#gray zone between life and death

[lortsyall]

Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 1.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

Pending....Pending....

Date: December 21st,2174.

Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 10:15 AM.

A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.

The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.

I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.

Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.

Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.

Pending...Pending...

Date: January 26th,2170

Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.

Time: 12:43 PM.

Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.

I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.

And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?

He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.

Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least…grey.

The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was…well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And…I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.

How an actual human betrayed his own race for a…Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and…disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.

Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?

The decision came easily. I needed something new.

What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And…of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.

I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a…see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.

Pending...Pending...

Date: July 31st,2174

Location: Pandora????

Time: ?????

The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in four years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.

“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.

“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.

The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.

When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.

For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.

The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.

Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.

My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.

Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.

That’s where I first heard his name again.

Jake Sully.

The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.

“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”

The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.

But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.

“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."

"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”

I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.

The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.

And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.

I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?

Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.

The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.

Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.

The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.

But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.

The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.

The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.

One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.

The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.

The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.

Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.

I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.

A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.

And then, those eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.

He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.

His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.

The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.

He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.

And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.

“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.

The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.

“You are… different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.

I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.

He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you… fear.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.

His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.

The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”

“What—”

“Go!”

He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.

I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.

He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.

For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.

And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.

When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.

I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.

“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.

But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.

“You do not belong here,” he’d said.

The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Jake Wallis Simons

The Gray Lady even contrasted the two incidents in a way that painted the American atrocity favourably while casting Israeli intentions in doubt. The Kabul attack, it said, ‘came after a suicide bombing killed at least 182 people, including 13 American troops, during the frantic American withdrawal from the country. Under acute pressure to avert another attack, the US military believed it was tracking a terrorist who might imminently detonate another bomb. Instead, it killed an Afghan aid worker and nine members of his family.’

The Gaza strike, however, ‘adds fuel to accusations that Israel has bombed indiscriminately’, the New York Times said, pre-empting the results of the independent investigation with breathless speculation and a healthy dose of ‘confirmation bias’ of its own. The assumption could not be clearer: whereas the Americans were acting out of panic and confusion, the Israelis were either acting out of disregard for human life or straightforward bloodlust.

Civilian deaths, including those of aid workers, are a tragic reality of modern warfare. Sixty-two humanitarian workers lost their lives in combat zones last year. Although they were mostly killed at the hands of autocratic regimes and militias, during wartime they are also the casualties of democracies, including Britain.

During the Libyan civil war in 2011, when David Cameron had his hands on the joystick, 13 people were killed by a NATO airstrike, including an ambulance driver, three nurses and some friendly troops. (He did not, surprisingly, subject his own government to the type of rhetoric that he has recently been levelling at the Israelis over the mistaken Gaza strike.) That same week, NATO wiped out a family near Ajdabiya in the north of the country. This year, even the Danish military was forced to admit that its aerial assault had claimed the lives of 14 Libyan civilians.

The difference between attitudes towards most Western armed forces and the Israelis could not be sharper. According to the UN, the average combatant-to-civilian death ratio in war around the world is one to nine. When Britain, America and our allies battled Islamic State in Mosul in 2016-17, we achieved a much more respectable rate of about one to 2.5. In Gaza, Israel has done better still, reaching about one to 1.5, and possibly even less.

[suzyandthefox]

Ladybug

I wrote this uninspired and it somehow became my longest vore fic ever

This was out of my comfort zone, I was inspired by @imafayliure 's post

Content warnings: Gore (not too much) ,animal death, Vore (duh), general angst and misunderstanding (they end on a good note), an insult in Spanish.

Soft,safe, quarter size(?) m/m vore, unwilling prey and not very sober pred.

Taglist: @pineappleparfaitie @opikarts (interact if you want to be added, Ask if you want to be removed)

Word count: 3,500

Lumen hated going outside, especially since he and his brother moved to this cabin, which was built next to a large pond.

It was humid, it was wet, it was full of pesky creatures that weren't edible -like mosquitoes-, and the constant noises of wildlife was driving him crazy.

Yes,there was fish to hunt, and other crustaceans, but he needed something that had blood in it.

Being a vampire borrower is a complicated state of life.

One night, he was dizzy with hunger, he had to find something to eat, something alive and pulsing and filled with blood…

His gray eyes fell on something small,round, and red. It hid in the tall grass that surrounded the pond, the bright red color would be a warning for predators to not come near.

Not for Lumen, it compelled him to get closer.

============

Bunyan curled around himself in fear as he tried to control his sobs, he shouldn't have come here at all,he shouldn't have!

Already being at the miniscule height of one inch tall was horrifying, even his wings and their bright red color didn't stop every creature out there from trying to eat him.

And there it was, another one of them, it was big and skinny and… human shaped? But also not a human?

Bunyan was filled with both curiosity and fear, he stood up in a defensive stance, flashing his red wings once again.

“Stay back! Or… or I will give you a bad time!!”

Instead, the being only got closer, its silhouette now illuminated under the moonlight.

It was slender,tall,draped in dark rags and wrapped it's face in old white cloths, and it reminded him of a… Raven.

It had caused him even more fear, this strange creature was a predator wearing the skin of a friend, it looked humanoid but it was far from that.

“Now now, little one, easy there, no need to be spicy.” Then it spoke, Bunyan shivered, its voice was rough and deep… 

And human? There was something nice about it, it sounded sincere even.

“F…Fine! But I remind you that I'm NOT edible!” Still in his defensive stance, Bunyan warned.

“Indeed you aren't, you're too spicy!” The being joked half heartedly, it sounded tired as well.

“Who are you? What are you?” Bunyan tilted his head as he lowered his guard, his wings stopped fluttering and returned to their place on his back.

“Lumen, you can call me Lumen…”

“And… Honestly I don't know, I used to be a borrower, but now I'm unsure.”

“But what about you? You're awfully way too small to be a borrower, what are you?”

Lumen walked closer to the tiny ladybug boy, almost wholly engulfing him in his shadow.

Even as they're both small beings in this big world, the sheer size difference between him and the boy was still shocking.

He could easily pick up the boy with both of his hands, just like how a human would pick up a cat, after all,the kid was the size of a newborn baby.

“I'm a borrower… at least I think I am, I never saw much outside my colony.”

“First time alone?” Lumen knelt on one knee to lessen the height difference between them.

“Yes actually, I'm supposed to look for a place to stay, so I can live on my own this winter.” The boy still maintained his distance between him and the larger, much more intimidating borrower.

“Live on your own_there’s no way you're an adult.” The vampire borrower murmured, a look of great concern drawn on his eyes, even as his face wasn't visible underneath the cloth.

Maybe it was just his fatherly instincts, but he was unable to perceive the ladybug kid as anything other than, well, a kid.

“I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Bunyan!” The boy gingerly extended his hand to handshake, now that he was partially sure that the man was a fellow borrower.

Bunyan, even his name is adorable.

Lumen was starting to believe he stumbled upon a character from a children's book and not a real person , let alone a full grown adult.

The beast crept up on him and kept whispering in his ears, he was getting hungrier by the moment and he was barely keeping himself in check.

He was starving,he was yearning for the taste of fresh,hot blood going down his throat, but the only living Infront of him was…

No,NO, he shook his head and tried to get rid of the idea, this is a friend,a friend.

“Are you okay?” Bunyan asked with confusion.

“I'm alright kid, just… Hungry.”

Bunyan instinctively took a step back, he still didn't like how the bigger borrower looked like a carnivorous animal.

Yes he hunts and eats aphids for a living, but it wasn't the same, the bigger borrower had sharp fangs, it was as if he eats people alive.

Before Bunyan could talk, a loud noise of something slimy and big hit the ground.

A dreaded noise echoed in the air around them.

Croak

A toad, it was a toad.

Instinctively, Lumen grabbed the tiny boy and picked him up, and bolted out of the scene to the tall grass again before the sudden attack of the tongue has touched them.

It was bigger and stouter than most toads both of them had seen.

For Lumen, he could fight that thing with his bare hands and win, the amphibian wouldn't be interested in him due to his big size after all.

But it was poor Bunyan who would be devoured as soon as that toad looks at him.

He whimpered at the thought of being eaten, shaking heavily, oh how glad he was that there was a bigger borrower right here that can protect him.

He found himself tugging at Lumen's shirt, his breaths bated and shallow, his small body wouldn't stop shaking.

Lumen noticed the thin sheen of a foul smelling liquid on the boy’s arms and legs, wetting his clothes.

His sense of smell wasn't working the way it should work due to him being unable to breathe, so it wasn't the smell that disturbed him.

Still he found it… weird, he preferred not to comment on the matter.

“It's a defense mechanism,I swear! O-our bodies secrete a liquid from our joints so that when a predator smells us, they will leave us alone.” The boy blushed and squirmed as he tried to explain.

Well , that makes it better, but the sensation wasn't the best

regardless.

He could still hear the croaks nearby, as if the toad was still determining where they are, and as he got more stressed, he wrapped his black coat around both himself and Bunyan, as if to hide the boy within him.

“You could do exactly that” his inner beast whispered to him, again he shook his head in refusal.

“Think about it, the boy is very small, and you, you're bigger, you're easily capable of hiding him… In you.”

“If anything has to eat the boy, it should be you.”

“Just for a while, just a few, harmless minutes, to satiate us both.”

But isn't he too… big? Lumen peeked once at the boy in his arms and his heart shattered into millions of pieces.

Big, frightful, wide eyes looked at him, practically begging him to protect the boy. He was so small, that the task was easier and harder at the same time.

Physically he can go with it, out of his comfort zone but he can go with it.

Emotionally however? He will never fully recover from it and neither will the boy.

He wanted to think about this again but the loud noise of the toad landing In front of them, and the beast coiling around his throat like a vile snake, he let go of all his humanity at that moment.

“I apologize so much for this, but it's for your own good,” was the last thing he said before he had let himself break loose.

Bunyan, at first, was very confused at Lumen's words.

But it was when the larger borrower opened his maw and a series of sharp, large fangs glinted underneath the moonlight that the boy’s heart dropped.

This isn't happening, this isn't happening, he surely hoped with every molecule of his body that what he thought was happening wasn't happening.

But it was when his head was stuck into the jaws, his antennas brushing with the back of the throat, that he knew that the nightmare was real.

For Lumen, perhaps it was the beast’s control, perhaps it was his hunger, or perhaps it was even an ability he knew nothing about,but he found the task of swallowing the smaller borrower whole frighteningly easy.

It was second nature even, his throat accommodated the size, then he found himself taking a hefty gulp, his body eagerly accepting of the large meal.

Still it was different, it was strange, it was something he hadn't done before, combined with the stressful atmosphere and the time they had, it was a quick but very messy process.

He was grateful that he wasn't breathing at that moment and that he didn't need to, he would’ve absolutely choked if he did.

