#it's not afraid to push boundaries and be strange and make mistakes

[allygatoor]

i think it's time that we as a society realized that actually eternals wasn't bad it was just not standard marvel fare and that's okay

[rocketbirdie]

YOU. You are correct about Cloud Strife. Everything you say about him is CORRECT

Hi I'm going to use your ask as an opportunity to go on an unhinged tangent about him below the cut.

I believe that EVERYTHING about Cloud Strife as a character makes total sense once you realize: it's autism.

Here's a character whose entire arc revolves around the erosion of his identity and his desperate attempts to adhere to an ideal image, at the expense of his own wellbeing; and how self acceptance is the thing that brings him back from the edge of despair.

Youtube theorycrafters waste hours of their lives trying to piece together Cloud's psyche, when the answer is just... autism. It really is that simple. I will die on this goddamn hill.

In Trace of Two Pasts, we learn that even as a toddler, Cloud really was just... like that. Unemotive and awkward. And the entire lifestream sequence in the OG shows us a young Cloud who behaves in baffling ways. Tifa and her friends invited Cloud into their group, but he rejected their friendship while simultaneously harboring a seething jealousy. How the heck does that work, huh?

Viewing this through the Autism Lens™️, his approach make way more sense. Fearing his own inability to read and reciprocate their intentions, he pushes them away, and the resulting loneliness crushes him. He mistakes that loneliness for anger. He turns that anger outwards and gets into fights. Because the other kids don't understand him, Cloud sees them as stupid and immature. It's the perfect recipe for disastrous distrust. The tragic result is that, when Tifa gets into her accident, Cloud is immediately blamed by kids AND adults. He's seen as inherently dangerous and unpredictable, even though he did nothing wrong. It's like they were already looking for the perfect excuse to hate him.

The worst part is, because he struggles to articulate his own thoughts and feelings, he starts to just... accept what other people say about him. He's a pain in the ass. He's a selfish brat. He could try being a bit nicer. Any attempt that he makes to argue, backfires and proves their points even more. He's being childish. He needs to get his shit together. Nothing's ever good enough for him. He stops fighting it and lets people drag him around and violate his boundaries, because no matter how loud he yells or how intelligently he argues, nothing he says ever reaches their ears. He trims away more and more of himself to try and appease others and nurse the constant emotional pain. (And that's not even addressing the entire traumatic *waves hands* everything that he's gone through by the time he reaches Midgar! That would have to be its own tangent lol.)

It's hard to watch as a player; the secondhand embarrassment of Cloud's social blunders is immense. Some people don't like Cloud as a video game protagonist, which is perfectly valid. But a lot of times, they justify their opinion by perpetuating the same damaging language. He's an asshole, he's a weirdo, he hates people. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating. I know Cloud is just a fictional character, he doesn't need to be defended from harsh criticisms. But I can't help but wonder what these players think about the "weird people-hating assholes" that they meet in real life.

It also makes me wonder if they were even paying attention. I think the games make it pretty damn obvious what's going on. He's an asshole because other characters treat him like one before they even get to know him. He hates people because he doesn't understand them, and they don't even try to understand him. He's a weirdo because he has a strange way of showing how deeply he loves and cares, and he's afraid that his love will be misinterpreted like every other emotion he's ever dared to show.

The autism is everywhere. It permeates his entire being. It's in his silly responses when he takes things too literally. It's in his painfully practical way with words. It's in the stiff expressionless look and the flat tone of voice. It's in him constantly adjusting his gloves, shifting his weight, looking down at his feet. It's in his questionable idea of what you're supposed to do with your body at a yoga session. It's in the half a dozen flustered high fives, it's in the motion sickness. It's in the contagious eagerness with his special interests in SOLDIER and materia and chocobos.

It's in the moments where the facade crumbles and we get to see the real Cloud, the one that Aerith knew was in there— the one that Tifa finds in the lifestream— the one that Zack gave his life for— the Cloud that cherishes the whole world. He's got so much of everything inside of his heart, and he doesn't know how to get it out. You'd be a weird asshole about it, too.

[archive-of-the-lost]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @i-am-so-strange

Your ideal match is…Michael Kaiser!

♡ This may be a surprising match for you, and honestly, it is for me too! I'm not sure what kind of SO I expected for him, perhaps someone with his dramatic flair and/or ambition. But after reading your info, I didn't have anyone else in mind for you, so here he is!

♡ Kaiser is undoubtedly the snobbiest guy in blue lock, and that's saying a lot, so you both didn't get along at first. Enemies to lovers all the way (again, my first matchup based on this concept!). I'm thinking the first time you both got along was when he made a comment on someone you both found annoying, and you couldn't help but agree, spending the new few minutes gossiping about that person with him until you remember your goal to think more positively about people.

♡ "Film school dropout and a frustrated writer lol". This is the line that put him in my mind and no one else could wedge themself in. Kaiser obviously has a connection to theatre/the arts given the professions of his parents, and he did have a period where he incorporated stage roles into his shit-talk. 💀 My point is, I think he would have a genuine interest in film and writing as a hobby. So he'd want to know more about this side of you, what parts of media/the arts that you like. Even why it didn't work out, if you'd tell him.

♡ Once he finds out that you play the piano and the guitar, he seems to make it his personal mission to get you to play for him. He pesters you every day about it, begging urging you to play him a song. When you finally do, he just stares at you the entire time, transfixed.

♡ One time he accompanied you shopping, offering to pay for anything that wasn't food in an attempt to court you rather than show off his wealth. You seem to be the type to insist paying for yourself, being independent and all, but he was persistent in offering to buy you that gorgeous but expensive coat you were eyeing. For Christmas. Did I mention it was snowing? He was lagging behind you for a bit when you stopped to look through a window of an antique shop. What a memorising sight it was, he just had to take a picture. Yes, his tiny smile was quite cute from the corner of your eyes.

♡ Throughout the first few months of dating, I can imagine the both of you sort of dancing around each other, too afraid to come off as "too much" or too vulnerable. You're both independent and not great at showing how much you care about someone, which leads to a honeymoon period probably more anxiety-ridden than it should be. He definitely did his research on traditional romance and brought you roses, chocolates and a fluffy stuffed bear. Very cute, but it took him a while before starting to get you more personalised gifts.

♡ Once the both of you become more comfortable with each other, the relationship starts sailing more smoothly. The two of you can joke with each other without worrying about the other person not finding it funny, playfully swat at each other, tease each other. Kaiser isn't the type to laugh at little things much, but when he sees you laughing, he can't help but laugh as well. That's the chemistry of love.

♡ Your ability to stand up for yourself is good for your relationship with him in the long run. There are times when he makes mistakes or even pushes boundaries, so you being able to tell him when you're unhappy (in a healthy communicative way) with something he did is vital to the long-term success of the relationship. He needs to know what's healthy in a relationship, what he can and cannot get away with.

Your sibling is…Barou Shoei!

♡ Your mentions of cleaning and dislike of disorganisation reminded me of him LMAO Okay, but seriously, you both sound like a great match! For living in the same house, that is! He'd appreciate those qualities of yours as he also loves cleanliness. It also means you're scolded by him the least out of his three sisters, haha. Though it helps that you're older than your sisters. You're more mindful of cleanliness.

♡ Is cleaning a hobby? Barou certainly thinks so. He often gets you to clean with him, not because he wants to give you work to do, but because he finds the activity enjoyable and sees it as a way to bond with you. He stated his ideal type as someone who can clean with him, which gives us some insight into his preferred way of spending quality time with loves ones: doing chores together.

♡ You're an INTJ, he's an XSTJ (not sure if he's I or E yet), so the both of you are quite similar in that way. Independent, organised. Even down to the being bad at expressing that you care for people part. But! While you're a "looks like could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll" type, he's a "looks like could kill you, will kill you" type all the way through. Yes, he does care for his family, but you're never gonna catch him doing anything sappy without looking constipated.

♡ Barou also looks down on everyone, not just certain people. He thinks his strength is his egoistical mindset, so you know he's even proud of it. 💀 Hey, maybe you learned it from him. But Barou isn't above respecting someone (kinda?) after they beat him in soccer, so he's also working on his tendency of looking down on others. Somewhat. In his own way. You guys can work on it together!

♡ Woah, the both of you are blunt and straightforward. I imagine that causes the both of you to butt heads when you disagree, because you mentioned you know how to stand up for yourself, so you're not the type to agree with him just to keep the peace.

♡ Barou mentioned that he hasn't cried since the day he was born, and by the looks of it, he hasn't laughed since he learned to walk either. When you have friends over and you're laughing with them, he gives you a weird look like having fun is a crime or something. He doesn't say anything though. At least you have friends, tell him that.

♡ I don't normally pay attention to appearance when doing sibling matchups (because a lot of bllk characters have natural colourful hair and eyes) but you and Barou totally look like siblings! Your tendency to wear corporate clothing suits the serious aura Barou always has around him. In general, INTJs seem to have rbfs or at least look serious/done with everything so I'm going to assume the both of you have this unapproachable aura. People can usually guess that you're siblings. You having dyed hair is making me wonder what your reaction was to Barou's new red stripes to celebrate his 100 million yen value.

[skeleton-mischief]

Ink Sans

Hey, pay attention now! The creator, your savior, is here. He has been waiting for you...

(Headcanons below)

- Official Height: 5'5

- He/They/It

- Follows theism, he must fulfill his duty to the true creators

- Friends with Many AU Sanses, or at least acquainted with them

- The God of Creativity, he is the physical embodiment of motivating artists and creativity to create AU's, AT's, etc

- He has mutual hate but respect for Error

- Easily Forgetful due to his multiple trips through AU's, Timelines, etc

- Very lonely, he has mostly hollow friendships

- Dreams of other versions of him, but he can never find them

- Very touchy, he doesn't care to respect those boundaries and they even push boundaries

- Good friends with Red, somehow

- Talks to himself out of loneliness sometimes

- He envies genuine connections that others have

- Magic smells of paint, magic tastes of skittles

- Brutally honest

- AuDHD

- He likes dogs and cats, any animal really

- Loves to twirl and do tricks with his paintbrush, dances with it

- His paintbrush is extremely light to him, but heavy to others

- Accidently teleports inside Nightmare's goop once and it was fucking terrifying

- Soulless, only Fresh and Error know that he doesn't have an actual soul

- Laughs at inappropriate times, he doesn't know how to react to things sometimes

- Doesn't curse often, but will use 'shit' often

- Highly flexible and acrobatic

- Sometimes interacts with other Sanses but it's strangely off-putting and intense, he has an off putting energy

- Highly devoted to Creators and Fate, scarily loyal and worshipping towards them. He must do what they intend from him, even if that means being truly neutral

- His kindness can be sincere, but it's rare. He has manipulated others with his kindness to further please the Creators, and his kindness often is unsettling

- Incapable of dying, he is the only one that can truly face Error

- His vials are his emotions, and without them he doesn't experience anything. It is unknown how he gets those vials and how they are restocked

- He carries a pair of scissors and uses them sometimes when he's caught in Error's string

- Erratic, unsettling, playful, confident, honest, perceptive, controlling, manipulative, social, self efficient, loud, nosy, individualistic, curious, dedicated, impatient, intelligent, creative, stubborn, and theatrical

- When he drinks his vials, he tends to also have a shift in appearance despite it being subtle. His eyes go to a shade of color his vials are and his expression will shift. Small details like his body language, his form of talking, etc will change

- He grows apathetic, monotonous, and more harsh without his vials. He gets like this near others, his way of even laughing sounding empty as if a husk is mimicking him

- He aims for mistakes and encourages it for creators only because he finds it perfect. They can do no wrong, even if some things are what he dislikes

- He hates when anyone tries to disrupt an AU, often masking it with a positive attitude and forcefully stopping them even if they're dangerous

- He easily can switch between emotions, especially when drinking more than one in a certain order. For example, he can drink a blue vile and then a yellow one, helping him transition between what he feels. The reason he doesn't drink them often near others is because he likes to appear "normal"

- He aims for perfection from others and despises any creator being disrupted, often dragging the issue away. He loves creativity, but that means also disrupting something to make sure his creators are happy

- He always has something slightly off about him, despite being a wonderful actor of sorts. Even when happy, he's just- different

- He hates being called out, especially hates if they're confronted about something he's masking

- He isn't afraid to lie to get his way, it isn't capable of feeling that guilty for long

- They can only be themselves when alone or if he's deeply connected with someone; which is nearly impossible

- He can never deceive Error, even if he tries it sometimes. Error is one of the every few to openly degrade him and in turn Ink finds ways to degrade Error

- A storyteller, he knows almost everything about each AU. He often isn't shy enough to drop lore here and there, watching acutely throughout each form of the multiverse

- He was created as an "adult" so he never had a childhood, but he has a backstory. He can't remember it, but they have drawn themselves without really thinking about it

- It has no defined age, stat, hp, defense, or LV simply due to not having a soul

- They quote a lot of things since he loves obsessively watching shows, AU's, etc

- Due to his lack of fear, he's extremely risky and impulsive. He'll just laugh and jump right in

- He grows fidgety, annoyed, and impatient when things don't go at a pace he's satisfied with

- Even if he's impatient, he's hard to actually piss off. A part of it is because he's so erratic and hard to read

- Stupidly has good balance, it's overall just weird how well he has the balance he has

- Paints and sketches regularly, no form of art is favored over the other

- Often seen with the same outfit, but he loves changing it up at times

- Loves to be in small spaces when needing comfort, often shifting his body in ways to fit inside because it doesn't remind him of the void - where nothing is present

- Hates empty spaces and lacks of creativity

- He's only motivated for what's right for the AU's or himself

- Can be extremely selfish and childish, but often his goals align with "good." He has helped the Bad Guys occasionally though

- It's hard for him to feel pain, since his pain receptors are all fucked up. He can be heavily injured and not realize it or even feel it unless he's worn out and loses/losing a battle against another "God"

- It's hard for him to hate someone, but he can heavily dislike them. If he chose who to hate the most, it would definitely be Error

- He has been childish in worse ways than possible, often helping creators make new AU's despite the cramped space. Sure, the multiverse is beyond humongous, but it only can handle so much before colliding other worlds together and even destroying those worlds. He and Error have overlapping goals, and only rarely will they work together since they're such opposite skeletons

- He loves to mock and mess with Error the most, especially when they battle despite neither one being able to die. Ink can get just as cocky as Error, and in fact loves to provoke Error

- Their vials can only do so much, as they can only temporarily fill in space for an emotion that one with a soul has. It can form in the shape of what's meant to be a soul in the color of the vial, but it's never permanent

- He'll often stare at others for long periods of time, usually in an obvious manner as he looks at them and their soul. He doesn't feel the need to blink, so it can be unsettling

- When his vials give him the illusion of having a soul, he will often cradle it and stare at it for long periods of time

- He never can run out of liquid inside of his vials, but they can break and this leaves him without that emotion until he fixes it through a long process

- He is willing to experience any emotion, as he just wants to feel it. He can optionally not have any at all, but it's rare he chooses that

- Narcotics do not affect him in any way

- Has an obsessed curiosity for humans, who he knows are capable of creating worlds. It's only the authors, the artists, he actively obsesses over

- Does not view creators or players as 'simply' human, but rather beyond gods themselves

- Adores having marker or paint on him

- Has a Doodle Sphere where time is slowed down and no one can reach him

- It struggles trying to find ways social skills work, especially since each universe has it's own standards

- Steals food and other trinkets from universes even if he has no need to eat

- Occasionally speaks French or Latin

- Does not understand gender roles, but they will wear more masculine and androgynous outfits with the occasional fem

- On the aroace spectrum, especially since being a God means that other things are too important

- STRUGGLES reading and writing

Closing Notes: He's so-.....GUAH. I actually didn't care much for them growing up, but I think that they're an interesting character deserving of exploration

[solntepyok]

Xenophanes' Yandere Alphabet

Metallica is very well written to. You can listen to one of the songs «Devil's Dance». As far as I'm concerned, this track suits perfectly Xenophanes.

Warnings: yandere's behavior, manipulation, intimidation, gaslighting, elements of Lima syndrome, detailed descriptions of body horror and murder and psychological/physical violence, torture

Art belongs to @crowstare.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Xenophanes has a rather strange, horrible, one might even say cruel attachment to you. He tries to get your attention by inflicting pain on others. Tearing someone else's flesh, pulling out their insides and laughing and laughing and laughing... While you're crying your eyes out. He loves to look at your tear-red beautiful face, at your frightened crystal-clear eyes full of innocence and submission. His affection goes too far, for he has no personal boundaries. He's an unfeeling demon who wants to make others suffer and obey him.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Very, very messy. No matter who makes an attempt on your life, he will tear to pieces absolutely anyone, even his slaves. Xenophanes is a terrible possessor, he won't let anyone take over his toy. Only he can do with you what he pleases. In his world all things must be as he wills, for here he is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. In his domain he is God, the Dark Master of souls.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Always, after a human enters his world, the evil spirit takes a closer look at them. He studies their behaviour, their habits, their secret fears buried deep in their soul. Once he has enough information, he begins to act.

What about you, he discovers that you fear Death. And so he gets you into deadly situations that (without his help) you wouldn't have gotten out of alive. At once you stumble and fall straight into a fiery lava before he turns the boiling pool into bloody water. Barely out of the river, you were shaking like mad, you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And he took enormous pleasure in knowing that he now knew which buttons to push to make you weep.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He would like to feel close to you. To touch your body with his huge, sharp claws, leaving bleeding scratches on it. He would have wanted to make you scream in fear and overwhelm you with strong emotions as you hung on him like a plush doll, begging him to stop. But he wouldn't listen to you. His desire, his passion, his lust for you was too great. He wouldn't listen to your pleas to leave the poor people he tormented alone at all. After all, that's how he wanted to show you who's the Master here. Who is the puppeteer and who is just a mere puppet.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Although the demon is quite aggressive and fierce, he never shows you his positive emotions. Simply because he's incapable of it. He was born in a cataclysm, in a massive explosion. In fact, he was a fatal mistake. And therefore he believes that all feelings other than rage and anger are false. He sees only falsehood and hypocrisy in these kinds of feelings. Xenophanes is very tight-lipped with you, though he does not neglect to show you all his hatred lurking in his dark and gloomy soul.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

The fiend is used to people's futile, totally useless attempts to fight back. He feels an incredible superiority over all living beings. He is dark matter, an evil spirit, a numen. And people... They're just flesh and blood. This is why he is perfectly calm when you try to fight him, when you tremble with fear, though you try very hard not to let on that you are pretty afraid of your tyrant. However, he feels everything and understands everything. And so your defenceless appearance turns him on incredibly well, and he even allows you to step outside of his deadly game. But when you go too far, that's when he goes berserk with rage. You can step right and left, but there's no way he's going to let you cross the line, which is to run away from him for the umpteenth time. He wants you to be with him as much as possible so that you can never leave him. After all, you cannot die twice. You cannot escape from where your home is now.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Heck, it certainly is. His attitude towards you is just a game, and the trials prepared especially for you are an element of it. You are his favourite puppet, which he controls like a skilled puppeteer. Pulling strings, forcing you to move your limbs, obeying him. And puppets cannot rebel against their Master. Simply because they would immediately be brutally suppressed.

