#demons of change and wildflower eyes

[starsarefire824]

Demons of Change Part II Preview

New York City. Spring 1996.

It all began when Will threw the last of Mike’s clothes from their closet at him and slammed the door squarely in his face. He was standing in their dingy apartment building hallway, water puddled at his feet. The lamp overhead buzzed and puttered on and off which he found exceedingly irritating. Even after months of the two of them calling into the superintendent, nothing had been done about it. The rain poured outside, one of those spring thunderstorms that made your bones ache with the biting chill if you stood in it too long.

Mike bit his lip and huffed out a tattered, sigh, the well of emotions he was desperate to stuff down forming a painful ball in his throat. He stood there, staring at where the wall met the ceiling and shivered. A long crack was broken in the rarely mended plaster and it dripped.

Drip, drip, drip. Torturously slow and steady. He watched as each raindrop fell into the tin bucket positioned below it, counting to one hundred before kicking it with all his might.

“Fuck!”

His roar echoed down the hallway and a door at the far end opened up a crack, neatly coiffed white hair and a teal housecoat appearing.

[notmybabies]

tfw you aren’t caught up on @starsarefire824 fic and you went to the byler tag and now know spoilies

[sagereidxx]

oh, what am i doing?

i've been reading demons of change and wildflower eyes by @starsarefire824 since about 5pm last night and have teared up twice with barley any sleep mixed in.

omfg is this story absolutely amazing so far.

anyway, no new chapter today im not feeling the best. i love you!

here the fic if you want to read it! Heavy on the trigger warning but absolutely recommend!!

[anjaelle]

Hello darling 💙

Would you consider writing for Count Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

Pairing: Count Alexei Vronsky x Foreign Socialite!Reader Warnings: Borderline Toxic Infatuation, Vintage Slow Burn, (almost) Infidelity Summary: A foreign born socialite/heiress visits a friend in Russia and meets a straight up demon. For @bettytaylorversion (AU where Anna doesn't go back to Vronsky and chooses to stay with Karenin.) Word Count: 2.3K a/n: I remember that Tolstoy made this character so straightforward that you can kind of play around with him as much as you like without changing much about who he is at his core. I can't be left to my own devices. That being said, I don't want purists yelling at me. So I hope everyone takes some of my choices here with a grain of salt.

--x--

Everything about Russia felt intimidating to you: the language, the size of the country, the power of its military, and the show of their aristocratic wealth. You were wealthy. But this was a different kind of wealth. You came to visit your close friend who was another socialite that you met through overlapping inner circles. It'd taken you a while to accept the invitation as you weren't sure how kindly they'd take to a foreigner.

You understood some of the language based on what your friend taught you, but you still weren't confident enough to converse in just Russian. Instead you opted for French, which seemed to work well enough. You knew your native language was a lost cause. While some people in the parlor were polite, others had no interest in speaking with you. A small number seemed interested in you and your home country. Or maybe they just noticed your Very New and Very Parisian wardrobe with your collection of gifted jewels. They decided you were important enough to talk to.

When she introduced you to Count Alexei Vronsky, an officer in the army, you felt her grip on your elbow tighten just the slightest bit. You knew about him. She told you all about his affair with the married woman from Saint Petersburg. You weren't sure how you pictured the man. She said he was handsome, but you lived in a world full of beautiful people. How much different could he be?

That was a terrible miscalculation. The minute he met you, he watched you with the intense interest of a fox stalking its prey. You felt your cheeks warm and your heart thud when he pressed his lips to your gloved knuckle. You averted your eyes when he rose from his bow, not really wanting to convey anything uncouth about the interaction.

The first time he found you alone, you were in your friend's library looking at a map pinned to the wall. He told you about every country he'd lived in, every country he'd traveled through, and which ones he'd be eager to see soon. When you pointed out your country on the map, he licked his lips and an easy smile graced his beautiful face.

"I suppose I have no choice but to come see you now." He said in his thick accent.

You realized, then, that he reminded you of angels you'd see painted on the walls of grand, gilded churches. You told him that you and your fiance would be happy to invite him to your engagement party.

"Hmm." he said, eyeing the map. "Fiancés..." he finished the statement in Russian, so you couldn't understand him.

Before you excused yourself to go find your friend, his fingertips gently grazed the back of your hand, stopping you in your tracks. "Your fiancé is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful, clever woman."

The second time he found you alone, you'd been exploring the estate and decided to rest in the garden among the wildflowers. As you raised your face to the summer sun, he made his presence known by clearing his throat, causing you to jump to your feet in surprise.

"Good afternoon, startled rabbit." He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" You warily asked, anxiously adjusting your skirts and brushing the grass from your hair. He cocked his head, studying you, "Long enough to notice that your beauty in parlor candlelight cannot compare to how alluring you are in the light of day."

It was interesting to see him dressed so casually compared to the night before. You wondered what he was still doing at your friend's estate when you knew he had a home of his own. You quickly glanced at her window to see the curtains still closed.

When you boldly asked him if he'd been watching you, something akin to amusement danced across his face, "You like the idea of that? Me watching you?"

"I have a fiancé."

He took a step closer, "That doesn't answer my question."

“You didn’t answer mine.” You countered, looking him square in the eye.

That wasn’t particularly ladylike, and you weren’t sure how anyone would react if they happened upon you and Vronsky standing so close in the garden without a chaperone.

As if reading your mind, he glanced down at your lips, then his eyes fell lower to your bodice. Your engraved gold locket rested on the top of one breast, with your fiancé’s initials glittering under the sun.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was…preoccupied.” His eyes met yours again and you felt like you’d been splashed with icy water. “Your husband—my apologies—your fiancé…he is a man of means? That necklace of yours is exquisite.”

You weren’t stupid. He didn’t care about the necklace. “That is a very inappropriate question to ask.”

“So he is not a man of means.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Who gave you that necklace?”

“Why does it trouble you to know?”

“You deserve a better one.” He murmured. You were unsure if he was still speaking about the jewelry. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of your forearm, "I could do that for you. If you wish." You took one large step back and glanced again at your friend’s window to find her watching you both suspiciously.

For the remainder of your stay in Russia, your friend treated you coolly. Though she was kind in private, she wasn't as warm in the company of others. Specifically, in the presence of Count Vronsky who seemed eager to appear more often during your stay and even more eager to get you alone. You reminded yourself that it was a temporary trip, and that you'd be back at your father's estate--and back in your kind fiancé's arms--in no time.

"It's truly fortunate that you're betrothed," your friend said as you gathered your belongings to meet the carriage in the courtyard, "or it'd be a shame to see your name added to the Count's incredibly long list of jilted lovers." There was an edge of bitterness to her tone, but you chose not to bring it up. Instead you marked it as an incredibly odd ending to an otherwise enjoyable trip.

A month later, you nearly fell down the stairs when your father called you down to the foyer to greet his newest client who arrived that morning from Russia. Count Alexei Vronsky bowed as you descended, but you could see the mirth dancing behind his eyes when he righted his posture behind your father's back.

"He says you spoke extensively about my craftsmanship. He felt compelled to come by the shop for his own fitting while he was visiting!" Your father exclaimed merrily, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead, "My brilliant girl. This will do wonders for us. I knew I could count on you."

Sure, you had spoken highly of you father's tailoring and shoemaking, because as popular as your father was it never hurt to expand the reach of his influence.

That being said, you were sure Vronsky wasn't there for that conversation, and you never continued any form of contact after you departed Russia. You assumed he learned about where you lived through mutual friends. You swore under your breath when your father left you alone to get his sketches from his workshop in the east wing of the estate. Vronsky eyed you briefly, then redirected his interest to the art and artifacts decorating your home. Ever the son born of Russian ice and stoicism, he looked out of place in the warm atmosphere of the home you grew up in.

"Your country is beautiful," he said, arching a dark brow, "a bit too hot for my liking. Though, it is nice to see you in your natural element. I don't think wildflowers like you belong in the comparative cold of a Russian summer."

You felt like you were being tested, but you decided that there wasn't much he could do in the confines of your home. He was, after all, in your territory. Your shoulders relaxed and you chanced a small smile his way, "You'd be surprised to know how resilient I can be."

Surprisingly, he laughed, "I don't think I'd be surprised at all. I know you better than you think I do."