It was strange how he was still able to gobble up the kid despite his current state not accepting anything besides blood, but then again, the boy did have blood in him, and something about that truly satiated the beast, it was still appealing to the vampire side of him.

A second swallow, and despite the squirms, the sobs, and the absolutely foul,bitter taste that filled his mouth he continued, pushing the tiny legs into his mouth with his hand.

Finally he got to a point where he no longer needed to shove the ladybug down, and he could let gravity do the rest of the work.

Bunyan's sobs and begs echoed through him and reached his ears, muffled by his undead flesh, but at that moment he couldn't hear them, the frenzy far too strong.

Rippling muscles and hungry organs hugged the boy and pulled him deeper into the belly of the beast, soon Bunyan, who already gave up all hope, would be welcomed by the stomach.

Lumen felt a distinct weight fill him and push against his clothes, he put his hand on the small lump that formed, and he pushed it into himself, as if trying to hide the boy deeper inside his guts.

And it was also a hug, a strange, awkward hug.

Something about this whole ordeal made the beast rumble in excitement, this was good, this was right, to have live, squirming prey inside his belly.

Even if he physically couldn't digest it, it was far better and far more satisfying than eating regular food, it was no different from having the greatest thanksgiving feast and eating until you can't eat anymore.

But unfortunately he couldn't enjoy this for too long, the human part in him was tearing itself apart from guilt, and there's another predator right there that looked completely pissed at the fact it's snack was stolen.

The weight in his stomach disoriented him, and while his frenzied state was an excellent hunter, he was still worried about harming the boy.

He stood up and stared into the toad's eyes, who squinted at him and narrowed its eyes as well.

“You wanted that snack, Aye?”

“Well he's mine now… Pinche Pendejo” He said as he put a possessive hand over his stomach.

As if the toad understood the insult, it launched its tongue at Lumen, determined to make the large borrower its snack.

But instead of hopping away,the vampire borrower took it as a chance, as soon as the slimy tongue pulled him close, he swiftly stuck his claws deep into the thick skin of the toad’s sides, and toppled it on its back, wrestling with it.

He pinned the creature to the ground, exposing it's soft underbelly, it was almost impossible to keep a good grip on the slimy creature, but all it took was one quick swipe from his claws to gore the toad and tear it's stomach open, finally killing it.

As soon as the deed was done, he felt the beast release him from his current state, satisfied with the violence it caused.

And the only thing left was the terrible, terrible guilt and regret, as he was able to hear the faint,weak sobs the poor boy made.

They were inaudible now, and Lumen was unsure if he was asleep or waiting for his death.

He was going to let him out of course, but he took a moment to… Understand what is exactly happening.

He was a cold,undead being, with no warmth of his own and no pulse.

But inside his stomach was a living person, with a fluttering pulse and warmth that radiated from him and seeped into Lumen's own bones and body.

He rubbed at his full stomach, feeling the dread that will come from having to explain his intentions to the poor thing.

He couldn't keep him for longer, even if he wanted to, and this whole thing has made him ask himself, was the act of swallowing Bunyan whole the right choice?

He thought, and realized that no, it wasn't.

It would have been easier if he just asked Bunyan to hide in the grass or behind a rock, and even if Bunyan got swallowed by the toad he could’ve gutted it just like he did now.

He realized that he was protecting Bunyan from himself, rather than the toad, the choice he made at that moment wasn't his own choice.

And so he decided to not let the torture go on any longer and let the ladybug boy out to the world again.

It was a tedious process, having to work his body in reverse,the muscles of his stomach kneading around his poor prisoner, and working him upwards, the small lump in his abdomen gradually shrunk as the weight inside it was lifted to his esophagus instead.

Then into his hands the boy was released, wet and covered in saliva and other fluids he had no idea what they were.

He didn't have a great understanding of anatomy, not even his own.

The look that the boy had on him was nothing short of seething hatred, and it was understandable, it was truly understandable.

“Are you alrig_”

“Why?” Bunyan's voice was quiet, tired, but it still burned.

The vampire stayed quiet, every single explanation and excuse he thought of… They were all selfish, none of them were actually in Bunyan's favor.

The wet ladybug boy looked next to him to see a mauled toad, its guts spilling on the ground.

“So it was true, you're really a monster pretending to be a borrower.” He quietly commented.

It was that moment where it finally sank in Lumen’s mind that Bunyan was an adult, a child wouldn't hate him that much, it would be afraid, but not vengeful.

He, again, tried to think of anything to say.

“I was trying to help,” was all he was able to get out.

“You're no better than that toad… But at least a toad is upfront about what it wants! Not attempting to be my friend, only to decide to eat me later!”

Bunyan had nothing but his words, he couldn't do anything, his weakness against the vampire that swallowed him whole with ease was a horrible thing, even right now, when the vampire has let him out, he wouldn't put him on the ground.

He tried to stay strong, but the nightmare that was being eaten alive broke his wavering courage, he didn't want to cry again.

“Bunyan… I'm sorry, I swear, I wasn't going to hurt you, you were going to be safe,” his name came out like a crude mockery of a friendship from the vampire’s mouth.

“Sure! Keeping me safe by eating me alive!”

“Please just… Stop, put me down.” The attempts at consolation were almost just as bad as the experience of being eaten.

And he was put down on the dewy grass, shivering slightly as the breeze hit him.

“I was going to tell the colony about you, they would've known how to deal with something like… you,” 

“But I don't want anyone I care about to go through what I went through, so consider yourself lucky.”

Lumen noticed the lack of usage of his name, it meant that whatever frail bond they created was severed forever.

Bunyan flapped his wings, and they didn't work, they were incapacitated by the saliva.

He sat down on the ground, barely holding back tears, and that's when something like a large blanket wrapped him, drying him up.

He looked upwards to find that the vampire, who had just eaten him alive, had wrapped him in his coat, but he was nowhere to be seen.

And so was the mauled toad.

=========

It's been a few minutes, Bunyan fell asleep and woke up several times.

A realization hit him, he missed being in that borrower’s stomach.

It was soft, so very soft, and it was gently hugging him through the whole fight. It wasn't the warmest, but that's good, he preferred the lukewarmness.

No! This isn't rational! He shouldn't be missing it! He was eaten alive!

But maybe the larger borrower was sincere about his intentions, and it's not like he was digested, he was just sleepy.

Hypothetically, if he knew it was safe, he would've asked to stay for the rest of the night, he was very tired,and scared.

He jolted as he felt a large hand on his shoulder.

“Better now?” It was the larger borrower’s voice.

“I thought you were gone?” He asked.

Lumen shook his head

“I thought you wanted some time by yourself, especially after… everything.”

“Thank you...I have come to terms with it.” It was very considerate on the other borrower’s part,he had to admit it, even if he very much still didn't come to terms with it.

“You never explained how it was safe for me to be there.”

“Right…”

There was a moment of silence, before Lumen began slowly and patiently explaining:

“Like I told you earlier, I was a borrower before.” He flinched as he remembered.

“But then I died.”

Died? 

“Some monster killed me, but it didn't just leave me to die, it fed me its foul blood and told me that I belong to it.”

“That… was two centuries ago.”

Centuries?! Bunyan was shocked, the longest anyone of his colony lived was three years, and he didn't even have his first birthday yet!

The concept was far too much to grasp for the boy, the fact that this borrower lived in the same time as his ancient ancestors was headache inducing.

“Anyway, since I am technically dead, that means I can “live” without breathing or eating, but I have to occasionally drink blood instead.”

“Like a mosquito?”

“Kinda, what I'm trying to get at is, my organs are vestigial, useless, you could take my brain away and I would still go on with my undeath.”

“By extension, my stomach is useless for its purpose, it can't digest anything, so I instead store the important things in it if I can.”

He put a hand on Bunyan's head and gently patted him.

“Today I learned that I can store the important people too.”

Bunyan's pale cheeks flushed a bright red, but he just tried to ignore it.

“I'm sorry for all the rude things I said earlier… You aren't a monster, you're just… different.”

“Don't be,I shouldn't have done it in the first place, you were rightfully angry at me, I know I would be pissed too if some big lug snatched me off the ground and gobbled me up without a good warning.”

They shared a dry laugh, and Bunyan tried to flap his wings again, they were drier now, thanks to the large coat he was huddling himself in.

“Look at you, swaddled in my coat like a baby, I almost want to eat you up again.” 

Bunyan didn't find it as funny, he furrowed his eyebrows.

He took a look at the undead borrower, without his coat, his skeletal frame was apparent,his shirt was hanging on his body rather than being on it, and for a moment he wondered how in the world did this skinny frame wholly contain him with ease.

“It was very scary, you know.”

“But it was also… nice, and now that I think about it, you did try to tell me it was alright.”

“So… Thank you again, for everything,” The boy smiled “I'm glad to meet you, Lumen.”

“I'm glad to meet you as well, I will be sure to visit during winter.”

With that, Bunyan handed the large , now wet coat to it's owner, and got up to stretch all four of his arms.

“Stay safe, Boy!” Lumen waved goodbye to Bunyan.

“You too!” The boy waved back.

Both went their separate ways, even as Lumen felt a desperate need to follow the kid until he was safe.

He had so much to tell his brother that night.

[smok3r7]

Is Leaving Even An Option?

Joel x F!reader

Explicit, 18+

Four: Relief

Series Masterlist & Main Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: Your days have become one in the same, even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?

Chapter Summary: The same night you meet Joel, Nate becomes aggressive and does something way out of the norm. This causes you to reach out for help to your new neighbor, Joel. How does asking for help change your life?

Word count: 4.5k

⚠️Warnings: fear of husband, running and hiding from him, mentions of rape (no description), mentions of beating, self-hatred

—

“Go away!” You scream as you sprint to the dark gray bedroom door and slam it behind you, locking it immediately. The jar of pickles you had is now shattered somewhere on the stairs from you dropping them when you heard Nate get up from his recliner to follow you.

“You bitch!” He slurs as he starts to pound the other side of the door with both hands. You back up to the bathroom connected to the room and slam the door shut, locking it too, then jump in the porcelain bathtub, lay on your side, and you start to cry, muffling it with the fabric of your sleeve. You can still hear him hitting the door and his now muffled voice, still yelling about something you can’t make out.

How did you end up here? How did you become so weak? Why don’t you stick up for yourself more?

The sound of the bedroom door breaking sends a terrifying chill through your cold body, and holy shit, you think to yourself, he’s gonna kill me. “C'mere you whore,” he hiccups now on the other side of the bathroom door and slowly knocks on it, then he drunkenly sings, “Ooh Mrs.Rossi, come out come out, wherever you are.”

Your mind is racing as he continues to slowly knock, taunting and playing with you, and you almost wish he would lay his hands on you instead of this mental torture he loved so goddamn much. You would rather take his hands over his words any day, because the wounds left on your skin can heal. His words, however, leave an imprint on your soul like a steaming hot brand on cattle - it’s there forever.