Once, while playing with you, when he grabbed you, holding you in his sharp, knife-like claws, you began to break free, sobbing and screaming pitifully. At that moment he just laughed eerily and ghastly and horribly. His laughter made your blood run cold, and it pained you intensely that he saw you as little more than a mere toy that could bore its owner at any moment. A toy that he could tear into a thousand little pieces.

But when you plunged a bone you'd picked up from the wreckage of a poor man who was already dead into his forehead, he was stunned. He was stunned that you hated him, even though he himself had done absolutely nothing to make you change your mind about him. He felt a very real rage, showing his volcano-like wrath. It's an experience you'll never forget. One second and you staggered and shrieked and touched your face, the red liquid spurting from your face. From his incredibly sharp dagger claws ran scarlet hot blood. Two pairs of deep wounds flaunted indifferently on your face.

A hypocritical game, a hypocritical player. It's payback for disobedience.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

To tell the truth, absolutely everything about your tormentor was a living hell. You were scared to death of his eyes, full of hatred and indifference to all living things. His gaze inspired nothing good, his gaze destroyed hope as soon as it appeared. You were frightened by his slaves, disgusting and vile creatures who behaved as Xenophanes himself wished. They were echoes of his warped imagination, his corrupted picture of the world.

But there was something else that scared the hell out of you — his transformation into a crystalline form. You were sure he had done it on purpose in front of you to frighten you. You watched in utter horror as his arms stretched out, like snakes ready to grab their prey. You watched his torso stretch out too: he was literally hovering over you, he had to hump hard to grab you. His ribs protruded so much that you feared they would just jump out of his nightmarishly sized body in an instant. His purple needles were like crystals: they shone just as brightly, but there was danger lurking in their beauty; you were sickened by this shimmering acid colour. His huge, enormous jaw with dozens of fangs as sharp as knives were poised to bite your neck, to tear through your flesh. He bared his fangs and extended his bloody claws in the hope of grabbing you.

You would have sworn to God that you would have died on the spot had it not been for the life-saving adrenaline that made you dash away.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Perhaps he had never given it much thought, for now he was quite satisfied with everything. One of his favourites trembles just from the mere sight of him, and that is definitely what he needs. To know that you obey him, inviolately doing whatever he asks. Watching you cry (for the umpteenth time?), rubbing your tear-red eyes. He loved your helpless look, and that was enough for him.

The future is a mortal problem. There is no time, no space, no boundaries in heaven. There the world is ruled by serenity, stretching and unconcern.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He gets incredibly furious when you start telling him that this is not your home and he is not your Master. It's not true. It's all blatant lies. He just didn't want to believe it, the evil spirit was incredibly angry that you wanted to trade him for some mortal pleasures. What is it worth to have a family that will be nothing anyway, just because all the loved ones will die one day? What are friends worth who can stab you in the back at any moment, betray you at the most inopportune moment? What is love worth, an arrogant and lousy bitch who thinks it rules the world?

The body is a lie. All feeling is a lie.

He proved it to you time and time again, but you wouldn't listen. He had everything to give it to you, but you didn't want immortality, his endless possessions and his crazy, sick attachment.

You just wanted to get home. To have everything back the way it was.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Based on his unpredictable behaviour, you could never predict what he would be like this time. Would he simply laugh in response to your impertinent trick or would he grab enraged you by the throat, squeezing until you were unconscious? It was as if you were playing dice with Death, for there was no other way you could explain the phenomenon.

He was surprisingly gentle once. Before you knew it, you'd cornered yourself playing catch-up with him. He was slow as hell to approach you, as if to mock you and your feelings. You were tired of being constantly in his clawed clutches, for he very rarely gave you an alternative course of action. You sobbed silently: you were exhausted. Closing your eyes, you leaned against the cold tiled wall, waiting for the endless torture. But the very second you felt the hot breath on your body. It was literally burning you with it. The heat filling your chest made you begin to shake. Before him, in this position, you were like a small, weak, defenseless lamb in front of an enraged, cruel and hungry wolf.

Xenophanes did not believe in feelings. But he believes that you would stay with him, for you would simply have no choice.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

The Dark Lord does not need to woo you. He'll turn events so that it's you who's after him and his attention. On your knees, begging him to kill you, to finally take your soul and not hurt you anymore. He wanted to make you afraid of him so that you couldn't say a word in fear of him. He was looking for your fears, groping for your deepest hiding places so that at the right moment he could push on your triggers, making you break down. He wanted to know what would happen to a human if they were deprived of everything they held so dear.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

For the most part, no. He treats you the same way he treats the rest of his slaves — cruelly and inhumanely. The only thing different about his behaviour with you is that he plays with you otherwise. It is as if he wants to help you, but at the same time he will not lend you a helping hand if he thinks that you are capable of handling his ordeal yourself. For example, as was the case with your fall into the fiery lava. He gave you a clue, turned the situation around and the rest was only on your shoulders.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

You consider your worst punishment to be being in his world yourself. Your bloody survival in his endless domain. He punished you long ago, though he doesn't think so himself. Personally, he considers it the best gift heaven has to offer: you can never die again, from now on you are immortal. You can wander endlessly through his domain, he allows you to do so, for everything that was his is now yours too. He lavishes you with his attention, neglecting his precious time which he could have spent conquering another mortal soul. But none of this is necessary for you, and this makes him incredibly furious. And so, enraged, he bares his fangs and growls furiously, making you scream in fear. He grabs you by the throat and tosses you aside. You fall and hit your head: you are knocked unconscious. And he, proud and lonely and exasperated, walks away to leave you with your thoughts.

Either way, you soon change your mind about him. After all, it's human nature to get used to everything.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Needless to say that he has taken your soul to make you his plaything for all eternity? Perhaps he has taken the most precious thing a human can have, which is life. Needless to remind you that he will stop at nothing until he has broken you, made you fall to your knees and bow to him, telling him over and over that he is your Deity? There is no doubt that he is deliberately taunting you, testing you, trying you out. He wants to feel to the end that bitter, salty taste of your tears, your strong sense of fear and consternation before him.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Frankly, patience is not his strong suit. He is used to getting everything at once, and if one of his wonderful toys decides to rebel against him, he will simply break it without giving it a chance to be rescued.

However, he didn't do that to you at all. Yes, he was angry with you, he bullied you, he tortured you in all sorts of ways. But he would never want you to end up broken in his claws. He wouldn't want you to completely disappear from his sight, for he treasures all his puppets like no other. You are his favourite, a new, adorable toy, with your own peculiarities and charms. He has not yet played with you the way he has with others, and he would like to study you up and down.

But just as soon as he becomes bored with you, he won't hesitate any longer. You will immediately recede into the background.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

It's hard to say what the demon would do. But he knows one thing for sure — he would be incredibly upset if he lost a doll as beautiful as you. It's like a skilled artisan smashing his finest piece of craftsmanship that he has been working on for a long time.

The number of souls he has enslaved is staggering. But he counts each and every one of them, for every soul gives him incredible power and authority, capable of creating entire Universes.

And if he were to lose you, he would be enraged and frustrated. He would lose his self along with you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

It would be a very amusing spectacle if dark matter, already living for billions of years in the Universe, felt guilty for what it had done. Xenophanes has never felt pity for anything, as pity is the destiny of the weak, i.e. of mortals. Hundreds of thousands of souls were already in his possession and he was not going to stop at that. With every day, with every minute, with every second he gets a few steps closer to his cherished goal. And why would he let you go? No, he doesn't. He will never let you leave his Dead Kingdom, he will never take pity on you. Too cruel and black is his nature.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Perhaps it is his true nature that has given rise to this cruel side of him. He is a barren spirit, incapable of feeling compassion, pity, longing, much less love, for such feelings are simply unnecessary to him. However, his strong desire to enslave the entire human race, to become the true Ruler of this rotten world, makes him experience the basest and nastiest feelings, namely, pride and greed and anger and envy and lust. It is these feelings that guide his behaviour and make him a monster ready to tear and thrash. He is Lucifer, who has encroached on heaven. He is the Dark God of his dark domain, in which he may one day perish forever. But not now.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Human suffering, cries for help and tears were like a delight to his ears. He was used to hearing such things, he was used to being frightening. He was used to scaring people to death and making them tremble as soon as he appeared. He was incredibly turned on by your hot tears, your red eyes, your scarlet face. Your defenceless appearance provoked him to do something indecent to you, something completely wrong, as people would put it. He was ready to feel you completely, to explore every inch, every millimetre of your body. He was ready to rip your clothes off and gut your insides in a single moment, but he didn't do that every time. After all, everything sweet is left for dessert, isn't it?

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

One could say that what sets Xenophanes apart from other yanderes is that he approaches everything with a rather pronounced 'childlike' perception of the world. He behaves like a jealous toddler who has seen a great variety of toys. He can't get enough of souls, possessions, much less you. He wants to get to the bottom of things, to go head to head, and he doesn't care about the consequences. Just because he will get away with his cruel behaviour — no one is capable of killing him. Absolutely no one. He is well aware of this, and therefore he does what he wants to do. He says what he thinks. Acts as he sees fit. He plays dice with you, knowing full well that he will always come out the winner.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

No matter how badly you want to escape, unfortunately, you will never be able to. However, you seem to have figured out (at least found some ways) how you can stop him, if only for a minute.

He was weak before human tears. They aroused him like nothing else, and you were well aware of that. That's why you didn't have to do much of the wriggling, because he did everything for you. He made you weep and squeal and beg for mercy. And seeing how weak and feeble you were before him, his cold eyes gleamed with excitement and lust. For a moment he paused, watching you with fascination. He damn well loved watching people's reactions to his provocations, to his ruthless and bloody actions.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Damn it, is it even worth mentioning that your whole life spent in his dark place has been one solid misery stretching into infinity? Every day, every minute, every second you dreaded the unknown, because you never knew what the demon had in store for you this time. It was fucking Russian roulette with the Devil. The death games had bored you to death, you were so exhausted that you didn't even want to guess what was going to happen this time. The evil spirit taunted you every time it got the chance — as soon as he took possession of your soul, he took possession of your body and mind forever.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He sees in every person a great, magnificent and most delightful toy, a fragile doll with its own history. He is a collector of porcelain dolls, and you are one of his exhibits in his lovely collection.

In a way, yes, he worshipped you. He worshipped you like a puppeteer who was grateful to his puppets for there would be no performance without them. But he was using you to profit from it, namely to gain power, to become stronger.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Life without you would be possible for the evil spirit if you simply didn't exist. Well, as long as you are in his domain, he will be interested in you until he grows bored with you. Time doesn't exist in his world. So he simply doesn't count the minutes — he doesn't think it's necessary.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Isn't it obvious? He is doing absolutely everything he can to taste you, to feel you, to find your most vulnerable and sore spots. And then press your triggers and break you. Break you mentally, so that you lose your sanity and don't know where his illusion, his delusion of the senses, and where the brutal reality is. He wants to break you physically: to examine all your contents, to admire it, like a child who has received a cherished toy. He wants to make you his property, his puppet, whose meaning would lie in eternal service to him.

Your life is an eternal performance. His amusement is your eternal suffering. Yet even eternity itself, strange as it may sound, isn't eternal. Everything will disappear one day. Everything will have to come to an end someday.

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Enough for me

Series masterlist

Word count: 1796

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: None (lmk if I need to add any)

Summary: You decide to tell Natasha how serious you are about your relationship and things don’t go exactly as you hoped but it’s still good.

A/n: Thank you to the multiple people who wanted another part in the mini flustered series that I’ve totally made up as I went along. Also I want to clarify that although this could be read as a part four to flustered it honestly isn’t super related so you can definitely read it seperately and it wouldn’t matter to the plot bc there is no plot besides soft nat. Also I don’t know if this one is any good because I didn’t edit as usual but hopefully you all enjoy!

You admire your work as you gaze out over the table you had just finished setting up. It had taken some work dragging a table all the way up to the roof and then having to make multiple trips to bring up all the plates, glasses, cutlery and food, not to mention the other things like candles you had set up. The effort was totally worth it in your opinion though because anything for Natasha was worth it.

You’ve spent a lot of time together since your first date and have gone on a couple more but so far all of your dates have been pretty casual and nobody on the team knows about you so you want to do something special to prove that you’re serious about her. Although looking up at the sky you realize you probably should have chosen another night and you cross your fingers that it doesn’t start to rain until after you’re done.

Your cell phone ringing interrupts you. “Tasha?” You answer it, looking at the caller id as you pick it up.

“Hi Y/n.” She responds. “So why am I supposed to call you?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“You told me to call you at seven so I’m calling.” She says and you slap your hand up to your face because you can’t believe you forget that part of your plan.

“Right sorry, I forgot.” You tell her. “Anyways I need you to put on something nice and come up to the roof.”

“Mysterious, I like it.” She says which makes you smile. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.”

“Okay, see you then!” You respond before hanging up and panicking. You didn’t expect her to be so quick and five minutes really isn’t a lot of time. You still have approximately one hundred candles to light and you’re not sure that you can get it done on time. 

You run around, trying to be careful and not burn yourself, and start to light all the candles that were all over the ground surrounding the table and the pathway to the door. Just as you’re finishing lighting the last one and standing up the door to the roof opens and Natasha steps out. She’s gorgeous as always but you especially love this dress on her. It’s black like most things she wears and is tight fitting at the top but slowly gets looser until it flows around her legs. You love it because you can tell she’s dressing to look beautiful and not sexy which she only ever does if she’s letting her guard down (so not very often). You are well aware that your jaw is open and you’re blatantly staring but luckily she’s busy looking around at your setup so you have time to collect yourself.

“Do you like it?” You ask her.

“It’s beautiful.” She breaths in response.

“Not as beautiful as you.” You reply and it’s so cheesy that you nearly regret saying that but there’s a light blush on her face and she’s smiling so you smile back and take a seat at the table, gesturing for her to sit with you. 

“So what’s on the menu?” She asks lightly as she sits, still smiling.

“Just some paninis and lentil soup, hopefully it’s still warm.” You tell her.

“Well I’m sure it will be good either way.” She responds before taking a bite and moaning in delight. “It is amazing, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” You say. “Now how about you tell me about your day?”

You listen attentively as she complains about paperwork and schedules and as she practically glows as she tells you about a new move she had used to take down Steve in training today. You love listening to her, it makes you happy that she likes talking about mediocre things with you and there’s a level of domesticity to it that makes your heart feel full. You just want to know everything about her, no matter how boring people deem it to be because it’s important to her and therefore it matters a lot to you.

You talk to her for hours comfortably as she continues to share but also asks you questions. There is never a lull in the conversation and you could listen to her voice forever. Eventually though, long after you both finish eating, the conversation dwindles to a comfortable silence. At least for her. You’re inwardly freaking out because you want to tell her exactly how much she means to you and although you think she’ll react well it’s not a guarantee. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, always observant. 

You gulp nervously but answer truthfully. “I’m thinking about how I am more serious about you than I’ve ever been about anyone before, even if it’s only been a few weeks.”

“I’m more serious about you than anyone too.” She replies. “But I think you already knew that.”

“I hoped so.” You tell her, continuing on your path since so far she is reacting well. “I was-I was thinking that maybe we could tell the others about us now, or at least stop hiding it and wait until they find out.”

“But I thought you were fine with it just being for us for now?” She asks, a frown tugging at your lips. Your heart sinks at her expression-you never meant to push boundaries that she wasn’t comfortable with yet.

“And I’m still fine with that.” You reassure her quickly. “I just thought it might be nice to tell the others but it’s totally cool if you aren’t okay with it.”

She stands up and starts to pace a little. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Hey, hey.” You stand up too and grab her gently by the arm so she stops and faces you. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do it, I just thought it would be nice so everyone knows how much I love you.”

Instead of calming her down your words only seem to make her more anxious. “You what? You-you love me?” She stutters out.

“Shit I am so sorry Natasha I promised not to rush you.” You immediately apologize, hoping that you didn’t mess things up to badly.

She picks her way through the candles carefully and sits down on the edge of the roof, her feet dangling over. You follow, sitting beside her, making sure you don’t accidentally do anything to further surprise her. She sits quietly, obviously deep in thought and you think as well. You know, or at least you hope, that Natasha won’t break up with you already because of this. You just wanted to give her a special night and the first part of it went great but you just had to push too far. You had promised that she would dictate the terms of the relationship when you had first asked her out but of course you weren’t able to follow through. You just wish that you could hear her thoughts so you could try to fix your mistakes. She stays silent and only speaks up after a few more agonizing minutes.

“I’m sorry-” She starts and you interrupt.

“It’s okay if you’re breaking up with me.” You say and she watches you with a strange look on her face.

“You just told me you love me-I’m not breaking up with you.” She tells you and you sigh in relief. “But I can’t say it back, not yet anyways.”

“That’s completely okay.” You reassure her, slightly disappointed but understanding and just happy she wasn’t breaking up with you.

“I want to but I can’t.” She explains, her face visibly upset, seeing a hint of your disappointment. “It just doesn’t work, I can’t say it, I’m sorry. But if you want to we can tell the team about us.” She turns away when she’s done, biting her lip, afraid of your reaction.

“Tasha. Tasha.” You say, waiting until she turns back to face you to continue. “We won’t do it unless you’re ready and it’s okay that you aren’t. I’m not going to take back my words, I do love you and being able to tell you that and be here with you is enough for me, you don’t need to do anything.”

She pauses a moment and you can’t read her expression so you start to get nervous. Maybe you should have taken back the ‘I love you’ part of your mini speech. Before you can overthink too much she throws herself at your side, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” She mumbles against your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m happy with this because having you is enough for me because I love you.” You tell her, awkwardly un-wedging your arm from between your side and her body and wrapping it around her, rubbing her back in mindless patterns.

She shivers slightly, not from the cold. “Can you say that again?”

