#first off i feel the need to say sorry for drawing ink like this

[fl00mie]

ink and blackberry

ink by @/comyet

blackberry/error by @/loverofpiggies

[loves4ge]

tattoo artist!au, cw: partial nudity, mdni

choso can feel his heart stutter in his chest, bumping against his ribcage. god, who just walked in? the pen he's using to draw in his tablet clatters to the ground, though he can't be bothered to pick it up because he is too busy staring at you.

oh, you, with your lovely little dress hitching near the middle of your thigh. strappy sandals and painted nails, you have him hooked. the parlor is dimly lit and smells of ink and paper and alcohol. the kind that's used for cleaning wounds and not the one that you get drunk on with your friends on friday nights. he doesn't even hear your words and you have to repeat them.

"sorry, what did you say?" he sounds out of breath despite not doing any physical exertion. and you grin, that smile would put the sun to shame.

"that's alright. i wanted to get a tattoo but i wasn't sure if you accepted walk-ins?" you trail off towards the end in an inquiring tone. you know that they don't. it's their pinned post on social media.

he does not accept walk-ins. "sure we do, what do you have in mind?"

your eyes brighten, grinning even wider, and choso thinks he might just die and go to heaven right now. he can't stop glancing at you when you show him the designs on your phone.

"where do you want it done?" he asks at the end, opening a blank page on his tablet to finalize a design. you can't help but observe him, leaning over the counter, hair in two twin ponytails and eyeliner done to perfection.

"i was thinking my hip? like if i wore a bikini, i want the tattoo to be partially obscured by the bikini bottoms." choso thinks he may as well have short-circuited with the speed his brain is malfunctioning. you notice his delayed response and almost cooed. he's shy.

this isn't the first time a client has asked for a tattoo in a risqué position, and he's never batted an eye at nudity either. but he's entirely unsure of himself when you strip down to your panties (you ended up taking off the short dress, though you did wear a cami underneath it), and he's thinking maybe he does have a problem with nudity after all (most people call this problem an erection, but choso's not that crude).

"you're gonna have to pull it aside, or i can cut it off." he doesn't specify which part, and now your eyes widen.

swallowing thickly, you ask, "what do you mean?" you know what he means, but you sort of hope he meant something else.

"the side of your underwear, we can just cut a slit—oh," he understands what his previous sentence sounded like when he sees your face contort into disbelief and then promptly dissolve into relief.

he doesn't look at you directly, "sorry, i don't know why i said that. it's, oh god, sorry to make you uncomfort—" he's cut off by your words of understanding.

"it's my fault really. i swear i'm not uncomfortable. really, choso." oh, the money he'd pay to hear his name leave your lips again.

"…if you say so. i'll use the scissors now, if that's okay?" you nod, smiling to encourage him. god knows he needs no encouragement to cut off your panties. there's silence in the parlor except for the sound of fabric being cut. he hands you a small towel to cover whatever you need to, but you just place it to the side. you know what you're doing. choso isn't sure if you're an angel or the devil.

he makes sure his ponytails aren't loose and puts on some nitrile gloves, black like his hair. you're wondering if you should break the silence, make some small talk, put the boy out of his misery, or just let the tension simmer.

"i really like the face tattoo thing you've got going on." he snaps up to look at you, then immediately reddens. his fingers hover above the black stripe across his face.

"yeah?"

"mhm." you lift your hand, thumbing his cheek where the tattoo ends. he's still the entire time.

you'd be the death of him.

with careful hands, he sanitizes the part of your hip where the tattoo would go on. he may have taken a little bit longer than usual, his fingertips pressing into your skin with the thin layer of an alcohol wipe acting as a barrier. your skin is soft, and he wants to grip your hips more actively. without the façade of a tattooist doing his job.

you're not feeling calm anymore, and in a sudden fit of unadvised decision-making, you grab choso's wrist (this choice was not peer-reviewed by your groupchat, but at the moment you find it in yourself that you don't really care). he startles but doesn't say anything.

"i'm nervous," you murmur. he instantly softens, melts, and reaches out to grab your shoulder in a sort of platonic 'i'm there for you' way. you're not planning to be platonic.

"that's alright lovely, everybody gets nervous before tattoos. it's more common than you think. would you like water?" his voice is soothing, and the way his lips move. you know what you need. you know what would calm you down.

"i know another way we can get rid of my nerves."

"mm, how so?"

"kiss me."

he almost chokes. he looks at your dead serious expression.

he is so fucked.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook gets his motorcycle license and you don’t believe in fate.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, a dash of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: protective!bf jungkook 🫡 / jk gives oc h*ckeys / jk is sad and scared bc many couples r breaking up :( then he gets h*rny and i can’t blame him bc oc is hot / oc loves short skirts n jk is stressed / oc gets an anxiety attack !! bc they thought jk got into an accident / bam cameo <3

> in which masterlist!

note: ART REPORTING FOR DUTY 🫡 it’s been a while so i feel quite rusty and my brain is fried pls bear with me </3 i’m excited to post regularly again and get back into the flow hehe. as always feedback and reblogs are appreciated! 🥺

—

it is a rather calm afternoon in your shared apartment. you and jungkook may be together in the living room, but you’re each spending your alone time.

you’re sitting on the couch with bam’s head on your lap, your not-so-little baby sleeping soundly. you indulge yourself in a fashion magazine, occasionally lifting your head when you sense your boyfriend staring at you longingly from the desk. he would quickly avert his eyes to feign obliviousness, switching between the laptop or his phone to busy himself.

“babe, spit it out.” you giggle, lowering down the magazine from your face. “is there something wrong…? what do you want?”

“no, it’s nothing. just ignore me.”

“then you’re going to be upset with me when i actually do it?”

“yah! that’s not true!” he looks at you wide-eyed, chest puffing up in defense. “it’s really nothing, okay? you can go back to reading.”

“mkay, whatever you say… i’m not reading, though.”you mumble the last sentence, burying your nose in the magazine again.

with a glittery golden-inked pen, you draw a star beside a bag from the spring/summer collection that you fell in love with at first sight. you hear the clacking of the keyboard pause and resume, pause and resume, but you ignore your boyfriend’s beseeching glances like he asked you to.

minutes pass by on the clock as you flip the pages with twinkling eyes and silent squeals, but they feel like hours to jungkook.

he blinks at the laptop screen as he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip.

he just needs to do it— get it over with. whatever it is, he’s certain that the two of you could reach some sort of compromise… right?

he puts on a face of determination before wheeling the gaming chair towards where you are. and with no one to blame but himself, he releases a disgruntled noise when he collides with the leather couch. the impact sends him a couple of feet away from his destination, but his hands find purchase on your exposed thighs and he brings himself back to you.

his clinginess never fails to fill your stomach with butterflies.

you smile in secret, silent as he hooks his arms underneath your knees and lies his head beside bam’s. he kisses bam’s forehead, and in a somewhat twisted way, you are grateful for all the times the universe tugged at the string of joy and made you chase after it, because it led you here.

he has folded himself in a position that looks wildly uncomfortable, but jungkook likes to torture his senses for some reason, so you let him be. you pretend that no one has invaded your space, attached theirself to you so close that you’re carrying a quarter of their weight; feeling tickled by their exhales against your skin.

you planned to mix yourself a cocktail halfway through your magazine, but that is pushed to the bottom of things you can do now that your boyfriend is displeased with the lack of attention from his lover.

“this won’t do!”

his impatience forces him out of the chair and onto the couch, where he sneaks his strong arms around your waist. the movements shakes bam awake from his slumber. the doberman sits up, tiredly blinks at his father as if he is so done, and leaps off the couch to strut to his house.

jungkook scratches his head guiltily. “bam! dad is sorry that he disturbed your sleep!”

to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t receive a reply.

“oh, bam, are you mad at me…? you can’t be, right? you must understand… we both really love ____, don’t we?”

but he does receive one from you— a fond gaze that thinks of him bizarre.

“he’s not mad!” he defends himself.

“he should be. we were having a peaceful time together.”

“yah, that’s so mean. i’m part of this family too!” he complains with a scowl. “i want to cuddle.”

“no one’s stopping you, babe.”

this time, he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

he breathes you in, and his mind becomes clouded with the natural scent of you, so uniquely you, sweet and fresh like the clouds on a spring day, mixed with a hint of strawberries. humans smell fragrant flowers and break off their stems. jungkook smells you and he bites, sinks his teeth on your skin, sucks, again and again, and then soothes the ache with a slow and gentle slide of his tongue, but it doesn’t erase the marks that blossom into a hue of a bruise.

he licks his lips, wet with saliva, feeling cocky with the memory of your sharp inhales— cockier when he lifts his head and sees the dilation of your pupils behind a curtain of haze.

however, they’re still trained towards the fashion items printed on paper that you so desperately wish would materialize into thin air.

he groans.

“baaaaby,”

“mhmmm?” you mimic the tone of his whine, resting your head on his shoulder— just to be closer, let him know you’re here and you’re listening.

he clears his throat, prepares for the worst.

“these days, there’s something i’ve been thinking of a lot… i’ve been researching here and there, too…”

“about?”

“motorcycles…”

“okay,”

“okay?”

bewildered by your nonchalant response, he pulls away to squint at you in suspicion.

“…i’m planning to buy one and get a license? like, maybe next week?”

“okay,” you repeat yourself.

hit with a twinge of confusion, you briefly tear your eyes away from the beautiful gowns worn by beautiful models.

“are you telling me or are you asking me?”

“uh- uhm,” he stutters. “i’m telling you.”

“alright then,”

his chest puffs up as he inhales sharply. “that’s it?!”

“what do you want me to say?” you flip a page, a flicker of amusement flashing across your face. “you’re not allowed to…? i mean- sure, i can do that, too.”

“no, no, no, no, no-” he kisses your cheek— nearly, barely, he’s smiling too big to do it properly. “no, really! are you serious?”

“why won’t you believe me?” the magazine lands on your lap as you cross your arms in annoyance. “what do you think of me?”

“i heard couples really fight about this in particular, though?” he chuckles, and it’s your pouted lips’ turn to be granted a kiss. “sorry, i assumed you won’t approve of this one. you’re so strict with me about driving safely.”

“it’s no problem because i know you’re responsible. i just get worried sometimes,” you mumble. “when you’re tired from work.”

“i know,”

“good,” you sigh, leaning into him to steal a kiss yourself. “can i just ask you for one thing then?”

“yes,” he nods eagerly. “anything.”

“if i find out that you didn’t wear a helmet one time…” you tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth, unsure what type of reaction you will elicit. “you’re getting rid of it.”

“three times-”

“oh my god, absolutely not!”

the sheer horror painted on your face further fuels his mischief.

“twice?”

“you said anyth-”

“please?”

“no! then i’m getting rid of it myself!”

you shove his shoulder, and he allows himself to fall flat on the couch before bouncing back with the mission to ease your mind.

“i’m just joking, baby!” his giggles fill the entire apartment.

he cages your face in his hands but you stubbornly resist.

“i’m joking- i’m joking. i’m sorry. come here, give me a kiss.”

he makes a smooching sound with his puckered lips and you send an unimpressed glare in return.

“promise me first,” your fingers wrap around his wrist to deny his affectionate advances. “one time!”

“i promise!”

“and you won’t get angry at me?”

and with that, his heart begins to ache in his chest. the shift in your voice, the nervousness blanketed by softness… fuck.

“how hard can that possibly be?”

he just remembered how upset you were when he got himself infected after visiting a tattoo shop in america. you told him it would probably be best to do more research on the place, but he isn’t jungkook if he isn’t stubborn. it was hell, to say the least. being in pain and fighting with you for days. you would tend to him and the silence would rub salt on the wound.

today, however, he was more than prepared to defend his case in the event that he faces rejection.

he doesn’t.

on the contrary, he is a given a gift.

“i hate you,” you whimper, but your words contradict the way you respond to his kisses— the sharpness of them has been dulled by his tongue. he tastes like the green apple lollipop that you completely forgot you left on the desk four days ago.

he draws back with a playful grin.

thief… your kisses and your candy and your body and your heart. all his.

“huh, you don’t mean that.”

“i do!”

“i love you,” he utters tenderly. “i trust you to set me straight when i need to get my shit together.”

“then you understand that i just don’t want it to become a habit, right…?”

what does he think of you? a person who treats him with utmost gentleness, supports his happiness, and worries about his safety— a person more important to him than himself.

“and even if it’s only one time… we never know what’s going to happen. i wouldn’t be able to bear seeing you outside the celebrity segment of the news. jungkook, i swear.” you pray that he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice, disguising it with a layer of humor. “i will lose my mind.”

“of course i understand! that won’t ever happen, baby! i want to tell you not to worry too much, but… but to be honest… i think i will be more upset if you don’t lecture me about this kind of thing at all.”

“really?”

“yes. because then doesn’t that mean you no longer care about me?”

this whole time, you’ve been saying i don’t want you to get hurt i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you, and he hears you clearly— like how one recognizes their favorite song playing in public even from far away.

you smile sheepishly. “show me the motorcycle you want.”

your outspoken interest makes jungkook’s face light up like a christmas tree.

“there’s actually a few that i’m looking at…” he trails off, running back to the desk to grab his laptop.

“i’ll help you choose!” you clap your hands excitedly. “is there a pink one?”

“pink?!” he exclaims, which is then followed by endeared laughter. “you want it?”

you assume that he is going to ignore the silly idea, that is until he returns to his seat beside you.

“sure, there should be one somewhere.” he whispers, more to himself, typing away on the keyboard to feed your curiosity.

“really? really?” you babble, clinging to his arm to take a peek at the screen.

“hmmm,” he hums. “get a license too and i’ll buy it for you.”

a sound of disapproval bubbles in your throat. “eh, not for me. i want you to use it.”

jungkook dramatically pauses. he stares at you, doe eyes infront of blazing headlights.

he releases a burdened sigh.

“why me?!”

—

“bend over,” jungkook commands sternly, standing arms crossed infront of the bedroom door to deny your exit. “right now.”

“eh?” you gape at him. “but aren’t we goi-”

“i said turn around, baby.”

you’re left with no choice when his patience runs thin and he captures your hand— it comes so naturally when you twirl on your toes as if you’re waltzing to a slow love song. he pushes you forward gently, and you carry your innate grace all the way to the arch of your back.

jungkook swallows down a moan elicited by the tantalizing view, clearing his throat. he masks the sound by unceremoniously spanking your ass, the skin-to-skin contact also causing a sharp sting to spread across his palm.

“shit- i knew it, it’s too short.” he tugs your skirt down, a useless attempt at concealing your white lace underwear. he harshly breathes out in exasperation. “baby, i can see everything! you can’t ride a motorcycle wearing this!“

“what? motorcycle?! i can finally ride it?!”

you only heard one word come out of your boyfriend’s mouth, it seems.

you flip in excitement, facing him again with a smile as bright as the sunny sky outside. “you got your license? why didn’t you tell me?!”

“i was going to surprise you but-”

he still looks stressed out, eyes trained to your skirt- well, your legs. the skirt is barely there.

“going back here from the parking lot to change would be-”

“but it’s miu miu,” you quietly remark, looking down at the article of clothing with a frown. “it’s not that short…”

“look at the mirror,” he points to your left with his eyes, but then he is already carrying you by the curves of your waist so that your back is facing it.

you bend down on your own, and jungkook clicks his tongue when you only giggle heartily upon seeing your own reflection.

“it’s fiiine! you’re there to protect me. i just won’t bend down.”

“but won’t you get cold?”

“nope!” you reply without a second to spare. “for fashion, i never get cold.”

it’s been more than five years since he met you; jungkook knows damn well that is very far from the truth. not a single autumn and winter have passed that he didn’t lend you his jacket, his warmth, and then some more, simply because you refuse to stop wearing skirts until you’re at the verge of freezing to death.

alright, maybe he’s being dramatic, and you’re stubborn as hell.

“and i’m wearing my tall boots,” you raise your leg in a straight line to show off the leather brown boots that stop below your knees. “look, look… don’t i look cute?”

cute? such a word won’t do you justice. you’re acting like he’s not also looking at your panties.

“of course,” a soft smile replaces his hardened features. “you look so beautiful, baby.”

“hm, thought so,” you scrunch your nose, and his heart skips a beat.

damn, but that- there’s definitely no other word to describe it but the word cute.

“but how about, let’s say, wearing a coat over it?”

“jungkook! no!” you grunt, punching his arm- but then a lightbulb illuminates your brain.

“or shorts under it-”

“oh my god, i think you have one that matches. i remember i saw it the other day-”

“no, wait, wait, wait- shorts are safer! ____!”

you sprint back to the walk-in closet, leaving jungkook alone in the bedroom.

“come back here!”

he jerks his head in distress, rubbing his eyes harshly with his tattooed knuckles.

“ah, ____!”

“what?!” you yell, voice bouncing off the walls of your apartment. “i found it!”

—

“is it too tight?” jungkook inquires, looking up to you from the floor.

you bend your knees to assess the tightness of knee pads. “nope, it’s good.”

he proceeds to grab the elbows pads he hung over the handle of the motorcycle.

“hmmm, next… you wear these instead.”

you pout, recalling that he forgot his riding jacket at work yesterday. “but what about you?”

“i only have one pair.” he says. “it’s fine, it’s just for now. let’s pick up my jacket at the company before going to the museum.”

“how about let’s wear one each?”

upon processing the mechanics of your suggestion, his tall and broad frame shakes with mirth.

you obviously grew up with little siblings. they were so lucky to have you.

“hey! what are you laughing at?”

“nothing, you’re just cute.” he chuckles, wrapping the other protective pad around your left elbow. “just wear them both. i’m confident with my driving but… i still need you as safe as possible, baby.”

“but jungkook! what if y-” you whine out a protest, which he instantly silences by slipping your helmet over your head. “ugh, you’re so rude!”

he beams with pride as he clips its straps beneath your chin. “wow, it fits so perfectly? i only guessed… ah, as expected of jeon jungkook.”

his hand freezes on the visor when you strike him with the beady eyes, pouting your lips to request for a kiss, which he grants— more than willingly. gladly. happily. with pleasure.

cruising through the city on a motorbike with the love of his life; going on dates; putting on your helmet for you and learning how to angle his face for when he steals a kiss— he used to only witness this in romance films.

at the end of the day he’s just a simple man, jungkook admits.

what a dream come true.