The knocking abruptly stops, you sit up with your knees in your chest as you wrap your arms around your bent legs, and you look towards the white door, seeing the shadow of his feet through the sliver between the floor and the door. “I said,” his tone changes to a serious one, “Come here, my dear Mrs.Rossi.” A beat goes by and you stay silent, even holding your breath, trying to make yourself disappear like a magician doing his rabbit in the hat trick.

A sense of desperation forms in your core and flows through your blood, you wish you could ask for help, but you’re inevitably fucked.

Still no noise has come from either of you, eyes zoned in for any kind of movement. You then watch how his shadow stumbles away from the door, and you finally let out that breath that’s been trapped in your lungs for what felt like hours. You don’t dare move out of the tub, because the smallest noise could bring him right back to torture you and, to be honest, you’re not sure if you’ll make it out of this beating.

Flipping your right wrist over to look at your watch - well, Rosa’s, one of her personal items you grabbed - and you put together that an hour has gone by with you in the bathroom, an hour since the last time you heard any sort of noise from Nate. He’s gotta be passed out by now, you think to yourself, trying to make yourself believe it, but you decide to wait another hour, just to be safe, because if he is sleeping, you can run over to Maria’s for the rest of the night and deal with Nate tomorrow when he’s sober.

While you wait and stare at the little black hands on your dainty silver watch to move to the nine and twelve, nine PM is all you need to anxiously wait for. You are in disbelief about how your life has come to this; you hiding in the bathtub in the bathroom you share with your husband, from your husband.

The overwhelming feeling of loneliness and self-hatred starts to slowly consume you from the inside out, because you used to be an expert about seeing through men and their evil twisted lies. However, for some irrational reason, you were and still kind of are, blind when it comes to Nate. Even though he hurts the hell out of you, in more ways than one, he knows exactly how to lasso you and pull you back into his warm arms.

It’s pretty infuriating and ironic how he is the reason for your pain and yet, he’s the one who helps to make you feel better, for the small time being. Shit, it’s honestly pathetic that you keep allowing it to happen, there’s absolutely no reason why you should still be married to him; you don’t have kids, you’re not dependent on him anymore, and lastly, Maria and Tommy told you that they would let you stay with them until there was a home available.

Tommy was actually the one who pulled you aside not too long after Maria put the pieces together last year and he had gotten extremely emotional when he said, “I put Nate on patrol with Daniel. I’m so sorry for all that you’ve been dealing with by yourself, I am disgusted with myself for not having noticed. I want you to know my loyalty stays with you, a million times over. Please don’t hesitate to come to me or Maria for help, okay, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t believe that Tommy, who had been Nate’s right hand man since the beginning of Jackson, had written Nate off entirely and favored you in this matter. It gave you some sense of hope for something good to happen, but in the end, you’re still here a year later, in the same situation, but now you hold your own a little better.

The sudden urge to pee hits you and brings you back down to earth. Fuck, you glance away from the silver faucet you were staring at, and as you flip your wrist again, your eyes widen as you notice the hand's location, ten fifty-three PM stares back at you like a hawk eyeing its prey.

Please please, you repeat in your head as you carefully put your hands on either side of the edge of the tub and push yourself on your feet, and both your knees pop, echoing through the silent, tiled bathroom. You curse to yourself as you step onto the white bath rug, praying that he doesn't hear you. All you have to do is unlock the door, open it quietly, and get downstairs then sprint out the front door. Should be easy, right?

You tiptoe to the door and unlock it, wrapping your shaky hand around the cold knob, taking a deep breather for a moment to spark a bit of confidence in yourself to sneak past him, wherever he is. Your heart is beating rapidly, enough where you think it might leap out of your chest, your stomach doing flips, making you jittery.

With your hand still on the knob, you slowly turn it with your free hand on the door itself to keep it quiet. The pleading in your head is still there as you silently and slowly push the white door open. Before you fully open the only thing keeping you alive, the first thing your eyes notice is the gray door that leads to the hallway from your bedroom, and the bottom half of it has been kicked in.

Seeing this makes you swallow heavily - this has never happened before so you really don’t know what’s in store for you. You quietly push the door just a little bit more and as you step out onto the navy plush carpet, you turn your head to the left and you’re greeted with Nate eyes wide open, his tall statue-like figure sitting on the edge of the king size mattress you share.

You’re frozen in your tracks. Both your hands drop to your side, your breathing starts to become erratic, your chest heaving up and down, and sweat beads start to form on your skin. No fucking way, you panic, how is he still up?

“There she is.”

—

Hold on, hold on! You hear Ellie on the other side of the oak door. You’re back standing on the cream porch you had been on hours earlier, but instead of being here to show them the new home, you’re now there for any source of help.

The door swings open, “Who the he-“ Ellie starts but as soon as she sees you standing opposite to her, she stops. All you’re dressed in is a black tank top, plaid sleep shorts, and a pair of gray socks that are soaked from the snow when you walked over. You stay silent as you watch Ellie’s eyes gaze at your bruised and broken body, you don’t doubt that she knows what went down.

“Fuck, um- come on in, please, please,” she rapidly tells you and welcomes you inside the home that is almost identical to yours, without that distinct gloomy, unsettling aurora floating around. It’s actually an incredibly welcoming feeling that wraps around you as soon as you step foot inside.

“Here,” Ellie runs over to the closet across the room and grabs a smaller blanket out of it, “wrap this around you, go sit down, and I’ll go grab Joel.” Still not having said anything, you reach your arm out to take the blanket she has offered and you nod your head.

Your body is on autopilot as you drag your frozen wet feet across the hardwood floor to the open living room and plop your heavy feeling body on the tan colored couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and bringing your knees to your chest, curling into your comfort position.

Joel. Joel. Joel. He’s all you desperately crave at this moment, and even though you don’t know a thing about this man, you still desire him and his comforting atmosphere. You’re so out of it that you don’t even hear Ellie run upstairs or the noise of Joel’s heavy footsteps sprinting down the steps to quickly aid you.

Suddenly the shape of Joel’s body is in front of you, then he shrinks down to sit on the wooden table, his gaze now meeting yours, and you watch as his beautiful eyes are full of concern, darting all over your meek body, making you tighten your arms more.

“You’re staying here for a little bit, sugar,” Joel states, trying to keep his anger from taking over from seeing you like this. Hearing him say that with such ease and honest concern causes you to finally let go of all the tears and anger you’ve been holding onto for all these years.

“Than- Yo- I-” you sob between words, trying to say anything but you simply can’t make anything out. Shh, Joel hops off the table and sits down on the cushion next to yours, softly grabs your trembling body and pulls you to sit in his lap as he cradles you like a newborn baby.

You’re violently weeping into his chest as he slowly rocks and shushes you. The way he holds you in his safe arms makes you feel more loved than ever before.

You’re not sure how much time has gone by but you have stopped sobbing, though tears continue to roll down your cheek, your face still. “You don’t have to tell me now,” Joel’s voice makes your body vibrate as he speaks, “But I wanna know what happened.”

The way his voice sounds, you can tell he is aggravated but upset by seeing you hurt. You’ve been staring at his chest, the way his dark blue T-shirt clings to his body, you’ve memorized the pattern of his breaths and yours matched with his. But now that he’s asked and with such clarity, you figure that you have to tell him. It’s the least you could possibly do right now with him and Ellie being nothing but helpful.

Slowly, you lift your face to look at him and you notice that he’s already gazing down at you with the same whiskey eyes that make you swoon just by looking. The shame you’ve been experiencing flies away in a second just by seeing how much he truly cares. It’s not like Nate’s face when you initially met him, no, this is different.

“Okay,” your voice hoarse from the yelling and crying, you sit up still in his lap, “um, so-” You’re trying to find the right words to really showcase what happened to you tonight. “I got home and he was waiting for me, he’d drunk the rest of the bottle and started to chase me upstairs. I locked myself in the bathroom for, like, three hours, and you’d think he’d be passed the fuck out right?”

You’re starting to become loud and hysterical, your hands are now animated as you talk with them because you have so much to try to get out, but you can’t really communicate it all. Joel is just listening and watching how worked up you’re getting, his arms still latched around your body but it’s not like a possessive hold, more of a let me take care of you kind of grasp.

“Well, apparently I was wrong, because as I walk out the bathroom, I am immediately met with Nate just staring at me sitting on the bed. And I just freeze, like a fucking deer in headlights. Dumbass. If I woulda ran I wouldn’t be bruised to hell, no black eye, no hair ripped out.” You wait for a beat before you finish your story, “And I wouldn’t have been raped either.” The last part comes out in a defeated sigh, but you never shy away from his eye contact.

He’s stunned into silence, his eyes glossy, a tear breaking away from his eye and rolling onto his cheek, one that slides down and gets lost in his messy beard. You bring your hand to his lined face and wipe away the stain from the tear, and the two of you stay like that for the rest of the early morning before anyone else is awake in Jackson.

—

It’s been about six months since you ran over to the safety of Joel’s house, and for all intents and purposes, you’ve been living there since. The only times you go back to your shell of a home is when Nate is out on patrol, but you don’t even stay there, you only grab a couple necessities like clothes and toiletries. Nate really believes that you’re staying with Maria and Tommy - he has no clue that you’re only a couple of yards away from him and you’re gonna keep it that way for a little while longer.

Ellie now has come to help you at the stables alongside the three sisters, who gracefully accepted Ellie into the group, and you couldn’t be more at peace about it. Joel has been by your side whenever he can, but not in the sense of trying to keep an eye on you. It’s more for your safety and the fact that you told him that you feel safe and loved when he’s around.

You’ve finally been able to live peacefully. You haven’t had to deal with any Nate drama, no new physical or emotional pain, and you haven’t had to walk on eggshells anymore. Truly, you feel more secure than ever in the last two decades, and it’s all because of Joel.

“I think Tommy and Maria are coming over for dinner tonight,” Ellie tells you as she continues to brush her horse, Shimmer. You smile over to her, “what do you think they’re gonna make?” She takes a second to really think about her answer, she suddenly stops brushing and excitedly goes, “I think Tommy is making his famous chili. Joel had brought up to me that it was his absolute favorite meal, well, whenever Tommy cooked.”

“That sounds delicious,” you laugh as you finish the last of the hay so Jinny can grab it and put it with the others. “Oh my god you have no idea!” Andrea yells from outside the barn, you turn your body and give her a confused face. “Wait, so you’ve had it but I never have?” You question playfully putting your hand on your hip and popping it out.

The girls chuckle at your stance and they start to talk about how they had to beg Maria for him to make it, since the ingredients can be hard to come by a lot of the time. Somehow the three sisters got him to make it a couple years ago and they say he hasn’t made it since then, so they also believe that he’s making it tonight.

