#but god. the fucking symbolism it unintentionally creates.

[everysongineverykey]

the bass riff that occurs right after the "i long for peace before i die" bit in mother love is a slower version of the one that features in the chorus of these are the days of our lives. 3837498 dead 2320203 injured

[weebsinstash]

Kinda obsessed with the idea of a reader pregnant with Lucifer's kid and just he's really into it and wants to get married while the readers there being like damn I just wanted the bragging rights of saying I fucked the king of hell and now I have to be married to him !?!

Reader: ugh oh my god that dick was so fucking good, thanks Lucifer

Lucifer, currently painting sigils with his own blood on your tummy: oh my god, no, I know, right, it was amazing, I had an amazing time

Reader: hey uhhhhhhh by the way, what are you

Lucifer, taking a break from speaking ancient Latin incantations: oh hey, no don't worry about it it's totally cool I'm just, doing a thing here

Reader watching the very foundation of Hell shake around them like an earthquake as all the candles in the room burn higher and the unseen spirits of the damned sing comgratulatory praises for their dark lord: you know this kiiiiiiiiinda feels like you miiiiiight be doing something kinda sinister and magic-y right now

Lucifer, watching his symbol appear on your belly: whaaaaaaaaat, no, that's crazy! It's just a little.... surprise! Nothing to worry about! So hey also completely unrelated but I kind of need to splash some of this goat's blood on you--

I feel like sleeping or even FLIRTING with Lucifer is the ultimate case of fuck around and find out because at the very least you have an all powerful clingy depressed obsessive boyfriend in THE DEVIL and at his very worst you have you know THE DEVIL, treating you as his equal half, wanting all to bow before you, worship you, erecting churches with stained glass telling the Epic Tale of how you two fell in love, wanting you draped in fineries, at his side at all times, having only the best

I just feel like... he's one of those yandere that really could take you 0 to 100. You fuck the guy ONCE as like a drunken one night stand, a real "fuck it why not maybe it'll be fun" kinda romp, and then he's making plans behind your back about marriage because, well, he just loves you so much already that he can't see doing anything else! 🥰 like can you imagine going from getting cream pied to like only a week later some church is getting constructing with like biblical art of "oh how the king of hell met another and fell in love" and it's foretelling some epic saga that hasn't even. Happened yet. Like imagine the whiplash of finding out the guy you casually fucked is dedicating buildings to. A story of. How he impregnated and married you and you guys "lived happily ever after" and you still barely know him

I like the contrasting options of Lucifer intentionally impregnating you vs unintentionally because THE VISUAL of like. He's just nutted and you're laying there amd he looks down and suddenly there's this little glowing moving picture on your skin of a snake twining around, circling, becoming an apple with a heart or some-- this is a real specific genre of fetish I'm discussing here ok we don't need to like exactly describe whatever magical mark of pregnancy the devil gives you fjdnfjf. But the apple appears and he's blinking at it and, finally, it clicks, and he's all "BABY! B-BABY! IT'S A BABY HHHOHHHHH MY GOD" and he's like EXCITED but also just like. Do you think he'd get a little biblical drooling about 'your womb being blessed' or some shit. Your absolute fucking LUCK OR LACK THEFEOF if Lucifer turned out to ACCIDENTALLY BE CORRECT and you kind of WERE created to be his wife or end up with him, like GOD is up there, "yeah Luci I threw you a bone, enjoy it 👍" like SHIT the one time you ARE cosmically fated to have a mate and it's AFTER YOU DIE? It's also LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR???

I feel like, genuinely the only way Lucifer would mistreat the Reader is completely unintentionally, like he has a bout of depression and neglects you a little, or he becomes socially withdrawn and you think he doesn't like you but really he's just feeling sad or working on something that's really important to him. I mean. This is BESIDES the possibility of confinement but that's for your protection and it's not like you're in PRISON. This guy is clearly packed with goofy loving positive energy. He'll be taking you to the circus and to musicals with his daughter like you've always been a member of the family, getting you your own special throne to sit beside his own. He's having audience with like some wretched soul, there are flames, he's being TERRIFYING, telling them how they've betrayed him and he's going to tear their soul to pieces and sentencs them to eternal suffering, and then he turns to you, "I'm sorry am I making it too hot in here shnookums 🥰 I don't wanna make you and our lil hellion uncomfy 🥰" like.... truly, you got yourself a man that can do both

[mako-neexu]

going insane over dantes and ordeal call chapter 2 post #234098 the way he says his flames burn hotter/more poisonous than in his normal Saint Graph and you literally remember he made a new Spirit Origin for guda and his NPs are literally ABOUT guda, the color choice in the 3rd ascension with blue accents on his stars and eyes said to be the color of guda's SOUL time and time again,　

and he also literally looks like goetia because "MY DESTINY" (istfg im going CRAZY. im going crazy!!! my desiny??? MY DESTINY!!?!?!?!?) and both him and dantes had that one on one to guda, goetia also made a hilariously BAD set up against himself so like dantes and guda became partners in crime in prison tower like goetia unintentionally played MATCHMAKER and created the worst duo ever im shitting tears. the probable reason as well why he looks like that in the 3rd ascension is because dantes viewed goetia as "an ultimate enemy guda overcame" which he positioned himself in as well so he could be defeated which was his goal in the first place i think im going to break from so much info bro. theres also the fact that prison tower and pseudo-tokyo are basically the same (that also required huge amount of mana) -> guda was dropped into prison tower, (directly/indirectly) helped by gankutsuou, stuck in chateau d'lf/becoming an Avenger by giving into temptation->bad end || overcoming the trials each floor/understanding the Avenger class, overcoming the flames-> return to chaldea. dantes positioning himself once more as both that tiny light of hope and that enemy who has guda fall into a trap likei am so. n.lromnal. I think i hauve covid

and thinking about. "my destiny" "my radiant one" "my one good thing" "my star" like- to be loved is to be changed. man. to be loved is to be!!!changed!!! and the blue and pink-purple flames that symbolize GUDA having been so special to him in this life that it changed him, BECAME SO SPECIAL TO HIM!!! (you can literally see it in his EYES??? his 4th aascension art where his flame is BLUE AS WELL??????????)

that he is still Avenger, Count of Monte Cristo, he who enacted vengeance and the greatest seeker of it, he who continues to hate and burn eternally yet chooses to love!!!!!!!!!!!!! becoming that tiny light of hope to an innocent soul and now here they stand, that tiny light he continued to protect now shines more radiant than anything else, and because of that love, his flames burn much much more fiercely than his previous saint graph and like he has you stay away bc you might evaporate to nothing and he explicitly says theyre stronger in his Monte Cristo alt!! while hes also trying to distance himself from you again bc he must still hold guilt in his heart for making you go through the Avenger ordeal and as well as the fact that you literally need to leave the flames/Avengers behind due to their conflicting nature with the wall bc being attached would be sooo hard to let go and especially considering what you and dantes went through together like what is this?? its like a giant slap of I LOVE YOU SO MUCH against my face????????? theres literally nothihg left of my remains????????????

dantes is also basically so stupidly even more overpowered here have you seen his skills??? Count of Monte Cristo Mythologie became a skill along with the fourteen relics/14 jewels and he can jUST cassually!???? activate that!?!?!?????? meanwhile WHAT HE CONSIDER AS HIS NOBLE PHANTASM IN THIS SAINT GRAPH IS O STAR/O YOU WHO, CONQUER THAT BRILLIANT PATH??? THAT VERY ONE ABOUT GUDA???? IS THIS REAL????? his NP dmg and effects are so crazy too???? LITERALLY POWERED BY LOVE AND BACKED UP BY AGE OF GODS LEVEL FUCK YOU ENERGY ?? im plagued by dantes and OC2 thoughts since last month someone free me ajdkfgk

[robocracker]

I posted 1,864 times in 2022

That's 384 more posts than 2021!

54 posts created (3%)

1,810 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@medievalthymes

@ocopio

@stickyyong

@psikonauti

@pendraegon

I tagged 819 of my posts in 2022

#kinnporsche - 220 posts

#art - 168 posts

#cats - 98 posts

#killing eve - 55 posts

#his dark materials - 28 posts

#ygo dm - 25 posts

#all of us are dead - 20 posts

#sweet home - 17 posts

#dogs - 17 posts

#around the world in 80 days - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#you probably also annoy your followers when you liveblog your discovery of a basic tumblr feature that they no doubt already know all about

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

okay so on one level i can appreciate that Casualty has Paula's baby taken in the same episode that Robyn finds out she's pregnant, especially with that moment on the two benches, with Dylan representing Paula's desire to keep her child, and Robyn so obviously not wanting to be pregnant...

but god, just once i'd like to see a character get pregnant, decide to abort, and be done with it. not every pregnancy on tv needs to be a drawn-out drama where the only inevitable option is keeping it!

17 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

#4

a really big part of me wants this kid to open the door to the roof - obviously, because i’ve spent seven episodes getting attached to this group, you can’t let them die now!

but then there’s another part of me that still vividly remembers being a 6-10 year old girl getting the shit kicked out of me on a regular basis, while the other students just laughed and let it happen.

would i have opened the door?

17 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

#3

finally started watching kinnporsche, and it’s only been a day but i already want five more seasons of this shit

30 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

#2

after all the shit he’s pulled, there’s something very lovely about watching gwinam lose his fucking mind from ear-ache

35 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so my family’s got the funeral on (they’re not royalists), and while i’m not watching the ceremony, i did catch bits of the procession to the abbey. and i just...

look. i knew it was gonna be ridiculous. but i didn’t expect it to feel unsettling on two different fronts.

first there’s the obscene wealth and pageantry of the crown. ordinary people had their funerals cancelled today, out of ~respect~, and all i can think about is how much time and money those people had to pay in the middle of a cost of living crisis, that will now have to be done again because of rescheduling. there are people who might not be able to attend those rescheduled funerals because they could only get time off work/school for the original date. all of these ordinary people having to make time for logistics in the midst of their grieving. meanwhile, one family gets to take precedence over everyone else, on an unimaginable scale.

it’s insane to me how many people there were for the queen’s procession. not people attending the funeral, just people following the coffin to the doors. and all of these servicemen looking like robots, everything in perfect sync, from their steps to the goddamn removal of their hats.

but then there’s also the frequent close-up shots of the coffin. and it’s like. don’t get me wrong. i have no sympathy for the woman who was an active participant in the colonialist horrors that this country inflicted on the rest of the world.

but there’s something deeply grotesque to me about her funeral being a televised spectacle. especially with how many close-ups there are of the crown on top of the coffin. really hammers home, quite unintentionally, how utterly unnatural it is to elevate one family over everyone else. millions of people stamped down, and the people at the top are reduced to symbolic objects. whichever way you look at it, humanity loses.

171 notes - Posted September 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[tera-starstorm]

some gilda lore because. She is in my head

human is not her true form. this is a human disguise. she is a young giratina (yes she is shiny. partially to distinguish her from the original gira and partially because fuck you shiny giratina is so cool)

created by arceus as the sinjoh ruins and bestowed upon volo and merle (both immortal) as a symbol of the gap they bridged between the celesticas and platinums. think of the HGSS arceus event

hatched from egg and was born cognitive. not like human children who are born entirely helpless, but was pretty clueless and inexperienced and well. Childlike

volo and merle are her guardians and in essence her parents. she calls them by their names and refers to arceus as her father. unintentionally causes confusion and worry in folks when she says she "doesn't really see her father and does not have a mother"

being raised by humans gives her a very different perspective on mortal life than other cosmic gods to the surprise of nobody. not technically human but on an emotional level is functionally human

takes on the human disguise partially as a result of this. does not want her true form to be known to the majority for a multitude of reasons, but a big part of it is just... wanting to be part of the "normal" world in spite of What She Is

original gira loves her as well. they're always in contact with merle because they are intrinsically connected so they see her regularly and help her sorta regulate her powers. probably taught her to sustain the human form

has a lot of volo's personality and mannerisms, but merle's penchant for being a bit aloof and eccentric. as a result is sort of a head-in-the-clouds curious type

does the pointing thing volo does

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Nine / Café con Miel

W/C: 3k

Warnings: [in a dream: blood, violence, lots of scary nightmare stuff, guns, threats of violence], language, sexual innuendos and jokes, tears, angst, voices being raised

A/N: hi I wanted soft but also wanted angsty so here’s a good half and half mixture!! I have this plot point I SO want to get to but I want to show you more of their relationship so that’s what the next few chapters may be more of

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Cafe con Miel (Spanish Coffee With Honey) is made of espresso, honey, and whole milk then finished off with a heavy sprinkle of ground cinnamon.

“No, no,” Javi groans in his sleep. “Please.”

It’s dark. So dark, he can’t see anything, but what he can see is cast in red light. It’s almost like a medieval dungeon, wherever he is. He can’t smell but he knows the air is filled with something disgusting.

It’s a coke plant, that’s what it is. There are laborers upon laborers, working in this dark wherever-the-fuck-he-is, producing cocaine that he somehow knows is for Escobar. Dream logic. Escobar is still alive and he’s very much a threat.

Then there’s a weak cry. Dream-Javi spins to find you in the sweatshop. You’ve fallen to your knees, clinging to the table in front of you, and there stands who but the bastard himself, with a gun to your temple.

The red light emphasizes the blood dripping from your face, from where he can’t tell. There’s dirt and dust caked on your beautiful skin, on the cheekbones Javier traces his fingers over nightly now. There’s a wedding band on your finger and it matches his. It makes his eyes turn to your body and note the torn white gown on your figure- a wedding dress. The worst thing is the fear in your eyes, the agony with which you look at him.

Your voice is strained. Broken. Ruined from shouting. One word croaks from your lips. “Please.”

Then Escobar morphs into Tie Guy and then into Murphy for some goddamn reason, just smirking at Javier with the gun to your forehead. When he speaks, he’s the three men at once: “Not so fucking tough, huh?” He asks, cocking the pistol.

He can’t move. He wants to, he’s desperate to, but he can’t speak or move or breathe either: something is stuffed in his mouth and preventing it. “Javi,” you whimper, but it just makes Murphy-Escobar-Tie Guy crack the pistol down against the crown of your head.

The worst comes next: the man becomes Chucho. Javier’s own father, holding a pistol to your head. “Mijo,” the man says, his voice disappointed but soft. “What have you done? Bringing her here?”

Javier wants to shout at him, ask what he’s done because certainly this can’t be his fault, but of course it is. This is what would happen if Javier brought you to Colombia. A fate like this for you and for him.

Then your voice is strong again. “Javi. Javier. Hey, Javi-”

He gasps desperately, air filling his lungs and making him sit bolt upright. His breaths heave, drawing in as much of the cool oxygen as he can possibly take. He sounds like a drowned man arising from the water. His first sign that he’s gone from the sweatshop is the smell of your skin, of your lavender pillow spray in the room. Then it’s the fact that the room is cast with soft blue light, not with red. Then it’s you.

“Javi?” You ask, voice timid and quiet. “You were having a nightmare.”

Thank fucking God. Thank God it was a nightmare and not the terrible fate he’d been spinning in his own head. “Yeah,” he mumbles, lying back in bed.

Your hands, your warm fingertips, trace across his bare chest slowly, splaying your fingers over his racing heart. It grounds him, centers him to the fact that he’s here, you’re here, you’re okay. You kiss his skin softly, with soft lips that leave a trace of balm behind on his sweaty body. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

His breathing slowly comes down. His heart rate does too, as he plays the dream back in his head and deconstructs it all. You rest your head on his chest, fingers softly running up and down his sides, and it anchors him to reality. Your skin is clean and smooth, not broken or bleeding anywhere. Your hair smells fresh and warm and your chest rises and falls against his own. It’s a checklist of your vitals and you’re acing it.

When his heart rate resembles something closer to yours, you kiss his skin again. “You okay?”

He nods, swallowing hard. His face is tight, salty tears drying on his cheeks. “All good, yeah. Thanks for waking me,” he murmurs, his own voice strained.

You’re quiet, allowing him to breathe and recuperate and think it over. Your curiosity gets the best of you. “What happened?” You ask.

He takes a deep breath, in and out and then another, making himself think properly. “You were in one of Escobar’s coke plants, and you were all beat up and in pain. And I couldn’t move, or talk or breathe or anything.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur and nuzzle your face into his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not real,” he assures both you and himself, “so it’s fine.”

“Do you have nightmares often?” You ask him, looking over at the clock to discover it’s about 4 A.M. He’s slept with you for four nights now, but he’s yet to wake you with a nightmare.