You felt like you'd regret it, but you decided to ask anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

He began to stroll through the hall of your foyer, pausing every so often to examine a portrait or vase as you trailed behind him.

"You attended your fiancé's nameday feast a few years ago. Of course, he was not your fiancé, then. He was merely your father's apprentice and a quite talented shoemaker from my country who moved and quickly fell in love with...your country." He chuckled to himself at a joke only he seemed to know. "I remember you. I remember that you were an absolute vision in white, and you danced with everyone in the room. Though you were incredibly quiet when you weren't wrapped up in the melody of the orchestra." He glanced over at your confused expression, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Like I said: startled rabbit. Always quiet. Always watching. I remember the way your dress hugged the delicate slope of your shoulders, and the way your necklace caressed your neck. That may have been the first time I craved to exist within the confines of a jeweled pendant. And though I was otherwise...occupied with someone...I do remember the way you consistently laughed when he whispered things to you. A kind gesture, as he's never been that funny."

"So you know him. You were there that night." You whispered, feeling chills running up your arm.

"I was," he shrugged, stopping again at a more recent portrait of you and your father, "as was my duty as his elder brother."

You felt your heart stop in your chest and your brain short circuited. Your fiancé never told you about any siblings, let alone an elder brother. You knew your fiance's father was possibly dead, and that his mother raised him alone in Russia. Was he lying about his life? You weren't sure what was conveyed on your face, but Count Vronsky turned to address you directly.

"My father was not an honorable man. He forbade us from speaking to my half-brother or acknowledging him. Of course, Father is dead now, and God hasn't struck me down for disrespecting the wishes of a dead man. This also isn't the first time I've ever sinned." He grinned widely at you and took a step closer, though you were too shocked to move. "From the minute I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And every time I've seen you since, I regretted not stealing you away for myself."

"That doesn't make any sense..." you murmured, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "I've never met you before. I'd know. I'd remember."

"You make your presence known at those silly little soirées the ladies have. I never stay for very long, but I've always..." he took another step closer and you realized you'd been backed against a pillar, "I've always noticed you. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking. Sometimes smoking. Does your father know you smoke?"

You glanced down the hall over his shoulder, and in a small voice that surprised you, you whispered, "I don't always do that."

"Mhmm." He reached out to run his warm, slightly calloused fingers along the chain of your necklace, stopping just before the pendant that rested in the valley of your cleavage. Your chest involuntarily heaved, and your knees felt weak, "What other bad things do you 'not always' do?"

You parted your lips to attempt something sharp, but instead you swallowed hard and said, "I'm to be married."

"But you are not married." He was so close, "Do you know how badly I've wanted to come see you since you left?" You could smell the sweet wine of your country on his tongue as he whispered lowly to you, "The thought of his hands on you made me want to abandon all of my obligations to cross the sea. Did you think of me?"

Your gaze fell to his lips, slightly stained red, and then back up into his piercing blue eyes. God, he was beautiful. He caught the action.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"Your eyes betray you, wildflower." His hand grazed your hip above your skirt, and his lips ghosted over your own, "I thought about you every night. I think about how you'd look spread out for me on those expensive sheets your father bought you. Waiting for me. And you're wearing that charming necklace my brother gave you while my tongue is deep in that sweet little--"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vronsky swiftly turned away from you to examine the nearest vase again, as if nothing happened. You hadn't realized that your hands were grasping your skirt in your fists and that you were squeezing your thighs together.

You realized then that it'd been so long since you were last touched.

When your father entered the hall, he shot you a curious look before handing Vronsky his latest sketches.

"Here you go, young man. Let me know if these are to your liking. We can begin as early as tomorrow afternoon."

The blond shot your father a charming smile and bowed graciously, "Thank you for taking the time to help a stranger on such short notice."

The conversation sounded like white noise in your ears as you willed your heart to slow down. Even as you composed yourself and released your skirt from your hands, you still felt out of sorts.

When he turned to you and bowed again, he rose and allowed his eyes to trail down the length of your body.

"Always a pleasure to see you again."

[hoseoksluna]

HEAVEN-SENT | knj

pairing: idol!friend!namjoon x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.8k

summary: when a certain bad experience with a guy makes you run to namjoon, he heals you and changes you once and for all.

warnings: lack of willful consent in a way, crying, religion, smoking (namjoon smokes a cig, reader vapes), the context of this fic is of sexual relations though none are described, heavy daddy issues.

note: after i sat down to write last chapter of berries, i discovered that i simply couldn't because of what happened to me this week. there was nothing left for me to do, but to run to namjoon in my head and let him heal me. yes, unfortunately, the events that i wrote about in this fic happened to me. the dream, i had it last night. and the consolation in the form of words in the fic, i constructed it from everything my friends told me. to be honest, i feel deeply healed. i finished it in two hours or so and i feel so much better. now, like the reader i put myself into, i'm gonna take a shower and wash everything away. i'll be able to write berries after that. i love you, guys. sorry, if this is triggering in any way. i just needed to get it out.

“I think I heard… God in that dream.” 

Your words create a wisp of tenderness in the air. Saddened, moist with the tears that sting in the back of your eyes. The sun of the summer has descended, hid beneath the city—and you feel as though the same occurred in your life, despite the fact you’re being held by someone who holds the skyscrapers and the manufactured greenery in between like a burden on his shoulders and could easily stop its departure if only he looked up to the heavens with puppy eyes. 

God would’ve nodded. Flicked his fingers. The source of light and warmth would’ve paused, stared down on you, shone a little more mercifully. Beckon you out to breath in the fresh air, breathe in the protectiveness you find yourself to be in the middle of. 

God protected you from a boy who had different intentions from you, led you into the arms of a man who’s able to take your pain and transform it into an eternal artwork of beauty and importance. A harmonious poetry, mixed with English and Korean, flooded with colors akin to the ones your eyes would stumble across on a field of wildflowers. 

It’s where you are right now. No blanket, just the soil, the blossoms, the warmth from Namjoon’s body, your bruised knees and rawly abraded elbows—your injury from earlier that the boy feignedly kissed, but didn’t care much about. A means to get you into bed, nothing else. A banana vape in your fist while Namjoon holds his cigarette backwards, shielding the smoke with his palm, even though you’ve told him multiple times that you didn’t mind it. 

You smoked so much of them with him within the hours you spent here and didn’t receive any sort of alleviation from it that you grew a certain distaste for it in your mouth. Settled for the sweetness of your vape. Enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed Namjoon’s closeness and a sense of safety that he radiated as he let you rest your head on his clavicle, leaning his entire weight on just one hand, and nothing else. 

So unlike the boy, who would’ve kissed your feet if you let him take the endeavor further like he wanted. 

You were on a first date with a boy you didn’t even know for a week. With a boy who stuck his tongue down your throat. Almost fondled the most private parts of your body, had you not stopped him. And who didn’t drive you home after. 

The prose of the shallow, insolent face of a young male, who didn’t want to be provided with your love and empathy, who kissed you to shut you up, in fact. And the demons of your brokenness, conspired with your father complex, manipulated you into believing that he was moved by it, rather than repulsed by it as his only objective was getting you comfortable enough so you willingly give over something that doesn’t belong to him. 

Your purity. Your private parts. Your femininity. 

Two days later after the date, you had a dream. While you slept beside your best friends who spent the night smoking with you on the stairs outside of their apartment, helping you realize the truth—popping your bubble of pink vapor gained from the kiss and the male attention you’ve always had so little of. Many dreams swam past your sleeping consciousness, but only one resurfaced upon waking up. 

A large beige room; a man standing in the middle of it as he made your bed while you stood clutching your pajamas to your broken, dejected form. You were looking at him, regarding him from head to toe. From his shortly cut, blond hair, to his broad shoulders and toned, muscular arms that would lift you without blinking. From the tank top he wore, to the dark shorts. And once you viewed the same bruises on his body that were on yours, concealed from his sight and awareness, you heard a gentle voice inside your heart. A voice, entwined with the purest form of love, which told you that this was the man you were supposed to be with, not the boy you were seeing. 

You listened to the voice, obeyed it in a way that you didn’t quite understand—silently, tenderly. While you internally quivered in fear in regards to the male species. You were frightened of the man who was taking care of you—not because of who he was or what he potentially had done or would have done, but because of a very simple reason. 

He was a man. 

And you didn’t trust them. 

Not anymore. 