“Alright ladies, I’ll believe you. However, if you’re all wrong,” you take a second to think about what playful punishment to give them, a little smirk grows, “you all have to switch jobs for a week.”

The four girls all groan in unison, fine, but Ellie is quick to say, “that won’t be happening.” She winks at you and you chuckle as you shake your head. These girls have your whole heart.

—

“Let’s go, old lady! I’m starving,” Ellie drags out the last sentence as you lock up the barn for the night, the rest of the day went smoothly. “Girl, if you don’t wait a fuckin second-” you banter back while laughing. You turn around finally and you see Ellie making a snowball that she fires at you, and hits you right in the thigh.

You slowly lift your head with a sharp grin, “Oh, you’re so in for it now!” She has the biggest smile, from ear to ear, as you bend down to grab a clump of dense snow you hear her yell, “You gotta catch me first!”

You laugh, oh, just wait, because little does she know that you’re actually quick on your feet. It’s how you survived so long alone before Jackson, when you had no choice but to be quick, especially considering you never stayed in one place for too long.

After making a ball out of the cold white snow, you pick your head up and scan for Ellie. You spot her running down Main Street just past the Tipsy Bison, and you knew you could catch up to her in a second but you have another idea. There’s a shortcut to your neighborhood behind the grocery store next to the stables, so you decide to take that path and you’ll meet her just after Maria and Tommy’s house.

You take off towards the snow covered concrete path with the singular snowball in one hand and your set of keys in the other. The cold breeze hits your face with a stinging sensation, but right now you really don’t care, you’re actually having fun and there will be no consequences to you simply enjoying yourself. So you ignore the aching of your feet, the coldness of your face, and the stiffness of your knees all because you can finally do what you please.

You’re just about to Spruce St. and you see Ellie walking past the secret pathway and you smirk, perfect. You stop your moving feet and wind your arm back as you whip the ball of snow at her figure, she’s too busy looking behind her to even notice you’re only about fifteen feet away from her. The snowball hits her directly on her shoulder and she quickly turns her head in your direction, “How the fuck?”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You wink as you walk up to her and put your arm around her shoulder, you both start to laugh as you make your way to the beautiful navy blue house for the night.

—

“Knock, knock!” You hear Maria come in, followed by Tommy and his greeting. You’re currently upstairs finishing up your hair, just something simple to keep it out of your face. “I’ll be right down!” You yell, putting in the small golden hoops that you still have from Rosa, and you smile as you look at yourself in the full length mirror on the backside of your bedroom door. Joel told you that there was a guest bedroom that you could stay in until everything worked itself out, and he didn’t care or mind how long that took.

You stare at your reflection with awe, the light blue jeans hug your curves perfectly, and the green flannel Joel gifted you hangs open so your black T-shirt fits your upper body comfortably with a little bit of cleavage. It’s nothing crazy, but you look like yourself again. The woman you were before Nate - shit, before the apocalypse even, even the weight you had lost because of him is now coming back, and damn, you look astonishing.

As you take one more full look at yourself, and it hits you that you’re not covered in bruises or blood, a small gloss covers your eyes but you quickly wave it away. No, not tonight, it’s a good night, you repeat. Because it truly is; you’re actually happy and not playing it up for visitors. This is real, your emotions are raw and real.

“Old lady, c’mon!” Ellie yells from the bottom of the steps, and you yell back to her as you take one last look at yourself. Hell yeah, you mumble with a nod to yourself, putting your fingers on the silver handle, shaking off whatever jitters you have, and pull the door open. The sound of people talking fills your ears as you enter the hallway, closing the door behind you, the stairs are lit by the lanterns hanging on the wall.

This feels like an actual home.

As you reach the hardwood floor at the bottom of the steps you're met by Joel’s figure, about five feet away from you, stopping your feet to gaze at him. He looks beautiful, his hair is wet from the shower but combed back, and you’re taken back when you notice his shirt - it’s the same green one that he gave you.

You raise your hand to point at his chest, making you now only inches away from touching him, your other hand now on your hip, “Miller, are you trying to copy my style?”

“Darlin’, I invented this style,” he chuckles at you with such admiration in his eyes, now stepping closer, letting your hand palm his chest. Yet again, it feels like you two are the only ones in the world, the only two souls left alone just dancing around each other like flames in a fire.

The sound of Tommy clearing his throat shakes the two of you out of the trance, your hand still on Joel’s chest as you turn your head towards the kitchen and you see Tommy with a smirk on his face as he says, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Be right there!” Both you and Joel chirp at the same time, causing both of you to flip your faces back to one another and you both just start to laugh, so much that the top of your head falls into his chest and his lips lay a gentle kiss on your head.

“Ladies first,” he mumbles into your hair as he moves his hand to guide you towards the kitchen. You smile, lift your head back up to meet his gaze, and all you see is pure love. You want so badly to kiss him and feel that passion that you desperately miss, but you don’t because you still have this weird loyalty to Nate, all because you’re still married.

Some part of you won’t allow the happiness you know you’d receive and deserve from being with Joel, because even though your husband is an absolute monster, marriage still has meaning to you. Marriage isn’t just something you cheat on - your mom instilled this in you after Roy because she never wanted you to end up like her.

“Okay,” you say with a cheesy smile. You feel drunk off of him, off the smell of his sweat mixed with body wash, and his looks have you feeling butterflies erupt from your belly again. Your feet start to mindlessly walk away from him towards the sound of people having fun towards the kitchen, and he’s planted in the same spot as he eyes you up and down as you walk past Tommy, giving him a smile.

As you pass Tommy, you’re met with Maria at the stove stirring what you can only imagine is, indeed, Tommy’s famous chili. Ellie mutters it at the same time you think it, and you turn your head to see her sitting at the dining room table with a shit eating grin on her face.

“I told youuuu,” she sings to you as you walk over to sit next to her at the wooden table. You give a glance to her and she sticks her tongue out at you, which you reflect back to her with a laugh. Ellie starts to laugh with you as Maria brings the big pot to the table and sets it on top of a heat resistant mat, the strong smell of delicious chili fills your nose as Maria sets across from you.

By now, Tommy and Joel have walked in the dining room and sat down in the wooden chairs, Joel at the head of the table next to you, and Tommy sitting next to Maria across from Ellie. You couldn’t feel more at home than you do right now, this just feels like it’s meant to be, like all what you have been through is worth it since you’re here now.

“Dig in, sugar,” Joel softly says to you with a gentle smile, the warm feeling starting to grow in your belly again just from his words, and you grin as you grab the ladle and fill your bowl. “Thank you, Tommy,” you state as you take a spoonful of chili in your mouth. This has got to be the best meal you’ve had in god knows how many years.

He says a quick thank you as everyone else gets a bowl of the yummy chili, and you can’t help but feel insanely happy and relaxed at this new lifestyle you have. It truly is the most beautiful experience you’ve had in awhile, and you can’t believe that you have been actually happy.

The thought of Nate hasn’t popped in your head in weeks, and you couldn’t be anymore grateful about that.

Tags: @evyiione @southernbe @pedrosfanny @oscarissac2099

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Address by Volodymyr Zelenskyy on the Independence Day of Ukraine

Dear people!

Ukrainians always pay back their debts. And whoever wished misery upon our land shall find it in their own home. With interest. Whoever seeks to sow evil on our land will reap its fruits on their own territory.

This is not a prophecy, not gloating, not blind revenge; it is a pattern. It is justice. A boomerang for evil. And its launch began not far from the place where I am recording this address. The Sumy region. Mohrytsya. The river of Psel. A few kilometers from our border.

The border between Ukraine and oppression, between life and death. The border between an independent European state and the number one terrorist organization in the world.

913 days ago, Russia unleashed war against us, including through the Sumy region. It violated not only our sovereign borders, but also the limits of cruelty and common sense. It was endlessly striving for one thing: to destroy us. Instead, today we celebrate the 33rd Independence Day of Ukraine. And whatever the enemy was bringing to our land has now returned to their home. And the one who wanted to turn our land into a buffer zone should think about preventing his country from becoming a buffer federation. This is how independence responds. It retaliates for our civilians, who are targeted by guided aerial bombs and Kinzhals, for our parents who have turned gray, for our children who are forced to study underground. For all our people who would prefer never to know the names of these cursed places in their lives: “Savasleika”, “Olenya”, “Engels”. But unfortunately, Ukrainians know them. That is why, our enemy will also know what the Ukrainian-way retaliation is. Worthy, symmetrical, long-ranged. They will know that sooner or later a Ukrainian response will reach any point in the Russian Federation that is a source of danger to the life of our state and our people.

The faded eyes of their chief perceive the whole world as a gray zone. But we will not allow to turn into a gray zone our lands, where the blue and yellow flag rightly belongs. A sick old man from the Red Square, who constantly threatens everyone with the red button, will not dictate any of his red lines to us. Only Ukraine and Ukrainians will determine how to live, what path to take, and what choice to make. Because this is how independence works.

Ukraine astonishes once again. Russia reverts once again to its repertoire. This is how the world media generally portray the events in the Kursk region. They show how Russia treats its citizens, whom it calls “the population.” How Russia “does not abandon” their own. How their soldiers loot their local shops. This is what Putin's Russia looks like in the eyes of the world. And in the same way, the entire world sees how our warriors provide water, food, and medicine to the local people, who say: “It's good that you are here now, not the Kadyrovites.” This is what Ukraine's dignity looks like. Civility. The virtue of our independence.

33 years ago, Ukraine was reborn on the maps of the world, and today Ukraine wins the hearts of the entire world. It inspires with courage. It serves as an example of how not to be afraid of Putin. And it unites the world around its Ukrainian worldview: in the 21st century, terrorists should find their reckoning in The Hague, not comfort in Valday. And no one else in the world will say: “Where is Ukraine?” Because every continent now says: “Ukraine must win”. This fuels our independence. Our Ukraine. It has no lack of foreign regions. We need peace and tranquility on our lands. Along our entire 6,992-kilometer border. On land, at sea, in the air, inside the country – wherever we stand guard for our values.

Just like our warriors do. In all directions of the frontline and the state border, which is symbolized by the border pillars. And our will and struggle are symbolized by our people – our defenders, our pillars. Those on whose shoulders Ukraine stands strong. It stands strong in Kharkiv, in Kupyansk, in Zaporizhzhia region, it stands strong in Kherson region. In Pokrovsk, Toretsk, Chasiv Yar. On the Lyman, Siversk, Kramatorsk, Kurakhove, Vremivka, Huliaipilske, and Orikhiv directions. This is how independence fights. And I want to say to all our warriors today: I wish you a strong one! And thank you, guys! When the need to defend Ukraine arose, you shortly said: plus. Since then, for 913 days in a row, you have been applying a "minus" to the occupiers. Only you know how much effort, sweat, blood and your extremely hard work is really hidden behind the dry statistics of enemy losses. Only you know what it really means to hold a position. What it means to be “pinned down by enemy artillery and aircraft all day long”. What it means to stand firm when “the orcs are pushing.” You have preserved and are preserving our independence.