The sweat slowly dries, leaving his skin cooled and smooth again. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

There’s not much more to say. You’re already tired, eyes drooping from the heavy sleep that encased you before Javier’s whines and moans woke you. He wraps his arm around you and kisses your forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, honestly and gently. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt.”

“I’ll try to avoid it,” you muse sleepily, mind floating into the melatonin haze. “Love you too, Javi.”

There’s a soft smile on your face, and it puts Javier at ease. You’re here, whole, safe and sound. He has you in his arms, and the both of you feel that nothing can go wrong when the two of you lay like this. It’s all over, that dream. It’s not a premonition or a memory; just a random stimulation of the sleeping brain that creates chaos.

Before long, you’re snoring softly on his chest, a circle of your gentle and warm breath passing through your parted lips onto his pec. It’s so relaxed and warm that Javier feels ready to sleep again too. Usually, he takes at least an hour or two to fall asleep after a nightmare, but you’ve soothed him more than any of his usual remedies can. With one last heavy breath, Javier drifts off to sleep again, hoping his rest is as peaceful as yours tonight.

-

You wake before him in the morning. It’s the first time such a thing has happened. You’ve rarely had the privilege of seeing him sleeping peacefully or sleeping at all, and you wish you could take a picture without disturbing him.

In your sleep, the position switched. You’re lying on your back with Javi’s head resting on your breasts, using you as a pillow. His mouth is slightly parted, his breath ruffling the lowest hairs of his mustache. His face holds none of the lines it usually does when he’s awake. He’s just Javier, resting, and he scoots closer to your body when you unintentionally move.

It’s hard not to be truly consumed by love. He’s so beautiful, and so trusting to fall asleep like this. You’ve never met Colombia Javi, never seen him in the heat of his job, but you’ve felt that he rarely lets his guard down. To see this is a symbol of how much he trusts you. You watch him with an adoring smile, your heart fluttering at the love it feels.

With your fingertips, you scratch at the nape of his neck softly, massaging his skin as he sleeps. Your fingers barely touch his skin, drifting across the surface and drawing little circles into him. With one finger, you write your signature on his upper shoulders, as if it can mark him as yours.

Time passes slowly like this, but you’re thankful. You want this to last as long as possible, so you can spend all the time you need with Javier cuddled into your side. Your mind wanders, watching Javier’s sleeping face. Wondering what the future holds for the two of you.

He’ll have to go back to Colombia. You know it. He knows it. A tiny bolt of panic races through your body at the fact that he’ll be down there, investigating another cartel and certainly putting himself in danger. The idea of him being hurt makes you terrified.

When he finally wakes, you kiss his forehead and brush his dark hair from his face. “Hi. Did you sleep better?” You ask him gently.

His eyes remain shut as he lets out a groan, rubbing his face. “Sorta. No dreams.”

“Good,” you mumble and stroke his cheek, tracing soft circles with your fingertips. “I found a fun place we can go tonight.”

Javi’s eyes flutter open to look at you, smiling softly. “I’m not really awake yet, querido.”

“Querido. I like that one,” you chuckle and kiss the bridge of his nose, feeling his sleep-warmed skin beneath your lips. “I might use that on you. I’m going to go make us coffee. Take your time waking up.”

Javier nods and rolls over, nestling into the blankets and pillows. You, on the other hand, get up from bed and do exactly that: make a pot of coffee.

The morning is spent lazily in bed, with breaks for coffee and bathroom runs. The apartment is warm to contrast the cold outside, the frost collecting on your windows visible even from bed. Javier doesn’t say much and neither do you; both of you have lots on your mind. As much as you want to talk with him about your thoughts, you figure he isn’t in the mood to talk or he’d be talking.

You drift in and out of sleep on Javier’s chest, your ear over his slowly beating heart. After a while, when you’re half asleep, Javier chuckles and wakes you. “You can fall asleep even after a cup of coffee, huh?” He teases, letting his fingertips brush across your face.

The noise that comes from your vocal chords is something between words and a hum. Basically, it’s a noise of affirmation. You cuddle closer to Javi and he kisses your head. “I love you,” he mumbles into your hair. You mumble it back, fully content in the moment. Whatever the future brings will be alright, because you have this now.

The afternoon is spent mainly in the same fashion, simply lazing around the apartment. Javier picks a Elton John vinyl from your closet and turns on the small record player in the living room. “Never pegged you as the Elton John kind,” you tease Javi from your position on the couch.

He just shrugs and looks the sleeve over, reading the contents. He removes one of the large, flat discs from the paper sleeve and sets it down, turning on the turntable and watching the record move.

The music that floats from it is soft and instrumental: Your Song. Javi turns back to you with a small smile and offers you a hand. “Let’s dance.”

Taking his hand, you stand and he wraps his arms around you. “Thought you’d be more of a sexy dancer,” you murmur into his ear, wrapping one arm over his shoulder while his hand takes yours.

“Shut up for once,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your face.

“Absolutely not,” you laugh and rest your forehead on his chest.

He sways along to the music, pulling you with him. To your surprise, he knows all of the words. His lips barely part as he sings them to you, in a low and raspy voice you can tell he doesn’t often use. The tenderness nearly brings tears to your eyes, the way he just buries his face in your hair and breathes in your scent.

“Querido,” you murmur, testing the name out. You like it, and so does Javier; he pulls you tighter against your chest as the music of the chorus swells and drops off. “What’s this all about, huh?” you ask in a whisper.

Javier takes a deep breath. You can feel it press against your chest then fade. “Just… needed to hold you.”

“Javi,” you chuckle and kiss his neck gently, innocently. “You did all night and all morning.”

He shakes his head. “Like this. It’s different.”

You nod too. You suppose you can understand it. The two of you have made a little circle around your living room, around the coffee table across from your couch. The song ends, four minutes of being pressed to Javier’s chest and feeling the full force of his love in the way his arms enveloped you.

Breaking away, your worries have escalated, the ones that kept you up after Javier’s nightmare last night. Swallowing hard, forcing yourself not to cry, you look into Javier’s eyes. His brow furrows and he immediately pulls you back into his arms. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

Shaking your head, you try to talk but it comes out as a watery squeak. “Nothing,” you whine.

“No, it’s not nothing,” Javier insists, leading you to the couch as Rocket Man begins from the record. He sets you down and sits next to you, both arms still around you. “Talk to me.”

The words just can’t come out, especially as the tears begin to fall from your eyes. You shake your head again and bury your face in Javier’s chest, letting them fall. You manage to finally whimper out your words a minute or so later. “I’m scared for you.”

Javier’s face falls and he lifts your head, forcing you to look at him. “Why?”

“Be-because, you’re going back to Colombia soon and you’ll be in more danger and I won’t be around and I know you, Javi, I know you put yourself in more trouble than you should, and-”

Javier cuts you off, speaking as he stares into your eyes. “Stop. Stop that thinking. It’s going to be okay. Escobar is dead.”

“But the new cartel you’re chasing isn’t, Javi!” you practically wail, body collapsing into his. “You’ll be in danger as long as you work in that damn job, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m just so scared. I’m scared for you.”

Javi takes a deep breath and nods, wiping the tears from your face. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Your eyes dart from his and Javier grips your chin a little tighter. “Listen. This new assignment is a new job. I’m going to be in the office a lot more. These men are nowhere near as violent as the Medellín ones. This is going to be much safer. If you want, I can call Steve and you can talk to him. He’ll tell you. I’m safe on the job and I’m about to be in less danger.”

The words sink in as he talks. “Okay,” you whimper, sniffling the tears back.

“And I promise that even when I’m in Colombia, you’ll be the only thing on my mind. We’ll get those motherfuckers and I’ll come back to the States, okay?” His voice is softer now. Gentler.

“Okay,” you repeat and let your body melt into his.

Javier’s mind wanders through the options. “We could live up here. In D.C., and I could work at DEA headquarters. Or we could move to Laredo, live there. My dad would love you. Or somewhere else entirely. When I get back, we can do whatever we want.”

His words are a hidden promise; I will come back, and we can get married and have a life. “You’d better not take too long then,” you try to joke, though your broken voice ruins it a bit.

“For you, I’ll get it done in two days flat.” It makes you laugh, and Javier kisses your head. “What did you say you wanted to do tonight?” He asks you.

“Th-there’s a Christmas market in town,” you sniffle. “Since that’s coming up. I thought we could go.”

Javier nods, wiping your tears and snot with his sleeve. “That sounds great.” He rests his head on top of yours, one arm draped over your shoulders. You nuzzle into his side, feeling somewhat relieved but far from entirely.

“You could bring me with you. To Colombia,” you shrug, looking up at him with big eyes.

Javier shakes his head. “No. It’s nowhere near as safe for you. We’ve been over this, I-”

“I can hold my own,” you protest, crossing your arms.

“Not against the Calí Cartel,” he refutes you, stroking your arm. “As much as I love you and would love to have you there, it’s not happening. It’s just… not feasible. Not a good idea.”

This makes you frown deeper and your body tense. Javier kisses your head, which negates some of the stiffness in your body. “Trust me. Please. It’s not worth the trouble we’d find. Plus, you wouldn’t like it.”

“I speak Spanish,” you try to argue.

“Classroom Spanish,” Javier reminds you. “Listen. You can’t make me change my mind on this.” While his words are somewhat harsh, his tone is gentle. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, but you’re not coming with me.”

Sighing, you nod. “Then we have, what, two or three weeks until you leave?” He nods. “Then we’ll make the best of them. Get your ass up, Agent Peña. We’re getting dressed and going to the Christmas market and then we’re going to come and you’re going to rail me,” you laugh, kissing him once he’s standing.

“That’s fine with me,” he chuckles before kissing you once more. -

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[the-witchy-bitch]

About local culture in magick practice and why you feel like your magick doesn’t work

 I want to ask you two things:

1- Where are you from? Your culture, traditions, and such.

2- Were you raised into a religion or cult you didn’t identify yourself with?

3-Do you think your localization matters when practicing magick?

For me: I’m Brazilian, I’ve been raised in a Catholic and Umbandist family and for the third question, I think it depends a lot.

So, if you have a set of traditions and culture I will not really dive too much into this. But, keep in mind that the local egregore might influence your practice somehow, where I live everything is a mess but most people are raised as Christian or Catholic and may have it influencing their thoughts somehow. If it influences your guilt when making a spell because you unconsciously feel wrong about working with witchcraft and it's often not something seen as good in other people's eyes. Which unless you live alone might make you feel like hiding this part of yourself. 

It's easier to get to know your own local culture and egregore. Even if like me you're heavily influenced by Christian thinking and guilt, studying it and becoming neutral about it is the best way to open your mind to new influences. 

Most of the time I'd get angry at Christians, but not at their Gods or traditions in general. Remember it's the people who fuck it up and it will gradually become easier to be neutral about this influence. (Though, if you're a Christian magician power to you).

But what is an egregore? A collective group of thoughts might be created unintentionally or intentionally, it's an intelligent entity and if you’ve been raised into a family who loves Jesus, you’ll probably think likewise them or feel guilty and unsafe for not agreeing with them on the topic. 

For more read here.

Now the tricky question, about locations: If you already have a set of traditions and rituals in your culture this is not really for you, it probably doesn't matter much where you are because the collective group of thoughts and knowledge has been passed to you and probably in a way that your Ancestors wanted it to survive. 

That being said, if for example, I'm making a love spell with Sea energy, I will probably want to either have some seawater, salt or shells to represent the energy and symbols I want to manipulate. But you agree with me that if you transport your consciousness with meditation or actually going to the beach, setting up an altar, and making your thing there it will take your mind and energy into a place where you not only stop doubting about your magick but also try to contact a Deity to help you out (if experienced enough) and this is even better if you're a witch who's living with people who don't accept your practice.

Often people will feel like their magick is not working, this happens not just because your mind might be condicioned into thinking that witchcraft and magick is wrong but also because yourself (yes you) might be self-sabotaging by doubting or not believing enough of your own potential to manipulate energy. Which yeah consciousness is a bitch for that, and you might need to work with concentration, visualization and gnosis before trying again.

A good method for knowing wether or not your magick has been sucessful is to set a deadline for it to function. I usually set it to 3 months or 1 month. These things take time.Then take some attention to signs that maybe it didn’t work: Wanted a romance but your tinder acc got suspended or everyone there gives you a cold shoulder might mean you’ll need to try again, but don’t expect the universe to be always in your face with the signs.

                                                   Further reading: 

This article on magickal practices in urban cities, specifically in Brazil.

About Egregores in Chaos Magic.

The Field Manual for the Psychonaut illustrated by bluefluke

Even if you don’t wanna work with chaos magick, such as myself, the exercises in this Manual and the series Liber Null, Aba and K will help you develop a deep understanding on how magickal system works and help develop your mind for such.

Soon I’ll make some writings about meditation and gnosis to go deeper into that, Hope this text was helpful and always seek more than one source, I also do take criticism so if there’s anything wrong i’ve said here just @ me or send me a DM.

[sureuncertainty]

6, 8, & 20 for the ask game? :^)

aw hell yeah thanks!

(this got super long so i’m going back and making it more ADHD accessible sorry y’all)

6. What character do you have the most fun writing? 

Hhhh this one is so hard because I love writing everyone??? So it’s close, and changes depending on the day and my mood, but I’m gonna go with Kat, I’ve been really enjoying writing her lately, and I’m SO excited to write her more in my sequel.

Also as of now, Nyx is the least fun lol, their chapters keep giving me aggravation since they just. don’t think/talk like me at all, and it’s really hard compared to Avery’s chapters which just flow so easily (and end up ten times too long whoops)

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read? 

Yeah pretty much although I haven’t found anything really much like The Silence Agenda, but I do like to read a lot of thrillers/mysteries and queer romance! I also read a lot of YA which makes sense since Sure Uncertainty is also a thing so overall yeah! I try to specifically seek out books that are similar to my writing so that I can be inspired! (and like. i write what I wanna read so)

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

OH MAN SO MUCH.

let’s see... I’m including Sure Uncertainty Easter eggs in this draft of Silence Agenda which is really fun, but they’re like. deep lore lol. like for example, Avery’s supervisor at the library they work at on campus is named Mrs. Durham, and Durham was one of Emma’s old surnames i tried out before settling on Alldridge. I changed it though so most people wouldn’t get it. but i lOVE the idea of finding subtle stuff like that to tie my stories together, even ones that take place in totally different universes. 

also like. idk i feel like themes of identity have been emerging a lot more in this draft of Silence Agenda, specifically with Nyx and figuring out who they are, how they feel like they’re barely a person bc they’ve spent so much of their life just trying to survive, and especially at the ending, they don’t know how to move on because they don’t even know like... what they like???

like there’s this scene where Avery asks them about their favorite music/books/movies and they just draw a total blank because they don’t know?? they’ve never even had the luxury to figure that stuff out, so they’re trying to figure out what kind of a person they are, and it’s cool bc i feel like I’VE been figuring them out alongside them. ngl they were a really simplistic character when I created them, and they’re STILL one of the hardest characters to write/flesh out because I’m still getting to know them, even now. which is weird since they’ve always been a protagonist but it’s true

also like. can we just talk for two seconds about the way that Nyx and Kat are two sides of the same coin and how that’s going to be explored in the sequel because oh my god i could write for hours about that and i’m so excited to look at it. they basically just both deal with the same trauma in very very different ways, and I’m so excited to explore that and how they clash but then ultimately help each other heal in the second book (and third) and figure out how to communicate with each other.

idk communication is also just such a theme. it’s ALSO really interesting how my own experiences have so clearly shaped this draft, specifically in relation to drafts before it. like. idk after i was in a really unhealthy abusive housemate situation with people who did NOT fucking know how to communicate like regular people, it became even more of a big thing for Nyx and Avery. Because before they can move into anywhere even close to being together (romantically or not, the story is about their emotional growth and closeness)  they have to figure out how to communicate with each other. and they have these barriers (a lot of them informed by their neurodivergencies since they’re both autistic and Avery has ADHD) to communication bc of competing access needs and stuff (i.e. Nyx needs their space to be clean or they can’t think well, and they get anxious and stressed, but Avery can’t always clean bc of their executive dysfunction and the other stress in THEIR life). and that’s all such a reflection with my own communication barriers to people in my life and yes, a reflection of my relationship with my amazing partner @drama-dick who i’ve been able to like. figure that out with.

there’s just something so intimate about someone taking intentional steps and work towards figuring out how to communicate with someone, and how to understand them and where they’re coming from. ESPECIALLY from two people who have spent a long time on their own, who have both felt abandoned and rejected and alone (also hi again projection), and have decided just not to trust other people or even TRY to invest in relationships. for Avery it’s because they’re afraid of getting hurt again and for Nyx it’s because they’re afraid of hurting someone again (even unintentionally) but for both of them it’s bc they see themselves as intrinsically unworthy of love and that’s something that even just them being in a relationship by the end of the book can’t be a magic fix to. which is why i’m SOOO excited to explore them being together in the second two books, and how they continue to help each other grow (and how other people in their lives help them as well!!!)

okay that got super long i am so sorry. tl;dr - communication as a theme with Nyx and Avery relevant to my own experiences is really fucking cool. also identity as a theme with Nyx specifically and how Nyx and Kat are two sides of the same coin. all cool stuff

[safitheartist]

Okay, lets set the record straight on this once and for all.