“What, I love you?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah.” She says, almost shyly, nodding her head against your neck.

“I love you.” You tell her, kissing the side of her head at an awkward angle. “I love you. I love you so much Tasha.”

You repeat it over and over for a few minutes, feeling as though your heart is going to burst. You no longer care that she can’t say it back because she has her reasons but she wants you to say it and she’s cuddling with you and you never want to let her go because this moment is so perfect. 

Unfortunately the weather has other plans and just as your words start to die out the sky open, a few small drops then a complete downpour. The soft glow that once covered the roof from the candles disappears as they go out, releasing smoke. You know you have to clean things up but you figure it can wait until morning, once things are drier, so you take Natasha’s hand and pull her up. She starts to run towards the door, helping you so you don’t step on the candles, giggling the whole way. Technically things hadn’t gone to plan, her not wanting to tell the team or say she loved you and it raining at the end, but those things don’t seem to matter when you see her bright smile, her hair plastered to her face but somehow looking as beautiful as ever. And it matters even less when she pulls you inside and immediately presses you to the door, kissing you hard. You’re more than happy to fulfill her request when she pulls away, asking for you to say it again. Anything to keep her happy and make her feel loved.

---

<<<previous chapter // next chapter>>>

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[blu-joons]

DATING EXO HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴  Kim Jongin

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Jongin was a huge fan of affection, he would love to cling to you and have a hold on you as often as possible. His nickname of bear was definitely reflected in his affection, he’d love to bear hug you and wrap you up tightly.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

He didn’t quite know how to react when he first met you, he knew he liked you, but he wasn’t really sure what to do. He’d turn to a few of his elder members for support in what to do to try and impress you. Whenever he spoke to you, he always got incredibly nervous, and he knew there was only one explanation to his feelings.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Jongin confessed to you one night after inviting you to dinner. He was incredibly shy, with an innocent smile on his face all night long, building up the courage to tell you how he felt. Once he did, he couldn’t help but let go of a sigh of relief and take a huge sip from his drink. A part of him wanted to run away, but when you decided to tell him how you felt too, he was pretty relieved that he made the decision to stay and listen to every word you said.

D ⇴ DATES

Dates were a big deal to Jongin, he felt that actions spoke louder than words, so he’d go all out to impress you. He was a proper gentleman, he’d always show up at your door with flowers or a gift, and always offer you his hand. Whilst he loved to take you out to play crazy golf or something silly, he also wasn’t afraid to dress up nicely and spoil you at a nice restaurant. No matter what the plan was though, Jongin always made sure that your dates were something you’d treasure, each one had to be special as that was his favourite way of letting you know how he felt about you.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

It’s well known Jongin has had a couple of public relationships in the past, so he will definitely be a bit apprehensive about dating again. When he first mentions it to you, you promise to work at a pace that is comfortable for him rather than pushing him. You trust that he knows what he’s doing when it comes to keeping your relationship safe. He definitely uses what he’s learnt from past experiences to try and make your relationship work, he’s not oblivious to how cutthroat the media can be, but he doesn’t want you caught up in the crossfire.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Compared to the rest of his members, Jongin has a bit more of a temper on him than the others. Whilst he hates shouting or arguing with you, there are certainly a few occasions where he just can’t help himself. If the two of you argue, he’ll take some time away to relax and calm down, once he’s cool and ready to talk, he’ll reappear. He won’t let an argument drag out for too long, once his temper has cooled, he’ll realise what mistakes have been made and will be determined to figure things out. He’s stubborn, but when it comes to the point of beginning to hurt you, he knows exactly when to draw the line.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You met his niece and nephew first when helping him babysit one evening, and luckily for you, they hyped you up to the rest of his family. Seeing how much the two kids loved you, his family knew that they’d love you too. And when they met you, they weren’t let down, and seeing how happy the kids were to see you again settled everything too.

H ⇴ HOME

Jongin didn’t want to rush anything with your relationship, it was something he’d done before and regretted. It would take a few months at least before Jongin considered inviting you to move into his place, but eventually, he’d know when he was ready, and as soon as he was, he’d ask you the question straight away.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

He was the first to say, ‘I love you,’ one night one a date. As the two of you walked along the river hand in hand, his eyes glanced across at you. You were lost in looking down the river, but as he studied you closely, it became very apparent to Jongin how he felt about you, calling out your name to capture your attention before telling you how he felt.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

Jongin tried hard not to get jealous, he often gave off the impression he was tough and confident, and he wanted it to stay that way. But on the inside, he hated seeing you around other people, and you knew him well enough to know when he was feeling that way too. He’d try and smile in your direction when you caught him and reassure you, but you knew him much better than that, pulling him to one side so that you could ease his worries without anyone else hearing around you both and teasing him about it.

K ⇴ KIDS

Having his niece and nephew gave him plenty of practice for the future. Seeing Jongin around them both certainly gave you an insight into your future, as it did for him when he watched you with the two of them. Together you knew that one day you wanted to start a family together, but you weren’t in any rush, you both had other dreams you wanted to accomplish before you thought about children just yet.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

He loved to play jokes on you and wind you up, he was one of the biggest jokesters in the group and that reflected in your relationship too. He’ll always play innocent when he tries to make you laugh, pleading that he never intended to give you a stitch from laughing too hard, but you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. Nothing boosts his ego more than knowing that he’s the one responsible for your laughter and the reason that you proudly wear such a wide smile on your face whenever he’s around.

M ⇴ MISSING

Jongin struggles a lot when he’s away from you, around the group he’ll become very quiet and introverted whilst trying to push his feelings to one side. For a few days, he’ll appear fine whenever the two of you call, but after a week or two when the distance begins to burden you both, his true feelings will become clear. Over time, he’ll open up to you about his struggles and let you see how emotional he’s getting. He counts down the days each time he goes away on tour until he can reunite with you, that’s his best way of coping, knowing that each day when he wakes up, he’s a day closer to being able to go home and reunite with you. It’s hard on you both but coming back together is always the highlight of it all.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

He loves for you to call him ‘bear’ and in response he’ll always give you the biggest bear hug. For you, he’s traditional ‘love’ is his favourite term of endearment to use, but it usually depends on how he’s feeling.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Jongin is obsessed with your waist, he loves to wrap his arms around your waist when he’s hugging you, or have an arm wrapped around it whenever the two of you are walking side by side.

P ⇴ PDA

He’s not afraid to be affectionate with you in public, he’s not shy in making his relationship known to people and will happily make an obvious point to anyone who stares in your direction that you’re taken. He’s in tune with you and knows exactly what you’re comfortable with, he won’t ever push the boundaries past that.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Jongin’s questions usually are the triggers for some sort of debate. He loves getting to know you, even after years together there will always an element of intrigue in him that will knows there’s more to find out about you.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Whenever he goes shopping for hoodies, he buys duplicates. These days, you have a whole section of your wardrobe dedicated to the hoodies that Jongin has bought you so that the two of you can match. When he goes on tour, he swaps the hoodies so he has yours and you have his, that way you have each other’s scents around you, but you can still be comfortable in clothes that you’d both wear in your day to day lives.

S ⇴ SEX

Incredibly passionate, this is the time when Jongin will be most affectionate with you. He’ll cling to you and keep you as close as possibly as he can. He lets his lips and hands do most of the talking, he loves to feel your body and feel the control that he has over you. His lips will be attached to any part of your skin that he can reach. Jongin is also the best at aftercare, he always knows exactly what to do to look after you.

T ⇴ TEXTS

He often sends you photos throughout the day when he’s somewhere he knows you love. It will usually end up being a coffee shop, but he loves to tease you that he’s there whilst you’re usually busy at work instead.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

There aren’t many people who know the real Jongin, but you are definitely one of them. It’s strange for him, somehow it always feels as if you’ve been a part of his life, he struggles to remember what life was like without you most of the time.

V ⇴ VACATION

He never used to be fussed about having a vacation until he met you. He wanted to give you holidays and treats that you deserved, usually at the end of a comeback or a tour he’d give himself a week to just be able to spend time with you and thank you for being so supportive of him whilst he was so busy with work.

W ⇴ WHINING

If he’s in a clingy mood, Jongin will definitely whine until he has your attention. He’ll sit and wait somewhat patiently until you have your eyes firmly on him.

X ⇴ XXXXX

He knows that you’re a big fan of his lips, and he’ll definitely use that to his advantage. He’ll often appear beside you with his lips puckered, making it very clear what he wants from you. He loves to use his height to crane down and press a kiss against your cheek, or if he can reach, your lips. Whenever he kisses you by surprises, he knows it will flush your cheeks red, which is always the sign he takes to carry on.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were Jongin’s best friend, he loved having you in his life.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He’d always keep you close whenever you slept, even if you were a bit of a wriggler, somehow, he’d find a way to keep you in his strong hold, and kiss gently against your neck and shoulders until you slipped off to sleep.

---

Masterlist

[writtenonreceipts]

Feysand and “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” - “Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.”

<3

Kinda sappy? Kinda cliche? Kinda...idk.  

Thanks so much for the prompt!

 #

Words, Words, Words

Escape.

Escape.

Escape is all that is pounding through her head.  Just that one word.  One simple action that one would think it would be simple enough to obey.

But Feyre is stumbling as she back peddles and tries to weave through the bar.  Why did it have to be a Friday night?  Why did she have to pick tonight to come out with her friends?

“Feyre,” his voice is almost desperate in the way he calls out.  Desperate and afraid.  And everything she doesn’t need.

She ignores him.  Feyre’s gotten pretty good at it too.  As much as she loves her best-friend, it’s been harder and harder to be around him because that love isn’t what it should be.  That love is a raging fire within her.  That love should not be reciprocated.

“Feyre.” Rhysand manages to grab her hand and swing her around to face him.

In the jostling crowd she is pushed flush against him, the heat of his body flaring around her.  His cologne, a familiar haze to her senses.  By the cauldron she has to get away from him.

“I can’t do this right now, Rhys,” Feyre says.  

Rhys’ violet eyes bare into her, scanning every inch of her face as though he can keep her there himself.  But the longer she stares at him the harder it will be to walk away.

She shakes her head and pulls back, turning to leave the bar. She's not sure why she trusted Mor. Or course the young woman would spend the weekend hanging out with her cousin.  She should have known Mor would want Feyre to talk to Rhys.  It was Feyre's mistake to trust her friend with the sensitive information of being in love with her best friend.

Feyre is outside in the stiff chill of autumn and is desperately looking for a cab. But it isn't the right time of night. The street is just a touch too busy and Feyre is out of luck.

She pushes a hand through her hair and begins walking. A cab will show up eventually, won't it? Besides, it's only a few blocks to her apartment.

"Feyre!" Rhys calls again. She can hear him running to catch her. She doesn't slow down. When he finally does reach her, he makes it a few steps in front of her and stops, forcing her to run into him. 

Feyre snarls, bracing her hands on his far too sculpted biceps. Damn him.

"Rhys," Feyre says when his hands grip her waist. She can feel her heart thundering in her chest. Feel her breath catch in her throat. Feyre refuses to look at him. Even when she can feel his eyes baring down on her.

"Please just let me explain," he says.  The desperation to his voice returns and in the overhead street lamps she can see the tension lines in his face.  This is so different from the calm and collected Rhys that she knows.  So different from his usual confidence.  It almost makes her want to laugh.  To tell him that he’s being over dramatic as always.

“Rhys,” she begins.  He lets her pull away and she wraps her arms around herself, holding her coat closed against the wind. “There’s nothing to explain.  I decided I’m not feeling good and want to go home.”

The lie is blatant and obvious that it causes her to cringe and look away.  A couple walks past, too engrossed in each other to even notice Feyre and Rhys.

“You weren’t supposed to hear what I said,” Rhys explains.  He runs a hand through his hair mussing it up from its usual neat style.  “Cassian and Azriel were being asses and wouldn’t shut up about and I just--”

He’s floundering for words now, his mouth agape and eyes wild.  He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.

Feyre shakes her head and exhales slowly, trying to remain calm. “If I wasn’t supposed to hear it then maybe you shouldn’t have been saying it.  I mean, dammit, Rhys you’re my best friend.  It’s just--I mean.”

Now it’s her turn to struggle for words.  Heat rises on her cheeks and Feyre looks down at her feet.  She’s probably said too much as it is.  But the conversation that she overheard is all she can hear and it’s hard not to say too much.

How can you be in love with me?

The words are on the tip of her tongue.  They could slip so easily from her lips and stain the night with uncertainty.  But she stays silent.  Nothing good has ever come from bar gossip and if she knows Rhys, he’s already got at least three beers in him.  Maybe more.  Definitely on the road to getting tipsy if not drunk.

“Can I just explain?” He steps toward her, slowly, as though she’ll run away if he moves too quick.  And she’s ready to bolt.  Ready to flag down the next car that passes and bum off a ride.

All she feels is mortification.  Why did she have to overhear that conversation?  Overhear Rhys’ exact words.  And then she ran out of there the way she did.

Feyre stuffs her hands into the pockets of her coat.  Her keys dig painfully into her palm, but she welcomes the distraction.

“You know I’m an idiot Feyre,” Rhys says.  He tries to smile, but she doesn’t return the gesture.  

Feyre rolls her eyes and brushes past him, determined to walk home and get away from him.  Because of course tonight she came to realize the extent of her feelings.  Of course tonight she was feeling a bit more willing to act on them.  Of course tonight had to be the night where Rhys went and ruined it all.  He is actually very good at doing that--saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing.  She used to find it endearing, humorous even.

Rhysand is quick to keep pace with her.  His long legs eat up the distance with ease, his jacket flying open around him.

“Feyre.” He’s pleading as they walk.  She knows he’s watching her so Feyre tries to keep her expression blank.  But Rhysand has always been able to get under her skin. 

She stops abruptly causing Rhysand to swing around and almost collide with her.

Standing flush together, Feyre has to tilt her head to avoid squishing her nose against his chest.  Which wouldn’t have been quite a terrible problem if he weren’t wearing that cologne she likes.  Swallowing roughly, Feyre meets his dark gaze.

“If I wasn’t supposed to hear what you said, then we shouldn’t be talking about it,” she says stiffly.  And she really doesn’t want to talk about it.  Because how did you tell your best friend you were in love with him?  It didn’t matter that she’d heard him admit to the same thing just minutes earlier.  He’s already denying what he’d said so why not help him along by keeping her mouth shut?

Rhysand’s hands come up to her forearms, holding her in place.  He leans forward enough that Feyre’s heart skips a beat and she knows they’re in a far too compromising position.  One that would be so easy to sink into and cross all the boundaries of friends.

She steels herself and lifts her gaze.

In the streetlights overhead Rhysands eyes become pools of black.  Deep and endless it is so easy to get lost in them.  There’s a furrow in his brow as though he’s trying to solve some equation or think of a solution to an impossible scenario.

“Feyre.”

He’s always used her name so casually.  Tossing it around as though he’d never tire of it.  Using it almost as a punctuation mark when they’re having the most mundane of conversations.

This time is an exception.  This time her name is a prayer lilting off his lips.  

Slowly he brings a hand up to her cheek.  He brushes his thumb along her jaw and a shiver races over Feyre’s skin.  She can’t help it, can’t control it.  There’s always been something about Rhys that causes her to lose control and slip up just a little.

So now, when she has this little bit of courage, she keeps his steady gaze.

“You said you loved me.”

Somewhere in the din of the bar as she was weaving around patrons, Rhys had been sitting with Cassian and Azriel.  He hadn’t noticed her approach otherwise she was certain the discussion wouldn’t have been anywhere near where it was.  But Cassian and Azriel were pestering Rhysand about something laughing and giving him knowing looks.

And somehow amid the rest of the noise of clinking glasses, conversation, and music she’d heard Rhys’ words clearer than anything else in that bar.

I’m in love with my best friend, what else do you want from me? 

Feyre isn’t interested in the exact nature of the conversation.  The boys have always kept up strange discussions and debates.  She isn’t interested in Cassian and Azriel’s reactions to what happened either.  She's more concerned with the utter panic that consumed her and forced her to run in the opposite direction.

“Yeah,” he replies, “yeah, I did.”

Because, really, how can Rhysand be in love with her?  It’s some sort of sick cosmic joke for this sort of mix-up to happen right when she’s starting to realize her own feelings for him.  And hell, who is she to say that Rhys was even talking about her?  He can have other best friends.  Amren, for instance.  Cresseida.  Vassa.  She’s grasping now, desperate to fil her mind with anything than to respond to Rhys.

Maybe a hole will open up beneath them and swallow her up.

“And I meant it,” Rhys continues.  

“You’re drunk,” Feyre says and rolls her eyes.

He shrugs. “Only a little.  But it doesn’t make what I said any less true.”

Feyre squeezes her eyes shut, unable to tell if he’s being serious or not. “Including the bit about being an idiot?”

She opens her eyes in time to see a smirk flash over his mouth.  His hand brushes softly against her cheek and Feyre knows she could so easily get lost in his touches, so easily get lost in him.  Despite his arrogance and nonchalance of everything--she knows Rhys for who he really is.

“I’ll let you go if you really want, but I just needed you to know, I meant what I said.” He drops his hand to his side, fingers flexing.  

Unconsciously, Feyre tilts forward, missing the contact.  In his eyes she can read every emotion.  Everything on his mind is laid bare for her to see and Feyre knows just how deep his words run.

“Rhys,” Feyre whispers as she snatches a hand out to grasp the front of his jacket before he can pull away. Oh hell, oh hell, she has no idea what she’s doing.  And before she can stop herself or convince herself it’s a terrible idea, Feyre surges up on her toes and kisses him.

Feyre never would have guessed that she would be able to catch Rhys off guard, considering how collected and confident he always appeared to be.  But the second her lips meet his, Feyre knows she’s surprised him.  And that’s fine by her.  She put all her feeling into the kiss, despite leaving it at barely more than a brush.  She still wants to give him the opportunity to pull back and take back what he said.

Rhys however doesn’t have any qualms about being surprised.  When Feyre pulls away, his hands are already at her neck, her waist keeping her close.  His mouth is urgent against hers as though he can’t quite get enough of her.  Feyre gasps, the feeling of his mouth, his hands and the taste of his tongue on hers--everything has her begging to be closer to Rhys.

When they part, foreheads pressed together and hands desperately searching each other’s bodies, Feyre finally catches her breath.  

“You didn’t throw a shoe at me this time,” Rhysand says grinning down at her.

“The night’s still young, we’ll see what happens,” she replies.

Rhys laughs, kissing her again.