I thank everyone who helps our warriors and our state, all those who live and work to keep our independence working and living. Our medical workers, our rescuers, our firefighters, power engineers, our volunteers and entrepreneurs, police officers and farmers, railroad workers, teachers and students. All of them. Ukrainians here, Ukrainians abroad, who help, find, send the necessary supplies, tell the world about Ukraine. And everyone who stays with Ukraine in the temporarily occupied territories. All Ukrainians whose strength has no borders, whose will is boundless. All those to whom I am immensely grateful. And today. And for each of the 913 days of this war. For the cause of each of you. For proving that independence is a cause for everyone. And it has many dimensions. Each of which must be gained to secure comprehensive independence. This is economic, this is energy independence. This is the spiritual independence of the Ukrainian people. And Ukrainian Orthodoxy today is taking a step toward liberation from the devils of Moscow. This is also the realization of justice for the awards of an independent Ukraine, which will never again be worn by those who betrayed it. This is the realization of justice for foreign heroes who defend Ukraine on the frontline and deserve Ukrainian honor – our citizenship. These are inevitable processes that have been launched by us today. This is how independence is strengthened.

And there should be a solid border between us and the enemy, and there will be no walls between Ukrainians. Because Ukraine is in each one of us. Independence is in each one of us. And united, we are able to win. It was proven by February 24. It was proven by 2022 and 2023. This year is proving it as well. We have withstood, restrained and repelled the enemy, and now we continue to do so in their swamps.

We know what independence is. How difficult it is to revive it. How difficult it is to defend it. But we know: everything depends on us.

We know what independence looks like. On the morning of February 24, it was in our eyes. Today, independence is in the trenches in all directions. It is in our cities and villages: in each episode when we find the best in ourselves, find Ukraine in ourselves, and fight for it. Independence today has tired eyes that have seen it all. Independence smiles when Ukrainians succeed. Independence is silence when we lose our people. Independence is the oath to never forget the fallen heroes. Independence tastes of smoke and dust on the battlefield and in civilian life. Independence descends into the shelter during an air raid alert to survive and to rise again to tell the enemy again: you will not succeed. You will fail. You will not prevail. And you will be held accountable for everything.

This is how we feel freedom. This is what Ukraine looks like. This is what independence looks like. And this is what it sounds like:

Happy Independence Day, Ukrainians!

Glory to Ukraine!

[bearbait-adventures]

Acceptable Losses- Part 1

13/31 Prompts

 8- Isolation Chamber 17- Shipwrecked 13- Team as Family 22- “Oh that’s not good” 24- Equipment Failure 28- Exposure 30- Holding Back Tears 9- Broken window 1- Panic attack 3- Fingerprints X- Alt Venom 27- Voiceless 18- Revenge

Tw- Character Death by burning drop pod (Not overly detailed)

86’s leg bounces nervously as the ODST anthem plays over the drop pod speaker. He’s strapped in, the pod may as well be an isolation chamber but for the speaker's song. It’s meant to get their blood going, get that adrenaline pumping, also get them grounded, get their mind on the mission and why they're here.

They’re waiting to be dropped deep into enemy territory. Their mission; to make sure the covies can’t get their ship off the ground before reinforcements arrive. The covenant ship had taken heavy damage earlier and headed planet side. Their captain wasn’t about to let the ship get away. The captain had a Spartan on board, and everyone in the UNSC knew what to do with a Spartan. You throw them at the problem and see what happens.

It didn’t matter that Spartan IIIs weren’t as well equipped as their Spartan II counterparts. A Spartan was expected to excel no matter the cost. It’s what they were built for.

86 braced himself as the pod moved, just before the bottom fell out of his stomach, when the drop pod shot towards the planet. His pod was followed by three others. His ODST the same ones he’s been with since basic. 86’s head turns towards the communication console, expecting to hear Joker or Monster chattering away. Back and forth quips as they normally do. Instead Gunny’s light was lit up flashing red. Oh, that’s not good, 86 panics as he taps the screen. A strange sound could be heard over the radio, a mix between white noise and a whine. Then a rumble followed by one of the most terrifying screams imaginable. 86’s blood went cold. Gunny’s drop pod was failing. There was nothing any of them could do, but listen to his screams as he burnt up in atmosphere.

86 is barely holding back tears as he clutches his harness for dear life, searching for something, anything that would help keep him grounded. The fingers of his suit clicked and cracked with how hard he was squeezing his fists. The impact warning lights flashed seconds before the pods made landfall. All downward motion coming to an abrupt and jarring stop. He could feel as each crumple zone gave way, each one taking a little of the impact away before the hatch blew off taking with it even more force.

This planet had a depressed purple and gray atmosphere. The planet was solid and rocky as he stepped out of his pod. Quickly moving the regroup with the others. Joker and Monster were fine albeit shaken by the loss of Gunny. The smoldering pod lay not too far from theirs. There would be no funeral for Gunny except the one they had right here. He died like a true ODST feet first straight into hell. No time to mourn as they had a job to do.

At least that would’ve been the case if they had sent any other Spartan. If it hadn’t been 86 they may have gotten straight down to business. But 86 wasn’t a proper Spartan. 86 wore his heart on his sleeve, a failure in that sense and there was no one presently here to keep it in check.

Upon seeing the smokey drop pod 86 was on it, the heat radiating for the pod was intense. He grabbed ahold of the pod his left hand slipping off as his switched to his right hand slamming the mechanical fist against the window of the unopened hatch, repeatedly until it breaks giving him enough of a hand hold to rip the hatch from the pod. The pod lurched to the side as the center of balance shifted.

The inside of the pod didn’t fare much better than the outside. Burnt and black nothing left but crumbling metal and ash and what was left of Gunny.

86’s chest and stomach clenched, he wasn’t sure what he had expected. A miracle perhaps? He stumbled back, an attempt to get his head back in the game. He’s reeling as he repositions his hand. A faint clicking sound catches his attention as his hand caught something along the charred door. His fingers close around the object a crunchy, sandy feeling. He opens his hand to look at what lingered there. A set of dog tags, dangles from his fingers… Gunny’s dog tags. They’re burnt and brittle, 86 carefully brushes them over with his thumb, smearing the soot with his fingerprint, before he backs the rest of the way from the pod.

He’s caught before he can stumble too far. Monster and Joker are right there. Hands on him as he takes labored panicked breaths. His SPI armor throwing the elevated readings no doubt straight to their HUDs.

“Hee-h-he’s gone… Gunny’s…gone” 86 manages to choke the words forcing the venomous words from his throat, before the grief forces it closed on him. Monster pushes against his shoulder nudging the Spartan into motion.

“Come on, we got a job to do.” Monster comments in his gruff tone. 86 stands up straighter as Joker pats his lower back. The shorter soldier weighed down with gear and couldn't comfortably reach much higher.

“Let’s go kill some split lips… He’d like that.” Joker adds as he pushes the Spartan on.86 nods as he pockets the dog tags in the soft pouch on his leg. The two ODST did a good job of redirecting the distress. Now the Spartan was out for revenge.

[sillybigrobin]

As much as I love birds and like cats the fact that cats are the natural predators of birds has me thinking recently.

One of this days that I've been gone, I started going to more of habituated zones of Detroit, not that many abandoned areas anymore. And that made me find a alley where there's a lot of Cats residing.

I managed to approach to one that had something in its mouth, and when it stopped it I realised it was a bird. A little white bird that had blue feathers in its chest and a gray spotted pattern in its neck. The cat bit the neck of the bird and it was bleeding when I took the bird in my hands.

It shouldn't be passed that much of the cat catching the bird, because besides of the bleeding the bird was still alive and moving, very slowly and occasionally their eyes were blinking. At some point they started to close at a very torturing pace, I was watching the bird's life fade away from its eyes.

How the shine in its eyes were disappearing and I was unable to do something since I already assumed it would die when I took it in my hands.

When it's head dropped to the side of my finger, letting me know it was finally dead. It felt bad. I've never experienced death before but it definitely didn't sit quite right with what I have registered between feels and experiences.

I am an old android, and eventually have to be deactivated, I know that but what mortified me is watching people I cherish to deactivate around me. I felt sad and couldn't stop thinking about that bird even if it was days ago, and I can't imagine the pain of mourning a loved one will bring.

It was weird

[grassyhorizon45]

Saw you looking for microfic requests… feel free to ignore, but what about a first-date style microfic in Hogsmeade or something? Thinking like year 6 or 7? Not sure if you’ve done one of those before and sorry if this is too broad. Any character(s) would be cool!

aaaa this took me a while to brain but I hope it's what you were looking for 👀

oh and my friend gave me three words to try and incorporate in this too 😅👍

the way he immediately switched to bomb and death :sob:

word count: 1113

ding~

The bell above the door chimed, announcing my entry. 

“Welcome to Honeydukes,” the owner, Mr. Flume greeted me. I responded with a subtle nod, not wanting to say anything but not wanting to be rude at the same time.

I scanned the nearby shelves; toffees, chocolates, some Fizzing Whizzbees……

There it was, carved neatly into the wooden sign board were the words ‘Special Effects’.

My gaze was followed by none other than the owner himself.

“Ah, the special effects section. Might I recommend you the–” I stopped him, smiling. 

“I've already made up my mind, thanks Mr. Flume.”

Not at all offended, the lovely Ambrosius Flume nodded and left me be.

I grabbed a blue box off the top shelf and brought it to the cashier.

“The finest sugar quills,” he said, taking one look at the box of sweets. “You my dear, must have an eye for confectionery, no?” 

I blushed, not taking compliments well. 

“It's for a friend,” I explained. To which he replied with a knowing, “I see.” 

I never did like giving people chocolates, they were too common. But sugar quills? They're my signature go-to when it comes to gifts, my own little flair you could say.

I left Honeydukes with the box of sweets neatly bagged, roaming the streets of Hogsmeade a while before finally settling down in the Three Broomsticks Inn, giving my watch a quick glance……

Ten more minutes.

~

“Someone's early.”

His silky voice took me by surprise. I looked up and smirking gray eyes met mine. I smirked back, rolling my eyes. 

“Sit down, Malfoy.”

Never in my life would I have expected this. Draco Malfoy, the very guy that tormented me for years, was now on a freaking date with me. 

Though it was true that Draco was the one who initiated the date, deep down I knew I too had developed feelings for the boy.

Draco was an absolute player, every soul in Hogwarts knew that; and as the silence between us dragged on, I started to wonder why the heck I was here in the first place. 

“Y/n– You okay?” His voice drew me back to reality. “Madam Rosmerta just asked if you'd like to order anything.”