—

it definitely becomes clearer to jungkook today— why you did not oppose the idea of him getting a motorcycle license on such short notice.

“this is so cool!” you squeal behind him, subconsciously raising the pitch of your voice to contest with the wind and the roaring engines.

“____, be careful,” he chides you. “or else i’ll slow down!”

a sense of relief washes over him as you readjust your arms around his waist, your weight resting on him ironically making his chest feel lighter.

if only jungkook could protect you by keeping you bubblewrapped at all times, he would.

“you’re enjoying this more than i expected.”

the two of you idle before a red light. he balances the two-wheeled vehicle with his left foot planted on the ground.

“is it fun?”

“so much fun!” you gush, enthusiasm overflowing past the seams of your lips. “you already drive like a pro!”

“of course! i studied hard! i don’t plan on putting you in danger with my stupidity!”

“still-” you interject. “you’re just good at everything.”

while he is aware that he is gifted in many ways, technically speaking, jungkook knows he can’t possibly be good at everything. but hearing it come from the person he love and adore most in the world? he can’t help but to allow it to inflate his ego a little bit.

ten seconds before the traffic light turns green.

his smirk is hidden inside his helmet, but you can masterfully envision it in your head just from the transparent smugness in his voice.

“time to hold on again, baby.”

“i think you just like me feeling you up.” you muse.

you teasingly slip one hand underneath his shirt to caress his toned stomach, and he hisses out a curse. with how strict you are about road safety, one would assume that you would restrain on being frisky while riding a vehicle thirty times more dangerous than a car. you either have too much in trust your boyfriend or you underestimate your effect on him.

in his case, double the thirty.

the engine roars to life and the wheels screech against the concrete road. your gentle touch turns into a bruising grip on his waist.

jungkook thinks that you might be right. he would never miss an opportunity to feel your skin on his skin. he selfishly decides then and there— he now prefers motorycle rides with you.

—

it doesn’t take you long to catch up to that fact. when he tells you wear something comfortable, you also know not to spend too much time doing something cute with your hair because the helmet will just turn it into a tousled mess. for the past two months, he has been calling you every night to ask whether you want to be picked up from work with the bike or the car, because as much as you both relish in the thrill and the wind and the intimacy, sometimes you fall asleep on the way home from exhaustion and he doesn’t want you… quite literally falling on the streets of seoul.

but today is your day-off, and with your head hanging from the edge of the bed, you tear your attention away from your phone to find jungkook is upside down. he stands outside the bedroom door hugging your rainbow hello kitty plushie to his chest, frowning woefully with a cause you are clueless about.

the contrast of his black t-shirt with the rainbow makes you crack a smile, reminiscent of the countless memes you’ve seen on the internet. you find it funny, but mostly endearing. because you’re the one who loves colors but dreams of nightmares, while he loves dark colors but dreams of stars, fairies, and soaring through skies and different dimensions. you don’t believe in fate. however, jungkook believes that it was fate that brought him to you, and that you are the person he is destined with. you don’t believe in fate, but you wholeheartedly, unequivocally believe in him.

“i was watching the news-” he huffs, seemingly perplexed. “why is everyone breaking up all of a sudden?”

“who broke up?”

he freezes, attempting to recall the names that flashed across the television screen only minutes ago. “i honestly don’t know them, but still!”

“then why are you pouting?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he carelessly tosses the plushie on the bed before climbing on it, sneaking his arms between your torso and the mattress to engulf you in a bone-crushing embrace. your phone slips away from your grip, buried somewhere in the sheets, but when big bundle of love and warmth is over you, it’s impossible to be consumed by anything else.

you weave your fingers through his hair, whispering teasingly. “scared of being in the headlines too?”

“scared…” he agrees, then he doesn’t. “of losing you.”

he scoots closer to nuzzle his face against your neck, his warm breath fanning your skin.

“i-it’s just,” he pauses. “ah, i don’t know! nevermind, forget it.”

“no, tell me. it’s okay.” your hands cup his cheeks, coaxing him to look at you. “tell me what’s bothering you. whatever it is. i’ll listen.”

there’s a glint of melancholy on his glassy eyes, and you desperately want to know what brought forth this pain so you can take it all away. your heart shatters when his nose scrunches into a sniffle, skin becoming more flushed, a shade of red that dusts his skin only when he cries.

“when couples break up after a long time… many of them say…” he trails off, held back by uncertainty.

“they say?” you urge him to continue, pretending to be absorbed in fixing his hair— running your fingers through the soft locks, rearranging his bangs, trying to see if they’re long enough to be tucked behind his ears— all in an indulgent effort to show him that this type of conversation doesn’t need to be awkward or intense.

“they say that… that they just woke up one day and- and realized they were no longer-” his lips curve into a frown, deeper than before, and you mirror him without knowing. “happy, or in love.”

he breathes shakily, avoiding your eyes to gather himself together.

fuck, jeon jungkook. man up! are you seriously going to cry right now? like this?

“and we’ve been together for five years.”

“almost five,” you correct him with a sweet smile, poking his soft cheek right where one of his dimples would be. “our anniversary is right around the corner.”

the unadulterated joy you radiated as you spoke those words makes the trepidation in his brain glitch.

“sorry, i couldn’t help myself. please continue.”

he licks his lips, and then opens his mouth but- “i’ve lost my train of thought.”

“oh my god, i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“you were talking about something serious.” you wince guiltily.

“our anniversary is something serious too!” he points out, pouting cutely.

“yes, but… it’s a different story, breakups are- jungkook! why are you suddenly laughing?!” you sputter, shoving him away in annoyance when you hear a snort in the midst of his uncontrollable giggles. “what’s so funny…? you were just so close to crying!”

he shakes his head profusely, collapsing over you, but he ends up rolling over to the side so he can lie on his back and clutch at his aching belly.

“ah, ____! my heart fluttered when you mentioned our anniversary. i totally forgot what i was talking about!”

if it fluttered earlier, now it goes absolutely wild in his ribcage.

your positions are switched before he can comprehend it— you’re now on all fours on top of him. his head is trapped in between your arms and your gold necklace is dangling over his face and you’re straddling his lap and now it’s getting harder to breathe and not picture obscene images that involve you worshipping his body.

he probably likes this way too much than he cares to admit.

“do you see it now?”

he purses his lips, obviously distracted, controlled by his desire for you as he finds the curves of your waist to caress. “see what?”

“that you don’t need to be anxious about us not being happy in the future, because we’re happy right now.”

he cannot detect an ounce of hesitation even if he tried. you are steady. you are sure. something intangible and inexplicable floods your souls when your eyes meet, but the two of you know that it exists and it is real.

“fuck… i love you. i fucking love you so much.” his voice borders on a growl, and a whimper escapes your lips just before they crash against his for a kiss so full of passion that it completely catches you offguard. he pulled you down so swiftly that your hands anchored on the bed scrambled for his forearms to break your fall, nails digging into his skin as you balance yourself.

jungkook isn’t much for words, but something in him always wants more. he likes to speak with his tongue in a way so sweet that it compels you to abandon your vocabularies in the farthest back of your mind.

you sit down on his lap breathless after making out. your boyfriend watches you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, slipping his hands underneath his head as he cockily grins in satisfaction.

you roll your eyes at the sight of his biceps being shamelessly flexed. “bastard,”

“bastard you’re crazy about,”

“unfortunately,” you sigh with faux disappointment, hugging the hello kitty plushie you picked up from the floor.

“want to go for a ride?”

“to where?”

“anywhere,” he shrugs. “it’s already late so there shouldn’t be traffic anymore.”

you jump off the bed without another word, returning a minute later clad in a black harley davidson jacket. you look so fucking chic and attractive in it, he always pats himself on the back for buying it for you.

jungkook would go against all laws of the universe if it meant spending a hundred more almost five years with you, until the hello kitty plushie you’re still hugging becomes gray and unrecognizable.

“babe, why are you still staring at me like that? i’m ready!”

—

from the entrance, jungkook discerns your familiar figure pacing back and forth across your designated parking spaces. you appear to be engrossed in your phone as you nibble on your thumb, which he knows to be a tell-tale sign of your anxiety. you just got your nails done, and for the first three days, you’re usually very conscious of messing them up.

you fail to notice the loud presence of his motorcycle, not until he has successfully parked and pushed down its side stand on the ground.

“baby! what are you doing out here?”

he lifts off the helmet, ruffling his hair to tame it. and as he brushes his stubborn bangs away from his eyes, that’s when he sees his lover overcome with distraught.

his heart drops to his stomach.

your eyes are filled with unshed tears, chin trembling with the struggle of holding them back.

“jungkook!” you wail out his name, and you haven’t cried this loud since you were sixteen.

an unnamed neighbor walks by the scene and says to theirself, somebody must’ve died.

“yah- why? why, why, why?” he stumbles over his own words in panic, carelessly hanging the helmet on one of the handles of the motorcycle as he gets off. “what’s wrong? baby? what happened?”

you hide your face in the palms of your cold yet clammy hands, ashamed by the surge of your emotions flooding the parking lot as acid rain, but a sense of safety blankets you when jungkook gingerly tugs you towards him.

“i thought something bad happened to you! a car hit a motorcycle nearby- and i thou- i really thought-”

“oh, that’s right! how did you know?” he gasps. “i passed by them earlier. there were so many people and police officers.”

“jungkook!” you snap, hitting his chest in frustration.

“sorry- i’m sorry! okay, that was insensitive of me- fuck.” he rambles, and you visibly cringe when his glove-clad hands touch your face.

the texture, and only god knows all the places it’s been…

“there’s no need to cry, baby! i’m already here, aren’t i? i’m so healthy. there’s not a single scratch on me.”

he hastily takes off his jacket to reveal himself in a white sleeveless shirt. spotless that it looks brand-new.

“see? all good!“

you fall silent. your eyes frantically scan his body, but your brain doesn’t really register anything that you perceive.

“aigoo, why are you shaking so much?”

he can’t bear to watch you in this state. he feels nauseous, almost, like his gut is being twisted and wrung in different ways.

“my baby must’ve been so worried about me, is that right? come here.”

in the solace of jungkook’s embrace, wrapped in his strong arms that are, praise heavens, not broken, the pounding of your heart gradually returns to normal.

his, however, becomes louder. and these days he likes to believe that he is no longer the crybaby he once was, but his skin feels flushed as tears fills his eyes, because damn, what a blessing it is to be loved by you.

he leans on the motorcycle, lovingly rocking you back and forth with shushes and soft hums.

time flies by when you are floating, but jungkook is patient as he waits for you to land and come home to him, even when his feet have fallen asleep.

“you haven’t forgotten your promise?” you whisper.

“never not wear a helmet,” he coos, pressing his lips to your temple. “of course i haven’t forgotten.”

“good,” you mumble, drawing back. “go home and shower. you’re all so sweaty.”

“i will. i feel so sticky.” he chortles. “this is so annoying. i hate summer!”

—

you continue to cling to jungkook all the way to the apartment unit, arms circled around his torso and soft cheek smushed against his back. snuggling him from behind like a koala does a tree is a newly-discovered joy. and if you were single you would be rolling your eyes at a person for saying this, but it is quite wonderful to have a boyfriend for a pillow that is also a blanket. has anyone invented that?

“you know, i regret not getting a motorcycle earlier.”

“why?”

the door opens with a short jovial jingle as a signal.

“i saw someone with a puppy in a basket this morning. it was even wearing goggles! it was really cute!” he laments, dragging you along with him into the living room. “ah, i’m an idiot. why didn’t i think of that? we could’ve done that with bam!”

you form the mental image of tiny baby bam wearing tiny goggles and a tiny leather jacket, and then another, but with the current bam.

“but bam is already as big as the bike!” you dissolve into laughter.

jungkook grunts, and you can’t tell whether he’s genuinely feeling this regretful or he’s just trying to distract you after you broke down with the mind-numbing anxiety of losing him forever.

“exactly!”

you sink into the couch, instinctively reaching for the hello kitty plushie to hug. meanwhile, he begins stripping off his shirt.

“it’s not even possible at all now!”

“but i do want to see him wear goggles…” you say in jest, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your shorts. “should i look for one?”

wait, what do you even type for it? dog goggles?

“i found them. there are helmets, too.” you gasp, covering your mouth as an epiphany hits you. “the puppy wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

driven by curiosity, jungkook sits next to you as you search for the item online. he is practically naked, left wearing only his black calvin klein boxers.

“oh,” he pauses. “now that you mention it, the puppy wasn’t wearing one.”

“how are you still sweaty?” with your thumb, you wipe the bead of sweat threatening to enter his eye. “go shower first.”

he manages to sneak a chaste kiss to your wrist before it becomes out of reach.

“before that, i need to tell you something.”

you bob your head, encouraging him to speak out, but the longer you maintain eye-contact with him, the faster his impulsive courage melts into a puddle of nervousness.

marry me.

marry me.

“baby…”

“yes?” you half-smile. “what is it? you’re starting to scare me.”

marry me.

when i see the future, i only see you.

“i love you.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[darlingbabyboo]

I've been thinking for a while about a particular one shot request and I read it last night on another fandom, so now I kinda wanna see it with TR.

So here it is : How would some of the guys react to us doodling on their hand during some boring class? (Mikey, Draken, Takemichi, Mitsuya, Haitani brothers and the Kawata twins)

Sorry if it's too much! It doesn't have to be anything big, just a small reaction would be more than perfect, since I love your writing so much. 🥹

Baby, What Are You Doing...

Summary: the guys react to you doodling on their arms

Notes: some small blurbs about the guys. These vary in length and I was lowkey running out of ideas while I was writing but I tried my best to stay original! Also, not edited bcs I don't got time for that, you see a mistake, no you didn't <333

Mikey is kinda out there so he probably wouldn't even notice you were writing on his hand, but when he does he eats that shit up. He's lazy so he doesn't like going to get tats but he loves some ink. He will praise you and start requesting things like you're a professional artist. 'Please babe, I want a dorayaki on my forearm.' You bite your lip to hide your blossoming smile, 'you know I'm not a professional artist, right?' Your boyfriend shrugs and smacks a kiss to your cheek, 'you are to me babe!'

Draken notices right away what you're doing and is probably a bit confused at first. Like, do you want him to get another tattoo??? He'll do it hun, just ask. You two are relaxing in his bed, just enjoying each other's presence. He's surprised when you pull out a Sharpie and start doodling your name on his arm. 'Honey, what're you doing?' You give a sheepish grin, 'sorry, is it a problem.' He looks at the doodle, and you start to relax when you spot no disgust in his eyes. 'No problem hun,' he turns to you, 'think I should get this my next visit?' You squeal and wrap your arms around his neck as he looks at the doodle in wonder, more love sprouting in his heart.

Takemichi is a loser (affectionate) and he would never get a tattoo because he can't stand that pain, so he will take take that doodle and he will hold it with pride. 'Sweetie, I love it so much!' He wraps his arms around your waist and you can feel his smile against your stomach. You giggle at his wonder at some shitty stick figures along his arms. 'It's really no big deal' You say, running your hands through his hair, 'you don't need to be so happy.' He shakes his head, 'it is a big deal,' He insists, 'I've never seen anything better!'

Mitsuya my love, my heart, my will to live. He will be gassing up so much that you'll probably start believing that you're the best artist in the world. He's just such a supportive cutie pie <3 'Darling, this is one of the greatest things I've ever seen,' You laugh at the amazement in his eyes as you scribble your name in mock script on his arms. It's barley legible, but Takashi doesn't seem to care, 'you sure about that?' The smile doesn't drop from his face as he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, 'I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'

I'm sorry but Smiley is probably the biggest asshole when he catches you doing this. He loves it, I promise, but he's a jerk 100% of the time, it's hard for him to turn it off. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you uncap your sharpie and start to draw something on his hand. 'What the fuck is that supposed to be?' He mutters. You laugh awkwardly at his harsh tone and drop your Sharpie, 'sorry, I just saw some cute videos about people putting their initials on their boyfriends wrists and I thought-it's stupid sorry-I don't know why I did that.' You duck your head down, burying your face into his chest, feeling that your body's on fire. Smiley looks at the half-finished doodle on his wrist. 'Don't stop baby, shit's pretty cute.' He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, 'I might get it tatted up.'

Angry is so flustered when he sees you doing this and he loves it so much okay. He feels like wearing it is a testament of how strong your love is. He will ask you (nervously) to do it every day because he doesn't want it to fade. 'Oh my gosh! Souya, you scared me, what're you doing there?' He stands awkwardly in the corner of your room, playing with the ends of his sleeves. 'Sorry... I didn't want to scare you... I just...' He pulls up his sleeve and he sees the fading bunny on his arm. 'I don't wanna bother you, I just-' 'Don't worry baby, I get it.' You cut him off, cupping his cheek and placing a kiss on his cheek. You pull him towards the bed and tell him to wait, 'I just need to get my Sharpies!'

Ran won't notice I'm sorry. He sleeps most of the day and he already has so much ink that some doodles won't pop out to him too much. It's only until he notices you doodling on a piece of paper one day and compares it to what's all over his arms that he starts tweakin'. 'Angel have you been inkin' me up?' He raises an eyebrow at you, confused. You hide your smile, 'of course not, I have no idea what you're talking about.' He narrows his eyes, '...okay.' Not completely believing you, but too sleepy to question things. 'Wanna take a nap?' You feel the Sharpie in your pocket and bite the inside of your cheeks, 'I'd love to!'

Rindou will eat that shit up, oh my gosh he loves it so much. He's like the extreme version of Angry and Mikey. He wants it obvious, and he wants it bold. 'C'mon princess, your name on my collarbone, I need it.' You raise an eyebrow as you straddle him, 'in red though, that's a bit... much.' He shakes his head, 'no, no, it'll be perfect.' You shake your head in exasperation, your boyfriend is a big dummy, but he loves you with every part of himself.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 16

Summary: The final confrontation with Hybern comes to a head.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Character Death (or two, sorry Beron), Suggestiveness ;)

Author's Note: I'm going to be totally honest, I have a terrible time writing endings, they have never been my strong suit, I like to keep things open ended so that they can just go one forever and ever. So, I intend to write a couple more chapters as part of the epilogue, I'm thinking a mating ceremony? Some fluffy goodness to make up for all the angst? Let me know what you guys want to see :) (I've posted a poll here for ideas as well )

Previous Chapter/ Master List

-------------------

Rhys is screaming, roaring, your name.

