#have this absolutely pure indulgent nothingness before i go

[vllergy]

freedom of nature's gifts

h/alsin b/g3 allergy, kink tav, 2.1k for those not familiar with the fandom: enormous kinky beefcake bear-coded druid who is felled by nothing wanders off into the woods to sneeze without disturbing his companions for those familiar: pls enjoy astarion being an absolute bitch about it for .5 seconds regular goodies: allergies, vouyuerism, partner with the kink extra flavor: giant man, giant snz, formerly indomitable force meets pollen, forced politeness, h/alsin being a sap tbh THIS IS JUST FOR ME I WROTE THIS FOR ME OK SORRY YOU HAVE TO SEE IT

“And here I thought druids were supposed to appreciate all of nature’s many charms.” Astarion’s musical voice drips with amusement. Tav picks up on it outside his tent as the lithe shadow of the elf passes over the sun drenched silk of his doorway. Just behind him, Karlach’s larger figure marches diligently along the same path.

“Oh, he’s appreciating them all right,” she snorts.

Tav rubs his eyes and rolls over. It’s morning, or at least it feels like it from the ache in his spine and the slightly cool air whisking over from the lake. He picks his head up and tries to follow the thread of conversation. His companions are talking about a druid, so they must mean Halsin. Tav hasn’t seen him since the night before.

Memories come warm and sticky like honey. Halsin’s hazel eyes fond in firelight. A low chuckle. A massive hand settled onto the small of Tav’s back. His heart quickens just at the thought.

Outside, Karlach sighs with a note of sympathy. “Never heard anyone sneeze so much in my life.”

Tav’s heartbeat nearly catapults out of his chest at that. His fingers fist in his blankets before he tears them away and scrambles up. Despite wishing to burst free from the tent like a demon, he tries to make his movements as unhurried as possible. It’s with great effort that he emerges from his sleeping arrangements without appearing impatient and affects a bored glance over at the others as they settle around the warm embers from last nights campfire.

“Morning,” Tav says and makes a show of scrubbing his eyes.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” Astarion purrs, “And aren’t you looking lovely?”

“Heya, soldier. You sleep okay?” Karlach waves.

Tav nods. His patience has limits, however. “What were you guys talking about?”

Karlach gestures back over her shoulder towards the tree line, “Halsin. Surprised you didn’t hear him earlier this morning. Poor guy was sneezing his head off before he crawled off to the woods to do it in private.”

The warm flooding of pleasure in Tav’s stomach doesn’t stop his momentary concern. “Is he alright?”

Astarion’s eyes glitter with amusement, “He says it’s the flowers growing nearby setting him off.”

The vampire looks positively delighted to be delivering said information, as if he knows what it’s doing to Tav. Tav knows that’s impossible, and Astarion is clearly just tickled by the irony of it all, but it still makes his cheeks flush with unexpected warmth.

“A druid with allergies! Ha!” Astarion claps his hands once, “You can’t make this up.”

“I should go see if he needs anything,” Tav chews the inside of his lip. His body feels like it’s full of needles.

Thankfully, he has a well-known weak spot when it comes to Halsin. His abrupt need to go to check on him isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, nor is it any cause for suspicion. Astarion merely waves him off with a delicate hand and Karlach nods sagely. “Tell him he can come back any time, big guy’s too hard on himself.”

“I’d rather he stay out there,” Astarion balks, “I’d like to preserve my hearing, thank you very much.”

Tav leaves them to squabble and heads for the tree line where Karlach indicated. He knows he should probably change into something other than the clothes he slept in but he’s too warm already and the thought of delaying getting to Halsin makes her skin feel even more prickly and sharp.

—

Given how familiar he is with the volume with which Halsin can expel an irritant, Tav has some idea of what he’s getting into. Even still, the first far off sneeze he manages to catch once he’s in proximity stuns him with its power. The druid still has to be a few hundred feet off but Tav hears it clear as day. It's an unrushed, heavy thing with so much of Halsin’s voice in it, his knees go weak.

It only takes him a matter of moments to close in on his lover’s position. And when he does, the sight there unravels him completely.

Tav has never seen Halsin at the mercy of anything that wasn’t his animal form. That particular loss of control has always been wickedly erotic to him as well, just for the sheer rarity of it. It's not something Halsin enjoys succumbing to, however. The first time it happened when they made love, he’d been apologetic about it. Sheepish, even.

Halsin is a man who is undaunted by much of anything. It’s not surprising that the few things able to bring him to his knees are difficult for him to come to grips with. Tav thinks surrender must be a strange concept for a man who has burdened himself with nothing but crippling responsibility for over a millennia. When is the last time Halsin let himself truly be vulnerable to something? Does he remember how to surrender?

Tav would argue that yes, he does, because that's the only word that describes what’s happening here.

Halsin’s sitting under the cover of a tree on a large stump. He’s clearly been in the throes of this fit for some time, true to Astarion and Karlach’s report. Evidenced by the redness of his nostrils, the tears slicked down his tattooed cheek and the limp handkerchief laid open in his massive palm. The man appears breathless, panting with indulgent, open-mouthed gasps as his nostrils swell. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he lets another clockwork sneeze take him.

“huh’uRRSSCHHHH’HOO!”

if he’d been using the handkerchief before, he’s abandoned it now, optioning to simply sneeze down in its general direction rather than try to contain any part of the expulsion. And Tav can see why. There’s hardly any point. Halsin's sizable chest swells with one, languid breath and whatever fire’s been stoked within his sinuses catches again and he sneezes without reprieve.

“hh’RRRAAAASSH’UUE!”

He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Tav wonders how long he’s been stuck like this, in an endless cycle of chest-clearing sneezes with barely a breath between. The idea of it being more than a few minutes is deeply intriguing to him, but also a little worrying. How much can one man possibly sneeze? He’s never seen Halsin like this. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen the druid sneeze. Tav has, after all, been paying attention.

“hh’RrrRSSCHH! hh? Hh! Hh’hhRRUSSh'SHOO!” Halsin teeters on the edge of a third, eyebrows bunched together, an allergic tear sliding down his cheek. He hangs on the precipice for an agonizing moment before roaring with the ferocity of a bear into the final one. “Hh’hhRrAAASSCHHH’uHH!!!”

His shoulders tremble with the force and Tav’s vested interest in the display finally makes room for guilt. He steps forward, purposely landing hard enough on the foliage underfoot to snap a twig and announce his presence.

“Halsin?” He calls.

The druid tenses. He straightens up and his eyes flash over to the treeline, surprised and a little guilty. He attempts a smile as color rises to his cheeks.

“Ah, my heart! I did not hhhea—excuse mhee’hh’WHFFHSHH!” He turns away promptly and smothers the harsh sneeze into his handkerchief, cutting the volume in half.

The propriety he insists on in front of Tav makes Tav’s legs feel like jelly. Moments ago he was sneezing with reckless abandon into the open air without a care in the world, but now he insists on sparing his lover from the display for a reason Tav can't ordain. They've seen each other bloodied and spent a thousand different ways before. How is this any different? Halsin twists away from him further, his massive shoulders swelling as he ducks into the handkerchief again. “H’hWHHFFSSShH!"

“Seven Hells, Halsin,” Tav murmurs. He lays a hand on the man’s back, “Bless you.” "My thhha-"

Tampering back those massive sneezes seems to make them vindictive, and Halsin can’t even get a proper thanks out before he's flinching back into a reflexive fit of them, once more trapped in his sodden handkerchief.

“wFFHSCHH! H’tSSCHh!” Halsin lifts his head and gasps desperately. Tav feels an odd sense of relief as the druid eschews a sense decorum for a cleansing, powerful third. “hhrh’RRSHHH-SHOO!”

“My thanks,” he murmurs directly after, but tends to his nose quickly before turning back to Tav. He sniffles unproductively and Tav notices his nostrils sharpening as they flare in an effort to stave off what he’s sure is another impending sneeze.

Tav gently tucks a lock of auburn hair that’s come loose from a braid behind Halsin’s pointed ear.

“Bless you,” Tav frowns, “How long has this been going on?”

Halsin looks dangerously close to another sneeze, but blinks furiously until the need abates. His auburn lashes look darker with irritated tears. He sniffs as delicately as he can, which Tav can only assume is incredibly unsatisfying, and gives a weak smile.

“The better part of the morning, I fear.”

“You could have woken me,” Tav murmurs, stroking fingers through his long hair.

Halsin chuckles, “I thought I might have, given the racket I was m—ma—ah, oohn...onnce more, apologies—“ He turns away and clamps the handkerchief over his nose and mouth. “h’WHFFHSHH'uhh!"

His lungs fill and he dips lower towards his lap.

“hh'RrSCHH!”

“I believe that was twice,” Tav teases, despite feeling his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.

Halsin lifts his head just enough to try and find a dry edge of the handkerchief. It doesn’t happen in time. His hazel eyes go narrow, unfocused, and he sneezes across it and his knuckles.

“Huh’uSSHH’HOO!”

“Gods, Halsin.” Halsin gives an experimental sniff. When he's certain it's not going to lead to another sneeze, he sags slightly and tilts his head back. "Oak Father preserve me." Tav's delirious at this point. He crouches down to get to Halsin's eye level, his hand lingering on the druid's knee. “How long does this usually go on?” Tav asks, worries for both of them at this point.

Halsin sniffs hard and finally finds the dry edge of the handkerchief, using it rather anticlimactically to dab at his raw nostrils. He blows his nose once while shaking his head. "Truthfully, I'm not certain. It hasn't been this bad in some time." "Would changing shape help?" Halsin chuckles, "Then, I would be sneezing as a bear." "Is that more pleasant?" "Perhaps for some," Halsin's eyes shimmer with sudden mischief beyond the allergic tears. Tav blinks. He takes a moment to process, then gapes. He smacks Halsin's knee and the druid gives a chesty laugh. "You bastard, how long have you known?" Tav asks. "My heart, you are many things, but subtle is not one of them," Halsin knuckles at his reddened nose and gives a warm smile that makes Tav melt on the spot. "Look, it's not like I meant to enjoy your suffering, I--" Halsin holds up a hand, "When have I ever given you the impression that you need apologize for your desires?"

Tav blushes. Halsin continues sniffling and tugs him forward by the hip. As he stumbles closer, Tav reaches for his face. His thumb clears away the track of an allergic tear from Halsin’s scarred cheek. "I do feel bad that you're miserable.”

“If it brings you pleasure,” Halsin says, his voice low, “Then I am not miserable.”

Tav lowers himself into Halsin’s lap. The druids hands dwarf his waist as he supports him, and also prevent him from worrying at his nose as he starts to lose himself to into the persistent tickle once more. Halsin goes to raise an arm but Tav captures it, lowering it back to his hip.

Halsin, to his credit, doesn’t even stop to question it. He lets the sneeze take him over fully, though habit still makes him turn his head as it barrels through him.

“h’HHRRUSSCHHH!”

Now that he’s seated astride him, Tav can feel the way his body clenches. Halsin has to be three hundred pounds of solid muscle, and each one of them turns to steel as he surrenders himself to the sensation. His chest quivers under Tav’s eager hands as he waits torturously for a second and his other hand reaches around the small of his back, holding the smaller man in place as he--

“uh'Hhh-!...huuh...eh'HUHH’ESSH’SHOO!”

Spray dapples in the sunlight from a break in the canopy of trees above. Tav's almost unseated from the man's lap with that one but certainly has no complaints. He's beaming as Halsin sniffles blearily once more and dips close to kiss at Tav's throat. "Tell the Oak Father I said thanks," Tav murmurs in bliss. That earns him a sharp pinch from Halsin, but thankfully no fewer kisses.

[redroom-rainbowguts]

A Gross Experiment

Word Count: 1950

Tw: Sexual assault, blood, kidnapping, drugs, medical horror, self harm, non con

The blonde haired woman forced her eyes open, drowsiness quickly dissolving into panic as she realized where she was. White pulled up a stool, shifting his weight so the wheeled legs propelled him forward towards her. He glanced up at the woman he’d strapped to a vintage medical table. Though old, most of the mint green bed was in perfect condition, save for some bits near the edges that had cracked to reveal the foam cushion inside.

“You know, you’re pretty lucky,” he said. She squirmed against the leather restraints holding her arms and legs in place. “Most people don’t get any sort of anesthesia. If I wanted to fuck with a compliant subject, I’d just grab someone from the morgue or something, you know? Why go out of my way to rob someone of life if I just wanted to play with a bunch of lifeless organs? The screams, the fighting, the gaze somewhere between rage and despair, that’s what makes it feel like I’m actually doing something. What can I say, it feels good to make a difference.

But you, you my dear, I’ve got plans for you.” White stood up, peeling tape from the woman's head. She winced as layer after layer ripped the hair from her head; he’d been meticulous in wrapping it around not just her mouth but her neck as well to ensure she couldn’t simply work it off with enough moisture and patience. Her lip quivered. 

“W-What are you going to do to me?” She asked. He trailed a finger along the IV connecting her arm to a bag of fluid. He twisted a small clamp at the base free, and the clear liquid dribbled down the thin tube into her vein.

“Assuming my theory is correct, something that’ll feel really, really good.” Too many questions to choose from left her silently incredulous. White smiled. His gloved hand wiped a stray tear from her cheek as he spoke again. “I may have brought you here unwillingly, but I’m not a liar. I’ve been nothing but open with you about my intentions, haven’t I? I’m simply a student studying and working hard to further my own education. Even when we met I said I bet you’d be a fantastic lab partner.” White traced a few of the still healing cuts lining her abdomen- an appetizer he’d selfishly indulged in as she’d slept. “And I was absolutely correct, working with you has been lovely.” 