“Oh, huh– I'll just have butterbeer, th-thanks.” Draco only continued staring at me intently, like I was a mystery yet to be solved. I avoided his gaze, mumbling a quick, “Sorry, I zoned out.”

It felt so out of place when he just grinned back. He wasn't making small talk, we weren't talking at all. Was it because of our history with each other? Was this whole thing just a joke to him?

“Hey,” Draco spoke in the most casual way possible, gaining eye contact with me.

“Hi?” Was the only thing I could think to blurt.

He smiled at this.

“First time, love?”

How did he know—

“And I bet you've been on tons,” I slipped, echoing the negative thoughts in my head.

Draco tilted his head. “And why would you say that?”

I looked away, “No reason.”

He grabbed my chin and forced me to face him. Draco's touch was gentle but unfamiliar, sending shivers down my spine.

“I know you think im some asshole that loves messing around,” his voice was stern, the very kind he used when he was actually being serious. “But I really want you to trust me on this. You and I, this isn't a little fling I'm playing at.”

The man in front of me knew me more than I knew myself. At times I saw it through his insults and bullying, but at times I saw it through the way he secretly cared for me…… Maybe that was the reason I'm here.

“Please?”

I nodded, “Okay.”

His stern face melted away and was replaced with an indifferent one. “So tell me about yourself,” he tried.

“Seriously? I've known you since year two…” I mumbled.

“Well, tell me something I don't know then, y/n.” There was a tinge of harshness to his voice but that somehow only turned me on even more. 

“I don't think I could live a day without you.”

Shocked, Draco was completely speachless. And I only realised the weight of my words after I'd blurted it. 

“I-It's true… I don't know what I'd do without your daily snarky remarks and insults… Th-They give me a sense of hope that somewhere under all that,” I gulped. “Y-You cared.”

It was a strange feeling, wanting his attention. It was even weirder that I was admitting all of this to him but that's just how I am, an absolute pushover.

Our drinks arrived just then and I dived into my mug of butterbeer without a thought, wanting to wave off the bomb of awkwardness I had just dropped.

“Look, y/n… I do care,” he stated. “I care about you way more than you know. It's just something I don't find easy to show, I've never felt this way for someone before.”

I smiled at him, he smiled back, and I felt blush creep all the way up to my ears.

“Oh! I almost forgot–” I pulled out the lapis blue box I had bought from earlier. “I got you something…”

“Hm?” Draco took the box from me, “You didn't have to...”

I caught him take a quick peek at the sugar quills inside.

“Just something small, I didn't want to show up empty handed.”

He chuckled, putting the gift aside. “Thanks.”

Secretly, I was relieved; I didn't want to see his reaction anyways.

Draco and I chatted as we slowly drank our butterbeers, touching topics like school and family, basically filling the empty silence we would otherwise have between us. 

But as our drinks neared their end so did our conversation burn out, leaving us to sit there silently in each other's presence. 

The silence this time round was oddly soothing, knowing there wouldn't be any judgment from either party. We were already close before this, taking this ‘date’ as a progression in our relationship from enemies to lovers.

Draco got up to pay short after, leaving me alone at the table. The box of sugar quills was open in front of his seat and it looked like he'd already gone through one over the course of our conversation. I smiled, I think this relationship is gonna work out just fine.

Two gentle hands found themselves on my shoulder from behind. I tilted my head upwards and was once again met with his loving gray eyes. 

“So, what do you say? You, me, we make this official.”

I smiled back at him. “Deal.”

He grinned. “Alright then……

Till death do us part.”

[gay-cryptidz]

The Comfort Between Your Scars

Chapter 11

TW: referenced past character death

Without the board games and the movie to distract him, Noah became increasingly aware of the disconnect between him and the brothers, or, more specifically, Tommy. Him and Joel were already chatting away and bickering and so very comfortable with each other again the moment the girls had left.

Talking to strangers who knew nothing about Noah was easy, at least that way he could pretend to be someone he wasn't, hide behind a facade, show them exactly what he wanted them to see. Talking to Mari and Alex was even easier, he didn't need to worry about how to present himself or what to say around them at all.

It was the gray area in between that scared him.

He'd excused himself to go check on Jamie, who was sleeping soundly in Joel's bed, after zoning out and losing track of the conversation. After pausing to take another deep breath and placing a kiss on his little brother's forehead, he made his way back to the living room.

Joel and Tommy were on the sofa, filling three wine glasses. Maybe he'd feel a little less out of place with some liquid courage.

"How come I always end up being the one to sponsor our drinks? Seems to be a bit of a pattern by now", he joked.

"It's 'cause you're such a gentleman!", Joel grinned.

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me"

He sat down next to Joel, grabbing a glass and taking a big sip.

"Damn, it's not even that good. Should have taken the cheaper one, what a waste of, like, ten bucks", he chuckled.

"I see how it is, I'm not even worth the extra ten bucks to you"

Joel laughed when Noah gave him a light shove. They all sat in silence for a moment, assessing the taste of the not-worth-the-extra-ten-bucks wine, before agreeing it really wasn't that good, but it would do.

"So, Noah", Tommy started, "Tell me about yourself"

"Tell you what?", Noah snorted.

"Well, anything. I've heard bits and pieces from Joel and Mari but I haven't really had the chance to actually talk to you"

"Y'know, at least Joel worked hard for this information! He didn't know shit about me until after he heroically burst through a door to save me from a drunk guy I'd already beaten the shit out of. I mean, there was nothing more for him to do, but 'A' for effort!"

"Well, if the opportunity arises, I'll gladly try to save you by doing nothing", Tommy laughed.

"In all seriousness though, you know just about as much as you need to. Dad's gone, mom's out of the picture, when it got really bad, I took Jamie and Mari and left." It was almost the same shrugged-off recap Noah had given Joel a few weeks earlier. It was far from the full truth, of course, but he didn't exactly feel like recapping every traumatic memory of his life.

"Oh god, right, your dad... actually, sorry, you probably don't wanna talk about it. Mari told me earlier that he- well, she told me what happened"

'It's your fault'

Noah just shrugged and repeated his sentiment of 'not much to talk about'. Thankfully, Joel didn't ask and Tommy didn't push the topic.

'Are you happy now?'

Noah took another sip of wine, attempting to push the resurfacing images and sounds away. Joel and Tommy were miles away now.

'Even if you didn't mean to, you're the reason this happened'

Just calm down. Breathe.

'You're the reason I'm even in this situation'

Just say something, anything.

"I mean, I hardly remember him, really. Certainly didn't waste a second missing that asshole"

Tap, tap, tap on cold, hard tiles.

"Noah, we don't need to-"

"Messed up my mom pretty good, though. Well, I guess she was messed up already. Hates my guts, always did"

'It's your fault. Look at it, look what you did!'

"Hated his guts too, actually. So did I, for a while. I mean, things weren't exactly perfect but if he didn't- just, y'know, I was fine until-"

Stop talking. Just shut up. Say something about the weather or ask about work or-

Tap, tap, tap, never stopping. Glass of blood in his hands. Tap, tap, tap. Blood on his hands.

Tap, tap, tap on his shoulder and he snapped out of it.

"Hey, you alright?", Joel asked softly.

"Sorry, I really didn't mean to upset you or anything. Won't bring it up again." Tommy looked very lost all of a sudden.

Noah downed about half of his wine at once before saying anything.

"It's fine, just... been a long day"

Their faces were wrong. They didn't seem real. Just that little bit off.

"I'm just gonna go get some fresh air"

He didn't leave them time to respond, already halfway out the door. He should just go to bed. Everything, every activity, every conversation, seemed to eventually turn bitter today. Instead, he sat down on the steps and lit a cigarette.

This was a mistake. This whole thing. He never should have befriended Joel, never should have invited him to hang out in the break room, never should have agreed to go to this god damn birthday party.

It didn't take long for Joel to quietly sit down next to him, of course.

"I'm fine, just needed some fresh air"

He stared at his cigarette burning down ever so slowly as the seconds ticked away in his head.

"Well, it's just that you practically ran out of the room right after coming back so i felt like I should probably check and make sure"

Tap, tap, tap.

The soft glow seemed ever so welcoming. Deep breath, everything's fine. He rubbed his face, sighing.

"Sorry, just... a lot going on today. My brain gets a little weird. I guess it's always weird but you know"

"Anything I can do?"

"No, I don't think so"

After a few moments of silence, Noah could feel Joel's hand softly grazing his own on the cold stone between them. The gesture was careful, almost shy. He hesitated for just a second before offering his hand to Joel, who gently took it in his, entwining their fingers. Noah internally cursed at himself for the tingle it sent down his spine.

Do not fall for him. You don't do relationships. Stop being an idiot.

"The stars are nice today."

"Yeah."

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[practice1developingskills]

Assignment4- Light and Shadows-2

After looking at Journey and Little Nightmares, I started thinking about what theme I wanted to use for this assignment.

While thinking about it, I read the information the teacher gave us about this light and shadow assignment.

It hit me that I have a thing for black-and-white and intense light. So, I decided to go with that as the theme for this project.

I usually start by creating a general worldview and characters before I can visualize the related images and story. So, first, I made a dead character.

The most distinctive feature of this character is the red strip of cloth on his face. I got the idea from an Asian psychic ritual called "Guan Lu Yin." The main idea of this ritual is that an experienced cleric can lead the person tied with the red cloth to find the person he wants to see in the underworld.

I thought about it in reverse and came up with a dead person who can return to the human world as a ghost to see his family and friends still alive through the ritual.

This character has some interesting details:

The red cloth is a living creature.

The wings on his back allow him to fly around the afterlife.

To activate the red cloth, letters and photos burned by relatives and friends are necessary.

Finally, the ankle ring on the character is another intriguing feature. It represents:

An obsession with staying in the afterlife, meaning the character cannot truly "die."

A tool to help the character return to the human world.

The ankle rings have a unique function:

The right ankle shows the time of the character's death.

The left ankle displays the time the character can return to.

However, there's a catch: the character can only return to a world where he is still alive. He cannot visit the world where he died.

So, based on this character and worldview, I wanted to create a world in this gray area between the human and afterlife worlds.

It's a zone with no rules, so you might see strange buildings that don't make sense physically, water flowing down from the sky, and plates floating in the sky.

But really, this space is a world made up of the dead's memories and experiences, all amplified by the moment's emotions.

Ultimately, I decided to go with this image as the one I want to keep working on. It may look messy, but it's packed with ideas I want to get out there. First, there's the square plate floating in the air with intense light.

That's a photo of a deceased person's life, and the image is projected onto the floor. I imagined the effect to be like that of Teamlab, a famous light and shadow exhibition in Tokyo. It has photos of the deceased floating in space, and there's also a clock in the air to show the passing of time. I wanted to use this image to convey the feeling of running lights in one's head at certain moments.

