#but as a black person i spent like half my childhood wishing i had lighter features wishing i had blue eyes etc etc

[ancient-romes]

my hot take is i prefer it when people give tucker brown eyes instead of teal

[thatwritingnerd]

12 for sebastian/abigail? @gendercraft

Idiot - Sebastian/Abigail

Summary: Sebastian believes he’s hopelessly pining for Abigail whilst Abigail thinks Sebastian is an idiot for missing her hints and flirting until she has to spell it out for him. Turns out they’re both idiots.

For the prompt: We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way

Warnings/tags: fake dating relationship, pining, first kiss, love confessions

Word count: 1.7k

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It was a thing. Not a thing thing. But a known thing. That is Abigail and Sebastian’s relationship. Something gentle and easy, from growing up together to friends to now dancing together at the Flower Dance. It was as casual as it gets, frequent hang outs (albeit with Sam as a third oblivious wheel most of the time), common interests, being two rather odd folk in town – their quirky, standoffish natures. It was perfect, almost too perfect.

That is, of course it was.

Too perfect, too planned, a ruse, a fake.

Growing up their friendship was natural, Abigail as a more outspoken, loud quirky type, already with bright purple hair at the age of thirteen, and Sebastian as the softer, quieter weird type, who, also at thirteen, wore nothing but black. But Abigail’s smile and weird enthusiasm over videogames drew him in, hooked him into a weird friendship, into years of shouting over videogames, laughing over Solarian Chronicles, teasing over pool at the bar.

Little changed between them over the years, yet everything did.

They grew up, school became college and work, playdates became nights at the saloon and city trips, and their innocent childhood friendship became town gossip of something more. After all, there had to be. Right? They were almost inseparable, always hung out around town – well, with Sam but he had his own things, with Penny, and Vince, plus the whole thing with his dad. It didn’t help that all of the town’s singletons were seemingly paired off and trying to be set up by the older residents, well, mostly the gossips and the shifty mayor.

So, why wouldn’t they play along? Keep their parents off their backs from the ‘when are you going to find that special someone?’ type of questions muddled together with other life questions. It became easier to play along that to go against the force.

He’d leave, say he’s going to Abby’s, and actually go. Her door forced half open just to be sure nothing was going on for her parents’ sake, not that there would. Abby would do his nails, some shitty true crime documentary on in the background, and they’d dye each other’s hair. It was then, hair matted to his forehead in ink black dye, Abby’s soft hands in his hair, looking at her in the mirror watching her laugh and giggle over their stupid shitty jokes, that he realised maybe, maybe there was something more there, something a little less platonic.

Sebastian would never say anything, ruining their friendship would be the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t help noticing things that he hadn’t bothered to before. The soft crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she genuinely smiles, the way her bright hair curls and kinks in the rain, her rough and brash nature becoming more intriguing than pure appreciation.

Then it’s not quite pretending anymore, is it? At least, not on his part. Soft, sideways glances when she’s not looking, the gentle smile on his lips whenever she does something stupid. Sebastian realises, in the dead of night, that, yeah, he’s a little in love with Abigail now. And he’s in too deep to stop this pretending, to break it off would arise questions and, well, it would break his heart to not get to see Abby so much on this personal level. But tell her and break her heart in another way? He could never.

So, he kept it inside, as much as he could.

Except Sebastian is a complete and utter dumbass. Abigail has known for years now, her friend can miss hints like bricks to the face, invites to her house when she’s home alone, time just the two of them out and about – “Like a date?” “Sure”. But how dense can one man really be? A man who is so smart, intelligent, and clever, yet a complete social idiot that it kind of makes Abby want to punch him in his pretty face.

She’s tried and tried for years, from her silly schoolgirl crush to her awkward hormonal teenage fascination, now to this softer love for this boy she has watched become a man, always by her side no matter what. Yet, she has to resort to what always gets her way – brute force and honesty.

She waits for him one evening near the lake beside his house which isn’t unusual, her flute abandoned in her lap serving only to occupy her nervous hands. She had to tell him, she cannot keep it a secret inside of her for much longer, it will drive her insane, but would it not be more vexing to tell him and not only receive rejection but to lose him altogether. Abby knows, logically, she won’t lose him, not completely, but ruining their current relationship, their movie and makeover nights, their late night cemetery walks, their ventures alone into the surface of the mines, she might miss that more than anything else she has to gain from telling him the truth.

It’s too late though, the door to the carpenter’s closes loudly into the silent night, the faint click of a lighter letting her know it’s Sebastian.

“Finally,” she breathes out, faux exasperation clear in her voice, “you must have better places to be than with me.”

He laughs, soft and gentle, genuine, under his breath in a way she’s become accustomed to.

“You know that’s not true, you’re like one of my only friends, and we know Sam’s scared of the dark,” he says, sitting similarly crossed legged next to her, face light up by the soft glow of his cigarette, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

The word friend hit her confidence a little, knowing just what is at stake. Yet, she’s come this far to ask him here, no questions asked, in the dead of night, the least she can do is be honest, right?

“You’re real stupid, you know that?” she starts, lips quirked up at the edges.

He glances at her out of the side of his eye, one eyebrow raised before he rolls his eyes, he huffs, “and here I thought you were going to tell me something important and unknown.”

Any other time Abby might have laughed – might have, she doesn’t want to give him the idea that he’s hilarious after all, it might go to his head – but this time she doesn’t, instead she watches him watching the slow ripples in the mostly still lake. A breath out of smoke every so often and that really shouldn’t be so distracting for her, she’s spent many a night wondering about his oral fascinations in more ways than one.

She pushes some of her hair out of her face only for the slight wind to push it back across her field of vision which, honestly, is kind of rude when she’s trying to have a moment here.

“Hush you, it’s important in the unknown conversation,” she continues, trying to play it off cool but something in her voice faulters and Sebastian looks at her, properly looks at her, and realises this might be serious enough to turn his body to face her but not serious enough to put his cig out.

“You’re stupid and a dumbass and so socially inept that it seems impossible to even try to get you to notice what I want you to, and I really hope I’m making sense and not just making a fool of myself because that would be real stupid too, but you miss it all, all my hints and flirting, well, maybe my flirting isn’t that good but I fucking put on a dress and danced for you, with you, Jesus, Seb did you really think I was just inviting you round mine late at night when my parents weren’t in for videogames? I mean, don’t get me wrong I like that, and I wouldn’t change our friendship for anything but… but maybe I want something more and maybe it’s stupid of me to think that but… I like you, Sebastian, I really, really like you.”

She finishes her speech with a loud breath out, a pink flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the weather, and her eyes downcast, more interested in the grass that her best friend whose eyes pierce into her very soul.

“Ok, so maybe I’m stupid,” Sebastian finally says after what seems like an eon, “but maybe I didn’t want to ruin this either, you know, us, I think I’d rather have pined for you for life than lose you as my super kickass best friend. I thought if I kept it inside, I could keep you forever, even if it wasn’t how I wanted and, well, maybe I thought it was wishful thinking and then, unsurprisingly, overthinking that made it all seem one sided. But I, uh, I really like you too.”

Abby lets out a breath she doesn’t realise she was holding, finally looking back at him. He looks, for lack of better words, stunning. Cig stubbed out against the bottom of his shoe at some point, dark hair having fallen over his face casting a shadow over his skin which is brightly pale in the moonlight, his cheeks tinged pink and lips wet no doubt from nervous licking. And she has never wanted to kiss him more now than ever before.

“So, we’re both idiots then?” she asks, laughing more out of nerves than anything else.

“Yeah,” he says, softly, “guess we’re both idiots, though I don’t think I’ll ever hear you say that ever again.”

“What that I really like you?” she says, nothing but faux innocence.

So, he does as he always does; sighs and then rolls his eyes. Then, he does as he never has before; he leans in, and down, and captures her lips with his own, tenderly and warmly. And she could definitely get used to this, cool fingers on her cheek, and the smirk she feels against her lips.

Sebastian pulls back, his smile gentle and eyes unworried in a way she hasn’t quite seen in a while, “no, that you’re also an idiot.”

She snorts, eyebrows furrowing and nose twitching, and she shoves him away a little too hard to be completely playful and he lands back with a winded sound but he laughs.

“Idiot.”

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[bluejayblueskies]

delphinus

Words: 2.7k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Peter Lukas Tags: AU - Merpeople, No Fear Entities, Fluff, First Meetings, Kissing, They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan Sims, Mer!Jon Warnings: mild blood and brief mention of biting/eating people

|| Ao3 ||

.

If asked, Peter Lukas would say that he wasn’t lonely, and it would be true. He spent six months of the year—more if he could help it—sailing the white-crested waves of the ocean, away from the sights and sounds of land, the bustle of cities and the chatter of people that grated on his ears like sandpaper. He kept as small a crew as he could manage when he left shore, never more than ten or so pairs of hands to handle the cargo he would carry from port to port. Sometimes, though, he would sail alone, packing enough supplies for several months on his small fishing boat and leaving behind a life that, lonesome as it was, remained as sticky and cloying as mud upon the soles of his boots.

This was one of those times. Three and a half weeks ago, Peter had packed enough supplies for four months, set sail from port, and breathed in the salt of the sea with a relief that was as palpable upon his tongue as the taste of brine. He didn’t particularly enjoy fishing, really, though it was as good a story as any to placate the dockworkers and to keep conversation to a minimum. Still, he was not immune to boredom, and so he often would cast a net over the side of his ship and inspect its contents for anything that might spark his interest (or, on occasion, make a sum of money). More often, though, he simply released the mass of wriggling fish back into the sea and settled for watching the sun dip below the horizon, with only the gentle rocking of the boat to keep him company.

Two and a half weeks ago, Peter had pulled the net over the side of his fishing boat, straining at the weight of it, and found a pair of sharp brown eyes staring back at him.

Peter would deny to his dying breath the shout of surprise he let out at the sight, or the fact that the net immediately slipped from his grasp and hit the deck with a wet smack. The answering sound that came from the net, however—a sort of punched-out gasp, almost akin to a groan—was loud in his ears, because it was a human sound. And it had not come from him.

Quickly, Peter gripped his fisherman’s knife and severed the ropes of the net with practiced ease. And when the fish trapped within began to slide out, flopping across the deck like an undulating carpet of silvers and blues, so did the owner of those brown eyes.

Having been raised on the coast, Peter had grown up hearing stories about the creatures that lurked beneath the white-capped waves of the sea that he spent so many days watching with growing fascination. There were selkies, seals who took the form of man to walk on land and who carried their coats beside them, vulnerable and exposed. There were sirens, whose songs could lure many a sailor to their grave with their beauty and with promises of all that one desired. 

And then there were merfolk, with the tails of fish and the bodies of men and with teeth so sharp they need only brush against skin to break it. Merfolk traveled alone; they were solitary creatures whose wit and cunning could trick the smartest of fishermen and whose taste for human flesh could never be sated. They were bad omens, portents of doom, the dockworkers would whisper. Nobody had ever seen a merfolk and had lived to tell the tale.

And yet here Peter was. The creature glared at him with eyes that were startlingly human, but their tail failed to find purchase on the wooden deck and their hands splayed flat against the wood in an effort to keep themself still. Their skin was a darker brown than the wood beneath them and was dotted with scars of a variety of shapes and sizes, and their hair lay across their shoulders and midway down their back, knotted with seaweed and delicate shells and blue-green threads in an intricate pattern that Peter found his eyes drawn to over and over again. Their tale sat starkly against the silver-blues of the smaller fish, an inky black with iridescent purple markings and triangular fins jutting out at regular intervals. Their gaze upon Peter was piercing, and when Peter allowed their eyes to meet, he found that theirs glowed ever so slightly, like morning light streaming in through a dusty window.

They were breathtaking. And when they bared their teeth at Peter, he was unsurprised to see that they were sharp and pointed, like that of a shark. But they said nothing. So Peter felt it only appropriate that he take the initiative.

“Peter Lukas,” he said, for it would be quite rude not to give the creature something to call him, wouldn’t it? “I don’t suppose you speak English though, do you. Pity.”

The creature’s nose flared with irritation, and in a crisp British accent that mirrored Peter’s own, they said, “The only thing pitiable about this situation is the fact that you think me to be beneath you.”

Peter considered the creature with a growing interest. “Now, that is a surprise. It does make this whole affair considerably easier, though.”

“Affair?” the creature snapped, and though their tone was cutting, there was fear in their eyes, sharp and sudden. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come now,” Peter said jovially. “This is my first time encountering your kind. You’ll forgive me a bit of simple curiosity.”

“I will do no such thing,” the creature said, though their face had softened ever so slightly. After a long moment, the creature said, hesitantly, “Though if… if I did entertain such a thought, I would only do so under the condition that you should let me go once you’ve asked your questions.”

Peter considered this. On the one hand, capturing a merfolk would be sure to earn him a large sum of money, perhaps even a fortune if he found the right buyer. On the other, he found that he quite liked the idea of letting such a creature slip free from the hands of others, leaving him with a secret that was his alone to keep. 

And he couldn’t say that he wasn’t curious. It had always been a flaw of his.

So Peter said, with a small smile, “I believe that can be arranged.”

And so the creature spoke. They spoke of the wide-open sea and what lay beneath, and they spoke of a life of loneliness that had lasted far longer than Peter’s had and would last far, far longer still, and they spoke of the tales the others of their kind had imparted upon them—for though they were alone now, they had not always been. They spoke of myth—of fishermen who ran scared at the first flash of sharp teeth, teeth that only ever tore into the flesh of fish and of seals and that rarely broke the skin of a human, for the meat tasted foul, of freshwater and dirt. And as they spoke of beauty and knowledge and freedom, all things that Peter longed for upon the ocean but could never truly grasp, Peter found himself enraptured with the creature—who, they said, called themself Jon. 

So Peter spoke in return. He spoke of a life on land devoid of happiness and filled instead with the breaths and movements and speech of others, none of which spoke to the rushing waves within him. He spoke of a childhood of absent parents and distant servants and time spent wandering the halls of a house far too large for any one person to live within and the gardens and woods outside it, straying further and further from mahogany furniture and marbled floors until one day he simply did not come back. He spoke of the quiet presence of his crew when he took work transporting cargo and how some days they, too, were too much, and he would retreat to the captain’s quarters and would simply stare at the sea, wishing that it would swallow him whole.

He spoke, and Jon listened, and though Peter was not alone, he felt somehow like he had found what he was looking for. Because Jon was the sea, and they were the rushing of waves, and they were the wide-open sky, and Peter found that he very much did not want them to leave. 

But he had made a promise, and a promise he would keep, because despite all else, Peter was a man of his word. So when the time came, he brought Jon to the edge of his ship and allowed them to slip into the ocean below, swallowed by white-capped waves for a long moment before resurfacing once more, hair fanned out around them in a halo of brown and grey.

“I won’t be heading back to land for quite some time,” Peter found himself saying, hoping that his words carried on the sea air to the water below. From the way that Jon’s face twitched into something like a smile, he knew that they had.

“Is that so?” they said, voice neutral yet undercut with something lighter, anticipatory. “Then perhaps we’ll run across each other again.”

And with that, Jon was gone, swallowed by the sea. Peter indulged himself just a moment longer, watching the surface of the sea fold in on itself again and again, before turning away and returning to the solitary comfort of his ship.

He ignored the itch at the back of his mind, telling him that something was missing, and settled upon the deck, looking up at the stars that had appeared as the sun had set upon the ocean and at the moon that illuminated the water in lovely silvers and indigos. He mapped out the constellations with his eyes, lingering ever so briefly on Delphinus where it lay just against the horizon. And when a glimmer of light caught his eye, the quick flash of a shooting star, Peter found that he could not resist a wish.

.

Peter did run across Jon again, a few days later, a quick flash of purple amongst the waves that resolved itself into bright eyes and a hesitant smile. And then again a few days later, and again, and again, until Jon’s appearance became a daily occurrence and Peter spent more time in their company than he did in solitude. But he found he didn’t mind. Not when Jon told such fascinating stories, speaking of a life far beyond Peter’s comprehension yet one that Peter felt his mind snagging upon, for loneliness and solitude were universal feelings, and of this Jon and he shared a striking commonality. Not when Jon allowed Peter to run his hands along their tail, always in the direction of the scales so as not to cause pain, brushing the edges of the fins with the pads of his fingers and pulling away a sticky moisture not unlike that of an eel. Not when Jon looked at Peter with soft brown eyes, lidless and forever watching yet weightless upon him, so Peter never felt suffocated by their gaze.

And not when Jon finally paused midway through a story involving a shoal of fish and a particularly tenacious selkie, laid their hand upon Peter’s where it rested upon the curve of their tail, and said, “I’d heard stories about humans, you know.”

“Oh?” Peter said, for as much as Jon spoke of the sea, they rarely spoke of what lay beyond it, and when they did, it was brief, a simple necessity more than anything.

Jon simply nodded their affirmation. Then, in a quieter voice, they said, “They said that you were cruel. That you would hunt things you didn’t understand, remove them from the sea and butcher them or sell them or keep them for your own. They said that humans would steal the skin of a selkie and lock it away, rid them of the sea for good and keep them bound to the land and to the one who owned them. My kind, we didn’t- we didn’t have such problems, not really.” They smiled then, a wild, sharp-toothed thing, and said, “We found that a flash of teeth and a bite to the arm or leg would keep humans away effectively enough. I expect that’s where the ‘flesh-eating’ myth came from. It’s for the best, I suppose. It’s better than the alternative, at least.”