Namjoon was different. Namjoon was a man who was your friend for the longest time. A poet who nurtured his life. Who viewed the world’s secret poetry and sought it in every way he could. He was as much like you as you were like him. But you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. 

It wasn’t written in the prosaic constitution of this wretched world; and never will be. 

He’s not the man in the dream. 

He never made your bed, although he would if you needed it. But his heart doesn’t belong to love. It is tied to the arts; tied to the people he takes care of, works hard for. His heart belongs to his voice. 

And his voice was silenced in deep indignation when you told him what happened to you. He’s known you for years; he’s known of your lack of manliness in your life—has supported it for as long as he’s walked beside you. Wrote you poems about how perhaps that’s what life is. Aloneness and the arts, the heartbreak if it crawls inside and what you do with it after. You’ve read them, worshiped them, obeyed them, even though your need for love always persisted within you. 

And it led you here. Back to him, needing his poems, although now your deeper brokenness asks for his recitation. 

But he’s still silent. 

Not silent to your pain, however. Not silent to the tornado in your sternum that makes you pause between your words due to its intensity. That makes you look at the leaves of the grass instead of the earth within the pools of his eyes. But you can feel the strength of his indignation that is mightier than the whirlwind in your bones. And it’s warm, so terribly warm, growing warmer the longer he looks at you, in spite of the lowering of the heat of the sun and the evening sweeping past the field, the coldness of the soil as if it never had been touched by that heat. 

Like you, almost. 

“I think it was him who told me that,” you continue, brushing your thumb over your yellowing bruise upon your knee from your injury. “It’s why I remember the dream so vividly. Why it made me never want to see the guy again. Why it suddenly made me understand why my friends reacted the way they did when I told them what happened.” 

You believe it, and nothing could cover your belief due to its force—its quiet, tender force that graces you with a little bit of strength to be here with him, to be able to share it with him with the said understanding and calmness, calmness so akin to nothingness. 

How delightful it is, that state of emotions. 

You feel as though you’re telling the story of another person. Perhaps Namjoon has done it in you by letting you talk without interrupting like your friends did. They outburst so colorfully and it made you feel so small and so stupid. Namjoon did no such thing—through his silence he put great meaning into your story. 

And it feels nice. More than nice. You appreciate it with the little you’re able to feel towards a man. 

“Why did you let him kiss you again?” Namjoon asks, softly, breaking that nearly long season of his silence with the kind of gentleness that only he’s capable of. 

He must be a different breed, you conclude. One you’ll never have the opportunity to know, intimately. 

Your mouth rounds in a faint pout because you know your answer, and sheepishly you camouflage it by taking a puff of your vape, expecting the banana flavor to give you the courage you need in order to say it. 

You hear Namjoon follow you suit, sucking on the bud of his cigarette before he puts it out in yours and his makeshift ashtray—a bottle of water that you both drank. The hiss and the dying out drives you quicken your scrambling of bravery and you don’t really know where that vague sense of impatience comes from. 

Namjoon is anything but impatient. 

You sigh, taking another puff, blowing it into the wind, watching it where it takes it to. Wish you were taken elsewhere, too. By an invisible hand that means well. Take you to a place of joy and respect, of devotion and care. 

You wonder if a place like this exists, at all. 

“Because…” you trail off, the tornado in you thickening, threatening your calmness and you can’t stop the blooming of your pout, the deepening of it, either. “Because it was my first real kiss with a guy and I wanted experiences like that. I wanted to live. I wanted to have what everyone else has so easily.” 

A beat of silence. The tornado enlarges. And you feel as though you were in the middle of it, not the other way around. The raw truth, you’ve said it. Thank God you said it to a person that knows he must handle it with care. It’s the reason why you ran to him. Why you invariably do. 

“But he didn’t have your consent. He didn’t ask for it, so he didn’t have it. He just grabbed your head and kissed you. And because you wanted experiences doesn’t mean he had your consent.” 

You furrow your brows, out of step with him. “It was me who kissed him at one point. I even bit his lip.” 

For some reason, your uttered words cause you to look at him. With his arms wrapped around his knees and hands interlocked, he scowls. His scrunched brows cast a shadow upon his marble face, upon the thin line of his tightly pressed lips, and you fear you did something wrong. 

“Did you kiss him because you wanted to kiss him or did you kiss him because you wanted experiences?” 

That question shocks you and you can’t speak. You swivel your head back in shame, tipping it, and you twiddle your thumbs, the answer raw and obvious, out in the open without needing any transportation of words.

You felt comfortable with the guy. Had chemistry with him that would run deeper if you were on the same page as him. But there was something about him, which you still can’t pinpoint, that built a translucent wall between your heart and him. You didn’t find him attractive enough to kiss. You didn’t expect to be kissed either by the end of the date. But you went on with it for one sole reason. 

The tornado explodes through you and Namjoon can feel it. 

He places a hand on your shoulder. Makes you look at him with that singular gesture and your eyes well with tears, the residue and effect of the explosion. 

“Never, and I mean never, do that again. Never do things that you aren’t innately hungry for and never do them in order to live a life you think you should,” he says and it’s a proverb that must be written in the book that had opened within your dream. “I don’t believe in God, but I do believe that you were protected from that piece of shit, who had the audacity to put his hands on you.” 

And there it is, the recitation of a different poem, one you didn’t quite want, but find yourself to be in need of. Your tears flow without direction, dripping onto the petals of the violet and pink wildflowers that brush against your legs with every breath of the wind. 

And you nod. 

Maybe they needed it, too. Maybe that’s why you’re here, why God put that lesson in your life that made you run to Namjoon. He took your hand and gave you a role. 

To be a helper of his. 

Quench the thirst of the flowers and quench yours, too, through that work. 

“No one is allowed to think they can touch you like that on the first date. I know how guys think. They think that because they paid for you, they paid for your body—and I’d kill them for that if I could,” he breathes out, waggling your shoulder to emphasize the importance of his words. And you breathe them in, consider them the scolding of a father, one that is done out of love and care and one that is good for you. Not meant to harm, not meant to express the voice of his upper hand. It’s meant for you. For your well-being. “He was dead to me the moment you told me you had to stop his hand from going further down. And the moment you told me he didn’t drive you home at night. That’s not someone you experience life with. That’s someone you walk past.” 

You nod and you sob, weaving your way into his step, believing his words—the depth of them, the meaning of them, the end to the sentence piercing your heart because that’s how you met the guy. He stopped you on the street and chatted you up. Gave you a false sense of comfort and safety.

Namjoon kisses your worth over and over again, clutches your brokenness and puts it together with his gentle touch—all through his grip on your shoulder, through the verses of his poem. 

He doesn’t dare to go further. Because he’s respectful, because he’s older, because he cares for you, regards you as human and not a piece of meat meant for satisfactory purposes. Thrown away after the deed is done. 

You take mental notes of those attributes. Write them somewhere upon your flesh to remember later on. 

Respectful. Older. Caring. 

The antonyms of the boy you were seeing. 

“Someone will come along who will serve life to you on a silver platter. He will find you and he will respect you. Will be afraid to touch you because of how golden you are; afraid to stain you. He will love you and only then will you love him back. That’s how you’ll know he’s the one. He’ll love you first,” Namjoon recites on, your tears dropping onto the back of his hand and trickling down his fingers. He grasps your hand and you feel the liquid of your understanding on his skin. Somehow it locks it in. “He’ll wait before he kisses you. And you’ll be filled with so much longing to kiss him that you’ll feel like bursting. That’s how it should be.” 

You nod for the last time, overwhelmed, but changed. You believe the tornado won’t find you for a long time—for as long as Namjoon is here. 

“Don’t rush. Do what you love to do, your hobbies. Read. You’re not missing out. You’re living already. You’re alive. You’re experiencing life, even if it means you’re doing it in the company of your friends, in a platonic realm. It counts.” 

The last stanza. 

He hugs you. Grateful, healed, reassured—he seeps those new attributes in you by giving names to them as he wraps his arms around you and you perceive that’s precisely what you’re feeling. 

Grateful. Healed. Reassured. 

And you perceive he showed you how love is meant to be expressed. The man does it first. 

And when a storm rolls in and the wildflowers startle against your skin, Namjoon walks you home. Doesn’t leave until he knows you’re safe inside. 

Heals what he didn’t break. Reteaches what you’ve been wrongly taught. 