The woman opened her mouth, but no words came out. Whatever was being fed into her veins was making her limbs feel heavy. No, not just heavy, they didn’t feel at all. A violent tingling washed down her body, leaving pure nothingness in its place. She may as well have been a consciousness capable only of sight and hearing. She managed to squeak out a confused gasp just before the paralytic stole that from her as well. White perked up. 

“Ah, I was wondering how long it would take for the anesthesia to kick in. Like I said, it’s not often I use it, so I wasn’t entirely sure just how long it would take.” He scribbled down a few notes. “I’ve put a lot of work into ensuring what I use is as fast acting as possible, though I have to sacrifice some degree of speed or else it’s far too volatile. I don’t need you dropping dead on me before we’re done, it’d be such a waste!” 

The woman couldn’t decide whether his rambling was making the situation better or worse. It humanized him, somewhat, a bit like when a doctor explains everything going on to a nervous patient. But on the other hand, he had obviously drugged her at some point to kidnap her, and now he was not so much speaking to her as he was speaking at her with the same calm disconnect as a mortician referring to a cadaver.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for bugs. They’re so often misunderstood, and people generally make assumptions about them without putting in any real effort to understand them.” White rifled through a set of medical instruments he kept under the table. Every so often he placed one onto a nearby metal shelf, making clear his enthusiasm whenever fear broke through the anesthesia and caused her breath to hitch.

“Take slugs, for instance. They’ve got no shell to hide in like snails do, but this allows them to hide and squeeze through much smaller spaces, getting away from predators with much more ease than just hiding in a flimsy shell. And their slime, it’s actually so thick and viscous that they could slide over a razor blade without taking any damage, isn’t that cool?” 

She stared at him.

“That’s actually what made me think about this. People create a fluid that smooths over the friction involved in sex. Sure we can stretch, but that can only go so far, especially with an unwilling participant.” He nonchalantly pressed a hand against her bare crotch, pausing for a moment before giving it a few gentle strokes. 

“I just want to know how far that extends. If a pussy can accommodate a dick, then what else can it take? Sure, I could probably just collect a sample, figure out its structural integrity, blah blah blah and call it a day, but-” White pulled a syringe and a little bottle from the shelf, making a show of loading it and flicking away the air bubbles. “-but I’m really more of a hands-on learner.” He finished, sliding the needle into her mons pubis. Within moments the nothingness was replaced with a burning ache localized specifically to the surrounding area of the injection.

White nodded excitedly as her face, though numb, still reddened. “I’m actually really proud of this one. Stumbled across it by accident awhile ago when I was still using myself to experiment on. See?” he interrupted himself. “I’m nothing if not fair. I am more than willing to take the pain I dish out if it’s in the name of science.

Though,” he chuckled sheepishly. “I admit I was a bit too squeamish to do this one. That’s where you came in! I’ve given you a drug that actually coats the veins in a kind of shield that blocks the effects of the anesthetic within a very small area. That way you’ll stay nice and still for me while I, to put it crudely, fuck around and find out.” He laughed at his own dry humor for a moment before placing his hand back into her folds. 

Furrowed, concentrated brows replaced his smile as he rubbed her clit in soft, patient circles. By all accounts it should have been at best ineffective and at worst uncomfortable. The assault, the drugs, the way he tried to eke arousal from her in an unnervingly clinical, mechanical way, nothing about this was anywhere near putting her in the mood. But seeing as her entire sense of touch both started and ended where his fingers danced over her skin, the woman found herself relieved that the paralytic was stopping her from pressing even harder into his hand. She tried to think of something, anything else that would take her out of this moment. As he slipped a finger into her ready opening, she felt guilty wishing he would have added even more. 

“You’re really red, y’know. Feels good, huh.”

Right. This was torture. Bizarre, sure, but that didn’t change the horror of her predicament. Bodies are made to adapt to bad situations, so of course hers was only responding like this until- Fuck. FUCK! White added several fingers, rubbing against her walls as they trailed closer to her g spot. He inched forward before drawing back and deliberately delaying her gratification. He edged her again and again, making her desperation that much more intense. The woman had become so slick that every thrust, no matter the speed, elicited a thick squelch that was impossible to ignore in the otherwise silent room. His gloved hand as well as the table was more than soaked with her musk. She could smell her own arousal and wanted nothing more than for him to, at the very least, take away the rest of her senses too so she could pretend her body wasn’t so desperately into whatever weird ass experiment he was conducting. 

“Hm, I’d say you seem about ready.” 

Ready? Her eyes pleaded with morbid intrigue for him to elaborate, but she quickly wished they hadn’t. He pulled out a gruesome looking tool. It had multiple sharp edges lined up so as to form a cylinder of knives. Without skipping a beat, White took the tool to his own arm, looking her dead in the eyes as he peeled off a thin slice of skin. He winced, but remained cool in his composure.

“Do you like it?” He asked genuinely, waving the flap of skin before flicking it out of the way. Beads of blood lazily formed as his body got the message that it had been injured, but he ignored them and allowed them to dribble down as he spoke. “I wouldn’t say I’m a master welder, but I think this turned out pretty cool!” She felt sick; he couldn’t possibly be planning on- her stomach dropped. White lined up the contraption with her entrance, and carefully he began working it into her. 

Despite everything in her silently screaming in terror, her pussy hungrily clenched around the tool. There were no words to describe the sensation. Despite him remaining slow and gentle in his movements, it felt like the slowest rough fuck of her life. It was simultaneously maddening, and to her dismay, bliss. Her body craved more, harder. From what she could see, there was now blood pouring alongside her arousal. All she could think was this should hurt so much worse. White climbed up onto the table, straddling her. He placed a hand on her still numb chin as he drove the tool deeper inside. 

“There’s one final thing I need you to do for me.” he growled. His hand pistoned steadily, each time pressing right against her g spot. “Cum.” Her desperate pussy more than happily obliged. She throbbed and clenched against the bladed dildo. Each edge sank deeper and deeper into her walls as she rode each wave of euphoria the orgasm forced upon her.

The pleasure dissipated far quicker than it had built up. No sooner had she begun piecing her consciousness back together than when the reality of the situation was finally able to reach the rational part of her brain. It didn’t just hurt, it was agony. The woman’s lower body seized into what felt like the worst cramp of her life. The world began to spin, and she gazed lazily at the blood now covering her legs, the table, White, and a fair portion of the cement floor as well.

“Hey now, finally had enough?” White stroked her face which was now covered in both tears and her own blood. “You did a great job! I’ve never gotten this far into the experiment before a subject gave up on me! I’ll clean you up after I finish writing down my findings, okay? And then if you wake up again, I’ll make this up to you, I promise! I’ll share what conclusions we can draw, and we can-”

The woman’s hearing faded, and her vision followed soon after. With a sick sense of hopelessness, all she could think was I hope I lost enough to kill me. Not only to escape the living Hell White had thrown her into, but to avoid seeing him follow through on his promise.

[duckymcdoorknob]

Well hey gang.

This one’s purely self indulgent, but I made it universal for everyone.

Tw below for mentions of alcohol and intoxication

He spent every Friday evening in the same way: getting absolutely plastered at the Angel’s Share. His favorite guilty pleasure, his most adored kryptonite… Dandelion Wine. Walking through the doors of the tavern, the familiar face takes a seat in his usual spot, beaming a smile at the bartender.

“Happy Friday, presuming the usual?” The red-haired male asked.

“You know me well, Master Diluc.” The customer replied.

Shortly after the interaction, placed before him was a tiny barrel of the familiar substance. The honey-colored beverage was rippling around the small vessel, trying to settle after being sloshed around.

The bard picked up the mug and brought it up to his lips with a satisfied smile. He closed his eyes, taking in the scent of his most favored weakness. With one hand on the bottom to support it, and one hand on the side, he began to tilt it back.

Before he could even take in one sip, Venti’s eyes opened with a sudden urgency, his grip faltered in the slightest bit. He thought he was in line for his usual Friday. He expected the all-too-familiar burning feeling of the beverage sliding harshly down his throat. The first one was always the worst, its burn undeniable.

But, he didn’t get to feel it.

Instead, he heard something…

Before even considering putting the mug back up to his lips, the small chalice slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. The lover of Dandelion Wine… dropping a full mug onto the floor? He remained on the barstool, heartbreak evident in his eyes as he stared into nothingness.

What had he heard once more?

“Hey, man! What the hell-“

Before the tavern’s owner could finish his sentence, the bard was scrambling off of his stool, demanding urgently for Diluc to “put it on his tab.” He rushed outside of the bar and broke into a full sprint, ignoring the calls of his friend. The red-haired male could only catch up when the Bard’s feet failed him and he smacked into the ground.

“Venti, Venti, slow down. What’s going on?” Diluc’s eyes met with Venti’s, both pairs shining with fear and concern. He held out both hands for the green-clad male to take, helping him up when the bard had done so.

“Someone needs me.” He replied breathlessly, squeezing his friend’s hands before taking off in a sprint once more. “Please don’t follow me!” He called.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard the cause of the sound sooner. If he had just paid attention, he could’ve stopped this. Venti shook the angry thoughts out of his head as he continued to run. His body ached, legs were burning worse than the wine would have, feet pounding against the rugged brick road.

But he couldn’t feel it. His mind was dizzy with concern as his footfalls suddenly grew silent, for the bard had focused his hearing on the wind. He could still hear it, and it absolutely shattered him.

So, he ran.

Out of the gates of the city, past the multiple hilichurl camps, up hills and down cliffs, across ponds and around rivers, until finally reaching Windrise. He approached the tree, slowing down and settling his breathing down. Refocusing his hearing to the world around him, Venti was not surprised to still hear what he had in the wind.

He knew that it wasn’t just his imagination…

The choke of a person hiding their tears, then a fit of painful breathless sobs as all of their hurt had come to the surface.

The bard rushed around to where the statue of Barbatos was, trying to follow the source of the pained person. That’s when his eyes fixed upon you. You were curled up, seated on the stoop beneath the delicately carved statue. You were in absolute stitches, sobs suffocating you as you failed to get in any decent breaths.

“Oh, my dear.” He murmured as he rushed to kneel by your side, “I’m here for you, my child. How can I help you?”

Unable to reply, you only held your hand out for the stranger to hold. You were embarrassed to be seeking comfort in a total stranger, so you tried to turn your head and hide in shame.

However, you were surprised to feel the lightest, feathery, touch upon your hand. The stranger interwound your fingers and rubbed the base of your thumb with his own.

While one hand was interlocked with yours, the other came up to place on your shoulder, a clear request to hold you close. You nodded, trying to calm yourself. You felt the stranger sit behind you, resting you between his legs and holding you close with his free hand. His back was supported by resting along the statue.

The moment lasted for quite some time. To try and bring you back to a more grounded mindset, the bard whispered reassurances into your ear, and also told you his stories.

“My name is Venti. I’m the world’s greatest bard, and one of Mondstat’s most beloved citizens. I usually listen for the melodies in the wind while I’m at my leisure, so you can imagine my concern when I heard you expressing such pain and heartache.”

You cuddled up closer to Venti, leaning into him and smelling the faint aroma of dandelions. “M-my name… is (Y/N).” You managed to whimper as your crying began to slowly falter.

“Nothing will harm you anymore, my dearest (Y/N).” The bard whispered, resting his forehead on the small of your back, “Not while I’m around.”

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[thejamesoldier]

Every Tomorrow

AO3 Link

a/n: Did I write this fic bc I slammed face first back into the inuyasha fandom after the premiere of yashahime? Absolutely. Did I write this fic so I could get those g o o d domestic inukag feels? Absolutely. Did I write this fic as a way to come to terms with the fact that one of my first crushes as a kid happened to be an animated dog man? Absolutely. Enjoy yall xxx

(this goregous gif isn’t mine!) 

rating: explicit 

pairing: inuyasha x kagome

tags: protective inuyasha, jealous inuyasha, emotionally constipated inuyasha, honestly whats new, youkai mates, soulmates, youkai culture, mate bonds, mate rituals, touch-starved inuyasha, shippo is kagome’s son dont talk to me, mirsan as parents, sesshoumaru is still kinda a prick but we like him now, angst and smut and fluff, domestic bliss, srsly this shit is so soft i should be arrested, non-canon compliant with yashahime, shit ton of inukag being cute tbh

summary: 'Kagome smiles through tears of insurmountable joy as a shadow passes over her. She tilts her head back and finds a familiar silhouette bending over the ledge of the well. The figure is still for a moment, as if frozen in utter disbelief, before a clawed hand reaches down to her and with a shuttering exhale, Kagome takes it. Inuyasha hauls her up into the light and suddenly, he's in front of her -- he's real. His silver hair, his ears, his red haori, those eyes of molten gold that stare up at her with nothing less than his very soul bared for her to see. Kagome observes such belonging in him, such love, and it completes her.'

or

my excuse to write some indulgent domestic inukag and explore their happy ending

Chapter 1 - mizpah 

The day is grey.

Clouds rumble low and thick over the skyline, swallowing the tops of buildings in the distance and casting deep shadows across the shrine grounds. Kagome is supposed to go out today, a few friends asked her to grab lunch at some new bistro that's opened up near campus. She'd been contemplating how to work the impending downpour into an excuse to stay home, never really having the energy for much these days. Parsing out when to expend the limited energy she did have had become a constant chore since being cut off from --

A familiar pain twangs through her chest, the ache almost welcome. It's all she has left of him.