None of the Al Ghuls are canonly Muslim and it's infact only appropriate to headcanon them as Muslim in certain contexts.

I feel this is similar to the Al Ghuls' very inconsistent and questionable Chinese herritage which probably isn't canon anymore and only was really made canon due to racist motives by everyone's favorite shit bag Morrison. Something that was spread by mouth but nobody really double checked on or wasted more then 2 braincells to think through (which included me for the longest part so don't take this to serioisly) apparently.

So lets take a trip down memory lane.

I first saw the headcanon pop up a few years back during Ramadan (I think) when a fellow Muslim user started posting headcanons about Talia and Damian celebrating. (All of which were adorable mind you)

However, I felt somewhat uncomfortable with the concept due to my already stated concerns. The Al Ghuls are writen in a manner that just does not go well with our believe system, and creates quiet a few unfortunate and harmfull implications.

So I talked to the user about it and they were very understanding, got where I came from and admitted they didn't really think about the implications that came with this. They just wanted to hc some of their fave arab characters participate in their religion. Which is infact super valid.

So we had a discusion and came to the conclusion that this headcanon really should be put into context if used.

Stuff like Damian and Talia converting to Islam after they left the league, or being Muslims in scenarios where they never were in the league to begin with, are none harmfull and actually appreciated. It doesn't portray our religion in a negative context and characters converting to Islam after their redemption actually is a positive change to the normally seen demonization of our religion.

Stuff that depicts them as Muslims while still with the league (including having grown up as Muslim while in the league) on the other hand can be very harmfull. As is the assumption that they automatically would be Muslim due to them being Arab. It sets very ugly implications due to the League, well being a league full of murderers who, in recent time, do not make hold from killing innocent people. And their leader, Ras, often prepatuates himself as a being above god, making him essencially a false idol.

It just does not mash well together and I am very glad no writer at DC was stupid enough to try and state any of the Al Ghuls are Muslim.

But now we apparently reached a point where people just do the later anyways. Because of course. This is tumblr after all.

So I'm going to have to say this again, please don't just blindly headcanon the Al Ghuls as Muslims. Especially as none Muslims.

It's legitimately something that can get harmfull etremly fast. We already had enough issues with DC's actual canon creating hostile fandom enviorments for arab fans due to one jackass not thinking the implications of his actions through (Fuck you Morrison), we don't need 10000 more jackasses spreading misinformation that can cause even more hostility.

I already have to see enough regular racism in their tags and even on my dash, not to mention the countless times people came on my posts about Talia just to be racist. I don't need to see people unintentionally spread Islamophobic rethorics, (basically inviting those same people who have said shit like "well most arabs are r*pists anyways" on my posts, that were calling DC out on their bs, to just show up with even more shit takes that target another group I am part of), because they didn't think the implications of their words through.

Like, maybe you none Muslim people will get it if I put it like this: making the Al Ghuls Muslim is as much of a double sided sword as the Gay Villain trope. Yeah, a lot of people like gay villains in theory, especially if they are lgbt themselfs, making their own content about them and portraying them in manners they themself feel is unproblematic, however, said trope applied in actual canon can cause extremly homophobic implications, especially when writen by straight writers. That earned us creepy shit like the Joker having a weird, obsessive, crush on Batman. Or a writer, (I forgot who but 10 bucks say Marrison) admiting he used clown fish as a visual symbol in association with the Joker in a else world story with the "Joker is obsessivly in love with Batman" shit torpe, because:

Clownfish can change their gender.

Yes. You read that right. Somebody actually did that.

Anyway:

In the same manner, a lot of people like to headcanon arab characters like Damian and Talia as Muslim. However, doing so carelessly, especially as a non Muslim, can cause major issues.

It really would just need one bad writer who decides they will make this a canon aspect of the Al Ghuls to cause some serious damage and actually hurt arab and Muslim fans and worsen their fandom experience even more.

[airiat]

for the detail OC questions! 28, 38, and 45, for either or both your girls!

Helloooo! Thank you so much for asking these questions!! They all deal with themes I focus on pretty heavily in LMNIT, so much so that Fjoara has even answered these questions before in her own words! Therefore, I’m only going to answer for her, and also because I lowkey haven’t developed Morvera very much yet. I’m so, so sorry it took this long to answer–I ended up basically writing a whole essay on this because you picked the absolute perfect questions to ask lol. Thank you so much, again! This was so helpful for my fic and super enjoyable to do.

Fjoara Ebonhand:

~ What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? 

~ How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

~ What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

The driving force behind most of her actions is actually her overwhelming sense of fear, the biggest being what she’s tasked to do as Dragonborn (first dealing with Miraak, then defeating Alduin), and if she’ll be capable of carrying it out. When we look at the LDB from an in-game perspective we view them as fearless and able to do anything, but I would imagine the emotional implications of being chosen to literally save the world would cause an immense amount of inner turmoil, and this is a theme I explore consistently as it evolves within her. The catalyst for this all is her complete lack of confidence in her abilities in combat. She compares herself to the traditional brutish Nord warrior when she herself will never be like that. However, I think LMNIT will see her gain this missing confidence when she successfully deals with the situation on Solstheim, even if her approach is somewhat unconventional.

Later on, though—and you can already see hints of this—her fear becomes more directed inwards instead of outwards. As in, she’s afraid of her own power and its potential for causing devastation. Another element of in-game Skyrim is the idea that the LDB is very much a murderer, even a serial killer, but Fjoara is very strongly against using violence as anything but self-defense, preferring instead to be diplomatic or tactical. In fact, her carrying of Dawnbreaker, a sword most powerful against the undead rather than living people, is somewhat symbolic of this. She sees the thu’um as a weapon rather than a powerful tool capable of bringing peace, believing that the two are mutually exclusive. Of this she has said, “I have never wished to harm others, but the gods have given me a weapon that can speak an end to life with more ease than the sharpest sword, and with more devastation than the most powerful army. Yet, if I were to cast this weapon aside in favor of peace, I would bring upon an even greater destruction to all of Tamriel. Both my calling and the fear within me are inescapable. How am I to cope with being torn between these two parts of myself?” Once she learns Bend Will, however, I believe it will become a whole different story. That’s one for another time, though.

As for how Fjoara’s fear manifests tangibly, she would meet the criteria for Generalized Anxiety Disorder as well as Panic Disorder. When confronted with something particularly intense, like when she went to Apocrypha for the first time, she’ll most likely have an anxiety attack. If it’s something less severe, she’ll just shut down for a little while and become almost catatonic, though you can coax her out of it. Otherwise, she’s just a super high-strung and nervous person all the time no matter what the circumstances are, and will occasionally have panic attacks if the stress is too bad. She presents pretty classically, it’s just the things she deals with in her life are obviously quite unique.

On a less serious note, she’s really not a fan of frostbite spiders.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Fjoara has held two statuses in her life that predispose a certain attitude to her: daughter of the High King who is next in line to the throne and, of course, Dragonborn. Both of these titles command a great deal of respect and an innate sense of admiration, but that then means an inaccurate image of herself is being projected onto her. This has been a huge source of contention for her. Before she knew she was Dragonborn and was only just nobility, she always felt like people were only ever nice to her because of that. This is what she’s said on this topic: “Back home in Solitude, I had become so accustomed to the delicate and inauthentic manner in which I was treated by my father’s court, and even by those whom I considered my friends. The luxuries and privileges afforded to me by my father being High King of Skyrim were beyond the common people’s most outrageous fantasies, but there was always a part of me who would have discarded it all for the chance at a real connection with someone. To be loved and respected for who I am, not because of who my father is, and certainly not because I’m now destined to become some sort of hero.” On top of this, she doesn’t really have a good sense of self because she has never really received genuine feedback about herself from anyone other than her family, who also have their own ulterior motives. As it is mentioned above, Fjoara at the very least knows what she wants out of her relationships, but she feels barred from receiving that because of her social status. This is why she takes advantage of an out that was given to her by way of being Dragonborn.

After she absorbs her first dragon soul (but before she knew that meant she was Dragonborn) and runs away from home, Fjoara makes a concerted effort to hide herself and from herself, which is why she “traveled to The Rift, the farthest possible hold from Haafingar.” In doing so, she also decides to distance herself from her noble identity by changing her last name and lying about where she came from. She also inadvertently gains more anonymity when she decides to join the Thieves Guild just by the very nature of the work she does with them. Besides, who would ever suspect that the King’s daughter would stoop so low as to become a filthy criminal?

Fjoara gets on really well with the Guild, and it becomes her greatest source of pride because it was purely her own skills and efforts that got her membership–not because of nepotism or birthright. I won’t go into the story of how she joined, but it’s actually pretty funny. Let’s just say Brynjolf never saw it coming. While there, she also develops a strong, somewhat romantic relationship with Brynjolf and eventually, she does tell him who she is. He had a positive reaction to it and promised to keep her secret, which he does honor. This was really the first time that she feels truly appreciated by someone else; even though he knows of her nobility, he doesn’t treat her any differently because of it.

Yet, Fjoara never really finds her identity in the Thieves Guild despite her sense of belonging and the second family she creates there. I believe that this sense of disconnection will be something she’ll struggle with for her entire life. It will be a challenge for her to truly name an identity for herself when she will have to fulfill so many vastly different roles, from the mundane domesticity of wife and mother to the last of an ancient prophesied hero to the familial burdens of nobility, and so on.

Despite all of this, however, people do actually really like Fjoara no matter what lens they are seeing her through. She is very personable, eloquent, and charming, and genuinely takes an interest in helping people, even if she can unintentionally come off a little fake sometimes. The Skaal respect her, the Guild admires her talent, Frea will become her first real friend, and Teldryn will fall so much in love with her. And that’s just the beginning.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

I get to talk about Teldryn in this part! The very nature of their relationship is a mutual, but unspoken feeling of admiration for the other. A sense of “I can’t believe you would choose to be with me because I believe you to be far more superior than me.” For Teldryn, he obviously admires the fact that she’s Dragonborn–that much is inescapable–but not for the reason one would expect. As he is a Dunmer, I feel as if the meaning he assigns to her being this hero carries much less of a cultural significance as it would if he were a Nord. Instead, it’s out of pure wonder at how powerful she is, her resilience against the tribulations she will have to go through at the hands of it, and the amount of cool stuff she gets to experience. The very first admission of his admiration for her was: “There is a growing need within me to provide for her and ensure her safety, though I know she is capable of doing these things for herself. I truly have nothing to offer that she doesn’t already possess. Her wealth appears limitless, guidance and accommodation are given readily just because of who she is, and her abilities in combat dwarf my own—a spellsword, like me, but in combination with that fucking voice of hers, she’s a lethal weapon.” As of right now in my fic, Fjoara doesn’t yet know enough about Teldryn to think any more of him than just that she is attracted to him, so I say this about Teldryn’s feelings for her to help illustrate the idea of her own eventual admiration.

The things that Fjoara values in another person are a bit misguided right now. As I said earlier, she struggles with her identity, and part of this is a disassociation from what she feels it means to be a “daughter of Skyrim,” a true Nord. Inadequacy is something that plagues her and this is highlighted when she says, “For a Nord, there is no greater shame than that which is found in cowardice, but it would be impossible for me to ease my mind of all fear. I still cannot comprehend why I was chosen for this duty when there are thousands of other more capable warriors than I. If I had been allowed to retain my normal life so that I could have someday utilized my skills to be High Queen of Skyrim, then I would have still held on to my honor. But now I am unsure what of it still remains, if any at all.” Therefore, what she admires most are the strong, militant warriors who know their way around a battleaxe. Another reason why she carries Dawnbreaker is to create the illusion that she actually is as such, but in truth, she is certainly no swordsman. Instead, Fjoara is actually a really talented mage. She studied at the College of Winterhold for less than a year, but she was able to get a firm grasp on Destruction and has dipped a little into Restoration, Illusion, and Alteration. Because of the attitude Nords harbor against mages, however, Fjoara doesn’t value this skill as much as she should. On another note, the “skills” she mentions in the quote are her inclinations towards diplomacy, leadership, and oration. As in, if one were to look at her skill tree, her speech skill would be way up there. Fjoara honestly would have made a really good High Queen, but that’s not the path set out for her anymore, and she hasn’t quite realized yet that she can still put these talents to good use as Dragonborn.

To rein in my tangent a bit, as with Teldryn, Fjoara also admires resilience in the face of hardship. She admires the fearlessness both he and Frea displays. She admires Frea’s selflessness and dedication to protecting her village. She admires people who have been through more in life than her and respects the wisdom she can glean from them. She admires Teldryn’s persistent good-humor in spite of adversity in the present and the traumas of his past. She admires Brynjolf’s cunning personality, even if it isn’t always to the best end. She also admires anyone who is artistically or musically gifted because she can’t do either for shit.

[richiestoziers]

winter, summer, and everything inbetween

summary: stanley uris can't handle the idea of love, so he pushes it away

warnings: angst

read on ao3 here!

stanley uris’ relationship with richie tozier could be described as tumultuous. the two boys are best friends, always have been and always will be, yet they are tumultuous all the same.

it’s a problem of differences in character, stan was quiet and ocd, richie was loud and out of control. everything about them opposed each other, every personality trait cancelling the other out, they were two magnets that didn’t stick but desperately wanted to.

that was the relationship between stan uris and richie tozier, one where he was primarily annoyed, and thankful for at the same time. 

it’s one of those friendships you unintentionally take for granted, the type where you don’t realize what you have until it’s too late.

because richie pisses stan off, he curses too much and he never takes anything seriously and he never listens to stan. 

he hates his best friend and he loves him, but he only shows the former and sometimes he regrets it. 

he sees the way richie’s face drops when he says ‘beep beep’ in a particularly harsh tone, he sees his smile disappear when he rolls his eyes at his jokes, and he desperately wants to tell him he’s sorry but he’s a bit too prideful to do that and break the view everyone has on them that has gone on for so long.

so he keeps it going, he rolls his eyes to his face and bites his lip behind his back, and he loves richie tozier even if he’s winter and richie is summer and they are bound to destroy each other in some way.

at least that’s what stan tells himself, that boys like richie with burning skin and burning lips would kill a boy like stan, with frostbitten skin and lips that are cool to the touch. winter and autumn are meant to be and summer and spring are soulmates, because that’s how the world works and stan wants to follow the rules, even if the rules say he and richie shouldn’t be friends.

but he has to break that rule, because it’s richie tozier. 

richie tozier who went to his bar mitzvah when no one else did, richie tozier who slept over after stan saw a scary movie and needed comfort, richie tozier who promised stan he wouldn’t let henry bowers hurt him again without putting up a fight.

richie tozier who kept his promises, an admirable trait, especially when they walked home together with matching black eyes. 

richie tozier who was the summer sun, melting stanley uris’ winter heart.

stanley uris who is afraid of getting burnt, and hides from the sun when it gets too close, all at the cost of his own heart.

“stanley, are you okay?” richie asks in a rare moment of seriousness that stan thinks is only shown to him (please let that be true or my heart will break.)

he knows richie knows something is wrong, he feels him drifting, his best friend leaving his side and flinching at his touch. richie knows stan, he knows him better than anyone else, he knows when he’s suffering. 

“i’m fine, richie.” stan smiles, and richie’s heart flutters at the sight and he’s so in love with his best friend and neither know it yet. 

stan hopes it’s convincing, because he’s never been much of an actor but needs richie to understand somehow. he’s begging silently for richie to understand he isn’t fine but he shouldn’t push, because if he does stan will melt and be no more but a puddle under richie’s feet.

does richie not understand the power he has? the undeniable control over stan’s bleeding heart, the chain he has wrapped around him ensuring he never strays too far from the path of his love.

even when he annoys him, when he scares the birds away and talks about fucking the losers mothers, even when he rolls his eyes and hurts richie’s feelings, stan still loves him.

he has always loved him, loved him enough to accept his flaws and love them.

he loved him when he wore his boy scout uniform and he loves him now, with his hair longer and his clothes more refined, and his hands shaking after getting dirty.