You’re living. You’re alive. You repeat those words to yourself as you undress yourself and wash away the wrong touch from your body, this time with great consciousness and will. And the vapor from the water, different from the one that was conjured from your madness of falsely living, seals in Namjoon’s touch on your skin, writes upon it the stanzas of his proverb. 

You’ll remember them the next time. 

And there will be a next time because you’re living. You’re alive. 

Namjoon is a different breed because he must be an angel, dressed in white as he was. A helper just like you, ordained by God he doesn’t believe in for you. 

Otherwise he wouldn’t be in your life at all because while you quenched your thirst, he filled up your hungry belly. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[deafeningladyruins]

Carnival of Shadows

4: The Duality

The morning after the storm, she woke to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight filtering through the tattered fabric of the tent. For a moment, she felt a disorienting sense of peace, as if the darkness had been a mere dream. But as she turned her head, she saw Art the Clown sitting nearby, his eyes closed as if in a trance. She rose quietly, not wanting to disturb him. Stepping outside, she inhaled the fresh, damp air, the carnival looking almost serene in the morning light. It was a stark contrast to the eerie atmosphere of the night, and she marveled at the duality of this place that seemed to mirror her own troubled mind.

As she walked through the carnival, she reflected on the previous night. Art's silent companionship had provided a strange comfort she had never felt before. Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint rustling sound. She turned to find Art standing in the doorway of the tent, watching her intently.

"Good morning," she said softly, unsure if he could hear her. "I didn't want to wake you."

Art tilted his head, his smile ever-present. He beckoned her to follow him, and she found herself intrigued by the promise of discovering more about him. They wandered through the carnival, Art leading her to a neglected garden overrun with wildflowers and weeds. It was a hidden oasis, a place of unexpected beauty amidst the decay.

"How did you find this place?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Art didn't respond, but his gesture encompassed the entire garden. He then motioned for her to sit on a crumbling stone bench. She obliged, and Art began to gather some of the wildflowers, creating a bouquet with surprising skill and care. He handed it to her, and she smiled, touched by the unexpected gesture.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I never knew you could be so gentle."

Art's eyes softened, and for a moment, she glimpsed the person behind the grotesque facade. It was a fleeting moment, but it spoke volumes about the duality of his nature—his capacity for both horror and tenderness. As the days turned into weeks, they continued their nightly meetings at the carnival. She began to see more of Art's dual nature. During the day, he would show her the hidden beauty of the carnival, teaching her to see the world through his eyes. At night, he became her guardian, warding off the demons that tormented her mind.

One evening, while exploring a forgotten funhouse, she stumbled upon an old trunk filled with costumes and props. She laughed, pulling out a feathered mask and twirling around, feeling a rare moment of joy. Art watched her with amusement, then picked up a top hat and placed it on his head, joining her in the impromptu performance.

"You're not so scary when you're having fun," she teased, her laughter echoing through the funhouse.

Art's silent laugh was infectious, and they spent the evening playing dress-up, momentarily forgetting the darkness that surrounded them. It was in these moments of light-heartedness that she saw the true depth of their bond. They were two souls navigating a world that had cast them aside, finding solace in each other's company. As the night deepened, they sat side by side on a rusted merry-go-round, watching the stars twinkle above. She leaned her head on Art's shoulder, feeling a warmth that had been absent from her life for so long.

"Art," she began hesitantly, "do you ever wish things were different? That we didn't have to hide in the shadows?"

Art turned to face her, his eyes reflecting a sadness she hadn't seen before. He reached out and gently cupped her cheek, his touch conveying the words he couldn't speak. In that silent exchange, she understood that while they could not change their pasts, they could find a semblance of peace in each other. As they sat there, entwined in the darkness, she felt a renewed sense of hope. Their world was far from perfect, but it was theirs—a realm where the light and dark coexisted, just as they did. It was a place where they could be themselves, free from judgment and fear.

One night, Art decided to surprise her with a special outing. He led her to a part of the carnival she had never seen before, where the rides were still functional, albeit in a state of disrepair. With a flourish, he presented her with a ticket, and she couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Are we really going to have a date at the carnival?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Art nodded, his smile widening. He took her hand and led her to the first ride—a creaky old Ferris wheel. As they ascended, she felt a rush of exhilaration, the world below shrinking into insignificance. They rode the Ferris wheel, the carousel, and even the bumper cars, laughing and enjoying each moment as if they were carefree children. Art went out of his way to ensure she had fun, his antics bringing a smile to her face at every turn. He won her a stuffed animal at one of the game stalls, his silent determination endearing him to her even more. As the night wore on, they found themselves back at the Ferris wheel, the lights of the carnival casting a magical glow around them.

As they reached the top, she turned to Art, her heart full of gratitude and affection. "Thank you, Art. This has been the best night of my life."

Art's eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the anticipation building. Slowly, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a moment of pure connection, a silent promise of the bond they shared.

As the Ferris wheel descended, she knew that their love, though unconventional and shrouded in darkness, was real. They had found each other in the most unlikely of places, and together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

---

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Follow me for more Art the clown

[astrandofgold]

oh eyes like wildflowers

oh with your demons of change

[shastafirecracker]

Wildflowers (VWBB '23)

Wildflowers (AO3) Trigun (canon soup, but Stampede-forward), Vash/Wolfwood 100K, Explicit Summary: Sir Nicholas the Punisher has been charged with a mission: enter the Forgotten Woods, track and trap the Beast Lord who lives there, and return it, alive, to the cult of the God-Emperor. The land is dying of a mysterious blight, and only the support of a few unhealthy Plants is keeping the last scraps of humanity alive. According to the Emperor, only the sacrifice of the Beast Lord will renew the land and save everyone.

Nicholas is wholly unprepared for what, and who, he finds in the woods.

[A fantasy AU with inspiration broadly drawn from Princess Mononoke, The Green Knight, and The Last Unicorn. Written for the @vashwoodbigbang.]

Cover art HERE by the absolutely fabulous Tenpoi

Spotify playlist for the fic here!

Pinterest board for the fic here!

Nicholas sketch by @mint-mango

I'll always remember you the same eyes like wildflowers with your demons of change

[therantfairysblog]

Farewell

"Eat well, smile over there. Forgot the pain."

....

He reminiscing his memory saving a fragile child years ago, so traumatized, he couldn't even smile, his whole body shaking so hard when he rescued him.

"... is that sea, it so wide, and blue. My sisters use to narrated it from their books that i heard"

The first time he listened to that child's voice, it was a painful yet hopeful voice. His heart broke, he was the unwanted child who born for the sole purpose of being eaten, and were treat like a trash by his own cousin.

.

"i decided to be a slayer like you, Rengoku san."

One day, when he just coming home from his duty, the little child come over him, along with his son Kyujuro. Looking at them side by side, despite both are the same age, their physical are completely different.

"Are you sure? You don't need to wield a sword if you couldn't. Live a normal life" the child was so fragile, sometimes when he watch him, he was easily stumbled and fall.

Until the child was 14 years old, he was stay with him, and then he went to train with a water breathing cultivator, his friend. He take a quite a lot of time trained with him as his physical aren't helping but sometimes when he went there to visit his friend, the child always seen training with his all.

"this boy...is actually quite talented in swordmanship, although his body has a disadvantage on its own," his friend stated

" his body couldn't adapt fire breathing style, i guess he was good with yours"

"Yes, but i think he'll have his own style the way i see it. Rengoku san, this child, is he always eating that little?"

" Yes, unfortunately it's hard to convince him, perhaps it's much to do with his past"

"i hope he'll try to take care of his body, he worked hard but it'll ultimately strained his body over time"

..

It's only at the age of 17 years old that the little child he take care of successfully made his way into the corps. Along with his son, the two were always trained together.

When he fall into a slump, as her wife died of sickness, he completely change into the worst. Drunk, useless father, tainting the good reputation of his family name as the cultivator of flame hashiras.

That child. Never give up. Like his son, he made his way to the highest level of demon slayers corp, as a serpent hashira. The day he was appointed, with his new gold button uniform, that child coming to his home, as if to tell his father, the joy he experienced that day.

"Go away, just go home. There's nothing that change my mind. We aren't a comrades."

"...Rengoku san, thank you for giving me a chance to live. I hope, one day, you could feel the joy i feel. I would never forgot the day i see the land. That's why,...i wish i could see the same light in your eyes"

......