Maybe it's the rain, maybe its the gloom of the day pulling out the worst of her longing, but regardless she finds herself pushing silently out of her room, walking downstairs, slipping outside, and standing before the closed doors of the Bone Eater's well. Drawn back once again to what was stolen from her. Kagome had promised herself she'd stop doing this, stop torturing herself -- stop giving in to the inexplicable sorrow of living a life without him. But just like the other times, the temptation to let the true weight of her loss pour into the gaping hole in her soul and fill her to the brim, make her so heavy with it that she's brought to her knees, is a poison she's unable to resist. She does this more regularly than she knows is healthy, but its the only way Kagome feels whole anymore. If she's not drowning in loss then she's empty, and Kagome isn't sure which is worse. Without a word she shoulders the doors open and descends the rotting stairs.

The familiar musty smell of earth and something not quite alive but not quite dead hits her. Kagome's eyes water at the memories the scent yields. Before she can stop herself her fingers come up to caress the splintering lip of the ancient well. It feels...empty, same as it always does when she comes in here. The sensation is akin to a sense of hollowness, that the shaft of negative space that runs down the well's center is truly all that's left of the magic that used to come alive for her. A silent sob wrenches down her throat, rendering her vulnerable to the torrent of emotion that swells in her. She let's each gasping breath tear her open, tear out all that's left of her. A sick relief floods her as the sorrow emerges fully and, as always, she crumbles to her knees under the burden of it.

Inuyasha...

Just saying his name, even in the privacy of her own mind, tares something vital out of Kagome's core. She hopes he knows, hopes that despite it all he knows that she is still his in every way a person could be. Disassembled and broken as she is, Kagome offers her anguish to the well praying that if it wouldn't return her to him, then it could at least take her devotion instead.

Carry it to him, remind him he's loved...

For a moment she considers descending the well and curling up at the bottom of it, willing her feelings to reach him, but the thought of her mother finding her like that again...she couldn't bare it. Her mom had been so heartbroken, so overwhelmed with worry when she found Kagome lying at the bottom of the well, cheek pressed to the dirt and eyes seeping tears that wouldn't stop. She wouldn't do that to her again. With that thought Kagome tries to rally herself, to yank her heart away from the addicting agony of missing him and prepares to push her mind into the nothingness she utilizes to numb the pain. She had allowed herself this much and it had to be enough for now, anymore and she'd send herself into a deeply harmful depressive state.

Kagome closes her eyes and uses the well to help heave herself to stand, movements slow and body sore, feeling like her limbs are made of lead. Before she turns to leave, Kagome grips the well as fiercely as she can with both hands. A feeling of intensity overtakes her in that moment and she's unable to think of anything but:

Inuyasha, Kagome declares to the emptiness of the well, I want to see you.

What happens next astounds her. Fate smiles in glee as -- finally -- the threads of time align and pull taught. A gentle breeze smelling of sunshine and wildflowers drifts up to Kagome, it's warm fingers brushing tenderly through the hair that hangs in her face. Kagome's eyes open with an audible gasp. Her heart blossoms because there, lying at the bottom of the well, is a cerulean sky -- a few wispy clouds floating lazily by. The sound of birds singing echoes up to her and suddenly, the Bone Eater's well bursts to life. Kagome is embraced by the energy of the well like an old friend as it resurrects in silent sparkling splendor around her. It soaks into her skin, her soul, filling her with hope instead of sorrow. It's pure life, and it beckons to her with such surety that it breaks Kagome's heart.

"Kagome?"

Her mother's voice forces a sharp exhale out of Kagome, she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Kagome can't look away from the impossible sky below her though, she's frozen in shock and wrestles with the possibility that this isn't a dream. She's had so many that happened just like this. Kagome...Kagome doesn't dare to hope...

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Higurashi asks as she makes her way down the stairs and comes to a stop behind Kagome, concern strangling the usual softness of her tone into an unsure waver.

"Mom," Is all Kagome is capable of saying, and it comes out in a hoarse terrified whisper.

Kagome hears her mother give a small gasp of disbelief, before Mrs. Higurashi steps up close beside her daughter and peers down the well too.

"The sky," Kagome hushes, still unable to fully accept what's happening but slowly becoming afraid that this will all be ripped from her. Again.  

A gentle hand wraps around her shoulders and pulls Kagome back from the ledge. Kagome lets her mother do this, lets herself lean into her mother's warmth in the face of all this crushing possibility.

"Mom I," Are the shaky words Kagome tries to preface her departure with, not sure what to even say -- lost in how she's meant to articulate the avalanche of emotion she's feeling. Because even if this is a dream she can't bare to wait any longer, she needs to know if...if maybe the well heard her and is by some miracle answering her prayers.

Mrs. Higurashi turns Kagome around to face her, hands soft as they frame her daughter's shoulders.

"Kagome," Her mother says her name and it holds all the world in it, Kagome looks up and is immediately swept away by the love in her mom's eyes. Mrs. Higurashi smiles at her then -- kind eyes closing on tears that are beginning to fall, and Kagome nearly collapses, "I understand."  

With a sob Kagome embraces her mother for the last time.

"Tell Sota and Grandpa that I love them," Kagome murmurs in a rush.

Her mother only squeezes her tighter and nods. They shake in each other's arms for another breath before both pulling away.

"I am so proud of you Kagome," Mrs. Higurashi says, voice trembling with emotion but warm, always so warm.

"I love you Mama," Kagome responds as tears begin to swell in her eyes.

"Give this to him for me," Her mother requests as she takes Kagome's face in her hands, and leans in close to press a searing kiss to her forehead.

"Oh Mama," Kagome weeps as her mother's love wraps around her heart and fills her with a kind of joy she hasn't felt in years.  

Mrs. Higurashi leans back a little and uses her thumbs to wipe the wetness off of Kagome's cheeks.

"Tell him that I love him, that I've always seen him as a son, and that I am proud to have him be apart of our family."

Kagome deteriorates into a watery mess as the sentiments her mother just shared wash over her. Wordlessly, Mrs. Higurashi helps her daughter climb up onto the lip of the well before they simply stare for a moment, taking each other in one more time. Then her mother bestows her one last parting gift.

"Live Kagome," Her mom hushes, fierce happiness triumphant in her voice, as she releases her daughter's hands and watches as she turns to leap down the well, body disappearing from sight moments later.

Goodbye Mama, Kagome calls back as she sinks into time.

Kagome relishes the sensations traveling through the well give her -- a fierce nostalgia gripping her chest at the bursts of cobalt light, the galactic vastness watching her fall past, the light at the bottom of the well welcoming her home...

When she lands on solid ground a part of her fears so intensely that she's still in her time, that she refuses to open her eyes. What if she were to look up and see her mother staring down at her? Kagome hesitates for a moment, eyes closed, standing so still, terrified that this isn't real, and then something throbs in her chest --

She feels him, feels his youki hurtling towards her and suddenly, Kagome is no longer afraid.

Inuyasha!

Kagome opens her eyes and squints at the sky above her, the breeze she felt earlier encouraging her towards her future. She makes it about three fourths of the way up the well when she hears him. The pounding of his feet against the earth as he races closer, his aura a brilliant thriving thing that feels like the sun against her skin. Kagome smiles through tears of insurmountable joy as a shadow passes over her. She tilts her head back and finds a familiar silhouette bending over the ledge of the well. The figure is still for a moment, as if frozen in utter disbelief, before a clawed hand reaches down to her and with a shuttering exhale, Kagome takes it. Inuyasha hauls her up into the light and suddenly, he's in front of her -- he's real. His silver hair, his ears, his red haori, those eyes of molten gold that stare up at her with nothing less than his very soul bared for her to see. Kagome observes such belonging in him, such love, and it completes her.

"Inuyasha," She says his name, says it just for him, and he inhales, "I'm so sorry, were you waiting here for me?"

Inuyasha's expression shifts and Kagome gasps softly at the chaos he's trying to contain, but then he says her name. Says it just for her.

"Kagome."

A wet laugh escapes her lips at the sound of his voice, at how she used to long to hear him say her name, just like that.

"Inuyasha," Kagome murmurs again just because she can as her fingers play with the ends of his forelocks, eyes jumping all over his face trying to take in every part of him at once.

Unable to help herself, Kagome wraps both arms around his neck, relishing in the feel of his hair threading through her fingers, and presses her lips to his with a sigh. Inuyasha remains still for a moment, like his brain is one beat behind, before he clutches her to him so hard her lungs squeeze in her chest. Kagome doesn't care, in fact she doesn't feel like they're close enough. She wants to crawl her way into him and stay there forever, never to be separated again. The kiss feels like coming home, and it makes the part of her that sat empty for the past three years steadily fill. Inuyasha's lips are slightly chapped, she notes, and he kisses her like she's the only kind of devastation he'd willingly submit to. Impossibly, her love for him deepens further. Kagome pulls back with a gasp, trying to catch her breath as Inuyasha carefully sets her down on the ground, their lips brushing while the two of them tremble in the wake of such sweeping passion.

"Kagome," Inuyasha whispers her name again, like its the only word he knows, and dives back down to reclaim her lips.

She lets a soft noise shake loose from her chest when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his claws snagging on the material of her cardigan as he holds her close. Kagome feels a fang nip at her lower lip and, smiling into the kiss, she happily opens up for him. When their tongues meet, Inuyasha's hands raise to cup both sides of her jaw, mindful of his claws near such delicate skin. With something between a groan and a growl, he breaks their kiss to turn her head to the side, smoothing one reverent hand down the exposed length of her neck. Her heart beat picks up when in one long inhale, Inuyasha traces his nose in a steady line from her collarbone up to the patch of skin just below her ear. He makes a tender noise then, nearly a whine, and without preamble presses his face firmly into the arch of her neck, taking deep unhurried breaths through his nose. Kagome leaves one hand wrapped around the bulk of his shoulders, but brings the other one up to hold the back of his head in place against her. One of his ears flicks against her cheek and in a moment of raw delight, a giggle bubbles up from her throat as does a fresh wave of tears. Inuyasha flattens the offending ear against his skull but Kagome remains undeterred and drops a sweet kiss on to the delicate appendage, the soft fur tickling her lips a little. She holds him even closer as he melts against her at the intimate display of affection.

Oh kami she'd missed him so much.  

"Kagome!"

It takes a second for the two of them to come back down to earth, but the call of Shippo's voice encourages Kagome to turn towards the sound of approaching footsteps. Inuyasha makes a firm noise against the skin of her neck -- a warning, like he wasn't ready to let her go yet. He tenses when she ignores him and stiffens even further as Shippo continues to barrel closer. In the span of a heartbeat Inuyasha has Kagome behind him and lets a true growl rip from his throat. Kagome startles against his back, realizing belatedly that he'd just threatened Shippo.

--

"Inuyasha?" Kagome's words come out sounding like an odd mix of admonishment and worry.

Shippo looks genuinely shocked at being challenged with such a territorial threat display, having slid to an abrupt halt at Inuyasha's feet. Inuyasha comes back to himself after a few beats, brain catching up with his instincts, and his aggression falters.

"Slowly," Inuyasha grinds out as he steps to the side to allow Kagome to come forward, working furiously to relax his muscles.

Respecting Inuyasha's warning, Shippo moves very carefully towards Kagome, though he only manages to take two steps before Kagome is crashing to her knees and hauling him into her arms.

"Shippo!" She cries and Shippo immediately starts bawling.

The young kitsune grabs tuffs of her hair in his tiny fists and smashes his face into her neck, repeating her name over and over again unable to help himself. Inuyasha stiffens again at this, but grits his teeth against the instinct to tear the runt clean out of Kagome's arms. She wouldn't like that, and honestly neither would Inuyasha, he knows how much Kagome means to Shippo.

What's wrong with me?

"You, you made it back!" Sango bursts as her and Miroku catch up and come to a stop a few feet in front of them, kids in tow.

"It's been much too long Kagome!" Miroku calls in absolute astonishment.

"Miroku, Sango!" Kagome all but weeps as she rises from the ground, Shippo still held tight in her arms, and rushes to embrace them.

Inuyasha feels that angry tug in his gut again at the idea of so many scents polluting Kagome's skin so soon after getting her back, but the larger part of him can only smile as he watches his woman hug Sango then Miroku -- mindful of the kids in their arms and murmuring little 'hello's to them as well. He can smell the depth of their rapture as they all rejoice Kagome's return. It puts Inuyasha's heart into a state of profound contentment, and he realizes then that he's never felt this way before. Who knew anticipation could be a good feeling? Because damn was he ready to experience every single tomorrow with Kagome by his side.

--

The rest of the afternoon is spent celebrating. Kagome reunites with Kaede, the elder priestess nearly speechless with elation at seeing Kagome push aside the noren of her hut. To Kagome's surprise Rin is also there, the young girl delighted by Kagome's return as well, and hadn't hesitated to gush about how lonely Inuyasha was without her. Inuyasha had only shrugged at this, not denying it but still sent a betrayed glare Rin's way as color rose high on his cheeks. Kagome is welcomed back by the people of the village too, townsfolk she'd gotten to know during her time collecting jewel shards being especially pleased to see her, though they knew not where she'd gone. Kagome and Inuyasha stuck to each other like glue through it all, unwilling to part for even a moment. No one blamed them.