#

tags, I think I got the acotar tags right? maybe...and if you didn’t specify which fandom, I put you on my fixed list, please feel free to correct me if you’d just prefer TOG.

tottenhamboys20  @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @harrymoncheri @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @my-fan-side @sjmships @emikadreams

[perseusannabeth]

Bottled Up Storms - Chapter 4

I had this chapter half written for ages but finally finished it today so shout out to those patients who didn’t turn up for their appointments!

This one is literally just a chapter of Cassian angst. I swear I’m gonna get to the fluff soon. I have some very cute fluff planned for the next chapter, which will be from Nesta’s pov!

Read on AO3

Masterlist for Bottled Up Storms

Word count: 2842 

Cassian hadn't heard from Nesta for the rest of the day. She hadn't come out of her room, but he thanked the Mother when he saw in the morning that the plate of food he had left outside her door was empty. He was so scared that he had fucked things up. It wouldn't be the first time, especially not with Nesta. This could possibly be even worse than the foul words he had thrown at her when he had followed her after Solstice. He still cringed to think about what he had said back then, but in their months of living alone together, he had never been brave enough to bring it up and apologise for what he said. Just more proof that he's a coward.  

Cassian was so torn between confronting Nesta so he could finally see her, check if she's okay and to ask if she had made a decision. It has now been three days and Cassian thinks he’s going out of his mind, but then again, he knows he’s not known for his patience. However, he also knew pushing Nesta into speaking to him would probably cause her to back away from him. He knew that she needed time, cauldron, finding out she was pregnant was not a small thing, and he didn't expect pregnancy to magically fix all the problems she was having before. She would need a lot of time to process everything that was happening to her because once again, she had no choice in any of this. Everything that had happened to her was something that she never chose. Choices had been so important to Feyre, and perhaps they had all been blind and not seen that her sister needed those same choices, that she had the same fears of being locked in a cage.   

It was frustrating for Cassian to only know she was still alive because he could hear her throwing up in the early hours of the morning, and because she was leaving her empty plates outside the door. He would make the tea and leave it on the table in the kitchen because although Theodora had told him Nesta needed to drink it first thing in the morning, he didn't want to anger or upset Nesta by taking tea into her room. Going into her room felt too personal and invasive. He hadn't been in there at all since Nesta had moved in with him, apart from when Theodora had come to see her. He wouldn't go in there unless Nesta asked him to, or he needed to if there was no other option. That room was her space away from everything else that he had tainted. She deserved that much and so much more, so it was the least he could give her. 

Cassian had taken to lingering around the cabin a lot more over the past few days, just in case Nesta needed anything or if she came out. He knew that she was using the bathroom obviously, and his bookshelf had been disturbed so he knew that Nesta must have snuck out when he wasn't home to get some more books, but he could never seem to catch her out of her room. It was driving him crazy. He just had to keep reminding himself that it would do more harm than good if he confronted her. He didn't feel like it was helping him very much but he was doing it for Nesta. She was the only person whose feelings mattered right now. 

She hadn't been to see Theodora or Emerie since he had spoken to her, he had checked with them both. Theodora had pointed out that she had a lot to think about and she needed time, but she didn't understand. She hadn't gotten her mate pregnant and then found out it could kill her. That's what he had done. By giving in to his lust and being so careless he had basically signed Nesta's death warrant, and that was something he could never forgive himself for. Instead of being a good mate and helping Nesta with her burdens and her problems, he had become a burden himself, and just caused more problems for her. She didn't deserve that, and he certainly didn't deserve the gift of a mate, or Nesta. He deserved to suffer, he knew that. He wished Nesta didn't have to suffer too though, he was content to suffer in silence as long as she was okay. 

He decided to make himself useful for once, and see Theodora again. He could hear Nesta in her room, and from the sound of her breathing, he guessed she was asleep. She hadn't been sleeping very well at night, not that she did before. But whereas before he could hear her thrashing about, now she was just still. He could imagine her lying on her back, one hand on her flat stomach, staring at the ceiling, seeing but not seeing, too lost in her own mind to notice anything else going on around her. He had to stop imagining what she was doing, how she was lying and what she was thinking, otherwise, he would definitely lose his mind.   

He marched himself to the healer's tents instantly finding Theodora in the maternity tent. Cassian cleared his throat as he walked towards her to get her attention, not wanting to sneak up on her and startle her. He knew most of the females in this camp felt uncomfortable around males and tried to make himself as small as possible, bringing his wings in as close to himself as he could, to make himself look smaller. He knew that he was tall and bulky and so this wouldn't do much, but he knew that the females would appreciate his wings being close to him, rather than spread to show dominance as most males in the camp did. It was a small gesture, but the meaning behind it was powerful, especially coming from the commander of the Illyrian armies. He knew it wasn't enough, but it was a start. 

"What do you want now?" Theodora asked, not looking up from the herbs in her tray which she was organising into boxes.  

He liked that Theodora was so blunt with him, it was rare for him to get that from an Illyrian female. A part of him also felt like he didn't really deserve to have people be so nice to him. Not after what happened in the battle against Hybern. And now with what he had done to Nesta.  

He decided to get straight to the point. He knew Theodora wasn't interested in small talk. "Is there anything else Nesta can take for the sickness?" 

"Is the tea not working?" Theodora decided to look up, one of her eyebrows lifted as she looked at him.  

"I think it is, but she can't get it first thing in the morning." 

"Why can't she? It's not that hard, I know you're a busy male doing whatever males do, but all you have to do is make a simple tea and give it to her before you leave." Theodora sounded annoyed at him, as though she thought he was being stupid.  

"I don't want to intrude on her privacy and go into her rooms in the morning. I don't want to overwhelm her." Cassian looked down at the ground let out a sad sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair. He looked back at Theodora and straightened himself up. "I need something that she can have that doesn't involve me ignoring her boundaries. She hasn't been sleeping very well so I don't want to go into her room and wake her to give her tea when I have to leave very early. Is there anything else you can give us?" 

"Us?" Theodora asked as her eyebrows now went higher than they were before. Cassian cursed himself for the slip of the tongue but held strong under Theodora's thunderous glare. When he didn't respond she eventually moved on, realising she wasn't going to get anything else out of him. "There are a few things I can possibly give to Nesta. It's a trial by error type thing, unfortunately. Every female is different, some medicines and remedies work for some and some do not." 

Theodora started rummaging around in the cupboards behind her, muttering to herself about incompetent Illyrian males and male stupidity as she did. Cassian felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly. He loved the fact that Theodora wasn't afraid to say what she thought of him. It made him glad she had decided to become Nesta's protector. She was exactly the kind of person who could protect her from his stupid mistakes. Theodora eventually pulled out a jar with golden coloured cubes in it, holding it up with a triumphant look on her face.  

"These are jelly cubes. They have similar properties in it to the tea herbs I gave you. I'm assuming Nesta doesn't throw up after she does eventually get the tea?" Cassian nodded, feeling like a naughty child who was being told off while Theodora explained everything to him. "That means the herbs work for her. All she needs to do is eat one of these in the morning as soon as she wakes up. Sometimes it can take some time for them to start working, so don't be alarmed if they don't work straight away. The tea is faster acting, which is why I give the herbs first. If she finds that they have not started working after a week then she needs to come back to me so I can try and find her something else." Theodora shoved the jar into Cassian hands and then sat back down and carried on sorting her herbs out as though she hadn’t just been interrupted.   

"What if she doesn't need this many?" Cassian asked, examining the jar filled with the small jellies.  

"Then she can give them back to me. As long as she doesn't spit in the jar or something strange then I can offer them up to other patients. However if she needs them all that's fine, I can always make more very easily." Theodora paused, and then looked up at Cassian. For the first time in the time he had known Theodora, she looked cautious of him for once. She finally finished weighing up what she had been thinking about asking and decided to speak again. "Is there any particular reason you think she might not be needing them all?" 

Cassian froze. He hadn't discussed with anyone what he had said to Nesta and certainly would never dare to discuss what she had said in response. Until Nesta spoke to him, or anyone else, about what she wanted to do with the baby, he wouldn't say a word. It was up to her to make the next move, and as much as Cassian hoped he would be involved in that, or even be told what she had decided, he knew he had done nothing to earn that trust from Nesta.  

"I don't know. Just maybe if the sickness stops?" Cassian asked, knowing Theodora would know he was lying, but hoping she wouldn’t try to pry things out of him.  

Theodora squinted at him, looking at him as though she could see right through him in that unnerving way of hers. Cassian held his breath, almost feeling like a prey about to be pounced on by the predator. Thankfully, her examination of Cassian was over quickly, and he took a breath, trying to calm himself.  

"Fine, if you say so. Now answer me this, and answer me truthfully, do I need to go visit the poor girl? Have you done something again?" 

Cassian tried to think of what to say that wouldn’t be lying, without talking about things Nesta wouldn’t want him to talk about, and also without pissing Theodora off. "I think she just needs time to process things." 

"So you told her about the risks then." Theodora mused. "No wonder you're so on edge." 

"I can't talk about that with you, you know that. I don't want to betray her confidence."  

"It's about time you got your shit together boy," Theodora said, almost sounding approving of him. She certainly had a glint in her eye that Cassian had very rarely seen aimed at him.  

Cassian shrugged, suddenly very tired of his conversation, and not sure what else he could say. He definitely didn't feel like he had gotten anything together. Everything just felt like it was going from bad to worse.  

"Go home to your mate Cassian," Theodora said, sounding a little resigned now. "Go home and speak to your mate about things. Communication is important, but it's a two-way street too you know? You can't just sit around and wait for her to come to you, that might never happen." Cassian opened his mouth to protest, but Theodora cut him off before he could even start. "I know you say you don't want to push her and whatever, but there's a difference between pushing her into something she doesn't want to do and making sure that she's alright. Sometimes people need someone else to talk to, however much she might want to deny that. She needs someone to listen to her right now, so make it clear that you will listen with no judgement." 

That struck a chord with Cassian. He knew that although he offered her these things in the past, he had never done it without judgement. Perhaps this time, if Nesta chose to trust in him, he could prove that he could do something right by his mate for once. Theodora was right, Nesta needed to discuss what she was thinking out loud. Being locked away on her own could make her worse, and could make her feel more isolated. Cassian didn't like the idea of Nesta trying to deal with her pregnancy on his own. Just the thought of it made him clench his fists in anger.  

"You probably hear this a lot, but you're right." Cassian tried to go for his usual cheeky grin but knew it fell flat.  

Theodora let a big smile spread across her face. "Cassian, I do hear it a lot, but I'll never get tired of hearing it, especially from males, so feel free to remind me how I'm always right every so often." 

Cassian let out a small laugh and then said his goodbyes, walking back towards his cabin feeling much lighter. He got back a lot quicker than he anticipated and quickly decided to fix Nesta a snack, hoping to take it over to her room as a peace offering. However, as he opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway, as his eyes landed on Nesta sat on the sofa, reading her book, and eating an apple that she had cut up for herself.

He couldn’t quite believe that she was in front of him, acting like nothing had happened after being hidden away for days. He couldn't help but stare at her reading while eating her apple slice slowly, looking so comfy and at home. He felt his heart squeeze at the sight of his mate looking almost content in his cabin.  

"You're blocking my light." She spoke eventually, startling him a little as she brought him back to the room rather than being lost in thought. It was the first time she had spoken to him in what felt like forever, and his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice.  

Cassian moved quickly out of the way, and shut the door, making sure that he didn't block too much of her light by standing in front of any door or window facing her. He scrambled through his brain, looking for something to say, eventually deciding on sticking for safe topics for now.  

"What are you reading sweetheart?" 

Nesta froze, visibly stiffening at the sound of Cassian's voice. Cassian cursed himself. "So much for safe topics, idiot."  

He watched Nesta, and although he couldn't see her face, he could tell she was considering her answer. He waited until she decided to speak to him.    

"It's about pregnancies."  

Somehow, those three words took the breath out of his lungs. Out of all the answers, that was not the one he was expecting. But clearly, they weren't going to stick to safe topics, so Cassian had to try his best not to fuck this up.  

"Anything interesting?" His voice sounded off, but he hoped she wouldn't notice. He knew she would, she never missed a thing, but he could pretend that he was able to act cool and collected around her.  

"A few things." Silence, as she once again weighed up another answer. She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she decided to voice her thought. Cassian could feel the tension in the room rising, he felt like he couldn't breathe.  "I think, I might keep the baby."

Tags list (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!) Bolded tags don’t work

@hizqueen4life @kelly-fasel @sannelovesreading @acourtofmarauders @maastrash @sjm-things @bookstantrash @cursebreaker29 @humanexile @iammissstark @stardelia @superspiritfestival @courtofjurdan @cass-nes @thewayshedreamed @queenestarcheron

[lunavadash-creates]

Knifey’s curiosity mode: ON

Let’s begin with number 15 then 20, 21. 22, 23. And I would LOVE to know answers on numbers 24, 28, 29, 30, 50 and also 55, 56, 57, 58. If it’s not too much I also like questions number 62, 63, 66, 67, 71 (whatever it means), 81, 87, 88, 90, 93 and 98!

YES, I am really curious. I hope it’s still rather curiosity and not being nosey. I don’t want to push any boundaries. If you don’t want to or not have time for answering them please feel free to ignore them!

And yes, now you will spend years on answering to my asks. Mwahaha.

🔪

Ha! Thank you for those, lemme answer them! I'll hide them under this funny cut because I feel it's sooo long! 15. Favourite book you read as a school assignment Felix, Net and Nika and a gang of invisible people and Anne of Green Gables

20. prefered place to write My laptop or phone. I hate writing in notebooks!

21. obsession from childhood I still love animals and plush toys! Also Pokemons!

22. Role model To be honest I have never looked at people in that way. So I guess I don't really have a role model.

23. Strange habit I chew on my hair of play with it when I'm nervous or lost in thought :c it's also a bad habit!

24. Favourite crystal Does it include stones in general? Because my favourite one is Night of Cairo. If not then I love amethysts, sapphires and rubies. My grandpa gave me a box with 9 different crystals years ago, and amethyst is beautiful.

28. 5 songs to describe you Oh lord that one is difficult. Seasons by Dragonforce, The Game by Dragonforce, Castle of Glass by Linkin Park, We Don't Have To Dance by Andy Black and Demons by Imagine Dragons

29. Best way to bond with me Just talk. I'm always happy to talk with people. I like people who are not afraid to talk about their passions but also know how to listen. Like I'd prefer to talk about idk your favourite aliens than some weather small talk. I love sharing passions!

30.Places that you find sacred Forests. I go to the forests a few times a year and it's always a magical experience. I always go there very early (like 4am) and it's at the same so loud and so quiet. I love them.

50. What made you laugh the hardest you ever have. Honestly, it's not hard to make me laugh. There were many occasions when I was laughing so hard I thought I would pass out!

55. Favourite fairy-tale About how Mr. Twardowski made a deal with the Devil! In exchange for his soul, he forced the Devil to make the craziest stuff like building a perfect castle out of sand and such. And in the end, he decided that the Devil can take his soul but only in Rome! He thought that since he never planned to go to Italy he was safe but Devil then killed him in the inn called Rome.

56. Favourite tradition Huh... I don't know? I think I don't really have a favourite tradition

57. 3 biggest struggles you overcome I had 5 surgeries so let's count them all in

58. 4 talents you're proud of having Honesty I don't think I have that many? I like my writing and that's all.

62. 7 characters you relate to Gods so many?! I never actually related to any character (same with role models) because when I see a character I mostly think about how to change the story or what kind of s/o give them in my head. So honestly I don't think I can actually think of any character I can relate to.

63. 5 songs you would play in your club I'm blue by Eiffel 65, Dragostea din tei by O-Zone, We will rock you by Queen, Bohemian Rapsody by Freddie Mercury, Don't stop the music by Rihanna

66. Fawouire Flowers Lily of the valley! Honestly, I love all the flowers (purple the most and yellow the least) but generally, I love them all.

67. Good Luck Charms I have my necklace with 4 leaf clover i got from my parents for my 18 birthday. It's my biggest treasure, good luck charm and most important and valuable thing i own

71. Last favourite pattern I don't know? I don't really like Ogee pattern

81. Fireflies or lightning bugs I THOUGHT IT'S THE SAME THING WITH DIFFERENT NAME????? *break for googling stuff* THEY ARE THE SAME THING

87. Greatest fear Loneliness

88. Greatest wish For my parents and friends to be happy (yes Knfey, that includes you, I want you to be happy)

90. Luckiest Mistake Hmmm.... Honestly I don't know??? I don't remember having any?

93. NIcknames Oh well... Bordelmama or Fairy Gay Mother (esp by people I write rp with lol)

98.Favourite historical Era Muromachi!

Thank you Knifey1 I had fun answering them! And you know I'm like an open book. I don't really hide much except from some of my ideas or such. But now I'm curious to ask you some! Would you let me? 👀 If yes then: 1,2,315,18,21,24,29,36,38,48,55,56,61,66,6786,88 :D Feel free to answer them dearest! Now I'll go to sleep so hopefully I can answer rest of your ask tomorrow. I have the last one request of yours to finish!

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 9: Never Too Late

by @dracusfyre

The answer turned out to be six weeks. Six weeks of bluffing through phone calls, six weeks of faking it when Stane came by to check his progress, six weeks’ worth of “still trying to get the math to work out” and “unexpected difficulties.” He’d handed over the updated prototypes to the miniature arc reactor two weeks ago, though he’d made sure to transpose some numbers deep in the schematics to give them some trouble until they figured out the mistake. He could see the frustration growing on Stane’s face and in his voice, and each time it happened his stomach swooped with fear and he considered giving in. But each time he managed to kept his mouth shut; each time he told himself, maybe tomorrow, but not today. He knew he couldn't keep stalling forever though, and that knowledge was a lead weight in his stomach every time he woke up.

The night his time ran out, Tony was nursing a glass of whiskey and staring at the fire in the fireplace, thoughts far away. The sound of his door unlocking made him jump and his heart was still racing from adrenaline when he saw Stane open the door. It started beating double time when he saw that for the first time in weeks, Stane was in a good mood.

“Good evening, Tony,” Stane said cheerfully as he closed the door behind him.

Tony had to swallow twice before he could speak. “Stane,” he said, and set his whiskey down on the coffee table when he saw that his hands were shaking. Stane in a good mood was much more terrifying than Stane in a bad one.

“I just swung by to check in and see how you were doing,” Stane said, and Tony watched him warily as he approached, noticing that Stane hadn’t taken off his coat or his shoes, like he wasn’t planning to stay long. He had no idea what that meant, but a change in routine was never good.