That' child hiding so many things to himself, when he accidently found notes in his room, weeks after the final battle, a note that the child use when he was learning to read and write from his wife.

It's the same way as he trained himself hard later. From a poor unreadable sentences, to a heartbreaking long sentences begging for forgiveness.

'The outside was so pretty, spring is beautiful, the cherry blossom are huge and blooming nicely.

My poor family , I'm so sorry, its my fault.

Unless i killed all the demons, i couldn't cleaning up my blood. I will become a demon slayer. Rengoku san is amazing, his son too. I will picking up the blade. With kaburamaru of course. He's my bestfriend.

I want to die. But not before I'm getting rid of demon. Demons are evils. I hate them.'

Despite some wording error, what 13 year's old child writing like this? A literal death wish?

...

" Be happy and live your life honorably in your next life. Every child deserve a happiness, and it's including you. I'm sorry for failing to be a good mentor to you.

Eat well, take care of yourself"

Fall almost over, the fallen leaves scattered around the final resting place of the child he saved. Somehow, a little wildflower was there, living silently in between the stone. He watch it and smile.

"see you later, goodbye"

[clonedchaos]

𝔐𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔐𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰- 𝔇𝔞𝔶 8: 𝔏𝔦𝔫𝔢

Summary

Joey had crossed the line more than once.

Rating: G/PG

<- Previous Part Next Part ->

Tried a bit of a different style with this one. Based off the song Wildflower by Billie Eilish

”Things fall apart and time breaks your heart I wasn't there, but I know

…

Did I cross the line?”

The Polaroid photo lay pinned on the cork board amongst an endless array of bills, notes, and phone numbers. Black ink smeared across the subject’s faces, turning it into an eerie art project.

The office had been ransacked. It was chaos, but organized. Frantically written notes, yet lengthy and precise in content. At a glance, you’d find the crazed drawings of a mad man. A man once fueled with novel ideas, now fallen into despair.

A conman.

A liar.

A traitor.

Joey Drew, founder of the once renowned studio of the same name. A place bursting with creativity, a hope for unheard voices to finally take the limelight.

What a fool you would be to believe such a thing.

Horrors unlike any other had sunk its claws into the foundations. It tugged at you, lured you in. It fed you false promises, no more real than the grandiose goals of your employer. 

You would be hysterical.

Something as insignificant as an ink droplet would warp you, change you into what you feared becoming most. Hatred. Cowardice. Anger. Such poignant emotions… All weaknesses of the human condition.

In the blink of an eye, your humanity would be stripped from your being. Your soul now belonged to the demon roaming the halls. It smiled at you, a plastic expression no more genuine than Mr. Drew’s gratitude.

And to think this all started with just a pencil and a dream…

A story that unfolded not by Mr. Drew’s hand, but by another. A man whose name had all but faded to obscurity. Henry Stein.

He was supposed to save us. He would bring this nightmare to an end. Wouldn’t he?

You wanted to go home. Where was home? All you could remember was the machine, this prison. Your memories were like distant planets, blurry at first glance yet impossible to ever dream of reaching.

Something creaked behind you, breaking the silence. You jump and whirl around. You had gotten too comfortable, too careless. You should’ve seen the inky tendrils weaving up the walls. You should’ve paid attention to the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

The demon was already behind you, breathing down your neck. You reach for the nearest weapon.

Too late.

End of the line…

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

An Unexpected Plus One (Obey Me!) drabble

summary: Marzena was going to spend the night with Lucifer, only for one more to show up in the bed. Established relationships, talk of nightmares.

The Avatar of Pride looked more than pleased this fine evening. Having set aside all his work to actually go to sleep on time. With his beloved pact human there in his bed to be savoring the moment. The two of them spending a good few hours alone. The only light coming from the single candle by the bed.

But that soon changes as Marzena woke with a frightened shout. Which had Lucifer wake immediately to steady her as she gasped and panted for air. Her words coming out hoarse as she said, "Mammon... He had a night terror..."

Lucifer had little warning to prepare for said demon banging on his door. So he stood to go to the door and let Mammon know that Marzena was fine. But that did little to ease his concern when he saw the sheer state Mammon was in. The Avatar of Greed looked like he did upon their Fall. A broken hearted soul with tears streaming down his face for Mammon to tackle hug Lucifer and shudder. His words garbled from the fact his nose was running. Yet Lucifer soon went stock still in pure shock when Mammon sobbed out, "They killed you...! I couldn't save you before- There was so much blood! I was powerless to save you!"

The elder brother felt that hit him like arrows to his heart. So he sighed to hug Mammon tight to his front and breathe in Mammon's ear gentle words. "It did not happen and never will happen. I am here, Mammon. I always will be." So Lucifer gathered Mammon into his arms to carry the still shaking Mammon to the bed. Where Marzena had arranged the pillows to look very concerned and get in on the hugs once Lucifer sat down his cargo. Marzena giving Mammon gentle touches to have the air scent of wildflowers and sweet brandy to calm Mammon down a little. The magic heating Mammon's slightly chilled frame as Marzena told him, "There we go, sweetie. It's all okay. I know. It was horrid and felt real. But it was just a bad nightmare. We're all okay and safe."

Mammon was trying to calm down. Yet he was sobbing and shaking with every breath he took. So Lucifer shook his head to note with warmth, "Just what am I to do with you? We will simply have to keep you here for tonight. So lay down and rest." The Avatar of Greed nodded to hiccup as Lucifer laid himself down. With Mammon soon using Lucifer's chest for a pillow as Marzena tucked the two demons in. Then she joined to hug Mammon from behind and sigh. Mammon giving a sniffle to cling to Lucifer like he would fade away. Yet Lucifer just held Mammon close to run his fingers through those silver white strands. Until Mammon had eased into the bed due to sheer exhaustion. Yet Marzena didn't look too bother to simply hum at the sight. "Let's ask Solomon about making enchanted dreamcatchers for everyone. But you should make the one for Mammon specifically. That sounds good?"

Lucifer hummed at the idea to close his eyes and nod. "That sounds absolutely perfect to me. But I will not need help from a scheming sorcerer. I can make such on my own just fine." This had Marzena smirk. Then she too drifted off to sleep to hug two of her best demons close. The three souls resting together.

[starsarefire824]

Drew the boys as they are in Demons of Change & Wildflower Eyes. Been missing them. 🥀

[yvonne-jaeger]

"Your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest, thick canopy of maple trees and sweet scented wildflowers sprouting in the underwood. You will grow back, over and over, no matter how badly you are devastated."

- Yvonne Andraste Jaeger

- Male, though is not picky about pronouns.

- 24. Stopped aging some years ago.

- Pansexual

- Demigod, son of Cernunnos... though he does not seem to answer me... I rule over The Hunt, Nature, Animals, Fertility, and the everlasting cycle of Life, Death, and Rebith.

- Former Hitman/Mercenary

- Mysterious owner of the magically moving meadery Nectar of the Dogs.

"What goes too long unchanged destroys itself. The forest lives forever because it dies and dies and so it lives."

- Mod is 21 and the account is 16+, please dni if you are younger.

- Based VERY LOOSELY off of DCs Cernunnos mixed with my own personal depictions.

- Mun also Runs @wren-beowulf and @caspian-vares and shares @brother-of-a-villain with a friend

—=Intro Info=—

Name: Yvonne Andraste Jaeger

Nicknames: Von, Vonny, Lisichka (little fox)

Titles:

○ Vorbote [(Harbinger) His old Hitman Name]

○ Magic Eater

○ Son of the Hunt

○ Child of the Green

Age: 24

Sexuality: Pansexual

Gender: Male, though has no preference on pronouns

Species: Demigod

Fandom: multi fandom (mostly DC)

—=Appearance Info=—

Hair: White blonde, thick with elegant wavy curls. Very long and is often done up out of the way, aside from some bits that fall over his face from his side part.

Eyes: Sharp looking, near white colored eyes with dark outer circles and cat like pupils. Though white, not milky, he is not blind.

Skin: Fair, has patches of small, white, almost shimmering looking scales over parts other his body. They resemble a snakes. Many scars from many different things, though notably cuff scars around wrists and ankles, collar marks around neck, and lashes along his back.

Height: 5'8", though often wears heels.

Inhuman features: He looks as if he was formed with the intent of many different animals, due to his divine dominion over them.