“you’re worrying me, stanley. you seem mad at me, like you hate me.” richie pushes, he never knows when to stop, and stan wants to hold his face and cry and scream except he doesn’t know what he would say. that he loves him? that he hates him? that he never wants to see him again because if he does he’ll surely fall more in love with him to the point where he’ll break his own heart?

he knows subtly pushing away his best friend isn’t the best option, but it seems to be the only one that can force the sun from melting his snow white skin to the desert sand.

so he pushed, he grew annoyed by everything richie did and forced himself to hate his best friend.

they were too different, and stan was tired of being burnt by richie’s hot tongue, a ray on the sun that was richard tozier.

he forced himself to think of only the negative in richie. how he hated the crude nature of his jokes, how he constantly went too far, how he was always so dirty and gross and so disrespectful. he wasn’t even funny most of the time, and the only reaction stan ever gave was one screaming annoyance. 

richie saw it and felt hopeless against it, unsure what he had done to stanley and what he could do to fix it, and as he felt his best friend drifting from him his warm summer heart began to lose it’s heat and melt him from the inside out until he was no more.

stan tried not to see richie struggling, trying to make him laugh and get their friendship back on the road that was heartbreak in disguise, but stan had his hand on the steering wheel and he dropped richie off long ago.

stan was driving his own car now, on the road with birds and audio books and snow falling at every corner. he was on the road of his dreams, unaware of the dead end that would leave him trapped forever, because dreams are just illusions to hide you from real life, and you can’t live your entire life in a dream.

he tries nonetheless, because he can live the rest of his life at that dead end, he doesn’t mind. 

and richie is stuck there, on that fork in the road where stan dumped him, because he wants to follow fate into the land of winter’s heart but he can’t do that without stan. 

he can’t be in love without the boy he’s meant to be with.

they’re both at dead ends because of each other, too stupid to find their way back home.

“so stan, i told her that i’d only chainsmoke if she sang every chainsmokers song perfectly, and this bitch was so drunk she actually tried to.” richie spoke after inviting himself to walk stan home, something stan would have loved, before his forced hatred on the boy grew.

“don’t call women bitches, richie.” his voice was a forced monotone, trying to give richie the hint that he wanted him gone (he didn’t, not for the reason he was trying to convince himself of, because he was annoying as hell but he needed him gone because he couldn’t go back to loving him so hopelessly and haplessly).

“i mean it as a term of endearment, not in a bad way.” richie rolled his eyes, he too was growing annoyed with stan, primarily due to how cold he was being.

“it’s misogynistic, whether you mean it to be or not, so stop.” stan’s voice was hard, not truly passionate on the subject but using it as a way to allow his pent up rage at richie slowly ooze out.

“well sorry, stan. can’t you relax for once, cause you’ve been a real fucking dick lately.” his annoyance got the better of him, not to mention the annoyance in stan’s voice raising his own.

isn’t it funny that two people can love each other with their entire being, and hate each other with their entire soul?

almost as funny as two people loving each other and fighting instead.

these predicaments fit both the puzzle of stanley uris and richie tozier.

“well if i’m being sch a fucking dick then why are you still hanging around me?” stan’s voice raised as he posed the question, hoping the tears he felt forming weren’t easily seen to richie, he had to stay strong right now. he couldn’t let his tears fall down his face, reveal his true emotions, freeze on his face as a permanent reminder of his regret.

“i have no fucking idea.” and with that richie walked away, hands balled into fists and his face growing red from rage, his lengthy limbs moving him quickly away from stanley. god, he hated stanley so much, he hated him for making him feel so good and ripping it away from him so quickly.

he hated him for making him love him and hate him at the same time.

he hated him for pushing him away, right when he was getting used to the cold. 

and then there was stan, stan with tears running down his face, now red and irritated from rubbing the tears off violently with his jacket. he wants it gone, the symbol of his heart breaking playing on his face, he wants to forget it all. he wants to write about the birds he sees that day and go home and read robert frost and sylvia plath. he wants to go on with his life, but he can’t.

because his normal life typically doesn’t consist of him sitting on the floor with his face in his knees as he tries to muffle his sobs, because he got what he wanted and he made a home at that dead end of the street, and he’s just realizing that he’s trapped there forever.

he’s trapped in a winter wonderland of his own making, a house he built on his own, a plan he created perfectly. he created heaven and shifted it to hell, he turned utopia to his own personal dystopia and there’s no escaping, and there’s no one to blame but himself. 

and it isn’t really a dream, because even winter needs summer sometimes to keep him warm, but now the sun is gone and winter is forever.

and stanley never realized that the cold can burn you too until now.

he was wrong all along, thinking summer and spring stuck together, because it was winter and summer that were soulmates. the opposing sides mixed to one, keeping it perfect, keeping you from being burned.

he took that long road for granted, took advantage of the sun on his face and begged for snow.

that was richie tozier, someone you took for granted until you saw him walking away from you with a silent promise that he wouldn’t turn back.

richie tozier was the summer sun that made you sweat and curse the being that placed the sun in the sky and didn’t realize how great it was until winter came and your nose is red and you think you’re going to freeze.

richie tozier was the heat in your bed on a winter night that made you drool because you were so comfortable.

richie tozier was the summer heat you wanted so desperately when you were cold in winter, but hated when it was there.

richie tozier was a season filled with hope and ending in regret.

stan uris knew this all when he pushed him away, but he didn’t realize it fully until he was home and cold and he remembered his warmest sweater was richie’s.

and stanley uris really did love his best friend, at least he loved him in the way you don’t know until you lose him.

but hey, he got what he wanted right? who was he to complain?

[salarta]

This is a post-mortem of the support I used to have for Cullen Bunn.

When Bunn started writing Polaris, I was glad.

At the time, Lorna was being kept from interacting with her father. She was on a book that Marvel was using to isolate her from the rest of the Marvel universe, because the writer of that book was against “his” characters used elsewhere like that. The possible romance with Gambit was too often “Havok lite,” where Lorna was treated like his lesser, like a subordinate in a team he was the actual leader of instead of the leader of her own team.

In the beginning, I felt Bunn was doing great work with Magneto, and I wanted the same for Lorna.

Problem is. Bunn is worse for her.

He doesn’t see Polaris as a character to be given the same care and respect that he gave Magneto. He sees her as a tool he can exploit to make Magneto and Havok look better.

Magneto solo

At the end of the Magneto solo, Bunn had Lorna act stupidly mad toward her father for putting lives at risk out of necessity. He then also had Lorna stupidly act like she was blindsided by Magneto betraying her trust, in taking power from her without permission.

These are both things that make absolutely no sense for her given her history. But okay, fine, I was able to overlook it because Bunn hadn’t written Lorna before. It takes time to understand a character, and feedback is a necessary part of getting things right. Be fair.

Deadpool and the Mercs for Money

In Deadpool and the Mercs for Money, Bunn had an alternate future version of Polaris leading the last mutants. At the time, I was very happy about this. However, there’s an element to it that I didn’t see as a problem until we had more cases of Bunn’s writing to go on.

Alternate future Lorna adopting the helmet and collar piece of Magneto’s usual costume.

See, in the past, Lorna donning Magneto’s helmet said something about Lorna. When she put it on when Havok left her at the altar, it was to demonstrate that she’s had enough of everything in life going to shit for her and she was ready to be as ruthless and vicious as her father is known to be. When she put it on in the Wolverine and the X-Men cartoon, it represented that version’s shattered innocence and everything she lost.

On Deadpool and the Mercs for Money, it stood for... Magneto’s greatness. She wasn’t wearing it for some grand character development of her own, or to showcase emotional turmoil. Bunn had her wearing those elements to pretty much say “Lorna is only able to be a leader and show the strength she has because Magneto is her father.” To bind anything she could do as a character exclusively to Magneto’s shadow.

X-Men Blue

Oh boy. Here we go.

X-Men Blue #8 was being showcased as Lorna’s big return, after a two year absence. But in its lead-up, Bunn said all of nothing about her. Which, alone, means nothing. But then he was very, very happy to tease that he was going to be bringing Havok back.

In other words, he was excited about getting to write Havok, but he wasn’t excited about writing Lorna. If he was, he would’ve been talking about her just as much if not more.

Then the issues came out.

He spends much of X-Men Blue #8 - Lorna’s big return issue - building up what a threat Havok is and letting him interact with various characters. Then, when Lorna finally shows up on the final page, she’s introduced as... “daughter of Magneto.”

Someone claimed editorial had control over this box. So okay, fine, let’s say they did. Doesn’t change that the sole dialogue she gets for her “big cliffhanger” is all about Havok.

Also doesn’t change this addition in Blue #9.

“Daddy’s Little Mistress of Magnetism.”

This is dialogue Bunn chose to include. Not editorial. Here, Bunn took a title that should have been used to introduce her in Blue #8 and deliberately twisted it into being something she only gets to call herself because Magneto is her dad.

He took a title that was her own and tried to make it into something Magneto gets credit for.

The rest of Blue #8 involves lots of talk about Lorna’s past relationship with Havok.

In subsequent issues of X-Men Blue, we got Lorna further treated like shit to bolster Magneto.

In one issue, Bunn writes her acting shocked that enemies would launch a surprise attack on their headquarters, all so Magneto can “correct” her.

This is something Lorna sure as shit doesn’t need to be told. Why? Because SHE SURVIVED THIS EXACT FUCKING THING. THE GENOSHAN MASSACRE. WHERE MILLIONS OF PEOPLE DIED ALL AROUND HER, BEGGING HER TO SAVE THEM.

This is like Magneto acting shocked about a mutant Holocaust happening and having Captain America correct him for being stupid enough not to expect it. It’s not only missing a crucial part of that character’s history, it’s an insulting miss.

Later, during the whole Mojo crossover with X-Men Gold, he had Mojo put Lorna in her old Malice outfit... and this is her reaction. 

I wouldn’t expect Lorna finding herself in that costume to react like a shrieking banshee absolutely trembling in tears or anything. That would be stupid, and I had some jackasses try to frame me complaining about this in that manner.

What I WOULD expect is for Lorna to express disgust and outrage.

Malice possessed her. Imagine that. All it takes is five seconds of giving a damn about Lorna’s POV to understand. She had no control over her own body. Malice used her body to hurt the people she cared about, along with innocent people, and she suffered in the ride emotionally, reputation-wise, and physically as even the X-Men beat her down in that state and didn’t seem to care about the horror she was going through while possessed.

But what does Bunn do with it? He has Lorna act like it’s just some random strange costume. Not a costume loaded with deep meaning, symbolism and history.

Bunn used this costume from a terrible period of her life and treated it like flavor text to her advancing Magneto’s story about the Mutant Massacre. Bunn couldn’t even spare a few lines for Lorna in his quest to use her as Magneto’s lackey.

And then we get to this past Wednesday. X-Men Blue #23.

Bunn wrote Lorna telling these people to call her by who she is, not just by Magneto’s daughter, which was a good thing. I was very glad to see that. But then he did this.

“Don’t reduce me to being just Magneto’s daughter,” and the stadium cheers, until Bunn has her swiftly add “cause then you’re forgetting I’m also Havok’s ex! The person writing me thinks I only exist for the benefit of TWO men, not just one!”

And not only that, Bunn adds in the “we’ve been apart for a long time” line, which is not just bullshit, it’s bullshit that I know he knows better than to try to claim. They haven’t been apart for hardly any time at all, especially when you factor in Havok forced into every goddamn thing Lorna does, and he knows better.

I can’t make a “he just needs to understand the situation more” excuse for him this time. To make that excuse would be to pretend he’s so clueless about how comics work that he shouldn’t be writing them at all. And I know he knows comics. He has decades of knowledge about them, as a reader and as a writer. He knows better, so the only conclusion is that he’s doing this on purpose.

Where Things Stand

At this point, I think I’ve waited plenty long to see how things go with him.

I’ve seen Psylocke fans complain about how he treated Psylocke poorly to build up Magneto in Uncanny X-Men.

I’ve seen Emma Frost fans complain about how he’s trying to throw away her character development to reduce her to a villain type.

Combine that with what he’s been doing to Lorna, I have no choice but to agree with so many other readers out there on the conclusion they’ve come to: Cullen Bunn doesn’t know how to write women.

He’s completely incapable of writing them. Whether he’s incapable cause he’s not a good enough writer to handle it, or cause he IS a good enough writer but he just doesn’t give enough of a shit to do better (and that’s the nice interpretation of his work), I don’t know.

In Polaris, Bunn has this amazing badass woman who’s been through so much.

She unintentionally killed her parents. She lived a memory-altered lie of a human life as a teen, hiding her green hair cause it drew too much attention. She awoke to her powers and mutant heritage to being called a mutant queen. She suffered through possession and repeated mind control. She suffered through millions of people dying in the Genoshan genocide all around her, all begging her to save them, and her failing every single one of them. She suffered through an identity crisis when she lost her powers, and being forced into space, and tortured, and so, so, so much else.

Lorna Dane is an amazing as fuck character, and all Bunn sees in her is Magneto’s daughter or Havok’s ex-girlfriend.

I’m not buying another issue of Blue unless someone tells me Bunn did something so absolutely amazing with Lorna that it blows me the fuck away. If the next issue (meaning X-Men Blue #24) is as bad as Blue #23 or worse, I’m dropping and avoiding everything associated with Disney that I can until either Bunn does some damn amazing work with Lorna or Marvel takes Lorna away from him and gives her to someone who actually cares about her and what she has to offer.

Not as Magneto’s spawn. Not as Havok’s fuckbuddy. As Polaris, Lorna Dane, a character in her own right with a heart and mind and history and motivations and interests unique to her. That do NOT serve to make her look like shit so the men in her life look like gods.

This whole time, Bunn could’ve had Lorna interacting with Iceman and Jean to rekindle that lost shared history. He could’ve had Lorna fight Emma Frost in X-Men Blue #8 and #9 instead of Havok. He could’ve had Lorna actually say something about being put in the Malice costume. There is so much he could’ve done, and he wasted it all because he only cares about the men.

Take Lorna (and Emma Frost, and any other established female characters for that matter) away from Bunn. Leave him to create his own characters like Briar Raleigh, who really can exist exclusively to put his men on a pedestal without issue.

Bunn has no business writing Lorna, or any women really. Give Lorna to someone that cares.

[digital-arts-etc]

This Woman Reimagined Michelangelo's "The Creation Of Adam"

With Black Women  * And It's Beautiful

Michelangelo who?

Posted on May 16, 2017 Michael Blackmon - BuzzFeed News Reporter

This is Harmonia Rosales, a 33-year-old artist living in Chicago.

"I was raised in a creative environment," she said. Rosales also noted that "artistic expression was floating in the air" in her household growing up. Her mother is an artist and her father, a musically inclined guy, played the congas. 

Rosales credited her parents for sparking her interest in the arts. "Kids imitate their parents and my parents were great models for me. I repeated visuals of my mother hunched over her art table churning out illustration after illustration starting with a blank canvas and a vision of a full one. I often would crawl under my mother's art table and track her movements, her brushstrokes, her ideas, her illustrations. She would let me experiment with all her expensive oils and brushes, never once telling me what to paint or how, but letting me find my own style."

One of Rosales' pieces, which she calls "The Creation of God" recently went viral.

The piece is based on Michelangelo 's "The Creation of Adam," famously displayed in the Sistine Chapel. "I wanted to take a significant painting, a widely recognized painting that subconsciously or consciously conditions us to see white male figures as powerful and authoritative and flip the script, establish a counter narrative," she told BuzzFeed News, elaborating on why she decided to make reimagine the well-known work of art with black women.

Says Rosales, "White figures are a staple in classic art featured in major museums. They are the 'masters' of the masterpieces. Why should that continue?

Replacing the white male figures — the most represented— with people I believe have been the least represented can begin to recondition our minds to accept new concepts of human value. ... If I can touch even a small group of people and empower them through the power of art, then I've succeeded in helping to change the way we see the world. ... And when you consider that all human life came out of Africa, the Garden of Eden and all, then it only makes sense to paint God as a black woman, sparking life in her own image." "In the essence of Picasso, my whole life," Rosales said when asked how long it took her to create her latest piece. "Every skill, life experience, and emotion has led me straight to this particular piece and every piece thereafter."