“I sent an email update yesterday,” Tony said, and he had. He’d pointed out a lot of problems in the current suit design and had made suggestions while managing to not actually give any solutions. It had taken him hours to write something that spectacularly unhelpful and he had been perversely proud of it.

“Yeah, I saw that email,” Stane said, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked at the fire as well. He picked up the poker and moved some of the logs around and the fire flared, reflecting red and orange on Stane’s skin. “But you know, when I was reading it, I kept getting the feeling that you were holding out on me.”

“No,” Tony said automatically, palms starting to sweat. “I’m not. I – I wouldn’t.”

“You see, that’s what I keep telling myself,” Stane said. When he turned to face Tony, the iron poker was still in his hand. Tony’s eyes fell to it and he swallowed thickly. He wanted to run, but his limbs were frozen as Stane came closer. “But then I think, Tony miniaturized the arc reactor after six months in a cave, something Howard couldn’t do in forty years.” Stane lifted the poker and set the tip of it against the arc reactor, pressing Tony back against the couch. He gasped at the pain and pressure as Stane started to lean on him, feeling like the arc reactor casing was squeezing the air from his lungs. “And this, this mechanized suit thing, isn't half as complicated as that. So I have to ask. Are you holding out on me?”

Tony stared up at Stane, who was looking down at him with a sort of patient indifference while Tony struggled to breathe. His breaths were coming fast and quick as he started to panic, and he kicked out at Stane, trying to make him back off. He grabbed at the poker and tried to push it away from him but Stane just leaned harder, the tip of the poker screeching as it etched a line in the protective glass of the arc reactor. Tony knew in that moment that Stane was fully prepared to kill him if he didn’t get an answer he liked and with that knowledge, he suddenly realized that he didn’t care. So he tightened his jaw against the pain, met Stane’s eyes, and stopped struggling. Kill me, he dared Stane with his gaze, since he couldn’t breathe to speak. Fuck you. I'd rather die.

And that was when Stane took a step back and threw the poker to the side, the ring of it against the marble floor echoing loudly. “I was afraid of this,” he said with a sigh. “Get up.”

As soon as the pressure was gone, Tony sat forward and curled over his knees, raggedly sucking air into lungs that felt bruised, each breath like a knife in his chest. Pain radiated out from the arc reactor, pulsing in time with his heart. He was staring sightlessly at the rug at his feet, spots crossing his vision as the need for air fought with the tight bands constricting his chest, when he heard Stane make an impatient noise and felt him grab the back of Tony’s shirt.

“I said get up,” Stane said irritably, pulling him off the couch. Tony staggered to his feet, hand on the arm of the couch as he steadied himself. “Let’s go. You need to see something.” He shoved Tony towards the door and Tony stumbled, almost falling on the way to Stane’s car, the concrete of the driveway scraping his bare feet.

“Where are we going?” Tony finally managed as the pain in his chest subsided to a dull ache.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Stane said. Tony sat very still and quiet in the passenger seat for the rest of the ride, fear keeping his throat closed tight as he tried not to draw Stane’s attention. It felt like another blow to the arc reactor would break him in half, split him open right down the middle like a log, and he wouldn't be able to keep from spilling every secret he’d been trying to keep.

After a few minutes of driving, Stane turned on the radio. The sound of a conservative talk show filled the dense silence in the car, an incongruous counterpoint to the tension that had Tony’s hands clenched into fists in his lap. They drove for over an hour before Stane pulled off the highway, then they spent another hour on back roads before pulling up to a back entrance of the LA port facilities. Stane showed his drivers license to the guard at the gate, and after studying it for a moment the man saluted and said “Heil Hydra” before buzzing them through. They parked at one of the dozens if not hundreds of anonymous warehouses that lined the shipyard, with only a number on the side of the building to distinguish it from the others. A keycode and fingerprint scan opened the door, which led to a blank hallway with a concrete floor and corrugated metal walls. The place was almost ominous in its banality. At the far end was another door, and Tony knew that whatever was on the other side of this was what had Stane in such a good mood.

“Here we go,” Stane said as he opened it. Tony reluctantly followed him through it, warily studying the room as he stepped inside. One side of the room was lined with hooks where body armor, helmets, and other gear hung, with a wooden bench lined up in front of a wall of lockers. In the far corner was a large munitions locker filled with rifles, handguns, and ammo cans. On the back wall of the room was what looked like an ancient upright hyperbaric chamber, rounded glass and blackened steel with a variety of cords and hoses running to it. Computers filled up most of the space in the middle along with a large metal machine, and on the third wall crates with the Stark Industries logo were stacked up almost to the ceiling.

And in the center of the room, Tony finally realized, sat the Winter Soldier. Tony felt his face go slack with shock, because this was the Soldier as Tony had never seen him: stripped of his weapons and bare-chested, no face mask or goggles. If it wasn’t for the metal arm Tony wouldn’t have even known who he was looking at, and the surprise seemed to short-circuit Tony’s normal seething hatred. The Soldier was sitting in a heavy metal chair that was haloed with some sort of machinery, staring straight ahead while white-coated technicians moved around him, checking the device and looking at something on the computers that were hooked up to the chair.

“Come on,” Stane said, and started towards him. When Tony didn’t follow, feet rooted to the floor with dread, Stane grabbed his arm and dragged him forward. They stopped about ten feet away from the chair, just far enough away that they weren’t going to disturb the work of the technicians but close enough that Tony could almost count the stubble on the Soldier’s jaw.

“Get a good look,” Stane said. He put his heavy, meaty hand on the back of Tony’s neck, keeping his head facing the Soldier, as if Tony could drag his eyes away from the man in front of them. As they’d approached, the Soldier’s eyes had flickered towards them, studying them. They lingered on Tony’s face for a long moment, and a slight line appeared between his eyebrows before he looked away. Tony noticed, incongruously, that his eyes were an icy blue, almost gray, but were strangely vacant as he stared across the room and ignored the activity around him, just like he always did with Tony. Without his normal tac gear, Tony could see that the metal of the arm went well into his chest; ropy, thick keloid scars marked the boundary between skin and metal.

That was also when Tony noticed the restraints on the Soldier’s arms, binding him to the chair.

“What-“ Tony started, but Stane squeezed him by the nape of his neck and shook him slightly to silence him.

“See, you seem to think death is the worst thing we can do to you,” Stane said into his ear. “Or torture. Pain and death, that’s all you think we can do. Kill you, kill your friends, blah blah blah. Right?” When Tony didn’t move, too stiff with fear, Stane put his hand on the back of Tony’s head and forced it up and down in a parody of a nod. “But it’s not. You see, with this machine, we can take your mind, pour it into a blender and,” at this, Stane got close enough that Tony could feel his breath, making his skin crawl, “pour whatever we want back in.”  Stane straightened. “Watch.”

Stane went up the Soldier and took a chair from one of the technicians so that he could sit with his face level to the Soldier's. “What’s your name?” he asked him, and the man’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. After a moment he just shook his head. “It’s James,” Stane said. “Your name is James Barnes and you were born in Brooklyn, did you know that?” The Soldier shook his head again. Stane threw a smirk over his shoulder at Tony before turning back to the Soldier. “Mission report,” he ordered.

At this, the look of confusion cleared. “Level 9 target eliminated. All witnesses eliminated. Package retrieved. All combatants returned to extraction point with minimal injuries. No damage sustained to Hydra property,” the Soldier reported. His voice was softer than Tony expected, but gravelly with disuse.

Stane turned to Tony and said, “Did you want to ask him any questions?” When Tony only shook his head, Stane frowned. “Spoilsport,” he complained, but he stood and gestured for Tony to take his place in the chair. Tony stepped forward reluctantly, an awful sense of dread making his limbs heavy. It wasn’t cold in the room but Tony felt a chill anyway, almost deep enough to make him shiver.

“Stane, please,” Tony said, not even sure what he was pleading for. Stop. Don’t make me do this. He didn’t even know what was going on, but something was deeply wrong here and it was making Tony feel a bone-deep terror that he hadn’t felt since he’d woken up to see Stane at his kitchen table when he was 18 years old.

“Sit,” Stane ordered, and shoved Tony into the chair. Now Tony was close enough to see the darker line of blue that circled the Soldier’s irises and the chapped skin of his lips, the cleft in his chin and the straight line of his nose. The Soldier was staring at him, and once Tony met his eyes he couldn’t look away. “Do you know who this man is?” Stane asked him, and after a moment of hesitation, the Soldier shook his head. “This is Tony Stark,” Stane said. “Remember that.” As the Soldier nodded once, Tony heard Stane ask the technicians, “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, sir.” At that, one of them came forward and put a hand on the Soldier's shoulder, pushing him against the back of the chair. The machinery that surrounded the chair began to hum as it lowered into position. The whole time, the Soldier’s eyes never left Tony’s, which is why Tony could see the exact moment when the blankness sharpened and turned into fear as he realized what was happening. A bite guard was forced into his mouth, and Tony could see his hands clench into fists and strain against the clamps binding him to the chair. After a moment a headset came down to surround the Soldier’s head, forcing it back until he was looking at the ceiling. Until now, he had been almost completely silent, but as the machine whirred to life, Tony heard a strangled whimper and saw the Soldier try to flinch away from the metal that was covering his face.  Tony closed his eyes and tried to turn his face away but Stane was behind him and forced his head forward.

“Watch,” Stane said. “Or I’ll make you flip the switch.”

Tony opened his eyes. A technician glanced towards Stane and must have gotten the go-ahead because he looked down at the panel in front of him and activated the machine. There was the sound of electricity buzzing and the Soldier jerked, screaming. The tendons of his neck stood out from the strength of his screams and they echoed off the metal walls, burrowing deep into Tony’s ears until he thought he’d hear the ring of them for the rest of his life. He watched as the Soldier's back bowed and his body convulsed, feeling like he was going to throw up. The sound of electricity cycled louder and louder, and the Soldier kept screaming even as his voice grew ragged, until finally the machine stopped and the room fell silent. The Soldier went limp, panting, as the headset lifted off of him and he was allowed to sit up again. His face was pale and his hair soaked with sweat, and he shivered in the aftermath, still twitching slightly.

“Hey,” Stane said, snapping his fingers at the Soldier. After a second, the Soldier focused his gaze on Stane. “What’s your name?” The Soldier's brow furrowed as he thought, and after a moment he shook his head. “What’s his name?” he asked, gesturing to Tony. The Soldier glanced at Tony, features blank with unrecognition. He shook his head again, and Stane slapped him. The sudden sharp noise made Tony jump. “I told you to remember,” Stane said sternly, and the Soldier swallowed but still shook his head after a long minute. “Fine. Give me a mission report.” The Soldier's agitation just got worse, and he shook his head again.  “Release his restraints,” Stane told the technician, then took a pistol from the small of his back and handed it to the Soldier. “Now take this apart and put it back together.” Looking relieved to finally get an order he understood, the Soldier's hands flew over the gun, and in moments it was pieces, all the way to the hammer and slide release spring, then it was back together, locked and loaded. Stane smiled approvingly and said, “Now unless you can tell me what your name is, I want you to point the gun at your temple and-“

“Stane!” Tony shouted as the Soldier's hand started to move.

“Yeah, I think you get the point,” Stane said. He took the gun out of the Soldier's unresisting hands. “No use beating a dead horse.” With a painful grip under Tony’s arm, he pulled him out of the chair to stand facing him. “You do get the point, right?” Stane said, picking a piece of lint off Tony’s shirt and flicking it to the side. “If not, let me make it crystal fucking clear. If you think you can take your secrets to your grave, that you can defy Hydra and there’s nothing we can do about it, you’re wrong. All we gotta do is stick you in that chair, give you a few targeted pulses of electricity to your hippocampus and neo-cortex, among others, and you’ll do anything. I. Say," he said, finger tapping the arc reactor for emphasis after each word.

Tony stared at Stane and absolutely believed him. Whatever happened in that chair wasn’t just about pain, it was about erasing; whoever the Soldier was - James, if that was really his name and not just something Stane made up – had been before, Hydra had erased him so thoroughly that not even his name remained, just the Soldier. Tony tried to imagine the terror of that, of having his memories and his personality and his will taken from him, every bit of him laid bare while Hydra picked over what they wanted and discarded what they didn’t. “I understand,” Tony managed.

“Good!” Stane said with a smile. “So when I say, ‘design me a fucking mechanized suit, Tony,’ what are you going to do?”

“Design the suit.”    

“Right answer.” Stane put his arm around Tony’s shoulders and led him towards the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

Tony was silent the whole way. Stane, on the other hand, was still in a great mood, switching talk radio for golden oldies and drumming his hands on the steering wheel. Tony only spoke when spoken to, giving only one word answers as Stane came inside for a drink and rambled something about the SI board of directors. He felt numb inside but forced himself to nod and answer in all the right places, until finally Stane tired of whatever game he was playing and left.

When the door finally closed behind him, Tony stood and went to the windows that faced out onto the ocean. Save who you can. Mourn who you can’t. Never forget, never forgive, and if you get a chance to escape, don't look back. Tony could still hear the Soldier's screams and see Stane’s smile, and as he stared at his reflection in the dark glass, he knew he was going to do something very, very stupid.

[iustories]

The Visitor

IU x Kim Soohyun

Jieun’s POV

Of all the places, I met you here. It's out of the ordinary I'd say, but I knew one day we'll see each other here. Little by little, everything faded before my eyes and I only saw you. You met my gaze with the same warmth and I clearly remembered the last time you looked at me similarly. When was that again? How long has it been since? I could tell you I lost count, but that would be a lie and I'm certain you'd immediately catch it before I even finish my sentence because you know everything about me, except for the part that I loved you I guess.

Loved? Should I be speaking in past tense? Do I still have the same fire burning in my chest? Sometimes I'm confused.

I approached you with caution as I always do, afraid to look eager, but I may give myself away when I smile a tad wider than usual. It can't be helped since you bring it out of me effortlessly and I'm a fool for giving in every damn time. But what is to be terrified about? This strange place will forget me, you, us, and whatever will happen, right? So I'll take my chances.

You rose to your feet with such grace and met me in the middle then pulled me into a tight hug. Ah, it feels like home. It feels like you. Seconds passed and I am still in your arms. I didn't detect any intention of you wanting to let go and it was my cue to allow myself to enjoy this freely. Was I always guilty when you're too close before? Now please don't break free. I promise I won't push you away this time. I'll make you stay.

There were no words spoken, just hearts beating in the same rhythm, speaking things that could not be explained if said.

"I missed you," you whispered, your soft breath tickling my ear.

If it weren't for this place, I would be hesitant to say it back, but since we're here let me just be honest. I'm sorry I had to mask my affection with dry humor. It was the only way I could tell you without actually telling you. "I missed you too. How have you been?"

Of course I'm aware that you're doing fine. You've been busy exploring new activities and having fun with your family. I check up on you from time to time. Despite what happened between us, I still genuinely care for you. "I'm good. And you?"

I was still engulfed in your embrace and if we talk for hours in this position, I wouldn't complain. "I'm okay too. I've been doing things here and there. Nothing really special, but yeah I'm okay."

I still can't conjure coherent sentences without feeling anxious. I mean, being around you still makes me nervous even in this place where nobody knows us.

You finally separated yourself from me, your hands traveling from my back towards my arms. You gripped them firmly then smiled at me, evidently delighted by my sudden appearance, like you've been waiting for me to come.

"Let's sit?" You casually asked and I nodded in response. You dragged me to the couch and motioned your hand, telling me to sit.

"What do you want to watch?" You asked, your eyes directing me to the screen. I turned to your laptop and scanned the selection. Seeing the titles brought a small smile on my lips because it just proves that it's you. Those movies and shows are your favorite. Now I'm sure this is all real.

I pointed at medical drama that you were raving about years ago. When you told me about it for the first time, I gave you a funny look because I didn't perceive you as a sentimental person.

"Good choice," you approved, your lips curving into a satisfied smile as you clicked on the show.

Do we have all the time in the world to watch shows? Can we settle some things first? I don't know how much time we have, so for the sake of my sanity, can we talk? But like in the past, my requests refused to leave my lips because your pleasure is much important than mine. I couldn't help it you know—putting you first. It's ridiculous, yes. But this is how I loved you.

Loved. There it is again. That word. It weighs heavily on me, waking the feelings I've come to abandon over the years as my hope dwindled. Can that word not ring in my head when I look at you? It's really bothersome and I can't focus on the present.

There was a considerable amount of space between us which actually disappointed me since we were always skin to skin. Have we fallen apart completely? Have we created boundaries? A while ago I thought we were back on track.

You must have heard my thoughts because you gradually moved closer until your arm was lightly touching mine and at the initial contact, I almost flinched and had to hold the gasp that was about to escape my lips. It amazes me how you still affect me with such intensity after all these years. I felt you arm hover over my neck and it found its way around my shoulder, causing me to freeze. You quietly tugged me towards you, urging me to relax and be comfortable, so I did. The loud beating of my heart deliberately subsided when you began patting my arm repeatedly. I eased my mind and I ran back to the things I used to do when I'm with you—placing my head on your chest and my arm around your belly.

And here I am again wishing this moment would never end, but I already tried it a couple of times in the past yet we were still separated by fate in the end.

"Jieun-ah," You called my name tenderly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to tell me anything?" You asked with a mellow tone, coaxing me.

"Like what?"

"Just anything. Maybe things I don't know?" There uncertainty in your voice, but I heard conviction as well.

Now I wonder if you've known all along. It's not impossible though since people talk and rumors spread quite fast.

Should I be honest or should I lie? Isn't this what I've been imagining—you asking me if I had something to say?

"I won't be mad. Whatever it is just tell me," you reassured me.

I let silence prevail, thinking hard if I should just say the truth. This is the redo that I prayed for, so letting this pass would be another dumb mistake.

"Do you know that I love you?"

Should I have said 'loved'? Which one is appropriate? And why am I answering you with a question? God damn it.

It was your turn to fall silent and tension immediately rose as you let seconds pass. "I know. I've always known."

My heart leaped as a mix of anxiety, fear, and excitement played inside my system. "Really?"

"I could see from the way you looked at me," You explained simply then paused.

"And I looked at you the same, but you never saw it, right?"

I processed your words carefully, afraid I might have gotten the wrong idea, but you interrupted my train of thoughts when you added, "We wouldn't be talking about this if you noticed. I loved you too."

"But things went downhill, didn't it?" I asked, trying to comfort myself from the missed opportunity by blaming it on fate and circumstances.

"It did," you affirmed. "But we could have tried."