You should be dead. 

You’re certainly cold, as cold as you had been the first time the Cauldron’s powers had filled you, but this time, this time there is an end to it. This time you can claw your way to the surface and grab some air. This time you do not fight it, do not surrender to it, you grab hold of that icy power and draw it in like a breath. And when your lungs are full, you release that breath with a scream that blows the roof off the Temple.

You’re not dead at all.

Helion lays with his hands over his head at your feet, completely unharmed.

You rub at the spot on your chest where you took the brunt of the blast, the only real discomfort you still feel from the whole ordeal.

Rhys grabs you by the shoulder, shouting your name, terror shooting down the bond. 

“I’m ok,” you assure. “Although, I do kinda have heartburn now.”

Helion raises himself back up as both Azriel and Cassian slam into the ground beside you. 

“Mother’s Tits!” Cassian bellows.

You burp from the pressure in your chest.

“How the fuck?” Azriel says to Rhys.

Your mate is staring at you like he can’t believe any of this is real, and you’re honestly inclined to believe the same. Just a couple months ago you had fully believed you were just some farm girl, and now, here you stand, a full fledged Death Goddess. 

“What was that?” Rhys demands none of them in particular, his face awash with worry.

You roll your shoulders, strangely more confident than before. You can take that, you can take whatever else it’s got. “The Cauldron and I have unfinished business.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before an arrow comes whizzing past your ear. That was why it had been so empty; why cast spells and lay boobytraps when Hybern could simply pull his men back and wait for you all to enter so he could blast you away with the Cauldron?

Both Cassian and Azriel turn to face the Temple, large wings outstretched like shields as they raise their gloved hands. Ruby and cobalt siphons gleam on their hands and a moment later, they channel a blast of energy at them, turning the first wave of Hybern’s archers to ash. 

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say they’re only out to let the Cauldron recharge,” Helion warns.

You rub at your chest again. “I need to get inside.”

“No-” Rhys starts, his hand still gripping your shoulder as he reconsiders the path ahead. His brothers push forward, their fine-tuned energy blasts clearing a path. For the moment, the Cauldron is quiet. It will not stay that way.

“It has to be me,” you say, turning away from the destruction ahead of you to look at him. It’s not fair that either of your lives have turned out like this, that the time you’ve had together has been so full of hardships. If things were different, maybe you would have wandered into the Night Court on your own, bumped into him in the city somewhere and the bond would have clicked. You could have had something simple, gentle, not these dangers and battles and pain between you. 

“Let us be done with this,” there’s really not time for this conversation, but if anything goes wrong, you couldn’t bear any more regret. “So we can go home, together, like we bargained.”

You flex your hand, where the ink no longer resides, before brushing your hand over his cheek. “I love you, Rhys.”

“No good-byes,” he whispers, violet eyes heavy. 

“We’ll have more time,” you promise. “And I am grateful for what we’ve already had.”

“Even if I did make a mess of it?” He teases, though his voice breaks.

You stretch up on your toes and kiss him gently on the lips. “I suppose I can find it in me to forgive you.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you feel the Cauldron powering up again, its voice a siren call in your mind as it beckons you. You pull away from your mate. “Pull them back.”

“Cassian! Azriel!” He barks and the two Illyrians turn ever so slightly to look at him in confusion, their glittering energy shields parting just enough to let a body through. 

You don’t wait for Rhys to give them anymore orders, you sprint through that gap as fast as your legs can carry you. 

“Come. Sweet Death. Come play, Little Goddess.”

It’s Cassian that yells for you to wait. Cassian who would have taken that next hit, those beautiful wings shredded to pieces had you not been standing directly between him and the next blast. The cold consumes you, makes every breath feel like swallowing glass, but still, you keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The next wave of soldiers comes barrelling forward, and you take all that borrowed energy clustered in your chest and hurl it at them. There’s no way to track how many bodies you turn to mist, a splatter of blood across your face their only remains. The blast takes another part of the Temple off, giving you a path right to where the Cauldron still remains mounted atop the altar. Its three legs have been fused to the ancient stone, Hybern shielded behind it, his men in a semi-circle around the sides.

“Playing hero now, daughter?” He snarls.

“Come to me.”

You open your arms wide as you stalk towards him, a green mist from the Cauldron pouring out over the edges. Even as he swirls a hand through the fog, when It speaks, he offers no reaction, even under his control, the words are meant for you alone. In the end, fate has drawn the two of you together. 

“Give me your best shot!” You challenge.

“Closer. Come closer. Let me hold you.”

The next blast is stronger, pushing you backwards as debris from the now crumbling Temple rains down on your head. Outside, the clash of swords and cries of fighting men ring out. So Hybern is not foolish enough to keep all his men in one place, though that is a battle for the High Lords. You turn your attention away from the noise, swallowing the icy fire that bubbles in your chest from the influx of power, and hurl it back at the altar so hard the ancient stones crack. 

For the first time, Hybern falters, stepping back from the Cauldron with a hand over his face to shield himself from the blast. His men had not been so fortunate.

“You cannot withstand this forever,” Hybern warns.

“And these blasts are not without cost, I’d imagine,” you return. “How long can you hide behind your Cauldron?”

He swirls a hand over the fog, offering a soft chant that makes the Cauldron bubble and groan. The floor trembles as the Cauldron shakes and spits out another attack, this time going wide and brushing the side of your face as it blows the roof off the place. 

Your face is not as sturdy as your chest and the assault makes your ears ring, your right eye blurry. Overhead, Cassian’s Illyrian legion swoops and circles, the strange gems atop their hands pulsing like a dozen flashing lights. 

You shake your head to clear your vision as you turn back to your father. “Afraid to face me without your precious weapon?”

He growls, teeth flashing as he grips the lip of the Cauldron with both hands.

“Come play. Come free me.”

His hands twitch from holding the ancient metal, yet he won’t let it go. “You forget how powerless against me you were before, Daughter.”

You get a step closer, the stones shaking beneath your boots. The more blasts you take, the more stiff your body feels, there is only so much abuse you can take. “Before you released me of whatever limits my powers had, you mean?” You sneer. “I’d say we’re evenly matched now.”

“You’re out of your element!” He shouts.

The Cauldron pulses like a heartbeat, the metal screaming now and you have enough time to reach out a hand and catch it in your palm, even as your arms scream in protest. It is a concentrated effort to push that power back out of your palm, even more so to aim it back at his head. 

There isn’t time for him to shield, forcing him to take a step back away from the Cauldron, finally removing his hands from the lip. You waste no time in rushing forward and getting your own hand around the ancient metal. Instantly, it freezes you in place, the icy depths of whatever magic swirls within latches on like a thousand tiny hooks, fusing itself to you. It takes of you as you take of it, the exchange even and ceaseless.

You poke at the bridge between your mind and Rhys. “NOW!”

A blast of your father’s power slams into the back of your hand as he screams, trying to tear you away, but even though your skin breaks, blood spraying, you couldn’t let go if you wanted to. This is exactly where the Cauldron wants you and it’s exactly where you will stay until it’s done. 

“Yes! Finally! Play with me,” it purrs as Rhys and Helion burst into the room. Light and dark swirl around them like whirlwinds, blowing the walls away until the only thing left standing in the entirety of the Temple is the altar.

“Show me what you want,” you tell it as you try drawing it’s icy power into yourself. There is no end to it; no beginning either. It is you and you are it and the more you take into yourself, the more of you it steals. The mist it emanates slithers around your wrists and up your arms as your own darkness dips within it’s center and disappears. 

“We are made to destroy,” it sings. 

A scream tears out of you as it pushes more of itself into you, the wave of energy that escapes out your mouth shooting up into the sky, nearly taking out some of the Illyrians still swooping overhead. 

A shadow of Rhys’s power slithers into your mind, wrapping around you in a warm embrace. “You can do this. Fight it!”

“Show me what you want,” you insist as Hybern turns his attention away from you to face the High Lords running towards him. They are both powerful swordsmen, but the movements are stiff from years of disuse, their steps faltering as he pushes them back away from you with his own sword.

“He seeks to destroy,” the Cauldron purrs as if the thought makes it happy.

“Not him,” you say through your now chattering teeth. “You. What do you want?”

Rhys roars in pain behind you as Hybern clips his shoulder and Helion rushes to his aid, large broadsword angling for your father’s throat. Hybern catches Helion at the wrist and twists, snapping the Lord’s shoulder in one swift motion.

The Cauldron hums as if thinking. “Destruction is our way…”

“No,” you snarl. “You were once the instrument of life in Prythian! Destruction is not your only way, it is not my only way. If I can do more than kill, if I am more than a monster…” A monster would not have beaten Amarantha, would not have saved your mate, would not have fallen in love. Monsters do not feel, do not love. You brush a mental hand over the bond and draw another steadying breath, even as the cold seeps into your bones; makes your whole body shake. “We do not have to be weapons.”

From the treeline surrounding the ruins of the Temple, more and more of Hybern’s soldiers make it past the aerial units filtering above, clashing with the combined powers of the High Lords. Beron keeps them temporarily at bay with a wall of fire, but you can see the flames wavering, his weathered face pale and slick with sweat. Kallias and Tarquin remain back to back, using their powers to hurl projectiles over the wall of flame, holding steady, even as the sound of the labored breathing floats your way on the wind. They are holding, but it will not last forever. You need to even the playing field. 

“Please. Help me stop him,” you beg. “I will give you whatever you want.”

“I like this new game,” the Cauldron purrs.

The flow of power between you and it has not faltered, you keep pulling more and more of it in as it continues to take it back. Your knees give out beneath you, hands still fused to the lip as a cold sweat beads off your forehead. 

“Please,” you rasp. “Tell me what you want!”

Beron goes down with an arrow in the chest, his limp body collapsing into the earth so hard you feel the tremble of the impact. The Cauldron chuckles beneath your palms, still delighting in the destruction. 

“Helion!” Rhys roars as Hybern drives his sword across the Lord of Day’s stomach, his own blade swinging at Hybern’s neck.

You give the Cauldron a shake, “Come on! This can’t be what you want!” 

Rhys takes an elbow to the nose, blood spattering as Hybern outmaneuvers him, and barely manages to throw himself out of the way of the following strike, the blade leaving a gash in his fighting leathers. From overhead, Cassian spies the fight and angles himself away from his troops to come help, but it feels as if he’s moving in slow motion. Somehow, whether it’s the Cauldron’s power or the bond, you know something is about to be very, very wrong.

You grit your teeth, claws digging into the metal of the Cauldron and pull, skin peeling away as you get a hand off the lip to blast as much power as you can in Hybern’s direction. If the Cauldron will not help you, you will do this yourself. Nothing is going to take your mate from you ever again.

Cassian banks hard to avoid the blast, his cursing just audible over Hybern’s screaming. You’d known, just by the feel of it within your chest that this kind of power would be lethal, but watching as it burns through flesh and muscle, leaving nothing but exposed, stark white bone is enough to make your stomach rise into your throat. 

Hybern’s sword turns to ash in his skeletal hand, still raised above Rhys’s head in what would have been a killing blow. It’s nothing but bone all the way down to his shoulder, chunks of his armor blasted away, bits of blistered skin visible from where the blast had gone a little wide. A little to the left and you would have taken him and Rhys out. 

Your father gapes at you, more nightmare now than male.

“This is more fun than a bargain,” the Cauldron purrs. Perhaps it has been corrupted beyond repair, perhaps it can only be good when wielded by the right creature. Perhaps only the Mother had managed to tame the magic within and had left it an empty shell of what could have been.

You stop trying to take anything from it, and when you do, it lets your other hand free without injury. You slump against the altar as Rhys drives his sword through Hybern’s throat. Blood gurgles from his lips, eyes vacant and staring at the Cauldron as if in one final plea for help, before he falls face down in the grass.

The chaos that ensues in the next couple minutes feels like a fever dream as the Night Court’s forces drive the rest of Hybern’s away. Tarquin rushes to Helion, hands glowing in a strange light as the Spell-Cleaver instructs him on how to use his water magic to heal the gaping wound in his stomach. There is no saving Beron, Thesan confirms from where the dead man lies. 

Rhys rushes to your side, where you remain slumped against the Cauldron, eyes blurry as the world spins around you. He cups your face, gently tapping at your cheeks. “Hey, hey, stay with me! You’re ok. You did it!”

You lean your face into his touch, “Don’t suppose you know how to get rid of this thing, huh?”

The Cauldron hisses in response. 

He laughs, half-delirious with relief as he kisses your nose, your cheeks, your forehead. “We won! It’s over.”

It’s over.

You touch your forehead to his, body heavy, but laughing now yourself. “We did it!”

Azriel and Cassian come running as soon as it’s clear to do so, wings tucked tight behind them. “Everybody ok?”

Rhys kisses you, his lips still bloody, but you don’t have it in you to care as you return it. It is finally over; you are more than ok.

------

You watch the sunset across a glittering horizon, the warm rays bouncing off the rolling waves lapping at your ankles. The sand is warm beneath your feet, a supernatural ward keeping the water cool instead of frozen like it should be this time of year. 

Footsteps sound behind you, the only warning you get before strong arms wrap around your waist. Your mate’s breath warm against your skin as he kisses your neck. “Enjoying the view?”

Any sight with sunlight is a luxury, you savor every wisp of wind, every ray of sunshine against your still pale skin. It will be awhile before either of you get any color back.

“More so now that you’re here,” you say with a grin as he places another kiss on your cheek. 

He’d wanted to go straight back to the Night Court, but the matter of the Cauldron still remained. Eventually the High Lords, and the newly crowned Eris, had decided it needed to be returned to its resting place with the nephilim Miriam and her husband Drakon, who had suffered heavy losses when Hybern had marched through and stolen it. Under Helion’s instructions, the Cauldron’s legs had once again been cleaved and separated, and in doing so, the ancient artifact had finally, blissfully, gone silent. Rhys, long standing friends with Miriam and Drakon, had offered to take this piece back before returning home. It seemed only fitting that you followed to ensure no one else attempted to wield it.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you say after a moment of silence, only the crashing of the waves between the two of you.

Rhys settles against your back, body sturdy and warm. His pulse against you should be enough to convince you that this isn’t a dream, but you’re still waiting for something else to jump out from behind the rocks dotting the landscape and surprise you. Any minute now the dream will crumble and once again, stone walls will cover every inch of your surroundings.

“We’re out,” Rhys promises.

You wait, expecting to hear heels clicking against stone or a buzzing of a collar against your throat. It’s a miracle you can stand in the water at all without feeling your throat close up. 

You lace your fingers with his, holding them tight where he rests them against your stomach. “We’re out,” you whisper.

Cassian and Azriel had come along, their boots heavy against the fine sand as they approach. 

“We leaving or what?” Cassian asks.

Azriel punches him hard in the shoulder. “I thought I told you to give them a minute!”

“They’ve had plenty of minutes, any longer they’re gonna start making out, and I, for one, would like to be somewhere far away before that happens.” Cassian returns.

“It’s like dealing with toddlers,” Rhys whispers in your ear.

You release his hand so you can turn in his arms, palms flat against his chest. Most of the damage inflicted during the fight is healed, though there is still some bruising around his eyes from his broken nose. It’s unfair that he’s still the most beautiful male you’ve ever seen, even with the bruising. 

“You know you’ve missed their antics.”

He grins, violet eyes glittering like a thousand stars and you promise yourself you’ll do anything to keep that look on his face. There has been enough pain and grief to last the rest of your lives.

“That I have,” he admits.

“Then we should probably get the little Illyrian baby back before he gets hungry,” you retort.

“Hey!” Cassian scoffs.

Rhys hums his approval as he places a gentle kiss on your lips. “I do have some bargains to fulfill, after all.”

You glance down at your bandage covered hands as if you can see the lack of ink there, the destroyed bond still tender, even now. 

He draws his hand up to give yours a squeeze, before bringing it to his lips. “Broken or not, I intend to keep it.”

“We could make some new ones I’m sure,” you muse.

“Can we please leave?” Cassian whines. 

Rhys ignores him, eyes glinting in challenge. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, I seem to recall a few suggestions you had…”

His lips are on yours again, hungry and wanting and the tether between you burns hot. “I’ll make as many bargains as you’d like, Darling.”

“Home first,” you force yourself to pull away and say, because if you keep letting him kiss you like that, neither of you will be leaving the beach. 

He grins, shoulders rolling back, and from behind him a set of massive, bat-like wings appear. You gape, even as your head spins with the recollection that you had once thought there was something missing between the gaps of the tattoos on his back. The leathery membrane stretches out behind him like one would stretch their arms, fluttering slightly in the evening breeze. 

You reach out a hand to give them a inquisitory touch and he swings them out of reach. “Not here,” he purrs in your ear.

Before you can ask why, he sweeps you up into his arms and launches into the sky. You toss your arms around his neck and squeeze your eyes shut as your stomach lurches into your throat.

“It’s more enjoyable if your eyes are open, Darling,” he laughs, wings beating hard to catch the right draft that will take you to the Night Court.

“I like to keep my stomach where it belongs, but thanks,” you mutter, burying your face in his neck to hide from the wind. 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights?” He teases.

“Heights? No. Falling? Yes,” you return.

“You know I’d never drop you,” he says in all seriousness.

You let out a huff of annoyance, because damn him, his right and you know it. After everything, there is still no safer place to be than in your mate’s arms. You open one eye, then the other, and take a shaky breath before finally turning your head to the side to see the vast expanse of open sky around you. 

The sun has slowly set, the sky awash in purples and blues as the first bit of stars appear in the sky. Rhys tilts and dips around the fluffiest clouds you’ve ever seen in your life, but you can’t help yourself from removing your arm from around his shoulders to try and touch one. They’re a lot more wet than you anticipated them being. 

“I never thought I’d see this again,” Rhys whispers.

You kiss his cheek, flooding the bond with as much warmth as you can. It’ll be easier, once you’ve fully accepted it, and you plan to, once things are a little more settled. It would be a lot for him to return home to, you want to give him some time to just be home before tackling a new heightened sense of emotions and all that comes with being mated, but you already have a few ideas on how you want to go about it. For now, you’ll keep this thing between you simple and not overwhelming. 

“Thank you, for getting us out,” he says.

“I didn’t do that much,” you reply. “We did it together.”