At one point Kagome started to panic because she had to pee of all things, and the thought of loosing sight of her hanyou if only for a minute terrified her. The fear that this was a dream kept gnawing at her, and the possibility that this could all be taken away at any moment made Kagome feel physically ill. She'd held it in as long as she could before walking nearly knock-kneed to relieve herself. It turned out Kagome needn't have worried at all because without a word Inuyasha had followed her, giving her true privacy for only as long as it took to empty her bladder before he was within her sights again. Kagome had blushed furiously when it occurred to her that him being so close while she used the bathroom probably meant that he could...smell it. When she tried to shoo him away he only stared at her, firmly shaking his head no once, and waited. After Kagome had finished she'd made her way back over to Inuyasha, feeling incredibly sheepish about the whole situation. The moment she was close enough though he'd pulled her into a desperate hug and whispered,

"Please bare with me Kagome, I-I can't..." He'd trailed off but Kagome was already hugging him back, refusing to let go. She understood.

They shared a grand feast with Sango and Miroku that evening, Kagome using the time to properly acquaint herself with their children. Shippo sat in her lap for most of the meal, and its as she stared at her friends -- her family, that Kagome realized that she'd been given something truly precious and everything in her vowed to never let it go. This was more than she could have ever hoped for, and the fear that this was temporary strangled her multiple times throughout the reunion. But Inuyasha was always right there beside her, and having him close ended up being the only way to ease the worst of her anxiety. After everyone finished their food and caught up on each other's lives as much as they could in one sitting (the serious questions being left for tomorrow), the pair said their goodbyes for the night. Shippo had fought to retire with Inuyasha and Kagome, but was stilled by Miroku's hand on his small shoulder. Kagome embraced Shippo before delivering a soft peck to his cheek, letting him nuzzle back for a beat or two more before promising to come back first thing in the morning.

Now Kagome and her hanyou are getting settled in a hut the villagers had built for Inuyasha that's set on the outskirts of the village. It's quite obvious to Kagome from the state of the place that Inuyasha hardly uses it, though she knows how lonely he gets by himself and she figures he probably spends most of his time with Sango and Miroku who live more centrally to the village. Inuyasha's hut is mounted at the peak of a sloping hill, the tallest in the surrounding area besides the shrine itself. At first she wondered if the villagers meant to ostracize Inuyasha by putting his hut so far from everyone else's, but as they reach the hill's zenith, she realizes it isn't a sign of disrespect but quite the opposite. The vista from his home has views of the entire village and even overlooks a decent portion of the forest. On the opposite side of the hut, miles of stunning countryside sprawls under the hazy light of the setting sun all the way to the horizon. Inuyasha would be able to spot danger days before it arrived, or gain minutes to whole hours of advantage if the threat was a youkai. The villagers aren't keeping him at a distance, they're treating him like their Lord, giving him the highest ground, the most control over the land -- trusting that he will use it to protect them. It makes Kagome's heart clench with raging pride.

"It's beautiful," Kagome finds herself murmuring as they stand side by side overlooking the village together, the wind shifting their hair about their shoulders.

"Yeah," Inuyasha says, sounding distracted.

His tone makes Kagome shift her gaze over to him but she finds that he's already staring at her. Before he would have turned away with a blush and started spouting some blistering nonsense in order to cover up the fact that he'd been caught, but now he lets himself look. It makes something in Kagome's lower stomach go tight. They take each other in for what feels like a bracketed infinity, the moment sacred somehow, and neither of them are willing to break it. Inuyasha takes a step closer and reaches his clawed hands down to gently collect her smaller ones. He brings her hands up to his chest, cradling them there, not once looking away from Kagome's eyes.

"I promise I'll protect you with my life." Inuyasha declares, his voice low and quiet and meant only for her.

Kagome takes an uneven inhale and her heart skips a beat as she realizes he's repeating the same vow he gave to her in her room the night her family was away at the hot springs all those years ago. It hits her then how utterly hers Inuyasha is, how devoted to her he was in the past and how he has remained that way since. It's his way of telling her nothing has changed. Inuyasha watches this epiphany play out on Kagome's face and his expression softens around the steadiness of his gaze.

"I will allow nothing to take you from me again, and I will never leave your side."

Shuddering in the wake of his oath, Kagome shuffles closer to him and finally says what she's always regretted never telling him directly.  

"I love you Inuyasha," She watches as his pupils drag wide at her confession, "You will always have me, and I will happily spend the rest of my life with you to prove that."

Inuyasha slowly lowers his head until their foreheads touch through the hair of their bangs, his eyes closing as he takes a deep breath in through his nose. Kagome feels a wave of peace come over her then that she finds she's quite content to drown in. She stays like that with him for another moment before pulling away just enough to catch his eye.

"My mother," Kagome hushes and Inuyasha instantly stills, "She asked me to give this to you."

Exactly as her mom did, Kagome extracts her hands from Inuyasha's and reaches for his face, fingers tender as they slide against the warm skin of his jaw. Panic flits across Inuyasha's features then, startled at being handled like he was something precious, and realizing he's horrifically unprepared for whatever is about to come next. Kagome's smile is nothing but fond as she tilts his head down enough so that she's able to lean in and deliver her mother's kiss to his forehead. Inuyasha's hands come up to wrap around her forearms, not to move her away but, Kagome suspects, just to have something to hold on to. His ears flatten under the gravity of the gesture. Kagome closes her eyes and remains there for another beat, before pulling away and lifting his face back up only to touch the tip of her nose to his.

"She also wanted me to tell you that she loves you," She murmurs.

Inuyasha releases a wet sounding exhale and attempts to move away -- overwhelmed by the rawness of all of this, but Kagome holds his face firm and presses on, wanting desperately for him to hear the rest because he deserves to know.

"She said she has always seen you as a son, and is proud to consider you family."

"Kagome," Inuyasha begs, his voice a wobbling mess as he nuzzles closer in defeat, unable to stand the depth of Mrs. Higurashi's gift to him.

After a long moment of them just breathing, he shifts his head and quietly slots their lips together. He releases his grip on her forearms so he can snake his arms around her middle, hands wrapping as far across her back as possible, before pulling her flush against him. Inuyasha keeps the kiss chaste -- utterly humbled. Kagome can only imagine what this must mean to him, and she hazards her mother must have known too.

They stay joined under the warm evening sky as the stars begin to shine through dusk's heavy golden canopy. The sun finally sinks all the way under the horizon, having delayed itself in order to cast as much light as possible onto the pair standing atop the hill -- presenting fate's masterful work to the heavens. A sudden gust of wind picks up around them, and it causes the two to sway a little. Hands clutching tight, lips molding softly, and hair floating around their heads as if submerged in deep water, they know nothing in that moment except each other.

Somewhere far beyond this world, a priestess -- no, an ordinary woman, looks down on Inuyasha and Kagome and smiles.

--

Kagome arranges the light summer quilt Sango lent her over the futon set in the back corner of Inuyasha's hut. She would have to do something (many somethings) in order to make this place livable. A shy glee erupts in her chest at the thought of decorating it, organizing a home for both her and Inuyasha to live in felt surreal to consider even in her own head. She used to daydream about this kind of thing, the fact that she finally gets to fulfill her fantasy -- that it's her life now, takes her breath away.

"Inuyasha?" She calls once she's finished fussing with the quilt, folding one corner down, ready to get into bed.

The hut is dark, the night outside is still, and the fireplace remains unlit so they don't overheat. Kagome tries to swallow the fear cloying up her throat. Ever since she spent a small eternity trapped in endless darkness with the Jewel of Four Souls, she finds she can no longer stand to be alone in the dark. Back in her time, it had to be either her mom, Sota, or Buyo sleeping beside her each night or she wouldn't be able to get any rest at best, and at worst she would descend into an anxiety attack. It wasn't until her grandfather had suggested installing a night light that she was finally able to brave the long nights alone, though she still prefers to have a warm body to cuddle. It was in moments like those that she'd longed for Shippo the most. Once she'd been able to sleep on her own she had the nightmares to contend with, and those always left her feeling as close to true panic as she'd felt when facing Naraku. There are no night lights in the Feudal Era, but Kagome figures she'll be okay as long as she has Inuyasha with her.

"Inuyasha?" Kagome says again, this time unable to keep the quiver of fear out of her voice.

In an instant she feels a rush of air hit her as he drops to a crouch beside her, like he'd bolted to her from across the room.

"Kagome? What's wrong?"

She melts into him and he accepts her weight against his chest easily, strong arms shifting forward to box her in.

"Where were you?" Kagome hopes she doesn't sound as small as she feels.

Inuyasha stills against her for a beat before wrapping his arms around her completely, securing her in his embrace. Kagome accepts this improvement with a grateful sigh.

"Just checking the window." He pauses, then very carefully, asks, "Is...are you alright?"

He sounds worried, crap.

Kagome feels a stab of guilt for freaking him out.

"I'm fine," Kagome assures quickly, "Just, um, I-I'm ready for bed."

Cringing internally, Kagome wonders if that was convincing enough. With that sharp nose of his, she hopes he doesn't pick up on her lingering (but quickly diminishing) fear. How on earth could she convince him to sleep on the futon with her? Surely he won't object? Not after everything that happened between them today?

"Okay, well, I'll uh see you in the morning then," Inuyasha stutters as he begins to untangle himself from her and pull away --

Kagome's panic skyrockets, and before she can say or do anything, Inuyasha must smell the spike in her fear because he immediately winds himself back around her body.

"Woah hey," He hushes, becoming even more alarmed as Kagome all but crawls into his lap.

"I-I can't be alone, at night," Kagome struggles to explain as she takes shelter in his renewed embrace, "The darkness it --,"

She cuts herself off when she feels Inuyasha pillow his cheek against the soft hair at the top of her head.

"I'll hold you till you fall asleep then," He promises in a soft voice, as soft as she's ever heard him speak.

She can feel his words vibrate through his chest, and it calms her nerves some. Kagome wants to argue, wants to push for more -- sleep beside me, hold me all night -- but she doesn't. He doesn't seem to want that, even after promising her he'd never leave her side. Kagome's anxiety gets the better of her and it seals her lips shut. She settles in the circle of his arms and is resolved to be satisfied with this, at least for now, knowing she's much too shaken to negotiate with him tonight. Kagome knows without a shadow of a doubt that she'll wake up the moment he sets her down on the futon, but she doesn't tell him that. Hopefully she can fake being asleep well enough to fool his hanyou senses, and hopefully the knowledge that he's nearby will be enough to stop her from having a full blown episode. If she can hang on till the early hours of the morning, maybe the fragile rays of first light will be enough to cling to. Kagome can admit to herself that she won't be able to maintain this routine for long, but she hopes it lasts until she's plucked up the courage to ask Inuyasha, point blank and without room for misinterpretation, to share her bed.

--

Inuyasha knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, no way would he risk making Kagome vulnerable to any kind of attack so soon after getting her back. His instincts wouldn't have allowed for any other course of action, and on this front Inuyasha is in rare agreement with his youkai half. But he doesn't expect Kagome to share the same determination. He'd panicked earlier when he smelled how fast and how sharply her fear had spiked. Inuyasha vowed to himself at that moment to never allow her to feel that way in his presence again, not if he could help it. She had held on to him so fiercely, and still is even after hours of being in the safety of his arms. Its like she's afraid he'll leave again. This knowledge makes something in his chest shatter and his gut ache. Unable to stop himself, he rubs his cheek where it rests against the top of her head and takes a deep inhale, letting her scent soothe him. Each time he hears her heartbeat slow and she starts to drift off, he waits a few minutes before trying to lay her down on the futon. Without fail though she's yanked back from sleep every time, as if his touch is vital in order for her to rest. A part of him relishes in this level of dependency on him, his youkai half preening at the fact that his mate --

Inuyasha grunts and stands, unwilling to entertain any thoughts about that, and makes his way swiftly out of the hut and into the mild night. He's careful not to jostle Kagome in his arms too much as he lowers into a measured crouch, and launches himself into the air towards the roof. Landing effortlessly on the balls of his feet, Inuyasha pauses as Kagome sighs in her sleep and twists her fists tighter into the material of his han-juban. Inuyasha blushes to himself thinking about how he had all but tripped out of the hut earlier when Kagome started changing out of her day clothes and into a yukata Sango had lent her in front of him.

With a firm shake of his head he banishes that particular train of thought from his mind, and lowers himself down to sit on the angled roof. After a minute of cautious shifting, he gives up and lies flat on his back, arranging Kagome's sleep-pliant body so she's tucked snuggly between his arm and his side. He tells himself this is different than sleeping on the futon with her, that this isn't breaking any 'rules of propriety' Kagome used to always yell at him about.

Screw it, he thinks, if I get sat for this in the morning it will have been worth it.

Inuyasha tries not to think about how much he sounded like Miroku just now, and grumbles under his breath about stupid delinquent monks and confusing female sensibilities.  

The stars are a dizzying pattern above him, the moon is a sliver in the sky, and Kagome is curled safely into his side with her cheek squished against his chest while one of her leanly muscled arms has thrown itself securely across his waist -- Inuyasha couldn't feel more at peace if he tried. Everything is as it should be. He hasn't felt rightness like this since...well, since Kagome left three years ago. A cool evening breeze floats over them then, shooing away the insistent press of the summer heat, and kisses their temples before moving on. Inuyasha lazily picks apart the different scents the wind carried -- sap from the trees in the forest, ash from the chimneys in the village, wet earth from the banks of the nearby river...he lets it all wash over him, one sensation at a time. He remembers Kagome caught him doing this once years ago, and when she'd asked him about it he'd told her it was kind of like how humans count sheep when trying to fall asleep. A self-soothing exercise is what she concluded it was similar too. Inuyasha didn't elaborate that the habit was an old one he'd developed during his childhood. Back when he was too weak to fight any of the youkai that hunted him, he'd find somewhere to hide and rock himself in time with his breaths, carefully combing through the scents in the air until he was sure the threat had passed. There had been a brief pause before Kagome asked what he could smell, no judgment or disgust, just innocent curiosity and a hint of fascination simmering in the umber of her eyes. No one had ever asked him about his sense of smell like that before. Inuyasha's heart had clenched in his chest, and it does so now as the memory unfolds before him only this time without the promise of pain. Reliving cherished moments of his time with Kagome used to only bring him anguish, but now...