○ Cat like pupils (have excellent eyesight, can see in the dark)

○ Patches of scales

○ Snake tongue

○ Pointed ears (double pierced)

○ Clawed hands

○ Small white horns atop his head, not as sharp as they look.

○ Very long soft tail of unknown animal, a strange mix of a unicorn and a dragon, more than twice the length of his legs, very elegant looking. Also sensitive, please be careful when touching it.

○ Sometimes has wings, though does not often use them. They are "put away" so to speak, and are not visible on his body when so.

—=Abilities=—

Powers:

○ Yvonne is very magically inclined (from both sides of his family), and is capable of using powerful spells without incantation due to the divine blood in his veins... however there is also some Demonic blood there too due to him being fed it without his knowledge or consent for 7 years, allowing him to use Demonic magic as well... even though it corrupts his divinity.

○ Yvonne has a natural affinity for all things nature, and it bends and changes at his command, able to both control it, and mold it in a more unconventional way. This includes anything from the forests to the weather, though he respects the nature around him.

○ Yvonne is able to understand the needs of animals, and can calm and tame them to the point where predator and prey can sleep side by side.

○ Yvonne is able to feel the life and energy of all things around him, from the magic of a magician, the life of a human, to a single blade of grass. It is... honestly a bit overwhelming sometimes... though makes him impossible to sneak up on.

○ Yvonne has a "Magic Eating" ability that manifests in three forms.

First, Yvonne is able to passively absorb Magic that gets channeled through him ofer time. Good for getting rid of curses, bad for healing injuries. Though, he is unable to eat his own magic.

Second, Yvonne can absorb the energy from the nature around him to restore his own, and give that energy back if he hadn't used it up. Though this may end with the death of the nature around him, which isn't ideal.

Third, Yvonne is able to gain the magical abilities of different beings by consuming parts of them. Though he has only done this twice

○ Yvonne has three magical dogs that he can summon, two large and white, Levy and Luka, and one much larger than a human and white, Serona. Yvonne has the ability to see/hear/smell what his dogs can if he so chooses. They are made with magic, though have their own unique personalities.

○ Yvonne is incredibly strong, as he is a Demigod, and is able to so many great things with his strength. He has learned to be careful with his strength and can be around humans and their things without worry of breaking them.

○ Yvonne has enhanced senses, hearing, sight, smell. Even taste, to which he can taste what someone's magic tastes like. Sometimes this... also gets rather overwhelming.

Skills:

○ Hunting and tracking. As the Demigod of the hunt and son if a hunting God, he is an incredibly capable hunter and tracker, able to wield any manor of weapons for his craft and follow/track anyone everywhere.

○ Killing. Yvonne used to be an incredibly capable hitman for years, and knows how to kill in so many ways and then vanish into the shadows without a trace. You can bet he can cover up his tracks.

—=Misk=—

○ Yvonne has a signature weapon he calls An T-sealg (The Hunt), which has the ability to transform itself into any weapon Yvonne desires. It is made from the Pure blood of a God, The Tree of Life, and the souls of 50 children. He used to hear them talking, now they're just screaming....

○ Yvonne is very good at ballet, he had done it for 12 years since he was 12.

○ Yvonne was a hitman from the years 12 - 19, and became an incredible force of death. There was even an urban legend all around Europe at the time about white dogs being a forteller of death, a "Bad Omen" if you will, and racked up quite the kill count.

○ from the ages of 3 months - 12 years, Yvonne was kidnapped and taken to a "school" in Austria who's goal was to find the young descendants of Gods and turn them into God's themselves to control them. Yvonne was the only survivor of the children there. He doesn't talk about it  but his scars tell their own story.

○ Yvonne's meadery is where he spends a lot of his time, but he also ended up fixing up an old castle that he owns a key to. Somehow, every door he opens with this key will lead back to this castle...

[bastardsallofyou]

Over a year ago I wrote this headcanon, and I finally decided to add to it slightly!

It had been a successful week for Anathema and Newt, all things considered. While the idea of moving to a 300 year old bookshop was certainly a revelation for them both, and the country-raised Anathema felt especially out of place, Soho became their niche. 

There were a surprising amount of vegan cafes in the area (Newt still argued, jokingly, that “We lived through the end of the world and you’re still worried about sushi? What if the world actually ended tomorrow and you hadn’t had a single hot-dog?” Anathema only had to bring up the fact that Newt had actually been a vegetarian before Armageddon, and they’d shut up quickly. Or, alternatively, make lingering eye contract as she ate. That’d do the trick.)

Clubs were dotted around the area, with neon signs grappling for their attention, but the two were the furthest people from the partying kind. That had been their biggest qualm about moving there- but if a quiet, well-read angel had survived three hundred years in Soho, they could stand a few more. It helped that there seemed to be a miraculous element to the bookshop that blocked out the noise, and filtered the neon flashing into toned-down mood lighting.

And so, they developed a routine. They went on walks in St James’ Park, and had brunch at cafes. They spent afternoons “helping” a certain angel and demon pack up the bookshop, though only three of them actually packed, while one spent hours meticulously dusting and whipping his head around if he heard a noise that sounded too harsh for the packing of one of his precious first editions. They’d watch movies with the curtains drawn, and Newt would attempt to fix Aziraphale’s ancient computer every evening. Occasionally, the pair splashed out on a fancy restaurant for dinner. They’d decided it was an appropriate use for the cash that would mysteriously appear on their coffee table, along with a bunch of flowers. 

Depending on the week, the flowers would be one of two combinations. One was wildflowers, bursting displays of scarlet and amber, which changed along with the seasons. A note came alongside them, in the swirling handwriting of someone who had too much time on their hands: “Take care, my loves. Pop over if you need a good cup of tea and a chat.” Newt would rather spend an afternoon trying to fix computers (and failing miserably), as they were afraid they’d just spill the tea on Madame Tracy’s nice, pink carpet. That, and they’d walked in on a particularly flirty dinner date between her and the Sergeant, which had scarred them for life. But Tracey and Anathema had bonded over their shared love of the occult, and the witch knew just the right things to say so that the medium would make her the nicest cup of herbal tea. 

The other would be the same year-round: orange pansies and white lilies. Hope, happiness, and a new beginning. And a note. Four words- two in a kind of swirling handwriting that was old and otherworldly rather than painstakingly practised; two in a rushed scribble, though the author had more time on his hands than any of them. 

“Thank you.” Times two. One from each of them. One to each of you. 

[bibliphale]

post season 2 ep 6 drabble ── tied heavily to @n1atruc's meta post here.

heaven was too vast , too empty. it made me yearn for the warm clutter of my bookshop , of the faint smell of dust & freshly brewed tea , of the idly flickering lamp by my desk , of the faint , familiarly cloying cologne of the demon who snored on my sofa. blunt , manicured nails dug into the grooves of my palms , clasped neatly behind my back as i peered out of the offices , overlooking the sheer expanse of the planes of heaven. too bright , too ethereal ; a bit like me now , i supposed. i could see the reflection of myself in the window panes ; my eyes glowing like the supreme archangel's would , my hair too long , smoothed neatly back from my face despite the wildness of the curls. i'd grown a beard , but even that was relatively tamed , just as white as my hair as i watched the unfamiliar shape of me waver in the reflection of the glass.

i remembered how hard i'd tried to keep myself composed in the elevator leading up to heaven , all those months ago. how the metatron babbled on about the second coming , like i was truly listening , like i wasn't staring out into the voided , empty nothing , swallowing back the innate desire to double over & wretch up what was left of the coffee he'd offered me. the higher the elevator climbed , the further i could feel myself distancing from crowley.

oh , crowley. i'd never been that angry before , not with him. not as he crashed our lips together with bruising force , so sloppily i swore our teeth clattered & i bit the inside of my cheek , a choked sob escaping my throat as soon as he released me , my fingers knotted 'gainst his back soon falling away to fist at my sides. i'd known demons were manipulative , but i'd never for one second thought he would go to those lengths with me. i'd wanted to kiss him for eons , even well before 1941 , but i'd always daydreamed about gentle things , of tender , summer kisses with sunshine beating down & the smell of wildflowers around us. romantic things. not this , not violence , not as i tasted my own blood in my mouth as he stepped away from me , throat bobbing as i fought the urge to cry.

i love you. you stupid , stupid demon , please , i love you , i need you , don't do this , don't you dare make me choose.