"Would you have chosen me?"

You sighed then tightened your hold on me. "Yeah. I would have. Without a doubt."

"So we both ended up being alone after all that," I said chuckling, attempting to dismiss the ache growing inside my chest as regrets threaten to break loose at the gates of my mind.

"I talked a lot about you—no, all I talked about was you." I felt you shake your head, your chin brushing against the top of my head a few times. "I couldn't tell you too so I told other people."

"What were we so afraid of?" I asked, hoping that you had an answer. If we loved each other then, what was stopping us?

"Hurting others? We thought of them first before us."

Right. I almost forgot. Other people. We weren't selfish enough to take it to another level because of others or rather this person we both held close to our hearts. Our friend.

"Did we do the right thing?" I'm desperately seeking reprieve because I am being chased by the consequences of that decision.

"Yeah, I think we did," you answered as you peeked at my face and I wasn't quick enough to hide the sadness that was etched on it. "I'm sorry, Jieun-ah. I know I gave you a hard time. I know you've been waiting."

I bit my lip to control its trembling. The show continues to play on the screen, but it only served as the noise that filled the void when we fail to answer quickly.

"But doing the right thing doesn't always make us happy," you continued. "So are you happy now?"

I parted my lips yet nothing came out. Am I really happy without you? Am I truly resigned to the future I have in mind?

"Am I?" I stroked my chin as if I was really thinking of it, but in all honesty, I couldn't get myself to do it because I'm scared to know the answer.

You chuckled then ran your fingers down the length of my hair and I instinctively shut my eyes as the calming sensation of your touch registered. "I may be doing great, but I couldn't say I'm entirely happy."

Your answer surprised me. Even though you've confessed your feelings just a while ago, I couldn't wrap my head around it yet. How can I? I imagined hearing those words from you for quite a long time until I gave up, therefore everything may be happening inside my head.

"Me too." I was suddenly feeling hopeful since we are in another place. We were just two people who met unexpectedly so maybe this time I can fulfill my wishes. "So can we start again? If we aren't happy after what we've done, can we do what we want this time?"

You sighed again. What is it with the heavy sighs and the tone you've been using? Isn't this supposed to be a do-over, the clean slate that we both wanted? There isn't anyone who could hold us back anymore.

"I'm afraid we can't," you replied in a regretful tone.

You are so good at putting the pieces of my heart back together and breaking it right after. Hasn't this happened countless times already? Aren't you tired of hurting me?

"Why? What is our excuse this time?" I asked, my jaw clenching.

"We just can't."

"At least give me something I can understand. This is too much."

You kissed the top of my head. "This is not real, Jieun-ah"

"It is! What are you saying?"

"You know from the start this isn't real," you pressed further.

I gulped hard, my breathing becoming shallow and rapid. "Do we have to do this again?"

How many times do I have to lose you? How many times do you have to come back and remind me that you are not mine? You've been consistent at that and that's why I couldn't let you go that easily.

"Yes. We must go our separate ways again. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But I'm glad I saw you here."

Just as tears trickled down my face, my eyes fluttered open. My heart was pounding erratically against my chest as your voice echoed repeatedly in my brain. I'm glad I met you here. I felt the wetness of my pillow and realized that I shed some tears while I was asleep.

You, my frequent visitor, the person of my dreams, came to make your presence felt again. Indeed, you know when to remind me of you when I start to forget.

[kennedycatherine]

04.27.21

We were thirteen and I knew enough to know that was absurd.

We still inhabited a school yard with children learning their ABC’s. Girls our own age hadn’t yet graduated out of training bras.

Aren’t our brains like, too underdeveloped for this?

A few nights I just watched.

They came in fun colours, like the vitamins my mom still set out with my breakfast.

I found the whole thing anxious and boring. Anxious because it was drugs, and we were thirteen and what if we got caught or what if something happened. Boring because they bored me.

Nothing happened.

I made sure they had water and popsicles and candies to suck on.

“You’ll bite your tongue off,” Kallie had said one night.

A small trickle of blood came from her mouth awhile later and she looked pleased. I knew she’d done it. When I looked at her, I wanted to call her a liar.

“I know,” I wanted to say, “I’m sober. You just did that to yourself.”

I felt very young and very old all at once.

They asked for lotion. Lotioned themselves from head to toe.

One night one of the girls did a runner. Just opened the front door to suburbia and took off down the street in nothing but skimpy shorts and a tank top into the chilled night air.

I worried about her, but I didn’t go after her.

There were babies to look after, real babies. 6 years old and one year.

I don’t remember their names, but I remember loving them. I remember feeling sad for them.

Every weekend their mom would leave. She was pretty and young and had a thirteen-year-old she trusted to handle things.

“Where does she go?”

“To the bars in some small town. I think a guy lives there.”

They had family photos in the house. She had a husband. I remember wondering how things had fallen apart so quickly? They’d had a baby only a year ago and now they were getting a divorce?

Except they weren't. He just worked out of the city for months at a time and neither of them cared, I suppose.

I sat on a bed with the 6-year-old once, playing a game or reading a story and I heard laughter downstairs and I was so angry.

I was angry that no one cared that there were children upstairs. I was angry that I was going to put a child to bed who had a mother but seemingly didn’t. I was angry that I had to do it at all, that I was expected to. That it had come to mean relief when I walked in the door. If I was there, it was handled. I didn’t want to handle it.

I wanted to call my mom.

I wanted to tell her what was happening, tell her that someone needed to hold these babies or feed them right and love them. Because surely, I didn’t know how.

But I didn’t want to ruin the fun. I didn’t want Kallie’s mom to be in trouble. I didn’t want my mom, who also had a seventeen-year-old who just couldn’t seem to keep it together, to realize that a house she’d deemed safe by proximity in our good neighbourhood probably wasn’t.

“Give me one.”

No one teased or questioned it. They just handed over the small plastic bag.

I don’t remember what it felt like, only that I didn’t care for it. I didn’t understand it. I was bored by it.

I stopped going. Those girls decided they hated me. I worried about those babies and over 10 years later, I still do.

I started to see my childhood best friend, Maddy, a lot after that. She was pretty and athletic and loud and adventurous and young, my age but, young.

She lived a few blocks away, in the opposite direction from Kallie.

Her mom was in the midst of a divorce. She was older than most of the moms because Maddy had been a “surprise.” A blessing, she’d say, but a surprise. So, the rest of her kids were grown and gone. She’d done it all, seen it all.

We were in the eighth grade, just a few months away from high school when she offered to buy us booze.

She promised it would stay within the walls of the house, my parents wouldn’t have to know. She just wanted us to get a feel for it so we could test our limits, learn our boundaries.

When she presented us with those sickly-sweet orange coolers, I winced. Alcohol had never really interested me. I didn’t feel mystified by it or interested in it.

We drank them anyway.

We had one each. Then shoved two more under our thick sweaters and walked to the nearby park.

There were always kids there, in that strange age range where you have some sense of freedom without actually having any and you crave it, always. You know how to sneak alcohol, ask people outside the convenience store to buy you cigarettes.

Uncool teens, acting very cool leaning against slides and monkey bars we earnestly used only a few years earlier.

By then I’d decided I liked Logan. He was in high school already, two years older than us, seemed nice enough and attractive enough to like, so I guessed I did. I showed him the stashed coolers under my sweater and shivered when the air hit me. He offered me his jacket.

I was only wearing it maybe a minute, not even long enough to brag, when the sirens hit and the park was lit up with red and blue. Everyone scattered in different directions. We hopped a fence and then another and another until we collapsed on her lawn, one cooler lost to our epic and brave journey.

The patrol car circled the block.

“It’s almost 2am,” they told us. We nodded.

They asked how old we were and I told them we were 16.

Maybe they believed us because it was dark but maybe they didn’t because we weren't.

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Go inside.” We did.

I didn’t drink much after that. All we could get our hands on were drinks that seemed to be a half pound of sugar and something that tasted like mouth wash. The group favourite was Troika which smelt like hand sanitizer and cost about $25 for more than a litre. Everything was vodka.

Every time I drank any of it, I was immediately and violently ill.

My entire body would flush, an ache in my collar bones that radiated and buzzed down my arms and go on and on and on until I’d have to peel my clothes off and stick myself to the coldest surface, let my body wretch and wretch until I’d vomited everything.

I’d find out a few years later that I’m alcohol intolerant with a vodka allergy.

But I’d given up trying long before then. Found my way to pot.

I loved it immediately. It calmed me down, it made me laugh. It made me hungry.

I suffered far fewer embarrassing stories and hallway whispers than most.

I had a starring role in only one story that would go down in infamy.

There’d been a birthday party, someone had made an ice cream cake that was immediately forgotten in favour of solo cups and bongs. I smoked my own joint and remembered that cake. In a haze I found myself alone in a tiny storage room, in front of a deepfreeze. Opening the lid, there it was, creamy and beautiful.

“Fuck yes.”

Then the door opened.

I turned and there he was. The hottest guy in our grade and he’d been calling me a dirty hippie for two years. I closed the lid.

“What are you doing?” He asked

“Waiting.”

“For?”

“You.”

He looked confused. He should've. I had no reason to be waiting for him, I hadn’t even spoken to him. I was 16 and stoned and I wanted to eat an ice cream cake at this dumb birthday party by my fucking self. I pushed myself on top of the freezer.

“Come here.”

He did. We made out on top of the freezer until I felt he was sufficiently distracted, and my job was done and then I pushed him out of the room.

Then I ate some of that cake alone as I’d intended.

Upstairs my best friend sobbed in a bathroom. Even now that we’ve long outgrown teenage angst and hormones she can be prickly, angry, deeply unaffectionate. Then, she was slightly volatile. She wanted to be alone, but I stayed – shoved myself into a corner of the bathtub as she refused to look at me or tell me what she was so upset about it. I waited her out. Mostly because I was stoned and relieved to be in a room away from a throng of sweaty, horny 16-year-olds.

Suddenly, she confessed something to me quietly. She’d made out with that same guy - the hot one I’d been with on top of a freezer - at a party the weekend before. I hadn’t known and she hadn’t stopped thinking about him, and he hadn’t looked at her since.

“I just want him,” she whined.

“I just made out with him on top of a freezer.”

She turned her startling green eyes on me. “You what?”

“I don’t know,” I felt deeply guilty, “there was a cake inside.”

She choked and then she laughed and then I laughed. We left and we laughed the whole walk back to wherever we slept that night.

I went to a performing arts college that had less than twenty students which became lesser and lesser as we viciously vied for the same thing. There were no parties or binge drinking or even any outings. We worked quietly and quickly, most kept to ourselves.

If school really was a competition, I won.

My instructor called me into his office, “I want you to go to this interview. You’re ready.”

I wasn’t supposed to be graduating for at least 3, maybe 4 months. I wasn’t ready. But I went. I got the job and I left, the school and the city.

I was alone and I was terrified, and I was working most hours of everyday and waking up every morning feeling like I’d made a massive mistake. I hadn’t. I was just 19 with no idea what I was doing, only that people seemed to believe I could, and I didn’t know why.

My sister and my grandfather became sicker and sicker with addiction.

I stopped smoking pot almost completely. I’d found alcohol that didn’t upset my entire system, but I never drank by myself. I was afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t stop. I’d fill the hole and then just like them, I’d never learn how to be whole on my own. I went for runs and I journaled and worked and tried to make friends.

I drove home for graduation and realized a few things. These people had three more months together. They were closer, most of them resented me for being given an opportunity that most days I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

There was a party afterward and I felt 13, lonely and bored. I wanted to leave.

My sister was really sick by then.

The best friend I’d made in school, Elliot, he cornered me in the empty kitchen. Most people had settled into the living room for conversations or the basement for beer pong and I hovered in the kitchen, feeling entirely silly in my cheap white dress. Elliot smelled like whiskey while he hugged me, and I wanted to cry. I'd missed him.

We’d had plans to get jobs together. We were going to become a morning show duo in some city we’d never been to, rent a house together. Spend our afternoons drinking beer, planning our show content and break into big markets before we were 25.

I cried when I took the job that meant those things wouldn’t happen and he’d hugged me then too. He was happy for me.

He pulled out of the hug in that kitchen and looked at me for a long time, with big open eyes. A nearly childish, wide stare. He took a deep breathe.

Then he told me he was in love with me.

I startled backward away from him and hit my hip hard against the stove. I was angry immediately. Because I was gay. Because people had been telling me he was in love with me. Because I chose not to believe them. I felt my trust had been broken. Because why? What can I do with that? I loved him. I couldn’t be in love with him. If I could, I would’ve wanted to be. He was so good.

And I was so mad because he was drunk.

I was sick of whispered late-night confessions and people telling me things that weren’t true. I was tired of people making promises to me and telling me they loved me and none of it mattering. I was just so fucking sick of everyone being wasted on something all the time.

It wasn’t his fault. I’d always felt loved by him, I appreciated him, I loved him. I wanted to be gentle with him. I should’ve been. It was just… there were so many things.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him.

“I just needed you to know.”

I left. He called me so many times, he left voicemails I deleted, and I never answered. I went back to my small town and my small job the next day. I re-read his texts, “I’m sorry, I was drunk” over and over and felt no relief in his excuses.

I didn’t drink for a long time.

A man I thought I knew told me he was in love with me.

I found my sister cold and blue on a floor, medically dead, though she miraculously survived.

My grandfather vomited on himself in the back of a van as we took him to the dry out centre where he'd eventually become sober for a brief time.

I was so tired.

When I moved back to the city, I found comfort in things again. I could drink and be fine. The world didn’t end. I didn’t crave it in the morning or when things got hard. I started smoking pot again. It calmed me down, it made me laugh. It made me hungry.

I took mushrooms a handful of times with my friends. I cried the first time because I felt like me. Present and responsible and in control and so deeply, disappointingly myself. I’d wanted drugs to be a void, even if I never took them. I wanted to believe that somewhere there was a way to just not be myself for a while.  

I was bored of myself.

I wanted to escape, and it wasn’t happening.

But the second or third time I learned to enjoy them for what they were and felt all too proud for simply having a nice time.

I begged my roommate to come to this EDM show with me. It was my co-worker’s birthday and she’d always been excessively, exceedingly lovely to me. When she sheepishly asked if I would be interested in going to this live show to celebrate her 37th, I swallowed down the price of tickets and said yes. Emphatically.

Matt, good natured and so easy, said yes. He liked live music and whiskey and leaving the house.

We got there and she was alone.

I asked about her husband. He stayed home with the baby. And her friends?

Coming, she said.

There were three of them. I thought back to days she’d cried to me in the bathroom and the coffees we’d shared in her office. I’d always thought of her as a sort of leaky faucet, spilling out without control. I hadn’t realized I was actually just in her circle. One of five.

She got adorably drunk. “Mom’s night out!” They all chanted and Matt and I stood off to the side a bit while I apologized to him on a loop for painting this night as an in and out affair.

“We can just leave whenever, I'm sure she won’t notice.” I’d said.

Eventually she asked me if I wanted to “score” in the alley. I laughed because it sounded so seedy and suspicious coming from the mouth of this quintessential suburban mom who I only knew as a woman sitting in a blazer, in an office, next to her family portraits.

I asked Matt if he wanted any. No, he’d brought his vape pen.

We went outside, me, her and her curvy friend with the insane curly hair. Some guy was already there, and the exchange was quick. She turned back and announced, “to the bathroom.”

The bathroom? Fuck.

It’d seemed seedy and suspicious because it kind of was. “Dumb stoner,” I thought to myself as we marched back inside with the bag of cocaine I’d thought would be a Ziplock of weak weed.

I don’t like coke. It makes me angry.

She lined it up, wide eyed, on the hard back of her red wallet. She yammered and mumbled and stumbled over her words quickly and excitedly. It’d been years, I couldn’t tell anyone at work, her husband could never find out, was I sure?

Once again, I felt bored. “I’m sure.”

The friend took her bump and turned back to me, “what’s your sign?”

“Cancer.”

Her eyes were frenzied, like I’d said something important.

“I knew it, I’m a Scorpio.” She wound her fingers into the hair at the back of my neck and whispered to me, “we’re like sisters.” Then she kissed me, hard and square. Her breath was sour, her lips were chapped and she pulled away with a toothy grin before offering the wallet up to my nose.

I looked at them, their excitement, I felt the overwhelming emptiness in my chest. I felt sad for someone, them or me, and how dull I found the whole thing to be.

I sniffed it through a receipt from a kids play centre and wondered, idly, if there are people who think mothers don’t behave this way.

I wiped and sniffled and felt the light burn in my twice broken nose, now irritated by thin white powder.

“Well, that took for-fucking-ever,” Matt yelled over his whiskey.

“It wasn’t pot.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed, slung his arm around my shoulders and we moved into the crowd of dancing bodies. Mostly I felt sober and a little annoyed about the money I’d spent.

I found the group, buttoned one of their torn open shirts and hugged them goodbye.

Matt checked his watch in the cab, “we have to be up in like, less than 5 hours” he groaned and then called the wing place to make sure we could have some delivered.

He’s a sneaky drunk. You never know until it’s too late. As he poured himself a whiskey at our bar cart, I knew it was too late.

We settled into the couch, waiting for our food. He kept dozing off and I kept saving the glass tumbler he refused to relinquish, from falling to the floor and sloshing all over our new carpet.

When the food arrived, I ran to get it. I had the energy.

I decided to take the stairs and took a turn too sharply, smashed myself against a railing and yelped in pain. A bruise blossomed on my arm before I got back to our apartment.

I tried to sleep and kept waking with my knees knocking and my thighs wobbling. Matt came to my door, bleary eyed and dull. It was 6:30am. I hadn’t slept for more than seven minutes at a time.

“We gotta go, G.”

I looked at my packed bags on the floor. We were driving to his moms, 2.5 hours away.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

He turned away and called over his shoulder, “Happy Easter.”

Jesus, I laughed, it is fucking Easter.

And while I sipped my third mid-afternoon coffee over a card game with his mom and sister, I thought - I guess if there’s a day to decide I probably n​ever have to sniff anything through my nose ever again, Easters as good as any.

[oxhaven]

Kalon - WayV vampire!au

1. 2. 3.  Darkness.

And then flittering sparkles of light.

It was dark again, filling your space with pitch black only for the lights to return like tiny fluttering fairies leading you to something brighter. Something more lasting with a shade of blue and white that lifted up like a sunrise.

It felt warm, peaceful and serene. You thanked the gods that this was what death felt like, because living was absolute hell. From what you’ve been through this was heaven in comparison.