Inuyasha turns his face into Kagome's hairline that's level with his nose, flares his nostrils, and proceeds to take a sleepy inhale. Her scent shoots straight up into his head and a sensation that feels bizarrely like dizziness makes his skull feel light, and his mind feel like its floating. Inuyasha attempts to turn away once the moment passes, but his body refuses to comply. Instead, before he really knows what he's doing, Inuyasha finds himself nosing down her forehead, over the bridge of her nose, past her slightly parted lips, and under her jaw. Kagome mutters something unintelligible in her sleep in response to all of his tender nudging (Inuyasha resolutely ignores the way it makes all of his insides go soft), but ultimately allows her chin to be directed up, exposing her neck to him. Something in Inuyasha flares hot at the action, and he's instantly compelled to guide his nose into the notch of skin between her neck and her jaw. This is what he'd been searching for.

Safe, something inhuman in his head rumbles, only here is safe.

Inuyasha couldn't agree more, Kagome had always been ineffable to him. He had known Kagome by her scent before he'd known her by her features, it's what first caught his attention when Kikyo's spell keeping him pinned to Goshinboku started to falter. Inuyasha hadn't realized it then, but he'd belonged to Kagome the moment she'd told him her name. Inuyasha smiles like a complete love-struck idiot as he remembers the way she had puffed out her chest and demanded that he say her name right.

Ka - Go - Me!

He allows himself to continue grinning like a fool against the skin of her neck because no one's around to mock him for it, and because it feels good to be happy. He's happy --

"Inuyasha..." Kagome suddenly hums, his name on her lips the sweetest thing he'll ever hear.

Inuyasha pulls his face back just far enough to take in her expression, and something glorious surges in him when he finds that she's smiling in her sleep.

--

Phew that was hella soft lol, lemme know what you thought down in the comments below if you'd like! I embellished certain moments a little bit to make them more dramatic bc i couldn't help myself, i hope you didn't mind! Tbh it felt so good to write inukag, like im not gonna lie, I grew up watching the show and it feels a little like coming home to get into these characters' heads. Ok I'm gonna go continue my re-watch of the show now xxx

Masterlist

[stareyedplanet]

Birthday Surprises [p.p.]

•••••••••••••••••

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!reader Summary: Peter takes time from saving New York to spend time with you on your birthday, and he’s got a few surprises up his sleeve to make the day truly special. Notes: this is a very self - indulgent fic considering it is my birthday today, so seriously, do not come at me. you have been warned. even still there are like no descriptors. i think i mentioned he runs his fingers through her hair? maybe she blushes? i honestly can’t remember. i don’t really reread and edit soooo… and he picks out her outfit if that ruins your creative ability idk. people be weird sometimes. anywho, any feedback is appreciated other than the stuff i mentioned. Warnings: pure fluff, maybe a kiss or two Word Count: 2,348 ••••••••••••••••• You had never really been one to celebrate your birthday in the past. When you were younger you had a few parties, but as you got older birthday plans just seemed to fizzle out into nothingness. It always made you a little sad, but that was probably because the last birthday party you had you ended up sobbing at. Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t have a birthday party after that. You didn’t have very high expectations for the day, since to you it was just another day and another year. Your life wasn’t going to dramatically change because you were a year older. Really you just thought that maybe you would see Peter in between his patrols, and you’d put a candle on the little cupcake you got yourself. But Peter Parker had other plans.

He knew that you never really celebrated, but he wanted to make the day special for you. To him, you deserved one special day dedicated to you — really you deserved every day to be special and dedicated to you.

He couldn’t be more thankful for such a perfect and patient girlfriend. You never complained when he canceled on a date, or when he went on patrol so long you only got to see him a few minutes. Any time he ever had a cut or a bruise, you would sit him down and patch him up, always putting on a brave smile to cheer him up, even if he knew you were always terrified you would lose him. But you never let it get to you. You were always there for him and never showed signs of backing down.

So he was determined to make today special for you.

It was early when he was knocking on the door to your place, a sweet smile lighting up his entire face. He took in your appearance, still dressed in an oversized shirt and baggy sleep pants. Your hair was a mess around your face, frizzy and unbrushed.

This wouldn’t do.

“What are you doing? You have to get dressed! We have a busy day, come on.” Peter coaxed as he walked into your place, pushing you towards your room.

“Peter? I thought you would have patrol this morning?” You said, clearly confused as to what the boy was on about. Not that you were unhappy to see him. You loved being able to hang out with Peter longer than normal.

“Nope. Today is all about you, angel,” Peter grinned, kissing your cheek as he pushed you into your room before going to the dresser and pulling out an appropriate outfit. And by that he meant jeans and his old Midtown sweatshirt you had stolen ages ago.

“What are you doing?” You laughed as he pushed the clothes into your hands before turning his back to you so you could get dressed.

“Tik tok, Y/N,” he sang, waiting patiently for you to finish getting dressed. He knew you were done when you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back and just inhaling his scent.

“Can’t we just stay in, Peter? Seriously, I don’t need anything big.” You argued quietly, nuzzling into him more.

Peter turned around in your arms and kissed your head, playing with the ends of your freshly brushed hair. He just swayed with you for a minute before he shook his head.

“Nope. My special girl deserves a special day. Come on, you’ll love it, Y/N. Trust me…” Peter said, giving you sweet puppy eyes. You could never say no to those eyes. Not really.

“Fine, I trust you Peter. But promise we can just come here and watch Lilo and Stitch at the end of the day?” You asked him, looping your arms around his neck.

Peter gave you an Eskimo kiss, nudging his nose against yours.

“It’s on the plan, angel. I promise. We’ll have cuddles and movies later.” Peter assured you, pressing his lips against yours quickly. “Now are you ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.” You agreed finally, grabbing your phone and keys, slipping each of them into their normal pockets.

Peter laced his fingers with yours as he led you out of your apartment and down to his car, helping you into the passenger seat before climbing into his side. He subconsciously reached over and buckled your seatbelt before giving you a sheepish look of apology. He knew you didn’t like it when he did that. Sure you thought it was cute that he was worried about your safety, but it borderlined him being overly worried and protective.

But today it didn’t seem to bother you. In fact, you smiled at him and just shook your head in amusement, which made Peter’s face brighten as well. His hand rested on your thigh as he drove to the first location of the day. Breakfast. He watched as you began bouncing in your seat when you realized where he was pulling into.

IHOP.

You absolutely loved the place, but you hardly ever got to go. And Peter clearly knew you if this was where he was taking you for breakfast. He once again led you inside and you all took your seats.

“Come on Peter, tell me what else you have up your sleeve for today?” You asked him, leaning across the table to talk. You batted your eyelashes at him, hoping he might tell you what else he had planned.

“Nope, it’s a surprise, Jellybean,” Peter grinned. He wasn’t usually good at keeping secrets but he was determined to make sure he didn’t let a single thing slip.

Before you knew it you two had been there for two hours, laughing and talking and teasing. You were sure you could have sat longer but Peter had someplace else for you to go and began to usher you out.

You waited patiently in the car as Peter drove, his hand returning to it’s spot on your thigh, the other controlling the wheel. You bit your lip as you looked at him, hoping your stare down might get him to crack. It didn’t.

This drive was a little longer than the first one, so you knew you weren’t headed back to either of your places.

“Peter, where are we going?” You whined quietly, hating surprises. But you trusted Peter.

“You will see. Jeez, be patient, Angel,” Peter laughed quietly, squeezing your thigh gently.

You tried for a while longer to get it out of him but ultimately gave up, leaning your head against the window to watch the buildings passing by. It was thirty minutes later when Peter told you to close your eyes.

With an amused smile you placed your hands over your eyes, waiting patiently for Peter to park the car, come around to your side and help you out. He then led you around while making sure your eyes were closed. Peter was so excited to see your reaction. He had gotten help from Mr. Stark for this one, so he really hoped you would like it.

You two eventually stopped and Peter moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Open your eyes.” He whispered to you.

So you did.

You looked around and your jaw dropped when you saw the large Broadway sign. He had brought you to Broadway Theatre. And when you glanced down he was holding two tickets for Wicked. You turned your head to share your look of shock and happiness with him. You had wanted to go to a Broadway show for so long, and Peter had made it happen.

“Peter… how?” You asked him, turning in his arms with teary eyes.

“Mr. Stark helped me get really good tickets. He also… may have paid for them to run the show tonight.” Peter explained quietly.

“You got… Tony Stark to pay to run Wicked on my birthday for me?” You asked incredulously.

“Of course I did. Do you like it?” Peter asked.

“Like it? Peter this is literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it.” You said before throwing your arms around him.

The show lasted for around two hours, and you were on the edge of your seat the entire time. Peter thought it was cute how into the musical you were, and he found himself spacing out to stare at you for chunks of the performance. He wouldn’t admit that if you asked though.

The performance was over in a flash, and you were both disappointed and invigorated because of it. It only had just ended yet you wanted to watch it again and again. Peter had made a good choice.

“Thank you for such a wonderful day.” You murmured to him as you walked out of the theater. “You’re welcome, jellybean, but the day is far from over.” He grinned.

“What do you mean?” You asked, surprised that he had more planned.

“I mean it’s time to get back in the car. And don’t worry, the next part has more standing up and walking around.” He told you as you two headed to the car.

“Peter, I really don’t need anything else.” You tried to tell him.

“Come on, you’ll love it…” Peter said, giving you puppy eyes. “Please?”

“Fine.” You sighed. He had seemed to put a lot of effort into it all so you didn’t want to ruin it. “But then can we just go home?”

“Yes. Scout’s honor after this last place we will watch movies and cuddle.”

“You weren’t a scout.” You reminded him with a smile.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N.” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows. It made you laugh as he pulled onto the road once more, taking you to your last mystery location.

It was a 40 minute drive.

It was long and you were already sick of sitting in this car, but every time you whined like a child asking if you were there yet, Peter would only laugh and tell you that you were ‘getting close love.’

Once again when you were in the final stretch, Peter told you to close your eyes so he could properly surprise you. Much in the same fashion as earlier, Peter helped you out of the car and began to walk you along. Only this time you could somewhat hear where you were going.

“Peter… are we at Coney Island?” You asked him. Your eyes were still covered so you couldn’t see the pout and puppy eyes Peter gave you. He uncovered your eyes since you had guessed.

“Yes… you ruined your own surprise you know.” Peter told you, kissing the tip of your nose.

You giggled, shaking your head as you threw your arms around him. He really was probably the sweetest and best boyfriend you could ever even dream of.

“I know. It’s not my fault I have ears though.” You pointed out, pulling him into another hug.

“Yeah, but still…” Peter whined.

Eventually the boy gave up on the argument and pulled you into the park. The first thing he tugged you to was the swinging chairs, knowing it would give you two a great view of everything around. And despite the line, you two were able to get right on, another compliment of Mr. Stark. It was that way with everything. You had unlimited rides and unlimited games. Nothing could be better, except maybe just being home, cuddling with Peter.

Next you chose to play some of the carnival games that were everywhere, after Peter begged you to stop for cotton candy. And of course you had agreed, only you chose to steal from his rather than get your own.It was a whirlwind and before you knew it, hours had passed by in the blink of an eye, leaving you and Peter thoroughly tired out from your fun. It meant it was time to go, even if Peter was disappointed he hadn’t won you anything — rather, you won him a stuffed dog you two agreed to share custody of.

Before you two could leave, you pulled Peter into a photobooth, wanting to have some memento of the evening. But finally it was time to go home, and this time Peter told you he was headed to his place for one last surprise.

Your leg was bouncing with anticipation as you waited for him to get to his place. What more could this boy possibly have up his sleeve?

It turned out, Peter had set up the sweetest little fort in the middle of his living room. Aunt May was nowhere in sight and it just left the two of you. He handed you a little cupcake with a candle on it.

“Happy Birthday, Jellybean.” Peter smiled, kissing you softly. “Let’s watch some movies.”

You both walked over to his fort, getting rid of your shoes and climbing in. You settled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest as you ate your chocolate cupcake.

“What was your favorite part of the day?” Peter asked you eventually, after settling on Lilo and Stitch. He tried to fight for Rapunzel, but it was your birthday so of course he lost. Not that he didn’t usually lose that fight.

“Hmm, you know what? This is my favorite part.” You replied quietly.

Peter frowned, surprised and confused by your answer. “Really? But we do this all the time.” He said, knowing this wasn’t new or special.

“I know. But that’s what makes it great. All I need is you and some Disney movies and I’m happy. Everything else was great… but this is my favorite place to be.” You admitted to him. There was nothing better than cuddles and movies with Peter.

“Oh…” he murmured, suddenly feeling shy as his cheeks went 

“I love you Peter… You were all I needed to make today special.” You whispered, twisting in his arms so you could kiss him.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Peter smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “Happy birthday, angel.”

[optimizche]

Angelic: The Madness (Park Chanyeol/Reader)

Author's note: This picture of Yixing's back is exactly how I imagine his angel self to be. He's just missing wings 😍

ALL CHAPTERS

Her

My eyes fluttered open slowly, the golden light of the morning sun streaming into my bedroom through the slivers of space between the thick curtains.