“I see,” Peter said. For it was true, wasn’t it? Peter had considered it, once—capturing Jon, selling them to the highest bidder, monetizing their rarity and resting upon his fortune afterward. Even now, the thought tempted him, loath as he was to acknowledge it. But it was just a thought, and though he had limited control over those, his actions were his and his alone. So he continued, “And now? I like to think that I can be quite charming when I put my mind to it.”

Jon’s smile was less sharp then, fondness mixed with exasperation. “I wouldn’t be quite so bold,” they said lightly, humor seeping into their voice. “But perhaps I… I might have gained a new perspective on humanity lately.” A pause. Then: ��One- one human in particular, I suppose.”

“Really?” Peter said, feigning ignorance. “And who might that be? Goodness, do I have to be on the lookout for some sort of competition? Jon, you should have warned me, I would have prepared myself.”

Jon scowled, with absolutely no heat behind it, and removed their hand from Peter’s, crossing their arms across their chest sullenly. “I swear, I try to be serious for one moment, and you feel the need to make a joke about it.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Peter said lightly. “You do get such an adorable look when you’re cross with me.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed a faint blue so quickly Peter thought it quite funny indeed, and he didn’t try to hide the small chuckle that escaped him at the sight. “Stop that,” Jon said petulantly. “I am not adorable. I am an apex predator, a fearsome creature of the ocean, a terrifying monster to all of humanity.”

“Right,” Peter said, his bright smile not diminishing in the slightest. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Shut up,” Jon said.

Peter raised a single eyebrow. “Make me.”

And so Jon did. They leaned forward with a suddenness that caught Peter off guard, braced their hands on the wooden deck, and kissed him. Peter caught the taste of salt and fish and blood as he pressed into Jon’s mouth and promptly nicked his tongue on the sharp peaks of Jon’s teeth. Jon startled slightly at that and made to pull back, but Peter tangled his hand in Jon’s hair and kept them close, twisting his hand just enough that Jon let out a bitten-off gasp against Peter’s mouth, one that made Peter grin an obscene amount and drew a muttered, “You are insufferable,” from Jon’s mouth.

“I know,” Peter said, and kissed them again. 

And when Jon finally slipped back into the ocean, hair significantly more tangled than when they had arrived—a state for which they had chastised Peter considerably, because It’s going to take me ages to untangle that, Peter, it’s not like I have a hairbrush to work with—Peter felt more at home within himself than he had in years. Perhaps in his entire life.

“Perhaps we’ll run across each other again,” Jon said, a dry amusement in their voice that contrasted starkly with the faint red staining their lips from where Peter had grown careless and gotten his own lip caught in the sharpness of Jon’s teeth, an act which he didn’t regret in the slightest.

“Perhaps,” Peter said, knowing that he had had a taste of the sea and now had no desire to return to the confines of land ever again.

Jon disappeared beneath the waves and Peter returned to his ship, running his tongue over the cut on his lip and tasting the bitter tang of iron and salt that still lingered there. And when, far in the distance, he saw the briefest flash of purple, almost like the wave of a hand, he couldn’t help but laugh.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #298

“i don’t like what i am becoming  /  wish i could just feel something”

Do you have sensitive skin? Very. Do you wear necklaces or earrings more? Just my tragus piercing, really. I only ever wear a necklace sometimes if I'm taking a "nice" picture. Rings or bracelets? I currently don't wear any bracelets, but I do always have one ring on. How many toilets are in your house? Two. Is your current crush younger than you? By just a couple years. Are you a lighter complexion than your father? Yes; he's very tan, especially his arms from being a mailman. Ranch or barbeque sunflower seeds? I don't like sunflower seeds. Do you know the first five books of the Bible in order? No. Do you have a pet fish? Nah, they're not my thing. Do you believe being gay is a choice or a "disorder"? Neither; I believe it's a genetic mutation. It defies biology and the very motive for life, but I always say that a mutation does not, in any way, equate to "wrong." I am extremely adamantly pro-gay rights and bisexual myself, so I can't shit-talk it. What are some of your favourite sounds? Crunching leaves, rain gently tapping on windows, windchimes, birdsong... mainly nature sounds. There are others, I'm just blanking right now. Are you a warm weather or cold weather person? Cold, 100%. What time do you wake up? What for? This spans over a massive gap, honestly... I can wake up as early as 5 or as late as 9:30. Most often, it's pretty early, and I call that my "trial" of being awake, lol... because I will almost without fail go back to sleep for a couple more hours. Hell, that happens even if I sleep on the later side. Do you ever listen to music to fall asleep to? I used to do that in middle and maybe some of high school, I think; I'd fall asleep with my iPod on and earbuds in. I haven't done that in a very long time, though. Could you spend the rest of your life with someone who had bad taste in music? ... Yes? Their taste in music has nothing to do with them as a person???? Do you still talk to the person you fell hardest for? No, and it's best I don't. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, and that's how I found out I'm far from a lightweight. I wasn't going to drink more than I actually wanted to drink just to get wasted. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yeah. Who is the last child you held? My youngest niece. Have you ever woken up not knowing where you were? Maybe for a few moments after my surgery? I don't really recall. When is the last time you made the wrong choice in anything? Every fucking day when I decide what to do with my time. What is the most interesting thing in the room you are in? My snake, I guess. She's a champagne morph ball python. When washing your hands, do you wet your hands or put soap on first? I put on soap first. When was the hardest you ever cried? What was the circumstance? Probably when Mom literally dragged me home after I tried to walk to Jason's to talk the night of the breakup. I lost my fucking mind. Which gift cards do you have in your wallet? I don't think I have any. Coke or Pepsi? Coke. I hate Pepsi. What is better: cute smile, or amazing eyes? A cute smile. What song are you listening to? "Drilled a Wire Through My Cheek" by Blue October is on currently. Name your best friend(s): Sara. Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars? Nope. Last night you felt? I wasn't suicidal, but still kinda wanted to die lmao. Do you still watch Disney channel? No. How do you like your eggs? I only enjoy them scrambled, and preferably with cheese. What’s your all-time favorite song? "False Flags" by Massive Attack. If you could be any TV character, who would you be and why? Idk, I don't watch TV enough. Maybe Donna from That '70s Show. Very strong and independent, outspoken, and not to mention she has great taste. I find her to be a good female character to look up to. Do you ever come up with really good ideas for stories or movies? Do you do anything with them? Yeah; I'll try to integrate them into RP characters and plots. What sort of things do you post on your Tumblr? Vintage photos, screen caps, girly things? It's a Markiplier cesspit lmao. Sometimes I'll reblog shit I find funny. I've been very inactive on it, though. Have you ever had a dream that you couldn’t shake, even for days after you woke up? Oh yes. When was the last time you felt like a nuisance, or unwanted? Recently, I'm sure. When was the last time your dreams were crushed, or at least hindered? I dunno. How’s school going? I'm not in school. Are you angry at anyone right now? Myself. The last person to say they loved you? Mom. When is the last time you laughed hard? Hard? I'm really not sure. Are there any words on your shirt? No, it's just a blank black tank. Does it take a lot to make you cry? NOPE. Do you tell your parents everything? No. Do you get bored easily? I'm bored to the point of thinking being dead would be more fun at some point almost every day. I have anhedonia badly. I'm honestly starting to think I've over-medicated to a numbing degree so am trying to wean off some things. Have you ever burned someone's picture? No. How long was your last nap? Maybe three hours? I was really, really tired, though. Can you name the last time you felt happy? Probably when Sara and I talk-talked for the first time in a while. When was the last time you played with sidewalk chalk? Oh, I have zero clue. Probably not since I was a kid. Do you have friends obsessed with World of Warcraft? Bro wtf don't @ me. Have you ever punched a hole in the wall? No. Have you ever told someone you hated them? The only time I've seriously said that was to my dad before we reconciled after the divorce. What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to? I actually don't remember... Favorite thing to do on Facebook? See The Memes. Do you wear flip flops, regardless of weather, all the time? I SAID don't @ me. What is in store for your future? I both do and don't want to know. Have you ever seen a live bat? Yeah. I adore bats. Do you chew on straws? No. Do you have any trophies? Yeah. Who’s the last person that creeped you out? Some guy who walked into the store I was at with Mom, continuously looking back and forth. Would you believe an ex if she/he said they love you? Well, that would depend on the person. Have you ever been kissed in the rain? Yeah. Anything exciting happening soon? My half-sister and her kids are visiting tomorrow and staying for a few days. It's a surprise for Mom. Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? You could say these surveys kinda are. I don't have a designated "diary," though. When was the last time you took a painkiller? What was it for and did it work? I had womanly issues a few days back, and yeah, it helped. Have you ever had to go and rescue someone because their car broke down? When was the last time that happened? I mean, I've driven /with/ Mom to do so. I myself don't drive. What’s one sweet/candy you miss from your childhood? Is this item something you can still buy or has it been discontinued? Y'all remember Baby Bottle Pops??? 'Cuz I do, and I love those fuckin things. I still see them sometimes in gas stations. When was the last time you used some kind of moisturiser? A few days back for my hands. They were painfully dry. If you’re under lockdown/stay at home orders at the moment, are you struggling or managing okay? A bitch is s t r u g g l i n g. Has anything positive come out of the pandemic for you? Fuck no. Do you wear a watch? Is it analogue/digital? Does it it have things like a step-counter in it? No. Do you have any gifts from Christmas that you still haven’t opened or used? Not used, yes. Well, then some things are still in their boxes, but they're unwrapped. Do you know how to tie a tie? If so, who taught you? No. Who was your last missed call from? Did you ring that person back? Some number I didn't recognize, so no. When was the last time you had some kind of problem with your internet connection? Is this something that happens often? A few days back. It has occasional instances where it'll go out but come back on shortly. Do you have a favourite celebrity chef? No. Do you prefer pizza or pasta? Pizza. Have you ever volunteered anywhere before? What was the reason behind doing so? Once at PetSmart when they had dogs to adopt out, which was for school volunteer hours. I spent time with them, giving them attention and taking them outside. I also had two other animal-related volunteer days, but each was only a few hours because my fucking weak-ass body couldn't handle them. Have you ever been truly obsessed with something? What was it and how did you come to feel that way? I have an incredibly obsessive personality; I could probably name near on a dozen or so things I've been genuinely obsessed with. I don't know what it means to love in moderation. Some are/were pleasant obsessions, some aren't/weren't. Does it bother you when people turn up at your house without asking or waiting to be invited? Yes. Are you taller or shorter than average height? I'm the average for an American woman. Do you have any family members whose beliefs or ways of life completely embarrass you? YUP YUP YUP YUP. Are you scared of heights? Yes. When was the last time you lost something of great sentimental value? Did you ever end up finding it again? I don't know. Have you ever injured anyone in self-defense? No. What food do you find to be the most filling? Is this something you eat a lot of? In relation to its portion sizes, oatmeal or eggs. I can't have a whole lot of either. I wouldn't say I eat either a lot, but oatmeal is more common. Have you ever heard people talking badly about you behind your back? Did you confront them about it? Yes, and in at least two instances. Do you consider “home” to be the place you were born, or is it somewhere you create for yourself? I consider it to be my childhood home; not the one I was actually born in, but only because I was way too young to remember and we only lived there like, maybe two years into my life. Have you ever experienced having to leave your home due to a fire, or due to the threat of fire? No, thankfully. When was the last time you felt you were in a dangerous situation? When we had a serious tornado warning Christmas Eve. Yes. In winter. Are there any superstitions that you believe in? Which ones and what are your reasons for doing so? No. Are there any series of books/films that you never finished - either because you got bored of waiting or just lost interest? Oh, I'm sure. I Wouldn't say I lost interest in a lot though, I just wasn't interested enough, like for The Hunger Games. Which theme park is your favorite? I haven't been to nearly enough to know. Like, just one. Do you eat healthy? I try to be, at least. Though I've been doing very poorly about it lately because I'm a emotional goddamn eater and am having a very hard time. Do/did your parents fight often? They're divorced for a reason. Do YOU fight with them often? No. Would you say that you're respectful? I hope so. Are you a fan of Green Day? Yeah, I love them. Would you rather have 4 kids at one time or never have a kid? Jesus Christ, never. I don't want any anyway. Do you think 'friends with benefits' relationships really ever work? No. Do you or have you ever known a drug addict? Yes. Do you turn off the water while brushing your teeth or leave it on? I always turn it off. No reason to waste it. Do you have any nieces or nephews? Lots, if you include my half-siblings. Are caterpillars more cute or disgusting? I tend to find them cute. What's your homepage when you bring up the internet? Google. Was the last book you read for fun or was it for some type of assignment? It was for fun. Have you ever dated someone you met online? Yes. Would you go on a date with someone right now if they asked? Depends on who's asking. Do you own any band tees? Oh, I have lots. Off the top of my head, some that I frequently wear are Metallica, Otep, and Korn. Do you know someone who wears a wig? No. Have you ever kissed someone under fireworks? I don't think so. What kind of dressing do you eat on your salad, if any? I strongly prefer the Olive Garden kind, but I also enjoy ranch. What genre of music do you listen to the most? Metal of some sort. Have you ever dated someone who was way overprotective of you? No. Do you personally know any cops? No. How many different colleges have you gone to? Three. How much stress can you handle? Not much at all. How confident are you in achieving your dreams? I ain't got the slightest clue by this point in my life. What is one thing you thought you’d never do but have done or are doing? There's a lot of things, most bad, some good. Do you have to take medication for any mental illness? A lot. Do you like looking at pictures? It depends on what's in them. Specifically pictures from my past, that's usually a big no. Do you believe the dead can have connections with the living? I guess in very vague ways. Which family member do you get along with the most? Well, define "get along with." I by far have the strongest relationship with my mom, but we fight sometimes. As for who I stay on the most stable ground with, that's probably my dad. Would you ever be able to become a vegan? I know I couldn't, but I'd love to. How did you meet your newest friend? Who even IS my newest friend... Have you ever watched the show Teen Mom? What did you think about it? No, and I think it's an awful fucking idea for a television show. Put a spotlight on and money into teen pregnancy, yeah, that's a genius plan. Are you old enough to remember MySpace? Yeah. Do you think you’ll be a good mother/father? I wouldn't be. Do you have trouble deleting your text messages? I don't need to. Is there something that you haven’t told anyone that you actually would like to tell someone? No. Have you ever been called a tease? Yeah. Do people ever make fun of your religion or lack thereof? No. Do you say/do things a lot for shock effect? No? What was the last compliment you gave a guy? I probably told my nephew Ryder he was a good brother. Was one of your grandpas in a war? Maybe? Idk. I never knew either well at all. Have you screamed in a pillow before? Yes. What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Electric. Have you ever ordered something off a commercial on television? No. What's worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed. Do you still consider Pluto a planet? Yes. Didn't they reinstate it as one, anyway? Right now, are you at a high, leveled, or low point? What's lower than "low?"

[doyoungbunnyagenda]

Crown Of Thorns; Bed Of Roses - k.dy: Chapter 1

 <- [preivous] |

Summary • Alcohol and late-night rendezvous were the only things keeping the young princess Y/N stable. Doyoung was an actor finding his relief his in cigarettes and dark streets. Ever since meeting one night, they both have spent their time picking up each other’s pieces and building each other from the ground up. When Y/N thinks her life is back on track, her childhood demons come back to bite her, however this time they have a proposal. That had to do with her father, herself and a shotgun... When Doyoung tries to rescue her from her demons, he puts himself in equally as much danger.

Pairing • actor!doyoung x modernprincess!reader

Genre • drama with a whole lot a angst and small traces of fluff. royalty!au

Word count • 3k

Warnings • underaged drinking(depends on where u live), drug usage, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of corrupt governments, arranged marriage, dialogue-heavy

Songs to listen to • War Crimes, Watch What Happens Next, I Felt Younger When We Met all by Waterparks I’m a big parxs fan okay, don’t judge

A/N • @original-jomi , @elite-puppy-seungminnie So this is what I’ve been doing for the whole Christmas break. This was so much fun to write. And as this is written by me, there is barely any fluff (like four lines in total). Well nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!!!

Winter 2017

“You think you can control me like I’m some doll of yours, where you play dress up and chuck them with whatever man you think best, I’m an adult for Christ’s sake.” She shouted at your father lounging on the expensive couch like he owns the entire country which he did.

“Come on, princess it’s only an arranged marriage, nothing out of the ordinary.”

She let out a scoff at the sound of his words.

“So do you even care about me as a person? Are you even putting my happiness into consideration, or do you see me as a business transaction, a peace treaty?” She questioned starting to get to her wit's end with her Dad’s attitude.

“No the point is you fall in love during the marriage, have you seen the Jung family? I remember going to that wedding and they were arranged.” Her protests fell silent.

“If you need more examples, me and your mother we‘re arranged, look where it left us.” The King proclaimed.

“With my mother dead and with a father who only cares about his own safety and nothing else.” She gave her father an ice-cold glare as he remained stunned on the couch. Before he could open his mouth too, argue back, She spoke,

“I don’t care about what you think anymore, I’m not marrying any man you decide to put with me and that’s final, not that you’ll listen anyway.” You cut him off while storming out of one of the many royal places situated, in the middle of the capital.

In her hand, she made sure she had her black face mask and her designer beanie that she received as a gift from one of her friends. Quickly, you darted out of the house, ignoring her father’s angry desperate pleas for her to listen to him, getting quieter and quieter the further she ran. She fixed her mask on her face and went down the back passageway behind the mansion. If anyone went through the front way, they definitely would’ve been caught by security. The builders were stupid enough not to build a security system at the back of the mansion. Breaking in was a piece of cake, all it took was a jump and they were in. The girl leapt over the hedge and made it out of the courtyard, her feet landing on the pavement with a thud. No one could tell who she was and it felt good for once.