                   ❛            i .. i forgive you.            ❜                    heaven called to me , it sang with the promise of renewal , of bending with me to accommodate my new changes ; but oh , how could i focus on such distant things when the creature i'd loved for so long finally confessed their love for me ? it was a tool to make me stay , a barbed , digging manipulation tactic that dug it's spears into my heart & forced me to dig my heels into the floor , otherwise i might've crumbled at his feet to cry.

i forgive you for trying to do convince me to stay. i forgive you for not seeing the bigger picture. i forgive you for not coming with me.

even now , i could taste him. drifting my fingertips across my lips as i stared at my reflection , my other hand still balled into a fist at my side , nails slowly beginning to bite crescent shaped marks into my skin , the acrid copper stench of fresh blood hitting my nose before i could feel the pain. it was like crowley had kissed me , reached down into my throat , & wrapped his claws around my heart. he still held it , even now , even while it beat painfully 'gainst my chest , i could still feel him. there was a blistering heat that seared across my skin , forcing me to suck in my breath , dropping my fingers from my mouth as i whirled around on my heel at the same time an alarm began to blare somewhere within the building. miracles were happening on earth , & not good ones ; mild natural disasters stretching across several countries. if i strained my ears , i could almost swear i could hear screaming.

no. no , i couldn't hear it. i could feel it. no other angel around me reacted the way i had to the sound , simply glancing at the world map in passing for a couple heartbeats , then moving on. couldn't they feel it ? hear it ? the violent pain that tore within me forced me to stumble , to clutch my fingers at my chest , digging fingers past my blue silk tie to press my hand to my heart , which was thundering much harder than it should. crowley. i knew it was him. i didn't know how i knew , but i did. i'd heard those exact screams before , but i'd buried the memory of them , feeling nothing but guilt as i'd turned my head away from watching him plummet to hell. tears spilled down my cheeks , the grieving sobs pouring nothing but holy water as i gasped for air , on my hands & knees as i clutched at my chest. someone was there , another angel had stopped to help me to my feet , bewildered by the state of me. they couldn't hear the screaming , they couldn't feel what i felt.

                   ❛            i'm fine , i'm fine , don't .. don't touch me , please don't.            ❜                    i wheezed , gently ushering her hands from my arms , scrambling away from her to press my back to the window , sitting haphazardly collapsed 'pon the white tile , inhaling a shaky breath that caught in my throat with a hyperventilated sob. palm pressing to my forehead , i willed the screaming to stop , the pain to go away. i had my own pain to deal with , which was so much easier to compartmentalize without all of this. i love you. i love you , please , i'm so sorry i never said it. that wasn't the right time to say those words , i knew that , i know he knew that. nothing about that last morning in my bookshop had been right , we'd been angry , desperate. i'd had my first kiss , yet remembering it brought nothing but agony.

don't do this. i'm doing this for us. for the world. one day i know you'll come to see what i did had been the hardest choice of my entire life , but i'd rather you hate me & be alive , safe , than love me & be constantly in danger , or dead.

sobs muffled behind my palms , what a sorry sight i was. the new supreme archangel , crying into their fingers , a crumpled mess on the floor of heaven as other angels walked past awkwardly , uncertain of whether to help or not. as my hands fell , i glared balefully up at the ceiling , my throat painful , constricted , tears streaming down my cheeks as i willed them to stop. the screaming had stopped , as had the quiet alarms. but the pain didn't go away. it was like a knife had punctured between my ribs , like crowley's claws were digging into my heart , squeezing as i slowly bled out internally. tongue rolling over my lips , i pulled my sleeve down to my fingers , wiping anxiously at my eyes as i struggled back to my feet , my white hair a knotted , wild mess now as i carded my hands through ; a weak attempt at smoothing them out again.

i had to see this through. i'd made my choice , as painful as it was , i had to see this through to it's completion. i could make a difference , i could change the way people think. i could get the almighty to agree with me , to see the good i was doing. i knew i could. willing the pain to dimimish , but knowing bitterly that it wouldn't , i pressed my palm to my chest as i peered out over the expanse of heaven again , shoulders heaving as i struggled to calm my breathing , which wheezed through gritted teeth , lungs burning as i pressed my forehead to the cool glass. stop. god , please , make it stop.

i'm sorry , crowley. i love you but i need to do this.

[marshmallowprotection]

Wildflowers

Pairing: V | Kim Jihyun/Rika Kim

Description: Desperate to break free from her family, Rika runs from her arranged marriage in the hopes that she can look at that blue sky without fearing she'll lose her innocence forever. However, the unrelenting desert heat leaves her indebted to a stranger who offers her the chance of a lifetime. Will she take it knowing it might be a trap, or will she give up before she dares to try?    Prequel to Cereus.

[Read On AO3]

Cowboy Universe in order: [Wildflowers] [Cereus] [Andromeda] [Wren]  

Chapter 5

It was a small wedding ceremony.

A private and respectful affair that was expected of their religion. Still, it felt like the best day of her life when she saw her reflection in a pool of water before she found his hand at the altar. He made it a day filled with love. Sure, there was no way to put a label on the top of love that they held for each other as it was.

But, it didn’t matter. She loved him and he loved her and that was all the world needed to know about the two of them.

It wasn't anybody else's business what happened between the two of them. The Eyes Of God knew what they felt for each other, anyway.

But, it was taken care of, then and there. With Jihyun’s best friend as a witness to their love, they were married at the local church with relative ease. It’d only taken a week to square away all the details after Jihyun paid off her parents. She didn't think that he would go that far for them, but he did it anyway. He said that it was the only way to make sure that they wouldn't come around again. He was a man of money, and he didn't mind using that money for the right reason. He didn't want her to think that he had bought her from them.

No, he whispered in her ear right before they kissed in the church that he’d bought her freedom from her parents. It was the most liberating kiss she’d ever experienced in her entire life. With his lips, she'd been freed from everything she was afraid of since the moment she was adopted. How could she not be happy with how much he’d done for her sake?

Even if her heart would always be haunted by demons, she would never be the same person she was before she married him.

In some ways, she knew she was lucky. It was an honor to be able to be free. It was something she never imagined for herself but now it was everything she could have ever dreamed of and more. True to every promise he made, nothing changed between them that she wasn’t okay with. If she wanted to be more than friends, he would gladly take her into his arms. But, he promised her that their marriage was for a world of safety. She could have anything she wanted as long as people knew she was his wife.

She thought that it might disrupt the workflow that they had created, but it hadn't done that in the slightest. Even the male patrons that were fond of her weren’t upset. No, plenty of them said it became a challenge to win her over, now. A lot of them appreciated the thrill of the chase and even if she didn't want to go with any of them, it still helped the bar to let them imagine as they wanted. She wasn't upset with any of it.

Any disgusting comments that would happen would never be able to touch her now. People could say or do whatever they wanted, but at the end of the day, she would be home with a man that wanted to keep her safe. She wouldn't take that for granted. It was just one of those things, you know? She had been taught to believe in giving back whenever she was given something, and she wanted to make sure that she was the best wife she could be.

Even if he said she could never be a bad wife, she was determined to be the best. She could keep house and home! She could assuredly take care of her performances, too. He could continue to take care of everything he needed to and she would run everything on the side. It was a situation where they both could win. All in all, it was turning out to be a better life than she expected.

From the minute he had found her withering in the desert, she never expected her life would become something beautiful. It was better than a dream. She couldn't dream of something like this. That's how she knew that she wasn't living in a dream. Her dreams were nothing but nightmares every step of the way. She’d never have a dream like that. So, she had to be living in the real world if her dreams could never be something like this.

She could truly live a life better than the one she'd been given and she was going to make the best of it no matter what happened. Sure, she knew that things weren't always going to be easy going forward, but it was never going to be what it was before she met him. Every step of the way was going to be a little bit easier. That's why it was so easy to stand on that stage when she knew that his eyes would be watching her. As long as he was her partner, she knew things would be okay.

With a smile on her face, she struck a pose on the stage and waited for the curtains to rise. This show was going to grow from where it was today. There were plans in the back of her mind to make a change that would be better than the one she made the day before. But, to do so, she needed to put on a brave face that knew no fear. Even if she was haunted in the dead of night, she could smile on that stage and be everything she needed to be.

No matter what happened, no matter what people said, and no matter what stood in her way, she was going to make sure anybody like her who walked into this place could find salvation.

It would start with dragging her baby cousin from the den of depression she’d heard he was in. Even if she never wanted to see her adopted parents again, she knew she wanted to know her cousin and that family since they lived in this town and wondered if they’d ever met her in the first place. She had some plans to help him the same way Jihyun helped her… she would give her hand to him at the lowest he’d ever been and give him shelter in the saloon.

Her motivation in life was to make a difference. If somebody like her could be saved from the desert heat just because a man wanted to do something good, she could extend her hand to Yoosung when everything felt pointless. He might’ve lost his sight, but she knew where he could find himself again. The world around her was starting to open up simply because she had chosen to run away to protect her heart, and it was the right choice to make.

She wasn't confined to prison anymore. No longer would she be made to believe that she didn't have family or friends that wanted to know her. Nobody could make her believe a lie any more in the name of God. Some people wanted to know her and get close to her out of genuine curiosity. She was going to take them up on that offer. A year ago, she didn't know that she had a cousin or family to speak of. Her adoptive parents made her believe that there was nobody out there but them. But, thanks to Jihyun, she knew better!

Even if she would never be perfect, she would be able to make a difference in the lives of people around her to show that her life was worth the freedom she'd been given. With the sunshine on her face from the light overhead, she began to sing a melody of freedom from the chains that had been yanked away from her hands and ankles by a man with eyes as blue as the skies.

 “       ♫ I hitched a ride with the wind  

     And since he was my friend  

     I just let him decide where we’d go  

     When a flower grows wild  

     It can always survive  

     Wildflowers don’t care where they grow. ♫ ”  

     —

       They say she shined brighter than the sun itself when she was on that stage. It was like the world came to a standstill when her energetic smile filled the little saloon. Rika Kim was more than meets the eye, and she was an oasis in the center of the driest desert. But, to Jihyun Kim, she was more than that. She was someone who desperately wanted a place to belong.

 She was someone who stumbled into his open arms and needed help that only he could give.

 He knew that from the second her fingers clung to his worn coat that evening when terror flashed in her eyes and she pleaded with him— pleaded that he protect her what she was running from—there was nothing more he could do but try to do something. Call it his fatal flaw, but what he wanted to do more than anything else in this world was protect people in need. Even if that meant he had to get his hands dirty to do so. She was the first person he had encountered that reminded him of his mother and he couldn't leave her alone.

 He knew that fear in her eyes because it was the fear he felt that day when he lost his mother and he saw the glint of something more in his father’s eyes just for a second before he let go again as he always had. The fear of knowing that you held no control over your life and someone else could decide your fate no matter how hard you cried. It was something you could either resign yourself to and accept as truth or you could fight against it. Only a fool would choose the latter option. But, nobody ever said he was the smartest man in the world.

 That desperation would drive someone to be willing to do anything to avoid that happening again. In the west, that meant that sooner or later, someone would take control of you eventually once again. It was only a matter of making the wrong choice as soon as you escaped the monster that consumed you. They were all victims when it came down to human sins… but some were worse off than others. There was only one way to get out of it and that required having power of your own.

 If you didn't have any power, you were trapped in the system.

 Even if he prided himself on trying to do the best for others, that didn't mean that he was the best. The world was filled to the brim with people like him who claimed to do best… but in reality… they ended up doing worse. He wanted to believe that he was stronger than the compulsions that haunted others, but the truth was as clear as the lack of rain for decades in that dusty town.

 He was no better than the next person.

 The one thing that set him apart from anyone else was that he was willing to admit that he wasn't good enough. He was trying to be better and the one hope he could hold in his chest in the fleeting moments when clarity came to him and the reality he faced was truly impossible to run from. He wanted to be better than he was the day before.

 He wanted to know that he wasn’t his father and that the mistakes of the past would never be repeated, but the fear of something looming on the horizon always haunted him. Even in peaceful moments like this, when Rika’s sing-song voice echoed through the building like the sound of an angel. The world gave him something to think about. He didn't want to focus on it for very long, just like the weight of the ring against his finger.

 He leaned against the counter, his hand on his cheek, watching as Rika’s golden curls swayed around her face as she lay atop the piano. The sunlight poured in from the windows and seemed to be right on time. She smiled and the glimmer of the setting sun made him tremble. Ever since the moment he met her, there had been something about her that set her apart from anyone else. As complicated as their feelings and relationship were, he was inspired by this woman.

 No matter how much the world tried to break her and beat her down, she would come into this place with a smile on her face and keep going. Even if he knew the truth of the matter, even if he knew that she cried every night she came home, even if he knew that she was struggling to find peace after all of her demons chased her down… She kept trying to do what she wanted to do. She wanted to be up on that stage.

 They were in this together for a reason. This bar was the only thing keeping sure that whispers and secrets went to the right place. It was his duty to make sure it wasn’t corrupted as it had been in the past. He was toeing the line and nothing was going to stop that as long as he was alive. Just as Rika knew that he was in her corner intending to keep her safe from those devils that clung to her heels when the moon rose and the cholla cactus that tried to take over her body.

 They were giving the other something they needed. Rika supplied a haven for others and Jihyun earned a bar with loose lips that helped him gather what he needed for a plan itching in the back of his mind as crime grew in the streets. He offered her peace in matrimony from her abusers and Rika earned a house that she’d never be flung from into the streets for saying no to the devil dressed as a man of God. She’d offered him a place to handle his concerns and fears, knowing that she’d be the confidant he needed in a world of sin. Partners.

 If there was a word to describe what they were, it was partners who understood that the other was dealing with something nobody else could ever understand. She knew that he was doing something in that bar in the name of the greater good, and he knew that she needed his hand in marriage to stay the free woman she wanted to be. Nobody needed to know what brought them together and why they were determined to stay strong.

 Rika rolled onto her side and the oohs and aahs from the folks in the crowd watching were clear. She winked, but it wasn’t meant to be in any particular direction; However, he felt her eyes looking right at him and that was a part of her ability to charm anyone. It felt like she was seeing you in the crowd and nobody else.

 That’s why people clamored to this dingy saloon, they knew that there was this rose unlike anything else to behold after a day of praying for a taste of gold for a change. Rika was special. She was special in a way that nobody else could ever understand. The people who saw her knew that it was easy to say that she was a pretty face, but they would never know the complexities of the person underneath that face.

 A patron to his left chuckled at the sight of Rika’s display as her hand beckoned the crowd to sneak a glimpse at the skin underneath the feathers that covered her shoulders. “I reckon she is somethin’, ain’t she? Guess em’ boys sure as shit weren’t kiddin’ that we’d find a rose out ‘ere if we wanted to wet our lips ‘fore goin’ home.”

 His friend laughed, hand slapping the table with enthusiasm, “Too damn bad the filly is hitched. At least, that’s what I done heard from the rumors. Reckon I ain’t see no ring on them pretty fingers, though.”

 “Open season, man, y’all know how ‘em saloon gals act. This ain’t no house of God, brother. This is where ya’ go if ain’t got nothin’ left to do but get your dick wet at night. They’re loose as hell and’ll take whatever ya’ give ‘em.” The crude comment wasn’t out of place for Jihyun. It was about what you could expect from men like that.

 It made his stomach twist but he knew the name of the game was to bite his tongue and wait for someone to say something they shouldn’t because of the booze on their lips. It was the only downside to being in this situation. The best way to placate and manipulate people came by letting them think that they could say and do whatever they wanted. He cultivated his self-image in a certain way for a reason.

 Both men laughed and laughed at their comments as if they were worthwhile and Jihyun maintained his poker face. He knew those words were disgusting, but Rika had told him that she didn’t mind. She wanted to help him, and she loved the stage. She loved being up there because it felt like a place where she always belonged. Men could say anything they wanted but she knew she would always belong to him. He was her safety and security.

 If only Jihyun could ignore the glint of shame hidden underneath her smile that always popped out when she heard a man say such things. She looked to her partner on stage, smiling back at him with her mask on, as he joined in her melody and the crowd watched on. His days might not have always been perfect, and neither was hers, but he wanted a day where his stomach wasn’t in knots, and where Rika could be able to smile without someone kicking her dreams into pieces.

Little did he or Rika know that in only a year… they’d find wildflowers in need of tender love and care that only they could provide.