I let out a soft sigh, feeling a sense of contentment take root deep within my heart. The restlessness that had become omnipresent ever since he had kissed me that night had died down and dissolved into nothingness.

All because of the man lying beside me.

My brother.

Yixing.

His arms encased me in their hold around my waist, the span of his unfurled ivory wings embracing me. Drawing me into his protection.

Fast asleep he was, the unblemished planes of his face creating a visage of peace. Of comfort. He radiated them, making them seep into every part of me.

On pure instinct, I curled up into him. Moulding my body in order to fit his. Yearning to be near him.

A gentle smile tugged at the rosy plushness of his mouth and he opened his eyes.

"Good morning, princess."

I wanted to smile at him and I wanted to reciprocate the love and adoration that were glowing in his dark eyes. But instead, I felt a horrible feeling come flooding into my heart.

Guilt.

Over the realization that I had led one of my own brothers astray. My festering lust had led Yixing to sin. And when I had fallen into bed with him last night, I had sealed his fate along with my own.

Tears prickled at my eyes and I blinked them away. But it was impossible for me to hide my distress from him. Or his abilities.

His eyes widened when he felt it, his hands rising to cup my face. Drawing me to the warmth of his lips.

I parted my mouth in submission to his exploration, my eyes rolling back into my head at the taste of him. He tasted like honeyed sunbeams, his warmth making me dizzy in its wake.

Fighting back my reluctance to part from him, my hands found their way to his shoulders and I gave him a gentle push.

"We should stop..." I sighed.

His lips traversed the line of my jaw before descending to the column of my throat. In contradiction to my words, I let my head fall back into the cushion beneath me, baring more of my flesh to his hungered exploration.

Offering up myself to him, like a servant to her master. 

"Your body is giving away your bluff, my sweet," he chuckled.

His hands came to palm the fullness of my breasts and immediately, I arched into his touch. Nipples growing hard under the tweaks of his thumbs.

And when his mouth came to engulf one of the hardened pebbles in its heat, I let out a moan, my own hands weaving into his hair. Tugging at his raven locks while he suckled at my breasts. Until I was left gasping from the sting, my flesh reddened and swollen. Until I was aching and dripping between my thighs.

Filled with fresh lust, that demanded to be quenched.

The itch in the scars on my back made me toss and turn fitfully. Restlessly.

While I watched Yixing descend the length of my body in a trail of open-mouthed kisses, his large hands spread my thighs open.

And when he brought the wet swelter of his mouth down upon the place where I ached the most, I let out a broken moan.

Loud enough for the rest of my brothers to hear.

Yixing was vicious in his assault upon my raw and tender flesh, making me gush and buck into his mouth. Wanting him to ravage me, utterly and absolutely.

He kept his eyes on me as he devoured me, his fevered gaze commanding me to remain silent while he coaxed out every drop of my honey that he could get. Using his fingers and his tongue.

Ecstasy bloomed like a spring flower through my body, spreading outward from my core to the rest of me, with each dip and stroke of his fingers and tongue.  

My legs quivered around his shoulders as he burrowed fervently into my yielding flesh.

With each passing moment, the pleasure grew and swelled. Until it became impossible for me to hold back.

"I...Y-yixing..." I moaned, my back curving in an almost painful arch as I reached the very precipice of my restraint, my body tautening as I braced for release.

And when it finally came to claim me, mere moments later, I let go with a guttural cry, my wings spreading free to their full span.

He stayed between my thighs, easing me through my release with indulgent, coaxing licks, hands cupping the cheeks of my rump. Until I fell limp upon the pillows. Boneless with exhaustion. Weakened, but sated.

"I know that he is still somewhere deep inside you," he spoke, his hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face up so that he could examine my eyes. "And while I cannot purge him out of you just yet, I can help you abate the symptoms. It is my duty to protect you in every way that I can. From any and every danger, be it external or internal."

I nodded, craning my neck up to meet his mouth, to kiss him as a way to express my gratitude. My palpable relief, that he too, was now privy to my secret.

With every warm glide of his tongue upon mine, I felt like I was being gathered into a bubble of reassurance. Of safety.

Yixing felt like a shelter for me. He felt like salvation.

Despite being fully aware of the consequences of his actions, he hadn't hesitated in coming to my aid when I needed him. And for that, I was eternally grateful to him.

Nevertheless, I decided to convey as much to him, my hands caressing the ivory feathers of his wings.

"You know what will happen to us if the others find out? If Junmyeon finds out?" I asked.

Yixing sighed deeply, his eyes filling up with pain as he envisioned the agonizing fate that awaited us, should our secret be revealed.

"I know, sweetness," he said, his voice hushed. "But atleast when we'll fall, we'll fall together."

The moment he said that, I felt the lingering inebriation of ecstasy wane and vanish, to be replaced by dread. He noticed it.

"In a way, I've become bound to you, princess," he said. "Our fates have become intertwined," he said, lacing his fingers into mine. A symbolism.

Tears prickled at my eyes at the sight. I had doomed him to suffer, all because of my mistakes.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

"I vowed to protect you in every way, and I will, my sweet. But we mustn't let anyone know," he breathed against my lips.

I nodded again, chasing his lips once more. He grinned and leaned down to kiss me again. Deeper and slower.

Until I was moaning into his mouth with every pass of his tongue upon mine. Until I was breathlessly pulling myself away from him, hands locked in his hair. "Where did you learn to kiss like that, Yixing?" I asked, stunned.

"You bring out the best in me, sweetness."

He smirked, pulling me down with him, wrapping the sheets around us. "Now let's sleep for a bit, yeah? Lu and Baek will be making pancakes for breakfast."

I had absolutely no problem in slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep, curled against him.

______________________

Him

Chanyeol was absolutely irate. Livid.

A vein in his forehead throbbed painfully as he stood within the raging fire that had engulfed the wine cellar of his mansion.

The fire that he had created.

He missed the flames licking at his flesh, reminding him of his home.

Hell.

He watched with a savage sense of delight as the flames hissed and crackled, the smoke filling up his lungs.

Cleansing his rage.

And the sole cause of his rage?

His angel.

His grand scheme to get her to summon him had failed. Miserably.

Chanyeol had believed that his plan of filling up her dreams with the most sensual and lascivious visions would make her call out to him.

But instead, he had driven her into he arms of her brother.

That swine. Yixing.

"Bastard," Chanyeol muttered angrily, throwing a fresh blaze from the palm of his hand into the already uncontrollable fire, watching it roar with a sense of satisfaction.

How dare he touch her? Even after he had laid his claim on her? The insolence!

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could imagine was the sound of her broken moans while Yixing knelt between her open legs.

Not him.

Yixing.

"I'm going to kill him," Chanyeol muttered. "I'm going to kill him for putting his hands on her-"

"CHANYEOL!"

The door to the wine cellar swung open and on the other side stood his brothers. Sehun and Kyungsoo. Wearing identical expressions of horror and irritation.

"Have you lost your mind? Burning our house down?" Sehun shouted.

Yes, I've lost my mind, Chanyeol wanted to reply.

"End this madness right this instant," came Kyungsoo's command.

Oh, brother, he thought. The madness has only just begun...

[ohnojustimagine]

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Samoa Joe/Reader 1750 words; Smut/Explicit

A lovely anon requested dominant, choking Joe.

This contains some pretty full-on breathplay.

***

You’re in bed when he brings it up, lying there in your usual hazy post-coital afterglow, limbs aching and body spent, Joe as calm as ever despite what he’s just done to you.

And he doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s not some foregone conclusion, either. You might submit to Joe, give yourself over to him utterly and completely, but you can still say ‘no.’ You can always say 'no’ with Joe, and he’ll respect that. He tests your limits, expands your boundaries in ways you couldn’t have imagined were possible, but he never, ever goes beyond what you’re able to handle, and his understanding of exactly how far he can push you is absolutely, almost eerily unerring.

“Isn’t that…” you say. “I mean, not to sound uptight, but isn’t that kind of risky?”

“Yes,” he replies. “It is.” He turns over onto his stomach, reaching out to run his fingers down the line of your throat, over your sternum, between your breasts, lingering there. “But only if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“And you know what you’re doing?”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says. “I choke people for a living.”

And he does, you know, you’ve witnessed it often enough, seen the predatory, focused expression on Joe’s face as he wraps his legs around an opponent, his forearm tight across their throat, the way they’ll struggle against it before fading so slowly, so gently into unconsciousness, the referee holding up their arm, letting it fall limp and useless as the bell rings.

It’s always turned you on, of course, because watching Joe fight is hotter than hell, but you’ve never really considered how that specific aspect of his in-ring repertoire might apply to you. But you’re considering it now, and, to your surprise, the idea is disturbingly arousing; Joe’s hand thick around your throat, restricting your breath with perfect, impassive control.

“Do it,” you say. “I want to try.”

The barest hint of an indulgent smile flickers over his mouth as he says, “No, not tonight.”

“When?”

“When it’s right.” He kisses you softly, rolling on his side, pulling you up against him, one arm coming to rest loose over your waist. You hear his breathing deepen, evening out into sleep, but you’re wide awake.

And, as the days and weeks pass, you can’t escape the thought of it, the nagging, low level want for something you never even realized you needed, but you know better than to raise the subject. Joe doesn’t take kindly to impatience, so you wait, trusting that he won’t deny you when the time comes.

Tonight you’re on the road, in yet another anonymously bland hotel, and you wander out from the bathroom, fresh from the shower with a towel wrapped around your body.

Joe’s sitting on the bed, still fully dressed. “Take that off,” he says, and you immediately let the towel fall to floor without a moment of hesitation. He studies you for a minute, then says, “Come here.”

You walk over, standing in front of him, and he looks you up and down, briefly running his fingers through the slick heat between your legs.

“You’re very wet,” he says, frowning. “I hope you haven’t been touching yourself.”

“I was just thinking.”

“About me?”

“Of course,” you say, smiling, because who else?

He smirks at you, nodding, then says, “On the bed. On your back.”

You lie down, arranging yourself as requested, your whole body alive with arousal, the rush of the unknown like fire in your blood. There’s always that element with Joe, the sharpest and narrowest edge between anticipation and fear, excitement tinged with the most delicious apprehension.

“Now you can touch yourself,” he orders.

And you reach downward, ready, but Joe stops you. “No,” he tells you, gesturing at your chest. “There.”

You do your best not to let your frustration show, running your hands up over your breasts, the tips erect peaks under your palms. “Pinch them,” he says, and you obey, squeezing your nipples between your thumbs and the base of your forefingers, pulling on them, hearing yourself gasp. “Harder,” Joe orders, and you bite your lip, trying not to whimper at the pain, but it feels so fucking good.

“Stop,” he says, and sits down next to you on the bed, looking down at you, his eyes so coolly possessive an icy shiver runs through you. Your hands lie by your sides, and you try not to fidget, stay still under his gaze, but it’s not easy. “Now,” he finally allows, “fingers on your clit, but not inside, and no coming.”

He’s always so pleasingly specific with what he requires of you, and you spread your legs wider, left hand holding yourself open, your right moving lower to flick one finger over your clit. And there’s some measure of relief to it, but nothing close to being enough, because what you really need is Joe’s cock; inside you, filling you.

He watches you for a while, then says, out of nowhere, “You’ll need to cover up for the next few days,” and what? you think, the words barely registering, because you don’t get what he’s talking about, until he adds, “There’ll be marks,” and then his hand is on your neck.

There’s no force to it, not yet, but even the relaxed weight of his hand is something, enough that you swallow in nervous expectation, feeling the pressure increase infinitesimally as your throat rises and falls beneath his touch. Your hand speeds between your legs, instinctive in response, and you’re already dizzy at just the prospect of it, your pulse racing.

His grip stars to tighten, so slowly it’s bordering on unbearable, the amount of air available to you gradually, inexorably decreasing. And when he stops, you can still breathe, but only just, so close to the edge that you have to concentrate in order to inhale, then exhale, counting out the rhythm of it in your head.

And you’re still touching yourself, the feeling of it spiking, everything so brightly intensified you have to close your eyes, try not to drift away. The world around you begins to fold in on itself, narrowing down to simply this, nothing but the need for air and the ache in your cunt, something close to pleasure spreading like warmth through your body.

But then he squeezes harder, pressing down on your throat and you can’t breathe, not at all, and your first reaction is pure, blind panic, trapped in the darkness behind your eyes as your lungs start to scream, desperate for air. You can’t stop yourself from struggling against it, body twisting and fighting, kicking up against Joe’s grip on you. Yet Joe doesn’t stop, only shifting enough of his weight onto you that you’re held fast, stilled, helpless against the sheer power of him.

You open your eyes, and he’s looking down at you, darkly and intently focused and all at once every drop of anxiety vanishes, replaced by a calm so strangely, artificially serene it’s close to being terrifying. It’s only then he relents, letting go, and you’re immediately gulping in huge, desperate gasps of air, oxygen flooding back through your body, the relief of it so sweet you want to cry, a cracked sob escaping your lips.

But Joe pays no attention, unfastening his pants, taking out his cock, and then he’s on top of you, pushing inside, starting to fuck you in a punishingly steady rhythm. You’d moan, but his hand is back on your neck, and it’s all you can do to keep it together, your head spinning, vision blurring as Joe once again tightens his hand enough that you’re without even the slightest hope of air.

