proper fight.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Let’s approach it cautiously. We don’t want to set if off before we get a chance to attack. So let’s flank it on each side and cast fire at it when we’re ready.”

David at least felt slightly more confident about this than the last time he had been in here with Rowan. At the very least, they wouldn’t be naively approaching an unknown door without some kind of plan.

The two boys split up and approached from the right and left, careful not to make a sound other than the soft crunching of snow underneath their shoes. David tried to concentrate on putting his full power behind a fire blast but that was increasingly difficult with the bone chilling cold starting to creep into his veins. It was certainly more powerful than the last time and they had perhaps only minutes before they were forced to retreat.

“On three, Dave,” Bill gestured towards him.

David aimed his wand carefully at the shield.

“One…two….three!! Incendio!”

Fire issued forth and hit that door at full blast for a good five seconds. Before David could ask aloud if it worked, a luminescent glow began forming around the giant snowflake in front of the door.

That’s not good

It shot a freezing spell towards him, and the young preteen only just got out of the way as the projectile missed him by inches. Bill, however, was not so lucky. Being a bigger target. he could not avoid the wrath of whatever powers were protecting the vault and he was soon consumed from his lower body to his shoulders in ice.

“Bill!” David said running over, ducking another blast.

“It must have countered our incendio,” Bill uttered. “D-damn this is c-c-cold.”

“This didn’t happen to Rowan the last time this happened. I’ll get you out.”

“Be c-c-careful, Dave. Incendio can kill a person if you’re not careful.”

David thought for a split second. Casting fire would surely get the job done quicker but it was certainly more dangerous. The knockback jinx might do the trick but there was no telling if that would still work or how long it would take.

There was no time, he had to make a decision. In a rapid succession he cast three knockback jinxes to chip away massive chunks of the ice.

“Hurry, Dave!”

“I got you, Bill. You’re almost out.”

Dodging another blast from the vault’s defenses, David grabbed Bill’s hand and pulled as hard as he could, managing to pry him loose from the icy prison.

“Can you walk?”

“Forget walking! Run!”

The two boys made a beeline for the exit, squeezing through the hole they had created in the ice wall, which by now was no bigger than a dwarf, but crouching low they slipped by and took off running, the last of the freezing projectiles missing them by a few feet.

“Dave what-”

“No time to explain, just get to the Hospital Wing.”

Bill stopped, his teeth still shivering.

“No hospital wing, Dave.”

“But you’re freezing your ass off! That ice took Rowan three days to recover from.”

“Halloween is one thing b-but arriving at the Hospital Wing at midnight out of bed is just g-going to lead to more questions from the t-teachers. Get me b-back to Gryffindor Tower and get me c-close to a fire. I’ll be fine.”

They began to protest but the older teen shook his head.

“No use t-talking me o-out of it. Let’s g-go before we get c-caught.”

And off they went, the next ten minutes becoming something of a blur to David. True they had avoided getting caught once more but proper chances and time were running out. Clearly more research had to be done in order to break the seal on the vault.

Sitting by the roaring fire with cups of hot cocoa in hand, the trio didn’t say much but no one needed to. The collective feeling was mutual- cursebreaking was a lot harder than they thought. 

[babbushka]

Blue Moon (7/10)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

(Could be interpreted as modern!au Kylo Ren/Reader for those who don't know who Pale is, but really this is Pale from Burn This!)

Word count: 8.8K

Warnings: N*FW content (language, explicit content) mild violence, mild homophobia mentions, mild drug use, mild angst 

You had kept your fucking hands to yourself for the most part like he had asked, and Pale was grateful. Last thing he needed was swerving into oncoming fucking traffic over the bridge from you jerkin’ him off. He couldn’t even look at you, at your pretty fuckin’ face, too worried he’d crash the god damned car staring at you for too long.

The restaurant was nice, not the nicest place in the world because he didn’t fuckin’ feel like driving that far, but nice.

You held onto his arm as the two of yous walked into the joint, it was all cream linen tablecloths and chandeliers, and you were eyeing every piece of art on the walls.

“You like it?” He asked, wanting to make sure you didn’t think the place sucked.

“It’s beautiful.” You smiled up at him, and he couldn’t take that for too long before he pinched at your nose and made you laugh, the sound made his fucking heart stutter as he slid into the booth next to you.

He really was going to have to get a fuckin’ doctor to take a look at him wasn’t he?

“How come we’re eating out tonight?” You asked as you unfolded the napkin onto your lap, smoothed it over your thighs where the skirt of your dress was doing its fucking best to not ride up.

He slipped his hand between your thigh anyway, didn’t do nothin’ too handsy, just sandwiched his palm between your legs. God you were so hot.

The waiter came around and poured some ice water into the glasses in front of you, asked for the wine order. Pale rambled off some high end name, wanted to get rid of the kid, wanted to have you all to himself.

“I need a reason to take my girl out?” He scoffed, lighting a cigarette and blowing big puffs into the air.

You made a face at that, a real happy one. One of those smug cat-that-got-the-cream kinds that made him realize he slipped up, said something too fuckin’ sappy.

“Your girl.” You said with a bit of a teasing lilt, grinning into your glass of water.

“Come on don’t start.” He rolled his eyes, cheeks heating up despite his best efforts.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” You said, not even fucking bothering to hide that smile now.

“How’s that?” He frowned, he didn’t remember sayin’ it before? You had said it in the car and he had confirmed it – because how could he? How could he deny it? He was just a man after all.

“When you were yelling at Marty, you called me your girl.” You smiled and smiled, and of course he remembered that now that you mentioned it, of course he did.