And the way in which her ideas form, and the way she's acted on them, is a very organic process.

"I have an idea, it might not be fully thought out, but first the idea. Then I let it marinate. Often I'll place a blank canvas by my bed so that I may wake up and sleep to it. And, while I sleep, it speaks to me," Rosales said. She also said that she doesn't sketch her creations, everything happens at once on the canvas by which they are brought to life. "My subjects morph and their expressions change as they speak to me and reveal themselves to me. Sometimes I will go over an area multiple times until they virtually come to life." Rosales' work definitely has a recurring theme: women of color. "I paint women darker than me because I want no one to mistake who I'm representing. I paint what I know, who I identify with," she told BuzzFeed News.

We have been underrepresented and misrepresented for so long that I feel I should paint to empower us. We need powerful images for our youth to see." Her daughter is another reason why Rosales is passionate about the work she does. "I want my daughter to grow up proud of her curls and coils, her brown skin, and for her to identify as a woman of color, a woman of value."

What I do with my art contributes to the way she and all other little girls like her will come to recognize themselves."

Rosales' "The Creation of God" will be part of an exhibited series in the near future.

She also plans to work with fellow artist Aldis Hodge on a series about persecution that will debut at the end of the year. "This particular series will relate to the masses," she said.

Critics Disgusted With Artist’s Painting of God As a Black Woman

By: Seth D. Mills  - May. 31, 2017

The painting (above photo) The Creation of God by artist Harmonia Rosales of Chicago has caused a lot of controversy throughout the last 3 weeks. Since it was first shared on Instagram, the painting has had at least 7,000 likes.

But some people on Twitter have called it a “disgrace”, while others stated that it was “cultural appropriation” and “disgusting”. In The Creation of God, Harmonia showed God as a black woman touching the hand of another black woman, much like The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo.

Harmonia said the painting was meant to show that “we have created God in our own image. So ‘God’ is whoever we want God to be, a representation of the ideal, of the divine, of wisdom and love and pure creativity.”

But not everyone agrees.

What do you think? Did she go too far?

http://www.wbls.com/news/d%C3%A9j%C3%A0-vu-afternoon/critics-disgusted-artist%E2%80%99s-painting-god-black-woman

Hannah Marie there are so many people in these comments that think they know what they are talking about but really don't. culturally appropriating something is taking something from another culture saying "it's mine i created it" profiting from and creating an entirely new meaning, while the (almost always) disadvantaged are left in the same position having their object devalued for the same things that are valued in said appropriated object. you can't culturally appropriate an image like this, it's literally impossible. if that was so then there are hundreds/thousands of images that have been by musicians, directors, artists, everyday people god damn photo-shopping themselves into images. why can't y'all just see the beauty and let it be ---------------------* James   "Cultural appropriation is the adoption or use of the elements of one culture by members of another culture.[1] Cultural appropriation is sometimes portrayed as harmful, framed as cultural misappropriation, and claimed to be a violation of the collective intellectual property rights of the originating culture.[2][3][4][5] Often unavoidable when multiple cultures come together, cultural appropriation can include using other cultures' traditions, fashion, symbols, language, and cultural songs without permission" Its the definition of cultural appropriation. News Flash: You cant just make up your own definitions of things. ---------------------* Hannah Marie James Nino didn't make up a definition, i never said i defined what it was, i was giving informed examples. what did i say exactly that was wrong? ---------------------* Bon N Why can't you see the gross double standards at play ---------------------* Hannah Marie Bon Nord but why do you think it's cultural appropriation? just because it's got black people in it? (genuine question) ---------------------* Aaron L Hannah Marie-Nova St Jean maybe because she literally said white people shouldn't dominate classic art and then literally stole someone's theme for a piece? ---------------------* Hannah Marie Aaron Lonnergan and you think they should dominate???? seems bizarre to me as there are millions of people in the world and one race should dominate? and if you see the work of Warhol and other pop art artists you'll see there is a heavy tradition of using other peoples images and making them ones own while still referencing the original work (like she clearly has done) but the difference is that she isn't making millions from the work. and this image has been so widely used in so many different re-imaginations, where people make fun of and transpose whatever image they want on to it doesn't make sense for this image to be so contested as cultural appropriation when people have literally put Ronald McDonald in the position of god and an overweight person, there's a Simpsons version too i just think it doesn't make sense. people interpret and re-imagine images all the time, the issue comes when someone claims the work as their own, purely original idea. that's when issues begin to arise ---------------------* Nicholas S That last sentence right there - buzz Feed makes it nearly impossible. Last year one of their big topics was how a white girl with dreadlocks was stealing from another culture. And it's just idiotic. ---------------------* Pepe C   Everything is cultural appropriation now so everybody might as well stop crying about it. Just like everybody is racist now these words have no meaning anymore. ---------------------* Igor R Yet another cultural appropriation, sure. Or is it a parody as a form of flattery? Celebration of the absent fathers, spending time in prison, while the girls are being raised by their mothers in the 'hoods? Brown skin and coils is nothing to be proud of, unless you think just an abundance of melanin is something to be proud of. But melanin is not the magic powder, not the midichlorians to make you into a Jedi. So far what I am seeing is one second-rate painter apeing the great and original artist of the past, with unintentionally funny results. ---------------------* Mathew B Isn't this just cultural appropriation? ---------------------* Daniel Z Apparently not, you know, Europe doesn't have culture apparently ---------------------* Danni T She gave credit to Michelangelo so no it is not. 😌 ---------------------* James N Danni Turner So if a bunch of white people in black face doing racist skits give credit to Bojangles then its not cultural appropriation or racist right? I mean they gave credit... ---------------------* Danni T It's racist for black face due to the derogatory comparison of said black person, but it isn't appropriating because it was made by Caucasians. So if anything, if a minority donned black face or made their face darker it would be appropriating idiocy from said Caucasian race lol. However, I would like to see you adorn black face in an all black neighborhood. It would be an exquisite scene to watch. ---------------------* Maximus Autizmus Fucking hilarious. A white girl can't braid her hair but blacks can "re-imagine" one of the most iconic European masterpieces? Double standard much ---------------------*

https://www.buzzfeed.com/michaelblackmon/god-is-a-black-woman?bftw&utm_term=.etzgENVRP#.ne0xA2KbZ

[btsbound-blog]

Hai Shi Shan Meng (M)

Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung Genre: Angst, Smut, Horror, Fantasy Summary: Three instances where Yoongi holds Taehyung’s life in his hands, and the only response Taehyung gives is, “We’ll meet again, my love”.

*A/N: This fic was originally written for jemkook for the BTSBound Fic Exchange of June 2017. However, since they did not produce their work in time for this Reveal Date, I am going to dedicate this work to the person jemkook was supposed to write for, @wheresjhope. I apologize that you will not be reading a fic that you originally requested, but I hope this suffices. ~Admin Sarcasm*

~Meng, Off the coast of the Yellow Sea, 1457~

Though the land has been stripped of its trees where the earth meets the water, thick pines and elms still stand proudly close to the shore, coating the already night sky in a deep darkness that held many curiosities, many fears. The moon was their guide, but the branches still stretch to shade even the pure white light that shines down on them.

The Westerners settled nearly half a century ago, bringing prospects of a God that would save their people from the depths of a Hell the Meng natives hadn’t believed in. But these Westerners also brought materials foreign to the natives’ eyes, and a ferocity that left everyone bowing. And fifty years later, everything had been established: their language, their God, their homes, their ways. Min Yoongi was no stranger to this, and neither was Kim Taehyung.

Yoongi walks the earth of those tree laden areas now -forests, as the Westerners call them. He keeps his eyes on his feet hitting the path before him, afraid of any missteps that may come his way if he doesn’t keep his eyes glued beneath him.

His grandparents told him of a world before the Westerners brought their God. How events like the one he was going to now were not things for their own beliefs. These...these events were not so gruesome in the past. The Meng people used to believe in quick deaths, not dragging out the inevitable. But these Westerners believed in horrid punishments, supposedly to fit the horrid crimes of the people who commit them.

A Witch Burning.

Yoongi has never attended one of these before, mainly because they don’t happen all that often, and because they happen at night, when the town is asleep safely in their own beds, after having prayed to their new God in hopes to keep Him happy. Additionally, Yoongi has never relished the idea of watching someone die, quickly or otherwise. He believes people that enjoy to watch life fade from humans are sick in their soul and maybe long to have the same fate brought upon themselves.

When they finally make it to the clearing, the smell of wood masks the usually potent and salty smell of the sea. A gathering of people (the sick, as Yoongi thinks) circle an opening, and the town officials that were walking with Yoongi shove him forward until he stands at the front of the crowd, taking in the sight before him.

Naked, save for the cloth that wraps around slender hips to cover his privates, Kim Taehyung stands with his arms raised straight above his head. His wrists are bound to the wooden stake and his ankles are in the same position, the vine woven rope digging harshly into smooth skin.

Under the spotlight of the moon, Yoongi notes that the other’s usually golden skin seems rather pale, probably as pale as his own. It’s a sight Yoongi isn’t all that used to, and had Taehyung not been bound to a stake with branches circling his feet, he would drag the younger to a rocky fortress, graze and touch at the wonder their night sun does for the otherworldly beautiful Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung’s head is tilted up, staring at said moon with dark eyes, as though he is engaged in a fascinating conversation between himself and the light in their night sky. But at the shushing silence that wraps around from the audience he has created, Taehyung drops his head down, meeting the sleepy eyes of the man that betrayed him, his love, Yoongi.

One of the officers that accompanied Yoongi through the woods clears his throat, ready to speak.

“We have all gathered here on this night to witness the burning of Kim Taehyung, alleged and proven Witch. He did not have a trial since he confessed to practicing witchcraft, as well as having  two very reliable witnesses. Mr. Hemmings, please read the accounts on which Mr. Kim is charged.”

Another guard steps forward, holding a parchment that he originally held rolled in his fist. He, too, clears his throat before reading out the charges written on the page.

“First Name: Taehyung, Last Name: Kim. Charged with: Practicing witchcraft; Outwardly displaying demonic tendencies; Using said witchcraft to lure another man into his bed for,” Mr. Hemmings pauses, trying to hide the blush that creeps up his cheeks as he finishes the sentence, “For intimate activities. The punishment: Burned to death at the stake.”

Yoongi has heard that, though these practices seem a tad barbaric and wild, witch burnings are supposed to be civil, professional, as orderly as any other state official execution. But when the first officer scoffs, however, Yoongi knows that the night shows a different type of order.

“Does he even deserve a stake, the filthy devil? Why not strap him down in a bundle of twigs?” His words provoke a wave of laughter from the otherwise quiet audience, their cackles low and high and hearty and...disgusting. These people are the ones that sound possessed, demonic and hellish, not the man on trial. It’s not like Yoongi is any different.

Hemmings laughs along, but when he speaks his words are neutral. “He saved a man from death, so we’ll show him some mercy.”

“That’s right!” The first officer chimes in too gleefully. “But now is the time! We must bring forth the witness and the victim, Min Yoongi.”

At the sound of his name, Yoongi tears his eyes away from a pliant Taehyung. Even in the pale of night, Yoongi can still catch the warmth in the officer’s cheeks, the splotches on his cheeks probably not just the warm night air. No doubt the man has been drinking his share of alcohol, as if that is not one of the sins these Westerners spit so vehemently.

Someone from the crowd hands the officer a lit torch and soon hands it over to Yoongi, making sure his hand is steady before letting it go. “Yoongi, my boy,” the guard says, and Yoongi can practically smell the liquor on his words. “Make this heathen pay for what he did to you.”

The short walk to the center of their circle seems miles away as the crowd goes silent again, this time in anticipation. The wood in his hand is warm to the touch, prickling the glands in his palm and suddenly he feels his nails dig into the grains for fear of dropping it. He was here because of himself. Taehyung was here because of him.

They worked for the same family of settlers, a lovely couple with two children growing in years in front of their eyes. Taehyung began working for the family when the daughter was a mere child that wore bows like they could cure all the world’s problems. And Yoongi fell for that man, the one that played with the children and kept for the dog, made sure the garden remained neat. Sometimes Yoongi would peer at this man from the kitchen window, watching as the golden sun kissed the man’s skin and sprinkled moles in odd places, like the tip of his nose.

Yoongi was well aware that having feelings for another man was wrong, but Taehyung felt like the Heaven Westerners promised the Meng natives. Yoongi thought that maybe he had done so much good in his life that he deserved a piece of Heaven in the form of a man taller than him, just as thin but broader, one that held Yoongi with care but ripped pleasure from every part of his body so that it left him breathless and in the clouds. That’s where Heaven was, right, up in the clouds?

And when Yoongi grew ill with a foreign sickness, one the Westerners unintentionally brought with them along with their materials and notions of God, Taehyung was the man that cared for him, stayed by his side after the doctor drew his tainted blood. Taehyung was the one to come back with a potion he suaded Yoongi to take in a state of delirium, placing kisses at his sweaty skin and uttering words that were neither native to the Meng nor the Westerners. And he did this on several days right after the doctor would leave.

The mistake came when the daughter had caught sight of this, watching Taehyung’s lips move along Yoongi’s, watching as Taehyung drew symbols in the air with his long fingers. No one had been wrong in guessing then that Kim Taehyung practiced witchcraft.

The true wrong, Yoongi believes, that happened in this situation, came from when authorities questioned him once he was healed. In a moment of oblivion and darkness within Yoongi’s own head, he doubted Taehyung’s feelings for him, his intentions. And in that moment, Yoongi decided to save his own skin, to make himself out as the victim. Quick he was to admit to the magic Taehyung performed on him to make him feel better, and sudden Yoongi was to add on that Taehyung also used his demonic ways to seduce him into sex.

Not only was Kim Taehyung a witch, but also homosexual? Oh, the people nearly trembled in their spots at the idea of such a monster.

Which is probably why they stare so intently now, as Yoongi inches closer and closer. Taehyung’s features morph, a sneaky smile that Yoongi has seen a few times before gracing his lips. It sends a shock down Yoongi’s spine as he finally stands there, face-to-face with the man he never loved aloud, but whispered into the tan skin that cloaked him underneath thin sheets.

“Any final words,” Yoongi asks, some disdain seeping from his voice as he speaks. “Faggot?”

The insult seems to amuse Taehyung, a chuckle rising from his throat just as the word is uttered. When he speaks, his voice is calm, low, and sweet.

“I’m glad to see you are doing well. I pray you find someone that can fuck you better than I did.”

Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, a brief second lapsed before his glare is hardened again. It’s easy to displace anger, Yoongi is now realizing.

“Your gods cannot help you now,” he hisses, the comeback rather weak.

With a moment of silence, Taehyung seems to cut past the act Yoongi dons for the crowd around them. He can’t even admit to himself how much he loves it, how bare Taehyung makes him feel with just his gaze alone.

“Stay safe in these shadowed worlds, Yoongi.” The words are spoken faintly, as though they’re only meant for Yoongi’s ears. He’s not sure how well that was achieved.

Yoongi knows that eyes stare him down, waiting none too patiently for the fire to ignite at the criminal’s feet. He doesn’t show any hesitance, but he can feel his breath stop as the first flame catches onto the wood on the ground, on the outer edge of the ring.

When he backs away, standing again next to the guards that brought him, his eyes watch the embers rise, burning quickly around Taehyung. The fire helps to bring back the golden tan to his skin, the shadows of flickering flames dancing off his skin so beautifully and so painfully.

“We’ll meet again, my love,” Taehyung says, just as the fire craws toward his feet caressing at his flesh the same way Yoongi did many times before.

Yoongi soon realizes that what people love the most about witch burnings is the noise. There’s something about the wails of terror and pain that really rile the crowd up, because yes they deserve to die so painfully and slowly. They deserve their own slice of Hell on this earth. Yoongi deserves this piece of Hell.

As roars of pain rip from Taehyung’s throat, something animal laces with his guttural noises. Everyone can hear it, Yoongi is sure. It’s neither demonic nor angelic, just primal, and it strikes as much fear in the crowd as it does anger. All it strikes in Yoongi is ache. And soon he cannot see the charring skin of his love, cannot hear the cries that sound like they belong in the heart of the jungle.

As the fire grows with blinding light, he hears those words whispered and flooded into his brain.

We’ll meet again, my love.