And you’re going to come, you can feel it, but it’s the strangest sensation, almost as if it’s outside you, approaching from somewhere far away, growing larger as it comes closer, building and building like a wave in slow motion, and at the exact moment it’s about to crash down over you, Joe releases his grasp. Your body jerks up as the air rushes back into your lungs and it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced, not even close, an orgasm so powerful you could swear you’re burning up from the inside, something within you breaking apart and you’re wide open, to everything, all of it.

Then for a moment or a minute or an hour or maybe forever, there’s nothing but soft, welcoming blackness, and when you come back, Joe’s thrusting into you, finally coming.

You feel his weight move off you, hear him get up, and when he returns, he lifts your head a little, pressing the the cool edge of a water bottle to your lips. You screw up your face in silent protest, letting it drip down your chin, because you only want to lie here, drift away into the blissful high of nothingness, but Joe insists. “Drink,” he orders, in that tone you can’t help but obey. So you swallow down a few sips, and it feels good; cold liquid smooth on your raw, tender throat.

Joe sets the bottle on the nightstand, and you watch him absently as he strips off his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair. He climbs onto the bed, and you let out a quiet whine as he helps you up, the room seeming to turn violently around you. Joe sits, leaning back against the bedhead, pulling you into place between his legs, your head resting on his chest, and you’re not sure you can stay upright, but his arms are around you, keeping you safe and protected.

“It’ll be better if you sit up,” he says, and you feel so small against him, enveloped by his size and strength.

He brings the water to your lips again, and this time you drink without being told. “You with me?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer, and your voice is rough in your throat, sounding like someone else, a person you don’t recognize, and maybe you are someone else now, maybe you won’t ever be the same again, but then perhaps you don’t want to be.

“Good,” replies Joe.

Thank you, is what you want to say, but it’s not enough, because what he gives you is so far beyond what you could ever begin to express that there’s no words for it. So instead you sigh against his skin, and his embrace tightens around you in a brief, affectionate squeeze.

And you know he understands.

[soitg03s-blog]

I don’t know what to tell you, about when it started, she said. I just don’t know, maybe around the time she’d used all her returns from Wal-Mart, or maybe when her self-administered Fentanyl drips allowed her to tango with death all too often. She definitely wasn’t wearing the right shoes. It was about that time she looked in the mirror and realized she wasn’t who she thought she would be at 28 years old. She hated looking in the mirror, why save something you don’t care about? Her hair was chopped off; she had cuts and cigarette burns running along her arms, riding in a car with no brakes, expired plates and hitting in the same parking lot she’d copped in. Just for a brief moment before the overdose, just for second, she remembered who she really was. Was this the Karma Police? Didn’t you know this is what you get when you mess with us? And the feelings sometimes were almost too much to bear, but she thought she had to keep going. She couldn’t get clean for her family or her mother, who means the world to her. Her friends kept telling her, “We’re going to bury you Kris, please get help. It’s okay you relapsed, its okay.” But didn’t you know she was that girl that never made a mistake twice. She had to want this.

She remembered being pissed because her dealer wasn’t answering her calls at 8am in the morning. Didn’t you know they only have one customer and are supposed to be open 24 hours a day? She finally got a friend to answer, shockingly a former friend from NA, leave it to the rooms to help you with all your endeavors; however pure or not. Her smile wasn’t what is used to be, and she didn’t smile much anyways. Numbness was preferable. Induce the Profanol doc, call it human nature, and just beat it. Who doesn’t want to feel like MJ just for a second, a God among men? Her small pale arms bruised from dull rigs. Shame is purple and blue. She couldn’t handle it, she needed to use right then. There was always this compulsive need to have heroin, have Xanax and if she was tired enough throw an Adderall or ten in the mix. How do you know when you’ve reached the edge? She thought about that Hunter S. Thompson quote she loved so much, something about the only people that truly know what the edge is, are the people that have gone over it. She swan dived over without thinking and during the free fall, didn’t regret a thing; however, she came to this realization that she would hit the ground soon, impending doom. Do all dogs go to heaven? Shit, she’s a cat; nine lives and she’s about to become a prime number.

There is a saying in the rooms of NA that states there are only three things that will happen to you in drug addiction. There are only three places you’ll end up, jails, institutions or death. Leave it to her to be an overachiever, skip a grade or in this case skip right to death. She remembers sitting in a Rite Aid parking lot in Kannapolis, NC and taking a hit. Euphoria followed by a tube being jammed down her throat. Her feelings were always rather paradoxical, a sun Taurus and Scorpio moon sign. Are things really black and white? Because life is lived in the gray. She was gray, rotting, she felt like she had an expiration date on her and she just reached it. Is this how it all happens? She lay there and wonder. What happened to that girl who had so much zeal and lust for life, for living? And in addiction, despite her intense and passionate urge for what the French would call, L’appel du vide, which is defined as: the call of the void. She began to think in that moment she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want her mother to bury her. She wasn’t 27 anymore, no cool club to join; she was just an almost thirty something aimlessly searching for meaning. She would become that girl people who say, “She had so much potential.” She reached transcendence through chemical best friends or so she thought. L’appel du vide has a literal translation as the instinctive urge to jump from high places. As an addict, she began to think she wasn’t worth saving; no one would climb this cliff to come get her.

The monotonous tone of the sirens wailed and she lay there in absolute misery, wondering why they brought her back. Just let me jump, she thought. She thought about the last time she was in treatment, they had an activity where she had to describe her perfect day, a peaceful place she could go, a safe place. She went there in her mind. She was in the mountains with her mother, with her best friends. The leaves were changing colors and they all laughed. Neil Young playing on a portable record player, her friends taking Polaroids, joking around about the latest Louis C.K. standup. “Let’s just do everything a little bit wrong.” She looked over at her mother, who is healthy and smiling, looking right at her with those same green eyes she has. And suddenly her beautiful moment interrupted. Static over a Walkie Talkie, “Yeah, Jim we’ve got a 28 year old, heroin overdose. Caucasian, Female. She’s incoherent. Pulling into back entrance now.”  Hey, you, she thought. I’m here, this isn’t me, wait, wait, all I wanted to do in the beginning was lose myself…. And now, right now, she would give anything to find herself again.

Fast forward to 46 days later:

I read an article the other day about the concept of a Multiverse. Damn it feels nice to sit still and read again. Also, that whole concept of being able to concentrate, eh it comes and goes. All in time. Where were we? Oh that’s right, the article stated basically, in short, that we never truly die. Our spirit at least, it never truly vanishes. I’ve always believed in this in some way, our pictures, our loved ones and our memories, they keep us alive.  But this, this is more than just memories. This is something you can hold, put a wire around and protect, I’m referring to a soul. I was fascinated by this article; I’ve always been a fan of Quantum Physics. Basically the implication was we never truly, at least in terms of our consciousness, die. Instead when we leave our bodies, our mortal portals, our consciousness goes into time and space. The universes own compost and into the void we go. I’ve always honed in on the belief that we are all stardust, so small, so insignificant but found joy that we, mere mortals, could make such a lasting impact on this world. In a multiverse there are infinite possibilities. There are multiple realities happening simultaneously, and one decision, has the ability to throw you into a different reality, a reality which is already occurring. Which road will you take? Follow the white rabbit? The yellow-brick road? Are you more a breadcrumbs kinda girl?  Truth is all relative and our surroundings shape our perspective. We begin to believe what we see, what we taste, feel, touch and hear. But the fact of the matter is we can chose to emphasize the reality we are in. Embrace this universe.

In active addiction it was like I doggy-eared just one page of the narrative of my  life and space and time bent. If addiction doesn’t break you then you’re sucked into a black hole. Sadly for most of us, never to be seen again. Nothingness ensues. I’ve thought about this deeply, how in this reality I am 46 days clean and sober. Nothing mind altering, unless you count my normal psychedelic thoughts, sorry ya’ll that’s all natural. But, I thought about how in one reality I am still stealing random things from Wal-Mart and complaining at the cashier when they won’t return 4 three month supplies of this flea and tick medicine for dogs or take my license because it is literally expired by 8 months. True Story. I am using and I’m not dead, yet. In another reality, I see my beautiful mother crying, all my friends there, all my old teachers, and I’m six feet underground. “It’s such a shame, she had such promise. She got Most Outspoken 2006, she won’t be speaking much anything anymore.” And then I thought about this reality, the reality in which I am in. How the term Oxford was an argument about a comma or a university my favorite teacher in college went to, but now it means the ground in which I stand on. I always had all these thoughts about an Oxford House, but they have thus been extinguished, since this fire to live has lit inside of me. I’ve also been, to get real with you guys, so terrified that I cannot do this. I have self-doubt often, symptomatic of any addict. Am I smart enough? Am I pretty enough? What is my identity, am I just a needleless junkie? What if I can’t manage my own life? But life, these thoughts, they don’t stop for anyone and these moments I feel sadness, it’s inevitably fleeting and in the same breath I think I am terrible for what I’ve done, I realize I’m clean nothing else matters. I am who I am.

I have scars, imperfections. Can you tell I went through years of active heroin use, I’m not sure, but does it matter? This is the universe I dwell, may as well manifest a better reality for myself. I have deadpan humor. I like all things vintage and despite my seemingly cynical and sarcastic demeanor, I have so much faith in this world. Faith in my fellow human being, I am not hopeless. I’m Southern, keep holding those doors boys. The girl next door appreciates it. I even have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror today. It honestly reminds me of the first time I ever took Acid. “KRIS DON’T LOOK IN THE MIRROR.” You already know what I said, fuck ya’ll, I can handle it. And I did, but damned if I can’t always handle looking in the mirror, clean, all that well today. I fear that I may actually see what other people are talking about, that potential and in doing that I fear letting everyone down. I’m always screaming from the inside out, but in the best way possible, if such a thing exists. There is an energy that hits me in the chest and I realize I’m alive and everything else just seems secondary. Whitenoise. My life is a perpetual electric guitar shoving against an amp, waning out of control. And I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ll indulge in recovery and take those suggestions, why? Because fuck heroin, fuck drugs. I’m too old to be doing that shit anyways. I’ve done enough for about ten times worth of watching Fear and Loathing and towards the end there throw in some Requiem For a Dream and we all know how that ended. I don’t need DMT to awaken that third eye. I was once blind, but now I see: Third Eye Blind, a great band. I want my life back, my semi-charmed kinda life.

I woke up that first day in detox completely lost from the days prior, still having some rage happening from too many benzos, starting to opiate detox, the watering eyes and muscle cramps, nausea. The unknown is scary, but today the void isn’t death or jails or institutions, it’s recovery. I still want to jump from high places, because I’ve always craved the adrenaline our body naturally produces; only the high places are my goals, my ambitions and dreams. Every day I’m clean, I start to believe I can reach those high places once more. I’ve found that the void I was so aimlessly searching for, its recovery. The void is being clean and truly feeling things again. Feelings just happen to you. I’m not the girl in the back of that ambulance. I am not a statistic. I’ve never conformed, why start now? I’m not simply a name on a tombstone or a member of the wasted youth.  And if I ever feel myself slipping, believing that I could indeed be the girl in one of those other multiverses, those other realities, which could so easily happen, perhaps I’ll call Rick and Morty, have them help me out. Whabbudubdubdub! Who doesn’t want friends that traverse time and space, am I right?

And into the void we go, loves.

Into the Void I don’t know what to tell you, about when it started, she said. I just don’t know, maybe around the time she’d used all her returns from Wal-Mart, or maybe when her self-administered Fentanyl drips allowed her to tango with death all too often.

[theopentable]

Resurrection Communities: Bold, Risky, Indiscriminate Love

1 PETER 4:8

Love is the highest calling of resurrection-communities. Love is the big take-home. If there’s anything that sticks, let it be love. That’s what Peter wants us to know.

“Most of all,” Peter writes, “love each other as if your life depended on it.”(1 Peter 4:8)

Actually, our lives do depend on love. Throughout the human lifespan no force has a greater bearing on human lives than love. Without the experience of love tiny bodies sense little change for survival and shut down.[1] Without love we are more vulnerable to all kinds of mental and physical health issues. As part of our fundamental make up we have a need to exist positively in the minds of others. This is what allows our highly-strung stress instincts to calm, to trust that our world is safe and secure. Kindness and love restore us. We need other people. This is truth of who we are. Our fundamental nature is interdependent. We are no different from the wild horse who, when separated from the pack, gets sick and eventually dies. We need love. This, as Paul Gilbert articulates, ‘is the way our brains are built. We depend on care and love.’[2]

Loved well, worlds open up within us. Love begets love; gifts us with the ability to embrace the world, ourselves and others with openness, kindness, compassion and acceptance. We discover courage, bear setbacks, and show that we received the gift in the first place by giving it away just as freely. Constantly. Peter speaks of constant love. No one turns the tap off. It just runs.

All of this calls into question our competitive, fragmented society. When we neglect our fundamentally interconnected nature we undermine our own flourishing. And so Peter urges us to listen closely to the divine drumbeat. This beat places love at the heart of all that we are, prizes love above else, recognises it as the measure of our vitality. Live according to the beat of that drum instead.

Peter dares, somewhat scandalously, to say that love covers a multitude of sins – makes up for practically anything, smooths the rough edges of our human failings and shortcomings. But of course Peter has experienced this kind of scandalous love and restorative grace his own relationship with Jesus – this Jesus who meets Peter in his shame and failure with life-giving tenderness. Peter denies Jesus three times. The resurrected Jesus gives Peter three opportunities to rewrite his history, to claim a resurrection identity and vocation:

“Simon, son of John, do you truly love me?”