“It was all you,” he returns. “I think that collar messed up your memories a little.”

“My memories are fine,” you retort with an eye roll, even though he can’t see it. “We did it together, as we planned to. As we’ll do with whatever comes next.”

He grins as he follows a draft downwards, three mountain peaks coming into view. Somehow, you can feel in your chest when you cross the border, as if you very bones know that this is where you’re meant to be. He glides lower, letting you view the snow flecked landscape beneath you, grinning as he takes in the way you devour his court with your eyes. “Welcome to the Night Court.”

---------------------------------------

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annnnaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @lovemesomeevesy, @localfangirl09, @isa1b2h3, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @slytherintaco, @iluvewmanblog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife, @kitsunetori, @lilah-asteria, @dianxiaxie, @msoldier, @amara-moonlight, @darling006, @92494-blog, @genniecokkie, @nyctophiliiia

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

I saw this and had to

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You are not a rebel. You are clean cut. You live within very precise boundaries. Minimizing every part of yourself to evade notice. Rules are not meant to be broken, despite that old cliche.

That is until that day. It's foolish, you know it. That voice in the back of your head repeats your foreboding. You know you can't go back. There isn't a magic eraser for this one.

Shut up.

You're over it. Over yourself. Over your boring life. You've never done one fun thing for just yourself. It's always been what has to be done. What must be done. You're thirty years old and you don't even know if you understand the concept of 'fun'.

You sit on the leather bench. Nervous and shaky as hell. There's still time to change your mind. You can take your deposit and go, with clean untainted skin.

No! You're not going to chicken out this time. You want one memory that doesn't end in you tucking tail and running.

"Do you like the sketch?" Sam, your assigned artist asks.

You glance over at him as he pulls on a pair of black gloves, his gun laid out and sterilised. You peek at the open sketchbook, the drawing of a simple red poppy outlined in black with a thick spiraled green stem. Nothing too big or extravagant, easy to hide. If your mother or father ever saw that, you would be excommunicated.

"I love it," your voice quavers and you clear your throat, "I'm sorry, I'm just a little anxious."

"That's fine. First time, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I don't even have piercings," you give a brittle chuckle, "I'm not really the adventurous type."

"I'm sure you are in your own way," he grins, a look that calms you. "So, we still set on ankle?"

"Um, yeah, I think that's good."

"As good a starting place as any. Glad I talked you off the ribs. Those are tender."

"Just an idea," you breathe, "I don't know much about these things."

"Not to worry, you're in good hands," he winks, "you can just relax," he rolls his stool to the foot of the bench, "and pop your leg up here."

"Right," you gulp down another chest full of air and follow his direction, "that's it?"

"And keep still. Tell me if you need a break. The pains a bit much at times so don't be afraid to speak up."

"Okay, sounds good," you try to settle in but your blood feels thick and your vision speckles with silver. Oh god, you're really going to do this.

"Don't hold your breath," he says, "really, I don't like my canvases passing out."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, you want something to drink before we start?"

"No, I'm good."

"Awesome," he says and grabs his gun, double checking the tip before moving back to your ankle. "Alright, I'll count down so you're not too surprised."

"Thanks," you fold your hands over your stomach as he positions your leg and bends forward.

He counts from three and you focus on not moving at the first stab of pain. Don't be a weak bitch. You grit your teeth and let out your breath as the gun buzzes loudly. The pain keeps a steady sear in your skin but you slowly get used to the sensation.

As he works, your eyes wander along the dark red walls and the artwork hanging all around. Tattoos in colour and black and white. The schematics of a tattoo gun. A falcon crest wrought in brass.

You hear the door open and the smoky voice of the other artist, Nat greets the newcomer you can't see past the pillar. The response is a deep, rocky timbre. You can only imagine the inked up brute behind it.

"Always with the notes," you hear a paper crinkle, "I'm the artist here, Rogers."

"Hey, I'm an artist too," the man counters lightly.

You peek over as the redhead woman appears on the other side of the pillar and guides her client through to her open workspace. An open curtain drapes against the wall at the other end of the shop. She sets down the page and tuts as she looks it over.

The man slides off a pair of dark sunglasses, black lenses with golden frames. He slips them into the pocket of his denim jacket and tugs at the sleeves. Their actions seem to be routine and you can see why. His arms are covered from wrist to shoulder in ink, a few smaller tattoos on his knuckles. Now you really feel out of place. 

"Sam, what's up?" The other client calls over as he hangs the denim on the coat rack.

"What's it look like, Steve?" Sam says, his eyes not leaving your ankle.

You take in the interaction silently. You're a stranger among the usuals. The poser getting their taste of artificial danger. Your ankle tweaks and you smother a grunt between your teeth. The noise catches the blue eyes of the man, Steve.

You quickly avert your eyes back to Sam and knot your fingers together. Steve's shadow moves away. The artist at your bench hardly seems bothered but gives a shake of his head.

"You want the curtain?" Natasha asks as she approaches the black drapes.

"Nah, you know I don't care."

Your eyes flick up as the man peels off his tank top. Wow. You blink rapidly and make yourself act normal. 

He lowers himself onto the leather seat as Natasha takes out her tools and starts sterilising. You once more force your attention back to Sam's careful work. It's going to take a while.

"You good?" He asks as he glances over, lifting the gun from your skin.

"Great," you murmur in an airy voice.

"Still nervous?"

"No, actually, kinda excited," you try not to speak too loud, overly mindful of the other client in the shop.

"Good," he hunches again and you suck in as he put the needle back to your skin. "So, what do you do? When you're not getting sick tats, that is?"

"Um, I, er, I teach. Music lessons."

"Music, huh? You seem like… the drummer type."

"Piano," you correct him, "I can carry a beat–" you pause to check the pain in your voice, "but I mostly teach piano."

"Classy," he remarks, "so, a poppy, any particular meaning to that?"

"Er, no, uh," you rub your neck nervously but make yourself quit moving, "it's my favourite flower."

"Pretty sombre fave but I get it," he remarks.

"Yeah, I guess…"

Your attention is drawn at the soft slap of skin and the rattle of metal. You look up as Steve retracts his hand and Natasha points at him with a sharp nail, "this is a sterile workspace."

He chuckles at her irritation and shows his palms before he sits back. He rolls his shoulders as he leans casually and twiddle his fingers against his jeans. Once more, your eyes meet and his mouth slants slightly. You gulp and look down again.

"So, any ideas for a second piece?" Sam asks.

"I think I'm gonna stick with one."

"Not gonna get a full bouquet?" He wonders.

"Not yet."

"Better get cozy, Rogers," Natasha says.

You look up as she sprays shaving foam onto his chest.

"You know this is my second home," he teases as he relaxes and she spreads the cream.

"Don't remind me," she grumbles as she takes a razor.

You tear away from your distraction once more. Gosh, it is painful. You don't know how people end up like him. Your tiny little flower will be more than enough for you.

You close your eyes and groan. Sam rests his hand on your calf. He squeezes as he pauses again.

"Need a break."

"No, keep going," you puff out.

You grip the side of the leather bench and bite down. You've always been a big baby. You bat away the gloss of tears threatening to confirm that and take another breath.

The subtle creak of leather pulls your gaze back across the room. Steve leans slightly around to see you past Nat as she shaves one side of his chest. You grimace and hide beneath your lashes.

Why is he looking at you like that? It must be amusing, someone like you in a place like that. Now you know this is definitely a mistake.

[softxsuki]

Hey! Uhm well I was wondering if you could do a ran or rindou haitani x reader self harm urges post if not both because I've been struggling really hard to try not to do it and losing sleep because of it. I hope you understand have a great night/day 😁

Shinichiro Comforts Reader With Self-Harm Urges

PLEASE DON'T READ IF MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM AND OLD SCARS WILL TRIGGER YOU MORE THAN IT WILL COMFORT YOU.

Pairing: Shinichiro x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, old scars, urges to hurt yourself

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 690

Summary: In which Shinichiro comforts you after finding out about your urges to self-harm again

[A/N: Written with Shinichiro like you asked for in your other ask since I don't write for Ran or Rindou yet :3. Sorry about the delay, I took a nap since I've been sleep deprived lately, and my nap turned into a 5 hour long sleep...oops. But I hope this was worth the wait, and hopefully it provides you with some comfort to help those urges go away! Remember everyone, your comfort characters love you and wouldn't want you to hurt yourself; that includes Ran and Rindou. Though I don't know much about them, I just know that their s/o would be the most precious person to them, so knowing you were hurting yourself would break their heart. ily, thanks for trusting me with your urgent request <3]

Shinichiro:

Shinichiro is the type of guy who tells you he’ll always be there for you, and he really is

So long as you actually tell him whenever you’re struggling, he’s not that great at picking up on the subtle hints that you’re struggling on your own

Of course he knows about your history with self-harm, you’d both spoken about it on one of your heart to heart conversations where all your inner, darkest secrets were spilled to each other

Because of this, he has tried to be a little more observant towards you, making sure you’re not suffering alone, and feeling like you have to rely on self-harm to feel better

As soon as you do open up to him one night about your recent urges to self-harm again, he’s on high alert, racking his brain for the best words to soothe you

Knowing you have this internal struggle to harm yourself makes him feel useless, I mean, what could he possibly do or say to stop you from feeling this way? He didn’t want you to feel judged or bad for feeling the way you do…

So he does whatever comes to his mind first; he grabs a sharpie and gently holds your arm in his hands, flipping is over so he can see your wrists

Evidence of your older battles are evident on them still, scars that will always remain, yet are a testament to everything you’ve survived through thus far, a strength in you he greatly admired

He slowly draws a heart on your wrist with the sharpie, as you look on in confusion at his actions. He blows on your skin, allowing the ink to dry before pressing a kiss to it and allowing you your arm back

“That right there is my heart, whenever you feel the urge to hurt yourself and don’t feel confident enough to tell me about it, just look at the heart…if it fades, just let me know and I’ll redraw it for you as many times as you need. If you hurt yourself, you also hurt me,” he says softly, looking into your eyes

Shinichiro wasn’t the best at emotions and letting you know how he felt without getting blushy and nervous that he’ll mess up his words, was close to impossible

“Oh gosh, this is stupid right? I’m sorry, I was trying to be cool…Look, I just want you to know that I’m here for you and I care about you so much. It’s hard for anyone other than you to know exactly what you’re going through, but I promise I’ll be by your side to help you through anything you need. If you feel these urges to hurt yourself, maybe we can go out and blow off some steam. We can go to a junkyard and just smash up a few things. Just…please don’t take out your frustrations and complicated emotions on yourself. I’d rather you hit me and scream at me than harm yourself, Y/N.”

He means every word and is ready and willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel better, you only need to say the word

After your confession on the urges you’re feeling, Shin keeps an even closer eye on you, hoping that he doesn’t feel too suffocating. He just doesn’t want you to resort to temporary solutions to your feelings and would much rather target the root cause so you can feel better about things moving forward

Checks up on the heart he drew on you to make sure you’re taking good care of it, and smiles happily when he sees it’s still intact, peppering kisses to your skin, and embracing you

However, in the slight chance that his tactics don’t work and you do resort to your own methods of coping, he isn’t disappointed, but he is hurt and upset at himself that he couldn’t do enough to help you

If you fall once, just get back up and try again–that’s what he believes, so he’s right there by your side to pick you back up and try again until those urges never return

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 08/23/2023

[legendofmorons]

To protect a wolf (Twilight)

Pairing: Twilight x reader -pre relationship

Rating: T for language and some blood

Summary: While Twilight is incapacitated, you step up to protect him. Obviously, he realizes he loves you at the worst time. But you both take care of each other after.

Warnings: Some blood, some fighting, cursing

Other: Let me know if I missed anything

-------

This dungeon might actually kill him. Twilight can barley thing straight he hurts so much.

And you're with him - you need his help. He can't just quit.

But you're in the final room facing down the boss. And Twilight's barley able to move.

His leg is broken in at least three places. He's pretty sure the world shouldn't be spotty, and he is bleeding out of his ribs.

And to top it all of it's a water dungeon.

The boss is large, a squid like creature that seems to spit poison ink. There's a weak spot - an eye atop its head.

Always with the eyes.

Fuck his life.

"(Y/n)." He tries.

"Shut up." You hiss, drawing attention to yourself by smacking your sword and shield together.

He really can't do anything but trust to roll out of the way of attacks. He just wants to keep you safe- but he can't even decide which quickly blurring version of you is real.

He hears the fight, sword slashing and shield clanging. He heard movement and curses.

Feels the air move with you and the boss.

He can hear you taunt it.

He hears it fall as you attack it.

He hears the intimidating roar as it gets up.

He can't see shit-

But he hears it all.

He hears your curse and inve as something cracks.

He hears you take some new injury

He even hears the snarling curse as you drive something into the beast.

He bets you still look so beautiful. You always do.

What is he doing thinking about that?

You're in danger-

"Die you bitch!" Yoir voice cuts through his thoughts.

Well, you're still alive. That's very good. He'd hate to lose you before he told you he loved you.

Wait-

Fuck.

This new information is not helpful at all. It's also not surprising.

The sound fades out as you fight the boss, time lost to him.

He doesn't know how long has passed when he opens his eyes again... when did he close them?

"Twi... Link?" You call, kneeling in front of him.

"Hm?"

"I'm going to have to carry you out. I don't have any healing items."

"I can walk-"

"Bullshit. You could barely roll over. I'm going to carry you."

"Bu' 'm too heavy." He slurs out.

"You're really not." You say, relying on your own farm life spent wrestling goats, cows, and horses to the ground when needed.

He just groans.

You move so your kneeling on one knee, the othe in front of you.

He groans louder as you slide your arms under him. One around his shoulders and one under his knees.

"Shhh, I got you Twi. It's okay."

"I'm sorry." He manages.

"Don't be." You say quickly, standing and pulling him off the ground with you.

You hold him close to you, straining under his weight. He's pure muscle. You don't know why you thought you could carry him on a broken ankle without issue.

But you have to get hum out. Thank god for adrenaline.

If Twilight were even slightly more aware he'd demand you leave and come back for him. You're bleeding profusely from your stomach. Along with other places.

You walk, carrying him and your all's things out of the dungeon, wincing every other step.

He's concious but only just.

You walk to camp - each step feeling like you're being punished.

The others see you and rush forwards.

"What happened?!"

"Twilight is hurt. You gotta help him."

"You're hurt too." Legend says.

"Not bad." You say, obviously unaware of how injured you are.

Time takes Twilight from you, moving him so he's laying on the ground just so.

Hyrule releases a fairy over Twilight first. Then he starts in with healing magic.

"Is the world supposed to turn black?" You ask, feeling a lot weaker with no notice.

Time turns to you, "What-"

You collapse as your ears start to ring. You probably should have paid more attention to your own condition. Whoops.

.......

Twilight wakes up with a mouth like the desert and a pounding headache- but he's alive and well. Mostly.

He looks around, finding Hyrule and Wild nearby- but you're not in his sight.

"Where’s-" he summons spit to swallow to wet his mouth, "Where’s (Y/n)?"

Hyrule turns, looking relived to see the wolf shifter awake. "Hey, how do you feel?"

"Where is (Y/n)?" Twilight asks again, more impatient.

"They're resting at an inn. With both of you having lost a lot of blood, old man decided we'd need to stay in an inn for a bit. "Legend says from behind Wild.

"Why aren't we there?"

"Your leg needed to heal all the way before we moved you. They - well, they needed a bed."

"They're hurt?"

"Yeah. They are. But they're better now."

"Take me to them." Twilight says, pushing to sit up.

"Okay. Just wait - Wild's almost done with the hearty stew."

"Don't care, I need to make sure-"

"Twilight. "Sky says gently, "They worked hard to keep you safe, don't insult them by being stubborn and refusing a recovery aid."

"I-" Twilight doesn't known what to say to that.

"Good."

He trusts the boys. He really does!

But after his realization and you taking care of him- he just needs to see you as soon as he can.

He needs to make sure you're okay.

He also needs to figure out how in the name of Ordona to tell you he loves you. But he's way more concerned with your health.

Especially since you woukd have gotten hurt protecting him.

Oh... he really fucked up-

"They aren't mad." Legend says from his spot, "I know they aren't a hero like us- but they can hold their own."

"They shouldn't have had to. I should have protected them better."

Legend makes a face that suggests he'd rather talk to a praticularly stubborn wall than trying to convince Twilight of anything right now.

.......

You wake up to Time fretting over you. His muttering is unnerving paired with the face of grim acceptance.

"Where’s- Where’s Twi?" You ask, looking around and not finding him.

This does nothing to slow your racing heart, finding only Time with you and some dull inn decorating.

"He's at camp. He'll be here shortly."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's okay."

"Good. I hate squid."

Time snorts at that, seeming relived that you're well enough to be bitter.

"You gave all of us a scare, looked dead when you came to camp, and then collapsed."

"Oh... Whoops."

"You have to be more careful-"

"Twilight would have died. I am not gonna let someone die just cause I'm hurt too!"

"I'm not saying otherwise. I'm just telling you to be more careful."

"Okay. But- is Twi really-"

The door opens with a bang, an exhumed Twilight in the doorway who let's out a breath of air when he sees ypu.

"(Y/n)."

"Twi!"

You try to sit up only to grunt and fall back into bed.

"Stay down," Time says, "You're gonna be sore for a while."

"You're okay." Twilight breathes out, walking over to sit on the bed beside you. "I'm sorry I should have protected you-"

"Don't start that." You manage, "You were really hurt."

"The others said you were too."

"I could walk. You couldn't. It's nothing. "

"(Y/n)." Twilight says sharper than he usually does, "You put yourself in danger for me. Please don't act like I couldn't have done things differently. "

"Twi... I know. It definitely could have gone better. It could have been worse too."

"Yeah."

"I'm really glad you're okay "

Time stands, stretching up, "You're staying in this room too, Twilight. I figured you'd both want to be near eachother. "

"Thank you." You say to Time.

"Seriously though, be careful, (Y/n)."

Twilight has to agree with his mentor.

You just sigh, trying not to move too much. "Okay."

"Good. I'm going to check on dinner plans." Time says before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Twilight just let's out a breath, "I was worried... when I woke up you weren't there."

"I know. I felt the same way."

"I'm sure." Twilight says, not sure how to tell you that he actually doubts that.

Becuase you obviously care for him but how could you love him back?