~Port Meng, On the coast of the Yellow Sea, 1787~

Yoongi awakens to an early morning darkness. He isn’t sure when the last night was that he had a full night’s rest, waking to the maids pulling at heavy curtains so the sun could flood into his bedroom. He knows it was most certainly before he joined the army, choosing to join the men that fought for the land both the Meng natives and Westerners worked so hard to upkeep and make better. They’re not called Westerners anymore, but some of the older generations will still refer to the European settlers as that because it’s what they grew up saying, but also to show some distance.

He shuffles quietly, pulling on his trousers and boots, making sure the suspenders fit nicely on his shoulders before throwing on his jacket. Normally he would lay in bed and wait for the hour to come to him when he was supposed to be awake, the horn that would sound through halls to wake the other soldiers blaring until he had no choice but to follow his fellow mates. This morning, however, he walks the halls by himself, making sure to keep his steps quiet as he trails down winding halls until he gets to an exit. The night is still upon them, but behind Yoongi, a hint of morning winks in the distance.

Yoongi is not sure if this makes him a traitor or not, fighting with these men. To be technical, no one is fighting. There hasn’t been a war yet, but there are whispers of it, and sometimes Yoongi regrets his rash decision to join these men.

The majority are Westerners or half-breeds, as some like to call them. Yoongi finds it laughable that the Meng people believe the natives still have the power just because the royal family are natives, as well. But when the militia is made up of a vast majority of those that are not native, it seems a bit peculiar, to say the least.

At any rate, Yoongi has his reasons for joining. And war or not, he will see his reasons through to the very end.

The army base sits right near the edge of the shore of Port Meng. Thus the soldiers are usually tasked with overlooking the boats and ships that sail to and from the pier, checking the cartel of those that wish to bring their items into the city. The base sits made of stone cut and dug from the mountains further inland, something way before Yoongi’s time, to his fortune. At this time of the morning, though there is hardly enough light to see, Yoongi thinks he can spot some ships off in the distance, ships that will either park to make business or to rest for a few days. There’s one ship in particular he believes he looks out for, though he is not quite sure what it looks like.

Yoongi leans against the stone wall, peering out onto the sea, when he hears it first: foot steps. They could be that of another soldier coming to inspect any disturbance...but it could also be someone completely unrelated-

“An angel from above graces my presence.” The voice is familiar, deep and a tad slurred, but still the words are all purposeful.

Though he so much wishes to look, Yoongi keeps his face to the waters. “You speak too boldly, Kim.”

This seems to get the other’s attention, a loud silence with a smile that Yoongi can almost feel. “Kim? You know me?” The voice ascends only a little, and Yoongi fears for if the man sees his face. He can’t have that.

Taking a step to the side and away from the wall, Yoongi begins to inch closer to the shore. “Every soul in Port Meng knows of Captain Kim Taehyung. Were you aware that you are a wanted man, Captain Kim?”

Taehyung seems to follow, the heavy thud of his boots similar to Yoongi’s. “Of course I am wanted. I’m quite handsome.” He pauses, and Yoongi still longs to turn around and see the face of the infamous pirate that others fear of; he longs to see if the deviant still wears the line of hoops that pierce his ears with only one long silver cross to hang from his lobe. “But I assume you mean I am wanted by a particular person. Who does it be?”

“The King.” They’re almost at the pier, the subdued stench of salty sea and alcohol wafting from the ports curl through the morning air. It’s almost calming, Yoongi finds.

Taehyung gasps, “The King! Praytell, on what grounds am I wanted?”

Yoongi stops, keepings his eyes on the wood at his feet. He wouldn’t want to go too far out with a man of the sea; then Yoongi would be the vulnerable one. He answers then.

“Well, for starters, you’re a pirate-”

“Oh, thank heavens!” Taehyung interrupts with a laugh to accompany his words. “I was pondering on that, but I am glad to know I was correct in knowing that I am a pirate. Continue.”

“And you stole something from his son.” These words, Yoongi says, hold a sharper intonation.

“Oh? I’ve stolen from the Prince? And how is it that a lowly soldier like you knows this?”

Right, Yoongi is wearing his uniform, albeit unkempt. He almost betrays himself, turning to look the pirate in the eyes, only to stop himself midway. “Like I said...all of Port Meng-”

“So, does all of Port Meng know what it is that I stole from the Prince...and how I got it?” He can hear the sneer in Taehyung’s voice, can feel his eyes darken on the side of his neck. “If you allow me to speak so boldly again, Mr. Min, I would like to counter that it is not the King that wants my head...but the Prince.”

Though Yoongi can hear the muffled beats of Taehyung inching closer, he stays rooted in his spot. “Min...you know me?”

“More’r so...I remember you.” Taehyung stands a breath behind Yoongi now, his voice dropping so the empty piers cannot hear what he says. “And how could I not remember a voice so rough and mellow? It is a pleasure to meet you again...my Prince.”

Yoongi finally turns, meeting a darkened silhouette as Taehyung bows dramatically with his left hand to his chest and his right arm stretched behind him. Even in the dim light as morning crawls over them, Yoongi can catch the sun bleached strands of Taehyung’s dirty hair, the rag on his head washed till it’s frayed at the edges. When the pirate picks his his head up, Yoongi is met with the shining tan skin, eyes lined with kohl and dark, bitten lips (and, as Yoongi had hoped, the cross earring hangs from his earlobe).

Though the sight of Kim Taehyung makes him seethe in his skin, he cannot deny the man is irresistible -handsome, as Taehyung had put it.

“Am I truly your prince when you don’t have a place to call home on these lands?”

Taehyung straightens, taking advantage of the inches he has on Yoongi. “Home is where you find comfort and care, Yoongi.” He leans forwards, and Yoongi is almost surprised he doesn’t smell a hint of liquor on the other’s tongue. “And if that is the definition of home, I think I have found one between your legs.” He pulls away with a chuckle. Ah, he thinks he has won. Yoongi presses forward, walking back to the base.

“You know what I’m curious to know?” he calls back. He’s sure Taehyung is following him. Either way, he still turns back. “Do your men know about the company you keep in your motel rooms?”

The sky grows lighter, just enough for Yoongi to see the shift in the other’s gaze, how some irritation flashes. “I garner the respect of my crew, if that’s where your curiosity truly lies. But the same can be wondered about you, Yoongi.” He continues walking, just as Yoongi marches onward. “Do the people of Port Meng know how much you like being on your knees? Do they know how much you love to sneak off into forbidden territories?”

Yoongi knows Taehyung is talking about the night they met. The Prince had set on a voyage of his own and ended up at Jay Island, a small patch of land notorious for harboring pirates, whores, and fugitives. There in the dead of night with just a few candles and lanterns to light the rooms, Yoongi and Taehyung laid naked together for hours and hours doing acts that were possibly very similar to what other couples did in other rooms, just with different company.

At Yoongi’s silence, Taehyung continues. “Do they know that you mask yourself under the guise of a soldier? And why a soldier, of all things?”

This, Yoongi is confident in the answer to. “I wanted to have my hand in you death.” He turns to meet the pirate’s stare. “But I might just let you get a head start on escaping if you hand over what you stole from me.”

Taehyung smiles almost wistfully. “Your heart?”

“The ring,” Yoongi snaps. “Give me the damned ring!” He hardly remembers to keep his voice down as his anger boils. They’re once again at the stone wall.

“A ring. I have stolen many and bartered many. Who is to say I still have it?”

Not like Yoongi hadn’t taken every chance he could to eye the man in front of him. He can distinctly remember the other naked; under the warm glow of burning fires, his skin glistened like rich honey, and his voice dripped just as such. And his eyes can’t help but trail down the sharp angle of his jaw, down to the silver that decorates his long, thick neck so beautifully. And what sits at the end of the chain makes him huff out a laugh.

“Even with your pretty words, you cannot tell me that is not my ring around your neck.” Just to prove his point, Taehyung brings a hand to clasp around the silver chain.

“I wanted to keep it close to my heart.” he reasons. “A souvenir for the nights we spent together, the mess we made of each other.”

Though he exhales a stuttered breath, Yoongi still speaks evenly. “Only speak for yourself, Taehyung. And give me back the ring.”

Taehyung takes a minute, and Yoongi tries to keep his guard as he feels those heavy, dark eyes tear right through the veils until he feels nothing covering him. It seems to click, then. “Oh, that is why you’re here! This ring, it must be very important. So important it evoked anger in your father. Did he tell you not to come home until you found it?”

Some part of Yoongi ached to tell Taehyung he was right, to let go of the restraints that kept him together and fall into the other. But he couldn’t do that. He would never be able to do that, royalty or not.

“I’ll get the ring from you,” Yoongi hisses through clenched teeth. “Whether you’re dead or alive.”

He still has those eyes, Taehyung does. And it frustrates Yoongi even more. “Then let me have it till death. I wouldn’t want to leave this world without a piece of you.”

The sun has made its ascent by now, still low in the morning, but high enough to alight the sea, the port and pier, the duo that stand not meters away from the entrance of the army base.

“Suit yourself, Tae.”

Taehyung isn’t sure what kept him stuck to his spot. It could have been hearing the name that Yoongi moaned into his skin months before; it could have been the look of defeat in those precious, narrow eyes. Maybe Taehyung was ready to face whatever Yoongi had for him. But he stayed there as Yoongi shouted and cried for the guards, hearing the horn blare from inside the stone walls and watching as red coats like Yoongi’s flooded his vision.

Soon, guards lined in front of Taehyung as he stood with his back to the stone wall. Yoongi was among those men that held rifles aimed at him.

“Well done, Yoongi!” One of the soldiers congratulated him. “You actually caught Captain Taehyung!”

One of the generals call for them to aim. And Yoongi peers at the man on the wall that stares him down.

“Any last words, Captain Kim Taehyung?” he asks.

He smiles, adam’s apple bobbing as he laughs low. When he speaks, the words are cut as the general tells them to fire. But Yoongi hears them, over the blast of rifle barrels, over the cheers of happy men that got to kill. He eyes the lifeless look in Taehyung’s eyes, and it’s chilling. The gold ring with the black opal lodged into the metal rests against a tanned, bleeding chest. Yoongi hears the words loudly as they flood his brain.

We’ll meet again...my love.

~Kkum Coast, City right on the Yellow Sea, New Age China 2017~

“Fuck!”

Yoongi’s eyes are screwed shut, head thrown into the pillow beneath him and mouth gaping open though nothing comes out as the pleasure courses through his every vein.

After what feels like minutes of riding the blissful torrent of ecstasy, he finally heaves an exhale, shaky and heavy as it escapes from his lungs. He can again feel the sheets beneath him, where some bits ball uncomfortably under his lower back, can feel the bruising grip he has on flesh under his fingers, can hear the rugged breathing of the man atop him. When his eyes flutter open, his vision takes a second to clear out the details of tan skin, a slight contrast between Yoongi’s own pale skin.

Taehyung is beautiful like this, Yoongi admires. Not to say he isn’t always beautiful, but Yoongi can never get enough of Taehyung post-orgasm, when chestnut strands cling to his damp forehead, his cheeks the lightest shade of dusty pink -both signs of the exertion from their activities. There’s a blissed-out smile on his lips, and his chest rises up and down with exhausted breaths. Naked above Yoongi is when Taehyung looks the best (though he may say the same if the latter is under him; so maybe he’s not the best to ask about Taehyungs in terms of beauty).

White floods his vision as Taehyung rolls his hips, pain searing from his core and spreading outwards. Yoongi chokes on a groan as he uses his grip on Taehyung’s hips to still him.

“Shit, Tae! You can’t seriously be ready to go again.” Though his words are incredulous, his voice is too raspy to sound anything but tired.

Taehyung leans forward, nails digging into Yoongi’s chest as his brow furrows, another tremble wracking his body as he whimpers. “Don’t wanna...stop.”

Yoongi feels it, too, the desire to keep going; lust is like a drug to them, the most addictive kind...or maybe the addiction lies within each other. Either way, neither can get enough.

With a soft chuckle, Yoongi nods in a slight motion. “C’mere.” When Taehyung’s lips are breaths away, he unclasps one hand from the other’s hip to drag those last few inches until they’re nonexistent. They don’t bother to keep the kiss sweet, cutting straight to tongue and teeth and breathy moans. “Gimme a minute to catch up. Then we can go again.” Yoongi promises when they part for air.

There’s only the hint of a pout on Taehyung’s lips before Yoongi is on him again, breathing in his love as though that’s the only air he needs.

“Women can have more than one orgasm during one round. ‘S not fair,” Taehyung sighs.

“Grow a vagina, then,” Yoongi jokes.

He’s not sure how long they stay tangled together like this, but Yoongi can feel the fire begin to pour in his center again, his heart thudding erratically in excitement at the thought of fucking his boyfriend again-

That’s when there’s the shrill of a phone ringing. Yoongi’s phone, on their nightstand.

“Isn’t that Jimin’s ringtone?” Taehyung asks lazily, pulling away from Yoongi’s swollen lips to lick at his jaw, trailing down to his neck.

“No,” Yoongi lies simply. Taehyung obviously doesn’t believe him, if he can tell from the way the other pulls away to stare at him. “If it’s important, he’ll leave a voicemail.”

That only pulls Taehyung further away as he reaches over to grab the phone, answering the call and shoving the screen into Yoongi’s ear.

With a gruff, Yoongi snaps. “What?” He glares at a happy Taehyung, that opts for going back to his previous task of laving at the elder’s neck.

“Geeze, did I wake you from your daily nap or something?” Jimin sounds just as annoyed on the other end.

It’s not entirely distracting having Taehyung’s tongue on him, but it peeves Yoongi that he can’t just focus on that alone. “On the contrary,” Yoongi answers. “We were just about to see if Taehyung possesses any dormant Y chromosomes.”

On the other end, Jimin scrunches his nose in confusion. “What? How can you check if Tae-” but his question is stopped short when there’s the indistinguishable sound of a broken moan. “Suddenly, I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Do you have any actual news for us, or are you just doing your friendly duty as a Cock-Block?”

Oh, right. What Jimin called for. “Right! A new assignment for the Tomb Raiders.” Jimin says the name a bit too proudly, given he and Taehyung had come up with the name when they all started this “business”.

That business being Yoongi and Taehyung raiding and stealing from other places that people hire them to (plus Jimin, their handy-dandy computer nerd that helps them figure out how to do all of that without getting caught). They’ve only been doing this for a year or so, using the money they get from pawning off stolen items to pay for their basic necessities. Most jobs can last them for a few months, which is why they haven’t found any reason to stop.

“Mkay, who is it?”

At Jimin’s silence, Yoongi takes the time to revel in the curl of Taehyung’s tongue right below his ear, tensing when Jimin finally answers.

“It’s anonymous, actually. And they want you to raid the Port Meng Army Base.” Jimin speaks slowly as he reads the message. “Apparently there’re some things in there that are ‘incredibly valuable’.”

The hand Yoongi wasn’t even aware crawled to latch onto Taehyung’s hair grips tighter at the name. “Port Meng Army Base? What could possibly be in that old ass place? And why now?”

“Is this a thing now? Are we gonna start asking people why they want us to go through places and steal shit? They didn’t give much specifics. All they said was that there’s some shit in there that are beyond valuable and worth a lot.” He could tell Jimin was getting tired of this call. “You in or you out?”

“We’re in.” Taehyung says, intercepting Yoongi and pulling his mouth close to the speaker.

With wide eyes, Yoongi eyes his boyfriend. “Excuse you?”

Taehyung shrugs. “What harm can it do? Hell, we can inspect the place first before we give an answer. So let’s go over there and see what we can find, first.” He goes back to Yoongi’s ear, leaving pecks there and whispering. “Now, can you hang up so we can hunt down where multiple orgasms come from?”

Jimin hacks, shouting so Yoongi has to pull the phone away from his ear. “C’mon, Tae! I can still fucking hear you. And I seriously didn’t need to hear tha-”

Yoongi ends the call, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand  and settling his hand back at the younger’s hip.

“We could’ve totally let that go to voicemail,” he quips half-heartedly.

“Shut up,” Taehyung sighs, going in for a quick peck. “Your dick is half hard inside me and it feels weird. So let’s focus on that.”

The other blanches. “Wha- I was literally soft not just a minute ago. Flaccid! And you’re complaining about a semi?” He wants to create more of a fuss (or maybe he doesn’t), but Taehyung flashes a bright smile that looks so irresistible, he needs a taste for himself.

The city of Kkum Coast has molded and changed over the centuries. For one, it used to be Port Meng over two centuries ago. But with the independence of the Meng from the Europeans came a change in power, in language, in beliefs. Even through the progress of the New Age Chinese city, one thing still stood just off the shore of the Yellow Sea, a stone building once probably admired with honour, now stands unkempt.