“No I didn’t.” He said anyway, and you laughed, sipped your water.

“Okay.” You relented, took the time to look at the menu even though you knew he was gonna order for you anyway.

He smoked for a little bit, anxiety chewing him up for a second.

“Well you are, ain’t you?” He asked a little too snappish, in a roundabout way just wanting to hear you say it. What if you’d changed your mind? What if –

“You bet I am.” You interrupted what coulda been a real slippery fuckin’ slope, “Said so in the car didn’t I?” You asked, sipped your water.

The waiter came back with the wine. He must have been new because he did a real shit job pouring Pale’s glass, so bad that he fuckin’ snatched the bottle right out of the kids hand and poured your glass himself. The kid practically scurried out of the place in shame.

“Well I ain’t out to dinner with my old fuckin’ lady if that’s what you’re askin’.” Pale sniffed, set the bottle down and flicked his ash into the crystal ashtray on the table.

You were quiet for a moment, eyeing his hand as he smoked, a little crease in between your eyebrows. Pale wanted to wipe away that crease, so he did – smoothed his thumb right on your forehead, making you sigh a happy little smile out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked gently, taking his hand away from your forehead and biting his thumb. “What happened in Miami?”

“Not really.” Pale shook his head, and bless you, you just smiled.

“Okay.” You said, too understanding. How were you too understanding all the fucking time?

“’Okay’?” He asked, giving you a chance to push, to be nosy, to be rightfully pissed off at him for being a married fuckin’ man, stupid, so stupid of him to have gotten married --

“Yeah, ‘okay’.” You shrugged, looked down at the menu and then back at him. “What are we ordering?”

“Why are you so fuckin’ easy breezy all the time?” He asked, couldn’t help himself, was so fucking confused by you.

Not that he would mind if you had been married, he wouldn’t have given a shit about that, woulda taken care of that for you if that’s something you had wanted, but why were you so cool about everything?

“What, you want me to yell at you?” You asked, a teasing smile dancing on your lips as you sipped the wine, it stained them dark red, he just had to swoop down and kiss you real quick.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’d fuckin’ know how to handle that better. I don’t know how to handle you sometimes, I always expect you to give me a fuckin’ hard time, but you never do. It sets me on edge, you know? I always fuckin’ wait for the other fuckin’ shoe to drop but it never does. How come?” He frowned.

“I only got the one.” You shrugged, and despite his mood, he laughed a little at that.

“Where the hell did you come from?” He muttered under his breath, but you only laughed.

“Not Jersey – maybe that’s your problem.” You said.

“Watch it.” He gave you a warning frown, but you just tucked yourself right up against him, encouraged that hand of his in between your thighs to smooth itself over your panties.

“Come on you gotta admit that was kinda funny.” You kissed the corner of his mouth over and over again until he smiled, shook his head just enough to dislodge you.

“It was very funny.” He conceded, smoked his cigarette.

The waiter came and went, took the orders and brought the food. All the while Pale finished his smoke, fondled you a little bit.

“How do you feel about vacations?” Pale asked once the dinner had arrived, had pulled his hand away just long enough to cut into his fucking prime rib, and then pushed it right back down.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t go on any.” You said, cutting into your own meal, trying not to squirm under his touch.

That caught him off guard.

“What, never?” He asked with a frown, and you just shook your head.

“Nope.” You popped your ‘p’, but didn’t seem too upset about it.

He could change that, he thought, he could take you wherever the fuck you wanted to go. He wondered where you might want, out of the country probably. He wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out of the fuckin’ country with all the shit going on. Then again the whole fuckin’ world was in shambles, so what difference would it make.

Either way, the thought of fucking you in Paris sounded good enough for him to rub at your panties some more.

“Well you should. You work too fuckin’ hard not to go on vacation, you know? You work too hard. Ask Fishel for some time off.” He suggested, not really suggesting but you know.

“Nah, I can’t do that.” You shook your head.

“Why the fuck not?” He asked, not unkindly, just confused.

“I’m his best waitress, you know? I can’t go leavin’ him with Maria or Stephanie or whoever the fuck else. They don’t got the same know-how as me.” You chuckled, probably imagining what the place would be like in your absence.

“Jesus you wouldn’t be gone all fuckin’ year, just a weekend or something, enough time to warm your bones. It’s fuckin’ freezing here.” He huffed, sipped his wine and ate his steak.

“What do you expect, it’s January. What’s January like in Jersey?” You teased.

“Cold as all shit.” He teased back, making you laugh.

The two of you ate for a while, sat in pleasant silence.

Pale’s brain was whirring of course, thinking of all the things he had to get done over the next couple of days. Maybe he’d call Kenny up, book an appointment. He had to check on the shipment schedule, make sure that was all up to fuckin’ snuff, probably should go to the fuckin’ docks make sure nothin’ out of order was goin’ on, he definitely needed --

“Where would we go?” You asked, breaking the silence, humming with thought.

“Wherever you want.” He shrugged, looking at you.

“Have you been a lot of places?” You looked right back at him.

“Not too many, a couple cities, couple states, couple countries.” He sipped his wine, no big deal. It was no big deal. He had more pins on a map than most fuckin’ travel agencies, but it was no big deal.

“What’s your favorite?” You asked.

“Queens.” He said without any hesitation.

You blushed so pretty he just had to kiss you again.

 Pale was hot, hot for you. Something about the way you fuckin’ looked tonight, in that dress he picked out for you, in the low light of the restaurant, who fuckin’ knows. You looked so good, always looked good, god he wanted to fuck you.

The threw a couple hundred dollar bills onto the table, grabbed at your hand.

“Come with me, I want my fuckin’ dessert and I don’t want to wait for it.” He said without any more preamble, and slid out of the booth.

You followed, you had to fuckin’ know what was coming, had to know how bad he wanted you. You had to know.

He got you as far as the back alley, just behind the restaurant where the busboys took their break. One was smoking there now, but Pale didn’t pay too much attention, too hell bent on getting your panties yanked down to your ankles.

“How do you want me?” You shuddered, the cold air on your cunt.

“Back against the wall, put your fuckin’ leg over my shoulder.” He ordered, as he crouched down enough to get eye level with your glistening pussy, and you did as you were told; slung your leg over his shoulder, heel digging into his back.

He licked into you, sucked all your juices up. You made the best fucking noises, you really did, he thought as he licked and prodded his tongue between your folds.

Your hands immediately went to his hair, made him smile against you as they dug into his scalp, fisted his hair and held his head in place.

“Pale, please – ” You sighed as he thrust his tongue deep into you, making you yelp, pull his hair a little too hard.

“Be good.” He said, pulling back, looking up at you.

He wrapped an arm around the thigh on his shoulder, bit a dark mark there before going back to drinking your pussy down, his nose prodding and rubbing at your clit.

“Oh!” You gasped, back arching against the filthy alley wall as he did it again and again, and again as you came.  

He moved your leg off of him, stood up. You were looking at him with a hazy look of pleasure all over your face, it made his cock hard.

“I’m not fuckin’ finished with you yet.” He said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

He snapped your panties off, ripped them right up and tugged you over to where his car was parked in the dark lot.  

“Bend over, come on.” He licked his teeth, anxious, had to get in you, had to fuck you right fuckin’ now.

You did as you were told, braced yourself on the hood of his car, god he was so glad he had bought this model, there was plenty of hood space. He shoved the scrappy panties into your mouth, gagged you with it, made you taste yourself.

He wasted no fuckin’ time at all yanking his belt open, his fly, pulling out his cock. He grunted as he slid into you, pushing the air out of your lungs at the same time as he pushed you flush down on the hood.

He didn’t even give you any fuckin’ time to adjust, just had you biting down on your panties to muffle your moans.

“One of these days I’m gonna strip you naked and fuck you like this, get your sweat all over the hood of my fucking car, so everyone can know what a slut you are – aren’t you?” He loved the way you looked like this, like a girl out of some fuckin’ Whitesnake video, shaking the car with how good he was fucking you.

You couldn’t answer, of course, he fuckin’ knew you couldn’t, but you nodded your head anyway, let him know – let him know that you were his whore, his slut, that this was his cunt to fuck.

And fuck it he did, hard and rough in the god damned dingy parking lot behind the restaurant, fucked you right off the freeway, under nothing but the light of the damn moon. He wished there was at least a street light somewhere, at the very fuckin’ least, so he could see the way your back moved as he rammed into you.

He wasn’t going to last, not with the way you were moaning for him, but that was okay, he had all night to fuck you, all night to make you scream and cry and beg for him. The thought of you begging had him coming, had him pushing all the way into you, could feel the head of his cock shoving its way against your cervix, making you clench up around him and come too, both of you going and going until you slumped limp against the car, until the stars stopped dancing behind his eyes.

He yanked the underwear out of your mouth, stuffed it in his pocket. You unstuck yourself from the car, turned around and smiled at him.

“Let’s get the fuck home, huh?” He asked, not wanting to think about the implications of that statement, brain too fuckin’ fuzzy to care right now.

You just nodded with a smile, always with a fuckin’ satisfied smile, and got in the car.

“Go draw a bath, would ya?” He asked when the two of you got back to your place.

He was fuckin’ freezing despite his jacket, and the thought of soaking in a hot tub seemed like exactly what he needed.

“Okay, but we’re running out of bubbles.” You said, disappearing into the bathroom.

“Alright I’ll pick more up tomorrow.” He said, pulling off his clothes and throwing them onto the couch.

“Are you off tomorrow?” You asked, working on getting yourself naked too.

You stripped down to nothing but the chain, and that made Pale’s stomach get all fuckin’ twisted in knots again. A doctors’ trip was definitely fuckin’ needed, he’d call Kenny the next day, he decided.

“No but I don’t gotta go in until late.” He shook his head, climbed into the tub.

“I’m workin’ a double.” You frowned, reaching for his hand to steady yourself as you climbed in too.

You grabbed the little bottle of bubble bath and drizzled it into the tub, shutting the water off so it wouldn’t overflow and get suds all over the fucking place.

“I’ll come over when I’m done, I gotta run a couple errands during the day so I can’t go visitin’ you at work or nothin’.” He reassured you and you straddled him, settled your thighs around his hips, carding your hands through his wet hair.

“That’s okay, Sundays are real busy anyway. Got all the folks who don’t go to church rushin’ the place for breakfast to take advantage of all the empty space, and then got the lunch rush for all the folks comin’ out of church wantin’ a bite to eat.” You said, and he smiled.

“Good think you got the know-how, huh.” He teased.

You leaned down to kiss him.

“You bet, and I make the most tips.” You winked.

He ran his hands up your stomach and grabbed at your tits, massaged them in his hands.

“You sure it ain’t ‘cause of these tits of yours?” He ran his teeth along your jaw, nipped at your cheek.

“Nah, only you get to see them.” You said, voice low, like even that was just for him.

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He sucked on your bottom lip, got it all red and puffy.

“Can I ride you?” You asked, whining, shifting your weight on your knees.

“’Course you can sweetheart, come here.” He leaned back, watched as you did all the work.