"Twiligh- Link." You say, the use of his name making him look up quickly.

"Yes?"

"Don't beat yourself up. Everyone gets hurt."

"I'm supposed to protect you though."

"Why?" You ask, feeling hurt already at the implications of the statement. "I may not be a hero but I can hold my own!"

"It's not that... It's just-" he takes a moment.

How does he tell you that he needs to protect you becuase you are someone he loves. That he loves you romantically. With his whole heart?

You stare, waiting for him to continue and really hoping he has a reason that's not just him being a chosen hero.

Twilight sighs, he might as well just tell you. He can't lie for anything- not to you at least... and a lie woukd just confuse you more.

"Because I love you, (Y/n). And I don't ever want to see you hurt."

You choke a little, suprised and touched. That's definitely a better reason than be Hylia's chosen hero.

"And I don't expect you to feel the same-"

"I do. I do feel the same."

"What?"

"I love you too. Have for a whole now- though typically you confess with flowers and not while someone is in bed looking like shit."

"You look beautiful. "

"You're very biased."

"Yeah."

You smile at him, and while you definitely hurt, you feel better than you did when you passed out. And hey, you might just get a boyfriend out of this.

"We should talk about this more later Twi, but can- you just stay with me?"

"Of course. Can I do anything to make you hurt less?"

"No... I'm probably going to fall asleep again soon honestly. I feel like I was run over by a heard of wild horses."

"Ouch. I'm sorry, Darlin'."

You giggle, "I like that name."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[spicywhenspeaking]

If I'm There: Chapter Fifteen

read from part one here!

summary: Noah and Natalie meet in high school and developed a relationship through their love of music and art. Falling in love, innocent and young, they think nothing can keep them apart. However, sometimes in the pursuit of your dreams the things we love the most get left behind.

warnings: underage drinking, unprotected sex (ope), mentions of depression and alcoholic parents.

taglist : @lma1986 @cookiesupplier @notingridslurkaccount @blackveilomens @thisbicc @thebadchic @laurpartyprogram

When I read New Moon for the first time I thought Bella was being dramatic, sitting in front of her bedroom window just staring as time passed and seasons changed. How could your boyfriend breaking up with you leave someone such a shell?

I understand now.

Time isn’t just passing by me, it’s passing through me. School and work blur together, I’m still doing relatively well in my classes but I’m not giving it much effort and my teachers have noticed. Maggie tried to pull me out of my funk and invited me out to hang out, but I constantly came up with excuses to get out of it.

Mom comes home in November and I don’t register her arrival. Maybe if she had been a normal mom I could have been the kind of teenager that could keep up with her cool rockstar boyfriend. I wouldn’t have had to be nerdy Natalie, too focused on school to step away and have fun.

Thanksgiving is as eventful as you could imagine. Mom and Dad are trying to make us seem like a big happy family again like nothing happened. Of course a week later we find Mom’s stash of vodka in her sock drawer and she sobs while dad packs her bag to haul her back off to rehab.

I don’t react. I don’t care.

Nick texts me every once in a while but I usually ignore him. I know that’s mean but I don’t want to hear about the tour or Noah. Who doesn’t reach out at all. Jerk. I take all the pictures I had of us printed out together and shove them in an old shoebox. I throw in the shirts he gave me too, along with the cd and that stupid wolf drawing I kept and bury it in the back of my closet.

“Natty, come on. Let's just get out of the house, we can go to a movie?” Kyle has been trying to make me feel better, he feels responsible for what happened with Noah. I don’t think so, he didn’t force Noah to break up with me. No. Noah did that all on his own. We end up going to see some stupid action movie, I don’t pay attention to it.

Suddenly it’s December and finals are done. The semester is over, only a few more months and highschool is done.

It’s Christmas and Kyle got me a new set of ink markers and a sketchbook. “You haven’t been drawing much, thought a new sketchbook would inspire you.” Kyle says.

I try to smile, turning through the crisp clean pages. “Thank you Ky. I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything…” my voice disappears. “I just lost track of time.”

He nods in understanding, “no worries sis, you can draw me something” he nudges me and laughs.

“Yeah, of course.” I curl up onto the couch with the empty page in front of me. I end up drawing a skeleton hand sticking up its middle finger. I rip it out of the book and hand it to him. He laughs “thanks Natty, very festive” he jokes and a small laugh escapes me.

A week later it’s New Year’s Eve and Kyle is trying to get me to go to a party with him.

“Come on Natty, you’ll have fun!” He tries to convince me but it’s not working. “Really, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to head to bed early. You should go have fun Ky.”

He reluctantly leaves me and I’m digging in my fridge smelling leftovers when I hear the doorbell.

Walking over I open the door and Maggie barges past me dressed in a beautiful silver body-con dress, her curly hair is bouncy and her make up is sparkly and bright. Perfect for New Year’s Eve. “Um..hello to you too Mags, what are you doing here?” She gives me a once over and huffs an annoyed breath. “Well after you go take the shower you desperately need. We’re getting you dressed up and going to the party Hunter is hosting a few streets away.” Hunter is the guy that works at the coffee shop that’s a year older than us. We work together some weeknights and he’s nice enough.

“Uhhh I don’t know Maggie, I’m not really in the party mood.” I tell her as I pick aimlessly at my oversized hoodie.

“I don’t care. You’ve been sad about that idiot long enough. It’s time to start living again and show everyone what a mistake it was letting you go. The first of the year is the perfect time to start!” She encourages me and ushers me up the stairs towards my room.

Thirty minutes later I’m shaved, moisturized and sitting in front of my vanity while Maggie applies my makeup. She brought a dress for me to wear, it’s a deep cut golden glittering dress that hits me in the middle of my thighs. She brought a matching pair of gold heels and I put on my small gold hoops. She’s finishing up with a light mist of setting spray and moving on to my hair. Maggie thinks I will look good with loose curls with one side pinned back. I decide to let her take full control and when she’s done I look like a different person. Well, not exactly. I look like me, just not like I’m used to. My boobs are pushed up because of the bra Maggie brought for me so they look incredible and my skin is glowing because of the luminous powder Maggie dusted me with. I feel good. For the first time since Noah dumped me, I actually feel good.

I turn to hug Maggie, “thank you.” Her arms wrap around me returning my hug. “You’re welcome Nat, now let’s go party!” Giggling, we run down the stairs together.

Hunter's house is about a ten minute walk from my house. It’s a cold night but when I reached for a jacket on my way out of the door, Maggie told me not too. That “the party would heat me up,” whatever that meant. As we round the block and head down the street towards the party my skin prickles with goose bumps and I rub my hands up and down them to warm up. Maggie sees the house and points it out. It's a big white two story colonial with warm white Christmas lights lighting it up.

The front door is open but thankfully Maggie was right and it's warm inside the crowded house. “Okay, now lets go grab a drink!” Maggie calls out over the music. A DJ that I noticed in the corner of the cleared out living room is playing “We Found Love” by Calvin Harris and I have to laugh at the irony. I follow Maggie to the kitchen where there is more alcohol surrounding the kitchen island than I’ve ever seen. She mixes two cups and hands one of them to me. I hesitate to grab it at first but eventually I take it “what the hell,” I say and take a big gulp. The alcohol burns my throat going down but leaves a warming sensation in my stomach. “Woo! Lets party Natty!!”

Maggie cheers as she raises her cup in toast and takes a sip. The crowd, the loud music and the hungry eyes that have been checking me out since we got here have me slightly nervous. I want to have fun, I want to get out of my funk and have a good time. I take the drink and chug it all down. “Another one please,” I hold out the cup to Maggie and she looks at me surprised. “Alright Natty, careful now. I don’t want you to get sick.” she warns gently. “Trust me, I'll be fine, I come from a long line of alcoholics.” I mean it to come out as a joke but Maggie just looks slightly concerned. “It's just a joke Mags, I’ll be fine.” She nods and mixes me another drink and hands it over.

I take it and we wander out towards the dance floor. It’s only 10:30 so we have plenty of time until midnight. I think the DJ is doing a countdown of songs of the year because now he’s playing “I Love It” by Icona Pop. Maggie and I are dancing and I can feel myself loosening up, swaying my hips and jumping to the beat. I feel more alive than I have in weeks. I am so thankful to have a friend like Maggie.

The next hour is a mix of dancing and drinking, I am playing a round of flip cup in the backyard. My team wins and two other senior boys that I think are on the football team I was playing with lift me up onto their shoulders in celebration. I’m laughing and definitely drunk at this point and when I look up towards the back porch and feel like my eyes deceive me and I have to do a double take.

It’s Nick and Noah. He’s here. Why is he here? He’s looking at me with wide eyes and then looking down at the very large football players that are currently holding me up and his eyes squint into a glare. I tap the boys shoulders and they place me gently back on the floor. “Thanks for the lift boys.” I joke and we share a laugh.

My eyes shift back towards the porch and Nick and Noah are gone…was I just seeing things? I am pretty drunk so It’s likely.

I walk over to Maggie and she’s looking down at her phone texting, when she looks up and see’s me she quickly puts her phone behind her back.

I eye her suspiciously. “What are you up too?” I ask.

She smiles wide and tries to tilt her head to act innocent. “Well…maybe Nick texted that him and Noah were in town…and maybe I told him where the party was.”

My eyes bugg out and I lightly push her shoulder. “Maggie! Why would you do that!! Since when are you two texting?!” She grabs my drink and hands it to me and with the added surprise I throw it back instantly. “He texts me occasionally to see how everything is going? How you’re doing, since you don’t respond to his texts….” I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to talk to them. I don't care that he’s here. I’m having fun and I’m going to dance some more.” I turn and head back towards the house. “Are you coming?” I ask back towards Maggie and she follows after.

Grabbing Maggies hand I get back onto the dancefloor with new found enthusiasm. My hips are swaying and my hands are above my head, my hair is swinging side to side. Maggie is dancing in front of me and I suddenly feel hands on my waist. Looking back I see it’s Hunter. “Nice party Hunter.” I tell him. He smiles, “Nice dress Natalie, you looks hot.” I blush at his compliment. “Thanks.” I don’t know what comes over me but I know my dancing with Hunter is becoming riskier. My back is pressed completely against his front and his strong hands are gripping my waist.

Suddenly I’m being ripped off the dance floor and away from Hunter and Maggie. “What the fuck!” I squeal, turning to see how grabbed me. I see none other than Noah.

“Put me down Noah! Right now!” I yell at him over the music. I wiggle and kick to get out of his grip but he’s too strong and I’m too drunk to figure out how to escape with any of my karate skills. What’s the point of having a black belt if I can’t remember how to break out of a hold after a few drinks. More than a few drinks I guess as the world spins and I’m set back down on my feet in the cold night air.

“Natalie, what the Hell are you doing?!” Noah says in an explosive tone.

It takes me a moment to react. To fight past the feelings of relief in seeing him. To dig deep into myself for the anger. “Excuse me?” I say and my voice is dripping with venom. “Who the FUCK do you think you are?! Wisking in to pull me away while I’m finally having fun!” I yell not caring who hears and his eyes dark around. I fight the compulsion to get closer to him, the need to reach out and touch him to see if he’s real.

He just ignores my yelling and asks again “what’s going on Natty, you’re drunk dancing on some guy? That's not like you.”

I laugh out loud “ha! What happened?! Seriously? Well..let me see.” I say in a mocking tone and tap my finger against my chin. “My boyfriend dumped me and then left without a word, then, my Mom immediately relapsed when she got home from rehab and I fell into a pit of depression that my best friend dug me out of. She brought me out to party tonight and that’s exactly what I was doing. I’m at a party. I’m partying.” My voice despite slurring slightly is resolved. He eyes me up and down, his hand reaching out, hesitating and then dropping back to his side. “You’re barely clothed. You never dress like this” he snides, “and you're drunk. I thought you didn’t drink?” He asks.

“Yeah well, I thought you said you’d love me forever but I guess things change. And you’re drunk too! How are you judging me for that right now and as for the outfit? Everyone else thinks I look hot. I know Hunter did. Should we go ask?” I know I’m pushing him but I don’t care. I move to get past him and he holds out his arm, stopping me. “No need. I know exactly what he was thinking. I saw his face, how he was looking at you like a piece of meat.” Noah’s voice sounds tormented, like watching me dance with Hunter was painful. “Well Noah! He can look at me however he wants! And I can dance with whoever I want and I can kiss whoever I want! And if I want to, I can FUCK whoever I want! You dumped me, remember? You don’t get to come back and act like my big protector anymore.” Forgetting my previous restraint I end up growling out all of this about an inch from Noah’s face. He backs me back up against the wall and keeps the distance the same. We’re nose to nose and I hear a rumble in his chest. “You deserve better than him, better than me.” My eyes roll, “oh fuck off with that. I am perfectly capable of making that kind of decision myself”

We can hear the countdown begin inside the house.

TEN…

NINE…

“I’m just trying to help you Nat, that guys bad news”

EIGHT…

SEVEN…

“Hilarious, that’s exactly what people told me about you.”

FIVE….

FOUR…

“Maybe you should have listened.” His eyes fall to my lips and I can feel deep down that I’m done for.

THREE…

TWO….

“Is that what you wished had happened. That you had stayed away from me?”

ONE... HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

I shake my head and without thinking, maybe due to the drinks or because Noah is finally back in front of me and I still desperately miss him despite the heartbreak. I pull him even closer and kiss him.

At first he’s stiff, hands and body stilled until my fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck and he comes alive. Grabbing me back and kissing me fiercely, like a man starved and I’m the only water he’s seen in weeks, months, years.

Fireworks explode in the background and we burst apart when the rest of the party runs outside to watch the sky glitter with a chorus of colors.

Staring at each other, mouths red and swollen from our harsh kiss, he looks me up and down again and says “fuck it, do you want to get out of here?”

I nod silently and Noah takes my hand and leads me away from the party and down the street heading towards my house. Praying to the universe that Kyle isn’t home and pushing away the thoughts that are asking “is this a good idea?” “What’s going on here?” I don’t care. We kissed and everything fell away.

I am so weak.

Apparently so is he, his whole “you deserve better” thing flew out the window the second our lips touched again.

The cold air sobers us up a bit by the time we’re sitting on the floor against my bed awkwardly.

“Um, I found a stash of my moms vodka my dad didn’t catch if you want another drink?” I ask and fidget with the bottom of my dress. His eyes track my fingers on my thighs and he mumbles out a quiet “sure.”

I run out of the room back downstairs to grab two cups, filling them with ice and cranberry juice. Next, I go into the pantry and look behind the five pound sack of flour and still sitting there, a tad dusty, is half a handle of whipped cream vodka. I pour some in each drink and take the cups along with the bottle back upstairs.

Noah has moved to now sit on my bed, his head against my headboard. “I missed your room, it smells like you” he says softly as I hand him the drink.

“Yeah, well hopefully by that you don’t mean you miss my BO. I’d have to call you out for that one” I try to joke and diffuse the awkwardness. He chuckles and takes a sip of the drink. “This is good. Um, butno I don’t mean you’re BO. It just smells good. Like you”

I smile and take a sip of my own drink. “Thanks then, I guess”

We drink in comfortable silence finishing our drinks and refill the cups with another shot of the vodka. There’s not as much cranberry hiding the flavor but the sweetness of the whipped cream in the vodka is pretty easy to get down. The closeness, the renewed alcohol in our systems brings me back into my warm drunken state.

“How have you been Natty?” His eyes are downcast, not risking seeing the pain that flashes in my eyes at his question.

“I’ve been better, but Maggie has been helping me. Nick texts me sometimes, I should be better about responding. How have you been?” I ask, but I keep my eyes fixed on him.

He lifts his head and meets my gaze, “pretty shit without you to be honest, I shouldn’t have ended it like that.” His words are soft and lure me in.

“But you still would have done it?” I ask and take another sip, easing the nerves creeping up.

“I should say yes. I think you deserve so much more Nat. You deserve everything, attention and support and no drama.” His fingers trail from resting beside him to tracing the hem of my dress and I chug down the rest of the cup and set it aside. “What is life without drama?” I ask and fight against the urge to lean forward towards his warmth.

“A life free of sadness and anger?” his voice is melancholy and I feel my heart cracking again.

“Those come with life regardless. They are unavoidable for everyone.” Like an invisible force field shatters, I place my hand delicately on his shoulder, “you brought much more into my life than sadness and anger” I whisper to him, afraid of putting so much of myself out into the open but, the effects of drinking seem to have broken down my boundaries.

“You brought everything into my life” Noah replies and moves swiftly capturing my lips in a firm kiss and I instantly melt into him. Scrambling I slot my things on either side of him and tangle my hands into his hair. His hands grip my waist and move to squeeze my ass and bring me even closer. “Noah, Noah, I need you” I whimper in between kisses and he slides his hands under my dress and squeezes my flesh.

“Fuck, Natalie. I missed you so much” he says into my neck as he kisses up and down. He reaches around and unzips the back of my dress and lets it fall down my arms and around my waist.

He unhooks my bra and I rip his shirt over his head. Instantly he’s on me again, lips kissing and sucking at my skin causing me to squirm and grind down onto him feeling the hard length of him.

He flips us over and pulls the rest of my dress down and staring down at me with burning desire. My head is spinning but I refocus on the feeling of Noah pulling down my panties and trailing a path of open wet kisses towards my soaking wet core. At the first touch I buck off of the bed and a sinful whine escapes my lips.”I missed the way you taste” he moans out. And even with his mind clouded with alcohol he is a master with his tongue and I squirm in pleasure. When he adds a finger my body writhes in pleasure as I fall apart in a cry of ecstasy.

“More Noah, please. I need more” I beg and he stumbles to unbutton his pants, not even all the way off his legs before he’s sinking into my warmth. “Oh Natalie, you feel perfect. You’re everything, so good. Fuck” he moans as he begins to move his hips back and forth causing sparks of white to appear behind my eyes and the glorious feeling of being filled completely.

We’re a tad uncoordinated and unbalanced due to the alcohol but we eventually set a pace that’s causing us both to catch our breaths and moan in tandem. Noah’s hand reaches down to press against my clit and I set off into a second orgasm. My inner walls clenching around him and causing him to lose himself and spills deep into me.

“Fuck.” He gasps out and rests his head against my stomach as we both take a moment to catch our breath.

“Yeah, you can say that again” I respond half asleep.