Dark vines weave through the cracks of the dark, chipped stone; any sharpness to its edges worn away with years and years of abandonment. As Taehyung and Yoongi make their way to an entrance, they note the lack of people around. Desolate. That’s what this place was.

The iron door creaks on its rusted hinges as they pull it open, listening to the groans echo through the empty halls. The temperature drops, cold and dark walls not allowing much light in. There are doors that line the hall, and the duo takes note of them all, unsure of where to start.

“You think we should split up?” Taehyung considers aloud though his voice is low.

The idea makes Yoongi tense next to his boyfriend. “When has splitting up ever gone well for people in horror films? No, we’re staying together.” At the sound of a smirk, he adds on, “Besides, I don’t trust you to not fall through the floor like that one office building-”

“But who was the one that fell face first into a storm door?” Taehyung mocks. “You can’t blame me for the conditions of these places.”

His eyes follow the cracks in the walls. He can’t argue with Taehyung there. “We probably would have better luck searching an actual tomb.”

Not wanting to waste more time, they go through the first door, finding a small room that looks to have been an office, perhaps. The room is completely empty minus the layers of dust that coat every possible surface, so they go on to the next room.

This continues for the majority of the rooms, until they get to the end of the hall where a much larger room sits. A few cots and drawers lay scattered amongst the floor, piles of miscellaneous things in corners. It’s enough to pique their intrigue, and with lights in their fists, they go to rummage through whatever there is.

Yoongi’s neck is just bordering on feeling stiff when he finally lifts his head. “Find anything?”

Taehyung needs a second to find his voice after having worked in silence. “Besides old bird nests and dust bunnies, nope. You?”

He holds his one finding between his fingers, blowing away some of the collected dust. “Found a bullet casing. What did this place use to be, again?”

He can practically hear Taehyung shrug. “Dunno. I think it was an army base created when people started sailing here for trade and whatnot.”

The answer sounds correct, and Yoongi doesn’t hold back in showing his surprise. With a huff he laughs. “That was an oddly specific answer. You sure you didn’t actually pass History class senior year?”

Taehyung scoffs. “That history class was bullshit. All we learned about was when the settlers came and forced Christianity onto the Mengs. Oh!” he perks at a memory. “And there was that one paragraph about pirates that really got to me. Teacher wouldn’t let us spend the whole lecture talking about it. Can you believe those used to exist?”

Ah, there was Yoongi’s boyfriend he knew and loved. “You know pirates are still a thing, Tae.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But they're not as cool. All they do is overthrow ships and hold people hostage.” Like they didn’t do that back then, as well.

Yoongi grunts in false agreement. “Yeah. I dare you to set sail for Tortuga and tell any pirates you run into how bland they are.” He hears a gasp, and before he can worry, Taehyung calls for him.

“Uh, racist much?” And Yoongi has to turn to see what his boyfriend means.

“What?”

The other scoffs again, as if whatever he’s talking about is obvious. “Are you implying that there’s only pirates in the Caribbean? They were obviously here, too!”

“I mean, yeah, there were a few pirates here. But they kinda dispersed after that one pirate captain was killed.” When Yoongi finishes, he blinks seeing that Taehyung has the same expression.

The younger’s eyes squint in confusion. “What?”

“I…” Yoongi turns back to his corner. “I have no idea where that came from...maybe I heard it somewhere...maybe?” The explanation doesn’t seem to quell either, but they let it past, going back to gingerly digging through trash.

“Oh man!” exclaims Taehyung, just missing knocking his head on the cot he’d been bent under, to stand next to Yoongi. “Check out this ring; so cool!”

He drops the ring into Yoongi’s hand so that the latter can inspect it, and he’s taken with the weight it holds. It looks to be gold, something brown coating sparse areas. An opal gem lays in the band.

“Kay,” he mumbles. “Either this isn’t real gold or something is rusted over it.” He looks to Taehyung for his thoughts, only to receive a noncommittal head tilt. “Mmm, I’ll send a picture over to Jimin, and maybe he can tell us if there’s any info on it. See how much it’s worth.”

The plan seems good enough for Taehyung, who already heads for the exit. “I’ll keep checkin’ around,” he calls back, despite Yoongi’s earlier dislike for splitting up.

Taehyung’s movements can be heard from above, the sounds of flying pages and thuds of moving across the floor keeping Yoongi’s worries at ease. After going through the last of the trash in the room, Yoongi is ready to leave when his phone rings; it’s Jimin.

“Hey, did you get something?” He answers with the question.

Jimin’s excited tone is not what Yoongi is expecting. “I have a fucking love story!”

“Right,” Yoongi replies, unsure of where his friend is going. “This love story better end with a happy ending...AKA selling this ring for a high ass price.”

The tech doesn’t miss a beat. “I looked up the ring and found an image of the one you sent me, though it looks to be in much better condition. Turns out that ring used to belong to the King of Meng in the late 1700s!”

So, it’s safe to say the ring is made of real gold. “Holy shit…”

“But the one you have, it seems to be the one his son stole from him before he went on this trip to Jay Island. Anyways, while he was there, the Prince met this notorious pirate that stole it from him. This post also claims that he and this pirate were lovers.” Yoongi can hear Jimin’s brows waggle through the phone at the implication. He doesn’t fight his eye roll.

“Wow, gay romance in the olden days,” he states in monotone. “Continue; so far I’m not completely repulsed by this story.”

This seems to be the right answer for Jimin. “So, the Prince had to get the ring back and he couldn’t just tell his father how it is the ring was ‘lost’ or the fact that he went to Jay Island, which apparently at the time was a popular place for pirates and criminals to go. So, the Prince enlisted into the army with hopes of running into the pirate and getting his ring back.”

Yoongi can feel his brain turning to mush with how long the story is turning out to be. Like they didn’t know he was impatient. “I know I said I was intrigued, but tell me the end is near.”

“Shut it. So, this pirate actually comes to Port Meng, though it doesn’t specify what he was there for. But he runs into the Prince under the guise of the soldier, and he asks for his ring back -but the pirate refuses. Then the Prince decides that he’ll kill the pirate first and get the ring when he’s dead. And -here’s where it gets good- fucking guess what the pirate said right before the militia shot him.”

Yoongi moans as he looks for the answer, playing along with Jimin’s eagerness. “Mmm…’We’ll meet again, my love’.” He says, adding a wispy tone to sell the ridiculous words.

The other side is quiet for a beat too long, and Yoongi checks to see if the call disconnected. “Hello? Jimin? Still there?”

“That’s…” Jimin sounds astounded. “That’s exactly what he said. How did you know that?”

Truthfully, when Yoongi imagined the words, he heard Taehyung’s voice, almost perfectly clearly, as if the boy stood next to him. There was something about that, however, that seemed off...like that couldn’t possibly be a good reason.

He sputters. “You...you told me to guess. And I guess I’m just a great guesser. Don’t hate the player. So is that it?” He inquires quickly to change the subject.

Of course, to Yoongi’s misfortune, there is more. “One last thing: so after the pirate is dead and they take all his belongings -probs stolen- and toss his body in the sea, the Prince takes the ring and watches the body float away. Okay, guess what the Prince said, since you’re just an amazing guesser.”

“Nah,” Yoongi declines lightly. “Tired of playing the game.” That’s only half the truth. “What he say?”

“It’s some old phrase from Ancient China...probably when the Meng still spoke Mandarin. I hope I don’t butcher this: ‘hai shi shan meng’. Apparently, it means ‘oath of eternal love to swear by all the Gods’...” Jimin pauses, and once again, Yoongi is too slow to pull the phone away from his ear as Jimin shouts. “Isn’t that the fucking cutest? The Prince actually loved the pirate back.”

There’s something odd about the room, Yoongi notices. Is it darker? Wait, what happened to the shuffling noises?

“Yoongi? Are you stunned by my storytelling skills?”

Yoongi is already heading out the room, climbing the stairs he know Taehyung must have gone up to get to the second floor. “More of the opposite; that story was shit and I still don’t know how much this ring is worth.”

Jimin knows he should have told Taehyung the story. His best friend would fawn with him over it. “It’s pure gold with black opal, Yoongi. Figure it out.”

“Was that story even real? There’s no names of the characters. Where did you even find that?” When he makes it to the top of the staircase, an emptiness hangs low over the halls.

“It’s on some website about historical artifacts.” Jimin scrolls over the page, clicking to isolate the post. “The post is anonymous. Actually...it was posted today.”

That can’t be a coincidence. “You think you can...run where the anonymous message we got came from and this post?”

Jimin must have the same idea as Yoongi asks the question, already opening the tab with the anonymous message. “It’ll take me a few minutes, but I might be able to find out. I’ll call you back when I have something.”

With his attention solely focused on finding Taehyung, Yoongi breezes through the rooms, all of them small enough to peer through and see that Taehyung is nowhere to be found. How could he possibly slip past Yoongi without him noticing? Outside one barred window, sounds of laughter float through, hearty, high and low...but none of those voices sound remotely like Taehyung’s.

Just to double check, Yoongi makes sure to walk through every room, kicking up dust as he goes along. It’s safe to say that the second and last floor is more barren than the ground floor...so what had made the fluttering noises of pages?

Outside the same barred window, the sky darkens, not from night but from thick, grey clouds. Storms were common when you lived next to the sea, but no one had expected one today, during this afternoon.

Maybe Taehyung’s outside, and the thought is still being processed in Yoongi’s brain when he shoves past the door they came through. And the surroundings are just as he last saw them: desolate.

But hadn’t he heard laughter?

His phone rings in his pocket again, and he answers without giving much thought to who it is. “Yeah.”

“Um,” Jimin starts. “This is gonna sound really strange. Swear you won’t freak out on me.”

Really, Yoongi is sure he’s past that point, though he keeps it together quite well. “A) When do I freak out? And B) no promises.”

“Both the message and the post...they actually came from the army base.”

Though his eyes are on the sea before him, his brain is taking its time to transcribe what Jimin has just informed him. “You mean the one I’m at right now?”

That wording doesn’t seem right. “Didn’t you go with Tae?”

And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? Yoongi finds it harder to breathe though he tries to speak evenly. “Yeah, but I can’t find him...fuck, okay. Thanks, Jimin. I’ll call you later.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before hanging up and stuffing the phone into his pocket. Maybe he came to inspect outside. Yoongi walks along the wall, stabbing pains hitting his chest the further along he goes.

Hai shi shan meng, the words whisper over and over in his head. And every time the words are uttered, something clicks painfully into place, into a puzzle he had no idea he was trying to finish.

The Prince saying those words...had that really been the end of the story? Or had the story truly ended with the Prince holding that ring to his heart before shooting himself in the head? The brown that rusted over the gold, it was fucking blood, wasn’t it? Somehow, Yoongi knew this to be the truth, just as he heard his own voice say the words. Hai shi shan meng.

Just as Yoongi rounds the corner, his foot gets caught on one of the many vines that grow from the ground to wrap around the fortress. As he stumbles, his nose meets the dirt ground, and suddenly the stench of charred flesh coats his nostrils; his heart shatters again, the pain of a memory that cannot be his melting in his mind.

Did the story end when the ashes of that witch molded with the earth? Or did the witch’s victim not use those ashes to write the very words on his chest to bind them together for all of eternity...to swear by all the Gods? Again, Yoongi hears his own voice cry out the lover’s oath as the victim bawled. Curling into the ground, flashes of golden skin paled by the moon flutter behind his eyelids; he sees the face of his love as the flames rise, but the scene is blurred through his own tears.

“Hai shi shan meng,” Yoongi croaks, feeling the weight lift at the sound of those words. The pain still keeps him heavy to the ground, unable to move.

There’s the sound of footsteps that catches Yoongi’s attention. He lifts his head just as a familiar pair of legs stand before him. Sitting up, he stares at the man he has loved for centuries, and is sure to love for more to come.

“Taehyung…” Yoongi sighs.

This sneaky grin that the other wears, Yoongi has seen it many times -over the years that they have known each other...and hundreds of years ago before now. Though the intentions may not be pure, Yoongi feels safe, seeing such a hellish look on such beautiful features.

“My love,” Taehyung speaks lowly with a curling smile.

“We meet again.”

[daisy-constellations]

Il Me L’a Dit, L’a Juré Pour La Vie - Part Sixteen

Marinette didn’t think inviting Chat Noir in for milk would lead to this.

The heroes were 20 years old, in university, and it was now time to trust each other better than they ever did.

CHAPTER LIST

Rating: Teen/ Mature.

Angst and fluff, and all that good stuff.

Author’s Note: I wrote a Marichat One Shot if anyone is interested (x) :)

Il Me L’a Dit, L’a Juré Pour La Vie - Part Sixteen

Pain

The heroes swore endlessly as they rushed back to Marinette’s neighbourhood, in hopes that Alya had not run off too far. They didn’t speak to one another, simply mumbling to themselves, both feeling like they were held responsible for the whole incident.

Marinette lost herself in her worries, overthinking her relationship with Adrien, convincing herself that they were an impossible couple. She hurt and upset Alya to the point that she was akumatized for the first time since high school. Marinette constantly made sure to keep a special eye on her loved ones – she felt that they were the most prone to danger than anyone else given her alter ego. However, in her fury of betrayal towards Adrien, she overlooked her broken hearted friend by chasing down the leather clad hero.

Adrien was already feeling guilty about unintentionally spilling the truth to Nino, yet it was neither of them who told Alya about it. Adrien felt horrible even though it was all an accident – a massively unprecedented mishap, yet he felt a little relieved about it all. Marinette and Adrien, together, as a couple, was now out in the open. Adrien thought it was better this way, and though he knew Marinette would struggle to see the bigger image, he was sort of hoping that she would be more accepting and moving forward with this.

Ladybug ran in front of Chat Noir, leading the way. He watched her slim body move as she swung from rooftop to rooftop, with little to no effort – her irate adrenaline still pulsing through her.  Lady Wifi was no doubt on the lookout for the pair in their civilian forms.

“M’lady,” Chat puffed out from behind. She didn’t stop, wrapping her yoyo around an exposed pipe, bringing herself down to the road. He followed, twirling his baton over his head and landing on the dusty pavement in a tuck and roll.

“Ladybug!” He tried again.

“What?” She snapped, slowing down to run by his side.

“We’re going to have to forget about this problem for now if we want to save Alya. We really need to work together.”

Marinette scoffed. ”Forget about the problem? It’s going to be in front of our faces the whole time.”

“Do you want to get your best friend back or not?”

“Whatever.” The young girl mumbled. They turned onto her street – it was totally still.  The pedestrians on the sidewalk were all frozen, a glowing purple pause signs shone in front of their chests. The looks on their immobile faces were a mix of confusion and terror. Marinette frowned, her red and black mask followed, scrunching together in the middle.

They walked down the road, victims all over were stuck in place. Another beam of violet shot into the sky, creating a screen over top of their heads. Lady Wifi looked down on the city; she was distressed.

“Hello Paris,” Her voice boomed and echoed along the buildings in the empty street below with Ladybug and Chat Noir. “I’m still on the lookout for my supposed friend and her new found lover. I will continue to pause every citizen in the city until I find them.”

Chat Noir squinted, examining her background. “We have to get to her before she freezes everybody trying to find us.”  

“I know where she is.” Ladybug quickly said and took off in another direction. Chat groaned and followed her. She was incredibly disconnected. He desperately needed her to realize that she could not do this alone. She was too vulnerable at the moment – one wrong move and she could get hurt.

He promised her he would protect her.

Adrien didn’t break promises like that. It was too important to him. He cared about Marinette a lot.

He followed his partner warily as she led the way. He needed to fix this before Ladybug got hurt. He needed to do something.

They eventually found themselves at The Louvre; the area filled with frozen tourists and locals, appearing almost like an outdoor wax museum. The sight in front of the duo was completely eerie – their still expressions blankly staring at nothing. Chat Noir felt chills run down his arms and he glanced at Marinette, who had the same unsettled look on her face.

Lady Wifi was perched on the top of the pointed glass pyramid. She sneered down and her laugh echoed. “It was about time you guys showed up.”

Chat scrunched his forehead in confusion. “What do you mean?” He shouted back.

“Once I get you two out of the way, I’ll be unstoppable.”

“Well, good luck getting us out of the way.” Ladybug was already swinging her yoyo in a fast circle next to her. Her eyebrows were furrowed – she was not messing around. Lady Wifi zoomed down and began hurling shining commands from her phone at them. The heroes broke apart, dodging the floating purple discs.