Strolling the midnight streets of her country, she turned around the block of some random fast food place. The silence of the city was something she craved. The world around her felt too loud, so she treasured the time she got alone to herself. She just wished Her dad could understand from her perspective. Her point of view. Not his own twisted perspective. 

Hers.

 It was her life he was handing over not his own. Ever since the princess was born your dad traded around her like poker chips. Anything and everything that would improve public opinion about him and his family was on the table. 

Signing her up for any elite activity he could think of. Horse riding, she started at the age of seven. Archery, she had already won several gold medals in national tournaments. By the age of 13, she was already a world-renowned child ballet dancer. On top of all of that, she had to get extremely high grades, it didn’t matter if she couldn’t, she had too. It wasn’t like the king was doing it to better his daughter's future. He only cared about his image and how he can make his family look like a trophy family when it was far from the truth. Totally forgetting that the country still hasn’t forgotten about the ‘indecent” 13 years ago.

Nights like this were nights where she enjoyed getting drunk off her head. It was always fun to drink your problems away. Wandering into the liquor store, she always visits because they didn’t ask for ID. She swore they knew she was underage. As she once walked in with her ‘friends’ from private school one Saturday night many moons ago, buying out the whole store's stock luxury red wine. From one of the shelves, her hand grasped a bottle of hard liquor, shaking slightly as she grabbed it. You went up to the cashier and slammed a tenner on the counter, then left, leaving them very confused and alone in the shop once again. Her mask was now resting on her chin. She popped open the bottle and lifted the top of its neck to her chapped lips. The burn that ran down her throat felt electric, giving her body an instant buzz. She continued to wander down this lonely road, occasionally taking swigs from the drink. She knew it was irresponsible to go out at this time of night and get so drunk she couldn't stand up straight, but it was a means of escaping her reality. And trust me she would take any chance she got.

“Stupid father” The girl mumbled as she ambled and staggered down the streets. The bottle of liquor was long discarded on some random roadside and her mask was perched on her face. She somehow made her way to the shadiest part and poorest part of town. The level of unemployment was so high in this area that many people had resorted to other (less legal) means to keep themselves alive. She honestly didn’t blame them, when the rich were using all their tax money to live a lavish lifestyle, they were in the corners starving, outcasted by their government. The only thing they should be expected to do is rebel. She mumbled another curse word before stumbling into an alleyway collapsing on the floor. She was tired. She had been awake since 6 am in the morning. She swore her dad barely understood the basic concept of sleep. Her head banged against the flimsy garage opening behind her. The princess let out a curse at the sudden pain surging through her head accompanied by a pulsing migraine.

“Problem?” A low voice from above her spoke, his tone laced in darkness. her eyes remained plastered onto the floor, too shy to look up at the person above her. 

“A shy one, I see.” The person said to themselves, they sighed deeply again at her persistent silence and spoke once again,” Not replying when you’re spoken too, is quite impolite, with the clothes you’re wearing I’d expect more of your upbringing.” The person rudely remarked.

“Excuse me, who are you to say that?” She said, with a look of offence evident in her eyes. 

Abandoning her shyness, she got the courage to look at the person who dares to insult her. If only they knew who she was. When she looked up everything she was planning to say got caught in her throat. To only be replaced by a gasp. Their presence was intimidating, to say the least. A male from what you could tell. His shoulders were broad and his eyes a piercing shade of dark brown. If it wasn’t for the moonlight, she could have sworn his eyes were as black as the world around him. Tuffs of raven hair could be seen slightly poking outside of his midnight stained hat. If she didn’t look close enough, he could be mistaken for invisible. A cigarette was held in his nimble fingers and he brought out a lighter from his back pocket. He held it to his lips and lit a spark on the end. After he took his hit, the man looked back at the girl before him.

“You realise staring is also quite rude?” The man sighed sarcastically. She remained silent. “I expected a rich girl like you to know better. Do you know how many people I know who would love to wear that coat or hat of yours.”

She scoffed,” What right do you have to say that. Have you seen yourself? Your hat, no normal person could afford that here. Who’s a credit card is that coming from hmm?” She drunkenly slurred.

The man sighed at your state and chucked lightly.” I’m self-made man, no trust fund, no inheritance, nothing of that sort. I worked my life from the ground up and see where I am now.”

“Smoking a blunt alone in the most dangerous part of town? That definitely sounds like The Life to me.” She said.

“That’s right buttercup, I’m living the life aren’t I?.” He laughed and looked into your eyes. A warm feeling crept up in her chest and a small smile that he could not see graced her features.

“But what do you mean alone, I’m talking to you right? Or has the spice gotten to me and I’m just talking to a ghost.” He joked.

“That latter obviously.” She rolled her eyes and laughed along with her.

“I like your sense of humour, what’s your name?”

Her eyes went wide. If there was one thing he couldn’t know it was her name, it was too risky, her family’s perfect image would be cut in half and plunged into disrepair.

“No can do, it’s a secret.” She teased and playfully put her finger up to her mask. “What about you?” She questioned

“That’s a secret too, I’m afraid.” The man said while mimicking your action.

After laughing at their childishness for a couple of minutes. A comfortable silence filled the air. She observed the slight rise and fall in his chest as he took a couple more hits of the drug and discarded it on the ground and stomped out the tiny flame with his foot. She would blame it on her drunken self, but he reminded her of a prince. A prince you would find in a somewhat twisted modern fairy tale. With all his money he practically could be classified as one. He had a dominative aura which she couldn’t help but challenge. The man could obviously take a joke which was a welcomed change to what she was had known and gotten used to for the whole of her life. For once the girl felt comfortable. Unrestricted. At peace with her thoughts and it wasn’t the alcohol, it was because of him.

“I wish I could be you, you seem so carefree, I want your life.” She said, out of the blue.

“I’m not, trust me, it’s just because of the drugs, I’m not like this, I’m not the person your seeing now.”

“I don’t believe that.” She said her words breathy.”I believe this is your true self when drugs and alcohol get involved, there’s no hiding from yourself. The mistakes you make when your drunk and high aren’t mistakes, they’re not late-night regrets-“

The man interrupted her drunk ramblings and said,” So if me finding myself in the bed of my best friend’s roommate isn’t a mistake, then what was it?”

“It was what you wanted to do, ignoring all the consequences of the morning. When you're under the influence, your common sense is replaced by pure desire. You don't think and that's good, right? It's hard to think with a raging headache."

He sighed,” No that’s not it and I know from experience, your deepest desires aren’t always the best for you and the people around you. The life you are describing is the life you want to get away from..."

“Am I mad for wanting to kiss you right now?” She said unexpectedly, causing a slight gasp to escape from the man next to her.

“Yes, you’re crazy.”

“I would like to I think I’m perfectly sane.”

A blush crept on to the apples of his cheeks for the first time that night. His following words were stuttered. He was flustered.

“Your mother and father must have really gone wrong to create a child like you.”

“Just father here.” You replied 

“What about your mother?”

“Dead.”

“How long?”

“13 years...” she paused before taking a deep breath and continuing. “13 years dead, 13 years of hell for me. I swear ever since she died a switch was flipped in my father. Never known why.” She sighed looking down at the gravel floor.

“13 years ago, I was a runaway. Home was never the safest place, it was for the best. I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t even go looking for me.”

“Seems the both of us have had shitty up upbringings. I guess that makes us equal"

“Well then, about that kiss...” the man trailed off-topic.

“What about it?” You laughed slightly.

“I can’t kiss someone whose name I don’t know.”

The cheesy grin plastered under her mask was embarrassing. She pretended to think about it, but her answer was already set the minute he finished his sentence.

“Well in that case I guess-“

She felt a buzz in the back pocket of her black jeans and went silent.

“Oh, shit-“ She blurted out surprised that someone would call her at this hour. She checked her phone and saw it was her cousin Youngho. She rolled her eyes at the thought of her dad calling Youngho to sort her out, being too lazy to do it himself. She opted to answer the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Y/N, Where the fuck are you!?” He shouted from the other end of the line. She winced at the loud noise before continuing.”

“Somewhere, I don’t know.” She shrugged her shoulders and saw the man next to her stifle a giggle.

“You’re so stupid, it’s 4:29 am and you don’t know where you are? I'm so done with you. I’m tired of being woken up at 4 am with your father screeching at me to go pick you up.”

You heard your cousin sigh tiredly.

“Well it not my fault he doesn’t have my number, he could care less about where I am.” She argued back.

“Shut up and tell me where you are,” Youngho said defeatedly.

“You know where the 603’s last stop is, I’m near there.” She finally remembered.

“The most dangerous part of town, I see. Whatever I’m coming to pick you up hang on in there.” He said before hanging up.

“Your dad doesn’t have your number even my father was better than that.” The man next to you commented at your conversation.

“Does it look like my dad even gives two shits? He hasn’t bothered to get my new number after I changed my phone a year ago.”

“You don’t deserve that no one does.” He sympathised with her.

“Now you know why I run away. But it’s almost 5 am and I haven’t slept in 24 hours and I don’t fancy passing out on the streets so I think it’s time for me to leave.”

“Fair enough, see you never...” He paused as if he was waiting for her to say something.

“Y/N.” She said firmly 

“Doyoung.” He stated as she walked away from him, leaving him to wallow in his own thoughts and feelings.

She stumbled to the bus stop where she said she’ll meet Youngho. Her head rested against the metal pole and she sighed. A sigh full of contentment. Remembering what happened moments earlier, her heart warmed her chest and started to beat faster than had ever been. She felt lightheaded. Duplicates of what was in front of her kept appearing in her vision. Like some weird fever dream. Her eyes were about to flutter shut, bringing her into a dream-filled sleep but she was brought back to reality by a low but loud car horn ringing in her ears.

“Get in,” Youngho said, his tone clear and flat. Her cousin turned down the tinted windows of his Mercedes Benz and looked into her eyes with no emotion what so ever. She tried to search for his the usual bright look in his eyes, normally twinkling constantly rain or shine. But all she found was black. Pits of charcoal staring into her own. Because of her wasted state, the only way she could respond was with a laugh. Youngho continued to look unimpressed.

He pushed out the door of the car, for the girl to stumble in and hit her head on the headrest. Even though he found his cousin’s fumbling and slurring funny at times, he needed to keep a straight face.

“For fuck's sake Y/N, you’re so wasted that you can’t even get your seat belt on, here let me help.” Youngho sighed. He draped the seat belt over her half-asleep body and clicked it into the latch. He sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his brown locks. She looked up at him and noticed defined black circles under his eyes. He looked about as tired as she was. He yawned before speaking again.

“I’m tired of acting like your babysitter Y/N. Why can’t you just grow up and stop stupid stunts like this?” Youngho pleaded, tiredness laced in his voice.

“If you don’t want to feel like my babysitter, then stop acting like my dad, you’re my cousin. The three years between us doesn’t mean that much.” She protested weakly.

“Someone has to care about you, Y/N. Your dad is obviously doing a terrible job so that just leaves me, your amazing older cousin.” He chuckled hoping to loosen the atmosphere. It obviously worked as she started to smile again.

“What would I do without you?” She giggled

“Crash, burn and die,” Youngho said before placing his hands on the wheel.

“Just make sure not do this again,” He followed up,” We’re going to my place, by the way, it’s closer. Your dad was like a feral dog to me over the phone. Y’know there are much better ways of getting back at him.”

“Like what?” She questioned eyes half-open and mouth agape leaning her head against the window.

Instead of an answer, you were greeted with nothing but the sound fresh raindrops beating the window from outside and the sound of Youngho hitting the gas pedal and speeding off, into the night.

In due time, the young princess fell into a deep slumber, filled with cigarette dreams, expensive wines, cherry red lips, everlasting nights and a man named Doyoung.

[ember373]

When the quiet settles in, the demons come out to play...

Nights are the hardest. When the house is still and everything is quiet. I’m fine if I busy myself, but the moment I pause and start to think... That’s when I’m fucked. One little thought takes me down the rabbit trail and I spiral deeper and deeper. Some nights I sti there, numb, thoughts racing through my mind pinning me down like a deer in headlights. Other nights I feel-all the pain, loneliness, desparation, isolation, rage, fear-all the lovelies I try to push away during the day come out at night to play. Sometimes they play so hard that water leaks from my eyes. (Who’s crying?!? I’m NOT crying...)

It’s the night before my birthday and I hear the typewriter sound of my phone notifying me that I have an email. I get my hopes up. Someone remembered me and is wishing me a Happy Birthday!! ... nope. It���s just a pen pal service I signed up for long ago wishing me a happy birthday and wondering why I haven’t logged on in so long. :/ I should have known better. There is dark laughter inside of me at my stupidity.

I hate my birthday. I used to love it. I used to look forward to time spent with friends, wondering what little surprises might be in store, what thoughtful things people might have picked out just for me. But just like holidays, it became just another day of stress. And the title of picky princess got wrapped around my head, but instead of a soft silk sachet it was a crown of prickly scratchy burlap that must have been drug through a field of weeds and picked up every poky thing it could find and embedded it in it’s rough fibers. It’s not even that I was demanding or whiny or anything. I don’t know if it was just a cool thing to say because in his head all women act like that? I have no idea. But suddenly, me wanting to plan a special day for myself one day out of the year somehow turned in to I was hard to please and I’d hold every little mistake over his head. There was that one time we went out of town and he forgot to pack my luggage so I had NOTHING. I was a bit upset about that and joked about it for years. But I only laughed about it because it hurt so damn much. It was right there by everything else, but somehow just didn’t make it into the car. And then when we discovered it, he shrugged it off and told me I was being ridiculous when I got upset that I had nothing for the weekend. I wasn’t allowed to feel. As always, my thoughts and feelings are ridiculous because they inconvenienced him. He had a ball game to go to with a friend. I could just go shopping and find something to work for the weekend. Maybe most girls would have loved that idea, but I hate clothes shopping. I’m not a size 2. Or 6 or 8 or 10. They don’t make a lot of flattering clothes for the bigger sizes. So it was a very depressing weekend. But I had to push it all aside and plaster a smile on my face and have fun because dammit he planned this great weekend and I better not ruin it. *sigh*

I started to care less and less about my birthday in the following years. And then I just started dreading it. Every year now, I dream of running away and just being somewhere by myself where nobody knows who I am or when I was born until the day passes and everything goes back to ‘normal’ again. But that’s not allowed. What was once a celebration feels like an obligation to everyone but myself. I need to celebrate with these people (his family) because they want to celebrate with me and give me gifts they picked out, even though half of them might be something I can’t even fathom of ever wanting. But they know me so well. *eye roll* I smile and say my thank yous and feign delight over every one. I don’t want to hurt their feelings. And god forbid I fuck up in the little world he created. Because it’s all about him. My birthday? Ha! It’s all about how generous he was and how he bought me expensive shit I never asked for. He was sooo nice and thoughtful. What?!? It’s not what you wanted? Ungrateful bitch. Because of course he shouldn’t ever have to really listen to what I like. Listen to my stories and my life and see what things are important to me and things aren’t. Because every woman likes expensive jewelry and extravagant gifts. Bigger is better, right? And dammit, he went to the mall and spent one hour looking at stuff before deciding this must be what I wanted. All that time! So I just smile and laugh and joke and be truly humbled by everyone’s generosity. Thank you for the zebra print earrings I’ll probably never wear. Thank you for the inspiring God Book I’ll never read. Thank you for the diamond earrings that will fall out of my ear 6 months later that you’ll never let me live down and will always shame me for. Because apparently the locking stud failing was entirely my fault. Thank you for the too small clothes in gaudy bright colors that I never wear and make me want to hurl. Oh, I wear too much black? So thoughtful of you to buy me clothes unlike anything I wear so I can be more like you. So, so sweet.

But inside I’m screaming and just want to be left alone. Birthdays used to be about the person who was born and celebrating in a way that would make them feel happy and loved. Not anymore. Now it’s just a day I have to spend with people I don’t want to, going places I don’t want to, picking up my own cake and pretending everything is ok and that I really don’t want to run screaming into the middle of a highway to be hit by a Mac Truck. Yay. I wanted that to be a run on sentence btw, but just couldn’t commit to it. Ah well.

I’m turning one year older. One year closer to death. How many years do I have left? I feel imprisoned. Just doing my time. I wonder what atrocities I committed in past lives that this is my fate now. Somehow I figure I must deserve this. I must have done something to deserve this. So I just need to shut the fuck up and live it out. Serve my sentence until death releases me. (to do it all over again? Man I hope karma really isn’t a thing...) Try to be as normal as I can be for my kids. Don’t miss the moments. Don’t fuck up their childhood too badly. I’m sure I’m doing a real bang up job.

Wow. This is just a fucking fantastic mood I’m in. I think I’ll stop now. No point in going on. All that garbage didn’t really make me feel any better. Any lighter. I just feel tired and spent. I’m sure I’ll delete this one in the future. :P In the meantime tho, I should go to bed. I have a big day of doing everything for everyone else tomorrow as I turn one year older. Or maybe I’ll stay up and binge watch k drama. That’s much more likely so I stop thinking about all this shit. >.<

11:51 pm 7/5/2019

[prussiumscribbles]

Time Is Dancing

SUMMARY: Alfred and Arthur used to travel the world together. Then, something went wrong along the way and they went their separate ways. Two years later, they meet again. (Backpacker/post-breakup AU).

[Read on AO3]

“Kirkland!”

“Jones.”

Alfred Jones’s face broke into a wide grin. “Wow, it’s really you! I mean— wow, ha ha! I haven’t seen you in so long! What are the odds?”

Arthur took a sip from his pint of beer and smiled, trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. The moment he stepped into the rooftop bar, he’d spotted Alfred in the far right corner, chatting with a group of tipsy travellers.