Noah rolls off and onto the stop next to me, crashing onto the pillow and we pass out wrapped tightly together.

Hours later with the morning sun leaking into my room I groan, wiping the sleep from my eyes and while moving to sit up feeling the arms around me I am reminded of the actions of last night.

I reach over to my phone that is almost dead on my nightstand and I see I have missed texts.

Maggie: ims o drink!!! I’ll call u tmorw LUCV YOU 1:36am

Kyle: staying to make sure my boys get home safe, I’ll be back home tomorrow afternoon. Happy new year nat! 12:45am

“Shit” Noah grumbles as he slowly rises and sees the state of the two of us. “Um..how are you feeling?” He asks cautiously. I shrug “I feel tired, nauseous but also hungry? And my head is killing me” I say to him, “you?” He has his face in his hands before looking up at me. “I’m okay. I'm just- I’m sorry about last night. That was stupid” his voice is pinched and he’s throwing his legs over the side of the bed pulling his pants quickly back on and running a stressed hand through his hair. “What? What are you talking about Noah?” I demand, pulling the blanket higher to cover myself. He pulls his shirt on next and let’s put a harsh sigh. “Sleeping together, that was a mistake.”

That stings. “A mistake?” I whisper, “so you don’t even want to try and make this work?” I ask with agony clear in my voice. “You’re just going to leave? Again?”

“I shouldn’t have come over here last night, it’s not fair to you Nat. I can’t be what you deserve right now and I can’t ask you to wait around for me. I'll just complicate your life” He finally looks at me and there’s nothing I can do about the tears falling from my eyes.

“If that’s how you feel I’m not going to beg you to love me. Just go Noah. Leaving is apparently something you’ve mastered” I don’t care about the spiteful nature of my words. I just roll back over facing away from him as he finishes gathering his things and heads out of my room and out of my life again. I go back to sleep for a few more hours. I don’t cry until I’m showering off the makeup and sweat from the night before.

Kyle gets home and doesn’t ask when he sees my red rimmed eyes just gives me a side hug and tell me it will get easier.

Maggie texts me again later in the afternoon.

Maggie: YOU LEFT THE PARTY WITH NOAH?! Girl! SPILL NOW! 2:35pm

Natalie: Come over? We can have a girls night and I’ll tell you about it. Just understand that I don’t want to ever hear the name Noah Sebastian again. 2:37pm

muawh muawh ! kisses kisses ! I know it hurts but just trust the process....

next chapter

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

writing request:

IDK JUST SOME ANGST FLUFF THAT ENDS WITH HERO AND VILLIAN CUDDLING ON THR COUCH PLEASE

I need to feel something in this dark world

(OFCOURSE THIS IS JUST A REQUEST YOU CAN CHOOSE TO DO IT OR NOT)

First off, I am truly very sorry this is late. High school and finals are responsible. Also, ty for the request 💙💙, this is right up my alley!

Stars in a Pitch Black Sky

TW: Violence, the agency is toxic, self-depreciation, blood mention

Word count: 1.29 k

Villain kicks Hero’s legs from underneath them, their body slamming into the asphalt. The criminal pins the hero down with their boot, letting it rest on their ribs, earning a soft whimper from them.

They expect resistance, a hand trying to claw at their boot, but they receive nothing. The crime-fighter doesn’t even stir, staying so terribly still to the point that the villain would’ve thought they were dead, had they not heard the exhausted panting.

As though trying to get their attention, Villain slowly increases pressure. Nothing. . .

The hero was normally relentless. Irritatingly so. They never gave their nemesis a chance to recover, their attacks swift, their movements skilled and unpredictable. The villain never wanted to admit that their fighting had the graceful air of a mesmerizing dance. Hero had this fiery passion blazing in their eyes, as though this job was bound to their soul, their legacy inked in with the blood coursing through their veins.

So seeing them like this, letting themselves remain limp under the villain’s foot is definitely unorthodox.

“What is wrong with you?” they ask, strangely frustrated.

“I’m not dead,” the hero replies listlessly.

“Well, you’re as good as like this,” they retort, cocking an eyebrow.

“What if I. . .” they trail off, breathing laboured, “don’t really care?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” the criminal barks. They dig their heel into the crime-fighter’s ribs, resulting in a groan from them. “Fight back!”

At this, the hero finally snaps.

“For what?” they shoot back, forcing the criminal’s shoe off them, finally standing up and slamming their body into the building behind them with so much force that it draws a sharp gasp from the villain.

“To be the agency’s old poster hero? A shiny, little weapon that’s been used so many times, it’s gone dull and rusty?”

“I-but the news is chock full of articles about you. You’re the city’s favourite hero!” they protest.

Their nemesis lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. “The articles – are simply there to sate the public until a brand new hero gets all the spotlight. It’s a performance. The government throws out these ‘heroes’ so that no one questions them.”

Villain’s eyes widened and the hero’s bruising grip on their shoulders softens, as does the diamond-hard gaze.

“I was just some experiment. A coverup. I’m no one’s hero,’ they say softly, their cold fury crumbling to nothing as they worry their bottom lip between their teeth. They let go of the villain, which was sloppy and unprofessional and so unlike the hero.

“You save people. You show up to fight me no matter what,” the villain reasons.

The crime-stopper sucks in a careful, measured breath, as though it was their last. “I only fight you because they tell me to. You’re far from the worst thing out there. The agency just labels anyone with functioning braincells who isn’t their goddamn puppet ‘a threat’. ” Hero snorts inelegantly, but the look in their eyes is anything but amused. Desperate. Broken.

The confession leaves Villain dumbfounded, and their agape jaw quickly snaps shut. They want to say something to soothe their enemy, but they were never one for gentle words and complicated feelings. Because they currently have no one they care about to have any knowledge of. . .basic human emotions, apparently.

Yet here they are, practically itching to find a way to offer their nemesis any comfort they can. “I- the people don’t care about the agency, Hero. Just because they made you feel like your time is over or whatever stupid publicity stunt they’re trying to pull – doesn’t mean it actually applies to you.”

Hero only gives them a wry smile, and it seems to age them decades in matter of instants, even though they’re young, like the villain. Too young. “It was nice feeling like I meant something, even if the affirmations were false. A pretty lie is something to hold on to.”

Villain tilts their chin up, cautiously, as though they are more fragile than glass. “What are you planning on doing now?”

“I,” the hero starts, “I don’t k-know!” And with that, the hand on their jaw started to get wet with the steady flow of tears that they immediately wipe away, their face flushed and their throat burning like acid was forced down it with the shame, the tears tasting like salt on their tongue.

“You can stay with me,” the villain offers, pulling the hero close to them. They flinch violently, letting out a sharp gasp, but they cling onto their greatest enemy like a lifeline.

“Just until you figure things out. My civilian identity arouses no suspicion. I have a legal source of income too.”

“Why?” the hero rasps, pulling away from the embrace, “Why would you help me? Why do you care?” they ask, their form trembling with every step they take.

“Because,” they breathe out carefully, “I care about you,” they realise.

“I have no one to hold on to. No one I know whom I give a damn about. You know me better than people who’ve seen me with my mask off every day.”

And it was true. Because when the hero showed up to all those fights, it almost felt like they were keeping each other company more than anything. Old friends and perfect strangers mixed into one.

Hero takes the risk of believing them. The lesser of two evils, if their intentions prove to be rotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤♤♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Villain’s house is spacious, decorated in a way that was both luxuriant and simple. The place smells like expensive. Like exotic wood and potted plants with their fragrant blossoms, like fancy tea and brand new furniture, like the villain themselves: the crisp pages of a book mixed with the criminal’s musky perfume, though they currently smell more like blood and the day’s activities than anything else. But no matter how striking the difference is between their estate and the hero’s practical and brilliantly staid apartment, they both have one major thing in common.

The air reeks of mind-numbing loneliness in both places.

Reluctantly, the criminal rips off their mask, offering the hero a shy smile. Even though their features are somewhat sharp, maybe a little less harsh then the hero’s, but still defined, they look incredibly soft. It makes the city’s saviour wonder how they ever saw them as a menace. They reciprocate, feeling completely exposed as a scar underneath their eye is revealed. The villain’s smile widens to a grin.

“You’re cute.” They trace the shape of their scar with their fingers, and if the hero was blushing a few moments ago, right now they can pass off as a very convincing beetroot.

Moments later, Villain settles themselves on the couch, much too tired for anything else, patting the spot next to them. Hesitantly, Hero joins them.

“What movies do you like?”

“Thrillers,” the hero answers, without missing a beat.

At that, the villains laughs and raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You felt more like a Disney movie kind of person. But I’m into thrillers too.”

“Don’t patronise me,” they chide jokingly.

Villain smirks and reaches for the remote, picking a film neither of them had seen before. They pull the hero into their lap, even though the crime-fighter was the taller of the two. They’re ridiculously light, they note. They need to eat.

Halfway into the movie, Hero still perched on top of their lap, Villain asks them, “I’m getting takeout. Pizza or Chinese? Or something else?”

“Chinese is my favourite. Go for it!’ they chirp excitedly.

Villain’s heart doesn’t melt. It spontaneously combusts. “Do you know how tempting you are to spoil?” they stage-whisper, stroking the hero’s hair.

Hero just laughs softly in response.

Yes, the world gets dark. Hope is a thin thread to cling to, a precarious journey to make. There is a fine line between trust and utter foolishness and mistakes are inevitable, but to avoid everything in fear of them is to avoid living, to be a living body with a dead soul. Because between every wrong choice, there is always a right one, a chance we'd regret not seizing. Because even in the all-consuming darkness of a pitch black sky, the stars never fail to illuminate the night.

Notes: Thought I'd finally answer one of my asks before going back to radio silence for a while!

Tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichakii @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[lizzieraindrops]

Liminal - Chapter 3 (1901 words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Ikora is terrified of losing Eris now that she has become the Hive god of vengeance. The long tension between them has finally been driven to breaking point.

Sometimes the scariest part of good old-fashioned monster-loving isn't the monster. Ikora's emotional dysfunctionality returns with a vengeance (ha) in the morning.

Warmth is the unexpected first greeting of returning consciousness. Ikora runs cool, ever since she had first touched the Void—not uncomfortably, but noticeably. It takes a lot to fluster her, in both temperature and demeanor.

The warmth is another human presence: the gentle heat of skin on hers, a more comfortable resting place than her own bed despite the irregularity of shape.

With a simultaneous flush and chill that catches her between flight and paralysis, Ikora half rolls, half falls off of—Eris. Of course.

Eris snaps to wakefulness with all the alacrity of a Hunter's reflexes. She is relaxing her grip on the hilt of a small knife at the bedside—where had that come from?—almost before Ikora registers that she has moved. Ikora draws back for another reason entirely, coiling herself around her own knees at the foot of the bed. The sheet tangles her legs.

Halfway through levering herself up toward sitting, Eris catches sight of Ikora and ceases movement. Free of their bandage at last, her three green eyes blaze bright in the dimness with only a stray lock of her short, straggly hair to intercept their fire. As ever, wisps of ink drip from her eyes like tears. Their dark tracks trail over round cheeks, returned to soft-skinned vulnerability once more—along with the rest of her. Eris' very human body lies there fearlessly despite the lacework of scars that spreads over every limb. For some reason that makes Ikora feel deeply afraid.

"Ikora. It's me."

It is, and oh, Ikora is overwhelmed by that fact, by her nearness, by her own memory of sharp satisfaction in the way claws had clutched Ikora's body close and by her awareness of deft hands that could do the same. By the way that singular voice as deep and resonant as the ocean itself is close enough to feel.

One supplicating hand extends toward Ikora. She cannot keep herself from flinching. Eris withdraws it and carefully lies back down.

Ikora remains silent. Words stopper her throat like something congealed in the neck of a bottle, leaving her mind to spin within like a trapped squall.

"Ikora?" The softer her voice becomes, the harder Ikora trembles. "I will not hurt you. I am sorry, if I—did I...?"

Ikora shakes her head violently. She has never been more keenly aware that a problem is entirely inside her own head. But she still cannot speak.

The knot between Eris' eyebrows eases somewhat. Only one of her brows has hair: the other's had apparently never regrown from the shiny scarring around her eyes. "That is a relief," she says. "But I would still know what ails you. How may I comfort you? Or rather, may you be comforted without me? Shall I go?"

Ikora presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. Light, but Eris is so unfailingly kind, regardless of her bluntness, despite all the violence and hatred she has weathered; despite Ikora's utter emotional incompetence. Ikora loves her for it, and that is the most terrifying knowledge of all.

Ikora forces herself to meet Eris' eyes over her own curled hands. "Stay. Please," she whispers. "Just. Don't touch me." If she does, Ikora might be devoured by her own inarticulate fear warring with desperate need.

Eris nods and pulls her feet a little further away from her, even though perplexion dominates her face. She studies Ikora with all the clever, relentless perceptiveness that she usually bends toward her life's work. That sharp mind has flayed the immortality from gods. Her scrutiny is as unforgiving as truth itself. Little wonder that Ikora looks away as revelation chases the intensity from her features. Whatever softer thing can subsume that, Ikora is not capable of facing.

"You fear this form more than my morph," Eris says in hushed wonder.

Ikora hides her face in her hands again. She would not have put it so, but neither can she deny it. This is Eris, as she has been the whole time. But at least last night, Ikora had been too preoccupied by the newness and dark splendor of her acolyte form to think about the terrible immensity of the feelings she has so long kept in check. Seeing Eris' familiar form before her now, so brazenly vulnerable, brings to bear the years of aching longing that she had never considered might be answered.

It isn't that she thought Eris did not care for her. She knows, in a million subtle ways she has tried not to dwell upon. She just never thought either of them would find room for each other within the straits of their callings. Eris must pursue the fall of the Hive regardless of the risks. Ikora must defend the Last City, and she will never forego her duty to it as Vanguard. Not like her predecessor.

Ikora had not considered the much more frightening possibility now before her: that Eris might accept her and still continue along a path that might yet lead to self-destruction. That Ikora might lose her after being given the briefest taste of knowing what it meant to have her.

"Perhaps this was untimely. Although I do not regret it," Eris says. She runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. "Ikora," she pleads. "Please speak to me."

Ikora nods. She gathers what scraps of clarity she can. "I don't either. Regret it," she adds in response to Eris' confused look. "But I think...you're right. About timeliness."

Eris smiles sadly. "That has always been our problem, has it not?" She curls comfortably onto her side, leaning against the headboard with her head resting on her hands. "Are we too early, or too late?"

Ikora shifts to a cross-legged position and holds her hands in her lap. "Yes? No?" She gives a short laugh as unsteady as a newborn foal. "I don't know. But this feels like it was always inevitable."

"I know what you mean. Yet I thought I closed the door on this path when I awoke the Harbinger. It seems I was mistaken..."

Ikora's heart goes painfully soft, as if leaning into a blow. She should have told Eris years ago, rather than let her think herself unlovable. But would she have believed her, back then?

"Eris," she begins in a low, quiet voice. "Everything you are is dear to me. Even this—even that part of you. Especially a part of you that brings you clarity, purpose. It's just—" Her voice cracks. "I can't love you the way I want to, the way you should be, not when I'm so scared for you."

Eris lets that sink in. "I understand," she says, tender and mournful all at once. "I do not blame you. But I can do this. I can end what the Hive began. And I must."

"I know." Ikora does not know what will happen. She cannot predict any possibility that will reconcile reality with the cry her heart is making.

Ikora looks around the room while she takes slow, deliberate breaths to steady herself. She takes in details that she had been too distracted to notice before. The quarters are modest, but sizable for a ship. Eris has attired it much like the rest of her temporary wing of the HELM. Deep red hangings soften the sharp industrial corners. Another large shelf of books and strange artifacts cover one wall. How had she chosen what to keep nearest? Below a dim lamp with mica shades, her Ahamkara bone rests in a small stone bowl on the bedside table. A cloth has been cast over it to dull its glare. The bed itself is simple but utterly comfortable; the sheets have the feel of linen worn soft with long use, even if they bear a few new claw-torn tears.

Eris heaves a great sigh, then asks: "What now?"

Ikora lies down at the foot of the bed in a mirror of Eris' position, limbs askew. She is only a meter or so away, yet so far out of reach. "I guess we continue as we were. Mostly. Until...after this." If Eris lives. If they both come through this ordeal still capable of loving each other.

"After," Eris muses. "Very well." Then a wry grin tugs at her lips. "It will be terribly hard, though, now that I know the sound of your heart." Dancing humor laces the earnestness in her voice.

"Eris." Ikora laughs into her hands in embarrassment. "I'll have to give you more Hidden work after all this to keep you busy, otherwise you'll break every heart in the Tower."

Eris chuckles, and it raises chills along Ikora’s arms. "I don't think that will be necessary. After." Her hand curls and uncurls beside her face, as if she were refusing the impulse to breach the gulf that separates them.

The brief shared humor fades like ripples on the water. Soon, only uncertainty and stumbling sorrow remain to echo between them.

"Eris?"

"Yes?"

"Can we just..." This hurts too much to leave so soon. "Can we have today, if nothing else?"

Ikora can see the way Eris tamps down her own hope in the set of her shoulders. She despises herself a little for causing that, but not enough to not ask.

"Would that not only hurt more?" Eris says softly.

"Maybe. But I would rather give you a reason to come back."

Eris holds her stare, lips pressed together in indecision. Ikora curls in on herself with shame at her own presumption.

"Oh, come here, my love," Eris relents. She opens her arms.

Uncoiling, Ikora crosses the distance between them. She only hesitates a moment before tucking herself into Eris' embrace, shaky with nervous relief. She presses her spread hands to Eris' back, along her now smooth but still scarred shoulders. Did the Harbinger's spines erupt individually from the lines of those old wounds? "I'm here," she says, muffled against her. They lie there heart to heart, skin to skin. Even channeling Solar light has never made her feel this blessedly warm.

"Just today," Eris agrees.

"Just today." Ikora draws back just enough to look Eris in the eyes. She caresses her face, brushes her thumb across the unevenness of the scars just above her cheekbone. The prickling ink pools thickest there, but evaporates quickly.

"Don't forget that you are wanted for yourself. Not just for what you can do," Ikora says.