I found the last part of the assignment interesting, but it was also the worst. I had to use different colors in the same image to create different emotions in the scene.

I think it's a fascinating experiment to figure out the best color for the scene, but since I don't know much about color and the structure of the scene, I'm not that happy with the final result.

There are a few reasons for this. First, I'm not familiar with drawing spotlight-like lighting effects. Second, in the beginning, I only had black-and-white images in my mind, so I didn't know how to add colors to the light and shadow.

This assignment opened my eyes to the power of light and shadow and showed me how far I have to go in mastering them. I plan to improve by drawing more photos with intense light and shadow.

Reference

Yahoo News (n.d.) 還願：觀落陰到底是什麼？危險嗎？ Available at: https://tw.news.yahoo.com/還願-觀落陰到底是什麼-危險嗎-060053705.html (Accessed: [4 January 2025]).

teamLab (n.d.) Impermanent Life: People Create Space and Time, at the Confluence of Their Spacetime New, Reversible Rotation – Continuous. Available at: https://www.teamlab.art/w/impermanent-life-people/#modal-1 (Accessed: [4 January 2025]).

Pinterest (n.d.) Pin on Art and Culture. Available at: https://ch.pinterest.com/pin/187884615681828295/ (Accessed: [4 January 2025]).

[shamelesslymkp]

REC: StellarCoachman - Moribund

URL: https://ift.tt/mub4Kps A boy wakes up, trapped in his own casket six feet underground. Getting out is only the first step on the journey to discovering how to survive in the gray zone between life and death. (Words: 25,901) !!!fandom, !!fic, |site:ao3, +fandom:danny.phantom, ::rating:teen.and.up.audiences, ~author:stellarcoachman, character:danny.fenton, character:sam.manson, character:tucker.foley, character:maddie.fenton, character:jack.fenton.(danny.phantom), character:jazz.fenton, character:lunch.lady.(danny.phantom), character:skulker.(danny.phantom), character:box.ghost.(danny.phantom), relationship:danny.fenton.&.tucker.foley.&.sam.manson, relationship:danny.fenton.&.jack.fenton.&.maddie.fenton, relationship:danny.fenton.&.jazz.fenton, ::category:gen, \graphic.depictions.of.violence, \major.character.death, ~ao3:major.character.death.is.danny, ~ao3:danny.isn't.completely.dead, ~ao3:but.he's.more.so.than.in.canon, ~ao3:angst.and.hurt/comfort, ~ao3:this.strays.from.canon.in.a.lot.of.ways.but.doesn't.in.a.lot.of.others, ~ao3:death, ~ao3:injury, ~ao3:blood, ~ao3:violence, ~ao3:electrocution, ~ao3:burns, ~ao3:panic.attacks, ~ao3:dissociation, ~ao3:claustrophobia, ~ao3:hospitals, ~ao3:grief/mourning, ~ao3:good.friends.tucker.foley.and.sam.manson, ~ao3:jack.and.madd

[twistingtreeancestry]

The Tragedies of Levi Oscar Smith and His Wives

TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING This work discusses severe injury, burns, different types of death, manners of death, symptoms of death, causes of death, and possibly other unpleasant topics that may be triggering or upsetting. Please carefully consider whether you're in a good space and/or mature enough to read further. TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING

Who is Levi O. Smith?

Levi is one of my spouse's great-grandfathers. He was born in Indian Territory (McAlester, Pittsburg County), Oklahoma, USA in 1898. At 20 years old, he married his first wife, Opal Alsus Jackson, 17 years old, on 1 Jun 1918 in Holtville, Imperial County, California, USA. They had their first child, a son named Eugene Ellis Smith, in October of 1919. Eugene was followed by the birth of Louis M. Smith in 1921, then Raymond Leroy Smith in February of 1924. Sometime around the beginning of 1925, Opal became pregnant with Vivian Louise Smith.

Opal Alsus Jackson

Opal was born in 1901 in Oklahoma, USA. In 1910, she and her birth family were listed on two census records—one under General Population and one under Indian Population. On the General Population record, she, her mother, and her siblings were listed as white while her father was listed as Indian. On the Indian Population record, her father was listed as Indian, her mother was listed as white, and she and her siblings were listed as half-Indian, half-white.

According to events detailed by The Bulletin (Pomona, Los Angeles County, California, USA) and Riverside Daily Press (Riverside, Riverside County, California, USA) newspapers, respectively, indicate that the tragedy of Opal Alsus Jackson began on 17 Oct 1925.

While starting a fire at her mother's home in Corona, Riverside County, California, USA, Opal sent her 3 or 4-year-old son Louis to fetch her kerosene. Instead, Louis mistakenly brought back a jar of gasoline. This resulted in an explosion that set the house, and her clothes, aflame.

Despite her condition, the pregnant and burning Opal managed to get all three of her children out of the house before she "fell into the flames". Eugene and Raymond's conditions were never noted and Levi wasn't mentioned at all, but devastatingly, Louis succumbed to his injuries a few hours later. "At almost the hour of his death", Opal gave birth to Vivian, who seemed healthy and suffered no ill effects from the traumatic situation that resulted in her birth. Louis was laid to rest four days later.

Opal was admitted to Cothe Rona Hospital (which I cannot locate) where her chances of recovery were described optimistically due to her having "such remarkable recuperative power". It was stated that 80% (or, alternatively, 4/5ths) of the surface of her body was severely burned. She stayed in the gray zone between life and death for just over a month before "unfavorable symptoms developed". She succumbed to her injuries on the morning of 21 Nov 1925 at just 24 years old. She was laid to rest with Louis the next day, and they now share a gravemarker.

Her baby daughter, Vivian, lived to be 89 years old with a husband, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. According to her obituary, she served as a civilian staff car driver at an Ontario, CA military base during WWII, and she worked for 40+ years "for General Electric, both the Iron Plant downtown Ontario and the Aircraft at the Ontario Airport". It appears she lived a full, healthy, and happy life. She was preceded in death by Eugene, Raymond, and her half-brother, Jay, as well as her husband and her son.

Raymonde Victorine Louise Aubry

Raymonde was born in 1912 in France, Europe. She immigrated in late 1986 from Paris, Île-de-France, France, Europe at 13 years old aboard the S.S. Niagara with her parents and little sister. Their destination was Ontario, CA, but they made port in Galveston, Galveston County, Texas, USA on 4 Oct 1926, and must have navigated northwest to California afterward.

Next, she appears as "Ramon" in a 1930 census in Ontario, CA as the 17-year-old new bride of 31-year-old Levi Smith, with Eugene, Raymond, and Vivian in their household and listed their children. It was recorded that she could read and write, spoke English, and also spoke French at home before she immigrated. Over the following years, she and Levi birthed their children: a daughter, Lela Faye Smith, and two sons, Jay Loren and Jimmy Dale Smith.

I've gathered from articles in The Los Angeles Times, The Pomona Progress Bulletin, and The San Bernardino County Sun that Raymonde's tragedy started when Levi picked her up from Sunday church on the evening of 30 Jul 1939.

He told Deputy Coroner W. J. Weller that shortly after the service, Raymonde allegedly began to accuse Levi of adultery while she was attending church. He insisted that after he dropped her off at 7:15 p.m. he visited a beer parlor until it was time to retrieve her at 9:15 p.m.

Later that night, Raymonde joined Levi in the bedroom and he heard her whisper "goodbye" to her 3-year-old son (and youngest child), Jimmy. He then asked her where she was going, to which she replied, "I've done it. I've taken poison."

Levi immediately took her to the hospital where she was declared dead on arrival at just 26 years old. It was later reported by Coroner R. E. Williams that she'd ingested strychnine—the poison, which Deputy Coroner Weller alleged she'd taken in three previous death attempts, was referred to by one article as a "fatal potion". Levi claimed the poison was used to exterminate gophers and that Raymonde knew where it was kept. He also admitted that she'd threatened to ingest the poison when they were arguing, but he hadn't believed her until she told Jimmy goodbye.

Williams stated an inquest into her death would likely be unnecessary, and her death was ruled as death by suicide via poisoning. She was laid to rest five days later.

What happened to Levi?

After being a farmer since 1918, Levi became an irrigator at a tree nursery by 1940 before becoming a truck driver of farm produce by 1941.

On 21 Feb 1941, 42-year-old Levi was fatally injured in an accident while falling from a truck. His death certificate states he died of shock due to a brain aneurysm created by a brain hemorrhage three miles east of Perryville, Maricopa County, Arizona, USA. A newspaper article named Buckeye, Maricopa County, Arizona, USA as his place of death, which is approximately 3 miles east of Perryville.

Levi was buried in the same cemetery as his second wife, Raymonde. While they didn't end up in the same section, their sections butt up against each other.

34 years later, his 40-year-old son Jay, a truck driver for Midwest Growers Association, would die in a trucking accident "25 miles east of Lordsburg" in Grant County, New Mexico, USA. I believe he died on I-70 in Wilna, Grant County, New Mexico, USA.

That's all, for now!

If you made it this far, thanks for sticking with me and learning about some of my spouse's departed family. Make sure to follow me so you don't miss my future posts about genealogy and family history, or random historical finds I think are interesting!

[wolviecat]

Blink and you will miss it - Wolviecat - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Day 16 of the Febuwhump, prompt: Semi-conscious

In the end, dying didn't hurt that much. Well, it did hurt, more than anything in his life - both having his insides ripped open by the demobats, and having to listen to Dustin's desperate sobbing as he begged him to stay - but still, he somehow expected more. Maybe he was just a bigger masochist than he knew.

And then there was the fact that he survived, as far as he could tell. For a second, he hoped that the party had somehow dragged him back into the Right Side Up and into the hospital, but the world around was a little too cold and grimy even for whatever low-budget shithole his uninsured ass would land. But it was also a little too tangible for any after-life he could end up in, and missing the Valkyries and meadhalls of the one he was secretly hoping for. 

No, he was still in the same Upside Down, wearing the same ripped, bloodstained t-shirt over his ripped, bloodstained stomach. He tried to sit up and everything still inside him shifted and there was that pain he was waiting for. Back on the ground, biting his tongue because screaming didn't feel like the wisest course of action, he managed to peel off his shirt, tear it into strips and bandage himself as well as he could. It wasn't good at slightest, but at least it made him feel better. At least he didn't have to look at his guts.

He dragged himself back to his trailer, but the gate was already closed, their improvised rope lying tangled up on the ground. For a second, something hot and bitter flooded his mind They left you here, they cried and then they turned and forgot about you before he could stamp it down. They didn't, they couldn't know he's still alive, hell, even he had still troubless believing it. 

Too tired to continue, he curled up on the dusty mattress on the ground and closed his eyes.