He couldn’t believe his eyes either. Perhaps the darkness and the neon lights were playing tricks on his weary mind. Of all the people he’d bump into while backpacking, it had to be his ex-boyfriend. At a party in Siem Reap, Cambodia, of all places. How bizarre could it get?

Was it really him? If he was, could he still remember Arthur?

Because Arthur remembered him. After all this time, he could never forget that face.

His questions were answered when he saw a glimpse of recognition in his eyes as he looked towards his direction.

Alfred told his friends to go ahead and sat beside Arthur, who came alone.

“How are you? It’s been what— two years?” said Alfred. He couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. “Funny how we meet again, huh? In Cambodia, no less!”

Beside them, a Scottish and an Irish man were mocking each other’s accent. They were surrounded by so many people engaged in countless drunk discussions. The festive vibe was too distracting, making it difficult to speak. Before Arthur could reply, a crowd of laughing 20-somethings sat on their table, and suddenly, the entire bar became part of their conversation.  

“Arthur, didn’t you say you’ve been to Bali?”

“Oh you’ve been to Bali? How was it?”

A series of random questions and answers came in waves and in different directions. I spent six months in Vietnam. Are you travelling alone? I don’t know if I can do that. There was nothing to do but drink and smoke and talk and talk. The entire time, Alfred kept getting drinks and taking back his seat beside Arthur.

He listened whenever Alfred shared something about his travels, something that would explain where he got the colourful wristbands on his arm, or his tan lines and freckles. They finally got the chance to talk to each other when someone brought up Angkor Wat.

“Have you visited the temples yet?” asked Francis, a bearded, long-haired bloke from France.

“Jones had been here a couple of times before,” said Arthur. “Hadn’t you?”

“Yeah,” replied Alfred, slightly caught off guard. “I majored in Archaeology and I’m a major temple nerd, so going here’s a childhood dream come true, ha ha! I just can’t get enough.”

I could study it forever, he told Arthur as he gazed at the monument with reverence a long time ago, when they first visited together.

“How about you, Kirkland?” asked Alfred. “What brings you to temple town?”

“I— er— I just wanted to see if the sunrise tour was worth the hype,” replied Arthur.

The truth was he was on a month-long vacation in Southeast Asia because his boss believed he was working himself to death in the office. He had a few extra days before his flight back to London, and dropping by Siem Reap seemed like a nice idea, not to be nostalgic or anything of course.

He did the sunrise tour and visited the temples he and Alfred missed when they did the sunset tour for Arthur’s birthday. They couldn’t make the most out of it because they got stupid drunk the night before, so they spent the entire day tour hungover. Thinking about it, most of their night outs were followed by those tides of hangovers. Some nights Arthur couldn’t remember the details, but he could vividly remember the feeling.  

“Wait, sorry, aren’t you two travelling together?” asked Gilbert from Germany.

“Oh no, not really,” said Arthur.  

“We met a while back,” said Alfred.

“You seemed to know each other a lot,” said Antonio from Spain.  

Arthur chuckled and downed his whiskey. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

He and Alfred briefly exchanged looks. If it wasn’t dark, he’d think Alfred was blushing.

Someone yelled about a pub crawl on the other side of the table and the entire bar stirred.  

“Arthur! Are you coming?”

Giulia, a bubbly Italian girl with long brown hair and bright amber eyes approached him, beaming widely. They met each other the night before, their first pub crawl together.

“‘Course I am, sweetheart!” He replied, and she jumped and gave him a big hug.

And off they went to the next party with around twenty other people. It was a series of ordering drinks, chatting, smoking, and dancing. Arthur felt like he didn’t leave West London at all, with the crowd and the music and the strobe lights.

Hours flew by without any of them noticing. On the third party, at around quarter past midnight, everyone went wild. Some girls were dancing on table tops as the DJ played their jam. Some boys drank and rapped.

Alfred found him dancing with his own circle and joined them. By the end of the song, he and Alfred were dancing together, not saying a word. They let their bodies sway with the music, never mind if they could really call it dancing or not.

And then Alfred flashed a smile that reached his eyes, and it was like meeting each other all over again.

Looking into his blue, blue eyes, Arthur remembered hot and sweaty nights and the weight of Alfred’s body against his, the morning after.

But their relationship wasn’t all that. Arthur’s chest swelled with realisation.  

It was also tight hugs once homesickness kicked in, ice cream on an unbearably hot day, and contagious laughter as they recounted a terribly embarrassing thing they did.  

They shared intimacy that went beyond getting naked and having sex, something Arthur never had with other lovers. They had intimacy and warmth.

Another hour or two had passed and they found each other again outside the bar. This time, it was only the two of them. In the dark, away from the party. Alone with their feelings and the truth.  

“Are you happy, Arthur?” asked Alfred, leaning against the wall.

Sparks danced across Arthur’s skin upon hearing Alfred call his name.  

“I am,” he replied. He searched his pockets for cigarettes and a lighter.

Alfred nodded to the ground, running his fingers through his dishevelled hair.

“But it was never the same without you,” continued Arthur.

Alfred raised his head in shock. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.  

Arthur blamed the amount of alcohol he consumed for letting his guard down. But maybe it was time to be vulnerably honest. Heaven knows there were only a couple of times he let his guard down with Alfred and let the truth out.

“You know, after we ended, I tried travelling again,” he said, “But after a while, everything was a routine of packing bags, hopping on buses, meeting people, and excessive drinking… It was a never-ending cycle.”

He paused to search Alfred’s face. He was looking at Arthur as if he was trying to answer a difficult riddle.

Arthur gulped, willing the words to come out of his mouth. “Sometimes I’d find myself searching for you in the crowd, then I’d remember we weren’t together anymore, and feel… empty.”

“Arthur, I—“ said Alfred, “I feel the same way too.”

It was Arthur’s turn to be speechless. He fiddled with his cigarette to hide the shaking of his hands.

“There was a point when I wanted to stop because everything reminded me of you and it drove me crazy,” said Alfred. “I got mad at myself for deleting all your contact details because I wished I could see you again.”  

Silence fell upon them. Arthur was breathing heavily, his chest felt like it was being stabbed a thousand times.  

“But it was good while it lasted, wasn’t it?” He said after a while.

“It was,” replied Alfred, his lips curled into a sad half-smile.

At some point in their relationship, they realised travelling as a couple wasn’t always romantic. It wasn’t like what they saw in movies or social media. As time passed, the ugly parts surfaced, mostly coming from their own personal issues, and started destroying them, tearing them apart like the temple ruins they admired so much.

Sitting on the pavement, Arthur was relieved he and Alfred could talk about the past calmly, not raising their voices with anger and blame. People were going back to their hostels, and some tourists were getting ready for the sunrise tour, tuk tuks zooming along the streets.  

He remembered the last time they saw each other. It was in Vietnam, at around dawn, which felt like a lifetime ago. They knew that they were already finished— Arthur was going back to England after deciding they were over— but Alfred asked him to stay even just for a moment. They had a very early breakfast like a normal morning after partying, eating pancakes and drinking black coffee.  

“Would you like to have breakfast with me?” asked Arthur, standing up.

“Sure,” said Alfred. “Though we might have to wait for a while because I don’t think there’s somewhere open at this time.”

Arthur hummed in agreement. “We can walk around a bit. I could use a stretch, my legs are sore.”

They walked in silence, side by side, as the sky turned from black to a deep blue.  

“Where are you going next?” asked Alfred.

“Home,” replied Arthur.

Alfred bit his lip. “Any chance you’ll come and visit me?”

Arthur smiled. “Maybe.”  

“We worked out as a couple when we were travelling. Well, almost,” said Alfred, “Do you think it would have worked if we met at home? Like, if we lived in the same country?”

“Who the hell knows?” asked Arthur.

They laughed together. The next thing Arthur knew, Alfred had pulled him into his arms, and he let him. His lips found Alfred’s and it was like meeting each other all over again.

A/N: The title is from Time Is Dancing by Ben Howard. 

If anyone’s wondering why I disappeared for months, it’s because I moved abroad and am currently traipsing across Indochina (and trying to get my shit together). Peace out.

[lilyvandersteen]

Puppy Eyes Chapter 9

This is again from Kurt’s point of view. And you’re finally going to find out what it’s going to take to break the dog spell!

This chapter is unbetaed, because once again, I procrastinated writing it and my lovely beta @hkvoyage hasn’t read it yet, seeing as I’ve only just finished writing the last sentence… I’ve been too busy to write this weekend, seeing as @klaineship2 has come to visit me :-)

Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you’re wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)

This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.

The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9: A Fighting Chance

It felt a bit weird at first, calling the professor by his first name, and living in his apartment. Kurt kept pinching himself to ascertain that this was real, especially that first morning, when he padded into the living room still half-asleep and found Blaine exercising to a workout video, wearing the skimpiest shorts Kurt had ever seen, and a black muscle shirt that showed off his arms. Kurt stopped in his tracks and just stared with his mouth wide open, until Blaine noticed him and winked. “Come join me?”

Kurt snapped his mouth shut. “I need to go walk some dogs. You’re up early.”

Blaine flashed him a smile. “Always. I crash at nine thirty at the latest, and I’m up with the birds.”

Kurt groaned. “Oh great, I’m living with a morning person again!”

That made Blaine laugh out loud. “I made coffee, if that helps?”

“Oh, yes,” Kurt moaned, making a beeline for the kitchen, where he filled up his travel mug with coffee, taking a long sip before he closed it and humming happily.

Blaine followed him. “I can make you breakfast, too, if you tell me what you want?”

Kurt’s stomach rumbled, but he shook his head. “No time. I always make myself a packed breakfast to eat on the way or in the park.”

He took the box out of the fridge and put it in his backpack after taking out a sandwich and wolfing it down in three bites.

Before he left the apartment, he gave an awkward wave and said bye. Blaine, who’d resumed his exercising, waved back with a smile.

The rest of the weekend was spent comparing their schedules, figuring out how to divide the household tasks and stocking up on groceries for next week’s meals. Oh, and reassuring Burt, who was apprehensive about Kurt moving in with someone nearly ten years his senior, and wouldn’t believe there was nothing going on between them. Burt fired off a barrage of questions at Blaine, who never even blinked, and didn’t seem intimidated by Burt’s glare in the slightest.

Blaine had taken to accompanying Kurt on his scheduled dog walks, chatting his ear off, and Kurt delighted in uncovering new information about Blaine. He had a brother! A famous one! He played five instruments and used to be in his school’s show choir!

Blaine wanted to know about Kurt, too. He was endlessly interested in Kurt’s childhood, his mom, his dad, his friends, his favourite food, his taste in music and books and TV series, encouraging Kurt to talk himself hoarse about it all.

At school, the first week, Professor Scher accosted Kurt in the hallway again and steered him into her office. “I heard from Blaine that you’re living with him now. I’m so glad. He needs someone to look after him when he turns into a dog.”

Kurt, taken of guard, started babbling. “You… You know about… You… don’t mind?”

“Oh, psh,” said the professor. “The two of you belong together. Anyone can see that. But as I said, keep it on the down-low.”

Kurt blinked at her. “We’re not… together, Professor. Just… living together.”

“Oh, that will come in time,” Professor Scher predicted. “Tell Sebastian to call me, okay? I want him to come talk about  R/GA here at school again.”

Kurt promised he’d ask and then scurried off.

Thankfully, everybody else at school assumed he was still working as a dog-sitter, and just asked if he’d found a new place to stay. “Oh, you get to stay longer this time? That’s great. Moving all the time must be such a pain.”

K&B

After a few weeks, Kurt fell into a comfortable routine. In spite of his graphic design minor and his internship at R/GA, he felt like he had more breathing room than last year. Of course, it helped that he lived a short walk away from school and from the R/GA offices now. It helped that he had Blaine at home to help him with any school-related questions he had. And it helped that on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Blaine had dinner on the table the minute Kurt came home.

Kurt wasn’t used to living with someone who could cook, actually enjoyed cooking, and took that task out of his hands. Burt was a slapdash cook, throwing together ingredients and hoping it would turn out edible. Carole was an excellent cook, but only cooked when Kurt wasn’t at home. She left the kitchen to her stepson anytime he visited. And Rachel was an out-and-out disaster, who had been banned from the stove and the oven after she nearly started a kitchen fire during their first evening at the loft.

Blaine, however, was a gourmet chef, producing cheese soufflés lighter than air, osso bucco that melted in your mouth, and quiches and lasagnes that were golden perfection. Anything he made smelled and tasted so good that Kurt took seconds and begged him for the recipe.

He wasn’t a food snob, though. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Kurt cooked, and it was nothing special, just a stir fry or pasta with sauce, but Blaine tucked in as if it was the best thing he’d ever eaten and complimented Kurt.

And on weekends, they cooked and baked together, and proved to be a good team.

Kurt loved his new housing arrangements, though it worsened his crush by the day, and he believed that Blaine was happy with his new housemate too. Blaine still pined after Trent, though. Kurt wasn’t entirely sure what their relationship had been, but it had clearly ended on a bad note, and Blaine kept beating himself up about it, blaming himself for the radio silence between him and his ‘friend’. When Kurt suggested that he contact Trent again, though, Blaine got a deer-in-the-headlights look and shut up about it. Scared of confrontation, was he? Kurt filed that away in his Blaine database.

K&B

When the holidays approached, Kurt wasn’t surprised that his dad expected him to come to Ohio. What did surprise him was that Burt wanted Blaine to come, too. “I want to meet him for real, son. See with my own eyes that he treats you right. Nah, don’t roll your eyes at me, let me ask him.”

“Dad!”

“What? I’m just being neighbourly, inviting my son’s housemate so that he’s not alone for the holidays,” said Burt. “And you said he’s from Ohio too, so he can visit his family while he’s here. Let me invite him, go on.”

The invitation surprised Blaine, that was clear, but he seemed to appreciate it, and after conferring with his mother, he agreed to come.

To Kurt’s amusement, Blaine stressed out more about finding a gift for Carole than about meeting Burt. However, Kurt’s grin slid off his face as he realised that was one more sign of Blaine friend-zoning Kurt. Yes, they got along splendidly, and living with Blaine was everything Kurt could have wished for, but he needed to remember that he’d never get more than this.

Every day, he fell for Blaine harder, to the point where it had become so much worse than a crush. Kurt was actually in love with him now, though Blaine had never shown the slightest inkling of being interested in Kurt that way. Maybe he was still hung up on Trent? Maybe Kurt just wasn’t his type? Whatever the reason, Kurt would not get his happily-ever-after, and needed to guard his heart.

It wasn’t easy, though, when everything Blaine did endeared him more to Kurt. He was endlessly attentive, affectionate and nice, and it was hard for Kurt to keep in mind Blaine didn’t like him as more than a friend when he kept hugging and cuddling up to Kurt, remembered how Kurt took his coffee, made his favourite dishes and brought home his favourite dessert.

Kurt shook it off by telling himself that Blaine must have taken over a few characteristics of the dog he kept turning into, and that this was just Blaine showing his loyalty and eagerness to please.

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t you dare!

K&B

Thanksgiving was lovely. Carole happily surrendered the kitchen to Kurt and Blaine, and together, they whipped up a mouth-watering dinner.

Burt went out of his way to embarrass Kurt, though, convinced that there was something going on between him and Blaine, and not letting up about it.

Blaine’s mother proved to be just as bad, treating Kurt as if he was her son-in-law already.

However much Kurt appreciated her ready acceptance of him, It stung a little, too, because the relationship Pam took for granted was just a figment of her imagination, and no amount of wishing on Kurt’s part would make it real.

The plane trip back to New York turned into a road trip when Blaine turned into a dog at the airport, and by the time they arrived at Blaine’s apartment, Kurt was exhausted, and determined to find a way to break that blasted curse. He’d already asked his dad to contact the people who’d tried to help his mom, way back. If that didn’t help, Kurt would go see the guy who’d cursed Blaine himself.

Accordingly, during their Christmas break, Kurt and Blaine found themselves in the parlour of one curse breaker after another, but they weren’t of any more use than they had been to Kurt’s mom.

“I’m sorry, this curse is too strong. Who did you say cast it?”

And when Blaine told them it had been Alexei Zakharov, they recoiled and pushed him out the door as fast as they could, fear in their eyes.

So three days after Christmas, early in the morning, while Blaine was having breakfast in the kitchen with Carole, Kurt came downstairs dressed in his warmest clothes and toting a suitcase, and told his dad he was going to try and sort out this curse himself.

“I’ve found Mr Zakharov on the internet. He lives in Saint Petersburg. I’m going to confront him and ask him to break the curse.”

Burt gripped Kurt’s arm. “Kurt, no! I don’t want this guy to curse YOU!”

Kurt looked Burt straight in the eye. “I have to do this, Dad. I have to. Look after Blaine while I’m gone, will you?”

With that, Kurt wheeled his suitcase down the hall and let himself out.

Behind him, he heard an anguished whisper of his name, but he squared his shoulders and didn’t look back.

K&B

It took almost a day to get to Saint Petersburg. Kurt stumbled out of the plane as a sleep-deprived wreck, but once arrived at his hotel, he only dropped off his suitcase and strode out again. He was determined to get the curse sorted out first. He could nap after.

Kurt found the headquarters of the company where Mr Zakharov worked, and waited outside the office building for him to come out. He’d memorised the picture he’d found online so that he would recognise him, and sure enough, a few minutes past five, he saw the man walking out the door.

“Mr Zakharov?” Kurt called.

The man turned around, sizing him up. “You’re American.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want with me?” Mr Zakharov asked.

Kurt hesitated, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “Can we talk somewhere more private, please?”

Mr Zakharov let out a booming laugh. “Are you propositioning me?”