With that she kisses Eris deeply, achingly, searingly. Eris responds like a flower to the sun. The sound of unashamed pleasure that hums in her throat makes Ikora feel more wanted than she has ever been. And in this stolen moment, her want is greater than ever, as well. This time she gives it free rein with premeditated intent. She traces her passion along every curve of Eris' mouth, the arch of her neck, even the tender scarred lids of her eyes. She commits every part of her to memory, from her strong, stout arms to her soft, thick waist to the proud arc of her spine below the troubled skin.

"All of you," Ikora breathes. The hitch in Eris' heartbeat beneath her lips tells her she does not need to explain.

The warmth of skin threatens to destroy her as completely and utterly as the crystalline vacuum of space. But as she sinks into the contact, it soon soothes the part of Ikora that is shivering.

[atlas-library]

Thank you so much for your reply💞💞 I'm the anon that asked about if toge talked or not during silly time® I loved the answer so much thank you💞💞

If it's ok for me to ask, I also have another question!! A while back you wrote about how you think he would sometimes "go cold" on other people (and I think it was mentioned in the nsfw alphabet too). Are those depressive/manic episodes? What goes on inside his head when he does that? Is it something that is triggered? Does he even realize he is being cold to other people?

(also, sorry for not replying sooner🙏🙏)

note (after i FINALLY finished writing this post) : GUESS WHO FINALLY FINISHED WRITING THIS!!!! this is probably all over the place, i'm so sorry, but honestly this is taking me so long and driving me crazy so at this point!!! i shall blabber about specific points in other posts rather than trying to keep everything in this one. Enjoy!! :D

making my night once again, anon 😔​💗​ literally never apologise for "not replying sooner", you could have literally never replied and it would have been okay, don't worry you don't have to feel obligated to do anything 💗💗💗

and i'm so glad you're asking this question omg 👁️ i've had this on the back of my mind (and in discord convos) for a while now, i guess it's time to talk about it a bit more 😔✨

listening to nda while writing this because the bass gets to me

okay so, quick disclaimer, i'm not a doctor 👁️👄​👁️ i read articles from google and try to find testimonies from people, but 👁️👄​👁️ which is why, if i say some wrong shit, please correct me, like, genuinely 👁️👄​👁️

cw. inumakis are sketchy, scarification mentioned, child abuse/neglect too, mental health ohgodbuckleup, personality disorders (from cluster b), aspd + bpd mentioned, toge seeks some thrill by jumping off buildings and bridges so that's nice 👁️👄​👁️ ig we can say that's some suicidal ideation/attempt there 👁️👄​👁️

Okay so, we need some background info before we dive in Toge's mind and mental state.

The Inumakis are very secretive, seen as a cult (something that's honestly kinda "wild" in the Jujutsu world because... wym we're kinda a cult but we got this big secretive cult that's more of a cult than us......), and they're basically naturally ominous even when they don't try anything.

The first thing you notice when you see an Inumaki, if they're an Inumaki by blood, is the markings on their cheeks. I personally don't hc them as tattoos, but as burn marks (which then had purple ink rubbed into the wounds) : the Inumakis use scarification as a way of identifying their clan members. Still, it's very specific: you need to be an Inumaki by blood. But your blood is only recognised as Inumaki if your mother is a "pure" Inumaki. (For clarity purposes, we'll use the word "pure" to describe Inumakis by blood).

Toge's father is an outsider who married his mother, a pure Inumaki. Despite his father being an outsider, this makes Toge a pure Inumaki. Toge has a cousin, his uncle's daughter, who doesn't have the markings because his uncle married an impure Inumaki.

INUMAKIS WITH CHEEK MARKINGS

Kanon (Toge's mother)

Kanon's brother (Toge's uncle)

Toge

INUMAKIS WITHOUT CHEEK MARKINGS

Toge's father

The wife of Toge's uncle (Toge's aunt)

Shion (Toge's cousin)

You can also get markings on your tongue, but it only happens if you have the cursed speech. Even then, there are different levels of cursed speech: so far, Toge's cursed speech is the most powerful in the clan. Thus how he got his tongue marking (made by burning as well) at a young age, before he even turned five.

I like to hc his mother, Kanon, also has cursed speech, albeit a lighter version that didn't draw attention and thus let her avoid the branding on her tongue. The more emotional she gets, though, the more powerful it gets (it "leaks"). Gojo experienced it first-hand, although only for a simple command ("Stop").

Toge's mother is, with her husband, the head of the clan. This actually doesn't mean much, Inumakis are very individualistic when it comes to the outside world, but they're very close with their own. They have this entire "us vs them" mentality, something that also leaks out of Toge whenever someone criticises the ways of his family (Maki does it the most). He regrets it instantly whenever it happens, mostly because he disagrees with most of his clan's customs and traditions... it's just his first instinct to separate himself from the person criticising them.

Toge's mother being the head of the clan simply means she's the clan's spokesperson whenever politics are involved; she also gets the final word during meetings, but it doesn't often reach this point. It did for Toge when his cursed speech got dangerous though (when he was barely two years old), and she basically forced the rest of the clan to let Toge stay with them.

(I know I'm talking about his mom a lot but she's very important. 😔)

🍙 small breather 🍙

Kanon, Toge's mother, is pretty much the roots of Toge's mental state. He's a carbon copy of her, physically but also psychologically: they're both strong-minded, resilient, kind and smart— But they're also control-freaks.

Kanon always had Toge glued to her hip, and even though she didn't mind him befriending Shion, his cousin, she clearly only let it happen because it made Toge happy. Kanon loves Toge more than she's loved anyone else— She loves him more than she loves her husband, by a large margin. Toge deserves the best because Toge can do no wrong— He can, actually, but she doesn't care. He's her son, and she'll love him till her last breath of life. When the accident happened and Toge got sent to the school, Kanon's mind broke a little, and she lost some of the control she had over herself during all these years— She became quiet and docile, weak, always hiding in her husband's shadow. Gojo met her that way, even though he knew better than to mess with her.

Kanon's and Toge's minds are so similar it's scary. The only big difference between them is: Kanon learnt how to deal with her chaotic outbursts and recklessness. Meanwhile Toge never learnt any coping mechanism— Mostly because Kanon didn't want to admit he was that similar to her. Thus, the adrenaline Toge is constantly seeking, the reckless behaviour, and the cold shoulders.

Now, regarding your questions about Toge "going cold".

Okay, so, again: I'm not an expert. But, I personally hc Toge has having antisocial personality disorder with comorbid borderline personality disorder... which is basically a ride, and at first glance looks like the literal embodiement of "you go from 0 to 100".

Okay so, this part is going to be a bit messy because the point right now isn't to write a whole essay about how or why Toge would have these PDs, nor to check every box for him to "qualify" as having these PDs; I guess we can call it "random facts that tie in with your questions", in a way. Idk, it's gonna be messy.

Toge has little to no emotional empathy. Let's start off by saying empathy =/= good person, so if you disagree please do some research and if you still haven't changed your mind, do some more research. <3

When I say Toge has little to no emotional empathy, it basically means that he pretty much... doesn't care about people. On an emotional level, at least. For example: Maki could cry and he wouldn't feel anything, perhaps mid-annoyance because her sniffles are too loud (if it were Yuuta, it'd be pretty because Yuuta genuinely looks pretty when he cries. Still though, the sniffles are annoying).

What Toge has instead is cognitive empathy. He may not think you losing your grandma in a traumatic accident is sad to the point of tears, but he's able to understand why anyone would cry at that, and he respects it and even offers you a shoulder to cry on. It actually makes him The friend when you need to vent or cry about something: he won't get emotionally involved, at least not like people with regular emotional empathy do, but he'll still listen (because he's a great listener) and basically ask you what you need most: for him to share your emotional outburst, for him to go on like nothing happened, or for him to hype you up without any of your previous outburst lingering in the room. Since he has little to no emotional tie to most things, it makes it easier for him to adapt to what you need, especially since he won't feel any guilt for not crying with you about your dead fish.

It can definitely make him sound a bit "callous" at times, or make him look like he doesn't care (he does, but in a very neutral, dare I say "monotonous" way)— But he does make sure you're feeling okay. He just doesn't necessarily share your feelings towards most things, or if he does it's really toned down, even for simple things such as joy (but again, it doesn't mean he's emotionless or dislikes you in any way).

Toge is addicted to adrenaline. Part of it is because he needs to feel. Part of it is also because he's used to sacrificing himself (more on that later). And part of it is because he loves the adrenaline rushing in his veins and numbing him from anything.

I've talked about it before, but Toge's a passionate soul, someone who gives endlessly and expects nothing in return— That's just how he is. His curse prevents him from talking, gives him one less way of sharing. And it's frustrating. All of this also ties with his own trauma, the neglect he faced when he was still at the Inumaki compound, of course— But he also seeks danger to cope.

Gojo's often found him on top of a building, or on a bridge, not always jumping but always looking down. Always playing some balance game— A dangerous game Gojo wouldn't even dare call an edgy prank. Toge doesn't think when there's danger, or maybe he does— He thinks about the best course of action, how to protect everyone but him. He's not part of the equation. Not only because he's extremely selfless; also because his only selfishness is putting himself in harm's way.

Toge thinks very little of his life. This entire thread so far doesn't include any significant other (other than canon characters) Toge would have, not because I don't want one included but because it's about his behaviour in general; but I think it's worth mentioning the people who hold Toge dear, whether it's romantically or not.

Toge is too selfless to live, but also too selfless to die. His only selfishness is caused by the adrenaline rushes he seeks.

Toge's a weapon. He's a thorn, an inconvenience, a dead weight people have to endure; he bleeds and makes people bleed, he's the flame that burns moths in the dead of the night. Of course he's helped people before, it's hard to live a life without helping at least one person, whether it's saving them from a collapsing building or helping them cross the street. Still.

Toge can't love, Toge can't allow himself to love. Last time he did, Gojo took him away.

Toge feels, Toge loves, Toge has only known obsession and destruction, yet he takes care of people like he takes care of the school's garden: gently. It's ironic that he's unable to do the same for himself.

He lacks empathy, he doesn't lack feelings but lacks the skills of expressing them, he lacks a stable mind that would make him happy or sad all day instead of happy-sad-sad-sad-happy-happy-sad-happy-happy— His way of showing he cares is by giving, but what else is there to give once you've run out of silly words, run out of gestures, run out of money? His life. So he pushes people away when there's a fight, yells to run, and only when everyone he cares for is safe or gone does he part his lips to bleed enemies: "Die," he spits out, similar to a snake sinking its fangs into its prey. No one needs to fear him, no one needs to see how ruthless he can be— So he gives his life, buys time, hopes that everyone will turn their back on him.

Toge sometimes has "lows" and "highs". What does that mean? From Maki's point of view, that he goes from 0 to 100 very fast. That he's hot and cold. Then again, she wouldn't be (entirely) wrong.

No one knows what triggers a low or a high; Gojo has an idea of the type of situations that would trigger it, but nothing precise. Yuuta doesn't know either, but he gets it— Or at least he tries to. Those two have seen Toge in distress the most, and still don't find much to say about all this.

During lows, Toge stops caring, starts fantasising about acting selfish, yet always chickens out— Again, that's not who he is. He feels a bit down, a bit angry at the world, but nothing a nap can't fix; unless it's a big low. Then, he hides in his room so he can cry and hit his head with his palm, tries to breathe louder than the sounds stuck in his eardrums, spams Yuuta with texts so Gojo doesn't have to catch him jumping off a bridge again.

He hates himself, too. More than usual. And, somehow, that's the hardest part.

Yuuta's had to find the right words too many times, he's had to explain to Toge why he cared so much about him and why he'd never stop caring as Toge was harshly pushing him away (both literally and metaphorically). Maki doesn't always have the patience, and she's already yelled "Okay, whatever!" and left— Only to feel guilty and check on him by the end of the day.

Gojo, similar to Yuuta, doesn't leave either— The only difference is that Gojo doesn't try anything. He'll follow Toge around and will talk about random stuff happening, but won't try to comfort Toge in any way. Toge likes it. Yuuta can be too overwhelming, too caring towards him— Almost too desperate to show his undying affection to the people he loves, and Toge finds it humiliating whenever it happens during a low: it's like Yuuta's pitying him.

Toge pushes people away so he doesn't get hurt. They'll hate him anyway, it won't take long before they fear him or decide he's the worst, even though he tries so hard to always be kind— They'll think he's manipulating them, and Toge doesn't know if it's true or not. Probably to some extent.

So he pushes them away first. This way, he knows why they'll start ignoring him, and he won't have to hurt from it. But... he also pushes people away because he wants them to stay. That's the biggest irony; he'll try to act cold and mean, to hurt them enough that they leave and never come back... because he wants them to stay despite all this. He wants to be loved despite his flaws, despite his curse, despite the fact that he's a thorn and not a rose.

Gojo stays, he's never left. Panda stays, he's understanding. Yuuta stays too, but he's confusing. Maki leaves but comes back, they're two sides of the same coin. Toge has people who care about him, but it's never enough; he's a time-ticking bomb, a mess of a curse.

Maybe he's not kind by nature; maybe the reason he tries so hard to be nice and giving is to hide how deadly he's forced to be.

anyway hope that answers your questions! 😃​

[maddiviner]

Hi I was wondering if you could help me? I'm trying to get more into scrying but I feel like I'm not getting anywhere. I made a mirror and tried to use it but nothing ever seems conclusive. Do you have any tips for how to get better at it?

Hey. Thanks for writing to me. Sorry for the very late reply. It’s been almost three weeks? I had taken a hiatus from this blog (and most social media, for that matter).

I’m back (I think), and I hope you’re still around to read this. Sorry if it’s a little wordy. This is the best advice (from my own perspective) that I can offer, but it's just my perspective, and I don't know how helpful it'll be!

Scrying Tips and Troubleshooting

Switch up your medium.

If you’re not seeing anything at all, I would suggest switching up your medium of scrying. You mentioned making a scrying mirror. That's my current, personal favorite method, but there's others.

I do think mirror scrying is a great way for most people to start, but it’s not for everyone. Some people might have better results with a bowl of water, a candle flame, the open sky, or other options.

I’d try either a candle flame or a bowl of water (or dark liquid, I’ve used coffee). It can help to use plain water, but put a few drops of black ink or another substance into it and swirl.

In both of those cases (candle flame, black ink in water), the scrying medium itself isn’t a blank field. It has shapes and colors in it.

For some scryers, this might be distracting. If you’re having trouble beginning, though, it can actually be helpful.

Interpreting ink spilled in water or the sparks of a candle itself isn’t in itself scrying. It would be considered a different sort of divination. But it can be a good jumping-off place for scrying. It can help you sink into a state of mind where you’re receptive to communicating in symbols.

You’ll start to notice shapes in the ink or the flame. A blob of ink floats one way, another swirls outwards, etc. The flame arcs and sparks. Smoke trails might resemble things. An amorphous trail of ink (or smoke) might become a forest path at the start of a vision. Then, your mind can use what you’re seeing in the physical world as a jumping-off point for a vision.

Examine your expectations

A lot of what you see while scrying will operate based on dream logic. Meanings get transmitted through symbols rather than literal imagery. You usually won't see a direct representation of physical events. If a vision tells you you're going to get into grad school, you're unlikely to see the school itself.

Instead, you might see yourself having climbed a mountain or crossed a finish line. In short, it's almost always metaphor. If by “no conclusive results,” you mean nothing literal and plain, it’s normal not to experience that.

Sometimes, if you go in with that kind of expectation, it can interfere with getting any results at all. You'll get better results if you go into the sessions prepared to receive symbols. Expecting the literal can block things, in my experience.

Consider your symbol set.

What you’ll see will have meaning to you as an individual. Visions may be incomprehensible when you tell other people. They might be incomprehensible to you at first, too. This is why it’s important to incubate these things after the session.

You've got to sort out what associations you have for the different symbols you see. Some of these correspondences will be personal. Others might be societal or cultural. The meanings won’t always be intuitive, and it’s the kind of thing that requires a lot of pondering afterwards.

Lets say you see a black horse galloping across a bridge over a ravine. You’ll need to ask yourself what horses symbolize to you, as well as other parts of the scene. This won’t always be some arcane idea from a book (Epona, horse legends, etc). It might relate to your personal experience with horses instead.

It could also draw books or movies you've seen involving horses. Diving deeper, the color, gait, etc of the horse might be significant, too. Of course, the bridge/ravine itself where it takes place would also have a meaning.

Clean up beforehand.

When you say “non-conclusive,” do you mean that it doesn’t make sense, regardless?

In that case, your mind might be wandering? When this happens with me, I don't always notice until afterwards. I try to clear my mind as much as possible before scrying. Things get complicated from there, though.

"Clearing your mind” takes a different form for each person, so it’s hard to give more concrete advice for that. You can find a lot of different exercises in print and online. You might want to make sure you’ve got one that works well for you before you attempt scrying at all.

This requires experimentation, of course, and observing how your mind reacts. It doesn’t have to be a deeply-ritualized way of “clearing the mind,” either - for some people, a hot shower can be enough.

Consider your goals.

Do you know what you’re scrying for? You can scry to “see what comes up,” a bit like a general Tarot reading. Sometimes it can be easier and yield stronger results if you have a target in mind, though. It can help to know what information you’d like to receive or even who you’d like to communicate with in the spirit world.

I’m going to be honest. For the past few months, I usually scry to “see what comes up,” with the help of my spirit companions. Some friends (and frenemies) of mine say this isn’t effective. They say that you need to seek something specific each time you scry.

I've done it both ways in the past. I think both methods can work in some situations depending on the person.

If you’re not having luck with freeform scrying, try something more targeted, or call on an entity as a guide. If you’re struggling with more structured, guided scrying, try something freeform.

Switch things up a bit until you find something that works.

Keep some kind of record if at all possible.

Cliche advice for any kind of occult undertaking, I know. But don't knock it. This whole process gets a thousand times easier when you're able to look back on things after the fact.

Some witches, wizards, mages (etc) keep elaborate daily diaries, but that isn't necessary. For this, you only need to record impressions right after each scrying session. You can be as elaborate or as simple as you want, but something is objectively better than nothing here.

Some people write in a scrying journal while scrying. This usually involves pausing every few minutes to jot things down, and it's kind of stressful. I've done it before and I don't like it. Might work for you, though, so I mention it.

I know a lot of people don't like writing by hand. There's nothing wrong with typing your notes. I've never typed notes during a session, so I don't know how well that would go, though.