You really were like a work of fuckin’ art, he thought, as you cried on his dick.

You had thrown your head back, soap and suds sliding down your curves, over your tits.

He almost wished he brought his cigarettes in, he had gone through the pack he kept stashed in your fuckin’ bathroom, he’d pick up more when he got the bubbles.

You were hungry for it, that was for fuckin’ sure, and every so often he would thrust up into you, make you yelp out in pleasure.

You did that hip circling thing again, the one that made his eyes roll back as you clenched down around him, god you were an angel, how had he found you? How was he so fuckin’ lucky? How how how?

In the shitty light of the bathroom you were some fuckin’ slutty angel just for him, and with his hands on your hips he fucked up into you, bounced you on his cock with his own thrusts.

“I’m gonna – ”

“Just a little bit more.” He interrupted, not wanting this to be over so fuckin’ soon, not yet, not yet.

“Pale pleasepleaseplease.” You begged, face all scrunched up, crying and moaning and groaning and grooving for him, grinding down on his cock.

He came in you with a stuttered groan, fucked you through it, milked his orgasm for whatever it was worth. He reached down and rolled your clit as he thrust, and you came too, that mouth of yours dropping into a pretty little O.

“Are you stayin’ over?” You breathed, tried to catch your breath. He liked that he knocked the wind outta you.  

“Not tonight.” He said. He wished he could, but he had too much shit to do, too much to stay.

“Okay.” You frowned, and it broke his fuckin’ heart, he could feel it shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, panic spiking in him, he didn’t want you upset.

“Hey don’t sound so fuckin’ glum, I’m comin’ over tomorrow night after work.” He tipped your chin up, sat up a bit in the tub, sloshed the water around and kissed you, tried to kiss you happy again.

“I know, but it’s so cold without you.” You whined, pouting at him as you draped your arms over his shoulders.

“That all you use me for? My heat? Huh?” He teased, kissing you all over your face until you didn’t look so fuckin’ sad.

“Yeah that’s it.” You rolled your eyes, making him smile against his own better fuckin’ judgement, “Definitely not your charm, or your wit, or your sense of humor or nothin’.”

“Good.” He said, giving your jaw a shake and pulling you in for another kiss.

He never liked the doctors office. It was always too fuckin’ clean, he thought. He didn’t trust clean places, didn’t like what that meant – that someone had come in there, looked around and decided this place wasn’t good enough for them as is, had to make it spic-and-fuckin’-span.

Doctors offices had no fuckin’ charm, no personality, he thought.

“Hey I’m here to see doctor fuckin’ so-and-so?” Pale walked right up to the front desk, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Dr. Kenneth?” The woman at the desk frowned, and he laughed.

Kenneth, he thought, so fuckin’ professional.  

“Is that what they’re callin’ him these days? Yeah, Dr. Kenneth.” He agreed, shrugged, whatever.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked.

“No I don’t got an appointment, but tell him Jimmy’s here, he’ll know what that means.” Pale said, not moving.  

“Just a moment.” The woman said, eyeing him as she picked up the phone. “Dr.? Yes, a Jimmy is here to see you. Okay…okay….thank you. You can go on in.” She said, mildly annoyed that he got to skip the line so to speak.

“Thanks.” He said, leaving a cloud of smoke behind him.

He walked right back to the open patient room, didn’t bother sitting down.

“Jim! How are ya?” A familiar face smiled at him, pulled him into a tight hug.

“I ain’t so good Kenny.” Pale said with a frown, making Kenny frown too.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, immediately concerned.

Pale did sit then, didn’t really know how to start. How could he? He didn’t even know what was wrong with him, didn’t know what to tell Kenny to even start asking the right questions to find out what was wrong.

“Well, I got this girl, see. She’s real pretty, got the best fuckin’ face I ever seen, like straight outta your dreams kinda pretty. And I think she’s done something to me but I don’t know what.” Pale said, knowing exactly how fucking paranoid he was sounding right now.

“What, like poison you?” Kenny asked in disbelief, making Pale shake his head.

“No, it’s like…it’s like I got a toothache she’s so sweet, you know? A toothache right in my fuckin’ chest – why the fuck are you smiling at me like that Kenny this ain’t no laughing matter I could be dying!” Pale snapped, not appreciating the fuckin’ hysterics.

“When you’re with this girl, how does it make you feel? Does your stomach hurt?” Kenny composed himself, even did Pale the decency of pulling out his fuckin’ clipboard.

“Nah not hurt exactly, but it does these little fuckin’ flips like I’m about to be sick, you know? Like I’m going on a rollercoaster and we’re going upside down and shit. Am I dying?” Pale asked, wanting to know straight up.

Kenny stared at his clipboard for a long while, mulling over his notes.

“You’re not dying, you’re in love.” He said finally, and Pale rolled his eyes, struck up another cigarette.

“Fuck you no I’m not.” He scoffed, but Kenny laughed.

“Of course you are! And you damn well better be, married and all.” He said pointedly.

“No Kenny it ain’t her, I’m done with her.” Pale shook his head, blew smoke outta his nose.

“Done?” Kenny frowned, shit, had he not told anyone?

“Yeah she fuckin’ split two years ago, comin’ up on three.” Pale rectified that mistake then and there, and waved away Kenny’s already sympathetic face.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Jimmy I didn’t know. Divorce and everything?” He asked, but Pale shook his head.

“She won’t sign the fuckin’ papers, but we might as well be. Went down to Miami for Christmas where she’s staying with the kids and her fucking parents, and I got all fucked up but for different reasons, you know?” He smoked and smoked. Wondered if there was something ironic about smoking in a doctors office.

“Yeah I know. Shit, you’re in love and got yourself a mistress.” Kenny whistled.

“Hey don’t talk about her like that, she’s better than that, than a fuckin’ mistress. She ain’t no side chick or nothing, she’s my main girl – my only girl. Got that?” Pale bristled, making Kenny put his hands up in mercy.

“Yeah I got it, I got it Jimmy. You’re not dying though.” He chucked the clipboard onto the desk, reached out his hand for a cigarette.

“Who the fuck even gave you your medical license, huh?” Pale muttered, gave him one anyway and tossed him a lighter.

“Does this girl not know? Is that what’s got you so worked up?” Kenny asked, glad for the smoke.

“Not know what?” Pale asked back.

“That you like her.” He clarified.

“I fuck her like 10 fuckin’ times a week yeah she knows I like her.” Pale sniffed, making Kenny laugh.

“Then why the hell are you here asking me all this instead of just talkin’ to her?” He raised his eyebrows in an all too familiar way. Looked like his fuckin’ father when he did that.

“Because I’m still con-fuckin’-vinced there’s something wrong with me.” Pale grumbled, annoyed.

“How long we know each other Jimmy?” Kenny asked in that stupid way of his.

“Our whole fuckin’ lives, you’re my brother you asshole.” Pale rolled his eyes, making Kenny nod.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, I know when my brother is dyin’ and this ain’t it, okay?” Kenny said, makin’ Pale snap his jaw shut. “Does she know about Robbie?”

“Yeah, she knows.” He said.

“She good to you?” Kenny asked, “You know, like do you talk to her? She treat you okay?”

“She treats me too good, I don’t deserve it.” Pale sighed, making his brother frown.

“Why not, are you mean to her?” He asked, making Pale want to deck him.

“Of course I’m not fuckin’ mean to her Kenny what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, but Kenny just shrugged.

“I just know sometimes you’re a little rough around the edges is all, jesus I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He defended himself.

“You know I almost fuckin’ killed a guy in front of her and she didn’t so much as flinch, she don’t care that I’m ‘rough around the edges.’” Pale said, admiring you.

“What’d the poor sucker do?” Kenny asked, knowing this ain’t the first or last time something like that would happen.

“He touched her and she didn’t like it, so I beat his fuckin’ face in.” Pale shrugged, making Kenny grin.

“So that’s what busted your knuckles all up.” He waved to his brother’s hand.

“Oh yeah, how they lookin’? Not infected or nothing right?” He leaned over, gave his brother his hand to look at.

“Nope you’re good.” He replied after a cursory glance, “And I mean it, you’re fine. Get out of my office and go back to your girl, okay?”

“Alright alright, thanks Kenny.” Pale sighed, standing back up and giving his brother a hug.

“Hey – and call Mom at some point, okay? She misses you.” Kenny said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah I’ll ring her up tomorrow.” Pale rolled his eyes.

He left the office, and said goodbye to the woman at the desk, before being confronted with pouring rain outside.

God fucking damnit, he thought, of course he hadn’t thought to bring his umbrella – when the hell did it rain like this in the middle of winter? Wasn’t it supposed to snow instead?

He made a mad dash to his car, using his fucking jacket as a shield against the ran, sped through it to get to your apartment.

By the time he had parked, the rain hadn’t stopped, and Pale was pissed. He cursed to himself as he bounded up the stairs to your apartment two at a time, bitched to himself about his fancy fucking leather jacket and his boots and his silk fucking shirt that all was going to be ruined.

He shoved the key into your lock and threw the door open with a bang.

You of course, weren’t so much as surprised by the noise.

“Get the fuck over here.” He barked out, slamming the door just as loud.

You lazily walked over, abandoned whatever it was you were doing in the kitchen in favor of Pale. He was sick with this feeling in his fucking gut for you, sick with it. He had to have you, he needed you.

The second you got close enough he grabbed your arms, crushed you to him in a bruising kiss.

Pale had you pinned against the wall. Your chest was heaving, tits spilling out of your strappy top for him, pushing practically into his fuckin’ face. He could feel your thighs twitching underneath that slutty skirt you put on just for him, eager for him. Your eyes were wide open, he could smell the lust on you, smell how you wanted him.

He was going to fucking give it to you.

Like a man possessed he pulled out his switchblade, the one he kept hidden in his fucking jacket that was soaking fucking wet. He flipped it open, pressed it against your hip. You smiled.

That mouth, that mouth thatmouththatmouth – it was all he could think about.

He started with one, just one. One fucking finger in your mouth, rubbing against your tongue.

“Suck.” He said. You were so fucking good, you always waited until he said.

He added a second, his middle finger, pushed the two in and out of your mouth. Watched the spit glisten in the scarce moonlight. You sucked, and sucked and jesus he could watch the way his fingers stuffed your mouth for hours, days, weeks.

He was mesmerized, he was fucking out of it – was he dreaming? He didn’t want to wake up if it was, wanted to watch you forever. He could, you know. He really fucking could.

You sucked, and he added a third, his ring finger. God it felt so naked without his ring – the reminder made him snarl, made him push his fingers down your throat, made him make you gag.

“I like when you’re sloppy.” He growled, sneering down at you, baring his teeth and licking his lips as you made a mess of yourself, all for him.

The noises were delicious, disgustingly wet, exactly the way he liked it. He didn’t know where he was going with this, didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but he knew he never wanted to stop.

He let the switchblade trail up your thigh over your skirt. He could cut it right up if he wanted you, you’d let him. He’d just buy you another one anyway.

He did it, sliced right through the fabric, letting it fall to the floor. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath. He cut up your top too, you weren’t wearing a bra neither.

He added a fourth, his pinky, slipped it right into your fucking mouth, spread his fingers apart and ran the tips along the sharp edges of your teeth.

He pulled his hand away, let all the sticky spit string along as he did. You whined, you knew how he loved to hear you whine for him.

He smeared his soaking wet hand, really it was dripping from all your good fuckin’ work, against your mouth and chin. Held your jaw in his big hand, forced it open just enough so he could lean in and lick your bottom lip. You were panting, drooling. He licked it up.

His slippery hand covered your mouth, he spread his fingers to grip tight at your jaw and cover up that gorgeous fucking mouth of yours, but you just kissed his palm. Sucked right at the juncture between his thumb and index finger, moaned.

He was so hard in his fucking jeans, but he couldn’t stop watching you, couldn’t stop pressing his hand against your mouth, like he was covering up a scream. Maybe he was, maybe he’d make you scream for him.

You made out with his hand until he pressed it downwards, pressed it against your throat.

“Say it.” He choked you making your head tip back and hit the back of the wall.

“I’m your whore.” You breathed with the biggest, smuggest fucking smile on your face.  

He leaned in and parted your lips with his tongue, exhaled into your mouth. You moaned, breathed him in.

His hand traveled to the back of your head, gripped the hair at the base of your skull into his tight fist. He pushed you down, watched hungrily as you went, watched as you sank to your knees.

It was slow, torture, the way you slid down the wall. Torture watching you. Was he dreaming?

Just when you probably fucking thought he was going to pull his dick out and fuck your throat, he stepped back, watched and watched and watched you.

“Go to the bed.” He said, voice pitched deep from how fucking turned on he was.

Thunder cracked outside, the entire apartment lighting up something fuckin’ fierce with a flash of white light. Rain poured and poured and poured outside – maybe he’d fuck you on the fire escape after.

Pale watched as you crawled.

Crawled on your hands and fucking knees. Slunk across the floor of the living room.

Only when you had crawled your fucking way to the god damned bed and lay back like some fucking pillow princess, spreading your legs like the perfect fucking angel you were, did he bother to unbuckle his jeans, storming over to you.

He grabbed at your legs, yanked you down so your ass was barely hanging off the foot of the bed, and pushed into you.

“I’m gonna fuck you raw.” He said, voice low in your ear. He drank up the way you shivered under his bruising touch as he dug his fingers into your waist.

“Yeah?” You asked, shaking, shaking with how eager you were.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” He nodded slowly, grinding his dick into you, drawing out the sweetest noise from your throat.

There was something about fucking you like this, you on your back, that made him feel so fucking electric.

Your tits bounced as he slammed his way into you, pushing you up and up and up the bed with the hard smack of his hips, his thighs burning from being so fucking tense. You felt amazing around him, his whole world narrowed down to the tight hot wetness between your legs, your pussy pulling him in, begging for him.

“Pale! Oh pale, harder – harder please.” You echoed it, echoed your own bodies desires.

He tugged one of your legs up and over your shoulder, bit down hard on your ankle as he re-adjusted himself, got in even deeper into you.

He smacked your thigh, watched the way the flesh jiggled for him, and smacked it again.

“You fucking like that?” he asked, demanded from you, needed to hear you say it, needed to know he was making you feel good, feel the fucking best.

“I love it! I love it don’t you fucking stop.” You cried out for him, fists twisting in the sheets.

Adrenaline flooded his system, he yanked the pillow out from under your head, making you let out a quick groan of protest as your head bounced on the mattress, but he ignored that for the time being and shoved it under your pelvis, elevating your hips for him so he could get a better angle.

God he was on fire, his whole fucking body, aching and sweating, burning up from the inside. He could see the sweat dripping off of him, his hands were losing their grip, slipping and sliding all over your skin, pinching at your nipples, sucking them into his mouth.

“Pale!” You gasped, clawing at his back.

“Oh yeah? My slut like that? Felt that right in your cunt, did ya?” He snarled, bared his teeth at you as you nodded so fast you were almost a fuckin’ blur to him.

“Yes!” You were shaking shaking shaking under him, he pressed against your throat, could feel you swallowing around his hand.

“Fucking – turn around.” He pulled out all at once, making you gasp and whine and squirm, desperate to get him back in you.

He manhandled you so that you were on all fours, and he scrambled up onto the bed, on his knees, pushing your shoulders down and spitting on your cunt before shoving his way back in.

“Please, you’re so – it’s so much, you’re so good I’m your whore and you’re so good.” You cried and cried, tears of pleasure pressing into the mattress as your pussy drooled, squelched for him.

The sounds you made went straight to his cock, and he kneaded your ass in his hands, pulled your cheeks apart to watch his dick pump in and out of you. You were so hot, so wet for him, he could feel your come on his thighs as he thrust into you.

“You’re mine.” He growled, wrapped your hair around his hand and pulled your head towards him, forcing you to arch your back.

He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip in you before slamming all the fucking way in, nearly impaling you on his cock. He did that over and and over again, pulling out agonizingly slow, and then ramming back in, each time making you sob harder for him.

The fucking headboard smacked against the wall, he got a sick thrill from that, wondering if all the fucking neighbors could hear you over the sound of the rain.

“Say my fucking name.” Pale let go of your hand but caught your jaw instead, holding your head back, straining your pretty neck.

“Pale!” You cried, “Let me come? Please let me come.” You begged for him, and how could he deny you when you begged so sweet?

“Touch yourself, go on.” He said, watching with hazy vision as you reached under yourself, toyed with your clit until you were clenching down around him.

The way your cunt clamped down on his cock had him coming and coming and coming, so much that he threw a hand under you, pressed it right up to your belly, could swear he could feel it pulsing from the outside.

Your knees buckled underneath you, but he supported your hips with his hands as he came, not wanting you to get even a fucking inch away from him right now. He felt like if he didn’t empty all his come into your pussy right that fucking second, he’d die, he’d just die.

The rain beat down and down on the window, and you were both panting, and he didn’t even fucking bother pulling out of you, just rolled the both of you over so you were on your sides, and passed the fuck out.

 Pale blinked awake right when the sun was just barely starting to make its way over the horizon. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and he had slipped out of you sometime too, dried come all over the both of you, sticking you two together. He didn’t mind so much, not with you in his arms, your head tucked against his chest.

He tried not to move too suddenly, tried not to disturb you as he gently moved some of your hair away from your neck where he knew it was probably uncomfortable.

“I don’t believe in anything, you know?” He whispered to you. “Like some big man up in the sky or nothin’.”

Was he talking to you? Was he talking at all? He could never tell, this early. There weren’t sirens for once, that was something new. He was probably dreaming.

“I’m not too big of a fan of miracles, I think they’re lazy.” He said anyway, because did it really matter if he was awake or not? You were still snoring gently against him anyway. “Somethin’ good happen? Call it a miracle and ignore all the shit all the people had to do their whole lives to get to a point where the good thing can happen, you know? They’re selfish, miracles.”

He looked out the window, counted the stars he saw. No wait – those were just airplanes. How fuckin’ annoying. He couldn’t imagine getting a flight that early.

“Same with fate. I don’t do that whole fuckin’ oh it was meant to be bullshit.” He sighed. “Or at least, I didn’t use to. Now, I don’t know. You make me question a lot of shit about shit, you know? Make me wonder. Sometimes you feel like a miracle, like fate. Sometimes when I look at you I feel like my whole fuckin’ life was buildin’ up to this moment, to meeting you. Ain’t that ridiculous?”

“You make me so fuckin’ weak, I’m weak for you. You got me wrapped around your fuckin’ finger and you didn’t even have to try. Got me callin’ up the fuckin’ doc to make sure I don’t got some kinda heart condition. You’re a menace, killin’ me.”

He waited, he didn’t know what for. He never knew what for anymore.

“Bein’ with you is torture sometimes, in a good kinda way. Is there a good kind of torture? I don’t know. You make it feel like there is though, the way you look at me sometimes. You’re too good. You’re a menace. Bein’ away from you is worse though. I swear to god I don’t think I could do that again, be away from you for that long again. That was too long. I didn’t know what to do with myself, spent all my time getting bitched at left and right. You know her parents had no clue we were split? Had no fuckin’ clue that I hadn’t seen my kids in a year? She told them I was away on a business trip, and they believed it – what a crock of shit.”

He watched an airplane go all the way across the sky, watched it disappear behind one of the big skyscrapers way out in the distance.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, you’re the only thing I can ever think about these fuckin’ days. All day every day, what are you doing? What are you wearing? Are you happy? Are you okay? Do you miss me? Are you thinking about me too? It’s okay if you don’t. It’s okay. But I hope you are. You said you’re my girl, but for how long, you know? You got me scared shitless over here, scared to fuckin’ death you’re gonna get fed up and tell me to leave, change the lock.”

That made him tear up, made a stupid big lump show up in his throat. He held onto you a little tighter, afraid that if he didn’t you’d disappear right before his very eyes.

“I would leave, if you told me to. I’d walk out that door and I wouldn’t come back until you said so. I wouldn’t bother you at work or stare in your window. I wouldn’t buy you gifts or cook you food or nothing. I’d go away, if you told me to. It would kill me, be the fuckin’ end of me, but I’d do it if that’s what you wanted. I’d do anything you wanted. Kenny says I ain’t sick or nothin’, but I feel like I am, sick over the thought of losing you. Ain’t that somethin’? I ain’t never been sick like this before – and the only fuckin’ time I don’t feel so fuckin’ terrified is when I’m kissin’ you. Somethin’ about the way you kiss, I don’t know it’s like the most reassuring fuckin’ thing in the whole god damned divine universe. Who needs heaven when I got your kisses, you know?”

He was losing his fucking mind, spouting shit like this. Worst of all was that it was all true.

“Jesus, I’m fuckin’ glad you can’t hear none of this.”

A few days later, Pale found himself at the bar.

It was a shitty hole in the wall joint, but it had become one of his refuges after a long fucking day of work. And boy had he had a fuckin’ day.

But he was at the bar now, and he had already done a couple lines with some of the guys in the bathroom, and he had already thrown back a drink or two, and he was feelin’ good.

There was some fuckin’ music playing he didn’t jive with, didn’t know what kind of sound it was supposed to be – something electronic. He didn’t fuckin’ know, but it didn’t matter.

Some guys were playing pool, one of the guys was losing pretty fucking badly. It was almost pitiful.

“Hey pal, you want any pointers?” He offered, calling across to the big guy who was losing.

“I ain’t queer.” The guy spit back, just as drunk as Pale was.

That response threw him off, what the fuck did that mean? All he had fucking said was if he wanted some help.

“Didn’t fuckin’ say you were, jackass.” Pale spit back, turning his attention away from the loser and sipping some more brandy.

The bartender there knew him, not as well as some other bartenders, but well enough.

“Damn it!” The loser pounded his fist on the edge of the pool table. Must’ve lost the game, from the sound of it, Pale thought with a mean smile. “What the fuck are you laughing at, fruit?” The loser saw him and asked.

The bar went quiet.

“I know you ain’t fuckin’ talkin’ to me.” Pale said, out of his seat in a minute.

“So what if I am?” The big guy asked, although he was faltering now that Pale was up close and in his fucking face, nearly a whole head taller, and about as wide.

“Ain’t nothin’ fucking wrong with queers, you got that?” Pale sneered, but the guy just grimaced.

“Won’t fuckin’ matter anymore anyway, with all of them droppin’ like fuckin’ flies – ”

Pale’s fist connected with the guy’s nose before he could even finish his though, spraying blood across the green velvet of the pool table.

“Hey!” The guy shouted, cradling his face.

No one came to stop him, and thank fuck for that, because there was no way in hell that Pale wouldn’t have started swinging at them if they did.

He grabbed the guy and punched him hard across the face, breaking his nose more and more and more, kneeing him in the fucking stomach and sending him falling to the ground, gasping for air as he knocked the wind out of him.

Pale grabbed onto the pool table for leverage as he kicked the guy over and over, grabbed one of the empty beer bottles that was resting on the edge of it and smashed the glass over the guy’s head when he tried to get up, knocking him out cold.

Pale challenged anyone to fucking stop him as he gathered his coat, threw some money onto the pool table, and tried to fucking keep it together until he made it to his car.

 The drive to your apartment felt like it took forever, like it took years and years. He sped through the non-existent traffic of three-am, ran red lights and floored it through yellows. He didn’t care. He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe, yanking open the buttons on his button-down, he was choking he was suffocating.

How could they say that? How the fuck could people say that? That was his brother, that was people like Robbie they were talking about – dropping like flies he couldn’t – he didn’t –

He banged on your door, he didn’t know how he got there, he couldn’t remember – where did he park? God he couldn’t see everything was hazy, hazy and too sharp at the same time, like someone fucked up their tv but had perfect signal.

He banged and banged on the door, sobs wracking hos body, stinging his eyes his eyes were stinging.

You wrenched the door open, robe wrapped tight around your body, a look of panic on your face.

“Pale, are you – ” You started but he just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

You pulled him into your apartment, closed the door behind him and held onto him tight.

His whole fucking mind was spinning, was the room spinning? Where was he – oh that’s right that’s right – his hand hurt, he hurt all over.

“Jesus I can’t fucking take this anymore, I can’t fucking take it, you know that?” He cried into your hair, you held him.

“Can’t take what? Pale talk to me – ” You tried, but he couldn’t really listen, couldn’t stop the words from getting out but also couldn’t get them all the way out – his brain was going too fast, he was losing it losing it losing it.

“No one fuckin’ even knew him, you know? Not even me. I don’t – who gives a shit about anything any more? There’s no god damned point, there’s no – I’m – ” He was yelling, he knew he was yelling, could feel it in his throat. Could feel it in the walls in his bones in his head he couldn’t stop yelling.

“You’re not making sense.” You soothed him, tried to soothe him. You ran a hand up and down his back and he tried focusing on the movement but he was shaking and crying – why couldn’t he stop crying?

“I can’t – I can’t – ” He tried, and you just nodded, pet at his hair.

“Honey how much have you had to drink?” You asked, not a single fucking angry bone in your body, and that made him cry even harder.

“I don’t know I don’t – ” He sobbed, his whole fucking body shaking. He was soaking wet, all of him – had it rained again and he didn’t notice? What the fuck was wrong with him.

“Okay, come here.” You said, pulling him to the living room and away from the door. He got a good look at you through swollen eyes, god this was a bad trip a bad fuckin’ trip what kinda coke had they given him at the bar?

“Fuck I can’t fucking – you’re too much, you know that? You’re too fucking pretty. I can’t deal with it sometimes. Sometimes I look at you and I feel like I gotta be high because no one is as fucking pretty as you are, they can’t be. You’re too much, make me feel too much I feel like my heart is crawling out of my fucking throat all the god damned time, I want to reach in and rip it out, it makes me sick. What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Pale – ” You said, worry deep in your face.

“I like when you say my name, you know? You’re the only fuckin’ person I like sayin’ it. Everyone else says it like they need something, like they just waitin’ around for me to show up so I can fuckin’ do something for them. Hey Pale, oh Pale is that you? Pale we need I need fuck off everyone just fuck off – but not you, you know? Not you. Say my name.” He begged, he was begging, begging for you to not be like the rest, begging for you to be sweet to him, no one was ever so sweet to him.

“Pale.” You said again.

“Pale. See I can’t even do it the way you do it. You’re too good for me, god – fuck me – fuck – ” He broke down, he was swaying – was he swaying or was the room spinning? He couldn’t tell.

“You gotta sit down or – ”

“It wasn’t a fucking boating accident that killed him, you know? It wasn’t I know it wasn’t – I know – it’s gotta be – ” He staggered around, knocked into some furniture, was that the coffee table?

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You rushed behind him, wrangled him into your arms.

“You smell so good, all the fucking time. How do you smell so good?” He buried his face in your hair, rubbed his nose into your hair, breathed you in.

“I don’t know.” You said, holding on to him tight, you were the only fucking thing keeping him upright.

He pulled away from you enough to cup your cheeks in his hands, enough to stare deep into your eyes, enough to swallow hard against the terror that rose in his throat.

“I’m in lo – ” He started, but couldn’t finish, couldn’t get the words out, before he blacked out.

Ahh! Angst! Lol I promise it won’t last for long. 

Tagging some pals, as always please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off the tag list! @fullofbees @spinebarrel@dreamboatdriver@thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive@aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd@adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne@attorneyl