The heavenly feeling left you quicker than you wanted as it was replaced with something all the more dreadful. It felt hot and heavy, like weights on your chest piling up. You wanted to cry but your voice wouldn’t sound out the sobs you wanted to deliver. Like you were being choked back, a fragile, cool hand clasped around your neck that somehow had the strength to cut back your voice. No matter how much you tried to cry and claw at the hand you couldn’t be freed. Somehow it felt strange, all this that you were feeling but you were also watching it happen.

This wasn’t you.

Your breath came to you with a gasp, gulping in the air as your body had forgotten all about the fleeting pain. Your eyes blinked numerous times to adjust to the dim lighting as you made out the ceiling above you. You were able to make out the cream stone color of the ceiling, your sense of light being that of candlelight.

A presence beside you had your neck twisting to the side as your breath caught in your throat once again. You stared at a face that was too handsome to be real; sleeping softly as he breathed gently through his nose. The male beside you in what your body felt to be a bed had his hand in yours with a grasp you were too afraid to disturb. Before all the unsettling questions were to race to your mind, in this moment you couldn’t help but to stare in awe at the beauty that was right next to you.

“You’ve awakened, my princess.”

Your heart pounded with a hard thud at the sound of the voice filling your ears, your breath hitching in your throat when the beauty’s eyes opened.

Deep blood red orbs stared into your brown ones, a small smirk playing on his lips as he blinked at you. You whined out in fear, finally finding your voice as you moved away as quick as you could. You thanked the gods your hand was able to slip out of his as you scooted away, your back finding the headboard and your hand gripping onto the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare to look away, not knowing how fast he could move to take your life away from you.

A smile so sweet that had your body tingling wanting to shiver graced his face as he sat up with a stretch and a deep breath in. “Don’t be like that~”

He ruffled the back of his blonde hair and blinked at you again, those bloody eyes drinking you in. You forgot to breathe as you took a deep inhale of air, noticing the way his eyes wandered down to your chest and back up to meet your eyes as he sighed.

“I’ve waited so long for you already,”he drawled, a pout almost coming onto his lips. “That waiting for your slumber to end felt more unbearable.”

You whimpered when he reached for you, your noise making his hand freeze only for a moment as his smile dropped. His eyebrows furrowed like he needed to think for a moment, the bed creaking underneath you as he moved closer and you gripped onto the sheets beneath your fingers. The smirk returned on his face again, soft pink lips widening up just like your eyelids as you caught sight of the sharp tips of teeth before his tongue swiped over them.

“Davina.”

You blinked at him, the foreign name making your mind go blank as you watched his hand inch closer letting the smooth pad of his fingertips graze your cheek.

“Davina!”

Your attention was finally brought to acknowledge your surroundings, recognizing there wasn’t much to see in this almost empty room as your eyes snapped to the door that all but flew open. The man who entered was tall, muscular, and just as beautiful as the one who was next to you on the mattress. His light brown hair looked soft to the touch and showed off a bit of his forehead. His beauty would have taken your breath away if it wasn’t for the sight of you noticing he was the same as well - blood red eyes.

“My queen.” He breathed, full lips turning into a smile gracing you with sharp pointed teeth as his red eyes remained on you. “Why are your filthy hands on her?”

He didn’t dare take his eyes off of you as he asked, the smile on his face never leaving as you blinked at him and spared a glance over to the man next to you.

His eyes rolled up in annoyance, the hand that grazed your cheek now on his forehead as he rubbed it tenderly. “Lucas, quiet down you’re scaring her.”

“I’m the one who saved her, you piece of shit.” He chuckled loudly, his smile growing broader as he took large strides towards you. You almost cursed aloud when your back pushed against the mahogany headboard, realizing you were cornered on both sides with nowhere to run. Your attention was snapped back to the one named Lucas, now dropping to his knees in front of you beside the bed.  

“I’m her hero who she’ll reward handsomely.” He stated proudly, the bass in his voice almost sounding with command as he reached for your hand. You regretted moving away, his grip grabbing your arm instead and when you tried to snatch it away it grew tighter to an intensity that had you crying out in pain. His eyes grew a deeper shade of red, his smile dropping only slightly as his words vibrated in your head. “Now make me yours, my queen.”

“She’s still a human, dumbass.” The one you almost forgot you needed to fear as well, growling next to your ear before you cried out again when movement too fast for your eyes to watch had the hand on your arm removed. The blonde haired man was hovering over you, shielding you from Lucas with a vice-like grip on the same arm that grabbed yours.

You could feel an intense mood fill the room as both men stared each other down. You could see it in their blood red eyes that if you didn’t move, you could become an unexpected meal in a fight between beasts.

“The both of you are scaring her.”

A calming voice had you searching out for it, not realizing another male had been standing in the room. He was a bit shorter than the other two, but you almost whimpered out in relief when you noticed his eyes were gray and not the fearsome red.

Something like a flame matched inside of you when his eyes caught hold of yours. His face was small and charming, full lips pressing hard and eyebrows knitting close together as he scanned over the sight in front of him. Even if this situation was spelling out your death, a tiny whisper in your consciousness was telling you to trust him.

The intensity in the room shifted, lighting up the heaviness in the air and allowing you to breath as the man sighed. “Get out please.”

The blonde haired man moved swiftly, off the bed and away from Lucas towards the man who had the room deadpanning in silence. “General, I’ll tend to her arm-”

“The both of you.”

He stopped in his tracks, the shorter of the three sounding out his command and shutting down all disobey. His gray eyes bore into red ones as he spoke again, deafening and serious. “Out.”

Nothing else was spoken as both men made quick work to exit the room even though their grim faces told you they didn’t want to. The one named Lucas spared a soft wink your way before shutting the door behind him, footsteps sounding distant as both men went away. You finally felt the stiffness in your body when you were finally able to relax, your body sinking into the mattress as you let out a shaky breath. You did not know who you were to fear more in the moment, and who was your saving grace.

“You must be frightened.”

You glanced up at the man you were left with, too exhausted to cry about the situation you found yourself in. You knew it even before you had your arm grabbed, you were no match for these beasts who you refused to acknowledge their name.

“My apologies of those two, they mean no harm.” His tone was soft and apologetic, the sound of his voice lulling you into a state of calmness as he stepped over to you. He sat on the bed across from you, making sure to keep a safe distance that was appropriate enough.

“I know you must be confused. You can call me Ten. The large one - Lucas, he found you almost on the brink of unconsciousness due to famine. He brought you back here to our home where we have been tending to you. Though, Xiaojun has been keeping you to himself.”

He referred to the blonde haired man with a chuckle, not failing to note that that man was commanded to step out the room by him. Your brown eyes peered over at Ten, scanning his features carefully before you allowed your body to settle more onto the bed. He was donned in an all black, silk shirt with the few buttons at the tip undone.

“My name is Keira.” You finally spoke, trying to keep control of your voice despite this fearful situation.

“Keira.” He repeated back, a heart-stopping smile spreading across his face and you blinked at the sight that he had no fangs to show. The action made you relax some more, letting your legs break the invisible boundary between the two of you as you stretched them over to his side.

“Where am I?”

He looked away as if to think his answer over, biting down on his bottom lip with a hum before looking back at you with a sure gaze. “A kingdom.”

You blinked at him as your mouth fell open, immediately shaking your head in disbelief as you took another look around at your surroundings. “I can’t stay here, I’m not royalty.”

“It’s fine! I promise no one is making you leave. As long as you’re here no one will hurt you either.” He quickly assured with his hands out before his gaze dropped to the sight of your bruised arm that was red and purplish in color. “Other than this. This was a mistake.”

He got up and reached for the nightstand that was beside you, careful with opening the drawer as he pulled out some waiting bandages and ointment like this event was bound to happen. You watched his nimble hands work as he sat beside you, much closer this time as he asked for your arm. He was much more…settling than the other two you encountered. A gentleman with means of consent before he took action. He rubbed the liquid on the base of your arm gently, humming softly at your noises as pain contorted on your face.

“Are you sleepy? Would you like more rest?” He asked, wrapping the bandage around your arm and securing it when he was all done. You admitted to yourself you were tired but this was not the time to be.

“I’m-”

“I’ll bring food.” He offered, understanding your loss for words.

“Wait.” You halted him from moving away, watching the way his wide eyes gazed at you alert and attentive. You gulped dryly and knitted your eyebrows together as you cursed silently at your shaky hands that were still grasping onto him.

“You’re - you all are…”

His eyes hardened a bit, knowing exactly what it is that you couldn’t say. “No one here will harm you.”

“That doesn’t explain it though.” You exasperated, your voice beginning to shake as you took another dry gulp before glancing about. “This room has no windows and I’ve awoken to three strange men. Am I being held prisoner?”

It was a moment before he answered, the two of you locking eyes as his own broke with a subtle sympathy. “In a way, yes.”

You choked on a whimper as you stared him down with eyes of sorrow. “What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m so sorry.” He sounded as if he wanted to whine, sharing your sadness since he couldn’t explain himself clearly.

“You are to be our princess.”    

It was like icing on the cake to break your mind completely. From being bombarded and manhandled by two strange men and now sharing a moment with one who you felt strangely comfortable around - nothing was making any sense. Your life was turning around in a way that you didn’t see fit at all not with what you were surrounded by. A hand on your own brought you back into reality, gazing back into those gray orbs as Ten hushed your whimpers.

“I know this is confusing, but I can’t offer you no other explanation until later. I’m not forcing you into anything, I just want you to rest and build your strength and I’ll have you speak to others who will guide you. Then you can decide whether you want to stay or leave.”

“Princess?” You breathed out followed by an amused giggle. “I’m no royalty.”

Ten smiled back at you as his hand came up to cup your cheek, eyes filled with sympathy and a look that told you he knew more than he was letting on. “Oh love, you are.”

“But-”

“Sleep.” His tone was calm and gentle, pleading you softly and putting an end to the conversation you still couldn’t grasp. “Please.”

“I-”

Instant drowsiness came over you when his quick hand came up to cover your eyes. It was quick contact, a simple graze over your lids that had your body slumping over into his embrace.

“Ten.” You called out softly, putting up a weak fight to sleep that won the battle too quickly for your liking. Your eyes closed and your body relaxed in Ten’s arms as he allowed himself to fall back onto the mattress with you. The feeling was addictive as he took a deep breath in, inhaling your scent with his face buried in your hair. He would accept punishment later from you but for now, he needed this.

Candlelight continued to flicker on in the room, not a sound but your steady breathing that lulled him into a trance that he’d been missing for centuries. His fangs elated and gray orbs turning a deep shade of red, he kissed you tenderly on the forehead and wrapped his arms around your frame tighter, feeling your warm skin underneath his touch.

[septembriseur]

A comprehensive theory of The Terror, pt. V

Hickey.

Oh, Hickey.

Or should I say: not-Hickey?

Hickey is a man who, over the course of the series, undergoes a profound transformation. When we first meet him, he’s a sullen and fairly useless caulker’s mate whose clumsy manipulations always seem to go slightly awry— he mistakes Crozier’s eagerness to get sloshed as an overture of friendship; he deploys his awareness that the tuunbaq isn’t really an animal to an unimpressed panel of officers; his daring escapade to kidnap Silna gets him flogged. Yet by the end of the show, he’s become a kind of ragged, savage would-be prophet, an unstoppable and hardly-human consumer of other men. 

The seeds of this are already present in his initial appearances. The first time we see Hickey as Hickey, rather than as one of a group of seamen, is when he helps to bury David Young in episode one. There is a miniature transformation that takes place here: at first, he’s a comic figure, flicking Tozer the V before hastily turning it into a thumbs-up, but when the other men leave him to work, he opts to climb down into Young’s grave. This is ostensibly so he can fix the broken lid of Young’s coffin, but in fact (we later learn) to rob Young’s corpse, and perhaps for some other, less articulable reason. 

The scene in the grave is lit dramatically, which my terrible capping probably can’t really capture; there are several distinct moments at which the sun is positioned just above Hickey’s head, obliterating him like a particularly ruthless halo.

When it isn’t, he remains wreathed in a foggy light, or else struck by a sort of painterly chiaroscuro.

There’s something uncanny about the effect thus produced, particularly at the moment when Adam Nagaitis does a brilliant bit of physical acting: a lizard-like head-flick and lip-licking that will recur later, when Hickey kills Irving. It’s a gesture that looks wrong, at the same time as it communicates a kind of joy or a physical release. 

Hickey wants to be in the grave, face-to-face with the dead body. I’m undecided how much he’s indifferent to any potential taboo— how much we should believe the casualness with which he later says, about the ring he steals from Young’s body, that he got it from “someone who didn’t need it anymore”— and how much it’s the very violation of that taboo that excites him, the touching-the-corpse and the going-down-into-the-grave. Either way, we know from this point on that he is someone whose nature is to transgress boundaries.

Sometimes that transgression is sympathetic! Why shouldn’t he get off with Billy belowdecks? He seems genuinely besotted with Billy, in a sort of feral, half-formed way. But the explanation he gives as to why Irving won’t inform on the two of them should raise red flags. Irving won’t say what he saw, Hickey says, because to do so would mean “he’d have to open his imagination to what he didn’t... That’s a man afraid of chaos. He’s not going to invite more if he can help it.” 

Here, “order” becomes what is seen, and “chaos” what is not seen— not only what is not seen, but what cannot be seen without puncturing order. This is tremendously important, I think, because the grave scene above also features one of several moments in the show at which the camera deliberately does not follow Hickey, barring the audience from seeing what he sees. 

This is what the audience sees while Hickey is actually in the process of rifling through Young’s corpse: a long, slow push in on the exterior of the grave. We hear Hickey’s noises of effort, but we don’t rejoin him until he’s slipped the ring into his pocket. 

This is exactly the technique used in the scene in episode six where Hickey puts his fingers into Heather’s exposed brain. We see Hickey pull the “veil” back to expose Heather’s injury, then bend over his body to inspect him:

However, we then cut to an angle at which the camera is positioned behind the veil, watching Hickey’s face yet concealing his actions.

We hear the wet noises as he touches Heather’s brain, but the show has literally drawn a veil across his actions, preventing us from seeing them and allowing us to leave them unimagined. (There is, I must note, a grimly clever little cut from this scene to Jacko the monkey digging his fingers into a tin of food.)

This isn’t a show that shies away from gore. I mean, in the final episode, we get multiple straightforward shots of Goodsir’s naked, butchered, and partly-consumed corpse. So it seems significant that there are these moments when the camera specifically will not let us follow Hickey where he is going, as though it does not want to implicate us in his violation. 

When I say violation, I don’t want to imply that these things are somehow inherently morally wrong. What they are is exactly what Hickey says: chaotic. (I should note that the scene in which Irving finds Hickey and Billy having sex draws on elements of this same pattern— we distinctly hear Hickey and Billy going at it, but don’t see them until they’re clothed— but everything about the way the show depicts not only their relationship but also that of Bridgens and Peglar suggests that we are meant to find these relationships tender and tragic, not unpleasant.) Hickey is, characteristically and centrally, chaotic. To paraphrase a wise man: he sees a boundary, he eats a boundary and washes it down with a cup of hot steaming rules. He’s a social transgressor, having sex with men and drinking with the captain. He’s a spatial transgressor: he sneaks back onto the ship during Franklin’s funeral and wanders through everyone’s private places, touching their intimate possessions. He takes a shit in Billy’s bed. There are other elements of confusion: he’s a man who’s “punished as a boy.” And, of course, deeper than all of these things runs the abiding formlessness at the heart of Hickey: he isn’t really Hickey. We never know who he is. He has no name, no past; he’s just someone who wandered onto the ship, looking for a “change of everything.”

We find this out about him in episode seven, the end of which marks the break between his nascent chaos and chaos unleashed. Something... happens to Hickey. In the scene that sees Irving return from his meeting with the Netsilik, Hickey is shot from angles and in poses that are designed to make him appear inhuman. First there’s this—

—a weird, disturbing shot in which Hickey is crouched, mostly naked, concealed under a greatcoat, and vaguely monstrous over Farr’s corpse. Then, as Irving approaches, Hickey springs animalistically at him, stabs him, and proceeds to squat over Irving and hold a hand over his mouth until he dies. We see Hickey through Irving’s eyes while this happens, at an unnatural angle that not only accentuates the sharp, triangular shapes of his body, but also seems to distort him slightly. He looks demonic, even before he repeats his restless and lizard-like head-flick...

And then: yikes.

It’s a shedding-his-skin motion, is what I think of that head-flick. From this point forward, Hickey is no longer a resentful man kicking against his confines. He has escaped those confines. He slips into an easy, ruthless, natural command of the mutineers, including men who outrank him and have previously mocked him. 

He also slips further and further away from humanity, moving towards something else. “I’ve shot smaller hawks than you,” Jopson says, but Hickey isn’t a hawk, exactly. He looks like a man, albeit a man who’s mostly running around in his long underwear and a greatcoat in the Arctic, seemingly unable to feel the cold, but gradually all his previous strangenesses come to the fore. With a rope around his neck (once more lit strangely through a haze) he tells Crozier that he “must pierce this thing [Crozier] calls truth,” and takes on Crozier’s own voice/accent to do it— another absenting of identity, another piece of evidence that Hickey is not so much a person or a thing as a void of anything, a formlessness.

I can’t help but think that what the mutineers are following is not Hickey, but the formlessness that has broken free from within him. At the mutineers’ camp, Hickey takes on the demeanor and appearance of a prophet, embracing the air with his arms open (in the same pose that recurs throughout the series as an emblem of chaos and collapse) while skinned of most of his clothing— 

—or meditating alone on hillsides for hours, “listening to his thoughts.” (“I dare not go up” to interrupt him, Tozer says.) He’s killed and eaten Billy by this point, and if we were looking for a logic to his actions, it would be possible to read it in the toast he reminds Crozier of: “Ourselves.” Crozier intended it as a self-deprecating joke, he says, but for Hickey it’s become a tenet: he is a wholly self-interested being whose principle is survival, a formlessness that wants to go on being a formlessness.

Yet he has contrived a strange plan that he doesn’t reveal to anyone, which rests on an observation that Crozier makes about him: “You must be a surpassingly lonely man, Mr. Hickey.” I’m not sure how sincere Crozier’s being in this moment; it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t agree that he and Hickey were each other’s only “equals” on the expedition. The observation is accurate, however, I think. Hickey is a surpassingly lonely man, but: “Not for long,” he tells Crozier. He plans to bind himself to the tuunbaq, becoming a shaman.

So let’s talk about this plan.

Hickey arranges this bizarre sacrificial tableau in which he stands atop the boat, again almost unclad in the middle of the Arctic, and rambles from what seems like a place of holy madness, cursing all the national and religious figures of England while offering what are pretty nakedly incisive truths. “What if we’re not the heroes?” he asks. “Our empire is not the only empire. I’ve seen that now.” Arguably, what allows him this vision is that he now stands outside of all the empires, having transcended every taboo, every boundary line. 

Yet when he offers his tongue to the tuunbaq, the tuunbaq rejects it and eats him. The important question is: why?

Let me get philosophical for a second: what is a connection? It’s a point of contact between two beings, right? It’s a touch; the place where two parts of the world are joined to one another. For this to happen, there has to first be a dividing line; there has to be a way in which the world is divided up into things to start with. I am separate from you. Man is separate from animals. The sea is separate from the land. There are these boundaries in the world that allot us places; there are rules that govern how we relate to every other kind of thing. It’s not good or bad, any more than chaos is; it’s just order. And fundamentally there has to be an interplay; we always have to be moving towards a synthesis of order and chaos. But when you have just chaos, with no boundaries, then what you have is an everythingness that is also a nothingness, which is: Hickey. Everything is permitted, is his attitude, pretty explicitly; or alternatively: everything can be consumed, an act that literally treats everyone and everything around him as just a potential part of his body. The result of this is that it is impossible for him to connect. 

When I was first trying to figure out why the tuunbaq refuses Hickey, I thought to myself: is it because Hickey thinks he’s the shaman, but he’s actually the monster? It’s possible to view him as “a spirit that dresses as an animal,” or as an animal that dresses as a man. But I think it’s that, at this point, Hickey has become so formless that he simply isn’t enough of a thing to be able to touch another thing. I think that’s the birthplace of the urge that drives him to to bind himself to the tuunbaq in the first place, but it’s also the reason why he can’t.

I find Hickey quite tragic, actually, because I can understand his frustration with order— with boundaries that are arbitrary and don’t seem to make sense. But in breaking and breaking and breaking forwards past those boundaries, Hickey fails to understand that the boundaries don’t exist to be boundaries qua boundaries. They create the possibility of relationship. And while touch is perhaps the push of chaos that nudges us to new and more perfect iterations of order, we can’t allow it to become the will to consume. 

And on that note... next time, I have much to say about Goodsir.

[thebiasrekkers]

Way To You - 3

For the @btswriterscorner​ - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day! 

Plot: Everything isn’t what it seems. The truth finally sets him free.

Rating: M // NSFW

Genre: dystopian! au/dystopian themes | angst |  smut | fluff if you squint

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female OC (Tempest Estrellado)

Warnings: Strong language, interracial relationship, mentions of drugs, smut [like maybe softish? maybe sorta needed cause it’s been a while]

Word Count: 3,422

AN: And this is the end. Please enjoy and thank you for loving all that we do © thebiasrekkers (Admin T). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Links:

FAQ

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BTS Masterlist

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[ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

WC: 3,422

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10:05 pm

They always sat in relative silence at dinner time. When was the last time they really sat to dinner? Taehyung pushed food across his plate idly. April made dutiful cuts into a piece of meat. “Taehyung, you’re not eating.” She barely spared him a glance as the fork disappeared between her teeth. 

“How come I don’t remember the scars on my back?” He asked quietly. There was no need to lift his head. He heard the scrape of a knife across the porcelain. The sound of her chewing was suddenly thunderous in that silence.

“Whatever do you mean, Taehyung?” April’s brow rose as she continued with her routine. The routine of eating. The routine of being his Wife. The routine of keeping...s e c r e t s. “You told me it was something that happened as a child. We’re so busy these days, I’m sure it slipped your mind.” Her voice never wavered. He knew she believed that to be true.

Or maybe she wanted him to believe that she believed it to be true. 

“See, that’s just the thing, April..” He placed his utensil down quietly. “I don’t remember a lot from my childhood. Don’t you find that strange?” The molten brown of his eyes lifted to the woman across from him. Because in the span of the last week, he realized he didn’t know just who the hell April really was.

She placed the last bite of food in her mouth. A napkin dabbing at the corners, hopefully hiding the irritation in her frown. “Taehyung.” She sounded like a mother chastising a young child. “A lot of things were forgotten when The Unification happened. Not all of us came out the same or mentally intact.” Her hands clasped over her lap as she sighed. “This is what happens when we stray from our routine. It’s a butterfly effect, Taehyung. That one late morning has spiraled into …” A hand waved as she tried to put into words his paranoia. “..this. I think you should get a check-up. We’ll make sure everything is ok, perhaps adjust your vitamins. Maybe lay off the caffeine, I’m sure you’ll be back to your usual self soon.” 

April pushed away from the table grabbing her plate. “For now, I think you should ease up on your workload. I know this year’s matching protocols are different - I believe it’s taking its toll.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. It should get you back on schedule.” Taehyung stared at his plate of food again, the fork pulling through the vegetables. 

And he saw it again.

The green pellets - similar to the inside of the vitamins that April insisted on shoving down his throat. 

He lost his appetite. 

11:30 pm 

April sat in a chair at the side of the bed. Taehyung had seemed suspicious of the sleeping aid. But, he relented after admitting he was tired. Her fingers pinched at the skin of his wrist. She kept count of his pulse before letting his hand down gently. 

She stepped out of the room, the door a gentle click as she moved to the front of the house. The cell phone buzzing continued until it was retrieved from her lab coat.

“Well?” The voice on the other end inquired.

“I don’t know what to make of it, honestly.” She sighed. It was rare to feel the frustration of this level. Everything had been going smoothly for some years now. She wasn’t sure when things began to change - but Taehyung was destabilizing. “We need to get a handle on this before it gets too far.” 

There was a deep, disappointed sigh that echoed in her ears. “April, I thought you said you could handle this.” The tone caused her to frown. 

“I-I can. It’s just a small oversight. I will get him stabilized again. You have my word.” What was this nervousness? Why did she have a hard time believing her own words? 

There was a thick silence that allowed her to hear the volume of her own swallow. “Fix it, April.” Clear irritation in the male voice. “Because we don’t need a former leader of the Rebel Uprising to regain his memory. Are we clear?” 

April released a quiet breath as she nodded. “I won’t let you down, Hoseok.” 

“See that you don’t, Mrs. Kim.” The call disconnects. April ran nervous fingers through her hair. A hand clutched at her chest as she rushed out of the house. There’s got to be a stronger dosage that won’t kill him. Their research was imperative to keep rebels under control. It was important to the stability of their society. 

Her prestige was on the line - and while having Taehyung as a trophy was all well and good? April’s reputation was a far more precious thing. 

11:37 pm

Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose as the call disconnected. “Did she buy it?” A female voice asked. He steepled his fingers turning to the fierce leonine gaze across from him. He offered a quiet nod. 

“She’s spooked enough to make a mistake. But, it also proves that destabilization happens faster than the research project.” Hoseok pursed his lips at the stack of folders opened across his desk. “And to think, it just takes a break in routine and a couple missed doses.” This almost absently as Tempest flipped through a folder in her lap.

“It’s taken a long time to even figure this out.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She closed her folder with a snap. Her hands raised to cradle her face. Hoseok watched her shoulders shake before looking off into the distance.

“You’ve done well to be this patient, Tempest.” He rose to round the desk. A comforting hand on her shoulder as they rose on an inhale. “I know it’s been a long time. We’re almost there.” Tempest nodded while placing a hand on his. Hoseok took her hand placing a syringe in her palm, curling the fingers over it. “This is it. If this works?” They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

“And if it doesn’t, Hoseok?” The unshed tears in her eyes erased all his hesitation. 

“Tempest. It will work.” It has to. She stashed the syringe in her coat pocket. They both turned to a monitor that showed April walking into the downstairs lab. “Go. I’ll keep her occupied. If anything seems off, you get him out of there immediately. You know where to go.” 

She was out the door without another word. Leaving him to watch April fret over her data. His lips curled into a knowing smirk when she picked up the phone at her desk. He didn’t let the phone ring long as he sank back into his role. “Mrs. Kim, how can I help you?” 

1:15 am

“We have to do something.” Conviction burned in the depths of his eyes. She knew she couldn’t sway him in this state. “It’s not right, Tempest. You know that as well as I do!” He threw a hand to the hair as his voice escalated.

“Of course it’s wrong, Taehyung. But, what are we going to do against a whole global movement? This is madness!” She tried to get him to look at her as he paced. “We need to be smart about this. That’s all I’m asking. That’s all I’m saying.”

“There’s no time for smart, Tempest. If we don’t act now, soon? What becomes of us? All of us? Any of us?” His hands were tight on her shoulders.  They were afraid - both of them. Irrational and mindless with fear. To think that the UN felt that eradicating certain emotions would allow humanity to sink into harmony. They likened the state of the world to Troy. A beautiful woman could cause nations to war and fall.  So to solve the inconsistencies in the world? They would implement a new regime. One that would erase boundaries and barriers caused by status, race, religion, sexuality, and gender. 

In a way, it would be starting over. Everyone would be assigned a partner. Someone that would genetically yield strong, proper citizens of this new world order.

And they meant everyone. The prospect of relationships that have lasted decades being split on a whim, had more than half the population ready to riot.

“I love you. I don’t want to lose you.” His fingers slid up the column of her neck. Her fingers latched onto his wrist as he tilted her gaze to his. “And I’m willing to fight and die to keep you.” 

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t need you to die for me, Tae.” She shook her head at the thought. “Let’s just go? Let’s just find someplace, the two of us. Let’s just go.” He smiled sadly as her head pressed into his sternum. 

“Tempest, there are others like us. There will be others like us. We need to stick together while we can.” There was a quiet sob that muffled into his shirt. She knew he was right - and even she was surprised at her selfishness. 

“We are going to have to fight, aren’t we?” She sniffled against the beat of his heart against her ear. 

“As long as we’re together..” He murmured into her hair.

“Can we stay like this forever?” Her fingers clinging to him as if he’d disappear at that moment. 

2:45 am

“You are interfering with human evolution!” A great debate ensued in the following months. Those who had lost faith in humanity gathered to champion the change in regime. This one of the few public, and cordial, debates that were happening across the globe.

Taehyung stood at a podium as the politician ranted until he was red in the face. He sighed deeply when the applause thundered in the building. “Listen, since time immemorial we have all paved a way for ourselves. Humanity has made its share of mistakes, this will surely be another one. While the theory is sound, the application is not. We can find a way to achieve this harmony by working together to help those less fortunate. By building up those weaker, sicker, than us. Thus helping to strengthen the very foundation of our society. We can help each other stand.” Tempest watched as those gathered contemplated, considered quietly the path they were about to take.

“That’s been the key this whole fucking time! But instead of doing that work? You just decide to just wipe us clean of the very thing that makes us human. Where is the evolution in that?” The politician looked around as the masses murmured. 

He narrowed his gaze at Taehyung a fist clenched against the podium edge. 

It was that day - that Taehyung became a beacon for those who wanted progress without the overbearing regime. It was the day that Taehyung became public enemy number one. 

3:30 am 

He felt a pinch in the side of his neck. 

Taehyung’s eyes rolled like marbles in his skull. A wave of heat and nausea rushed through him. He turned to the side to wretch into a small garbage can. Dizzy, feverish, and half-asleep a disjointed voice echoed in his ears.

“Shh. It’s ok. You’re almost there.” His breathing labored as his body spasmed and arched off the bed. It felt like someone was taking a razor blade to his nervous system. His mouth opened on a silent scream as a pair of hands pushed at his chest. 

He felt a weight settle over his abdomen pinning his body down to the bed. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as pain scraped him from head to toe. 

Tempest moved his arms under her knees as she tried to avoid being bucked off the bed. A determined, teary, gaze locked onto him as she waited. It was, unfortunately, a part of the process. The only way to complete the destabilization was to essentially scrape the drug from the receptors in the central nervous system. It moved through the body, sweeping in to gobble the remnants of the chemical protocol.

3:50 am

“Ah, Kim Taehyung. You’re going to be a fine example of our research.” April let her fingers dance along the dip in his waist. A satisfied smirk as she watched the staff strap him down to the table. He radiated pain as they stretched his limbs outward. 

“You’re not going to get away with this, you psychotic bitch!” He spat. Their research had yielded fruit in curing his spinal injury. Now, it was time for the piece de resistance. He saw the multiple IV bags attached to the lines running into his hands and feet. They healed him but kept him weak and fatigued. Enough that they could do what they needed without much physical fight on his part.

April leaned down to brush a hand across his forehead. “I will get it away with it, Taehyung. And you won’t remember a thing.” She smiled as his vision blurred. 

It all came back to him in a rush - his life. Memories burst from the chemical floodgate in his brain. He fought against something trying to hold him back. Taehyung make sure to take your vitamins. Something kept him pinned, restrained - and he bucked to fight against it. 

April’s voice began to fade away. April’s face began to dissolve away in his memory. His brow furrowed as the uncertainty was replaced with anger.

Rage.

His body twisted beneath the weight on top of him. 

“Don’t die, Taehyung.” 

His heart thundered against his ribcage as another voice became louder.

“Can we stay like this forever?” 

“I love you, Tempest.” 

Tempest? The name that caused his body to heat. Her presence caused his heart to calm. His brow furrowed as emotions swept over him. Because he remembered, suddenly, Tempest Estrellado. The woman he loved. The woman who brought joy to a decade of his existence. He was ready to ask that stubborn woman to marry him. To let him make an honest woman out of her - and then The Decree was made.

They spent another five years gathering like-minded people to rebel against The Regime. Then they were separated during The Uprising. And then…? 

And then? 

And then he was captured. 

“Tempest.” His voice a half sob as his muscles finally released. His body slumping into the mattress as the lie that had been his life fizzled away.

“I’ve missed you, querido.” His eyes flew open to those leonine eyes fixed to his face. 

“Tempest?” She moved her knees as his hands shot up to frame her face. Trembling fingers, pupils wide as he touched her. “You’re here? You’re really here?” 

“Si, mi precioso.” Her fingers raked through his hair, nails scraping against the nape of his neck. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as their foreheads touched. “I’m really here. It’s over now. You’re ok. You’re safe.” 

Taehyung’s lips trembled, opened and closed with too many questions for his brain to process. 

“Seven years.” She spoke as the meat of her bottom lip slipped between her teeth.

His brow furrowed as his head tilted. “W-what?” 

“It’s been seven years, Taehyung.” 

“It’s...that’s impossible?” He croaked. “It was just…” 

“Seven years, Tae.” Tempest grabbed his hands, holding them steady as if she could stop the tremors. “It took us five years to find you. These last two years we’ve been trying to find a way to reverse the re-education process. It’s been seven years since the Rebel Uprising.” Tae swallowed thickly with her words.

“And now?” His voice barely above a whisper.

“And now we know that it works.” Tempest framed his face with her hands. “And now I have you back. Now the hard work begins. Now we can-” Her nostrils flared as his hands pressed into her hips. His lips crashing onto hers silencing anything else she had left to say.

“Shut up.” Feverish kisses as his fingers sank into the wealth of her hair. They weren’t exactly at the pinnacle of youth when the world changed. “Just shut up…” Tempest whimpered under his assault. “The only thing I want now? Is you. Just you.” 

“Please.” She whispered against his mouth. “Please.” The need ripped through her gut as he flipped her over. Her legs wrapped around him pulling her against the heat burning between her legs. He leaned back on his knees peeling off the damp shirt. His hands slid up her torso before tearing the shirt from her body. Buttons ricocheted against hard surfaces as she unbuttoned her pants. His mouth blazed a hot moist trail against her collarbone and over the swell of her breast. His tongue swirled a nipple over the satin fabric of her bra. 

He pulled her up to shrug the shirt off, the bra followed flung into the shadows of the room. They stayed apart only seconds long to maneuver out of the rest of their clothes. They were out of breath and completely naked staring at each other. 

Taehyung’s mouth began to water as she filled his vision. The beaches. The summer. Their time all of it, rushing back to him as he pulled her against him. She felt him hard, throbbing, and warm against her stomach. Taehyung’s fingers flexed against her ass he tried to pull her into him. His tongue slithered against her bottom lip as she opened for him. They fell back against the bed as he nudged his way between her legs. “I’m sorry. I can’t wait. I promise I’ll be gentle later. But right now…” He growled against her mouth as his arms lifted her legs. 

“Taehyung, please just - dios mio!” Her eyes rolled into her skull as Taehyung pushed against the lewd wetness of her slit. 

And he bottomed out.

In one stroke. 

He wanted to take his time remembering every inch of her body. He wanted to take her slow, build her up and watch her fall apart beneath him. But, it’s been seven whole years that they’ve been apart. 

It’s been twelve years since they were last in each other’s arms. He needed this - he needed her to chase away this bitterness inside of him. “Tempest.” He leaned back letting his fingers dig possession into her hips. Her breasts jiggled with the force that he pounded into her. “God, I missed you. I missed this.” Beads of sweat dotted his hairline as she clutched the sheets. He knew he wouldn’t last it’d been too long. Hell, he couldn’t even remember a time that masturbation even came to mind. 

He moaned her name over and over. She spoke his name like prayer to deities long gone. Taehyung’s hands slid upward to cup her breasts, her nipples caught between his fingers with a light tug. 

That was all it took. She lifted her hips to meet each thrust as her hips vibrated with the force. His hands raked down her body holding her hips upward. Keeping her right where he needed her as he pounded that soft spongy area inside of her. Her toes curled, legs cramping as she thrashed her head against the pillows.

Faster. Faster. Harder. Veins bulging in both of their necks as they reached for the finish. One thrust, two thrusts. Taehyung froze as she snapped down on his length with a gargled cry. His head fell back as he lurched forward once more. Grunting with their skin sticky as he emptied into her.  The orgasm was so swift and strong his thighs quivered with the effort to stay still.

He took a ragged breath as he collapsed atop of her, pulling her to the side immediately. They lay in the afterglow, the light of pre-dawn filtering through the window. The sound of their breathing turned to quiet sobs as they held each other.

Their limbs were tangled and he could feel her breath against the skin of his neck. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulders. Taehyung kept his eyes closed, living within the sounds and sensations around him. His fingers could trace the colony of goosebumps on her skin. He could smell the heat of her so close. The faint sweet, salty mix of their love lingered on his lips turning upward into a dreamy smile. The rumble of his laugh, deep and sensual, caused her to smile. 

And this time he asked, “Can we stay like this forever?” 

“We can, querido. We can now.” 

F I N