You could also consider audio recording during scrying. If you've got privacy, start recording and narrate what you're seeing out loud. Then, at the end of it, you'll have a complete audio record of the session.

I've done that once or twice, but I prefer my notebook. As with most of this, you've got to try different methods until you find one that works well for you.

Try automatic writing.

It's not the kind of tip most people want, but consider it! I knew people who weren't getting results with Enochian scrying in particular. A couple picked up automatic writing as an alternative and had great success. I haven't written much on automatic writing, so you'll need to look elsewhere for that.

There are guides floating around online, and plenty of traditionally-published material as well. I don't exactly know why automatic writing in particular works so well as a surrogate to scrying. I just noticed that it often works for people who don't get good scrying results.

If anyone has any theories as to why, let me know.

These are the best tips I can offer. I hope they were helpful. My scrying practice is very ad hoc, casual, and nontraditional. Lately, I rely a lot on spirits helping when I'm scrying, but that wasn't always the case. Everything above is my own perspective, which is all I can offer. In any case, thanks for this ask, and I hope you find a way that works for you!

[queenofcats17]

I have been thinking about Buddy and getting emotional, so I decided to write more of the aftermath of Cordelia in Dreams Come To Life.

Warning: This first part does involve a guilt-induced dream sequence that involves some violence and a lot of guilt-tripping. And the second part does involve some suicidal ideation.

==============================================

She's in the band room in the studio. It's dark. Ink drips down from the ceiling to pool on the floor. Sammy is there, standing in front of her. Parts of him are ink and parts of him are human. Enough is human that she can see his face.

His eyes are wide in manic glee as he smiles at her, his teeth and gums blackened. Tears of ink drip down his face, leaving black trails on his cheeks. His hair is matted and messy, and so stained with ink it looks black. Most of it is still in its usual ponytail, but the style is disheveled and half undone, with whole chunks hanging loose in inky clumps.

He barely looks like himself.

She wants to look away, but she can't. She can't stand seeing him like this, but she can't tear her gaze away.

"What's wrong?" He asks, spreading his arms wide. "Don't you like it?"

She can see Buddy tied to a chair just behind him. He looks terrified, his eyes wide and darting frantically around the room. He struggles against the ropes binding him, his mouth working behind the gag to try and get it off. She knows she needs to get to him. But again, she can't make herself move.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Sorry for what?" Sammy tilts his head to the side, still smiling. "Sorry for not being able to save me?"

"Or are you sorry you couldn't save him?" Joey suddenly appears from the darkness, placing his hands on Buddy's shoulders. Buddy redoubles his struggle against the ropes binding him, desperately trying to move away from Joey. Joey seems to hold him in place, though.

"Help me, Miss Bell!" Buddy pleads, having finally managed to work the gag off.

"Don't hurt him!" She begs. She still can't force herself to move, no matter how hard she tries to will herself forward.

"Oh, Cordelia," Joey coos. "You know it's too late for that."

"You couldn't save either of us," Sammy says, shifting and swaying where he stands. "Did you even really try?"

"I did! I did try!" She insists.

"Did you really?" Sammy's smile widens.

"You could have taken him and run." Joey strokes the side of Buddy's face. "Caught Sammy off guard with a sneak attack. But you were so caught up in trying to get through to him."

"I would never have gotten splashed with the ink in the first place if you'd only been there, you know," Sammy adds. "And then none of this would have happened."

"But now it's too late," Joey says. "And they're both gone." He withdraws a knife from his pocket, pressing it to Buddy's throat. His smile is wider than it should have been. It looks like Bendy's. There are too many teeth. Buddy is crying.

"You don't even know what happened to us." Sammy moves closer to her. "You left us. You left all of us."

"I didn't want to," she tries to insist.

"But you did." Sammy's smile still hasn't dropped. "You left us behind."

"You left them to die," Joey says. He draws the knife across Buddy's throat, leaving a long gash in the flesh. But it's not blood that begins to flow forth. It's ink.

Buddy gasps and chokes as ink gushes forth from him. It's leaking from his mouth and eyes as well. It's all ink. There's so much ink. Why is there so much ink?

She stumbles back.

Joey and Sammy begin to advance on her. Joey has a flask of ink in his hand now. She recognizes that flask.

She's in the Ink Machine Room now, the machine looming behind Joey and Sammy. There's the table where Norman...

She stumbles back but trips, falling back onto the ground.

“Come now, my dear.” Joey smiles, looming over her with that flask of ink. “Won’t you be a good girl for me?”

She tries to move away, but hands burst from the ink puddles around her to hold her down. She can feel Sammy's arms grab her from behind as well.

"We'll be together again," he whispers in her ear, stroking an inky thumb over her cheek.

"It should have been you," Buddy says, appearing behind Joey. Ink still leaks from his eyes, his mouth, and the gash in his neck. "You should have died, not me."

"I'm sorry!" She struggles against Sammy and the ink hands as Joey leans in, uncorking the flask.

The ink is rising up around her and she soon finds herself covered. The ink is in her throat, her nose.

She can't breathe.

SHE CAN'T BREATHE!

.

Cordelia sat upright in bed with a scream, gasping for breath and clawing at her cheeks to remove the ink she still felt there.

The sound of footsteps approached rapidly in the hallway before the door was wrenched open by a very worried-looking Roy.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking frantically around. "I heard you scream."

Cordelia didn't answer, continuing to take in rapid breaths. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"...Dee?" Roy's expression grew even more concerned as he entered the room and sat down on the edge of Cordelia's bed. She flinched for a moment when he put his hand on her shoulder, but quickly turned to press herself against his chest as she began to sob.

"Nightmare?" Roy asked, wrapping his arms around her to draw her close.

Cordelia nodded.

Roy didn't ask what the nightmare had been about. He didn't need to. There was only one thing Cordelia ever seemed to have nightmares about anymore.

The studio.

The only question was what part of the studio was haunting her this time. Although it was usually Sammy, she sometimes dreamed of Susie. Or Buddy. Part of Roy wanted to ask what ghost had haunted her dreams tonight. He decided against it, though. If Cordelia wanted to talk about it, she would bring it up. He was sure of it.

It was a few minutes before Cordelia stopped crying, leaving her pressed against Roy's chest, letting out little sniffles and shaking gasps of death. There was another moment or two of silence before she spoke.

"It was Sammy and Buddy," she whispered.

Well, there was his answer.

"What happened to them wasn't your fault," Roy said, patting her back.

"But I could have done something," Cordelia tried to insist.

"Maybe you could have," Roy conceded. "But you also could've ended up dead too. You did what you could. You tried."

"They should have survived." Cordelia's grip on his pajama shirt tightened. "They should be here. Not me."

Roy let out a long exhale, trying to tamp down his annoyance. He didn't feel good about being annoyed by this, but he was allowed to be selfish. He was allowed to be happy that his sister was here. He felt bad that her coworkers had died, but he was glad she hadn't.

"Please don't say that." He tried to keep his voice calm and even. "I'm glad you're here. I..." He found himself faltering, tears welling up in his eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The two of them had grown much closer since the death of their parents. They were all each other had anymore, as their only other family lived miles away. Roy didn't know what he'd do if he was left totally alone. He was making friends, slowly but surely, but... He still needed the support of his sister.

Cordelia pulled back. It was her turn to be concerned now as she began to fuss over him.

"Oh no! Please don't cry!" She said, wiping his tears away. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"Your life matters too, Dee!" He said, grabbing her hands. "I don't want to keep listening to you say you should be dead! I don't want you to be dead!"

"I'm sorry!" She was crying again now too.

It didn't take long for them to collapse together again, both of them sobbing while clinging to each other.

Roy was scared for his sister. He had been scared for his sister for a long time. When she'd come back from the studio... He'd seen the same look in her eyes that he'd seen in the eyes of their father after he'd come back from war. That haunted look that spoke of the guilt of survival. Their father had kept going because the family had needed him. His wife had needed him. His children had needed him. Their father had stayed alive because the family would not have been able to survive without him.

Cordelia had no such responsibility.

"Please don't leave me," Roy whispered once they'd both stopped crying. "I can't lose you too, Cordelia."

"I won't," Cordelia said. "I promise. I won't."

Roy didn't know if he completely believed her, but it was late. This was good enough for now.

"...Thank you."

Cordelia managed a slight smile. "You're welcome."

"Do you want me to stay here for the rest of the night?" Roy asked.

Cordelia hesitated, her cheeks going a bit pink. "....Yes, please."

Roy's expression softened and he ruffled her hair. "Alright, then."

He got into the bed beside her and Cordelia pressed herself against his chest, just as she had when they'd been children. They fell asleep like that, exhausted from the onslaught of emotions they'd experienced.

They would talk more in the morning. But for now...They would rest, their sleep deep and, blessedly, dreamless.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 5: Night

WIP: Darkspace Portent series Pairing: Thrive x Warren Timeline: Honestly? No idea. CW: none? Rating: T Words: 1,136

***

Warren sat down on the edge of the cliff next to Thrive, resting his feet on top of the stairs carved into the rock face leading down to the beach. The chilled Tournaltis breeze ruffled through their hair, and Warren hugged himself to ward off the initial intensity of the nightly temperature drop.

"How is it that we almost always find ourselves alone during Skywaste concerts?"

Thrive looked at him, amused. "I've often wondered the same thing. There may be something subliminally aphrodisiacal about their music."

"Oh, shit, comin' in hot with the big, sexy words." Warren sighed, his breath escaping in a fog that carried itself away into the deep ink of the sky. "You doing okay?"

"I am." Thrive turned his attention back to the desert lights surfing against the wind over the shore, their glowing reflections causing glitter on the choppy ocean. Skywaste's music from the stage farther inland behind him and Warren echoed across the void, braided with the sounds of their enthusiastic audience. "I'm enjoying myself, but I needed space."

"I get it. Am I intruding?"

Thrive smiled warmly at him. "Never, th'saiya. I do worry that you're anxious about being so close to the edge of the cliff, however."

Warren shook his head. "It's terrifying, but…honestly, I never feel safer than when I'm with you."

Thrive watched him for a few seconds, then reached over to push some of Warren's hair away from his forehead, finishing the gesture with a sweep of his knuckle across his cheekbone.

Warren slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Not a single moment of your life."

"Yeah?" Warren tipped his head back. "That's cool. Why start now?"

Thrive's smile turned mischievous.

"I will say, though," Warren continued, "that they just started playing our song. And I think I'm feeling some type of way about it."

"Does this feeling call for an abrupt departure from the festivities? I seem to recall that being the course of events the first time we heard this song."

Warren shifted so he sat closer to Thrive and delighted in the body heat radiating off of him. "I'd settle for an abridged version."

"Would you?"

"I think if I put in a lot of effort, I can suffer just once the indignity of having to make out with you, you son of a bitch."

"Romantic." Thrive leaned into him, and the contentment in his face could've lit the entire beach with its brilliance. "If you don't mind, however…I'd like to keep things light. While I'm delighted to spend time with you, I also don't want to step away from this. The air is fresh and there's something very pensive about the Sky tonight."

"Hey." Warren grinned at him. "Hearing that you're feeling good is like a fucking drug, man. I'd love to just sit out here with you."

Thrive grasped Warren's hand and pulled it toward himself, interlocking their fingers together as he cast his gaze out to the ocean, where three moons peeked out from the hidden horizon.

"…How light is 'light,' though?"

"There it is," Thrive muttered.

Warren laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm just messing, we don't have to do anything, I swear."

To his pleasant surprise, Thrive moved even closer and tilted his face up with a knuckle under the chin. "I am insanely, tragically in love with you."

"Mm." Butterflies thrashed about in Warren's stomach, as they almost always did in moments like this with no one but Thrive. "Write your own material."

"Why would I do that when your words were succinct and very relatable?"

Thrive finally closed the distance between them, sinking the tips of his fingers into the back of Warren's neck to draw him as close as he physically could. Warren contented in sitting halfway across Thrive's lap for the duration of several songs, blissfully engaged in syncing their minds and running his hands over his chest and shoulders. He coiled his arms around him, so engrossed in Thrive's lips and the warm home of their connection that he would, on occasion, forget they were technically in complete view of everyone for no other hazard than possibly carrying on exactly like that until the sun rose.

By the time either of them had the wherewithal to surface for breathable air, the concert was still in full swing. As Warren crested his amorous fog, he seemed to just then realize with a start that he and Thrive were, in fact, two separate entities.

"Whoa," Warren exhaled.

"Whoa indeed," Thrive murmured, and he regarded Warren with so much affection it almost physically hurt.

After humming and pressing a prolonged kiss to the corner of Thrive's mouth, Warren drooped into his arms. Breathed on his throat, brushed his lips over his pulse point.

"I appreciate your restraint," Thrive said sincerely.

"It's the hardest thing I think I've ever done…pretty literally, as you'll notice." Warren winced. "Sometimes I think I wanna, like…crawl under your skin and live with a Thrive suit on for a while."

Thrive was silent for a beat. "What?"

Warren, overcome with sudden giggles, pulled back to inspect Thrive's bewildered face. "I don't know. I'm a little punchy—that was really fucking weird. I never said that."

"Perhaps bed is a good idea after all for the purpose of sleep."

"Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe I'm allergic to your happiness. God." Warren combed his hand through Thrive's hair. "You're so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?"

"As flattered as I am, this body is not mine."

"So you keep telling me." Warren cocked his head. "Here's the kicker, though—your natural form is just as beautiful. At least…it is to me."

A rapid flash of melancholy appeared on Thrive's face before he masked it with another albeit genuine smile. "Perhaps I'm the lucky one."

"It's definitely me, but I'm not here to argue the point. You're right about one thing, and that's the fact that I need to sleep off whatever alien high I'm on right now. If you wanna stay here, that's great."

"Would you mind if I rested with you?"

Warren recoiled in offense and rattled off a response in a tone that sounded as if he were reading blandly from a script. "No, Thrive. You're not welcome anywhere near me. Ew no, stinky boy."

Thrive laughed, rolling his eyes. "Sarcasm unneeded, but I see my error."

"Sarcasm unneeded, says you. C'mon. Can't get up to sleepy morning shenanigans if we don't go to sleep first."

Thrive watched him stand and move toward the capital house, and Warren basked in the ethereal glow of his smile. "A fair point."

They retired for the night with their arms around each other and the muffled soundtrack of the concert permeating the walls of Warren's room.

[basementcreation]

1 2 and 21 for your personal fav oc

OURURFHGHHH THANK YOU…. (STARTS FLAILING AROUND LIKE A REALLY EXCITED WORM)

my personal favourite oc is a (previously lobotomy corp oc but now in my own universe) character named Rostya ( ´ ▽ ` )b (this got kind of long, so most of it is under the cut)

does your oc have any motifs?

(cw for imagery of death/rot) yeah!! sorry, this section will be a little long, i have a lot of thoughts about themes and stuff. possibly a little generic but it's fine hehe.

most commonly, i relate him to crows/dead birds. i like the imagery of a dead bird swarming with maggots for him - it relates to his feelings of emptiness. his main struggles are depression and lack of control of his life; basically, things keep getting worse for him and he's almost given up. like, y'know, a dead animal being consumed by rot. also, crows are typically associated with death - something his character arc is related to (i mean. he does die at the end of it. so). could also relate to independence (he pushes away other people) and freedom (is struggling to free himself from his mental health struggles and the pressure/manipulation of his mother, even if he isn't in contact with her anymore).

the second thing i've related to him (although, this one is a bit new, so it's not too well thought out just yet) are apples! they're commonly used to represent temptation and sin (eg death note, the bible (yes i thought of death note first, what of it)) but i like it as a metaphor for life. this sort of stems from a scene i thought up with him and his (future partner, but at the time) enemy, who threatens rostya by crushing an apple in his hand. apples are hard on the outside but are pretty easy to cut up with a knife - the fact he crushes it with his bare hand shows the power he has over rostya's life. i'd love to go on more about this, but i think i need to mull this theme over some more first.

ALSO okok i can't believe i nearly forgot about this but. black ink. goop. nothing much to say about this one he's just a goopy guy. actually, no, disregard that, i have thoughts. so there's two versions of the universe he's from, and he has a (spoilers) madoka magica witch transformation moment in both of them. both of these times his other form is made up of black ink. it's basically just a metaphor for his despair. like, depression can feel like it's totally consuming you and dragging you down, right? that's his whole thing.

okay i promise pinky style that this is the last one but. masks. he's constantly masking his real thoughts and feelings. maybe a little heavy-handed, but it fits (he even has a dark shadow, like a mask, cast across his face when i draw him. look at the art below to see). he also wears a mask in both of his transformations - it's sort of similar to a theatre one, look at it below.

fuck i feel like gambling is also a motif for him. my brain is sort of short circuiting now because of all the writing (i know it's not that much. i am tired) but just. trust me. there's stuff there. and sorry for breaking my pinky promise. i'll repent.

2. describe your character's voice. do they have a voice claim?

this one's a little trickier - i generally don't have voice claims for my ocs, and just come up with them in my head, so i'll also talk a bit about the way he speaks. he has a fairly deep voice, probably about average for a guy. he's russian, but moved to england at a young age, so i don't think his accent is very prominent. he doesn't really speak unless spoken to, and tends to use shorter sentences. he can also be very snappy, mostly when people are trying to be nice to him (⍪_⍪) for context - he's a quiet person, but will put up a front of hostility when people try and get too close, which is. kind of anything past small talk for him (vulnerability scares him because of his past). although, after a while, he does calm down a bit with his antagonism.

21. hobbies your OC enjoys?

he really loves music! before he pawned them off, he would collect records. he enjoys singing a lot (in an au he's an opera singer) and secretly wishes he could make a career out of it - which, he totally could. he's a great singer. in the past he played the violin, and he still has some love for it, but as an adult he has too many bad feelings associated with it.

he also LOVES trains. he would love to save up enough money to collect miniature model trains, but can't manage it. at some point he and his coworkers have to go on a luxury train to investigate something and the whole time he is freaking out about it.

thanks so much for the ask!!! rostya is so fun to talk about. as a bonus, here's some art of him!!

the hair strand across the face is essential!

rostya ponytown... think i might remake this soon.

mock cover for the chapter where he dies! <3 this isn't what his transformation looks like, but the mask is the one he has.

one of my first drawings of him... his design has changed a little. and my art has changed a lot

this isn't rostya. i forgot why i drew this