Ladybug concentrated intensely on the attacks, determined to miss them all. Her eyes were locked with all of Alya’s movements; “Watch out!” Chat Noir yelled in front of her. She ran directly into him.

He held her arms tightly, “M’lady, we need to focus. Please.”

“Just let me do this.” She shrugged him off.

Ladybug swung her weapon at her akumatized friend, who unfortunately swished out of the way with the help of the floating board under her feet. The heroine glowered and ran towards her, jerking her leg up, attempting to kick her off. Lady Wifi laughed and knocked her over, throwing an illuminated pause sign from her phone at Ladybug.

Chat Noir watched from the side, knees bent and ready to fight. Ladybug was being too rash – jumping into action with no particular strategy. They were a team, but she was completely ignoring him.

He extended his silver baton with a push of a button, and held it out. He veered it behind him slightly, starting a momentum, before swinging it forward in a swift motion, knocking the akumatized Alya off her floating board. She flopped onto the ground.

Ladybug huffed and wrapped her yoyo around her feet. Lady Wifi sat up, her phone still in her hand, throwing more discs and the two heroes. Ladybug hopped out of the way, trying to figure out a way to grab the phone without untying her yoyo string from around her enemy’s ankles – a task that was nearly impossible with glowing ammunition constantly being darted towards them. A flash of mauve skims Ladybug’s shoulder; the small hit was powerful enough and she goes tumbling past Chat. He called out for her. Luckily, the hit was given no particular command, just a sort of pain disc – something new for Lady Wifi. Nevertheless, on the impact Ladybug had let go of her yoyo, and was now merely bound to the black and white villainess’ ankles; easy for removal.

Chat sought to approach Lady Wifi, bashing the danger away from him with his weapon before she could manage to wiggle out of the limp string. However, without his knowing, Ladybug was trailing behind and jumped around him as soon as they got close enough.

Lady Wifi kicked the yoyo off her feet, and scurried back as Ladybug threw punches. Chat Noir had never seen his partner so provoked and watched her in disbelief. She left behind her yoyo, and Chat Noir grabbed it before something even worse could happen.

The two young women fought – Marinette’s jaw was clenched, determined, as Lady Wifi put up a fight. She growled at Chat, “Give me my yoyo! I’m going to finish this!”

He started to run towards her, but Lady Wifi launched two lock buttons to his feet and he stopped abruptly, his body swinging forward. Ladybug let out a sound of frustration. She managed to kick the phone out of her enemy’s hand and it landed meters away from both of them. The two were relentlessly attacking one another until finally, Marinette had her hands wrapped around Alya’s wrists, struggling to hold her back.

“Pass me my yoyo!” She shouted again. Chat was already wrapping it at the end of his baton, nearly prepared to extend it towards her.

“Already working on it,” he said, concentrating. Annoyance started to build inside his chest, his feet complete stuck and useless under him. He held his baton firmly before lengthening it towards his partner.

Ladybug succeeded a hard push, sending her friend onto her back. She instantly went for her yoyo, but both Adrien and Marinette didn’t think about Alya running back for her phone.

“Fuck!” The two swore. They were clearly not connected – working together clumsily. Chat tried to swat Lady Wifi with his stick to hopefully knock her phone out of her hand again.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug called.

“No!” Chat’s eye widened, his arm out stretched in front of him. It was a horrible idea and he knew it.

Lady Wifi cackled and threw another lock disc towards Chat and he ducked, the symbol flying over his head.

A rope fell into Ladybug’s hands. She nodded to herself, knowing instantly what to do with it.

Adrien grumbled in frustration, feeling more and more useless from his standpoint. “Can you unfreeze me?” He shouted at Ladybug.

“No. I got this.”

Chat stared at Marinette exasperated.  His hands were in front of him and he tried his hardest not to incite her any more than she already was; but this was a two person fight! She was being stubborn and stupid. He was getting deeply aggravated; he was not the type to just stand on the side and not do anything.

“My God, you two put up a fight,” Lady Wifi grumbled.

Marinette started to swing the rope over her head – her plan was to tie up her akumatized victim’s feet together like she had before, and then use her yoyo to tie up her hands. It was a simple solution. The rope held some of her miraculous powers, and was just as useful as her yoyo. The only problem was that she kept missing Alya; the villain was back on her purple board, swooping across the sky amused.

Marinette started to get tired, wiping the sweat that started to form over her mask. The first beep went off in her ear, a spot on her earrings disappearing.

Chat darted his eyes back towards his partner, knowing full well that this were to occur. “Ladybug! Let me help!” He cried out desperately.

She continued to disregard his pleas, and lunged her rope forward. Incredibly, it finally bound itself around one of Lady Wifi’s ankles again, and Ladybug pulled her down towards the pavement. The hard tug caused Alya’s fingers to mess up on the screen and the two locks were finally released around Chat’s feet.

He sighed in relief and started to book it to his partner. Another beep rang, the second spot vanishing from Ladybug’s earrings. She muttered something under her breath, and yanked on the rope harder, pulling Alya back to the ground. Chat instinctively stood in front of Ladybug.

He twirled his baton in front of him again, the commands leaving Lady Wifi’s phone bouncing off of it. She was quite difficult this time around – Adrien didn’t remember her being so tough to beat. They merely had to disconnect the Wi-Fi, but in the area in front of Le Louvre, there would be multiple Wi-Fi connections to destroy, and neither of them had enough time to do that.

Lady Wifi started to stand back up, but with every attempt, Marinette pulled on the rope, causing her to lose her balance again. The third spot flickered away beeping.

“What’s the rest of his plan of yours?” Chat asked, turning his head slightly towards the heroine, not halting his actions in front of him.

“I’m just going to tie her up,” Marinette said through her struggles.

“That’s it?!” He nearly yelled. It was such an illogical plan – she had no time left before she transformed back, and the loop was not the best – it was just around one ankle.

Ladybug pulled her yoyo out and swung it in front of her, nearly knocking Adrien in the back. “Move!”

He backed off to the side, ready to help, watching Marinette execute the rest of this unadorned plan.

Another beep rang through the air. Lady Wifi smirked down, knowing the end result of it all.

Ladybug aimed her yoyo and it wrapped around one of Alya’s wrists successfully. She pulled on it, tugging her hand away from her phone.

Chat moved quickly to grab the phone – he didn’t have much time. Alya gave him a hard time, kicking him and wiggling away as he tried to approach her, despite her restraints. Marinette tried to hold her in place, but she started to feel distressed. She only had one spot left on her earring.

“You have to go!” Chat shouted at the heroine. “I’m not going to get the phone in time.”

“I could have gotten it in time if you weren’t standing in front of me!”

“That’s not important! Go!” Chat gestured to Marinette. “Your whole identity is at stake.”

Her whole body was tense; her hands still strongly held on to the yoyo and rope. She glared at the two people in front of her before letting go and running in the opposite direction. She yanked her yoyo with her and before Lady Wifi could do anything, Chat pulled his baton out and held it across her chest, pinning her to the ground. One of his feet were pressed hard against the hand that held the phone, down to the pavement, making it impossible and painful for Alya to move. He apologized to her in his mind, knowing his friend wouldn’t remember any of this later.

The two heard a final beep echo in the distance and the rope around Alya’s ankle disappeared. Her feet started to flail and a sneering smile crept up; “Looks like it’s just you and me Tomcat.”

“Don’t hurt Marinette and Adrien,” he blurted out quietly.

“Why not? They need to pay for this. Especially Marinette.”

“It was wrong of them to do that to you. They were scared.” Chat Noir shook his head.

“Please. They told Nino.” Lady Wifi rolled her eyes.

“No. Adrien told Nino.”

“And I found some texts. He should have been more careful.”

“You shouldn’t have been reading those texts.” Adrien narrowed his eyes.

“Well how else am I going to get any kind of information?” Lady Wifi started to wriggle under the black cat. She winced trying to move her hand that was under his boot.

“Stop moving and it won’t hurt anymore.” Chat’s hands still held the baton in place.

“Ugh, get off of me.” Alya complained. Adrien was tenacious to keep her in place so that Marinette could return and finish this all off.

What he didn’t anticipate was a knee plunging into his gut.

He groaned, one of his hands, reaching down to soothe the pain. Lady Wifi wiggled out from under him, grinning in triumph.

He glanced back up and rolled away from the akumatized Alya, stumbling back to his feet. He straightened himself up, recovering quickly. She walked towards him and proceeded to try and kick him. He smacked her leg away with his baton, but she moved around agilely and threw a punch.

The two engaged in a small fight; Adrien undoubtedly dominating, his male strength a major advantage. He pushed Alya and tried to swipe her phone from her fingers.

Panicked, she brought her phone to her face and with a swift stroke across the screen, one of those attack discs that had hit Ladybug early, shot from the phone and into his shoulder, a searing pain blasted through Adrien’s body. He groaned out in agony, the feeling completely unfamiliar. It burned the whole area and where the disc had directly hit felt as though he were being pinched tightly a million times at once. His whole body stiffened up and he squeezed his eyes shut. He started to breathe unevenly – he had never been in so much pain.

He heard her laughing – she was no longer Alya. It was utterly strange and unsettling. Hawkmoth had gotten stronger but to see this power coarse through Alya was immensely disturbing.

He shook and he opened his eyes, noticing that she wasn’t done yet. He dodged the next attacks with trouble, and began to run for some sort of refuge. He was in desperate need to have a small moment to recover.

Adrien didn’t know what to do – he didn’t know where Marinette was; he couldn’t leave Alya, risking the chance of her finding Marinette; and if he let her go, she will continue to terrorize the city.

He promised her one thing – he was going to do whatever it took to keep that promise.

His shoulder stung, his left arm hung loosely at his side. He tried with great force not to move it – every time he did, the wounded area began to pulse and the pain caused him to grit his teeth together.

What even was that? He asked himself painfully. He turned around, slowing his paces; the glowing symbols were no longer being launched at him.

As he turned around to face the villainess, her two fingers swiped towards him, the blank attack disc went zooming towards him, directly striking him in the chest. He flew back on impact and his body tumbling against the dirty pavement.

[konekochiii]

O—->>Naruto Tag Game <<—-O Tagged by @sausage-fist F A V O R I T E Female Character - Eh....eh.........Tsunade Male Character -SASUKE Team - Team 7 Sensei - Kakashi Hokage - 6th KAKASHI YAYAYAYAYA Kage - Gaara; best Kate of the year Village - Konoha has the best yield to date. Akatsuki Member - Ugh, Deidara. Jutsu - Electric Giraffe Episode/Chapter - Episode "The one where SASUKE fucking does during the Haku fight" cuz it literally changed my life. Fight Scene - The Valley of The End BOTH TIMES. Also any time when the animation was 👌🏽👌🏽👌🏽 Fanfiction - I can't remember any now. Except this one that Aerielle insists that I told her all about. Something having to do with Naruto and Sasuke having to spit water to each other. ...yeah. Story Arc - The one that was all about SASUKE and shitty Team Hebi. Filler - Any episodes that mildly focused on SASUKE. PARTICULARLY the one where naruto and SASUKE got their hands stuck together and they had to piss next to each other. Yeah. That's the quality filler you need. What is your… OTP (explain why) - Naruto and Sasuke. You can call me a fucking whatever it is but when I hear the words "You guys perfectly compliment each other. Despite your differences, you're still fighting to get to the other" in a million different ways for this and that reason, I want them to be together because I believe when you find someone like that, that's it. I've never really considered gender to stop relationship pairings in my entire shipping career. It's probably why I stopped caring about shipping in newer shows. Because it's soul crushing to know that if either one of Naruto or Sasuke was a girl, they would have been together in the end NO FUCKING QUESTION. NoTP (without being a dick, explain why) -Sakura and Sasuke. Uh, also I can be a fucking dick. It's the internet. You asked, I'll fucking tell you. If anyone read the actual ATMOSPHERE of ANYTHING between Sasuke and Sakura's interactions, you'd get a lukewarm amount of chemistry between them AT BEST. Yes, Sasuke considered Sakura his friend as a part of TEAM 7. Yes, they did share a couple of moments with the whole Orochimaru thing. Yes, I recognize Sakura has FUCJING pined over Sasuke's fine ass for YEARS. WE ALL DID. But there isn't any sense in saying things like "YAS QUEEN SAKURA FINALLY GOT HER MAN" for what. For vague reasons that overall dishonor her character and any little development she made? Her forgiving Sasuke after he made a legitimate attempt on her life DESTROYED her as a character. Kishi made her to be that little 12 year old girl again, crying her eyes out over a boy who won't look at her. Yeaaaaaah. I love it when characters are put to get her by default. It's always a good feeling. Crackship/s - meh. I don't like ships that don't feel right. I will support any ship that someone had explained though. BroTP - Guy/Kakashi lmao Living together like old men aaaaa OT3 - Team 7 all the way. Give me all the fan art with them interacting. Their story is a sweet one (if you don't get too specific. Which is impossible) Crossover ship - If you wanna crossover Sasuke and me (the main protagonist of my life) then I guess that's the most accurate answer to this question. M I S C E L L A N E O U S Do you have any headcanons? - Sasuke has unintentionally made friends with plenty of people but is too emotionally distant to care but still polite enough to nod in their general direction. Lakshmi and guy live together, babysitting children until they're old enough to take care of themselves. Sakura cries knowing Sasuke doesn't really love her. Sarada is the product of a drink night on the town. Though Sasuke very much appreciates Sakura raising Sarada and couldn't think of anyone who would do a better job rearing a child so.... #sorrynotsorry Are you happy with the ending? 👿👿👿👿 How do you feel about the Next Generation? - I actually love those children. If I ignore the fact that their parents' characters and personalities were stomped on for the sake of producing them and prolonging my agony, then I enjoy them very much. Say something about your favorite character. - I think of him when my mind goes through a lull. Which is constantly. It's strange to consider some character that was created by someone else as important as I do. It's truly something...to say the least but I still don't know if it is a good or a bad thing. It's probably better he doesn't exist where I can get to him. You know. For his sake. What would a child between your OTP look like? - Hmm. I guess he'd look like that parallel universe naruto. Menma? With the black hair and the whiskers. I think people like making an AU where Naruto and SASUKE have Menma as a kid. Say something genuinely nice about your NoTP. - :0 Damn, they made one amazing little girl who's going to be the future Hokage. I can't deny my love for her. And I guess. Maybe. I'm glad Sasuke has a wife who adores him. He needs that. And Sakura. Is a good Mom. (Fucking pulling my teeth out here.) Say something negative about your OTP. - ...........................................................I guess beating the shit out of each other sometimes wouldn't be too fun. Is there any way you could be convinced to ship your NoTP? Nah. drake.jpg oh wait. Yes. If a PIG COULD FLY THEN- What makes you mad about the series? - It went on too long and then had a very rushed ending. It probably would have been better if it didn't get as popular as it did. ALSO WHY DID YOU TAKE NEJI AWAY FROM US YOU GOD DAMN If you could see anything happen in the series, what would it be? Please let Sasuke rest. Look at him, he's fucking tired and he's got the tired eye bags and please let him cut his hair or grow it out more it's like it's in the awkward length stage oh and can someone fashionable please dress Sasuke better he's kind of clueless when it comes to that and also I could go on and it all has to do with Sasuke. In your opinion… Most attractive male? Oooooo Madara. He's SO FINE (I'm sorry Sasuke but you've inherited those good looks from the best!) Most attractive female? They all kinda look the same tho....in his style.... No one but Tsunade sticks out to me..... Most overestimated? Hmmm Kabuto. Not appreciated enough? Iruka. What is the greatest thing about Naruto? The friends I made along the way. The worst? The friends I lost along the way. LMAO The saddest moment? NEJI The most DEFINING MOMENT? Hmm. Hmm.... maybe when Naruto says "Because I'm your friend." I think about it a lot. Not that I have or want a lot of friends. But because I want to be kind to people. I can't be an undying believer like Naruto. He's one in a trillion. But I can be a good person and a friend to people who need me. So I try. Rant about anything… I've ranted plenty. But I will say that Naruto is the best thing that could have happened to me when I was 11/12. I ended up being friends with a lot of good people. I guess it sounds silly to say that it taught me really important life lessons. I sort of met my wife thanks to it by extension. I got a cool Konoha symbol tattoo. And it gave me a haunted relationship with a grumpy dude. So thanks for the memories. I tag my fellow Naruto follower fans. :0 It was a blast from the past. Stirring up memories I didn't want to have stirred up tonight. LMAO.