“Feed my lambs.” “Take care of my sheep.” “Feed my sheep,”

(John 21:15-17)

This is what divine love is like, for Peter, for all of us. Jesus doesn’t dwell on our failures or even who we are in this moment. Jesus pulls us into who we are becoming. Even this isn’t saying enough. We have resurrection identities that cannot perish, spoil, or fade (1 Peter 1:3-4). Merton in Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander writes,

‘At the centre of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indulgence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely…. I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.’

Jesus recognises this pure diamond in Peter. It exists within us too. You abide in love. Love is our deepest reality. And so love must be the vocation of resurrection communities.

Earlier Peter exhorted to resurrection communities to “have love for one another” (1 Peter 3:8). He spoke then of brotherly love, family-like love (philadelphoi). Here Peter speaks of agapē love – indiscriminate, bold, costly, self-giving love.

It’s hard to know exactly what was taking place on that shore when Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved him but on the first two occasions Jesus asks Peter if he agapas loves him. Peter in response says, “Yes, Lord, you know that I philadelphoi love you.” On the third occasion Jesus asks Simon Peter instead if he philadelphoi loves him and Peter affirms once more that he does indeed philadelphoi loves him. On this third occasion Jesus words hurt Peter. Is it possible that all along Jesus is trying to draw Peter into a greater kind of love only Peter is not quite able, at this time, to embody this kind of love yet? Is Peter saddened that he is not, in his heart of hearts, able to say he has agapē love for Jesus?

After the third exchange Jesus says to Peter,

18 Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” 19 (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.” (John 21:18-19)

There will come a time when Peter will enter into a kind of love that will carry him beyond where he would choose to go, a love that involves a willingness to surrender everything. This is agapē love.

Jesus is always inviting us to love like this, to participate in the flow of divine self-giving love. Jesus is ever before us, inviting us to follow him into a greater kind of love, a love that can move beyond parochial self-interest, a risky love that embraces all no matter the cost. He asks us to love each other as if our lives depended on it. 

This is our vocation over the course of our lives, our destiny, to blaze with the invisible light of heaven that will make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely.

[1] Bruce Perry and Maia Szalavitz, Born for Love: Why Empathy is Essential – and Endangered (2010), p.52

[2] Paul Gilbert, The Compassionate Mind, p.49

[sagebodisattva]

Metanoia and Apotheosis

So, in following up with the recent posts in the detachment trilogy, there seems to be some lingering questions in regards to the overall nature and potential redeemability of what we like to call "evil." There are apparently some concerns and objections raised to the general suggestion that empathy still resides within psychopaths and sociopathic personalities, way deep down beneath their corrupted egos. Some of these objections include statements such as:

"Sage, you don't know just how evil, evil can be. You honestly believe that a psychopath is sorry for anything they do? They don't feel sorry for anything but themselves. They don't reflect on all the pain and suffering of the lives they extinguish. They reflect only on how it made them feel, all the power they had in acting as a hand of fate. And in some cases there is a predatory component to it. They can play the role of the repentant man to a T. They can play the role of a remorseful person who's turned over a new leaf, but it's always just an act. Because everything they do is an act. They only emulate emotions to play off people around them. They search for people like you Sage. People who want to believe there is a core good within them. It's the doorway to your trust. As even a moderately intelligent psychopath understands he must find a way to make semblance with the flock of herding empathetics he finds himself surrounded by in life. The consequence of not doing this means they will be outed for what they truly are early in life. Do you want to be responsible for all the psychopaths of the world? Responsible for them because they are you? Because they are source as well? Let them thrive in hopes that one of them will become enlightened?"

Yeah Charlie. To get a better idea about what I am referring to when I speak about such matters as fundamental pure essence, it helps to give the consideration a treatment from the meta perspective. As always, position is weaker then perspective. Position is committed, perspective is flexible. Position finds context within the confines of walls, whereas perspective surveys the entire scope of the boundaries. So, in considering the nature of fundamental pure essence from a bird's eye vantage point, where, "in the grand scheme of things", is always of the upmost prime importance, we will come to understand that the core of our qualitative existentiality is indestructible, incorruptible, infinitely unchangeable, and ineffably unnameable.

Much as the suggestion of the law of the conservation of energy implies: In physics, the law of conservation of energy states that the total energy of an isolated system remains constant, hence energy is said to be conserved over time... and, as we know from the meta analysis of the context of this proposed limitation, there is ultimately only one overall system without any limits. Therefor, it is said that energy can neither be created nor destroyed; rather, it only transforms from one form to another. This is a hardcore boiled down existential axiom that dares to be defied. And this isn't describing anything physical, as many of those who lean towards this naturally inclined tendency would like to point towards and implore. No, and pointing as such may draw you back a hand relieved of it's index finger. Harsh? Nah. We have to start being stricter with our methods of dissociating the mental clinging habit that follows the patterns, rituals and routines of illusion that combine to compose the externalization conditioning; the paramount foundation of mental slavery. The apt implication of this energetic law describes a feature of an essentially mental phenomenon. The law of the so called nature of illusion, projected and reflected back to the root qualia that forever sleeps and dreams of visions beheld through the windows of sense perceptions. And so, what does that mean? Pure essence is always pure essence, no matter what character you dream up, and no matter what actions the dream character takes, whether high or low, right or wrong, or good or evil, none of it will change the primary state of nothingness that comprises the non-being of the one true empty self.

Now this is some high level shit that I probably shouldn't even be telling you, as the potential to try and use it for delusional exercise is alluring and entrapping, but fortunately, the deep nature of the wisdom will leave most of you hard pressed to try and even begin to map it out. Suffice it to say, that to dive head first into illusion so as to enjoy contrived circumstances at the cost of throwing away the precious wisdom that was attained only by navigating the long road out of delusion in the first place, would only be a permissible allowance afforded to an all powerful, all knowing, absolute supreme being that painted himself into an omega corner. Before that, this is basically akin to forgetting how to walk because of an irrational fascination with the prospect of indulging in a wheelchair. In other words, it's counter productive, and shouldn't be encouraged, enabled or let pass without swift retribution or remand. Not because a wrong was done, but because it's in accord with the ways of the training.

But, not to digress, returning to the main point: the fundamental essence of all units of consciousness are equally indestructible and incorruptible. So, this means, no matter how insidiously depraved a creature may be, no matter how much of a wretched state a particular egoic identity may sink to, no matter how vile and monstrous the deeds of a fallen demon condemned to hell for all eternity for it's unacceptable disrespect and disobedience, are, in the grand scheme, it's all a bunch of contrived bullshit. Water in a cup, is still water in a cup... even if you draw a realistically horrific boogieman on the cup, it's still water in a cup. Getting caught up in a contrived reality, while a struggle, and a representation of a puzzle that you might eventually solve, isn't going to change the fundamental essence of what you are, no matter how high you reach, or how low you descend, the apparent "you", in these cases, isn't even the authentic you.

So, like they say, death heals all wounds. And upon the passing through of this layer, all pain and suffering, all sickness and trauma, all anguish and existential horror, will be washed away, and you will be released from the you; and become absolved of all burden, with every attachment, every commitment, and every responsibility, lifted from your shoulders. They are gonna tell you otherwise because they want to control your behavior with the threat or promise of punishment or reward, of course, and while you should be disciplined in your methods of employing the instrumentation of the persona, the motive of this mindfulness isn't to promote the establishment of good or bad states in illusion, nor to avoid punishment or attain reward, but to strengthen the mind. The pure mind, of which, unbeknownst to the lost ghost wandering in the phantasmagorical landscape, ultimately presides over all illusion. But could such a ghost ever be saved from the depths of it's delusion if it sinks down into the pits of evil and depravity? This is indeed the question...

Hence we come to the concept of metanoia, and the imagined possibility of an eventual apotheosis. Well, what is metanoia? Metanoia, note that the root word "meta" is contained herein, not merely accidentally, can be of twofold definition, one psychological, the other philosophical... as per usual, we are mainly gonna be dealing with the philosophical concerns, but to quickly summarize the psychological aspect, metanoia was a concept originally attributed to American philosopher, psychologist and trained physician, William James, who has been called the father of American psychology, to describe a process of fundamental change in the human personality and life orientation.

Carl Jung developed the usage to indicate a spontaneous attempt of the psyche to heal itself of unbearable conflict by melting down and then being reborn in a more adaptive form – a form of self healing often associated with the mid-life crisis and psychotic breakdown, which can be viewed as a potentially productive process. Jung considered that psychotic episodes in particular could be understood as an existential crisis which might be an attempt at self-reparation: in such instances metanoia could represent a shift in the balance of the personality away from the persona towards the shadow of the self.

Then we have metanoia, as used in philosophical terms, which primarily involves the possibility of a debased ego to undergo a spiritual amelioration, and hence a change of path that eventually results in it's transformative reformation. Is this at all possible? Oddly, most of us hope not, for, despite our condemnations of evil behaviors, we get way too overly attached to our judgments and the acting out of reprisals, and in the process, often become much akin to the evil ourselves, with the bitter lack of forgiveness, which slowly eats us up inside, and our vindictive desire for transgressions against us to be ruthlessly punished, forever and ever, as apparently, any offense to the pride and self importance of an ego is to be taken with the upmost of seriousness. And, of course, because we also do so enjoy playing the role of a victim, which feeds the need for attention and pity, leading to an overall negative mental state. It's all part of what could be called a blame game mentality.

So, despite our rejection of evil, it doesn't seem like we want it to ever truly find redemption, as we have forgotten about the training ground and fancy this realm to be a celebratory festival of the ego. Yet, much to the dismay of these hopeful desires, this existence still remains a medium of spiritual preparation and discipline, which means that the opportunity for metanoia never gets taken off the table due to the severity of delusional behaviors. And this harkens back to the quoted comment in the beginning of the video:

“But Sage, you don't understand just how evil they really are! Why do you want to let psychopaths thrive? You just don't understand how so so very evil they are!!”

Yes, I get it, I get it. They are the epitome of evil. They have fallen to absolute rock bottom. They may be even too far gone to liberate themselves within their own life expectancy, but never for a second does this ever mean that the fundamental essence of what they truly are has become corrupted in the slightest. The only thing one can do to compromise awareness, is to bury it. And while it may be very very deeply buried, it hasn't changed one bit.

And as such, no matter just how evil one becomes, one is never counted out of the game. And you can go full steam ahead in psycho mode, slicing, dicing, chopping and mopping your way through life, playing in the bloody innards and entrails of your victims, using their bloody disemboweled intestines as tinsel on your Christmas tree, in an attempt to try and convince yourself otherwise, all you want, but it still won't change the core of what you are. Which, I know, displeases most of you, because it takes away the victimology crutch, which is, after all, much that is at the root of this whole egoic game you are playing. And no, my assertions here are not an endorsement of evil, nor an attempt to enable evil behaviors. It's not about helping psychopaths thrive in their delusion. It's about helping them uncover the truth of what they really are; the exact same thing most of us are struggling with. I'm not saying you can trust them, I'm not saying you should forgive them, I'm not saying don't punish them. These issues are your own personal hang ups, and you'll have to work those out on your own. All I'm doing is pointing out a truth, and unfortunately, there's no way around it: Evil is an egoic condition fostered by false associations, and the core of all sentience is pure and untainted, despite how much we'd like to believe that evil extends all the way into the very essence of life itself, so that we can feel better about ourselves and better fathom all the horrifically evil activities that boggle our minds.

“But wait, does the purity of our essence mean that awareness is divine?? Hey, this sounds like an opening for God!”

Slow down there a minute Charlie, relax. Don't rush and get ahead of yourself. Let's not go the wrong way in the complete opposite direction either by asserting that the fundamental essence is either good, benevolent or heavenly, as many theological concepts would like us to believe, but just accept the raw truth of it's emptiness, that which makes room for all these false distinctions.

And don't get me wrong: the delusional behaviors ARE contrary to the teachings, counter productive to the training, and make it that much more difficult for us to self recognize, but this IS a training ground after all... and there are no taboo restrictions related to the status of your progress, whether you haven't yet begun, have quit, sunk deeper, hit bottom, are working on it again, have made seemingly great advance, or have moved into adept mastery, nothing in all of this is about reaching a destination. Deeds done by dream characters don't freeze the dream character into any various existential states of being. But this doesn't mean that there's no cause and effect. This doesn't mean that choices and actions don't facilitate a present condition for an incarnated embodiment, they do, but it is what it is: A condition. That's all it ever is. The glories and pitfalls of training never lead to eternal residency in permanent states forever frozen in some polarized ideal. This belief alone is the cause of most of the wayward steps taken on the spiritual path.

So, if no frozen ideal states, then does this mean there isn't a divinity? Well, that's the thing... and this ties into the concept of apotheosis, which means the highest point in the development of something; a culmination or climax. Or the elevation of someone to divine status; aka deification. If a very base and corrupted ego can indeed undergo metanoia and rise out of it's delusional traps, then doesn't it also follow that such an ego could also reach the highest state possible, as the notion of adept mastery itself seems to suggest? Sure. There are lots of states an ego can achieve, some high, some low, and maybe there's even a lowest and a highest, but the point here, is that none of them are permanent, you are not an ego, and none of these possible egoic states are a description of original pure potentiality. That's why the notion of the divine doesn't quite fit the bill, as a description of divinity is also part of the dream. Pure potentiality, while pure and constant, isn't good. It isn't heavenly, it isn't divine, it isn't benevolent. It isn't evil or malevolent either. It isn't any THING, or abstract quality, you could possibly classify. So apotheosis couldn't really be ascribed to pure potential as pure potential, as pure potential isn't a state, and therefor isn't a context that any kind of label will stick to.