Kurt flushed, his eyes going wide. “No!”

That made the man throw his head back and laugh even harder, slapping his thigh. When he’d gotten over his bout of hilarity, he said, “No need to look so scared, boy, I was just joking.”

Kurt exhaled shakily. “Oh…”

“I’m heading home right now, so you can come with me,” Mr Zakharov continued.

Kurt nodded and fell into step with him. They turned left and stopped at a house with a bright blue door.

“This is me,” said Mr Zakharov, and he took out a chain holding at least a hundred keys, finding the right one without even looking.

Kurt followed him in, and then to a sitting room with more doilies than he’d ever seen together, even at his great-aunt’s. He sat down gingerly on an armchair, and looked at Mr Zakharov, trying to figure out where to start.

“You wanted to talk to me?” the man prompted.

“Yes. I… I need to know how to break a spell.”

Well, that was blunt, and to the point, but Kurt figured that a guy who’d taken umbrage at being led on for half a year would appreciate directness.

Mr Zakharov’s eyebrows rose. “A spell? Who cast it?”

“You did,” said Kurt.

Now the man’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “А тебе не занимать мужества, малыш!”

“Sorry?” Kurt asked.

“You’ve got guts, kid!” Mr Zakharov translated. “Stepping up to me to ask how to break one of my spells - the nerve of you! I’ve struck people dead for less!”

Kurt’s eyes widened, but he stayed put, pulling his shoulders back and looking straight at Mr Zakharov. “I meant no offense, sir.”

The man’s expression softened. “You’re lucky you seem so innocent. Plus that I’m curious. What was the curse? What is it you want to turn back? You want to stop someone from dying? Or bring them back from the dead?”

Kurt’s mouth fell open. “Can you do that?”

Mr Zakharov smirked. “For the right price, I might.”

Kurt gaped at him some more, but this was not about his mom, nor did he think she could be brought back after so many years. So he soldiered on. “No, it has nothing to do with life and death. It’s a dog spell.”

That was clearly not what Mr Zakharov had been expecting him to say, but it took him only seconds to catch on. “Blaine!”

Kurt nodded.

The man in front of him clenched and unclenched his fists, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and it took a few minutes for him to speak again. “So he’s into children these days, is he?”

Kurt’s puzzled expression sparked a fit of laughter, and only when it had subsided did Mr Zakharov explain his remark. “He’s dating you now? What are you, sixteen?”

Kurt squashed his indignation and replied, “I’m twenty, sir. And no, I’m not dating Blaine Anderson.”

Mr Zakharov looked as though he was close to laughing again. “But you’d certainly like to. Why else would you be here on his behalf?”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his armchair.

Again, the man’s laugh boomed through the room. “Up to his old tricks, is he, Blaine? Making you feel like you’re the only boy in the world to him and then friend-zoning you?”

That felt uncomfortably close to the truth, so Kurt bit his lip and said nothing.

“Aww, you’re too precious,” the man sniggered. “He’s never going to fall for you, you know that, right? You’re just wasting your time.”

Kurt nodded and then ducked his head. He did know that. He’d always known it. But it wasn’t like that made any difference to him. He wanted to help Blaine. Get that curse lifted. He didn’t expect anything from Blaine in return. That was not how love worked. If you loved someone, you had to set them free, right? Even if it broke your heart.

By the time Kurt felt composed enough to look up again, Mr Zakharov’s eyes had lost their teasing glint. He looked at Kurt intently. “You may look like a kid, but you’re really not. You have more strength in you than meets the eye, and the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. Which is why I’m going to give you a fighting chance. You deserve that much.”

Kurt mustered up a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me just yet,” said the man. “I’m not going to make this easy on you. I’m going to give you two years, starting today. If in that time, you manage to make Blaine fall in love with you, the spell will be broken. Get Blaine to kiss you and mean it, and he’ll never be a dog again.”

Mr Zakharov sniggered. “True love’s kiss and all that. In fact, I should give you until midnight on New Year’s Eve, two years from now, then it’s completely like a fairy tale. So you’ll get two years and two days, kid. A bit more, since you’re from America, and you’re several hours behind.”

Kurt nodded, and Mr Zakharov shook his head, chuckling and fiddling with his beard. “Who’d have known, I’m growing soft! I’m going to need to kill some people after this to prove that I’m still as fearsome as ever.”

Kurt couldn’t help but shiver, and that made the man laugh uproariously. “I wouldn’t kill you, little one! I like you. You’ve got spunk. And you make me laugh. Now… Where was I? Oh, yes. If you don’t manage to make Blaine fall for you, and let’s face it, that’s the more likely scenario, seeing as the guy’s such an idiot at personal relationships…”

Mr Zakharov laughed again, but it sounded sharp this time, and there was something savage about his expression, showing that however long it had been, he still hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven Blaine’s rejection.

“If you fail,” the man continued, “Blaine will become a dog permanently. For the rest of his life.”

Kurt considered this. It wasn’t likely that he’d succeed, but at least Blaine wouldn’t die, not even in the worst case scenario. If Blaine turned into a dog for good, Kurt would look after him. He owed him that much.

So Kurt nodded. “That’s fair. I accept your terms.”

That made Mr Zakharov crack up once more. “So polite, hee, hee, hee!”

Kurt didn’t see what was so funny, but at long last, the man got down to business, focussing his glittering dark eyes back on Kurt and flexing his fingers. “All right then…”

Mr Zakharov started chanting in what Kurt presumed to be Russian, wiggling his fingers at Kurt, who felt like squirming away, but forced himself to sit up straight and still until the magic was done.

“There!” the man said cheerfully. “Oh, and one more thing… You can’t tell Blaine how his curse can be broken. And of course you can’t go telling Blaine that you love him.”

Kurt blanched. “I already have!”

Mr Zakharov raised an eyebrow. “You told him you were in love with him?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?” the man inquired.

Kurt bit his lip. “He found it funny.”

Mr Zakharov fixed Kurt with a stare again. “Hmm… Well, if he already knows, it won’t make much difference if you mention it again, I guess. I hope for your sake that you succeed, but he doesn’t deserve you. At all.”

The man seemed indignant on Kurt’s behalf, which would have been funny if Kurt hadn’t been so scared of him.

Kurt thanked his host again politely, declined an offer of refreshment and got out of that house as fast as he could.

It wasn’t until he was back in his hotel room that he lost it, shaking uncontrollably and weeping out all his pent-up emotions. He may not have shown it, but that confrontation had been nerve-racking from the beginning until the end.

Once he felt slightly better, he ordered room service. He wasn’t hungry, per se, but he felt empty, and seeing as there was no-one around to hug him and make him feel better, he was going to fill the void with pizza and cake, so there. It was going to set him back a pretty penny, but no way was he going out again when people like Mr Zakharov roamed the streets here.

While he waited for his food to arrive, he thought of another way to make himself happy again – a phone call to his dad.

Burt picked up the phone after the first ring. “Kurt? What happened? Are you okay? Me and Blaine were having dinner when all of a sudden, pop, he becomes a dog. Wow, that was weird.”

Kurt gasped. He hadn’t thought of that, but of course Blaine had turned into a dog – Kurt had made Mr Zakharov think of him. “Let him run free in the back yard. I’ll clean up his messes when I get back. You’ll have to buy him dog food, though.”

“He can’t eat lasagne?” Burt asked.

“Dad, no!! There’s all sorts of things in that sauce that are bad for dogs, tomatoes and onions and stuff. Do you want to clean up puke all over the house?”

“Ah, no…” said Burt. “I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning. What could I give him to eat for now?”

Kurt thought hard. “I bought extra ground beef to freeze in last time I went grocery-shopping, but I think I forgot to freeze it in. Can you check? It should be on the lowest shelf in the fridge.”

“Uhm… Yep, there it is.”

“Give Blaine about a quarter of that,” Kurt instructed.

“Raw?” Burt asked.

“Yes.”

Kurt heard some clinking and scraping, and then Burt was back. “Okay, done. And he seems to like it. So tell me what happened.”

“Of course he likes it, this is like fine dining for a dog,” Kurt explained.

“Quit stalling, son.”

Kurt sighed. “Well, I went to see him, and we talked.”

“He didn’t curse you, did he?” Burt asked, a tremor in his voice.

Kurt was quick to reassure him. “No. He seemed to like me.”

“And what did he say about the dog spell?”

Kurt hesitated. “It… It can be broken by true love’s kiss.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Burt said, “That easy?”

“What’s easy about true love?” Kurt countered. “I don’t think Blaine is quick to fall in love. And he doesn’t notice it when other people fall for him. That’s what got him into this mess in the first place. I told you about that.”

“Still, he got off easy,” Burt said.

“He only has two more years to do it, though,” Kurt. “Then his time runs out.”

“And then he dies?” Burt gasped.

“No, no! He won’t die. He’s just… going to stay a dog for the rest of his life.”

“Huh. That’s not too bad.”

“No,” Kurt agreed. “It’s not.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re leaving something out?” Burt asked.

Kurt chuckled wetly. “You always know, don’t you? I… I like Blaine. You know that.”

“Course I do,” Burt said. “I could see it all the way from New York, first time I Face-Timed with Blaine, and you were hovering behind him. Worst case of heart-eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Dad!” Kurt protested, hoping that Blaine wasn’t listening in. “It was… obvious to Mr Zakharov too. So… It’s me that Blaine has to fall in love with. Someone else won’t do. And I can’t tell Blaine how to break the curse.”

“So everything will stay the same?” Burt asked. “You pining after Blaine and him not even noticing?”

Kurt took a deep breath. “Yeah. Basically, yeah.”

“That sucks.”

“Does it ever,” Kurt agreed. “But that’s life, I guess.”

“If he can’t see how amazing you are, he’s an idiot,” Burt said. “A nice one, but still an idiot.”

“Dad!”

“Just saying it like it is, kiddo.”

“I know, I know. But, Dad… He can’t help not feeling any attraction to me anymore than I can help falling for men instead of women. It’s not something you can force. Maybe he’s asexual.”

“He’s a what now?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “That means he’s not attracted to anyone. Ever.”

“Is that a thing?”

Kurt laughed. “Yes. It’s a thing. Mind you, I’m not sure. But that could be the reason. He seems to like me well enough, but there’s no spark.”

“I see plenty of sparks between the two of you,” Burt disagreed.

Kurt sighed. “Yeah, coming from my end. Not his. Now drop it, please, Dad.”

Kurt’s food arrived shortly after that, so he ended the phone call and started devouring everything as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

When he crawled into bed a few hours later, he still felt empty, in spite of the phone call and the food.

Two years. I have two years. And two days. Why am I clinging onto this as if I stand a chance? That’s just stupid. Blaine won’t ever fall for me.

[samanthathedisneyprincess]

put a number in my ask - all

i’m impatient but @soldierofthenight

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

@soldierofthenight

2. Are you outgoing or shy?

shy

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?

@soldierofthenight duh

4. Are you easy to get along with?

yeah i think so

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?

probably but i’d be the sober one 

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

people that are honest and that care about me and are understanding and gentle

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

yep

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

honestly i’ve spent a good majority of my day watching drake and josh so we’re gonna go with them

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

yep

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

literally bri

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

i don’t really text

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

i’ve been listening to the mamma mia sequel’s soundtrack as background music, otherwise i usually have on one of my two playlists

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?

yes

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

yep

15. What good thing happened this summer?

i found bri lol

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

i would

17. Do you think there is life on other planets?

yep

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

no

19. Do you like bubble baths?

yes

20. Do you like your neighbors?

i have no opinion

21. What are you bad habits?

typically negative and a bunch of other things people don’t need to know about

22. Where would you like to travel?

new york city or disney world

23. Do you have trust issues?

haha

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

going to bed. jk idk

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?

lmao is this a thing 

26. What do you do when you wake up?

i check my notifications

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?

i just wish i could go outside without getting a sunburn

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

my mom 

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?

i’ve been told that before, but guys are shit tbh

30. Do you ever want to get married?

yeah 

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail?

yes

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

this is completely hypothetical because the idea of a threesome really doesn’t appeal to me very much at all, but i guess kristen stewart and ally hills. or joan jett and courteney cox? is this question weird yes 

33. Spell your name with your chin.

zxaa ngnz

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

no

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

i’m trash and i love tv, but without tv

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

of course

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

nothing

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

hi @soldierofthenight

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

the disney store, walmart, fye, hot topic (i’m trash)

40. What do you want to do after high school?

i want to be gay 

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

no

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

i’m either insanely anxious, sick, or upset

43. Do you smile at strangers?

sometimes

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

ocean

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?

food

46. What are you paranoid about?

everything lol

47. Have you ever been high?

nope

48. Have you ever been drunk?

nope

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

i don’t think so. 

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

black

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

of course

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

my entire body lol

53. Favourite makeup brand?

i don’t spend money on expensive stuff so it doesn’t matter

54. Favourite store?

hot topic or fye

55. Favourite blog?

@shitmygaywifesays

56. Favourite colour?

purple, pink, black

57. Favourite food?

mexican followed by italian

58. Last thing you ate?

macaroni and cheese

59. First thing you ate this morning?

soup

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

writing

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?

nope

62. Been arrested? For what?

no

63. Ever been in love?

yes

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

it was in the parking lot of my old apartment complex with a boy i’ve known forever.

65. Are you hungry right now?

no

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

my friends are all my real friends

67. Facebook or Twitter?

twitter

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

umm depends

69. Are you watching tv right now?

no

70. Names of your bestfriends?

sabrina, kelly, and megan are my closest friends.

71. Craving something? What?

like every food i can’t eat right now lol

72. What colour are your towels?

i don’t know

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?

2-4

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

1

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

several

75. Favourite animal?

cats and pigs

76. What colour is your underwear?

blue

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour?

coconut

79. What colour shirt are you wearing?

blue

80. What colour pants?

no pants

81. Favourite tv show?

friends

82. Favourite movie?

scream or beauty and the beast

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

the original of course

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?

mean girls

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls?

it’s been a long time since i’ve watched it

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo?

dory

87. First person you talked to today?

bri

88. Last person you talked to today?

bri

89. Name a person you hate?

i don’t want to answer this lol

90. Name a person you love?

hi @soldierofthenight

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

no

92. In a fight with someone?

not exactly

93. How many sweatpants do you have?

like 2 or 3

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?

too many

95. Last movie you watched?

this is so embarrassing. it was drake and josh go hollywood

96. Favourite actress?

courteney cox or kristen stewart

97. Favourite actor?

leonardo dicaprio or zac efron

98. Do you tan a lot?

nope

99. Have any pets?

two cats

100. How are you feeling?

sick lol

101. Do you type fast?

yes

102. Do you regret anything from your past?

don’t regret anything or it’d change where you are now

103. Can you spell well?

yep

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?

we always do

105. Ever been to a bonfire party?

yes

106. Ever broken someone’s heart?

yeah probably

107. Have you ever been on a horse?

yes

108. What should you be doing?

nothing productive

109. Is something irritating you right now?

no

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?

of course

111. Do you have trust issues?

lol

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?

my mom actually

113. What was your childhood nickname?

pumpkin

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

yes

115. Do you play the Wii?

not recently

116. Are you listening to music right now?

yes

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?

only when i’m sick

118. Do you like Chinese food?

sometimes

119. Favourite book?

it used to be sweethearts by sara zarr but i also loved gamer girl by mari mancusi so much that i own a copy.

120. Are you afraid of the dark?

no

121. Are you mean?

no

122. Is cheating ever okay?

don’t cheat on your significant other. 

alternatively, if your spouse is cheating on you and you know this (think sam smith’s i’m not the only one) do what you gotta do or wanna do.

123. Can you keep white shoes clean?

no

124. Do you believe in love at first sight?

no

125. Do you believe in true love?

i didn’t before, but i do now.

126. Are you currently bored?

no

127. What makes you happy?

music, food, my significant other, games, tv shows

128. Would you change your name?

no

129. What your zodiac sign?

gemini

130. Do you like subway?

yes i do

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

i’m gay sorry

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

probably bri

133. Favourite lyrics right now?

i have nothing good to write here unless you want every catchy abba lyric

134. Can you count to one million?

if i tried but who would want to?

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?

i can think of one

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?

half closed

137. How tall are you?

5′6

138. Curly or Straight hair?

curly

139. Brunette or Blonde?

brunette

140. Summer or Winter?

summer

141. Night or Day?

night

142. Favourite month?

june or december

143. Are you a vegetarian?

no

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?

milk

145. Tea or Coffee?

tea

146. Was today a good day?

it went ok

147. Mars or Snickers?

snickers

148. What’s your favourite quote?

"music is probably the only real magic I have encountered in my life… It’s pure and it’s real. It moves, it heals…" - tom petty

"there's nothing wrong with you, there's a lot wrong with the world you live in" - chris colfer

149. Do you believe in ghosts?

yes

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

no book near me

[angstymarshmallow]

92 Things

Thanks for the tag Holly :’) @hollyashton

THE LAST: 1. Drink: Water (please help cure my hangover) 2. Phone call: called my mom 3. Text message: “eyy when do you wanna hang out today?” 4. Song you listened to: Take Me Somewhere Nice, Mogwai. Just putting my phone on shuffle. 5. Time you cried: Can’t remember because thankfully it’s been awhile.

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: Nope; rather not make the same mistake twice. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Nope. 8. Been cheated on: Yup. 9. Lost someone special: Yes 10. Been depressed: Bingo. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: OH GOSH yes. It happened once a few years ago - and one is already too many times.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. Teal 13. Lime green 14. Lavender

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Online and offline! I have remarkably grasp some sociable talents during the past couple months. 16. Fallen out of love: Nope! 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes, there’s been a lot of that lol. 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yes 19. Met someone who changed you: Yes 20. Found out who your friends are: I’m not sure I understand in what context? But yes. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Aha, yes. There are multiple people on there that I’ve kissed.

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I did a Facebook purge not too long ago so probably a good chunk of them. 23. Do you have any pets: Yes and no? I consider the dogs that live with me my pets. 24. Do you want to change your name: No, I quite like my name. It’s uniquely spelt and it’s a part of what defines me. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I think I ended up going out at sushi buffet with a couple of friends and then we went downtown for karaoke. 26. What time did you wake up: 7 am and I barely slept. 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: I went out clubbing with some of my favorite people. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Game of Thrones season 7 premiere! 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: A couple hours ago at a barbecue. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: My bushy eyebrows. They are a plague and constant gripe on my soul. 31. What are you listening right now: The sound of traffic from outside my friend’s apartment windows. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Nope, never. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Unsettled stomach from drinking and not having enough water. 34. Most visited Website: It is a toss up between tumblr, youtube and twitch to be quite honest. 35. Mole/s: One alarmingly sized one kind of near my left ear. Sometimes I forget it exist because it’s usually covered by my hair. 37. Childhood dream: To be a psychologist but then I realized how many years of school + high tuition costs so that became a giant nope. 38. Hair color: Black, with tinges of lighter brown from years of chlorine water as a kid. 39. Long or short hair: Short currently 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Do you mean the list of fictional characters - otherwise nope. 41. What do you like about yourself: I go out of my way most of the time to make people laugh, sometimes at my own expense. I genuinely like hearing people laugh and seeing them smile. 42. Piercings: Three and I want one more! 43. Blood type: I can’t remember, the next time I see one of my doctors I’ll try to find out. 44. Nickname: Most of the time it’s Krysy, some of the times it’s Kris and there are maybe two or so embarrassingly strange nicknames that I will never repeat. 45. Relationship status: Happily committed. 46. Zodiac: Virgo. 47. Pronouns: She/Her. 48. Favorite TV Show/s: Right now it’s Castlevania, How I Met Your Mother. The Office. Supernatural. The Walking Dead. Skins (UK version). 49. Tattoos: None yet. 50. Right or left hand: Right. 51. Surgery: Yes, did a neck biopsy under a year ago. 52. Hair dyed in different color: Nope can’t do that right now. 53. Sport: Not really into sports, but I kickbox 55. Vacation: Want but can’t afford. RIP ME. 56. Pair of trainers: I forget the name.

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: Nothing right now. 58. Drinking: Water. 59. I’m about to: lose it if this hungover doesn’t go away anytime soon. Gaaah. 61. Waiting for: Divine intervention. To go home and sleep in my own bed. 62. Want: Sleep. A latte. Tacos. 63. Get married: Maybe someday. 64. Career: Administrative. 65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs because I love hugs! And I’ve been told I give the best hugs not to toot my own horn or anything. 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes, definitely eyes. Let me sink into them. 67. Shorter or taller: I’m sort of tall, and I prefer taller people. 68. Older or younger: No preference but I tend to gravitate to older guys. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: My arms are finally starting to tone up so definitely arms. Working on that nice stomach though! 71. Sensitive or loud: It depends really, I have friends that are both. 72. Hook up or relationship: I’ve never really hooked up with someone for the sake of hooking up. So by default my choice is relationship lol. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Depends on who you ask. But for argument’s sake - troublemaker.

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger: No but I bet that would make for a great story! So maybe I will one day, just because. 75. Drank hard liquor: Yes, nights outs requires that sometimes. 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I’ve never owned contact lenses but yes I’ve definitely lost my glasses more than once. 77. Turned someone down: Yes. 78. Sex in the first date: Hasn’t happened. 79. Broken someone’s heart: Yup. 80. Had your heart broken: Yup. 81. Been arrested: No and the thought alone terrifies me, I can’t survive prison. 82. Cried when someone died: Yes but not at first, still processing it - crying ensues later. 83. Fallen for a friend: Yup.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: Sometimes, on good days - yes. 85. Miracles: Nope, not at all. 86. Love at first sight: Nope. 87. Santa Claus: Never did, half of my childhood was spent in a country where no kid believed in Santa Claus lol 88. Kiss on the first date: I never have. 89. Angels: Debatable but no.

OTHER: 90. Current best friend’s name: I mean I have a couple. Offline: Michael. Anique. Trumaine. Online: Lana @lanapowellblog 91. Eyecolor: Dark Brown 92. Favorite movie: The Princess Bride

I tag the following folks but no pressure or anything: @lanapowellblog, @kara-choices, @mewly , @diamondsaregold, @hartfeld, @xo-endlessmayhem-xo, @tkxo-ashton, @zigisbisexual, @punexpectedly, @mermaidwarriorqueen, @kaitloyalist, @storiesbehindyoureyes, @quinn-kelly, @justapapercut, @pixelbatsy , @joyfulchoices, @annyvil, @warham40k, @pbophelia - and anyone else that wants to do this!

[yoonia]

Get to know me

Tagged by @aichan11 thank you^^

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

THE LAST: 1. Drink: hot tea 2. Phone call: my older sister 3. Text message: my project partner asking about the deadline ;-;; 4. Song you listened to: Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeah 5. Time you cried: Last night? :/

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: um...yes  7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Yes :( 8. Been cheated on: Unfortunately yes 9. Lost someone special: Yes 10. Been depressed: every single day 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: drunk, yes. thrown up because of it, never

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12-14: White, teal, beige

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Yes, I have :) 16. Fallen out of love: No  17. Laughed until you cried: yes, on a lot of occasion :) 18. Found out someone was talking about you: unfortunately yes 19. Met someone who changed you: no one I can think of 20. Found out who your friends are: sort of 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: nope

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I’ve deleted my facebook...but all I had there was friends from school  23. Do you have any pets: Yes, a grey cat named Myo and her baby brother, Toothless 24. Do you want to change your name: not really^^ 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Spent 24 hours with my boyfriend, half of the time spent staying in my flat because I was sick 26. What time did you wake up: 6 am, I think 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: writing 28. Name something you can’t wait for: seeing my boyfriend again :) 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: so many years ago 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: my whole entire life 31. What are you listening right now: Hoppipolla by Sigur Ros 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: I may have a cousin named Tommy :)) 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: my procrastination 34. Most visited Website: Tumblr

LOST QUESTIONS. I JUST PUT IN RANDOM INFO ABOUT ME 35. Mole/s: a few 36. Mark/s: one scar on my chest, one on my right arm, under my chin, and my knees 37. Childhood dream: An artist/painter 38. Haircolor: My natural hair color is dark copper.  39. Long or short hair: it’s currently short 40. Do you have a crush on someone: does Yoongi count? :)) 41. What do you like about yourself: my curiosity 42. Piercings: Left - a double helix, double piercings on my upper lobe, and one at lower lobe. Right - one on lower lobe 43. Bloodtype: A 44. Nickname: Dia 45. Relationship status: just celebrated my one year relationship :) 46. Zodiac: Libra 47. Pronouns: She/Her 48. Favorite TV Show: Game of Thrones, Knowing Brothers, Criminal Minds, Running Man 49. Tattoos: a half mandala which looks like a half part of wings at the back of my neck down to between my shoulders, my name written in hiragana on my left arm, a writing of “imagine” on my right arm 50. Right or left hand: I’m an ambidextrous 51. Surgery: had a few when I was little 52. Hair dyed in different color: yes. I mostly change my hair color between light brown, black, or auburn. I’m planning to get a lighter color next 53. Sport: I do morning runs and yoga 55. Vacation: I’ve been to UK (Epsom, London), Thailand (Bangkok), Malaysia (KL, Johor), Indonesia (Bali, Jakarta), Singapore, and a bunch of places in Australia that I have lost count of. 56. Pair of trainers: Adidas

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: Seafood, Japanese Soba, Kimbab :)) 58. Drinking: Coffee 59. I’m about to: continue working on my animation project in another sleepless night 61. Waiting for: my next payment :)) being broke pretty sucks 62. Want: to eat 63. Get married: maybe one day 64. Career: interior designer

WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: hugs. preferably back hugs^^ 66. Lips or eyes: eyes 67. Shorter or taller: Taller. I’m smol already 68. Older or younger: age doesn’t really matter to me. As long as our personalities are compatible, then why not 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: uuummmmmmm.....nice stomach? I guess 71. Sensitive or loud: sensitive 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: ......I can’t say I’d choose either one

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger: No 75. Drank hard liquor: um....yes  76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: lost my glasses once on a trip :( 77. Turned someone down: Yes 78. Sex in the first date: No 79. Broken someone’s heart: Yes...sorry :( 80. Had your heart broken: yeah 81. Been arrested: No 82. Cried when someone died: Yes :( 83. Fallen for a friend: No

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: not really :))))) 85. Miracles: not anymore, I guess 86. Love at first sight: no 87. Santa Claus: No 88. Kiss in the first date: maybe? 89. Angels: Yes

OTHER: 90. Current best friends name: Rae, my roommate 91. Eyecolor: Dark (greyish) brown 92. Favorite movie: Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind

I did it!

I’m tagging @the95liner, @ssconce, @syubingseok, @roseok, @4soju, @jjkfire, @kimtrain, @jheartseok, @haneulismykoreanname, @instantwastelandtyphoon, @tayegi ,@war-of-hormoan, @floralseokjin, @gukvory, @btssmutgalore, @chimdeer, @yoongihime, I can’t think of anyone else ;-;; Please only do this if you want to, and if anyone wants to do it please do go ahead and tag me :’)

[rhegar]

Dearly Beloved, Chapter 5

Fic Summary: Elia Martell passes away after giving birth to Aegon from complications. Rhaegar Targaryen, now widowed, realizes how fatal his mistakes were to his family.

Chapter Summary: Rhaegar leaves Dorne, confronts Arthur, and receives a priceless gift from Doran and Oberyn.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: TW for rape

This is Chapter five. Chapter 1 2 3 4 or Read on Ao3 here

While in the water gardens, Rhaegar had mostly left Rhaenys alone to play with the Dornish princesses so she could finally have friends of her age and be distracted from her mother's departure. He'd had eyes on her all the time; his as he looked on her while she was playing from his balcony or stood near her in the gardens, or Prince Lewyn's, but after breaking fast together with the princes of Dorne and their daughters, they seldom spent a long time together until supper time.

And yet, when he told her that he would depart from Dorne in hours, she wept.

It started with calm sobbing, then her face reddened and tears covered her cheeks and she started screaming like Aegon occasionally did. "You're going to go away for years, like mother," she said. She repeated "like mother" many times; Rhaegar could hear it between her other muffled words that he could not decipher. He held her to his chest.

Prince Doran had secured the prince and princess a private area between the fountains of the water gardens where no one was allowed, to make sure no little birds would eavesdrop. It was guarded by a scary Norvosi who had come with Lady Mellario. Rhaegar learned that his name was Areo Hotah and that he could have crushed the neck of any "little bird" with his bare hand like a ripe orange till it became a bloody ruin. And so, he spoke freely, albeit in a low voice. "Sweetling, your mother has gone on a long journey to Essos," he said, praying to the Father Above to forgive him for this lie. "I will only go to Dragonstone to deal with some matters. When they're settled, I will send for you and Aegon and we will be together again. For now, stay with the little princesses of Dorne and play in the gardens."

"I don't want to. Nym and Tyene tease me. They say their father teaches them how to fight while you only… spoll me."

"Spoll?" Rhaegar repeated, not understanding for a moment. "Oh… spoil." He chuckled. "It's alright; you're younger than they are. When you're as old as they, you will be taught how to fight as well," he said, and his mind went to Visenya Targaryen. Perhaps I was wrong in naming her Rhaenys; perhaps she was Visenya all along. His mind also went to the gallant young Lyanna Stark. She was not allowed by her father to practice with weapons, and she had risked her life to enter the lists in secret to avenge his young bannerman. He decided that, to honor her, he should have thought up a way to change those rules regarding women and fighting, instead of giving her some stupid roses. To honor her, and to honor Visenya, the dragon queen without whom Aegon wouldn't have won his kingdom, but she hardly saw half of the glory.

"But they will not stop teasing me because I'm younger than they are. Take me with you."

"I can't. It will not be safe. There are bad people who want to hurt you, and I will travel north to put an end to that."

She had raised her hand to wipe away tears. "Will you end them like Balerion ended Aegon's enemies?" She was not old enough to learn the word "kill." To her, death was not a concept, only seizing to exist was. Balerion had just made Aegon's enemies seize to exist; he "ended" them. Sometimes Rhaegar thought that "ending" someone was a kindness; with their existence, it took their pain away.

"I will end some of them, and I will only imprison some others. Mercy is a good thing to learn, and so is forgiveness," he said, knowing that mercy was poison when practiced in excess, and forgiveness was not something he could afford anymore. Some people you cannot be merciful with, or forgive. Some people the dragon protects; others the dragon "ends." But that's a lesson for when Rhaenys is a woman grown. Until then, I will make sure she lives her childhood not knowing of death, or pain, or betrayal, he thought to himself.

"Come back soon," she said. "Promise me, father."

"I promise you, my princess," he said, and knew that that was a lie. Rhaegar knew that if he succeeds, he will have to remain in the Red Keep for a long while, and if he doesn't… well, the executioner is in the Red Keep as well. I will not come back to Dorne. You will come north to me, where your home is. You may be half a Martell of Sunspear, but you are still a Targaryen of King's Landing. A dragon. And he would have her assume back her role as the princess of Westeros soon.

Rhaenys still looked displeased. "I'm afraid," she said with a frown.

Rhaegar sighed and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from his chest, to look in her eyes. "Listen, sweetling. One day, when the time comes, you and your brother and my brother Viserys will be more important than you can imagine. You will train to beat an incoming darkness, and beasts from legends. You will be heroes; slayers of giants and ice monsters. Until that day comes, you will be safe. I will make sure of that. And when it does, you will be so strong that nothing in this world will scare you. You will command an army so big that you will never feel alone. You will look death in the eyes and you will bury a sword in its heart. Your fire will melt the ice off this world."

Rhaenys looked at him with wide eyes, her tears almost dried. He was certain she did not understand every single word he said, but she understood enough to feel brave. She nodded pretending to understand all the same.

Before leaving, Rhaegar went to check on Aegon as well. His wet nurse was sitting by his side and she bowed when he entered the room and avoided his eyes. He held up his son in his arms; he was awake and fidgeting. When he opened his eyes, they were a lighter purple than his father's; more like his uncle's. He reached up with his hand and touched his father's surcoat.

"He is such a calm child, your grace," his wet nurse said from the corner of the room.

"He is. And would have made for a wise king," he said, quite loudly, fully intending for eavesdroppers to hear. "I hope that he will be safe. When he grows old enough, Prince Doran will see to it that he joins me on the wall."

Everyone in Sunspear was made aware that Rhaegar was sailing north; only they didn't know that he hadn't intended to follow his father's wishes. They thought that Rhaegar truly was abdicating his rights to the throne to Viserys and taking the black. Sometimes, he wished he could, but he knew that he couldn't. The only way to protect his family and the realm was for him to sit the Iron Throne. And he would personally see to it that Aegon will sit the Iron Throne too.

He touched the babe's cheek gently, then he held him up and gave him a light peck on his forehead. You will be safe. I will protect you with my own life, that I swear.

The same crowd of Dornishmen who had been present to receive Rhaegar (and more importantly, Elia's body) had stood to bid him farewell at the port of Sunspear, missing only a few lords who went back to their keeps after the funeral. The princes of Dorne stood at the head of the crowd and with them was little Princess Arianne, and this time, Lady Mellario was there too; only she stood as far from her husband as would have been allowed. He stood through about an hour of courtesies and observed, bemusedly, that he still commanded respect from them. Even though word was out that he was going to take the black (though the real reason was not known; Doran spread the word that Rhaegar took it in grief over Elia) he was still the crown prince for the time being. Or perhaps it was because they thought he was exiling himself to the wall in sadness over their princess that they respected him; he couldn't tell.

Then, the little boat that would ferry him to his ship finally made it to the pier. Only then, he turned to Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn.

"Farewell, your grace," said the more courteous older brother.

"Farewell, Prince Doran. I leave my children in the safety of Sunspear knowing that I have a wise and loyal friend." He turned to Oberyn. "I trust that you too will protect them, Prince Oberyn. For Elia."

The prince nodded and smiled. "For my sister."

The old ferryman left the boat to help Rhaegar and Arthur in. When they were all on the boat, Rhaegar gave the regal prince of Dorne one last long look.

The night before, Lord Tywin's letter reached him, and the night before that, Lord Baratheon's letter did. Both of them held good news. Though Rhaegar doubted that Robert had completely forgiven him the slight at Harrenhal, he didn't seem to be planning to turn against him for the time being, and Lord Tywin's letter was positive as well, though it seemed still hopeful that Rhaegar would take his daughter to wife. He had no plans to, but he wasn't going to broach the issue of remarrying (especially with his lack of intentions to remarry) until he was safely on the throne.

He was still anxious about some of the lords choosing to side with the king, but he remembered Doran's words. Your father has burned quite the few bridges. Lord Mace and Lord Tywin were the most important and richest, but Robert Baratheon's consent to a great council was a good sign; it showed that the entire alliance to the north was willing to listen to him; after all, he doubted Robert would consent to that without consulting with his future father in law, Lord Stark, or the man who fostered him, Lord Arryn, and neither of them would act without Lord Tully's consent. But how does he guarantee that those lords aren't playing both sides? Perhaps some of them are playing allies to him, all while informing the king about his moves, waiting to see which side would win? Well, it was a gamble, but it was the only way. He hoped that he had swayed them with his promises which he fully intended to fulfill.

His mind was busy with possibilities and calculations even until he reached his cabin on the ship. He hardly paid a mind to anything else. That is, until Arthur entered the cabin the closed the door behind him. Arthur had never entered Rhaegar's room uninvited. Not that he minded, but it was so unusual that Rhaegar stared at him and didn't know what to say.

"You haven't spoken a word to me since that night with Doran," he said, in a dry tone. "Other than 'please be seated, Ser Arthur' or 'thank you, Ser Arthur'… What is on your mind? I'm weary of guessing, your grace."

Rhaegar was so surprised he stuttered. "I… I have been thinking about what's to come. And you know I can't speak to you freely, my father's spies are everywhere."

"Well, here we are, your grace… on your ship. There are no ravens here; you needn't worry about spies. I told you what's to come for you is what's to come for me. Wherever you go, I will follow; it has been that way since the day we met. And yet you hardly think to speak a word to me about your intentions, or what you feel."

Rhaegar felt defensive. "You read everything in those letters, you know what I intend to do. You're the only person in this world I share everything with."

"I would like to hear it from you. I would like to think that I mean something to you more than a loyal shadow that you share everything with," Arthur said, his tone getting heated.

"It is unlike you to be so demanding."

"Demanding? This…." Arthur said, pointing with his hand at Rhaegar from across the room. "This is exactly what you did to Elia. This silence, neglect, ignorance… it was like you forgot she even existed. You neglected her dead. I would die for you, but not like she did. Not because you didn't even think of me."

Rhaegar felt his stomach sink to the ground. This is exactly what you did to Elia. You neglected her dead. And then something else about the comparison caught his attention. "But me and you are nothing like me and Elia. She was my wife."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. And then, it all happened too quickly for Rhaegar to understand: Arthur crossed the room, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him.

Once Rhaegar understood what happened, he felt the blood rise to his cheeks and his heart beat faster. He kissed Arthur back, and they kissed again and again, and then it all came out of his control; his body was acting of its own volition. His clothes came off, and so did Arthur's white cloak and breaches, and his silvery white armor made a loud thud when it hit the floor. And then they were in bed, feverishly kissing, touching…

Rhaegar thought that if Arthur was upset at his absence, he no longer had reason to complain: In that moment, he was so alive his heart almost jumped out of his chest. Everything seemed a dozen times as vivid as it had ever been.

After that, they lay down, holding each other with Arthur's head buried in Rhaegar's neck, and the prince was thinking since when he had started feeling that way. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed bedding Elia (the only other person he had ever shared his bed with) but… since when did he start feeling that way about Arthur in particular? He could never even tell; if there were feelings, then he did a good job hiding them from himself, disguising them as nothing but feeling safe with Arthur, feeling like he could tell him anything in the world. At times, Arthur was the only person in the world who could make him laugh, or even smile. Those dark days when he was up to his ears in books and scrolls, reading about a prophecy and listening to it from that old toad at Summerhall, not knowing where to start to fulfil it, feeling responsible and yet small and afraid… Even on those days, Arthur could say something that made Rhaegar smile.

And then, another thought came to his mind and he felt guilty: Elia.

"I shouldn't have done this. I… took an oath to never remarry," Rhaegar whispered.

He felt Arthur snicker. "Why, did you otherwise intend to marry me, your grace?"

Rhaegar almost laughed, but he wanted to keep serious. "You know what I mean. What we did… I violated my oath."

"No, you swore to never remarry. You never swore not to love. Elia will never be replaced, I understand that fully, and I don't intend to try to replace her."

Rhaegar swallowed, and said what he had intended to say all along: "I'm sorry. I know I've been neglectful and self-centered. Even while I was trying to protect my family and the realm, I took it all to be about me: My mission, my kingdom, my family, my responsibility. I think I wasn't doing it for them, I was doing it for me. Because if I didn't do it, I wouldn't feel good about myself. I thought I had changed, but I'm the same man who ignored his wife to death. I promise you to try to change, though; for you and for them."

Arthur rose his head to look at him, and he was smiling. "I trust you will." He was silent for seconds, and then said, in a less serious tone, "Will you be the first king who lays with a man, your grace?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rhaegar answered seriously. "I've always had my doubts about Daeron the Good and Baelor the Blessed."

Arthur laughed. "Seven hells. Baelor…"

"And the Dragonbane too. Most definitely him." He was silent for seconds and then announced, "I was joking about Baelor."

Till dusk, they lay there and spoke of past and future kings. For the first time, perhaps ever, Rhaegar told someone how scared he was, and how all he wanted was for him and his family and all the realm to be in peace. He felt so weak, but when Arthur held him, he felt much better.

The wind favored the ship, and within seven and twenty days, three days less than the voyage to Dorne, Dragonstone was in sight.

As Rhaegar's castle came closer and closer, he contemplated it, wondering what it had held for him. For weeks now he had wondered about Prince Doran's gift, and how secure it could possibly be in the castle with Varys' little birds flying all around.

Arthur was standing close behind. "My home is a gloomy one," Rhaegar whispered to him.

"My sister Ashara definitely agreed," Arthur replied. "She preferred to stay in Dorne rather than be here when Elia wasn't. I hope you can forgive her that."

"She is forgiven. It's only appropriate."

Soon, the ship reached as close a distance to the island as it could get, and a boat was descended from it to ferry Rhaegar and Arthur to the island first. More boats were descended to ferry the prince's men at arms. Well, gloomy as it is, it still is home. Though Sunspear was a similar terrain to Dragonstone (a sandy beach) Rhaegar found himself finding subtle differences. Dragonstone's weather was less forgiving even in the midst of summer, its ocean was rougher and its sand was grittier. Even the air smelled like it came from a crueler sea. Perhaps that's why I was not fashioned for kindness the way Elia was. The very nature of House Targaryen's home is cruel. He was surprised to find that he had missed it.

While walking to the castle gates, he remembered that he had been working on sharing his thoughts with Arthur, so he said, "What do you think Prince Doran's gift would be?"

"He said it was something that would help you… and that perplexes me. It's not just a thing of value, it's a gift with political potential. Well, soon enough we will see."

When Rhaegar entered his castle, he was welcomed by the castellan, Ser Harold. "Welcome, Prince Rhaegar," he said, and looked somewhat frightened.

"Ser Harold. How has the castle fared in my absence?"

"I have seen to it that everything has gone well, your grace." The knight had been almost ten years Rhaegar's senior, and yet his voice sounded so thin and terrified that, in comparison to Rhaegar's deep voice, he sounded like a child. "What is it?" the prince asked him.

"Your grace, we have received ravens from Dorne, and a man who carried a letter saying he is a friend of yours, and carrying compliments from the princes Doran and Oberyn Martell. He has a… wooden box."

"And what frightens you so?"

"The man, he is…" Ser Harold swallowed. "…peculiar. He does not speak, and eats an exceedingly large amount of food, yet is very small. And that box he has with him is odd as well."

"Well, then, let's see the ravens first." Ravens from Dorne. What does that mean? "I'll be at the painted table. Please have the letters brought to me."

"At once, your grace."

Rhaegar climbed the steps of the Stone Drum, Arthur at his heel. By the time they reached the top, he was cursing under his breath. The tower was built as high as the topless towers of Valyria, it seemed, and Rhaegar wondered what happens when the prince of Dragonstone or his men age and fall sick and weak and can no longer climb all that tower to enter the room of the painted table.

At the wondrous old table, the prince took a seat and invited Arthur to take one as well. Rhaegar was squeezing one of his hands with the other, anxious. "Why would he send me ravens? Whatever could have happened?"

"Perhaps he was reached by more letters from the lords paramount and decided to forward them to you."

When the castellan came with the letters, two of them proved Arthur right: One was from Hoster Tully, the other from Jon Arryn. The third was from Doran.

"Thank you, Ser Harold. If you please, now, send me the man with the wooden box. But don't come with him, send any guard. This tower is so high climbing it once in a day is enough."

"Your grace," Harold nodded in obedience (and a bit of gratitude) and left.

He opened the letter from Tully first. His eyes scanned it, and then he announced, "Lord Hoster has agreed to the match between Rhaenys and Edmure."

"That is good, your grace."

He opened the letter from Jon Arryn next. "And Jon Arryn…." He said, while still scanning the letter, which was lengthier than Hoster's. "Has agreed to be my Hand, but says he may not be able to attend the great council himself, but will send Bronze Yohn Royce in his stead to speak for the Vale of Arryn. You think this is a ruse?"

"Might be, but it is of no matter; you're not really calling a great council, are you? Just measuring their support."

Then, Rhaegar opened the letter he was most anxious about. As he read it, his stomach sank and his chest was aflame with anger. He thought to himself that his father has now truly struck for war, and whatever comes at him, he deserves, for in war, everything was fair game. His blood boiled for justice. He found himself squeezing the letter in his palm.

"Rhae," Arthur inquired carefully. "What is it?"

"They caught a man of my father's spying near the water gardens. He confessed to have been intending to murder my children under torture."

Arthur didn't answer, and Rhaegar was silent for a minute. "I will return the favor. I swear it by all seven gods."

"You are better than to kill him…" Arthur pointed out carefully…

"He will wish he was dead every day."

The door was knocked. When Rhaegar yelled to come in, a couple of men at arms entered the room, carrying an unexpectedly large wooden box, wrapped in chains. The man who accompanied them had the Dornish features of bronze skin, dark hair and eyes. He was very small of stature. Rhaegar thanked his men and asked them to leave. Once they left, without a word, the man took a parchment out. He reached with his hand to give it to Rhaegar, but Arthur took it and passed it to the prince who opened it and read.

"Dear Prince Rhaegar,

You may not confess to yourself that your heart desires this gift, but it does. We were glad to be able to supply it to you thanks to the loyal service of our good friend who stands in front of you and others. The man is mute, so if you please, don't embarrass him by demanding speech.

We hope that this gift is the true start of a long and fruitful alliance between the dragons of King's Landing and the sun of Dorne.

Your friends and allies,

Doran and Oberyn Martell."

He looked up at the man. "Thank you," he said and nodded. The man nodded back.

"What is in the box? Open it, please." The box was a size that could contain a small man. A small man…

When the man took out the key, opened the lock around the chains, removed the wooden lid of the box and kicked it so that Rhaegar could see what was inside, he had almost expected it.

The man in the box was short and plump. His bald head and clean-shaven face almost shone with sweat and grease; he had had a reputation of smelling of roses and lavender and sweet things, but now… he must have not touched water in weeks. The dirty cloth that he was gagged with told of how the mute man had fed him without lifting it, only sneaking the food underneath. Rhaegar had met him only once, but it was enough to remember who he was.

He smiled at him the way a dragon must smile before it burns its enemies. More of a scowl than a smile, really. "Welcome, Lord Varys."

[oswaldsleeping]

Series: medusa

Chapter Title: folk voice

Chapter(s): 1/?  Rating: E Wordcount: 3024 Warnings: suicide (for this chapter) Summary:  Author’s Notes: i’ve been thinking about this story for a long time.

The snow begins.

  The motor growls in the cold, headlights flashing gold-yellow in the dim light. The storm's just starting, the once tiny flakes beginning to fatten. The clouds are a dark grey, almost black – it's going to be a bad one.

It's been a quiet drive – the music's turned low on the stereo, the heat's turned down. He's used to the cold, has a soft spot for it. Indiana gets chilly in the mornings and he remembers the dawn, getting up to feed the livestock, his fingers burning and red at the tips. He remembers Chicago, remembers the year in the appropriately named “Windy City” (remembers that that is a year he'd like to forget, thanks) - the winds would bite down to the bone. He can still feel Chicago in his lungs sometimes.

Soft spot or not, he still has enough sense to dress for the occasion (somewhat). The biker jacket staves off the chill, the leather softened with age, the colors good and faded. It's a memento from an uncle that he can't force himself to throw out, a well loved high school graduation gift. There's a stray strand sticking out of the cuff that bothers the living hell out of him, but it's always been a reliable old thing. The inside is soft and warm and still smells of sweet tobacco.

The song ends – he quickly presses the replay button. Lets his fingers trail over to backpack in his passenger seat, onto the clutch.

  There's a brand new pack hidden in his center console. His fingers itch; he wants to rip open the console, tear away that plastic, suck down a good cancer stick. Suck down a few good cancer sticks, hell, he wants the entire goddamned pack. They're 5.99 now-a-days, damned if he's not going to get his money's worth. The girl behind the counter (kind of a ditzy looking thing, baby cheeked and sleepy eyed) mentioned “Quit a year ago” when she handed him the pack. The unspoken, universal sign for “you know these are bad for you, right?”

People always think they have your best interests at heart. In true Jack Morrison fashion, he gave her an award-winning smile and said, “These things are so bad for you – this is my last one.”, walked out the gas station, and threw them in the center console. Out of sight, out of mind.

That was a good three hours ago – the roads have gone from drowsy gas stations, fast food joints, and all-night-diners, to empty land and towering trees. It's startling – he'd forgotten that all of this even existed.

  The roads are all empty, save for the stray passing truck. The jeep putters along the lonely roads, the only discernible sound the growling motor and the music playing from his stereo. An mp3 from his phone, soft and sad. Staticky with age. He knows the words, mouths along, I wish to my lord, I'd never seen your face, or heard your lying tongue...

The only movement that catches his eye is the falling snow and the stray winter bird taking flight.

You cause me to weep, you cause me to mourn...

  Pa used to play this song sitting on the porch, watching the fields sway in the mid-summer's breeze. Strumming his guitar to the barn cats and the old hunting hound who did nothing but snore.

He can see it now - the colors leak behind his eyes and bitter begins to swell in his mouth. The sun set crimson in the summer nights, the off-gold stalks of wheat, the ever encroaching night. The old Morrison Farm, a painterly memory.

It's been so long, he didn't even say goodbye before he'd left. He'd meant to, meant to walk up the creaky front steps, meant to walk in his old home, but it...just never happened. No time, no energy, he justifies to no one in particular. No time, no energy (no guts).

Pa was going to scold the hell out of him, but he would understand. He always understands.

  - - -

  (you could go back a tiny voice whispers from the backseat it's only two miles, you could go back and forget this whole bad idea.)

  - - -

  The road turns from rough, holey asphalt to dirt. The jeep continues to putter, the wheels standing firm on the ice. Joan's a reliable old gal, probably the most consistent thing in his entire life. He'd saved the money for a summer, pinched here and there, worked and worked and worked. The year before he left, he'd bought her from the neighbor down the way for a cool $600. She was a mess, but she was his.

She'd survived Indiana, survived college, survived Chicago, and she would survive this. They were the duo, after all – Jack and his beat up jeep “Joan the Warbler” (so elegantly named after the warbling noise she would make after a freeze had set in). It's one of those titles that has to be said in full – Joan the Warbler, not just “Joan”, not “Jonnie”, and certainly not “Warbler”.

He eyes the backseat, sees a mess of blankets and pillows strategically placed to avoid unwanted viewers and thinks, for a humorless second, that Joan the Warbler's been his longest fling. How...strangely pathetic.

  He turns back to the road. The forest seems to grow in size every feet his travels, the spindly branches reaching higher and higher into the sky. It's quiet, so very still. The animals have lain down for their slumber, the birds all flown south. The almost black clouds lumber along in the sky, the branches look like fingers, clawing at the heavens.

  A dark figure stands at the side of the road, looking back and forth, waiting for him to drive past. A white tail, he supposes – they've been migrating in the area as of late, undeterred by the bitter cold. They're strangely polite creatures, watching him drive past before it crosses.

There's a glimmer of something as the headlights flash (a shine of eyes, he thinks) and in the rear-view mirror, he watches it walk slowly across the road and back into the forest...strange, he'd never seen a deer with that tall before...

No matter.

  - - -

  The road stops as a sort of plateau. He pulls Joan the Warbler to the very edge, places the car on idle. The song on the stereo changes, a symphony in allegretto time - a callback to his "all classical music, all the time" phase. He presses the “back” button.

Jack opens the door, sitting at the edge of the seat. Cold has a smell, crisp and clean, that floods his lungs and makes his heart flutter. He turns the stereo down low, leaning on the edge of the door to look into the forest.

In the dim light, the well-trod path into the forest looks almost like a mouth, wide and dark and gaping.

  There isn't a person in sight – hasn't been for the last twenty minutes. In the falling snow, there is a perfect stillness.

It's not surprising. No one knew this forest existed, let alone how to get here. It was one of those well kept secrets from his childhood – the forest his siblings had run through, had caught frogs in, the forest he would jog through during high school, the forest he took his first lover to... This is his forest.

It feels like he'd spent his entire life here, tucked against the paper birch trees, nestled in the stubborn tufts of grass, running with the deers and the rabbits. Even now he can remember the dark green of the leaves, the rich brown of the ground, the white-and-black flecks on the trees that created the perfect kind of maze for a child.

  In his youth, he could walk the two-and-a-half mile stretch from the farm to the very edge of the forest, over the creek. He remembers washing his feet in the water before trudging home as the sun set, his cheeks ruddy with exertion.

There's a ball of warmth that bubbles in his stomach when he thinks about that. Nostalgia incarnate.

  He pulls the keys from the ignition and Joan the Warbler gives a heavy sigh, seemingly happy to rest after such a long drive. Jack pats the steering wheel lovingly, reaches over the center console to snatch up his backpack. He pauses, opens the console and pulls out the cigarettes.

  The headlights shine even when the door closes - they'll turn off on their own in a moment. But for now, Jack leans against Joan's grill and tears the plastic with his teeth. His lighter still has a little juice in it, the tiny flame warming his fingers.

It's so weirdly delicious, the nasty tobacco calming the shake in his hands. Once upon a time, smoking was the only thing that could calm his nervous shakes - Laura Palmer, eat your heart out. He watches the snow, tendrils of smoke climbing into the air.

He's going to miss this car.

    - - -

  At the mouth of the forest, Jack hears that tiny voice again.

  We should go back.

  He walks in.

  - - -

  Jack falls into a steady march, his feet matching the slow beat of the blood in his ears. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left – it's soothing in it's monotony. He can concentrate on that, can mark the time in his head. Left, right, left, right, left, right.

His mind toes the line between working overtime and slowing to a crawl and in the chaos between the two, he's created a sort of cocoon to lull himself. The silence is a static white noise, the crunch of snow underfoot the only thing breaking through his pattern. Left, right, left, right.

  Clouds roil overhead. For a moment he thinks of the ocean. Is this what the fish see when they look up? Rolling clouds, sloshing and churning? What would be above it, then, where was the surface?

  Flakes fall into his eyes, catching in his eyelashes. The gentle fall has turned into a downpour, a fierce wind whipping through the trees. Cold clings like the lover, fingers slipping beneath the folds of his clothes and curling around his cheeks. He buries his head further in his jacket, the burn in his fingers bordering on painful.

  He can live with it a few minutes more. Left, right, left, right, left right.

Jack hums in time with his steps, softly singing to keep his pace steady. He can tie bits and pieces of the song together in his brain, frankensteining it as best he can. The song thrums in the back of his head, the steady pluck of a lonely guitar pulsing in his ears. In the pines, in the pines...

Left, right, left, right, left, right

  There's a note on the dashboard of his car. A note in the mailbox of the farm that he can't step foot on. A note en route to his sister that will arrive within the day. His affairs are in order to the best of his ability and now...now it's the final act. The curtains wait with bated breath in the wings, ready to close.

The small flutter of fear in his chest is drowned by a strange sort of determination. He begins to walk once more, despite the ache of his feet. The snow has soaked into his boots, blisters will form soon. And still his walks, aimed for the very heart of the forest.

Left, right, left, right

  Time clicks by. The storm continues, getting worse and worse with every step and he still he keeps his pace steady, Don't you lie to me...

  How awful would it be to find his body? This sad, lonely man, sitting in the center of a forest, waiting for death to find him. How could he do that to some poor person?

No, he'll walk until no one will find him. His note has enough information, they can glean the rest if they want to. Really, who's going to care? Jack didn't know that many people, was actually close to ever fewer. People were loud and chaotic and too much for him to bare half of the goddamned time.

  His mask fits perfectly. Quiet, polite, professional. Look any further and you start to see the black-vined kudzu growing on his perfectly polished persona.

    you can't have that, can you jackie-boy?

    His mask fit perfectly. Now it's askew, cracked at the edges. He can't wear it anymore.

And really, isn't this is a better solution? This is the only solution. And sure, it's equal parts selfish shame and justified hopelessness and goddamned if he cares.

  No one will miss him.

  It would be just like falling asleep. That's what they said. Like lying down for the great, big sleep; a quiet, dignified death.

If he was lucky, the animals would get to him before the people could – it's a strangely comforting thought. Coming from the earth, going back to it – the circle of life never ends.

There's a thick sheet of the snow on the ground now – up to his calves. The wet trees smells of fresh wood, the snow smells almost tinny now. He's tired, he's so tired. He's ready for that great big sleep, to float away on a magic carpet back to the land of dreams.

He's made his peace. He's ready to see his Pa again.

  Left, right, left, right, left, right. The monotonous steps that ring in his ear, the wind of the storm, the crunch of snow. Left, right, left, right.

  He walks and he walks until his breath becomes stilted. He leans against a tree, his vision swimming. Jack Morrison is not an unhealthy person – he's a goddamned runner, after all. But he's winded, the ache in his bones thrumming throughout his entire body, and the burn in his fingertips has turned into a full blaze. His face, his body, feels as if it's burning, eyes stinging from the wind. The snow in his boots have rubbed his feet raw and it's actually fairly painful to walk now.

For a second, he tries to remember how long he's walked. The trees behind him look just like the trees in front of him, which look just like the trees he passed ten minuets ago. Jack laughs, breathlessly – it...really never occurred to him how much the cold actually effects you. He really hadn't taken it into account – at the time it hadn't mattered.

Did it matter now?

  Jack...well, he just can't tell. The tiny flutter of fear has turned into a tiny flutter of regret, and it's still overpowered by that strange determination.

  Just a bit further. All he needs to find a tree big enough, a heavy trunk, one that will let him curl beneath it. And then he can rest. He pushes away, stumbles, rights himself. Begins to walk once more.

His steps are slower, each step taking every inch of strength to do. It's so cold. He wishes his phone had power, he wouldn't mind listening to that song again. Maybe just one last time, a fitting goodbye.

  There's something in the corner of his eyesight. Big, dark, creeping closer. Really, it should scare him – there was nothing natural about the way the thing crept, nothing natural about it's ever growing presence.

  Instead, it occurred to him that he never realized Death looked like that. Didn't think it walked on four legs or was so tall. Jack had imagined it as so much more...liquidy. Gooey, drippy even. Good for Death, he muses, being drippy and gooey was probably a huge hassle.

He trudges along, one eye watching the creeping-walking-thing, the other trained on the white-and-black trees. The snow billows about, the storm becoming a full fledged blizzard.

  The thing creeps closer – he's not afraid. For some morbid reason, he welcomes it. Dying in a blizzard is a surprisingly lonely way to die, after all. If this thing wanted to go with him, who was he to tell it no? He slows his pace even more, lets the thing catch up with his long, lumbering steps. It gives a grateful snort, shaking snow out of it's mane.

  They're walking beside each other, their steps slowly falling into the same time. Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left.

It gives a grunting breath, giant puffs of air blowing from it's long snout. Jack gives it a quick once-over, his brain trying to piece Death together.

Long legs, very, very long legs. As tall as a man is long, a great, sharp snout, with pointed ears pulled against it's skull in the wind. Massive, oval paws that spread with every step. A long, wispy tail. Inky black fur, clean and silky looking, with a mane circled around it's head and neck. Are...are those wings tucked against it's shoulder blades?

  What a strange looking creature, Jack thinks as he collapses, his body finally giving out. Fitting, when you think about it – wasn't it the Egyptians that said the god of Death was a Jackal?

He didn't remember Anubis living in the US of A, or walking on all fours, or having fucking wings, but really, it's not his place to judge. Death could be a fucking clown for all he cares, as long as the job is done.

  Death spreads it's oily black wings to their fullest length, giving one, two flaps. The snow flies about, a halo of flakes exposing the forest's floor. Grass pokes from the leftover film of white, little blades peering into the blizzard.

It stands over him. It's probably quite the majestic sight, Jack thinks as Death leans down, it's snout rolling him onto his back. Death's eyes are the reddest thing he's ever seen – more red than rubies, then blood. They're crimson, as crimson as the sun setting on summer nights...

  'Pa's not gonna believe me' he thinks as he dies, watching as the thing opens it's mouth, a great maw of crystal teeth and black saliva, 'He's gonna think I'm nuts.'

  - - -

I want to tell you a story

about a priest that declared war on a god

medusa

[sending-the-message]

Why I Never Snoop Around for Gifts by StaringAtStairs

Like many, I spent a lot of my childhood in my grandparents’ house—they were free babysitters, after all. It was this great old house, not gigantic but big enough to be a place of exploration. When you entered you were in this big living room with the highest ceilings and a wide fireplace to warm it. There were two ways out of it, either two steps up into the kitchen or two steps up into the dining room.

I always went straight for the kitchen, she hid Tastey Cakes in the leftmost drawer, down low in perfect 5-year-old reach, my parents would never buy that crap so I was always ready to indulge.

Beyond that was a back room with a mustard yellow couch just waiting to have jelly dripped on it as I would munch on a PB&J watching some cartoon, blissful the way only a small child can be.

Then there was the basement and the 2nd floor. I wasn’t allowed in those areas as freely, that’s where the real adventure was. The basement was a bit more familiar, there were some toys down there so my grandmother would sometimes take me down there to find them, or to push the balls around on the pool table. I was always afraid of basements, so I was happy for the company—plus, I was pretty small for my age so I had a bit of trouble reaching and utilizing the doorknob without some help. Now the second floor, that I could access whenever people weren’t paying attention.

Up a steep staircase sat two rooms. To the left was the room my uncles shared during childhood, to the right the room that my mother and aunt had shared. I would snoop around my mom’s old room, finding photos, remnants of make-up, always in search of some great secret, but I could never stay in there for long. It always just felt wrong up there. Like I was being watched. I guess it may have been in my head, since I knew I wasn’t really supposed to be snooping around, but sometimes I would feel like someone was just behind me, even if I was leaned against a wall. As I aged that feeling never went, but hell, it could have just been a remembrance of that feeling, or so I’ve told myself. Nostalgic fear.

One of my uncles, Uncle Todd, still lived at home, so I rarely snooped around in there, but one day while Todd was out my cousin Tracy and I couldn’t resist. Christmas was coming and we had searched the whole house for gifts and we were relatively sure that they were hidden in there, maybe in Tracy’s dad’s old bureau.

No dust marred the bureau fueling our fire toward it, but if the old water-stained coloring books and gnawed toys were our gifts, we were far from excited about the coming holiday. Undaunted we carried on searching the room, under beds, every last drawer (even the active ones), and finally in the closet.

It was stuffed to bursting with old coats, the bottom held a few boxes, old shoes, threadbare t-shirts, nothing terribly interesting, but we pulled the boxes out to inspect anyway. Tracy climbed into the closet to make sure nothing was missed and I heard a brief “oh.” I rushed over, thinking she’d found some gifts, only to find her staring a little handle. A door.

Now, we were kids, kids who’d never watched horror movies, so while there was the same “someone is watching us” tension on me, I didn’t see this as a red flag. I pushed that door open and crawled right on through, Tracy behind. After entering the ceiling was high enough to stand and I walked up a few steps. There was a small window and it was still afternoon, though a bit late, so there was enough light to look around. A bunch of old junk, really, a storage space long-forgotten. Dust laid thick on everything.

Tracy and I didn’t chat much, rummaging around—I can’t speak for her on this, but my rummaging was primarily curiosity-based—I didn’t think anyone had been in that room for some time hiding gifts for little girls.

Most of it was pretty normal. Broken holiday decorations, old books worn to the point that the images were unidentifiable, moth-eaten sweaters, bras with underwire poking from the ends. Honestly, it was mostly just a bunch of trash, I have no idea why my grandparents hadn’t just chucked it all away. Still, we were hopeful to find something of value.

Tracy called me over to a corner I’d not gotten to yet, she’d found a board with letters and numbers on it. I know you all know what it was, but we had no idea. She was a couple of years older than me, so she could read, but she couldn’t quite pronounce Ouija based off the spelling on top of the board, so she read it a bit like “oo-ja.” Next to it was a little heart-shaped thing that looked a bit like a doorstop with a glass eye, but much lighter, which I now know is called a planchette.

“I think I saw one of these in a movie my dad was watching,” Tracy said, staring at it, “it was some kind of grown-up movie though, they wouldn’t let me watch, I just saw a second of it.”

I shrugged, unsure of what to say, before moving on to another discovery. Dust-free sitting nearby was a candle, a stick that stood up in one of those metal pans with the little hook to hold it with. Its wick was black and the formerly smooth white candle was marred with dried bits of wax. I’d seen them in a few picture books my mom would read me, so I was pretty excited—though lucky for everyone, I wasn’t quite capable of producing fire. I picked it up and started to pick away at the dried wax like an old scab as I turned to show Tracy.

But her face stopped me. She was staring down at the board, eyes wide pits in the darkening room. “It moved,” she said, pointing at the planchette. Before I could respond I saw a shadow behind her, though it looked too close to be a shadow, and the setting sun was hardly creating enough light for it. It was tall, dark, in some sort of loose-fitting dress. I shut my eyes away.

“Girls” a voice came from outside, light as though far off, and playful, Grandma knew we were always poking around in search of gifts, her attempts at stopping us were half-hearted at best. Ready to run, we made our way back through the closet and into my uncle’s bedroom before she got to the top of the steps. She looked about curiously, perhaps she had heard us slam the small door shut, we hadn’t quite managed to close the closet entirely with the mess we made burrowing in.

She laughed, seeing our sweaty brows. “Find anything interesting?” She scooted the boxes of old shoes back into the depths of the closet.

We shook our heads, both still unable to speak.

“You really think we’d hide gifts in the bottom of a closet? Silly girls. Come on, I’ve got some chocolates hidden away downstairs.”

We never mentioned it to anyone, hell we didn’t even talk about it to each other until we were a bit older. It came up one Christmas Eve when I was in college, she was just getting out. We were sitting near the fire in my Grandmother’s living room, umpteenth glass of wine in hand, some younger cousins and a nephew running circles about us. We hadn’t spoken much at all over the years, not since our days of snooping for gifts—a practice I, at the very least, did not continue after that day. Hell, I never even went back up those stairs, save when I was left alone enough to not be scolded for riding a pillow down the stairs on my stomach. But even then, I shut both bedroom doors at the top, moving quickly each time, as though they were full of fire—but I felt a prickle on my back, as though eyes peered from beneath the door, wispy hands reaching out . . . so I stopped that after a while (and honestly, I got a bit too large for it).

With age I reasoned that the whole experience had been in my head. As did Tracy, it seemed, as we giggled about our desperation for trinkets in youth, just as excitable as the kids moving about around us. As though scared of being heard, we made for the front porch. It was unseasonably warm, a bit of snow plagued the ground from a storm the week before, but the air was moist and nearly warm against my wine-heated skin.

“And you hadn’t even seen the damn thing move!” she remarked, “I guess it just never felt right, up there, even before we found that little door.”

She hadn’t seen the figure, hell, maybe I hadn’t either.

“Also, check this out.” She wiggled her show off and showed me the bottom of her foot, a big black spot in the center of her foot.

“Weird tattoo?” I felt dread surge, the spot was long, a figure, almost human.

“I wish. It started out as just a dot, I think I cut myself on the run out of that room, so I figured it was just a cut, but it never went away. Kept growing bit by bit over the years. Doctors call it a birthmark, I just hadn’t noticed it as a kid, but I think they just don’t know what to make of it. And before you ask, no I didn’t ask my parents, I don’t even want to know, not really.” She shivered, wrapping the woven blanket tighter around herself.

I breathed heavily, deciding it wasn’t the best time and place to mention the figure, assuring myself that it was probably all in my head anyway.

I know this all sounds significant since I’ve taken the time to write all this, but honestly, I didn’t think about it much after that. Except at night, sometimes. The nightmares that plagued me for about five years following that damned day had found their way back. They were never really about the room though, really. It was just me crawling through the central vacuum system in the house. I wasn’t tiny and it wasn’t huge, it all just made sense. I’d watch myself crawl about, the dreams always in third person. I’d find my way into rooms unknown in the house, some beautiful and pleasant, some terrifying, but could never find the way out. But you don’t care about dreams, do you? You want to know why I’m writing this if it’s all just nothing.

My grandmother died about a month ago. Now that the funeral is done and she’s buried next to my Pop-Pop, it’s the family’s job to deal with the house. We’ve been at it nearly a week and have finally packed away and labeled most of the main floor. Everyone displaced, most of us have been sleeping here for the week, a family-wide stay-cation where the drinking starts around 3 PM. As such, loose lips have started to flap. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t always pay much attention to my mom, but she said something that turned me away from meticulously packing hand-stitched doilies. She’d said something about a woman in a nightgown.

“Do you remember?” she asked her sister, “you were so young when we moved here.”

“I remember when the priest came, but I never saw anything, honestly I always thought you just made that up because you were embarrassed about peeing the bed.”

“I did not—”

“Mom?” I asked. She turned to me, looking as though she’d forgotten I was in the room.

“Yes, dear?”

“What are you two on about?”

“Ah, your mom thought she saw something here, when we first moved in. A spooky woman in the night, face lit by a candle as she wandered about our room.”

“I did see her, mind you. She was so tall her head nearly touched the ceiling. Her eyes were black like tar, mouth wide open as though screaming, but she didn’t make a sound. Mom believed me, she got a priest in here to check it out. He burned incense, prayed, declared us clean and clear. I never saw her again, so I imagine that did the job. . . . What’s wrong, honey?”

I imagine I’d turned white, the way one does, but I shrugged off her concern with a need to step outside for air. Now obviously I was freaking out about the resemblance between my and my mother’s phantoms. Tracy was in the basement packing, but I hardly felt like letting her in on this new revelation—it felt safer, somehow. Or rather, feels. As I write I am on an air mattress in the living room of my grandmother’s home, unable to sleep. You see, we’ve tackled all but the second floor, that’s for tomorrow. Tracy’s across the room on a couch and I can see her phone’s light glaring out from beneath her blanket, head hidden from view.

My mom commented that it shouldn’t take very long, that the rooms held mostly garbage, but I had to ask, I couldn’t stop myself, about the little room behind the closet. She looked baffled before laughing, as though at some joke.

“What on Earth are you on about? There’s just the two bedrooms and a bathroom.” Tracy cut a glance at me, but we both remained silent, as we still are now.

Had we had some dream, together? Was it all a game of pretend remembered wrong? I can’t quite say. What I can say is that as I write this there’s a figure at the bottom of the stairs across the house, just in view. It hasn’t moved, but it certainly has no logical source. I’ll try to pop back on and write a bit more again, if I can make it through tomorrow.