His mouth tasted like iron and dust. He spat, and the half-chewed something that hit the floor was stripped gray and green, rotten. He gagged, but nothing came up. His body was somehow holding on whatever food he managed to find, no matter how rancid it was. He rubbed his temples. There was a hazy hole between the moment he went to sleep - passed out - in the trailer and when he found himself in this decaying copy of the Hawkins store. He has no way of telling how much time has passed. The Upside Down looked the same, day or night. The blood on his improvised bandage looked dry, brown and black, but the wound underneath felt the same when he touched it carefully. Not that he knew how long it would take for something as big to heal.

It wasn't the first time something like that had happened to him. Every single of his high school teachers had caught him staring into space, physically awake and present, but mentally somewhere far away. Maybe if he managed through an hour of education without zoning out, he thought, none of this would ever happen. He would already be away from Hawkins, someone else would have taken over the Hellfire club…

Someone else would have been facing the demobats, or maybe it would be just Dustin.

He shuddered. Apparently trying to escape his fate always meant throwing someone else under the bus.

He blinked.

Another moment skipped past without him noticing, and the can he was eating from was empty. He should be scared, but any adrenaline he had was already burned, leaving behind only a dull buzzing nothing. 

Maybe dying from food poisoning is still better than starving to death.

Walking was monotonous and tiring and he was almost glad to skip the most of it, waking only for the random encounters in the fucked up game session his life has become. Demodogs and demobats and brand new monsters he'd never seen before, all clearly hellbend to hunt him down. He learned which ones he's strong enough to beat - it got easier as he found the right places to hit, and stopped getting sick at the sight of their brains spilling out, black blood splattering his face - and which ones to avoid.    

The demogorgon still scared him. 

He was hiding behind a car, palms pressed over his mouth to stay silent while that spindly creature stalked around. He remembered the kids telling him that El - their never seen, superpowered friend - was able to kill it with just her mind. But he was just a guy armed with a rusted piece of iron. It was safer to stay hidden, to curl up so small it would miss him. It was a coward's way out, but he'd already had enough heroism to last him for the rest of his life.

It worked once. Twice. Time and time again, leaving him shaken and sweaty and gasping for breath. Until it didn't. Until the Demogorgon was snarling into his face, and there was nothing else to do but to close his eyes

That thing was dead. Blood was running down his face, and the monster was lying broken in front of him. Its below you, the little voice in his head said, it deserved to die for challenging the great K

He fell down to his side, unable to stay upright, and cried, because there is something stronger than the Demogorgon, and he couldn't remember it.

He stopped waiting for his wounds to heal. 

He stopped asking why his hair got lanky and greasy, but never grew, why his beard stayed a stubble.

He stopped looking at himself in the mirrors, unsure what he would see.

There were lines along his back itching so much that he'd actually scraped his skin away.

The gaps in his memories became longer. Even the moments he was aware felt like going through the motions without any conscious thought behind it. It felt like someone else was pulling the strings.

He stopped eating. He never got sick from the old cans, but he didn't feel like trying anymore.

The voice in his head grew lounder, shouting over his thoughts they have forget you they have betrayed you they will not come back.

Someone was with him in the Upside down. He could feel them - not the blank, simple minds of the creatures born here, but something different. Human, mostly. He went to greet them.

It took them a minute to recognise him, another one to believe. But their childish faith was louder than any reason, and they wanted him back so much.

Kas smiled.

In the back of his mind, Eddie was just a little voice screaming.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 166: Saudade

(Suadade: a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia that is supposedly characteristic of the Portuguese or Brazilian temperament.) cw? this is a little bit spooky at the end. It's going to need a part 2.

Harry had been sitting beside the hospital bed for so long that he'd gone deaf to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. He'd been here so long that he knew perfectly the charm that would turn his hospital chair into a cot, he knew each of the doctors and nurses by name, and he knew that if he asked nicely they would give him the razor and let him shave Draco's face.

It was okay most of them time.

Or at least he tried to tell himself that it was okay. Or that it would be. The hours since Draco had been hit by a stray curse had turned into days, days had turned into weeks, and before he knew it Harry had spent nearly two months at Draco's side.

In those seven and a half weeks, Draco hadn't moved a muscle; hadn't blinked, hadn't squeezed Harry's hand, hadn't done anything.

It bothered Harry, when he allowed himself to think of it, Draco being so still, being so quiet, it wasn't like him. He busied himself with all sorts of things, talking to Draco like at any moment the other man would open his mouth and talk back.

"Hi mate," Ron said from the doorway and Harry looked up from the book of Robert Frost poetry he'd been reading aloud.

"Hey," he said, levitating the bag of yarn and knitting supplies for the blanket he'd been working on off of the other chair so Ron would have a place to sit. "How are you?"

"I think the better question is how are you?" Ron replied.

"Oh, you know," Harry said, his fingers automatically reaching for Draco's, "We're here," he added with a shrug.

"Do you think-" Ron started before he broke off and looked away.

And Harry very much did not like that look or that tone of voice. "Do I think what?" he asked carefully.

"Dr. Miller said she'd come to talk with you about end-of-life measu-"

"We're not there," he interrupted.

(Read more below the cut)

"Right," Ron said, nodding slowly, "Only, she seemed to think-"

"We're not there yet," he growled.

Ron blinked at him and Harry could see the concern in his eyes but couldn't bring himself to accept it. "Mate, you haven't left the hospital in weeks."

"And?"

"You've got things outside of this, you know? A job, a home, family, a life."

"He is my life," Harry managed through the tears that were slicing his vocal cords to shreds and stinging the back of his eyes.

Ron took Harry's hand in his, "Your godchildren miss you. Hermione and I miss you," he added. "Work has been a nightmare without you-"

"I can't," he said. "Ron, don't you get it?" he asked desperately. "He is my life," he repeated. "He is my family. He is my home. I can't leave him. I can't-"

"Harry," he said, voice soft and sympathetic in a way that Harry couldn't stand, "Don't you think he's already left you? The odds-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about the odds!" Harry shouted. "Out," he said, angrily swiping at the tears on his cheeks. "Get out."

"Harry-"

"Get out," he repeated, loud enough that one of the nurses poked her head in.

"Everything alright, love?" she asked Harry.

He looked away, clenching Draco's hand in his.

"Perhaps you'd better go," she said gently to Ron.

Ron sighed, "I'm here when you're ready," he said, clasping Harry's shoulder for a moment.

And Harry burned with anger, with disbelief that Ron was so ready and willing to just let him die, to kill him for all intents and purposes. He didn't say a word as Ron left, just flicked a hand at the door to close it behind him.

"Draco," he whispered helplessly, clutching his hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. "I can't," he whispered through his tears, begged really. "Please."

He let the tears slip down his cheeks unchecked, waiting.

"Please," he repeated. "I can't do this without you. We have so much to do still," he whispered, choking on the words, choking on his dreams, on what their life was supposed to be. "Come back to me," he pleaded. "Come back."

Harry held his breath, waiting, but nothing changed.

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

He fell asleep on his cot next to Draco's bed, arm stretched across the space between them so he could hold the other man's hand. His dreams had been strange in the hospital, time never worked quite right and Harry often woke gasping with the feeling that he was suffocating.

Tonight, though, he fell asleep and the next thing he knew, he was in a meadow outside of a little cabin with a stream running by it. He looked around, listening to the sound of the birds chirping in the trees nearby, the water babbling in the brook, and he took a slow deep breath of the clean air.

"I wondered if you'd show up," a voice that Harry would recognize anywhere said.

And for a moment, he kept his eyes closed, let his heart pound in anticipation before the inevitable disappointment.

"Open your eyes, love," he whispered as fingers brushed over his cheek.

Harry blinked his eyes open and there Draco stood in a pair of white linen pants and an untucked pale blue button up that he'd left partially unbuttoned. His long blond hair was elaborately braided, little braids all worked into one larger braid. And his face was covered in freckles, Harry ached with the desire to kiss each and every one. Merlin, he wanted to hold the other man and never let go, but he couldn't seem to even move.

"It's alright," Draco whispered, fingers tracing his cheek, "You can touch me."

He cupped Draco's hand in his and turned his head to press a kiss to the center of his palm, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Draco slipped his fingers through Harry's, "You don't have long," he murmured.

"What?" Harry asked, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"

"The connection," he said, like he wasn't quite sure it was the right word, "It's tenuous. You shouldn't really be able to be here at all, but you've always had an annoying penchant for breaking the rules."

"What?" he repeated, grasping at Draco's words and trying to hold them, "Tell me what you mean," he begged. "Where are we?"

Draco shrugged one shoulder, "I'm not really sure. But I know you're not meant to be able to get here."

"How do I get you out?" he asked next.

"I don't know," Draco replied.

"What do you know?" he asked desperately, because he needed something to go on.

Draco brushed his hair back from his face, "Your hair's getting long," he said softly.

"Draco," he prompted, "What do you know?" He clutched his hand in his, "You've been here for weeks, surely you've figured out something."

"I can hear you sometimes," he said. "Like this afternoon," he added, leaning down to kiss Harry's head.

Harry stared at him, waited for him to say something useful.

"Whatever the barrier is between here and there, it gets thin sometimes," he said. "I can hear you, I can feel you," he added, "But you can't hear me. And I don't know how to find you," he continued softly. "I tried," he said, "I really tried. But there's no way out," he said. "I can't get past-"

The world started to shiver a bit and Harry instinctively clutched Draco's hand tighter.

"You're going to have to go," he said as he peered past Harry, into the woods.

Harry rose to his feet and looked over his shoulder at where Draco was looking but he couldn't see anything. "What is it?" he asked, apprehension tingling in the tips of his fingers.

"I told you that you shouldn't be here," Draco whispered, fingers clutching Harry's arm, "You have to go."

"Why?" Harry asked, turning to look at Draco once more, "What is it?"

Draco's eyes met his and the look in them struck something dark deep inside of Harry, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "You can't stay," he repeated.

"Draco," Harry said, cupping his cheeks, to draw his eyes to his own, "What is it? What are you afraid of? What's out there?"

Grey eyes met his and he opened his mouth to speak but it was too late. The world started to dissolve around the two of them.

"No," Harry said, clinging to the other man, who began to slip through his fingers like sand. "Draco, no!" he cried. "I'll find you," he promised desperately. "I won't let you go. I'll-" he snapped awake, gasping for air like he'd been holding his breath underwater, with Draco's hand still firmly clasped in his.

He sat up and moved closer to the other man, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, the little mole on his neck, the knuckles of his hand. "I love you," he said, hoping he could hear him or feel him, "I love you so much, Draco," he said, pressing his forehead against the other man's. "And I will find you. I promise."

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

Welp. This is going to need a part 2

Day 165: Genderqueer | Day 167: Favorite Mug

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[mothwantstoswim]

THE MIRROR FLOOR GRAY ZONE. WE’VE SEEN IT BEFORE. WHEN THE ABYSS LEVIATHAN SWALLOWED US. THE SPACE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH