#prediction or whatever. i just dream very intensely and that gets to me sometimes

[policyoftruth]

every now and then i have dreams where there's so many people around me. people i used to know or that are completely made up. and we're all getting along great while we follow whatever batshit nonsensical dream plot that my brain cooked up for us. and then i wake up and it's just me still in my childhood bedroom with only like. three friends i still regularly see that i all still know from school and its just me who sucks at being social and talking to new people and even if one expresses interest and starts talking to me first i cant find it in me to reply. and i really wouldn't ever say i'm lonely really i don't need many people i'm good i'm fine. but. it's also not much loneliness i feel waking up but. Entrückung. Estrangement if you will. i'm a very deep and strong dreamer and sometimes i hate that

[bratz-kitten]

Hello there love, a fellow 11th house mercury here! just saw a post where you talked a little about that placement and it was the most accurate thing I’ve ever read hahaha so my question is if you could elaborate a little bc i find it a little hard to understand that placement. my mercury is sadly also in retrograde in my chart so that doesn’t make things easier…

thank you so much!! much love xxx

okay so, for reference, i touched a bit on mercury in the 11th house here and here (which was mostly about mercury in the 12th house anyway), but the biggest point i made there was that this mercury makes you someone who needs constant intellectual stimulation, we have very restless thoughts and it can be maddening sometimes because our brains just don't shut up... ever. which is why we need to be engaging in conversation so much or at least letting our thoughts out some other way, in a blog, for example (take it from me lmfao). it's interesting that the 11th house rules technology as well as social circles, because it sure feels like we have a non-stop podcast in our minds. like, the only time where i feel like my brain is experiencing a moment of peace is afterward a really intense conversation, when i get to debate my ideas with someone who's just as passionate (and slightly insane) as me.

that being said, we prefer to keep conversation light-hearted and fun. this house for mercury shows an ease when it comes to talking with whoever, so you might have a lot of acquaintances. you might even feel like wherever you go, everyone knows your name and it can be a very unsettling feeling at times. as in, you get introduced to a group of people you've never met before but somehow they all know who you are, so you might experience people gossiping a lot about you, making up rumors that get widely spread; people make all kinds of assumptions about you. that's because even though you know a lot of people, you keep the conversation purposely superficial and only open up to like three people, if that much.

now, keep in mind that this is a double-edged sword: not only do people gossip a lot about people, but you tend to gossip as well. even if you tell yourself it's light-hearted and you only do it with your closest friends, it can be too much at times, and it's very easy to cross the line of "i'm just curious" to being downright shitty, and you need to watch out for what comes out of your mouth because you do stress a lot about having good morals.

you possess a lot of social intelligence and you might be very aware of that, using it in everyday matters – when you enter a group, you start observing the dynamics that play between everyone: who talks the most with who, who feels the most or less comfortable with who, who's still only acquaintances and who's falling in love but doesn't know it yet; you observe all of that and start taking mental notes about people's behaviors: the way they talk, their humor (especially if they laugh at the expense of others or not), if they overshare, what they leave unsaid; you take in all of that and that's your way of getting to know people so that you can start predicting their behavior. like i said, you find it very hard to trust others enough to open up so you make others prove themselves before you do so. in friendships, this is less biting, as in you don't just walk up to someone and go like hey prove me of your worth lmfao, you simply start observing their actions and if they pass the vibe check, they're in.

the problem starts in your romantic relationships – this is where you make someone prove themselves again and again that they're deserving of your trust and loyalty as you continuously doubt them. and suddenly, this isn't the dating stage; it's like your potential partner is harry potter going through the triwizard tournament just to get the prize of 10% of your trust. and it's, like, no. stop it. you can't expect people to drop everything to offer you the world while you're hesitant about even holding their hand in public. that's self-sabotaging and it's just a way for you to ensure that you don't get too intimate with people, that you don't reveal too much of yourself. relationships are about the equality between giving and taking, and you can sometimes be caught up in wanting to receive before even considering giving.

the best way i can put this is through an example: kim kardashian has her mercury in the 11th house. so, it's no wonder that this mercury makes someone really fucking ambitious, sometimes even without you realizing. the 11th house rules dreams and humanity as a whole, so you might be constantly in tune with your dreams and finding a way to get yourself further to them. like i said, this can be unconscious at times; perhaps you take on a small project that's meant to be fun and insignificant but suddenly it blows up out of proportion, suddenly your whole life revolves around it and you're getting recognized for it. you can be very calculating and borderline manipulative at times since you're so focused on trying to control the circumstances around you. not even just in real life, perhaps when you're playing video games you find yourself focusing a lot of your attention on understanding the characters and their motivations; and then, when you meet someone who feels shady as fuck and who looks like they could betray you, your thinking process isn't how can i stop this person from betraying me, it's how can i use this person's betrayal to my advantage. it's like, jesus christ on steroids lmfao. you have a talent for turning difficult situations into the diamond in the rough, for thriving when facing obstacles.

you're very cynical about your friendships, you understand that most people don't have good intentions and you're likely to make a clear distinction between party friends and actual friends. the first group are the people who you have casual fun with, who you do stupid shit with and who perhaps you engage with to keep up appearances or further your connections, while the second group are the actual people who you'd ride or die for, and those are scarce.

here, there's a yearning for actual friendships present even through your fear of doing so, and you might find yourself getting occupied with issues of the 11th house: philosophy, metaphysics, individuality vs. humanity as a whole, freedom, moral issues – for you, nothing is taboo enough, just like nothing is progressive or out-of-the-box enough. my advice for people with this placement is to read the greeks. seriously, hearing plato spend a whole book discussing what is morality is like our wet dream. you love debating especially with your friends, and if you can't talk with someone for hours and hours on end with the conversation never once stalling, then they're not fit to be your friends at all. besides this, you might be very drawn to politics, power, any knowledge that helps you achieve your dreams.

you have big dreams and you might feel a strong calling to help as many people as possible, to save the world, to have your voice be heard. your goals might be downright inconceivable to some people, so you can feel ostracized by the members of the community where you live: perhaps your parents and other family members don't believe in you and would rather you just stick to the plan they forged for you; perhaps you were forced into choosing between their path or yours; no matter what, the choice lies in your hands and so does the power to achieve whatever you desire.

[backandimbamon]

Bonnie playing with Damon's hair and he all sleepy 😊

this really took a while because… i was going to stop at the first half but i wanted to consider Bonnie’s perspective (: and then it got a lil spicy and i was like *sigh* why must you always take it there? but i mean- 👁- i always take it there because we were robbed!!! Damon is practically a self proclaimed sex god and i hate how they separated Bonnie from her sexuality, or really any form of intimacy for sooo long. and the scraps we got were NEVER enough. okay anyways yeah i’m finally done, like let’s get into it.

Damon notices that Bonnie touches him sparingly and really not because she wants to but because it happens accidentally every now and then, one of the perks about frequently invading her space.

Being stuck on the other side, there is less room for her and more for him, she’s in his world now which means it’s his duty to make her feel as uncomfortably comfortable as possible.

He notices everything; how her cheeks turn red when their knuckles brush against one another’s, how she takes in an exasperated little breath when their shoulders touch, how she rolls her eyes when he stands entirely too close. Damon hangs on to these moments because this may be his only form of female contact he’ll receive for a very, very, long time.

That is the only reason he hangs on.

Anytime she touches him intentionally, he feels a pride swell deep in his chest that he’s liked by Bonnie after a rocky road of ups and downs, fussing and fighting, he is finally deemed worthy enough for her to care about him even if it’s brief, even if it’s the smallest skin to skin contact imaginable.

And yes, he cares because if he has to spend the rest of eternity with one person, they might as well get along.

Movie night comes around so he rests his head in her lap, testing the waters, to see how she will respond to him. He senses her tense up a bit as predicted, but then she relaxes into it breath by breath like she’s doing a tricky yoga pose.

Bonnie’s body lotion makes her skin smell edible- cocoa and honey- she’ll never know but that’s why he nicknames her Bon Bon, she always smells good enough to eat. At this point, Damon can’t recall the VHS movie on the block of a television, his focus has been robbed by Bonnie and this new form of contact she allows him to try. Half of his smile sinks into the cotton of her leggings.

Her eyes never leave the screen when she laces her fingers through his hair, nails surfing through tufts of raven-black and the gesture is so shocking and embarrassingly arousing that a strangled groan gets trapped in his throat.

She panics, and he can tell by the change in her heart rate before saying. “Did I hurt you?” He has to clear his throat to speak.

“Hmmm mm, feels good,” he mumbles feigning casual so she can’t realize how he needs this so so bad that he’s fearful of it being taken away. In his mind he thinks about what if.

What if she wakes up and decides she doesn’t want to tap dance on the line between what is and isn’t acceptable for two best friends. What if she remembers that he’s actually a terrible person who has done horrendous things to her and everyone she’s ever loved.

She shouldn’t like him or try not to laugh at his jokes. Not at all. Bonnie should’ve killed him a long, long time ago because if anyone could do it, it’d be her. He can see her now, all badass and angry with a wooden stake in her hand, vengeance in her eyes, the very last thing he’d see before his lights went out forever.

Bonnie, the giver and the taker.

Bonnie, the only god he knew.

Damon finds himself thinking so intensely lately that he checks the mirror more often than not to make sure he has no brooding lines like his little brother. Stefan’s expansive forehead has the room for it, his perfectly shaped forehead does not.

She laces her fingers back through his hair again and his eyes flutter, that’s how good it feels. It’s sensational. And while he’s had his hair pulled in and out of the bedroom, the innocence of her touch makes him want to melt. He finds his lids growing heavier, like how they used to do a century-and-a-half ago when he was human.

Running through dandelion fields in the overbearing Virginia heat, the sun up above sending heavy gusts of sunshine beams, a moment he considers to be oppressive now, used to be magical then- miraculous -and despite sweating through his britches and overcoat he never cared enough to stop running through the fields. The sun was the greatest thing all those years ago, back when white was his favorite color.

And after drawing a long, hot bath, he’d sink deep into the water while the bubbles floated to the top. Damon would close his eyes, hold his breath, see if he could break his prior record. Then he’d get out and the sleep would welcome him like any drowsy being, with open arms. And there he’d fall.

Bonnie has that affect on him. She makes him think of home, his past, when times were simpler and he was human.

He feels that exhausted sometimes, a boy who’s never stopped running through dandelion fields, whether it snows or rains or burns him alive. Her fingernails rake through his scalp- orange leaves on browning grass. Ruining Stefan’s piles for the fun of it. His lids droop. Tired of being consumed by himself, by Bonnie, he admits defeat this time. When he finally drifts off, he remembers that the Virginia heat gave him this same warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

“You really don’t know how good this feels,” his final words are hoarse before he drifts off but the last thing he sees is Bonnie.

The giver and the taker, the only god he knows.

.

Bonnie refuses to relish in the magic of the moment, the fact that it’s so rare Damon ever completely lets his guard down around her. She can always feel his eyes on her, constantly watching because Damon has a presence that’s inescapable.

Being so close to him when he’s extremely vulnerable makes her realize that in all facets, he’s stunning. A stunning that’s almost suffocating but with the dynamic they possess, he only needs to know that he’s not that much of an eye sore.

Now, she stares with wide eyes while she can, memorizes the smooth expanse of skin, every strand of dark hair. Relishes in the feel of his arms around her waist, the weight of his head in her lap. It’s been a long time since she’s felt a body besides her own and as much as she likes to ignore the fact, she has needs, needs that have swelled from being in the presence of Damon for too long.

He’s sexy without any effort, she examines. His dark t-shirt has risen and his pants are low enough that she observes the waistline of (silk?) boxers, taut muscle, navel, happy trail, yeah. Bonnie drinks him in like a cool glass of milk before bedtime- never has this much pretty been in her lap before. Her hands find their way in his head again, tousles through and he nuzzles up against her in his sleep. It’s difficult to pull her eyes away from him, but when she does, the credits are rolling on the screen.

This is Damon she’s thinking about like this, her best friend and also her first best friend’s boyfriend. She repeats it again, not satisfied that the guilt isn’t drowning her like it sometimes does when she catches herself lingering on his attractiveness for too long but Mystic Falls, the real Mystic Falls seems so far away. Elena, Caroline, Matt, Alaric, her old life just seems unattainable, no bigger than a memory she occasionally mistakes for a bad dream.

There’s no denying that being away from it all, here with Damon as the only other person in the world, she feels…safe. Maybe even protected, it’s a stark contrast from the real Mystic Falls where her life is always on the line.

Bonnie starts to get up when she feels his hold on her tighten to prevent her from moving away. They play tug of war for a bit but she eventually stops fighting because Damon is a vampire after all, physical strength is going to get her nowhere. “Fine,” she grumbles, then plops down which causes the end of her top to ride up enough that she can feel the press of Damon’s nose on the curve of her waist. Despite trying to inch her shirt back down, she has no luck. Naturally Damon doesn’t mind.

He inhales her skin deeply, makes a sound of approval before groggily muttering, “Going topless now, are we Judgey?”

She grabs his hair again, yanks his head back as a rebuttal, and Damon bites his tongue so hard that it bleeds. He has to ensure that all of the blood in his body isn’t rushing south too fast but unfortunately, he would have to sever both his arms completely off to stop the blood flow.

Bonnie realizes the dazed look in his eyes isn’t one of pain nor is it from sleep, “Not the reaction you expected, huh?” He asks, gesturing for her to look down but she doesn’t, she can’t. She’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse, a teensy bit turned on.

“You scared, Bon Bon? I thought you were big and bad,” Damon mocks, pulling between his legs to make more room in his jeans, “it’s okay. I know Jeremy left much to be desired.” He sits up with swirls of longing still in his eyes, then grabs a pillow to place in his lap.

“Scared?” She guffaws. “Of what exactly?”

“Me…You.”

“And that means?”

“You’re a smart girl, Bon, figure it out.” Damon taunts, holding her eyes with his. “It’s awfully lonely here.”

She says nothing for a while, refusing to break eye contact first. “So.”

“Soooo, I won’t tell if you won’t.” It’s almost a joke, almost because she has a feeling if she says yes to whatever sort of ambiguous proposal he’s thrown up in the air, there won’t be any laughter. If she says no, it’s no different from his usual innuendos but boy, will she wonder.

“Wanna take a walk on the wild side?” He asks in a singsong tone, eyes dropping to her lips then back up to her eyes.

There are no alarms, no cell phones, no one here that can interrupt this moment. She has to answer, though she has no idea what will come out of her mouth. Bonnie shuts her eyes to make the moment less real, as if it will change the fact that she whispers, “Just one kiss,”

They’re nose to nose when Damon whispers back, “a peck.”

She swallows his breath. “Mhmm,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Nothing.”

“As light as air,” he presses his lips to hers for a brief moment then pulls back again. “See.” He peppers more kisses on her lips, down her jaw, the side of her neck, but they’re heavier. They have a density now. His tongue is on the flesh of her shoulder, teasing up her neck. She feels the light imprint of sharp canines, arousal surges through her like a power circuit, so intense that she moans. When he makes his way back up, their mouths both open in a feral kiss that robs them of air.

Bonnie holds his face in place though he makes no attempt to move away. The pillow falls out from between them when he grabs Bonnie’s leg to straddle him.

It’s nothing.

Nothing separating them from attacking each other’s mouths, nothing stopping Damon from gripping his best friend’s hips, nothing saving Bonnie from discarding his shirt.

His skin is cool enough that she can stream together some thought in between relentless kisses. “Damon,” she tries her best to sound admonishing.

“Please, not right now.” Damon cuffs both her wrists behind her with one hand and plants a hickey just above her cleavage. She sees stars. He already knows what the inflection in her voice means- the timing couldn’t be worse.“Let’s save the guilt for tomorrow morning.” His tone is octaves lower, almost as low as his lids. He drags his eyes up to hers, and they’re so shiny she can see her reflection. “I need this, Bonnie. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just continues on with his ministrations, hypnotized by the pheromones seeping off of her in waves, wanting to memorize the scent with his tongue. She whines his name, like actually whines his name, and the feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach scares him. Bonnie is so oblivious to the appeal she carries but if she sat in his skin for a day, hell, for a moment, she would realize just how long she’s been driving him insane.

“We can’t,” she groans weakly. “We can’t.”

Damon tries to breathe easier, but that feeling is lurking in his gut. She’s right. The things he’d do to her, he’d break her in half. He removes Bonnie from his lap, separates from her warmth, her scent. Backs away until the tv threatens to fall off the stand. Everything in him tells him to go back, to reenter the magnetic pull, to poke at her forcefield.

He backs away even further if possible. Her breath catches at the distance.

Bonnie’s cheeks are flushed, warm and red like fruit. If she was an apple, she would have already been eaten down to the core. If she was a peach, it would be easier to explain why he ate her. He thinks to himself that he’s officially off the rails, comparing Bonnie to fruit like he is, but he’s trying to rationalize his irrationality. Because if Bonnie never stopped him, he’d definitely be eating something by now.

“Nothing happened.” She says, ignoring his expression and the silent plea in his eyes.

“Nothing.” He deadpans, throwing his shirt back over his head.

Damon thinks of how different things would be if he had his way. Bonnie, spent, drunk, high off of him. Bleeding and wild, pretty and dangerous, yelling for God. He would plunge Jeremy right out of her, help her find her magic again. Give her everything she could dream of. He gulps.

She doesn’t sleep with him tonight, not in the same bed. She’s on the opposite end of the boarding house when he hears her slide under the covers.

The next morning, he thinks to himself, if she even utters a word about last night, he’ll pick up from where he left off. But she doesn’t, her eyes are far away again, and the only proof he has of their adventures is the wonderful, purple hickey.

When movie night comes back around, his head is in her lap and her hand is back in his hair, running to and fro like him in his lavender fields.

That’s all he gets.

Every now and then, it’s enough.

Bonnie gives and takes, then takes away some more.

She’s the closest thing to God he’ll probably ever know.

[shoutaaizawas]

↳  ❝burn❞ dabi x fem!reader → part III

summary: touya todoroki, your childhood friend was dead or so you thought. trying to dig deep you find dabi at a local bar known for being a villain hangout. word count: 1.8k tags/warnings: flashback, bar setting a/n: now we’re getting somewhere, hope you guys enjoy!

masterlist

part II part III part IV

It didn’t take long for you to realize that things weren’t okay at home for Touya. You were a smart kid, observant. You didn’t miss how tired he looked, the bags under his eyes. The bruises that covered his skin, the burns. Whenever you asked him he would just brush it off and say he fell or hurt himself with his quirk again.

There were only so many times you could believe that. Eventually, he opened up about it. He trusted you more than anyone but he carried an amount of shame at the truth of what happened at home. His father trained him, harder than a child should ever have to train. Even when Fuyumi and Natsuo were born and got their quirks he continued to train Touya because he was still the best bet at becoming a hero out of all of them despite his quirks drawbacks.

There were many nights Touya would go to your house, climbing in your window. You would play video games, watch movies, or sometimes fall asleep beside each other. Anything that you could do to distract or give him shelter from what he faced at home.

It was only when Shoto got his quirk that Enji Todoroki gave up on Touya. It was the first year of UA. You remember him tapping at your window, tears in his eyes. He never cried, it hurt to see him cry more than you could ever describe.

It was complicated, in a way he was free from his father’s torment but at the same time, he felt so abandoned. The training and suffering he went through all for nothing. His own father didn’t believe he could be a good hero.

That night you found Touya at your window. Letting him in he explained what had happened before breaking down.

You took him in your arms and held him close as he let out all of the emotions he had stored up for years. The music you had playing softly a background to his quiet sobs. You pressed a kiss against the crown of his red hair, holding back the blooming feelings you had for him.

As he eventually calmed down, he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low and raspy from crying.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, you know I’m always here for you.” You said, brushing your hands through his hair.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He whispered.

“Me neither.” You said giving him a soft smile before hugging him closer.

There was nothing harder than watching Touya and what he went through during all the years you knew him and not being able to do anything about it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to look into something that the hero commission seemed to want to look the other way on but you were always one to get into things you shouldn’t. It wasn’t like you had a high rank you’d be at risk of losing, the worst they could do was take away your hero license and they were dumb if they thought you wouldn’t become a vigilante.

It was a dangerous game. You had two options, tail Hawks, and see what he was up to on a normal day. Hawks was far faster than you which would leave you struggling to keep up not to mention he had keen senses that would probably pick up on you quickly. The other option was to follow Dabi from the League of Villains, finding him wouldn’t be easy and the likelihood of him trying to kill you if he caught on was high.

Neither option was good but if you didn’t do something it would bother you. You had to get to the bottom of this.

Villains could be predictable, they had spots they liked to hang out in or make deals at. You dressed in civilian clothes, put a wig on, and did what you could to look different from your usual appearance. Waiting till night time you went to a bar that was a hot spot for villains. It was hard but you could repress the rain that followed you these days. It would take a lot of energy but it was possible and would help your cover.

Entering the bar you were hit by a cloud of smoke and the sound of music playing, the bass rumbling through the floor. This was the last place anyone wanted to be if they weren’t looking to get in trouble. Walking in you recognized a few villains right away. You carefully scanned the room as you made your way to the bar.

Ordering a whiskey neat you made your way to an empty corner of the bar, making sure to keep you back to the wall and your eyes on the entrance. You made note of the exits of the building.

Time passed and you waited, sipping your drink slowly and watching your surroundings. Some people glanced over at you but didn’t bother you. If you acted like you belonged somewhere people usually didn’t question that confidence.

The door opened and finally, you caught sight of the man you were looking for. Dabi walked in, you watched as other villains looked nervous at the sight of him. From what you had heard he was dangerous and quick to act if he felt the need to. No doubt people had learned not to mess with him here.

For a moment his gaze scanned the room pausing at the sight of you in the corner. He looked you up and down before walking to the bar, sitting down there. You watched him carefully as he ordered a drink and started sipping on it. You weren’t sure what exactly you were looking for, you doubted Hawks would show his face here and you didn’t think talking to him was the best idea.

At the same time if you missed your chance to get information from him now you might not get another chance. You could tail him home but if he caught on it would be bad, worse if you ended up at the league’s hideout.

After mulling it over you decided you should take the chance. If worse came to worse you knew you could escape if things got violent here. Standing up you made your way to the bar, placing your empty glass down before waving the bartender over for another one.

Dabi was next to you but you didn’t look over hoping to get his interest by seeming indifferent. You could feel his gaze on you.

“What brings someone like you to a dark place like this?” His raspy voice cut through the music of the bar. You looked over slowly smirking at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You teased.

Seeing him this close up it was odd. You took in the dark patches of skin that covered his face, the staples connecting them to his unmarred skin. His eyes, the striking blue eyes felt familiar.

“Dabi, you bastard.” A man stepped up to his other side grabbing his shoulder roughly. The drunk man looked angry.

“Shove off.” He growled at the man before standing up pushing him back.

“Take it outside!” The bartender shouted at them.

“Gladly,” Dabi said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. He grabbed onto the man by the back of his shirt. “Sorry, doll. Another time.”

You stood there shocked by what happened. You had been so close to having a conversation with him before that man had interrupted. You let out a huff finishing off your drink. You waited a moment before following them out. You wanted to see what was going on.

Turning around the corner into the alley you could hear the commotion of Dabi and the man fighting. What you didn’t expect was the gas that had filled the small area. It must have been from the man’s quirk. You stopped breathing, hoping to stop whatever effects it might have but you were too late. You already felt woozy, your vision fading.

Blue flames filled the alley, the heat intense against your skin but not hurting you. You collapsed to the ground, falling onto your hands and knees. As everything faded to black you saw one last thing. The figure of Dabi approached you slowly, intimidating as he drew closer.

“You never could stay out of trouble, huh?” His voice sounded fuzzy, you could barely make out his words before your head hit the ground.

The breeze was soft a cool, moving through the petals of the cherry blossom tree above you. You laid across the soft grass, Touya next to you. You looked overtaking in his features as he watched the tree sway above the two of you. You smiled at how peaceful he looked.

“What are you smiling at, raindrop?” He said looking over with a teasing look.

“Trying to figure it out.” You teased. Touya let out a short laugh.

“Very creative.” He said. In one quick moment, he was over you, leaning down, his nose almost against yours. “If I didn’t know better I would say you were admiring me.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what you're talking about.” You said cheekily.

“Really?” He said leaning in closer, pressing his forehead against yours, almost brushing his lips against yours. “Then I guess you don’t want a kiss.” He said before laying back down at your side.

“Wait,” You said in a huff, pouting as you rolled to your side, leaning over him. You leaned down for a kiss but he turned his head.

“Nope.” He said as you tried again only to be dodged once again.

“Touya.” You whined. “Fine, I was admiring your handsome looks. Are you happy.”

“Yes.” He said with a smirk, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you on top of him. His lips finally met yours, softly. You smiled against him, content.

Sighing, you rest your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and taking in his comforting scent. Your eyes drifted closed, sleepy from how relaxed you were.

“Go to sleep, raindrop. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.” He said, his hand brushing up and down your back helping you fall to sleep even more.

You woke with a gasp, your lungs burning. Looking around you expected to be in the alley or somewhere worse but you were in your home. In your bed.

Had there been a hero nearby? Or perhaps one undercover at the bar that saw you hurt? Why hadn’t they left a note or taken you to the hospital?

You laid back down, exhausted still. Too tired to wonder what happened. You could figure that out later.

Your mind drifted back to your dream. It made your heartache it was so real. You could feel his arms around you, his lips against yours. Tears welled in your eyes. You never had the chance to kiss Touya, never had the chance to tell him how you felt and that would haunt you till the end of your days.

taglist(message to be added or taken out):  @flowersgirl02 @wesparklebitch @moon-write @strangely-charmed @ibookishqueen @tomomoni @why-so-red

[emma-nation]

The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU) - Chapter 7

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x f!OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: Thank you for all the reviews, follows and likes! It means a lot to me.

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Castle Dimitrescu, Guest Room - Present Days

Two days had passed and I was still trying to process what was happening. How could my life change so drastically again? I could no longer count on my twin brother, who I considered to be my best friend, the person I trusted the most in the entire world. I was filled by the same emptiness, the same sorrow I felt when my mother died. My life was in the palm of his hands and he was letting me go.

"Relax your shoulders, love," Bela whispered softly in my ear. "You're so tense."

Bela was the only person who still made me smile in the middle of all that chaos. She was helping me to find any clues in the diaries, about Miranda and about Auryk too. But for that, we had to work really fast.

We were sneaking back in the village everyday, it wasn't safe to bring those notes to the castle where Bela's mother and sisters could easily find. I prayed the weather wouldn't change and temperatures remained high. In another case, we wouldn't be able to go to my house again and my time with Lady Dimitrescu was running out.

Meanwhile, we were also working on overcoming my intimacy issues. Being intimate without having sex yet. First, we undressed each other completely. I had to know her body and allow her to know mine. I looked at the perfection of Bela's features for a second, before I was invaded by a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. It was the first time I was seeing a woman, completely naked, in front of me.

When I looked at her again, she was gazing at my body like if she was admiring a masterpiece in an art exhibit. At first, I was shy. I blushed and crossed my arms, as if I had any reasons to hide myself. Bela smiled. In that moment I knew she was appreciating me and that made me feel better.

"You're gorgeous, aren't you?" Bela lifted up my chin, forcing me to look at her, to see it in her eyes she was being truthful on her words.

"No more than you," I gathered some courage to move forward and extend my hand, touching a little bit of her soft skin, her arms, her chest, her stomach... then I stopped.

"This is okay," she assured me. But she understood that, in that moment, it was enough for me.

We both entered the bathtub, where I positioned myself in front of Bela and allowed her to take care of me. She gently rubbed my body with a sponge, starting by my back. Then, she moved to my front, rubbing my breasts, my stomach, my tights. Though we were in silence, she seemed to understand my limits, my barriers. Noticing how stressed I looked, she decided to give me a massage. I relaxed my shoulders as she told, focusing myself completely on our moment together.

"It's my turn," I told her. "Let me take care of you?"

Bela nodded and switched positions with me. I offered her the same treatment she gave me, but I wasn't so confident, so precise. My shaking hands would often betray me and I was unsure if I was being too gentle or too rough. Yet, she seemed to be enjoying it. I gave a special attention on washing her hair, it was so beautiful, so soft. The way it barely grew on the spot around her scar was a sin. I hated Miranda even more for that.

She rested her head against my chest as I continued to massage her scalp.

"Does it hurt?" I softly traced her scar with my finger.

"It stings sometimes," she sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Does it hurt?" Bela repeated my gesture, tracing the scar on my forearm.

"No," she never asked, yet I felt I should tell her how it happened. "Adrian told me he found me in the basement cutting myself, right after my mom died. But I don't remember."

"Trauma can block some painful memories."

I knew that very well. I realized how little I remembered the days after my mother's death. My last memory was seeing her mangled body being carried inside our house. Nothing else. I didn't remember her burial or if I managed to say goodbye. I couldn't remember if we had people visiting us or if I was alone with my father. Everything about those terrible days was a blur.

----------

Castle Dimitrescu, Office - Present Days

When Lady Dimitrescu called her daughters for a private meeting that morning, Bela couldn't help feeling anxious and scared. Her mother was usually a woman of her word, but when it came to her reputation with Mother Miranda, she'd become completely blind by rage. Alcina really believed her when she suggested Aleena's brother could be responsible for stealing the Lords and also for the attack to the castle, even when the evidences pointed to the opposite.

"I told you so," while they waited outside, Cassandra was smirking deviously. She was determined to do anything to annoy Bela right in the morning. "It won't well for you. Our mother can't betray Mother Miranda and the other Lords because you've fallen in love with a stupid human girl."

"Shut up," Bela decided she wouldn't give in to her provocations. It was Cassandra's favorite manner to extract information from her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you think we're stupid?" Still, her sister wouldn't stop. "Everyone, except for our mother, has noticed already. Me, Daniela, even Mrs. Volkov. Tell me, Bela. Will you keep pretending when we serve her on a silver plate tonight?"

Bela advanced in her sister's direction. Cassandra quickly dissolved into flies, she did the same. The corridor was a mess of flying insects and buzzing for a few minutes, before they had to shape back into their bodies. Now, she'd finally have the chance to inflict her sister some pain. She pinned Cassandra against the wall.

"Stop, you two," Daniela tried to intervene. "What the hell are you doing?"

Cassandra tried to throw a punch, but Bela was a little faster on her reflects, she grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm.

"What's your problem, Cassandra?" Bela angered. "You can't stand the idea she wasn't one of your trophy maidens, isn't it? Just leave me alone. Leave her alone too."

In that moment, they heard the door opening. Lady Dimitrescu appeared in the corridor, with an ugly snarl on her face.

"What the hell is going on here?" She yelled. "I thought I had daughters, but then I come here and you two are fighting like animals."

Daniela sighed relieved. This time, she wasn't included.

"I'm sorry, mother," Cassandra straightened her dress. "It's Bela who's being a bitch."

"You started it," Bela tried to grab her hair, but she deflected. "You're insulting me from the moment I arrived."

"The three of you! In my office, now!"

Bela couldn't feel guilty this time. Something inside her had changed. She didn't care if her mother was disappointed at her behavior, absolutely no one would touch Aleena. Especially Cassandra.

"It's all about that girl, mother," the middle sister proceeded to tell Alcina. "Bela is in love with her. They've been making out around the castle all the time."

"And this is none of your goddamn business!"

"It is, when your actions are putting us all in danger! Her brother..."

"Stop!" Lady Dimitrescu shouted, making they both go silent. "Is it going to be like this anytime a new woman steps inside this castle?"

No. Not for Bela. She didn't care about other women. Cassandra could have them if she wanted, as long as she stayed away from her girlfriend.

"I agree," Cassandra continued. "It has to end. I vote that we drain her tonight."

"CASSANDRA!" Alcina punched the desk, making her stop instantly. "I didn't call you here to talk about this girl."

A part of Bela was relieved, but she when her eyes crossed with her mother's, the feeling of anxiety started growing inside her. Now she knew about her relationship with Aleena. And her sisters too. She couldn't predict how they'd react.

"I'm going to another meeting with Mother Miranda tonight. I expect to find this castle intact when I return. If I discover my daughters are fighting in my absence, I'll be truly disappointed."

"Yes, mother," Daniela said. "No one is going to fight anymore. Right?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes at the youngest sister. Bela only gave her an annoyed look.

So that was the reason of their visit to Lady Dimitrescu's office. For now, Aleena was safe. They still had a few days to gather information about Mother Miranda and whatever she was planning. Bela was about to leave after her sisters when her mother called her back. She froze.

"Bela, you stay. We need to talk."

"Yes, mother?" She sat in front of her mother again.

"What were you and Cassandra fighting about?"

"I-I... uh, it's true. I'm in love with Aleena."

Bela decided it was time to stop lying. After all her mother was the person she trusted the most in this world, besides Aleena. Lady Dimitrescu stared at her face emotionless. Bela couldn't figure out what she could be thinking. She looked down, avoiding her mother's intense gaze.

"It's different this time," she explained. Although Alcina never bothered when they got involved with women, she hated the mess it usually caused. Sometimes Cassandra would slaughter her partners in her bedroom or some other place too hard to be cleaned. Daniela fell in love too easily, always having her heart broken when she discovered the subject of her affection was only using her to escape the castle and the fate every servant usually had. In this process, a lot of other things would break too. Such as the castle's furniture and the servant's bones. "I'm doing things right. I even asked her to be my girlfriend."

Bela wouldn't get involved with women so often as her sisters, but when she did, it surely never ended well. They'd become disappointed when they found out she didn't reciprocate their feelings. There would be a lot of arguing, tears and some of them would even dare to call her mother for a talk. In the end, they always died anyways.

She had never been in love before. Until now.

"Girlfriend?!" Lady Dimitrescu eyes widened in surprise and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Bela finally knew what what her mother should be thinking about. The woman she once loved. "Oh Bela..."

"She makes me happy, mother. Like I've never been before."

"And this is exactly what concerns me, daughter. You know how it ends."

"It doesn't have to end that way. I'm controlling my instincts very well and..."

"But she's human and young. She's going to study abroad, meet new people who are just like her. Then, she'll forget you ever existed."

That was the one thing Bela had accepted since the moment she decided to kiss Aleena. Soon, they'd be saying goodbye and there would be nothing left for her, only the memories. Yet, it was worthy. Every moment by Aleena's side was precious.

"I know that," she assured Lady Dimitrescu. "Mother, the only thing I want is your word you're letting her go by the end of this week. Whatever her brother did, Aleena's innocent."

"Okay, daughter," her mother's hand touched hers. The corners of her mouth curled up in a small smile. "I promise you. As long as you promise me you and Cassandra will stop fighting."

"Okay, I'll ignore her provocations. I promise."

"You know your sister, Bela. Cassandra is very attached to our family. She's only jealous most of your attention is being dedicated to Aleena."

"Yeah, I know."

Bela held her mother's hand and smiled back at her.

"Girlfriend..." she was still muttering to herself and shaking her head in denial as Bela stood up and started to walk away. "Well, I suppose there were worse options."

As she opened the office's door, ready to leave, Alcina spoke:

"Bela, take care."

"I will."

----------

Castle Dimitrescu, Guest Room - Present Days

I asked my breakfast to be served in my room. Going to the dining room all by myself was pointless, as Bela and her sisters were reunited with their mother in her office. I wondered what they could be discussing. Was it about me or Auryk?

Anyways, our time was running out. I only had until the end of the week to prove my brother's innocence and expose Miranda's betrayal against the Four Lords. There was only one problem, if Auryk wasn't stealing from the Lords, he wasn't involved in something good either. The manner he spoke to me on the phone, it seemed dangerous and secretive.

And there was Bela. Everytime I remembered the page I ripped off from those diaries I'd feel my chest tightening a little bit. I wouldn't let my brother, and whoever he was working for, lay a finger on her. From the moment I arrived, she was nothing but sweet to me. She always did everything to protect me and I was willing to do the same.

Mrs. Volkov entered the room, bringing a tray of food. She locked the door behind her.

"Ms. Novak, I'd like to speak to you in private for a moment," she asked.

I nodded in agreement.

"I couldn't help noticing Ms. Bela coming and leaving this room very often lately."

"Yes," now I could understand why Cassandra was always threatening the staff with her knifes. Even if Mrs. Volkov was trying to protect me, what I did inside my room was none of her business. I feared she'd tell Alcina. "We're working on a personal issue of mine. And I'd appreciate if this information stays between us only."

"My mouth is shut, Ms. Novak. I only beg you to be careful, I've seen many girls like you going missing or being dragged to the dungeons after getting involved with the mistress' daughters."

Of course she had to remind me of the fact my girlfriend probably has had enough partners to fill both sides of a book page.

"Thank you for your concern."

And of course she had to run right into 'Ms. Bela' as she opened the door to leave.

"Mrs. Volkov," she greeted, polite as she always was. Sometimes I wondered if Bela was so well mannered even when she was killing her victims. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Everything's fine, Ms. Bela. I was only serving Ms. Novak her breakfast."

"Thank you. I suppose we're good for now. I call you if we need anything else."

Bela shut the door, immediately forcing the woman to go away. I asked her to lock it, just in case.

"Good morning, love," she sat by my side at the table and pressed a kiss on my cheek. "I hope you saved me some because I'm starving."

"Hey, didn't you just have breakfast with your mom?"

"Not actually, I refused it. I was waiting to have breakfast with you, like we do every morning."

She smiled, causing butterflies in my stomach.

"Aren't you sweet?" I was kinda expecting her to come. I even asked Mrs. Volkov for an extra cup and plate. I passed it to Bela. "I was hoping you'd come."

I retributed her kiss.

"So, what are doing today?" She wanted to know. "Are we coming back to your house? Or would you like to do something different?"

"I wish, but we have to finish reading the diaries. I only have a few days left before your mom decides what she wants to do to me."

"I spoke to her. She's letting you go by the end of the week."

"Is she?" I asked, to be sure.

Bela nodded in response.

I should be happy with the information, Lady Dimitrescu wasn't going to kill me after all. But I wasn't. I was expecting her to protest and keep me as a prisoner for weeks, months, maybe years as it seemed Auryk wasn't coming back. I wanted to be stuck in that castle for the rest of my life, as long as I had Bela by my side.

"She has a meeting with Mother Miranda tonight," she added. "She usually doesn't come back until the morning. We should do something special."

"Like what?"

"Like a date?"

The concept of having a date was a little bit difficult when you lived in a village that wasn't even in the maps Your options were very limited: going to the nearest town, going to the pub or do something at home. The first two options could not end well as we'd be going too far from the castle or if any villagers recognized Bela.

We could stay in my house and order some food, there was this restaurant in town that would deliver even in that hellhole of a place. We could also watch movies and make out on the couch.

Maybe more. I was desperate for more. Especially now I knew we'd be separated soon. I wanted to enjoy every second of your moments together. Yet, I was insecure. I couldn't help thinking of Mrs. Volkov comment regarding Bela's level of experience.

"I think I have something in mind," I grabbed Bela's hand. "Ready?"

----------

Eastern Europe, Aleena's House - Present Days

We rod to the village as were doing every day. I was always concerned some other villager could see me and recognize me. At this point, everybody should know about what happened to me. They'd instantly connect the dots if they saw Bela. When we arrived to my house again, I was relieved. Almost. Until I saw the front door had been forced open.

"Oh fuck," I quickly took my daggers before taking another step into the house. "Somebody broke into my house. They may still be in there."

Bela took some kind of blade from her boots too.

"What? I have my tricks too, love." She asked, noticing I was surprised. "Cassandra isn't the only good hunter."

We carefully opened the door. Before I could even do anything, Bela grabbed me and covered my mouth. Her senses were probably detecting something nearby.

"Shhhh," she pointed to her ears. "I can hear something... in the basement."

"But not all of us are vampires," I muttered. When I noticed, Bela had already vanished, turning into flies. I followed her to the basement, after grabbing a rifle. Before I even got there, I already heard a male voice screaming.

"What the fuck?! What are you freaks even doing here?!"

I recognized it before I could even see the figure. But I waited until I was downstairs to confront him.

"Heisenberg. I could ask you the same," I spoke, pointing the rifle at him even if I knew it was useless. "What are you doing here?"

"You," he turned around from the hidden cabinet where the weapons were stored. "Weren't you trapped at Lady Super Sized Bitch's castle?"

"Have some respect talking about my mother," Bela shaped back into her body. "Not that she has any talking about you. So I guess you both are even."

"Oh great, and you brought one of the daughters with you. At least it's the decent one."

"Are you going to explain what you're doing in my house?" I angered. There was a good reason of why that man was there again. Coincidentally when he had a meeting with Miranda later that day. "Let me guess. You're searching for something to take to the Highest Bitch In Charge tonight. Am I right?"

"Wait, wait..." Heisenberg showed his hand as a sign of truce. I lowered the rifle. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Are you searching for something to take to Mother Miranda in the meeting tonight? Because many things are going missing, under mysterious circumstances that are strangely connected to her."

"Do you think Mother Miranda is the one stealing from the Lords?"

I told him about my conversation with Auryk and his suspicions about Miranda's involvement in the situation.

"I knew it!" Heisenberg kicked away an old wooden chair, shattering it to pieces. I shot Bela a confused glance but she also had no idea of what was going on. "I fucking knew it! She's been plotting against us. I always warned my siblings this day would come but they never believed me."

"We're searching for evidence against her," I explained. "To find out what's her plan. Do you have any ideas?"

"Are you sure you can trust her?" He pointed at Bela. "Her mother is the one who kisses Miranda's ass the most. After Moreau, of course."

"Absolutely," I told. "Bela's with me on the matter."

"Sit down, the two of you, and I'll tell you what I know."

We sat on the armchairs we had down the basement. Heisenberg pulled a bottle of whiskey from one of Adrian's secret hideouts. He was about to take a sip directly from the bottle, but I made him serve all of us. Something told me I'd need alcohol to deal with that conversation.

"All these years serving her and we're only her tests subjects, girl. We were all declared a failure upon bitch Miranda's eyes. Me, Lady Super Sized Bitch, the Moronic Freak, the Ugly-Ass Psycho Doll and even this..." Bela scowled at him, letting him know she wouldn't appreciate any offensive nicknames he could have for her, "this girl and her sisters. We're trapped in this village, being forced to decades of humiliation and servitude."

"Are you telling me you don't worship Miranda like your siblings and the villagers?" I tried to understand.

"No!" Heisenberg shouted. "Can't you see? She has taken everything from me. My humanity, my dignity! And now she has found the perfect vessel for her experiments, she's planning to get rid of us."

I drank the entire cup of whiskey in one sip. I looked at Bela, I could see that deep down she shared the same feelings for Miranda as Heisenberg. She tried to follow me, but judging by her face, she wasn't used to that kind of drink.

"I know what it feels like," she took off her helmet, showing the scar on her head and also the tattoo. "I also hate how she treats my mother and she's always too blind to see it. Whenever she returns from a meeting, I can read it on her face. She's disappointed at herself. She's miserable. She's always feeling she isn't enough for Mother Miranda's purposes."

"Fuck! This is what I'm talking about! Look what she's done to you. Don't you think it's time we end this?"

"Okay," I interrupted their moment of mutual pain. "She really fucked up with you guys, so we need to find a manner to stop whatever she's planning."

"Your father," Heisenberg pointed to me. "That bastard also shared my feelings of revenge and hate against that bitch, but for some reason he never accepted to join forces. I knew he had some diaries that contained some important information, do you happen to know where they are?"

Before I could answer, Bela stepped in and spoke for me.

"This is what we've been searching for," she lied. She looked at me, giving me a signal we shouldn't trust Heisenberg completely yet. "Apparently, Aleena's brother has taken it with him."

"And where's the little criminal?"

"I don't know," I said. "Last time we spoke he was acting shady as fuck. Whatever he's involved with, it's not good."

"Hmmm, drugs probably."

"No! I'm pretty sure my brother isn't... what's a vessel, by the way? You said Miranda has found a perfect one for her experiments."

"A person who can achieve a perfect mutation," it was Bela who answered my question. "One without any flaws, any side effects. Unlike me, the Lords or any person that has turned into a Lycan."

"Exactly," Heisenberg added. "One with a body that will be able to revive her daughter."

"What the fuck..." I always knew Miranda was crazy, but not at that point. All those years, she had been misleading the villagers, the Lords only for her personal uses. "And who's this person? Where are they?"

"I don't know, kid. This is what I'm trying to find. If I destroy the vessel, there will be no ritual. And with the right proof in hands I can lead a rebellion against Miranda."

"You can count on me," I extended my hand to Heisenberg. "If I discover anything, I let you know."

"Smart girl," he shook my hand. "You'll have my full support if you need to escape that demonic castle."

"She doesn't!" Bela angered. "Mother is letting her go."

"Okay. If you need anything else then..." Heisenberg shrugged. Then he looked at Bela. "What about you, little Dimitrescu girl? Can we count on you?"

"Of course," she also extended her hand. "But you can't comment a word about this meeting with my mother tonight. She trusts Miranda above anything, she's going to blow up our plans."

----------

Eastern Europe, Aleena's Bedroom - Present Days

While Aleena was taking a shower, Bela caught herself reading the diaries they found. Such a skilled predator should be proud of her achievements. The reports about her family were gruesome, terrifying, tragic. They were called many things, 'witches', 'monsters', 'abominations'...

"Psychotic bitches," definitely the most creative, a name given by Adrian Novak. Bela never had a personal encounter with Aleena's father, but she had definitely heard nasty stories about him, through Lady Dimitrescu and through Aleena herself. She thought of an appropriate nickname for him too and smirked. "Stupid manthing."

She closed the diary and walked to the mirror. Aleena told her to wear one of her clothes. She looked like a normal girl, one of Aleena's age, maybe two or three years older.

If it wasn't for that scar. That damn scar. When she woke up after the transformation, one of the first things she did was asking her mother how she had gotten it. Was it the reason she died? Later, she found out it was the reason why she was still alive. Something had been implanted in her brain, to transform her into... that. What about that tattoo? Young people had tattoos everywhere but certainly not on their foreheads. She was marked as one of the Dimitrescu daughters. Wherever she went, people would recognize her by that. Especially in the village. Countless times she and her sisters had caused panic among those people.

This was why Aleena couldn't take her out for a date. She couldn't take her to the pub, to meet her friends and do other things couples usually did. Bela clenched her fists in rage and frustration.

"Hey," Aleena left the bathroom, wrapped around a towel. "Sorry for taking so long. You look amazing, by the way."

Before heading to her wardrobe, she passed through Bela and planted a small kiss on her lips. She could live like that forever.

In fact, if the weather suddenly changed and the temperature dropped by the next day, she'd be stuck with Aleena in that house for days, months or even years. She could cook and clean the house while she was out for work. She could even find a manner to earn some money herself. She could be an artist and sell paintings. Or maybe a writer, she was a good one. Maybe she even had money already, after all she was the Countess' eldest daughter.

The idea excited Bela a lot... until she looked at Aleena's desk. If she was stuck in that house with her, she'd be giving up on her dreams of living in California and study in that Art Institute. And Aleena deserved that. More than any person she ever met.

It wouldn't last and she knew it. She always knew it.

"Selfish psychotic bitch," she muttered to herself as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

----------

Eastern Europe, Aleena's Living Room - Present Days

I couldn't take my mind off my conversation with Heisenberg. I didn't even know how I was supposed to feel. I already hated Miranda before, but now I got the confirmation of the things Bela told me. She was nothing more than an experiment gone wrong and that woman was about to get rid of her and the others. I also thought about Alcina and Donna, who had no idea of what she was planning and trusted her blindly.

I also wondered, who was her perfect vessel? Was it someone from the village? Was it someone she had kidnapped? A million questions were going through my mind.

As soon as I finished getting dressed, Bela had sunk into one of her bad moods, where she became quiet and introspective, after acting normal all day. I already knew her enough to know something happened while I was in the shower and it was consuming her inside. Because as her own mother described, Bela felt everything very intensely.

"Would you like to go back to the castle?" We were in the living room, waiting for our dinner to be delivered. "We can go after dinner if you want."

"No," she said. I had turned on Auryk's video game console. Bela was quite curious about the game I was playing. Her eyes moved quickly as she observed every detail on the screen. "Not yet."

"Do you need to feed?"

"No, I'm okay."

I paused the game. Whatever happened, nothing seemed to distract Bela from it. She was quiet as in the morning she fought her mom or that night in her bedroom, before we kissed for the first time.

"Okay... why don't you tell me what happened? I left you alone in my room for some minutes and now you're upset."

Bela took a deep breath, as if she was trying to recompose herself and leave her emotions aside for the night.

"I'm not upset, love," she told me. "I'm focused."

"On what?" I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

"If you don't move to the left side, like this," Bela took the controller from my hands, unpausing the game and making a move herself. "You're going to get yourself killed."

And she was right. Apparently her vampire senses worked for literally anything.

"Know what?" I turned off the console. "I'm done with this for the night. I already know I wouldn't be able to beat you if we played against each other anyways."

"What a sore loser," Bela finally let out a laugh. Mission accomplished, I was able to get her out of her bad mood.

"We'll see about that later."

"Will we?"

She lay on top of me, staring deeply into my eyes in an attempt to look dangerous. She pressed her lips against mine and I wrapped my arms around her body pulling her as closer as possible. Bela deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue inside my mouth. The way her tongue massaged mine, the way our bodies were moving together, the way my hands were exploring every inch of her perfect body... I was feeling things I had never experienced before. A heat that spread through every part of me. She finished her kiss biting my lower lip, leaving me stunned, breathless.

"I'm sorry, I got too carried away," she said, when we stopped. "We're almost setting ourselves on fire here."

"No, I want more," as I gazed into her beautiful golden yellow eyes, I couldn't be more sure. "I want us to burn."

Bela raised one eyebrow suggestively, as if she was trying to confirm what I had just told her. I let out a small laugh and nodded in confirmation.

"Then..." she pressed another kiss on my lips, "we should head back to your bedroom. Don't you think?"

I was about to give her an answer when the door bell rang. It was the delivery service bringing our dinner.

"Fuck, I had totally forgotten," I took a deep breath, trying to recompose myself.

"We can resume from where stopped later, if you want."

----------

I wanted it. I definitely wanted it, but I was too nervous for my own sake. If I didn't calm down, I'd end up ruining things. I remembered the night I invited a girl I was dating to my house. Even after having a lot of alcohol to calm my nerves and get me in the mood, I panicked. I panicked and locked myself in the bathroom until she went away. Needless to say she never wanted to see me again.

To try to distract myself, after dinner I sat down on my desk, reading carefully a page of the diary in front of me. The calligraphy was barely readable. Apparently that one belonged to my grandfather, Erik Novak, during his teenage years.

"March 13, 1962

The Lycan attacks have intensified during these days. It's almost impossible to even leave the house. My poor sister, Astrid, has been attacked while she was outside tending for the animals. We don't expect her to survive. The infection has spread to her whole body. Father suggested we put an end to her misery. Mother is still hoping for a miracle. We called Mother Miranda for guidance."

I felt a shiver going down my spine. It was almost like I could watch that scene playing in my mind, like a movie. I held the picture of Astrid, her beautiful dark hair and soft facial features. Such a terrible fate she was victim of. Why did my family still insisted on living in that goddamn place for generations after such a tragedy?

"Okay, I finally picked one," Bela emerged in my bedroom. She was in the living room, too amazed by my Netflix account. With so many movie options in front of her, she didn't know where to start. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I closed the diary. "I was just reading an entry while you chose. My grandfather's sister, she was bitten by a Lycan."

"It seems to happen quite often in your family. One of the diaries I read also reported a Lycan attack."

"It's like a family curse. In my generation, it was my mom. But in her case, there was not even time to develop an infection."

Family drama. Nothing related to the clues we were searching for. I decided to not think about anything else related to that village, Auryk or even Miranda for the next few hours. I wanted to enjoy my time with Bela, exclusively.

"So, let's see what you chose, Ms. Dimitrescu."

For my surprise, Bela had picked a Disney movie. I thought it was extremely cute, I was kinda expecting her to choose something classical or even an horror movie.

"Do you like this one?" She asked.

"I love it," I wrapped an arm around her shoulders as we sat down on the couch. "And I'll love it even more now it's the first movie we watch together."

I didn't make any interruptions as we watched the movie. Bela seemed so entertained, so genuinely happy. I remembered she probably had never seen a movie before. I didn't see any TVs inside the castle. If they even had one, they didn't have access to Netflix or any other modern features. I simply enjoyed the sensation of having her in my arms or the sensation of caressing her hair. I learned to appreciate the sound of her laugh more than anything in this world. When we met, I'd rarely hear it and now it was something she did often.

The world was easier when we were alone, just the two of us. Two lonely, misfit and traumatized individuals. Bela seemed to be the only person who understood my feelings, and I was this person for her too.

When the first movie ended, I asked if she wanted to see another one. She told me to choose this time and I picked a romance. With a happy ending.

God, we deserved to have a happy ending too. We both had gone through so much already. I had to stop Miranda. I couldn't let her take Bela from me.

----------

Eastern Europe, Aleena's Bedroom - Present Days

It was already two in the morning when we returned to my bedroom.

"Are you sure your mother isn't going to freak out or anything?" I asked as we prepared the bed. "Cassandra is definitely going to tell her. If she gets mad the claws will come out to play and it's kinda scary."

"As long as the dragon remains inside, we're okay," the corners of Bela's mouth curled up in a smile.

"Dragon?!"

"Nevermind, it's a joke. A myth the villagers invented. Don't worry, I don't think she's going to mind. I told her about us this morning and she took it very well."

"This is quite a surprise."

We lay on the bed and my heart started thundering inside my chest. I wasn't sure if she remembered what we started before dinner and that I had intentions of resuming later.

"I wish we could have this everyday," she spoke softly, when we were face to face. "This is the reason why I was upset."

"Why does it upsets you?" I asked.

"While I was here alone, I kinda wished the temperature would drop and I'd be stuck here with you for a while. Then I realized I was being selfish."

"You're not selfish. To be honest, I kinda wished the same. I don't wanna go away. I want to stay with you, forever."

Bela took my hand, holding it very tightly for a few seconds and then, she released.

"You can't, Aleena. You don't deserve this life, in this place. You deserve more. You deserve to go after your dreams, move to California, go to college, be with a girl that actually deserves you."

"I don't want another girl, Bela. I want you. I want you the way you are, with your virtues and also your flaws. That's what made me fall in love with you."

I'd usually let her take the lead, but this time I kissed her, hard and desperate. I didn't want to think about the idea of being away from her. Or being with somebody else. Even if we couldn't be outside most of the time. Even if I had to work on the pub for the rest of my life. Even if she needed to drink human blood. I didn't mind if my friends or my brother never accepted my relationship with her. In that moment, I had everything I ever wanted and I wouldn't waste it. I couldn't wish for anything else.

When I realized, I felt her hand going down my shirt, caressing my stomach.

"Do you still want to do this?" She asked.

"More than anything."

I knew Bela had probably done that a thousand times before, but I wondered if she was always so tender, so careful. She knew that was an important moment to me, I was letting down the last of my emotional barriers for her, so she acted cautiously on every move she made next.

First, she kissed me again for a very long time. I assumed she was giving me enough time to think if I was truly prepared. Then, her mouth placed a trail of kisses for all the way down to my neck.

We undressed each other, Bela lay on top of me and as she kissed me again, I couldn't stop thinking how good it was the feeling of having her naked body so close to mine. This time, I felt confident enough to explore parts of her I wasn't prepared the last time.

"What?" I asked when we parted and she gazed deeply into my eyes. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"I have something to confess, love," she opened a beautiful smile. "I'm a little nervous too."

"Come on. Mrs. Volkov was scolding me this morning, telling me I was only one of the many women she saw leaving your bedroom."

"Yes, but it's the first time I do it with a woman I'm in love with."

It was my turn to smile. With my hand on her chest, I sensed how quick her heart was beating too.

"Well," I whispered seductively in her ear, "she's very in love with you too. So you don't have to be nervous."

"Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

I nodded in agreement and pulled her face for another kiss. As Bela's hands traveled through my body, caressing my inner tights, I was shivering in anticipation. By the time she touched me where I wanted her the most, my first reaction was to shudder.

"How does that feel?" She wanted to know. "Do you like it, love?"

"Yes!" I threw my head back as her fingers continued to stroke my center. "Oh my god, yes. Please don't stop."

"I don't plan to. We're only getting started."

I was still nervous. I didn't know how I was supposed to act. Should I do something to please her too? Should I be silent? Because I was fighting so hard against the wild impulses inside of me, that wanted to moan and scream Bela's name as loud as I could. I buried my mouth on her collarbone trying to muffle a moan.

"This is okay," she stopped for a second, looking at me with those gorgeous eyes. "Just relax. You're being perfect."

I simply nodded in agreement. I just wanted her to continue what she was doing, but she had other plans in mind...

"What about now?" Bela inserted one finger inside me and started to move, slow and gentle. "Does it hurt?"

"N-No... this feels great..." I could barely form a coherent sentence anymore. In fact, I noticed I had stopped breathing. Yes, I could die right now and I'd die a happy woman. Was that what my father was trying to protect me from with his sick ritual? I couldn't be more happier to have broken his rules. I couldn't be more happier I waited and did exactly I was told to stay away from.

My heart was racing really fast. I felt all my muscles were starting to become tense. Bela inserted another finger inside me, moving a little bit faster and harder, but still making sure she wasn't causing me any pain.

And in that moment, I completely lost myself. My back arched and my whole body started to tremble under her body. Bela held me tightly. I relaxed too, wrapping my arms around her.

"Are you okay, love?"

"More than okay," I answered between pants. "To be honest, I think I've never felt so great before."

"Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Yes, you can now show me how I can please you."

We switched positions and Bela guided my hand as I tried to follow the same path as she did. She also rocked her hips to meet my rhythm. I wasn't so confident as she was. I was afraid I could do anything that could hurt her. But she was a patient teacher and I was a quick learner. Soon, she was already trembling in my arms too and I knew I had done it right.

I thought we were done with the best part, but I was wrong. After pressing one final kiss on my lips, Bela rested her head on my chest and said words I'd never forget.

"I love you."

[flclarchives]

Amusing Himself to Death, an Akadot.com interview with Kazuya Tsurumaki (director of FLCL and assistant director of Evangelion) from around December 2001. In the article, Tsurumaki explains a few things about Evangelion, his mentality behind FLCL as a whole, and the meaning of the name ‘FLCL’.

Full article text is under the cut, or read the article in its original form [here].

Kazuya Tsurumaki was a relatively little-known animator when Hideki Anno selected him to work as the assistant director on Neon Genesis Evangelion. For the TV series, which became a smash hit in Japan and one of the touchstones of the current surge of interest in anime in the US, Tsuramaki served as the main storyboard artist as well as assistant director, and when Studio Gainax began production on a trio of Evangelion films Tsurumaki got his first directorial assignment.

As he tells the story, Anno came to him after Eva and announced that he was out of ideas and that it was up to Tsurumaki to dream up the next project because, "you are next." Tsurumaki let his imagination run wild, but by the time he had written a script, Anno - despite his declaration that he had no stories left to tell - was already several steps ahead of Tsurumaki and in pre-production for his next series, Kareshi Kanojo no Jijo, leaving Tsurumaki a chance to have complete and unsupervised creative control of his own series FLCL.

FLCL, referred to as "Fooly Cooly" (or "Furikuri" by its American fans), is unlike any anime series to come before it. Wild, maniacally fast-paced physical comedy; exaggerated, exuberant animation alternately pushing towards surrealist- as when mecha exuviate from a bump on young Naota's head - and deconstructionist - as when the animation literally stops and the story is told by a camera bouncing across a page of black and white manga art panels; and obsessively, often irrelevantly, referential to obscure Tokyo-pop bands and anime insider trivia; FLCL was hyperkinetic and disorienting, yet mesmerizing, almost transgressive, and undeniably original. It inspired enthusiastic admiration for Tsurumaki as a creator, even amongst the perhaps 90% of the series' fans who were absolutely baffled by much of it. One is tempted to refer to it as announcing the arrival of full blown post-modernism in animation, or perhaps as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable of the anime industry.

When Tsurumaki visited Baltimore to speak to American fans at the recent Otokon Convention, predictably, many of the questions were along the lines of, "Hi, I really loved FLCL [or Evangelion], but could you please explain this part of it to me?"

Tsurumaki answered all questions genially with a self-deprecating and often mischievous sense of humor. For example:

Why does Haruko hit Naota over the head with her guitar?

Kazuya Tsurumaki: Naota is trying to be a normal adult and she belts him to make him rethink his decision.

Why does Evangelion end violently, and somewhat unhappily?

KT: People are accustomed to sweet, contrived, happy endings. We wanted to broaden the genre, and show people an ugly, unhappy ending.

Why is the character of Shinji portrayed as he is?

KT: Shinji was modeled on director Hideki Anno. Shinji was summoned by his father to ride a robot, Anno was summoned by Gainax to direct an animation. Working on Nadia [Nadia: Secret of the Blue Water, one of Anno and Tsurumaki's earlier projects] he wondered if he still wanted to work like this. He thought that working on Eva could help him to change.

Is there any particular reason why so many Gainax series feature very anxious, unhappy young male protagonists with no parents?

KT: Yes, the directors at Gainax are all basically weak, insecure, bitter, young men. So are many anime fans. Many Japanese families, including my own, have workaholic fathers whose kids never get to see them. That may influence the shows I create.

Could you explain the mecha bursting from Naota's head in FLCL?

KT: I use a giant robot being created from the brain to represent FLCL coming from my brain. The robot ravages the town around him, and the more intensely I worked on FLCL the more I destroyed the peaceful atmosphere of Gainax.

Why doesn't FLCL follow one story?

KT: In the third episode Ninamori was almost a main character, a kid who, like Naota, has to act like an adult.  After episode three her problem was solved so we wrote her out.  She has many fans in Japan and we got plenty of letters about that decision.  For FLCL I wanted to portray the entire history of Gainax, and each episode has symbols of what happened behind the scenes on each of Gainax's shows.   Episode one has many elements of Karekano; episode two, a lot of Evangelion references, etc.

Where does the title FLCL come from?

KT: I got the idea from a CD in a music magazine with the title Fooly-Cooly.  I like the idea of titles that are shortened long English words. Pokémon for "Pocket-Monsters" for instance, and an old J-pop band called Brilliant Green that was known as "Brilly-Grilly."

Is there any reason why the extra scenes added to Eva for the video release were cut in the first place?  Did you think the story would mean something different with them intact?

KT: The scenes that were added to Eva for its video release aren't that important.  We added them as an apology for taking so long to get the video out.  Maybe they'll help people understand things, because the episodes were done under tough deadlines the first time around.

Can you explain the symbolism of the cross in Evangelion?

KT: There are a lot of giant robot shows in Japan, and we did want our story to have a religious theme to help distinguish us.   Because Christianity is an uncommon religion in Japan we thought it would be mysterious.  None of the staff who worked on Eva are Christians.  There is no actual Christian meaning to the show, we just thought the visual symbols of Christianity look cool.  If we had known the show would get distributed in the US and Europe we might have rethought that choice.

After the panel, Mr. Tsurumaki sat down to speak with Akadot.

Do you enjoy confusing people?

KT: I have a twisted sense of humor.  I'm an Omanu Jacku, a contrarian.  [Writer's note- Omanu Jacku is a folk character a bit like Puck, a mischief maker]

What do you see differently now that you're working as a director rather than only as a visual artist?

KT: As an animator I have only the art; as a director story is really big.  I still feel as an animator and I often have trouble putting the needs of the story first.

Did you intend from the start for FLCL to be as bizarre as it wound up?

KT: From the very start I wanted a different flavor.  To achieve this I had to re-train the animators to be as stylized as I wanted them to be because I wasn't drawing it.  I knew that not everyone would get it.  I deliberately selected very obscure J-pop culture and anime sub-culture jokes and references.  Because Eva was so somber I always intended to make FLCL outrageous and wacky.

Why the choice to break out of conventional animation and use manga pages? Was it at all a response to how many anime are using computers to achieve smoother and more realistic visuals?  Were you trying to go the opposite direction?

KT: I like manga, not only to read, but the visuals.  The pen drawings, the frame breakdowns and layouts . . . This is the first time I have used digital animation, and those bouncing manga shots wouldn't have been possible with cel animation.   Personally I'm not interested at all in using computers for realistic animation.  I'm impressed by it sometimes, but I'm interested in using computers to do what was once impossible, not to do smoother versions of what has already been done.  I want to be less realistic.

Has using digital animation techniques changed the way you work, or the way you feel about your work when you see it?  Does it still feel like it's yours if a computer did much of it?

KT: Before I got into digital animation I saw other shows that were using it and I felt that there was no feeling, it was empty.   As an animator, there's a sense of release when you draw a cel.  There's something there.  Working on FLCL, though, I learned that computers can do more, and, most of all, that they allow room for trial and error and revising, more freedom to experiment.  That is why I now feel that cel art cannot win against computers.  For actual animation everything is still drawn on paper.  That work hasn't changed.  It's the other stuff, the touchups, and coloring.  If we didn't use paper, maybe the feeling would change.

Earlier today you said that you were trying to broaden the genre by giving Eva a sad ending.  Does the sameness of much of today's anime bore you?

KT: First of all we didn't use a sad ending to annoy fans.  When they're upset, that really bothers us.  Personally, I think a happy ending is fine, but not if it is achieved too easily.  That's no good.

For all the fans that are confused at all, if you had to define in one sentence what FLCL is about, what would you say?

KT: FLCL is the story of boy meets girl.  For me it is also about how it's ok to feel stupid.  With Evangelion there was this feeling that you had better be smart to understand it, or even just to work on it. With FLCL I want to say that it's okay to feel stupid.

Even though it may be strange to us, do you have in your head a logic behind it?  Are you trying to portray a story that follows the logic of dreams, or is it supposed to make sense symbolically?

KT: I'd like you to think of FLCL as imagination being made physical and tangible, just as it is for me when I take whatever is in my head and draw it.

So what are you working on next?

KT: Right now Gainax has told me that they'll support anything I choose to create, but I'm having trouble coming up with any ideas.

Why is that?

KT: Releasing titles for market, I know I have to make something to please fans, but I'm not a mature enough person to accept that fact.  If I'm not amusing myself I can't do it.  I feel bad that fans have to put up with such behavior from me.  I apologize. 

[amphtaminedreams]

Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 1/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

Oh my god. I completely forgot there was also 2 haute couture weeks. I FEEL SO OVERWHELMED. Here I was getting all geared up for the F/W 2020 shows and suddenly it’s Jean Paul Gaultier’s last show and everybody’s (predictably) buzzing about the Jacquemus collection. I can’t keep up. But Haute Couture week is a lot less intense than the RTW shows so I suppose I should be enjoying this relative peace whilst I can. 

I remember my last post about Haute Couture week opened with me defending Maria Grazia from the wrath of the internet; if Jacquemus is social media’s Lord and Saviour, this woman is the Antichrist. She’s Michael Langdon minus the dramatic flair. But the thing is, I genuinely really liked the Dior collection last time. Maybe because I was newer to the discipline of scouring Vogue Runway, but the lack of originality didn’t bother me; it was still something I’d die to wear, gothic yet delicate and relevant for 2019. 

That being said, this time round, I have to open by doing the exact opposite and concurring: this time round, Dior was in fact, utter shit.

I feel mean saying it but...really? These were the slightly more salvageable outfits and my favourite of the bunch, and to be honest they don’t really capture the full extent of how outdated this collection was to me. I know that the concept behind the show was this idea of the divine feminine but Greek Goddess has been done SO many times. If you’re gonna go down that route, you have to bring something new, elevate it in some way. It can’t be THIS generic.

I can’t believe that in 2020 we’re really seeing plaited hairbands. The individual dresses are basic, but not so much the problem as the styling; they look like outfits I would’ve put together back in 2012. That’s not an exaggeration. I think even 2013 me would appreciate that you need to make things a little twisty. 

The colour scheme is pretty, don’t get me wrong, and I like the cowl necks-the white dresses are the highlights. I think the concept of this collection was conceived with all the best intentions. But as a designer you need to take risks and I don’t see one single risk here; there isn’t anything that wouldn’t already be sold in your local H&M. Dior is such an established brand, Maria Grazia has room to do whatever she wants. And yet it just comes across like she’s out of ideas. 

You’ve got to look at a designer like Ulyana Sergeenko:

When I say elevated (but still in the vein of wearable), I mean something like this. To be completely honest, I hadn’t heard of Ulyana Sergeenko until I saw shots of this show on Twitter. But what a perfect mix of kitsch and glamour. The influences are clear: Priscilla Presley, Barbie, Jackie O, Valley of the Dolls, the rich stay-at-home wife of the 60s, the Alessandra Rich/Scream Queens-esque sorority girl, Paris fucking Hilton. It’s exaggerated and it’s tongue in cheek with total grounds to call it trashy-there’s a corset resembling a Benjamin Franklin, ffs-but it’s all done with a wink and a nudge. And in all honesty, I just think it’s beautiful. Can you imagine Frances O’Sullivan (@Beautyspock on IG) in one of these looks? It would be worthy of the Rose McGowan cultural reset meme ten times over.

Everything is feline, from the very literal cat silhouettes and cat headed boa, to the makeup and the hair clips. It reminds me of the last RTW Ralph and Russo show but with even more attention to detail. And look at the STAGE. If this collection were a song, it’d be Disco Tits by Tove Lo. And no, I’m not just saying that because one of the dresses actually does feature a (cat shaped) disco tit. Like these are the clothes I dreamed of putting my Bratz dolls, and for null I’m sure, myself in. Absolute perfection. Plus, I’ve loved Coco Rocha since she was on The Face with Naomi Campbell; she is, after all, to thank for the iconic “check your lipstick before you come for me” line. Girl is really the martyr for all purple lipstick lovers, cut down in her prime by a pissed-off Naomi. 

Onto Alexandre Vauthier, which I also really liked. An interesting yet effortless blend of the old and the new, the masculine and the feminine, if I could sum this collection up in one word, it would be cool. I know, it’s not the most descriptive, but it pretty much sums up how I feel; I’m not AS gassed about it as I am about Ulyana Sergeenko or this season’s Elie Saab (wait for it), but it’s a fresh offering, even if the styles aren’t the most groundbreaking. Stand outs for me are the almost petticoat like, debutante dresses which have Elle Fanning’s name written all over them.

I was hard pressed to find favourites in the Armani Privé collection if I’m honest. I’m not saying it was awful, all I know is that it just isn’t my style. It’s all a bit TOO tailored for my liking, and kinda reminds me of the Zara pantsuits my Spanish teacher used to wear. In other words, I find it to be a bit dowdy. On a positive note, the colours, fabrics, and beading are all stunning, so I see that a lot of craftsmanship clearly went into it; I think my biggest issue is the styling and the shapes (or lack of) on show. I’m very much getting a 20s, flapper vibe and whilst that’s an era that fascinates me and that I appreciate was cutting-edge at the time, I’ve yet to see it be bought into the 21st century in a way that doesn’t look stiff or costume-y. 

Then there’s Azzaro. At the complete opposite end of the scale to Armani, it doesn’t look expensive, which I’m sure isn’t something any designer previewing their collection at haute couture week is striving for. BUT that being said, I’d be much more likely to wear something from this collection than I would from Armani Privé. I mean, I have no shot at ever wearing either but ya get me. 

Whilst I’m sure it or something similar has been done before, the mesh diamanté dress is exquisite and I’m a huge fan of the stacked gem chokers and belts. The whole collection looks like something a London socialite who parties by night but (deep breath in) plays in a shitty band so fancies herself a bit of a rockstar by day would wear (exhale) and as much as that doesn’t sound like a compliment, I mean it as one. I’m talking about the kind of person you’d see smoking outside a bar and think “I wish I was them but I am potato lol”. I mean, as far as faux fur and fedoras are concerned, I’m gonna find it hard to completely slate a collection so this is pretty up my alley.

Chanel was a huge step up from their last RTW collection, imo, and probably on par with their last haute couture offering. It’s that same blend of preppy Chanel detailing (i.e the exaggerated collars, the checks and the lace) and practicality, only even more austere this time round.

It’s funny because when I looked back on original notes on this collection, before I’d even done any research into the context, I saw that one of the things I’d written was “giving me Victorian orphanage madame” as well as “something something Amish” and I wasn’t THAT far off base. The collection is, after all, supposed to be a tribute to the nuns who raised Coco Chanel at the beginning of the century in an Abbey-cum-orphanage. This makes me really happy; I know not everyone’s a fan of Virginie Viard’s nods back to the past and the brand’s origins but as a history nerd, I definitely am. 

There’s also definitely a lot of things that can be translated into high street trends here: the combination of decorative white socks and black shoes is something I’ve seen making a comeback already, tulle is always a winner (I actually don’t mind it as an overlay, I think it’s pretty, sue me) and I have no doubt we’ll be seeing these dramatic collars creeping back onto tops and jumpers throughout the year. It’s been a while since they were a thing anyway and we all know how cyclical fashion is.

Another high note for Elie Saab this haute couture season; if I was an expressive person, I probably would’ve audibly gasped as I looked through this collection. It is SO FUCKING MAGNIFICENT. The colour scheme, the baroque prints, the floral sequinned embroidery, these are Cinderella style ballgowns taken to the next level. Elie Saab really is the definition of opulence and I’m not at all mad about it. Please, somebody put Lana Del Rey in one of these, PLEASE. Remind her how much of a princess she is and get her out of those “soccer mom” looks.

I’m so stuck between this collection and Ulyana Sergeenko as my favourite, and the latter might just pip the other to the post, purely because of the staging and extravagance of the presentation itself. 

Georges Hobeika was predictably phenomenal. Like, I’m not going to lie, I am easily won over by some sequins and tulle, I’ve never claimed any different, and if you can expect that from anyone, it’s this guy (ignore that phrasing making me sound like his proud mother). The colour scheme is very spring appropriate and so is the 3D flower detailing, and if there’s anything good to take from Ascot and English royal weddings, Georges Hobeika knows it’s the hats.

It was another strong year for Givenchy too:

Though Claire Waight Keller is also fond of the extravagant details along the lines of feather and tulle, it’s always done in a more organic way; the details are always more reminiscent of nature, something created by accident, than they are suggestive of painstaking attention to detail, the image of someone hunched over a dress beading for hours on end à la Georges Hobeika or Elie Saab. That is not a bad thing at all; if anything, it makes Givenchy more interesting to study and gives you more to think about. Sometimes a dress takes you a bit longer to fully appreciate, but I’d say that only lends to its memorability. This year’s willowy, billowing, and at times coral-esque structures  remind me of something I can see being worn down an Iris Van Herpen runway, set apart by that delicate Givenchy finesse. And side not: I know this post is to talk about the clothes, not the models, but I got super excited over seeing Sora Choi and Adut Akech walk too. 

Guo Pei is always fun to look at. I mean, this collection is giving me half Matryoshka dolls, half It’s A Small World Christmas edition and I can’t hate on that. 

And then there’s Iris Van Herpen, who knocked it out of the park once again. At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Every outfit looks like something that could be exhibited in the Tate Modern (I know, it’s a basic opinion, but it’s true: TATE MODERN IS THE BEST MUSEUM IN LONDON), or honestly, the Design Museum, just for the genius that must go into the way these dresses move. Honestly, if I can see a goddess wearing anything, it’s more one of these looks than anything in the Dior collection. Like wife of Poseidon or something; I know it’s not very feminist of me to not know the Greek Goddess of the sea’s name but I only know who Poseidon is because I was a Percy Jackson fan back in the day so let me live.

It’s not like the whole under-the-sea theme is particularly new, Zimmerman did something similar last RTW (I think? Correct me if I’m wrong), but these constructions could’ve grown out of the sea bed themselves, which is more of an original take than “oo, blue and white and frothy hemlines!”. Additionally, we’ve got these dresses with the overlapping almost plaited fabric that are-we’re sticking with the goddess references here-fit for Persephone ruling over hell. As for the Grudge-looking dress (fourth down, far left), I could be reaching, but is anyone else seeing that as a nod to the oil spills polluting our oceans? Because that would just add yet another layer to this collection. 

Regardless, it’s all impeccable and I’m in love. Iris Van Herpen as a MET Gala theme. Make it happen.

Anyway, to end on a high note, that’s it for this post! 

Sorry it’s such a sudden cut-off but Jean Paul Gaultier was due to be my second to last to review and due to it being the final show, there’s an onslaught of photos that would not fit with what’s already in this post. Plus, I’d rather start a post with Jacquemus then end it as I feel like there’s a lot of hype around his collections online right now so 1). it’s clickbait (for what, I do not know, as I’m not exactly making any money off this blog, just losing my sanity as it transpires when Tumblr accidentally terminated it earlier today and I had a minor breakdown) and 2). this Steve Buscemi meme is the most accurate representation of only 21 year old me to grace the internet:

I will aim to post part 2/2 in the next week, including JPG, as I just mentioned, the Jacquemus co-ed show, Margiela, Valentino and more, and as always, thank you for anyone who read until the end! You are an angel:-)

Lauren x

[petroltogo]

For Meg on AO3 who asked for an outside POV of Tsuna from one of his squad members. Probably not quite what you had in mind but may I present you:

Kurokawa Hana had a plan. 

That is to say, Kurokawa Hana always has a plan. Ever since she had the limited foresight to befriend a budding supervillain with a brilliant smile, kind heart and devious mind and her annoying, obtuse, came-with-the-package brother it’s been Hana’s job to have a plan. To be prepared to cover for Kyoko’s random bouts of the destruction that were never harmful, rarely even dangerous, but always crossed the line from harmless into whatever comes after that.

And it’s because Hana always plans, always looks at situations in a 'where could I go from here' and 'what’s gonna lead me directly to where I want to go next' way that she knows all too well that plans fail. No matter how much time you spend thinking, analyzing, crunching numbers. No matter how good you’re at it, you can never account for random coincidence. You can never account for spur-of-the-moment decisions and you can never include all outside factors in your predictions.

[continues under the cut]

Hana knows that. And she likes to think she can handle seeing her plans fail, having to readjust and backtrack and recalculate fairly well. Sawada has certainly taught her that, if not much else.

But when she first started out at Vongola, Hana wasn’t that used to it yet. High school and after school gymnast training kept the world small, kept it neat and predictable for the most part. And so when Hana first starts out at Vongola, she does so with a very clear, streamlined plan in her mind for how her career will turn out.

[Hana’s mother is one of the best lawyers Vongola Inc. ever had the presence of mind to hire and Hana strives to be nothing less than that. She’ll start at an attack squad because variety is important and because getting a feeling for how other sections operate will help her predict the time of faux-passes, misses and broken laws she can expect from their field operatives — and it will give her time for her mother’s contract to run out. The last thing Hana wants is to work in the same office as her mother. She made it into Vongola Inc. on her own merits and she’s gonna rise to the top on her own merits and everyone who gets into her way is going to regret it.]

She’s assigned to a newly-formed attack squad under Mochida Kensuke. Hana doesn’t think much of her new squad leader or the other squad members but Hana doesn’t think much of most people, so that really mean anything.

It’s when she realizes that one of her new squad members is Sawada Tsunayoshi that Hana finds herself pause for a moment because she knows that name. You can only attend so many Child of Interest™ classes together before you put a name to every face. And sure, most of those children end up at Vongola Inc. in some fashion — either because they’re offered a great opportunity or because it’s the safest option — but Hana privately never thought Sawada would be one of them.

She doesn’t have much of an opinion on the boy, they’ve never been close, but he hates violence. He used to cry during the harsher kidnapping lessons and he refused to make the attack moves in self-defense classes and basically Hana can’t think of a single place less suited for Sawada than a Vongola Inc. attack squad. But okay then.

Sometimes people surprise you and Hana doesn’t know Sawada that well, so she pushes the surprise aside. It’s none of her business what other people do with their lives and besides training those first few weeks is intense enough that she doesn’t have time to worry about anyone but herself.

But it’s not that easy.

Sawada doesn’t make it easy.

He comes last in every exercise if he manages to finish at all. He flinches every time one of the others — mostly Mochida — yell or snap at him. He earns them more punishments than all other squad members put together. His arms shake so hard during shooting lessons, he almost shoots the instructor on accident.

It’s.

[They’re a Vongola Inc. attack squad. And sure, they’re just at the beginning of their training, but they’re training to become one of the most effective operatives out there. They’re training to fight supervillains. They’re training to kill.

Attack squads are glorified killers on a very thin leash, surely Sawada knows that?!]

Tensions in the squad rise with every passing day Sawada continues to stumble through training alongside them. It starts out as sharp comments, but Hana isn’t blind, she knows what bullying looks like. She knows why Mochida is looking the other way.

[Sawada doesn’t belong here. He’s a danger to himself, would be a danger to them should he ever make it to the field and Hana doesn’t understand why he keeps on coming. There are other highly-sought after positions at Vongola Inc., safer positions, positions that might actually work for Sawada instead of against him. It’s not even like he’s happy to be here, like this is his big dream when he hates even the practice fights so what the fucking hell is he still doing here?]

*

Thoughts? Anyone interested to see where this is going? *whistles innocently*

[mst3kproject]

Magic Christmas Tree

I thought I’d try something different this year and find a bad Hannukah movie, but everybody I asked had the same recommendation: Adam Sandler’s Eight Crazy Nights.  I know for a fact that is a prohibitively awful film, because I know people who’ve watched parts of it (I have not to date met anyone who could sit through the whole thing), but it just doesn’t feel like an MST3K feature to me.  Anyway, I have standards.  My conclusion is that people need to make more Hannukah movies… and until that happens, I’m watching Magic Christmas Tree, which comes specially recommended by RiffTrax.

This is the only Christmas movie I’ve ever seen which starts with cheerful holiday music over footage of… Hallowe’en decorations. Obnoxious bully Mark and his two pushover friends decide to go investigate a supposedly-haunted house. Naturally the old lady who lives there is a witch, and in exchange for Mark rescuing her cat, she gives him a seed for a magical tree that will grant him three wishes.  Two months later, with the tree fully grown, his first wish is to have magical powers for one hour – he uses them to torment unfortunate people who were already having to work on Christmas Eve.  His second wish is to kidnap Santa Claus and extort unlimited presents from him, but that attracts the attention of the spirit of Greed, who intends to keep Mark as a slave forever!  Good thing he’s still got that third wish.

God, I hate this movie.  I’d say it’s the worst Christmas movie I’ve ever seen, but Elves exists, so instead I have to say it’s the worst Christmas movie that didn’t have any Nazis in it.  It reminds me more than anything else of Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow, in that it’s an absolute mess that seems to have been put together by people who have no idea what they’re doing.  It spends most of its time on boring, annoying irrelevant bullshit, and then when it gets to the plot, that’s boring and annoying, too!

Magic Christmas Tree is only an hour long, but that’s twice as long as it needed to be.  A plot summary makes it sound like most of the film will be dealing with Mark’s three wishes and how he uses them, but it’s half-over before we even get to that point.  The time leading up to it is spent watching Mark follow the witch’s complicated instructions on how to grow and activate the tree, and his parents dealing with this unwanted thing appearing in the middle of their back yard.  All of this is presented in excruciating detail.  We watch Mark dig the entire hole to plant the seed in.  We see his Dad struggle with the lawnmower at unbelievable length, while the Mom yacks about nothing on the phone with her friend Betty.  The Dad tries to cut the tree down with no success.  Mark has to say a set of magic words over and over and over.

It goes on so long, it passes the are you fucking kidding me? point and wanders into territory where you wonder if there’s something wrong with the disk and you’re playing the scene over and over.  It actually starts to feel like it’s on purpose – especially when the slowness is repeatedly emphasized by shots of Mark’s pet tortoise, Ichabod, who seems to be eating his patch of clover far faster than anybody else is accomplishing anything.  You’ll swear the movie is making fun of you.

The sound that accompanies all this is sometimes very peculiar.  The old lady has exactly the voice you’d expect from a witch in a cheap kid’s movie, but Mark’s Mom sounds like she’s being dubbed by a twelve-year-old boy, possibly the same one who provided the voice for Mark himself.  The tree speaks (oh, yes, it does) in the voice of a smarmy stereotypical gay man.  Santa Claus sounds like he’s half-senile and wondering what’s for lunch.

The lawnmower makes some very strange noises indeed. I guess they’re meant to be cartoonish and funny.  They’re definitely the former but they’re never the latter, possibly because they never sound remotely like a lawnmower.  When Mark’s Dad is trying to get it started it sounds like the ghost of a consumptive horse, and three hours later when it actually gets going, it makes noises like a traffic jam in Whoville.

Besides sounding weird, the actors are just plain bad.  The guy playing Santa Claus is half-asleep.  We’re told that the tree’s magic means he’s trapped in the chair he’s sitting in, and I honestly do believe that actor could not have gotten up if he tried, no wishes necessary.  The woman playing Mark’s Mom looks like she’s high as a kite and only barely keeping her grip on reality.  Maybe that’s why they had to dub her.  Mark’s Dad recites his lines like a guy on a game show reading his own life story off a teleprompter, and does his yard chores in a way that’s probably supposed to be pantomimey but is the opposite of entertaining.  The Dad gets an inordinate amount of screen time, which I can only chalk up to the fact that he’s played by director Dick Parish.

The worst of the lot are, of course, the kids, who are predictably terrible 60’s child actors.  They yell all their lines, with the volume and exaggerated emphasis you expect from a school play.  It wears thin very, very quickly.  The kid playing Mark is the worst of the lot, although I might just think that because he’s the one we spend the most time with.  He’s a huge part of why this movie makes me so mad.

I think the best way to describe Mark as a character is to say that the first time I watched this movie I assumed his name was ‘Billy’, despite the fact that everybody kept calling him ‘Mark’. He just seems like the type of nasty little brat who’d be named ‘Billy’ in a bad 60’s Christmas movie.  We meet him having lunch with his two friends by the playground, and learn that he’s a greedy little shit when he drives a hard bargain in a sandwich trade.  Greedy-little-shit-itude continues to be his primary character trait and is, of course, the core of the movie’s lesson.  His attempt to monopolize Santa Claus makes him such a greedy little shit that Greed himself takes an interest in him.

Greed is a huge hairy man who takes delight in kidnapping little boys.  I think he’s supposed to look like a fairy tale giant.  Watching him manhandle a child is an intensely uncomfortable experience.

I guess ‘don’t be greedy’ is a standard message for a children’s movie, and it seems like a particularly appropriate one for Christmas, which presents children with a great opportunity for avarice. What seems a little odd is that Mark never actually suffers any consequences for his selfishness, only the vague threat of them. There was a perfect opportunity for some of this when Mark kidnaps Santa Claus.  Santa, after all, brings toys to good girls and boys… surely by this point, after his brief reign of terror with his magical powers, Mark has been naughty enough to deserve only coal.  Apparently that’s not how it works, though.  Mark just wanders off into the woods in search of small animals to shoot with his new rifle, runs into the giant, and immediately repents even though Greed is offering him all the toys and candy he wants.

What supposedly prompts Mark to become a better person is seeing how the world has responded to Santa Claus going missing.  Curiously, there is very little emphasis on the children who are sad because they didn’t get any presents.  Maybe somebody thought that would have made them seem greedy? Instead, the vision Greed presents to Mark is of the United States military mobilizing to locate Santa and bring him home, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians-style!  So… I guess Mark becomes a better person because he’s afraid of what’s going to happen if the army finds Santa trapped in a chair in his house?  I guess that is pretty terrifying.

Another thing that blunts the lesson is the fact that Mark is given his three wishes as a reward for a good deed.  He got the witch’s cat down from the tree, so she offers him the magical seed and doesn’t let him refuse.  What then was he supposed to use his three wishes for, if not to get stuff for himself? Was this intentionally a poisoned gift, because you shouldn’t accept things from witches?  The witch insists that there are good witches as well as wicked ones, but she’s not exactly an unbiased source.  The movie never tries to blame her, though.  The situation is presented as Mark’s fault, and Mark’s alone.

Finally, at the end Mark wakes up and finds that of course the whole thing was a dream – there was no witch, no magic tree, and no Santa Claus.  This is less annoying than it could have been because at least it’s not a surprise. Mark did hit his head when he fell out of the tree the cat was in, and the movie changed from black and white to colour.  We’ve seen this before in The Wizard of Oz and we can guess where it’s going. The audience might assume that Mark will wake up and immediately take the opportunity to be generous instead of greedy, perhaps by giving his friend something to make up for the lunch trade. Instead, the woman who owns the cat (who is not actually a witch, but looks even more like one in this part of the film than she does wearing the Hallowe’en witch costume in Mark’s dream) offers him milk and cookies, and he delightedly accepts.  This just gives the impression that he’s learned nothing.

Is there anything in this movie I didn’t hate?  Well… among Mark’s school friends is a token black kid, who is not differentiated in any way from his peers.  He talks like them, he dresses like them, and the writers did not use either his lunch or his Hallowe’en plans as a way to demarcate a class difference between him and the others.  So yeah, the movie sucks, but the writers tried really hard not to be racist.

Happy fucking holidays.  I want to say hooray for surviving 2020, but we’ve still got a week to go.  That’s plenty of time for oh, I don’t know, an alien invasion, or a giant meteor, or the Yellowstone supervolcano, or zombies, or whatever.  At this point, if most of us aren’t dead by this time next year, I’ll count that as a win.

[queenbirbs]

surrender | Edward Mortemer x f!MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x Elena McTavish

Word count: 7.5k+

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: N*FW

AN: In the words of Kacey Musgraves: I’m alright with a slow burn. But when you want to speed it up a little, that’s what fics are for, right? Takes place pre-chapter nine and also kind of skirts around the very end of chapter eight.

**Re-post due to my dumb ass trying to edit the original on mobile and it wiped the whole damn thing. Cool. Cool cool cool. 

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“Good evening, Miss McTavish?”

The words aren’t so much of a greeting as a question. It’s silly, then, that her breath catches a little. She hides it with a stretch, raising her arm above her head and letting out a throaty noise of content when her spine lengthens. Dropping back onto her heels, she watches Edward finish his ascent up to the crow’s nest where she stands watch.

“Nothing but sea and sky,” Elena replies.

“Aye, should be more of the same on through ‘til morning.”

He settles at his preferred spot, just a few feet from her. She wouldn’t be surprised if his boots have worn divots into the wood from the amount of time he spends up here.

“I’m no Al Roker, but I’d say the nice weather will continue. The sunset was as gorgeous as ever.” She tips her head to the side and bites down on her lip, trying to pull a script line from her memory. “What’s that saying, ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight’?”

“Al Roker?” he repeats the name, his brow furrowed.

“He’s... a person who predicts the weather. Sort of.”

Edward’s gaze flickers from the sea to her, and then back again, huffing out a short laugh.

“It seems that you speak another language, sometimes.”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.” Elena shrugs. “What with being a twenty-first century transplant and all.”

She doesn’t miss the quick search he does of the ship below, looking out for any wayward pirates with curious ears, but she knows, just as well as he does, that most everyone is tucked away in the galley below deck. The only other soul around is Maggie back at the helm, who makes a show of feigning interest towards the starboard to give them more privacy.

“I hope you don’t find me rude, that I still don’t know what to make of your… claims.”

“No offense taken,” she assures with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I thought about what I would do if someone suddenly appeared in my house, claiming they were from your time.”

“And what would you do?”

“Call the cops and then threaten to sick my dog on them.”

“The dog wearing the life preserver?” he lifts a single eyebrow at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “Aye, a truly terrifying sight to be sure.”

“Was that a joke?” she asks, her eyes wide as she makes a show of looking him over.

“You didn’t care for the one about falling in battle, so I thought I’d try out another.”

“Not bad. But I wouldn’t give up your day job quite yet.”

Edward hums his agreement and turns his sights on the ocean before them. Elena understands why he enjoys being up here -- she likens him to a king, high in his tower, or a lion, perched atop his rock; all the world is an oyster from such a height.

Tipping her head up, she takes in the night sky’s view. With little to no light pollution, especially this far out at sea, the stars come out in droves. The Milky Way is a cloudy, violet river that commandeers the horizon. It’s almost dizzying, the amount of stars visible, layers upon layers of them blooming across the sky. Elena’s never seen anything like it. Even when she and her sister would skip their Friday classes, drive up to the nearby state park, and spend the weekend up there, pretending they knew how to camp.

She thinks of the text on her phone from Gabby and the plans they were in the process of making for her to come visit Elena in Los Angeles. When she dropped out of college to follow her dream, the few family she remained in contact with ceased their feeble attempts at communication. When she made it to LA (or, rather, to the one-room hovel she could barely afford), Gabby was the only person on the other end of the line, trying her best to cheer her up. The pang of loss strikes her hard, somewhere behind her ribs. Other than her sudden departure from the set, Gabby might be one of the only people that notices her disappearance -- which is kind of sad, when Elena thinks about it, given that her sister still lives back in Austin.

That thought launches a thousand others. How long has she been gone? Is time moving at the same speed in the future? Is she even going to make it back home?

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Edward’s voice jolts her from her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she agrees, clearing her throat of the emotions that clog it. The railing is steady below her hands; she clings to it, trying to ground herself as best she can.

“Tis... not the same, where you’re from?”

“Where I live, it’s hard to see this many. I feel like if I could get a little bit higher, I could almost touch them.”

Edward looks back to the east, where the moon hangs low in the sky.  

“I don’t see why not,” he murmurs, making a show of leaning close to continue, “if what you say about the moon is true.”

“The stars are a lot farther. And the moon isn’t exactly suitable to live on. At least, not right now. Or,” she pauses, her lips twisting into a grimace, “well, not in my time, it’s not.”

“I’m glad, then, that I’ve made the sea my home.”

If his words are tinged with melancholy, Elena doesn’t mention it. Though she could encourage him to elaborate, she doesn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment. The thought brings with it the memory of their afternoon swim: of his arm wrapped tight around her waist, of the hungry look in his eyes as he took his fill, of the ache in her chest when their moment was broken by the need to surface.

The crystal-clear, turquoise water of the cove brought its own reminder of the summer before her sophomore year of college. It was Gabby’s idea to use their open water diving certifications for something other than taking up space in their wallets. Having spent so much time after her gender affirming surgery entertaining herself with shipwreck documentaries, she booked the trip to the Florida Keys, flights and all, before informing Elena -- in typical Gabby fashion.

“I would never get tired of the views, that’s for sure,” Elena sighs. “Or the constant opportunity to explore whatever island I sailed upon. Like that tiny island we stopped at, I would love to dive there, spend some time exploring underwater.”

Glancing over, she spots Edward’s furrowed brow; she sifts through what little historical knowledge she has of diving. Have those weird, space-age looking suits even been invented yet?

“Sometimes, Miss McTavish, I wonder if I have not happened upon a selkie, with the things you claim.”

“Selkie?” she repeats, rolling the word around in her head, but recognition never comes.

“Aye, a creature of myth, though some people believe they do exist. My mother used to tell me stories when I was little, of the women who came from the sea. Once they reach dry land, they shed their seal skin and transform into a human.”

“So... kinda like a mermaid?”

Edward tips his head in consideration. “In a way. But selkies are usually considered to be gentler. Unless their seal skin is stolen, they favor their time spent among humans. And, when they tire of us, they return to their skin and resume their life under the sea.”

“That sounds sad, in a way. But I promise I went down in a diving suit, not a seal skin.”

“I’ve heard rumors coming out of England, of a man who salvaged sunken ships by trapping himself inside of a barrel. I assume that is not what ye mean, though.”  

“No, not in a barrel,” she grins, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I can show you, though, if you’d like to see.”

“Ah, the black box of witchery.”

He moves closer as he speaks, though, clearly interested in taking another look at it. If he was truly frightened of it, she supposes, he could just lob it into the sea. Her grip tightens on the phone at the thought.

Navigating to her photos, she taps at the folder (embarrassingly titled we’re in miami bitch!!) and turns the phone so the images can expand into greater detail.

“Some of these I took with a disposable camera, so they aren’t the best,” she laments, swiping her thumb across the screen every few seconds. “But my sister -- she has this fancy underwater housing, so her pictures are nice and clear. I would message her for more, but I don’t think Verizon has that great of service.”

She can’t help but chuckle at her own bad joke. Edward, it seems, couldn’t care less -- entranced as he is by the colorful images of the coral reefs and the sponges sprouting from the USS Spiegel Grove’s rusted frame.

“These paintings are exquisite.”

“Pictures,” she corrects.

“You say that as if I’m to know what it means,” he counters.

She swipes to a selfie her sister had taken, the image capturing little else but their masks and the blue world around them. The next photo is better: a full-body shot of Elena in her wetsuit and gear, a cloud of bubbles floating above her head. “I suppose this explains you being such a strong swimmer, when you jumped in after Ginny.”

She shrugs at the veiled compliment and returns the phone to her pocket, avoiding his intense look that she can feel burning into the side of her head.

“Well, swimming in thirty-foot waves is a bit different from the calm waters of Key Largo, but thanks.”

Edward reaches down and skims two fingers under her chin. He tips her head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes flashing with certainty.

“Make no mistake, though: I am to see that you do not perform such a stunt again.”    

Elena knocks his hand away; irritation bubbles up inside her, heating her cheeks and neck.

“I wasn’t performing. I’m not the Wonder Twins. And I’d do it again, if Ginny or anyone else went overboard. Even for you.”

His expression sharpens, his mouth twisting into a frown. She crosses her arms across her chest and serves him a look right back. Whatever he’s about to say, she cuts off as she continues, “Just because I haven’t been sailing the high seas or… or crossed swords with some real buccaneers as long as you all have been doesn’t mean I’m not capable. I fought Robert and won -- I even got his fancy-schmancy sword -- and I sailed our ship through a storm, didn’t I? You need to learn to trust me and-- and… why are you smiling?”

The irritation fades from his face in one fell swoop, there and then gone, replaced by a soft smile that he seems to reserve only for her.

“Something you said, Miss McTavish.”

“I said a lot of things,” she points out. Despite the opening she leaves dangling for him, he doesn’t elaborate. She’s not sure why she expected him to; the man is stubborn to a fault. “Okay, fine. You can keep your charming and mysterious act. You certainly have it down pat.”

“As you do with your… turns of phrase.”

The tension between them cools, aided by the winds that blow towards them from the north. Elena settles at his side once more, the railing at her back. He gives a cursory glance over the horizon.

“You know,” she says, “I realized today that I never said thank you.”

“For what?” he returns his sights to her, curiosity warming his eyes.

“For getting me the hell off the Admiral’s ship. I knew he wasn’t a stand-up guy when he shot one of his own men, but knowing what I know now, I’m especially grateful.” She reaches out to touch his wrist, squeezing it for a long beat. Edward brings his other hand up and covers hers. “I know you took a risk, not knowing if I was a navy spy, but you brought me aboard anyway.”

“Even when we made you stand trial to prove such innocence?”

“Do you think I would’ve been given such a chance on his ship?” she asks, her tone thick with sarcasm.

“No, I do not.” Edward’s face darkens for a moment. “A man capable of such depravities would have treated you… terribly, no doubt.”

“Hey, like I said: white dude of high rank in the eighteenth century? He’s got about a two percent chance of not being an awful person.”

“You--” Edward pauses, lowering his voice as he continues, “are things… different, in your time?”

Elena bites at her lip, wondering how much she should divulge about the twenty-first century. Hope works much better if the outcome is still uncertain, and she doesn’t want to dash any he has for his own future.

“Different, sure, but also very much the same. There’s a famous expression: ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.’ It’s -- let’s just say it’s been accurate more than once or twice.”

“I’ve never heard of such a phrase, but I understand its meaning rather well.”

“And, hey, that’s the second time now that you’ve referred to my ‘situation,’” she marks the term with air quotes. “Does that mean you believe me?”

Edward makes a show of heaving out a sigh. “I am making a valiant effort to do so. Your box certainly helps your case. It -- all of it -- ‘tis still rather wonderful and strange, though.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Edward, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“You’ve read Hamlet?”

“I’m an actor by trade. Of course I’ve read it. And by read it, I mean that Shakespeare’s works were forced on me in every English class in school.”

That gets an exasperated chuckle out of him. She can’t help the smile that forms; she really enjoys the sound of his laughter. For as much as he tries to play up the stoic, unfeeling pirate captain, he seems to lose the battle whenever she’s around. “It’s all right, you know, if you don’t believe me. I know this is kinda crazy.”

The humor on his face is there one second and then gone the next.

“’Tis… not that.”

“Then what is it?”

No answer comes.

“Charlie was right,” she teases, knocking her elbow into his. “You’re really not great at changing the subject.”

That gets her a snort of amusement, but nothing more. Before she can prod, a cold gust of wind sings through the rigging, whipping up past them and sending her hair into disarray. Despite the residual heat of the sun-warmed railing, Elena can’t help but shiver, and hugs herself to conserve what little heat she can. Edward wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, his hand running up and down her back with gentle strokes. Her heartbeat quickens at the gesture, now familiar since he helped pull her up out of the raging waters.

“I apologize, Miss McTavish. I shouldn’t have kept you up here so long. You should go down to the galley -- you missed dinner, after all, while on watch. Can’t have you on a chameleon diet. And you’ll be much warmer down there.”

Elena shakes her head and reaches up, placing a hand on the warm plane of his chest where his shirt parts. His breath catches under her palm.

“No, I’m alright. I’m glad you were the next on lookout duty, actually. I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you really think the Admiral cares about getting his property back?” Edward’s body tenses under her touch; she shoves down the wiry ball of nerves in her stomach at the movement. “That lieutenant I ran into, he didn’t mention anything about--”

“Need I remind you of what I promised on our walk from the mayor’s estate?” he interrupts.

Confusion sweeps through her. Elena quirks her head to the side, trying to connect the dots between that conversation and her current fears. “You are no man’s property,” he spits, his voice gone rough from obvious fury. “And for as long as you are here, you are under my protection.”  

The wave of realization hits her.

“I was, uh, talking about the compass.”

“Ah.” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. The hard line of his shoulders softens. “I… see.”

“But it was interesting, to say the least, to see you puff up like that. I’m sure it would make any other lass swoon. I mean,” she lifts her hand from his chest and holds her thumb and pointer finger inches apart, “I was this close.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Aye, I’d pay top coin to see you swoon.”

“I can think of a few things you could do to make that happen,” she teases.

Edward takes her hand in his and drops a kiss to her knuckles. Before that familiar swell of longing in her chest can rise, though, he shakes his head.  

“I will not risk it.”

“You would sail your ship into every storm across the Caribbean, but this,” Elena glances down to their entwined hands, “you won’t take a chance on?”

“That should tell you how serious I am.”

“I can’t follow your line of thinking, Edward. Do you think the Admiral will suddenly know? That he’s some omniscient god, overseeing all that goes on?”

“People are fond of gossip.”

“Who? What people? Because if it’s the crew, I trust them with my life, just like you do, and I don’t--”

“Not them. But anywhere we’d go, we’d have eyes on us -- eyes that could report back to the Admiral. And if we were -- there would be no world where I wouldn’t want to have you by my side.”

“But we--”

“Jealousy is a hideous trait to have, but I’m afraid I would not be able to stop it from affecting my actions. I’ve seen the people at port, the way they flirt with you.” Edward frowns at the dark sea ahead. “You don’t think I wouldn’t challenge anyone who tried to -- to woo you? I would not be able to stand idle while--”

Elena barks out the short laugh she’s been holding in. “What is so humorous?”

“Because you already do all that.”  

Self-awareness rushes in like the tide, flooding his brain. His jaw goes slack, as does his hand in hers, before he collects himself. Elena feels pinned under those eyes of his. She watches them drop down to her lips before returning to her gaze.

“May I?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Aye, of course.”

He starts to say more -- probably a long-winded explanation about his gentlemanly values -- but she’s waited too long for this to be delayed another second. Elena leans up and silences him with a kiss. He doesn’t turn and flee, like she expects; when he breaks the kiss for air, she gets but a second to collect her own breath before his lips return to hers. She hums her encouragement when he lets go of her hand to sink his fingers into the loose wave of her hair.

His lips, cold from the ocean breeze, warm under hers. Elena finds that his kisses are exactly like him: brash, and quick, and intoxicating, with the slightest hint of steel. When she draws her tongue against him, she can taste spiced rum and saltwater. He growls from the deep well of his throat when she bites down on his heavy, bottom lip. His arm cinches tight around her waist and hauls her against him; their bodies meet in a delicious roll of pressure.

“Miss -- Miss McTavish--”

“Elena,” she corrects, her hand skating up his back, searching for purchase so she can drag him closer.  

“Elena.”

His breath is hot against her skin where his lips trace the line of her jaw. The world dips and sways suddenly, the railing digging into her back. She clings to him when the sensation of weightlessness shoots up her spine.

It takes her a moment to register that it's only the ship underneath them, crossing over a rough wave. Concerned that she’ll end up pitching over to the deck eighty feet below, he picks her up and spins until her back meets the mast. Elena reaches for the lapels of his coat, but he’s faster, and snatches her hands in one of his and pins them above her head.  

“I have dreamed of this,” he murmurs, skimming the pads of his callused fingers along her throat, his mouth trailing behind with fervent, open-mouthed kisses.

She swallows back the moan that wants to form. A shiver dances under her skin, now damp from his attention.

“I have too,” she admits with a sigh. “Except mine deserve an NC-17 rating.”

“You know I don’t understand what that--”

“I certainly fuckin’ can!” someone shouts from below.

The wonderful spell they’ve found themselves under shatters. The voice might as well have been a gunshot, with the way Edward leaps back from her. Elena mourns the loss of his mouth on her as she adjusts her waistcoat and smooths down her hair.

Flipping and tumbling their way across the deck, Ada and Ax continue their argument about who can reach the top of the main mast first. Charlie, Jonas, and Ginny trail behind them, wagering their bets. Maggie’s thick accent carries across the ship, telling them off for circusing about, and ordering them to stay away from the rigging.

It’s not as if their tryst could have continued much longer, Elena considers, given that the crow’s nest wasn’t exactly a secluded spot. The twins make a good show of pouting, but eventually head for their quarters, Ginny giggling as Ax twirls her round.

“Maggie deserves a raise,” Elena tells him.

“Because she knows how dangerous ‘tis for them to be climbing about with no light?”

“Because she knows they would’ve caught us up here, making out like a pair of horny teenagers.”

“Ah. You--” his hand lifts in an aborted move towards her before he redirects it through his tousled hair. “--you should get down to the galley. I’m sure Henry is waiting on you, by now.”    

“Okay,” she says, because it’s the only thing to say. Swinging down onto the rope ladder, Elena starts to descend but pauses, peeking over the railing to catch his eye. “But don’t think this conversation between us is over.”

“Aye.” A wry grin flickers across his face. “I know much better than to assume that.”

+

Edward is right -- about the food, at least.

When she makes it down to the galley, Henry sits her down with a covered plate. Well, as covered as it can be with the dirty rag he’s thrown over it. She’s learned not to make a fuss, though, especially to the man cooking the food.

“Thanks for keeping it warm for me.”

“Took ye long enough,” Henry huffs, but makes a show of looking over his shoulder at her. His face, streaked with ash that he sifts with a makeshift poker, makes it easier to spot his sly grin. “Find somethin’ interestin’ up there, hmm?”

“I was distracted by the view.” Which is the truth, although she doesn’t include that Edward’s lips were part of said view.

“Nothin’ beats a clear night at sea, to be sure.” Swinging the stove door shut with a satisfied grunt, he jerks his chin towards a small barrel on the nearby shelf. “Charlie made some punch, if ye want more’n water to wash yer food down.”

She shakes her head; she’d made the mistake once of drinking their ‘punch.’ It put the jungle juice she drank back at college parties to shame. Charlie now called it Caribbean moonshine, thanks to Elena and her fiery round of swearing after taking a sip.

With the comforting noise of Henry’s humming as he cleans up, she takes a seat on the tin-lined floor and eats her dinner. Not for the first time, she notes Maggie’s touch in the confined space. Fitted across the shelves are iron bars to keep the contents from taking a tumble in rough waters. Tied round the necks of bottles with twine, scraps of parchment label each oil and spice in her spidery handwriting.

“I worked up a new dessert for ye to try, if ye’d like.” He produces a bowl of something that might come out the other end of her garbage disposal back home. Elena inspects the concoction with interest. “I boiled some hard tack in a little bit o’ rum and brown sugar, and then boiled mangoes with some sugar to mix in with it.”

“Ooh, like a compote?”

“Aye, sorta.”

In another world, three hundred some-odd years in the future, she could easily imagine Henry with a cafe or food truck, selling ‘deconstructed desserts’ and other kitschy items. Scooping up a sample, she’s surprised at the delicious flavor of it. The enjoyment on her face must be obvious, because a grin appears behind the ash. “Good, init?”

“Really good! Except, and this is going to sound weird, but maybe add a pinch of lime juice? I think it would really bring out the sweetness of the mango more.”

“Yer right, lass. That might do. And then maybe I can finally get the others to try it.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” she promises after sampling another portion. “Unless I die of food-poisoning tonight, and then you’re shit outta luck.”

Henry shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Edward’d have my head first.”  

“Did he at least try it?”

“I doubt he would’ve, if he’d come down for dinner at all. Too busy broodin’ in his cabin, I suspect.”

Elena hands off her empty plate when he motions for it. Curiosity, instead of hunger, gnaws at her insides.

“Can I take this with me?” she gestures to the bowl in her hands.

“Aye, have the rest of it -- and see if ye can convince the cap’n to get in a few bites, hmm?”

She doesn’t bother asking him how he knows where she’s going; the rest of the crew isn’t as blind as Edward claims them to be. “But if ye break it, yer buyin’ me a new one.”

“Deal. Thanks, Henry!”

+

Elena climbs up to the deck carrying her pilfered bowl.

From where she’s manning the wheel, Charlie throws her a two-fingered salute from the bridge. High overhead, Jonas wishes her goodnight from his post in the crow’s nest. Grateful that she won’t have to try holding onto the bowl while climbing up the rope ladder, she continues on towards the stern.

“What can I do for you, Miss McTavish?” Edward asks before his door is fully open.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He shoots her a deadpan look. Moving aside to allow her entry, he shuts the door behind her.

“No one else would dare bother a captain’s sleep, lest there was an emergency.”

“Henry told me you skipped dinner, so I brought you something to eat.” Elena gestures to the bowl in her hand. Stepping close to give it a thorough once-over, Edward grimaces.

“I will take my chances with starvation.”

“Hey,” she scolds, “it isn’t that bad.”

He does a double-take between her and the food. “You ate it?”

“In college, I once ate stale Wheat Thins drizzled with an expired bottle of honey mustard. And before you say anything,” she holds up a hand to stop the statement she knows is coming, “I know you don’t know what either of those are, but trust me: it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“And this bowl of slop is better than that?”

“If it weren’t, would I be forcing you to eat it?”

He mutters something under his breath, too faint for her to catch, but seems to concede. After a brief hesitation, he takes the bowl and spoon she offers him and shovels in a mouthful of the mixture. His eyebrows pinch down at the initial taste, and then lift in bewilderment.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not… horrible, no.” He sounds just as surprised as he looks. “This is one dessert of Henry’s that I may live to tell the tale of.”

“Good. But that’s not the only reason I came.”

“Aye, would it have anything to do with continuing our conversation from earlier?”

“All that time, Robert was accusing me of being a witch, but here you are, able to read minds.”

Edward gives a soft snort at that, collapsing into his chair. The desk in front of him is littered with maps and parchments and various trinkets. Elena crosses the room and comes round the side of the desk, taking in the starry view from the windows. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the spoon swirl round and round in the gruel as he assesses her.

“Ye would’ve been a good jester, Miss McTavish, in a previous life.”

“It’s just us,” she murmurs. “You can drop the surname.”

“No, I can’t.” The grief in his voice is as clear as a bell. “In another life, yes, but here--”

“--here,” she interrupts, turning at the waist to study him, “in your cabin, alone. Not even then?”

Edward sets the bowl down onto the desk and glares at the floorboards. “We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgement.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she lifts a single brow at his attempt to backtrack.

“Says the man hell-bent on playing cat-and-mouse with an enemy to exact revenge on him for something he clearly feels guilty about? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

His gaze shoots up to her, those dark eyes of his flashing in the candlelight. “That phrase I indeed do know.”

“Then you should know that you can’t kiss me like the world is ending, and then shoe-horn me back into a neat, little box, Captain Mortemer.” Elena doesn’t see it coming, she’ll admit that. She’s too busy ranting at the starry night, too pissed off with the man beside her, too afraid she’ll lose the runaway train of her thoughts if she focuses on him and sees all the emotions he claims to be above, all that longing and heartache and desire, painted across his face. “Since you’re so insistent on using surnames to avoid--”

In the second it takes her to draw a breath, Edward surges out of his chair and crosses to her. In the next, his lips are on hers. That passion she saw the mere beginnings of up in the crow’s nest roars with intensity. He cups her cheek and tilts her head just so, deepening the kiss; she can taste the mango’s sweetness on his tongue.

All at once, he pulls away. She mourns the loss of him with a quiet moan.

“My -- my apologies. I’m--”

Before he can worry himself into the ground with another fit of propriety, Elena holds up a finger to his lips.

“Stop being so polite and kiss me again.”

That familiar grin breaks free, lighting up his face with a naked delight that sends her heart racing.

“As you command.”

His mouth claims hers again. A muscled arm circles her waist, one hand splaying wide across her back to pull her close. She comes easily, readily into his embrace. His shirt twists in her hand where she holds on for dear life, parting for a quick breath of air, before diving back in. His other hand strokes a molten path up from her waist, brushing over the beaded point of her nipple. The moan she releases is louder this time, wanting more than anything for him to do it again.

For all his faults, he’s no fool. Sure, he takes his sweet time with it, dragging his fingertips along her collarbone and up into her hair to push the blonde curtain back, but he eventually makes his way back down. Cupping her breast, his thumb rubs circles against her -- even through the layers of lace and cotton, Elena’s breath catches at the immediate flare of pleasure.

Emboldened by her response, Edward backs her up against the cool, glass panes, his mouth leaving hers to suckle at her throat. Elena tips her head back, her lips parting as his stubble prickles against her skin. His thumb works steadily over her and she’s dizzy with the primal need to have him.

Braced by the window behind her, she hooks a leg up and around his ass. He needs no more encouragement to invade the space she’s created, his hips rocking tentatively against hers. Frustrated with the buffer of all her layers, Edward retreats to the buckle at her waist, his eyes searching hers.

“May I?”

Elena swallows to free the words from her throat, but they won’t come; instead, she nods her permission. The belt hits the floor with a thwack. Her waistcoat comes next, which she tosses off with a flourish. Edward captures her hands and tugs off her gloves. Spotting the gleam in his eye, Elena distracts him with a roll of her hips and frees her hands, chuckling when he mutters a curse at her.

“You’re a cunning lass.”

“I can’t wait around for you to strip me of my garments.” Her fingers making quick work of the corset’s laces. “Besides,” she drawls, “between the two of us, I’m probably the one with more experience taking off a lady’s corset.”

His eyebrow raises in response to her claim. The image of her and another tangled together plagues him; his jaw clenches tight at the thought.  

“That may be so,” he growls, reaching down for his own shirt and tearing it off, “but it won’t be their names you’ll be calling soon enough.”

Her blood flash boils at the promise. She grabs the hem of her blouse and yanks it up over her head.

“Jealousy is a good look on you,” she teases, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingernail.

Seizing her hand, he laces their fingers together and presses a kiss to her wrist. Goosebumps raise across her skin as his mouth trails from the tendons in her forearm to the curve of her shoulder. Nudging her bra strap down, Edward continues his trek to the rosy flush blooming across her chest.

Not one to play the passive participant, Elena cards a hand through his shoulder-length locks and nudges him down. He takes the cue and moves further south; she whimpers at the wet heat of his mouth closing over the lace of her bra.

“God, stop teasing and--” her gasp echoes across the cabin at the sharp bite of his teeth closing around her nipple. His tongue darts out, soothing any hurt, and turns to lave at her other breast.

Once she regains motor control, Elena unlatches her bra and flings it to what might possibly be the furthest reaches of the universe -- she doesn’t care, as long as Edward will keep doing wondrous things to her with that mouth of his.

“Miss McTavish,” he rumbles, tilting his head to run his stubble along her naked flesh, enjoying the ragged, little noises she makes. “You are well on your way to looking thoroughly ravished.”

Her wandering hand smooths over the tight curve of his ass and grabs hold. She smirks as he bucks up into her.

“Then get on with it, Captain.”  

Deft fingers pop the button on her pants and dip down below the waistband. Elena stretches up and rests her bare shoulders against the glass, tipping her hips up to encourage his exploration. She cries out when he slides two fingers inside of her. He gives her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, nuzzling the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I’ve long wondered,” he murmurs, his tongue skimming across the salty sweat of her skin, “what you taste like.”

At the sudden loss of his hand, Elena opens her eyes to tell him off for his teasing -- but her throat goes dry when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. It’s a long moment before her world centers on its axis once more for her to ask.

“How do I taste?”

“Decadent,” he growls.

Crowding against her, he props himself up with one hand spread wide against the window above her head, while his other draws a wet trail down her belly. A short grunt of pleasure sounds from both of them when he slips back inside her.

Elena reaches a shaky hand up to hook around his arm, her nails digging into the muscles there. Arousal clogs her veins like molasses -- slow and syrupy and sinfully sweet. The movement of her hips turns clumsy and erratic. Sweat beads across her forehead as his fingers work her open, the heel of his hand circling her with delicious pressure.

“Edward -- fuck, I--” she cries out.

“Will you come for me?” he asks, his gaze snapping to hers. Desire clouds his eyes, the brown irises eclipsed by the black of his pupils.  

“Please--” he cuts off her begging with a kiss.

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she answers with a gasp.

Covering his hand with her own to guide him exactly where she likes, she stretches up for another kiss and grinds down against his hand. The heat inside of her reaches its critical point, flaring to life and scorching through her bloodstream. Clenching tight around him, her hips convulse as she rides out the quake of her orgasm.

Edward slides his fingers out, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she whines with oversensitivity. He brings her into his arms, smoothing a hand over her hair as her body shudders with the last of its tremors.

“Fuck,” she sighs, a delirious sort of giggle bubbling up. “Well, how do I look now?”

“Exquisite.”

Leaning down, he captures her lips with a kiss. She blames the blush from her recent orgasm.

“I think it’s my turn, then, to ravish you.”

“We don’t have to--”

Elena silences his gallant protest with a heady kiss, raking one hand through his hair. Her other runs along his side, where she hooks two fingers into his waistband and yanks him closer. Continuing down, she runs the flat of her palm against the obvious sign of his arousal. Edward groans into her mouth; he ropes an arm around her waist and carries her to the desk. With a wide sweep of his arm, he knocks documents and equipment to the floor before depositing her atop it.

“Careful!”

He jerks back at her yelp, casting a worried eye over her form. “Have I harmed you?”

“No, no -- I promised Henry I wouldn’t break his bowl.”

Edward rolls his eyes and grabs the dinnerware before she can reach for it, then tosses it to the floor.

“I will buy him a new one when we stop at the next-- why are you laughing?”

Elena shakes her head at him, avoiding any explanation by dragging his mouth back onto hers. It’s a rather effective technique, as she’s finding out tonight. Their remaining clothes join the messy pile on the floor. Edward huffs a laugh at her threat of injury if he rips her underwear, but seems to heed her words and takes care to drop them onto the desk. Moving into the space between her thighs, he grabs two handfuls of her ass and drags her closer. The soft giggle that sounds from her delights him; he leans down and savors the taste of it on her lips.

Elena’s hand wanders over his stomach and down the trail of coarse hair to take hold of him. He thrusts into her touch with a grunt, choking on an inhale when she twists her wrist on the next upstroke.

“May I have you?” he manages to rasp.

“You may,” she purrs, and guides him to her entrance.

With a surge of his hips, he plunges into the slick heat of her. At her gasp of encouragement, he slips out and then back inside, grinding his teeth against the clench of her. Pleasure is a ripple on the surface, building into a wave that banks higher and higher as they move together. The world outside slips from its perch, losing what little control it has over the confines of the cabin. There is only the two of them, lost in the frantic rocking of their bodies.

A shameless staccato of moans falls from her lips as he fucks her. Edward wraps a fist around a length of hair and pulls her head back, exposing the long line of her throat; he nips at her pulse point and then at her bottom lip, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

“If you shout any louder, the whole ocean’ll hear you,” he playfully scolds.

Spotting her opening, Elena tightens her legs around his hips and digs her heels into his lower back. Retaliation sings its sweet tune as she jerks him forward on top of her, the both of them crashing back onto the desk.

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“Nay, I would never.��

Edward props himself up with one hand next to her head, his other clamped firmly around her thigh as he drives into her, the angle somehow that much sweeter. “God, but yer a pretty sight, spread underneath me.”

It’s impossible -- that she’s here, that the desk underneath her is scattered with papers that would be considered treasure in her time, would be framed in a museum and ogled by historians. A quill digs into her spine and she’s certain they’ve spilled a pot of ink, but Elena can’t find it in herself to care. If she’s lost in time, then at least she has Edward to guide her through it; her beacon of light, keeping her adrift, illuminating her way through the confusing, treacherous world she’s been transported to.

“Elena,” he gasps, his chest gleaming with sweat in the candlelight. “Elena.”

His hold slips from her thigh and down to where they’re joined, rubbing quick circles against her bundle of nerves. Whatever he’s asking of her, she gladly surrenders. The wave of her climax rushes over her, flooding her veins and drowning her with euphoria.

The sight of her lost in the throes of pleasure is an anchor; he sinks.

Edward curses with his release, collapsing beside her onto the desk. Their sweat-slick bodies heave as they catch their breath. Something catches flame in Elena’s chest and simmers there when he folds her into his embrace, his palm cradling her head against his chest. His heart thunders against her temple.

She sees no better time than now, lying naked in his arms.

“I have a question.”

He hums with what little strength he can gather for her to continue.  

“When we were up in the crow’s nest, after discussing our love of Shakespeare--”

“--as I recall,” he interjects, “I am the only one who willingly read his works.”

Elena makes a waving motion with her hand, which would prove more effective if his fingers weren’t laced with hers.

“Whatever. What I want to know is, when I said that it was okay if you didn’t believe me, why that made you…?”

“Disquieted?” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

She can feel the weight of the sigh that empties out of him.

“Because I do believe you. Your mannerisms, your accent, your magic box with its…?”

“Pictures.”

“Pictures, aye. Everything about you should not fit here. But it does, you do. You’ve adapted remarkably well, given what’s happened to you. You are a strong woman, Elena.”

“I would blush, but I’m too tired from our activities.”

He brushes a kiss against the crown of her head and huffs out a laugh.

“Yet, despite how well you’ve adapted, I know that this is not your home. Your true home, that is. I promise you, once we stop the Admiral, I will do everything in my power to send you back home. But, I confess, I will be… terribly upset to see you go.”

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes; she shuts them against the fading candlelight.

“Me too.”

His palm skims up and down the soft skin of her back, marred here and there by the cuts and scrapes from life aboard his ship.

“Stay.”

For a terrifying moment, Elena isn’t sure what he means -- and is terrified all the more that she isn’t sure if she wants to return home, at least not so soon. Realizing that he’s probably (hopefully) meaning for the night, she musters up a reply.  

“The crew will talk.”

Edward scoffs. “They do little else.”

Her shoulders shake from her smothered laughter.

“Is this what passes for pillow talk in the eighteenth century?” she wonders aloud, making a show of stretching and enjoying the noise of interest he makes. “But yeah, okay, I’ll stay. I might even make it worth your while.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

+

+

+

References: an LMFAO song (it was between theirs or Will Smith’s “Miami,” but MC skews younger to me, so I went with the former), a line from Peter Pan, the ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it’ is actually a misquote, but I consider it enough of a ref to list it here. There’s a few slang terms from 17th/18th century and various pirate research sprinkled throughout. The USS Spiegel Grove is a real artificial reef, located off the shore of Key Largo. You can dive it with an OWD certification, though it’s recommended to have an AOWD to properly explore it. ~~the more you know~~

Thanks for reading!

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Cold (White Demon’s Love Song, Part 1.)

Series description: A new job was what the reason you found yourself on a lonely roadtrip on the western coast, ending up in the woods of Olympian Peninsula. Yet a sudden car malfuction was what cause your unplanned stay in Forks. To your surprise, there was a lot of sinister things going on under the veil of fog. 

Part summary: On your way to Port Angeles, your car just suddenly gave up, dying just in front of the Forks welcome sign. Well... It was time to call the local mechanic.

A/N: The series’ name is obviously a call-back to Twilight Saga: New Moon soundrack, A White Demon Love Song (by the Killers), used in the ending credits. Honestly, the song is amazing and you should give it a listen, or two, because it reminds me of Jacob so much.  

Word count: 4.5 K

Twilight playlist: ✨ Twilight Crackheads ✨

Series masterlist: H E R E

PICTURE SOURCE 

Dedicated to the best hooman being I know, my dearest, @missdictatorme​

It was nothing but a small town, located close to the western coast, standing in the middle of nothing but deep, dark woods. Its population never crossed the milestone of 4.000 people at one time - neither it had a chance to do so. The town was located in northern America, in the state of Washington. Its name was Forks - close to Forks, there was a native-American territory named the Quileute reservation, La Push being its tiny, beating heart; a slightly bigger town named Port Angeles, and one big city - Olympia.

The forests and nature of the Olympian Peninsula was one of the most mysterious and beautiful to ever be experienced by a human being. There were mountain lions and bears, wolves, and bigger, more dangerous animals hiding in the deep, all-year-long green woods. For such a small town, Forks had its fair share of unnatural, mythical, and legendary creatures roaming around/in it. The deepest nightmares of horror and fairytales coming true, if you will. It also seemed that the town just can't leave the cycle of repeating events, one man in the woods thought.

It wasn't just a man, no, that wouldn't be accurate to say. It was a man with a literal animal inside his body. An animal about which he hoped will never come on the surface once again. All he wanted was to grow old without complications, that was his whole deal. Now that he was left alone, behind and Cullens, the residing vampire family, had left the town, he and his brothers had a chance to do so... Finally. Five years ago, he and Sam Uley, the leader of another pack, watched the Cullens leave the city for another... Hundred years or so. It appeared it's the time to stop with the whole wolf thing, letting them let the wolves inside of them die.

Being a werewolf, a child of the moon, a wolf, or a shapeshifter, whatever you wanted to call it, wasn't as brutal as it was described in horror stories over the years. More than anything, the men and women of the Quileute tribe were carrying the spirit animal inside - the animal was waiting inside, sleeping, until it was called to rise once more. Not everyone could become a wolf - only the ancestors of the first big chief, Taha Aki, could do so. There also needed specific things to happen for their transformation, whether it was the first one or another beginning of the cycle. They needed to smell the scent of vampires.

No-one could predict a pack of vampires taking refuge just a small bit from Forks, again. Yet this time, it wasn't the 'good' vampires feeding on animal blood; these were wild, unpredictable, and red-eyed. These could not be debated to reach any sort of agreement or truce, as the Cullens did a century ago. These had to be stopped, killed, and burned. Whether they would be acting nice or not, they were a threat to Forks and everyone living in it. Which the spirits realized - they started to re-awaken once more.

First, it caught most of the pack unprepared - both alphas of the Uley and Black pack started to feel the sensation of intense heat, of rage and fury all of a sudden. For Jacob Black, it happened when he was in his workshop, repairing an old engine. He barely had the strength to walk out of the building. His muscles were tensing uncontrollably, a high fever appeared all of a sudden. Just muttered groans of pain and heavy breathing could be heard as Jacob walked past the first line of high trees, waiting for the feeling to rip him apart like a rag doll. This shouldn't be happening. There were no vampires in Forks anymore, why was the wolf urging to come out?

The man fell on both his knees. In despair, his fingers dug deep into the forest soil as he let himself cry out in pain. No-one could see him or hear him now, it was fine. The spasms made him fall on his back as his pupils were wildly rolling. If any Catholic priest would see him, he could easily claim that Jacob was possessed by a demon. Another groan left Jacob's body, which was still writhing in convulsions until the part came - the one where his human form just exploded, a hoard of russet fur sprang out as the wolf tried to get on his feet. The man was highly confused. Why did this happen? He wasn't left in the dark for too long - soon, he heard the familiar voice of Sam Uley, who was just a few years older than him, inside his head.

Sure, both of them decided to separate some time ago, creating two packs in Forks, but they could still communicate telepathically - as two alphas, the leaders of the pack. - 'Is that you, Jacob?' - Sam screamed into the void, being scared beyond his wildest dreams. It was understandable - back in the day, Sam was the first to awaken his spirit wolf when the Cullens moved back to Forks. Naturally, he was alone and didn't get what was happening to him that much - until the elders told him. This time, it might've been the same thing, again. Naturally, Sam was relieved when he felt another mind connect into the web of shared thoughts, even if it was just Jacob. - 'Did it just happen to you too? Are you the only one as well?' - Sam asked with anxiety. - 'Yes. I can't hear Seth or Embry or Quil. You?' - Jake informed about his current situation. - 'I can't hear anyone either. Do you know what's happening?' - Yet this time, Jacob was silent.

He didn't know what was going on. The only thing he knew was that he has to protect his territory by all costs - and that something is going on around Forks.

A few days later, road 101:

"You are now tuning into Radio Forks on 140.5 FM. The weather is nice today, but remember to be careful on the roads anyway. On a request from our listener, we will now play The Violet Hour by Sea Wolf... Take it away." - A woman in the radio said, her voice mashing up into happy guitar rhythms in the end. The song was nice and fast, so it made you dance in the seat of your Beetle while you gripped on the steering wheel. The car was most probably at least twice as old as you were, it wasn't in the best condition and the stereo was also kind of shit, and the AC worked only when you pulled out the lighter out, but it was still your car in the end. Well, you couldn't afford anything better from a teacher payment anyway - the Beetle never gave up on you, it had never malfunctioned and even if it did eat a lot of fuel, you still loved the car.

Now, you were on your way to Tacoma because of the work you've been given there - starting in a few weeks, you've already had moved most of your stuff into the new apartment which you shared with a roommate. It was exciting, starting another stage of your life in Tacoma. Sure, your mom was a bit scared when you told her how far you were moving out, but you promised to call and text her all the time, so she would be calm.

But before your final settling down in Tacoma, your friends advised you to take a short trip along the western coast - especially the upper part of it. So you did as they told you - you were now close to some small town named Forks, which you wanted to just drive through quickly, before continuing to Port Angeles. These towns were small and hadn't much to offer, but according to your friend, it was magical to stay there, even just for a while. So far, you hadn't stopped in many towns, but you had to say that you liked the weather - hot, sunny days? You were starting to question them after spending a week on the road. The higher you got in Washington, the more cloudy and rainy it got. More importantly, it was freezing in this part of the world. What was the sun? You didn't know. You hadn't seen it since you entered the deep, green, and rainy woods of the state. The roads were always slipping from the rain, so you had to focus on the damn road at all times.

There was deer here and there on the road, but even if the view was mostly the same, you liked it. The air was cold and humid even though, in the nights and sometimes even during the day, it got very cold up here. You've chosen to move to Tacoma, didnt you? This was what you should be prepared for.

Quickly, you glanced over the map to see if you're still on the right road when your eyes widened in horror. The motor just made a damn weird sound. Oh no. Oh crap! You cried out internally as you felt the car slowing down. All you did was to ride to the roadside with panic as the car made a few very unpleasant sounds before the engine stopped completely. The Forks sign was mocking you from the distance, telling you that you were just a small while from the city. So much for just passing through, huh? Without too much waiting, you tried to call the local post office, the only number you had on your phone and to your surprise, the woman knew a number on the local mechanic. Why wouldn't she? According to the number on the board, this town was damn small.

Or, maybe, a lot of people called her and asked her for a towtruck.  

More so, she switched you over to the workshop just moments after. You've been sitting in the car, already having your winter jacket pulled on since it was getting cold in there rapidly, watching the damn sign just mocking you silently. You were in the temptation to stick your tongue out, but it was just a dumb sign. - "Jacob Black on the phone, what can I do for you?"

First off, the voice, regarding the polite question, sounded almost fed up and annoyed - and you haven't spoken out yet. Someone had a bad day. Second of all - the man sounded quite young. Did the post-office-lady switch you to a bad number? - "Hello? Is someone out there?" - The Jacob mechanic asked again. The tone, again, was unpleasing to listen to. But this time, you gathered yourself to answer. - "Yea, yea. Hi, I got your number? They told me you're the Forks mechanic with a towtruck? Is that right?" - You quickly got out of yourself. While you were talking, you got out of the car and walked around the car in circles, trying to warm yourself up. Which was borderline foolishness when it was drizzling outside, but whatever. - "Where you're stuck? What happened?" - The man said without a hint of caring about the topic.

"My car just... Stopped suddenly." - You described. After a quiet sigh, you could almost hear the Jacob man rolling his eyes. - "I'm just a few yards from the Forks welcome sign. Can you help me or should I call someone else?" - Wow, you got straight to the point. Damn, you didn't need some fed up, annoyed mechanic. He could at least pretend to care. It wouldn't have killed him. - "Listen, miss. The nearest towtruck, except me, is in Port Angeles. If you don't wanna pay ridiculous prices for the service, it will be wise to hire me, okay? It's one mile... So I'll be asking for five bucks just to get your car to my garage, with the services and everything counted in. Is that alright?"

Again, even if the question was meant to be polite since you were his potential customer, it was said in such a manner that couldn't be described other than rude. Jacob was straightway rude with you. Also, five dollars for a mile were a bit overpriced. You could be glad that the mechanic of such backwater didn't ask for ten bucks... Let alone how much would the Port Angeles mechanic want? You had some money with you, but it wasn't much either. And for now, you had to save until you'd get to know what's wrong with your car. - "Okay. How long until you'll be here?" - You asked, now you were fed up as well. That made two of you annoyed, great conversation. - "In about... Half an hour. See you there." - And the phone line went dead. With empty gaze, you were staring into the woods with both your eyebrows raised as you listened to the long, beeping sound.

Half an hour? Did he want to let you freeze out there, in the woods, lost on the road 101? And for the love of God, you couldn't wait for the moment you'll talk with the man from eye to eye. That will be an unpleasant conversation, you could tell already. Quickly, you ran back to your car. For some time, you tried to get at least the almost non-existent heating system on, but the car was dead. It didn't even start. You were sure that you'll freeze to death before the towtruck comes to save you. And you almost did - by the time you've seen an old, big Chevy truck with a hook on its back, your mouth were already feeling your teeth-gnashing being fully set. You were hugging yourself inside the car, there was mist slowly coming out of your lips. Well, this was bad.

The man jumped out of the towtruck, watching your car in horror. How old was this thing? Sixty years? Well, it was certainly older than its owner, who was sitting inside. It could be told you weren't used to such cold, because you were looking as if you were about to die any minute. With your eyebrows knitted, you watched the man approaching your window. The first thing that punched you in the eyes was the fact he was wearing just a plain, short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of old jeans. The man also had long hair pulled into a man bun and damn, these eyes could start shoot bolts of lightning at any time.

He also was... Huge. You'd swear you hadn't seen a man who would take as much space as him. This man was at least six feet tall... And a lot of inches more. As he approached you, you suddenly felt the need to scold him down about politeness fading away. As he knocked onto the window, you rolled it down with a super awkward smile, feeling every inch of you being scared by the man. As soon as you rolled the window down, the man leaned both his palms into the door - with a glance, you figured out he would be able to just break the door if he'd want to, and leaned closer to you.

"You were the one that called?" - The man asked, annoyed once more. So, this was Jacob Black himself - the local mechanic in all his glory. A freaky dude, in your opinion. - "Yep. 't was me." - You peeped out while trying to keep the smile on. Jacob straightened up and sighed, looking away from you for a moment. The way you were smiling, as if you weren't feeling physically well, was giving him the creeps too, don't you worry about it. - "Get out, I'll help this bad boy up." - Jacob patted your car's top. For a moment, you were afraid that the car might break down to pieces as the cartoon cars did - the trunk would fall, the tires would roll away and you would be sitting there on the seat with the steering wheel in your palms. That, thank God, didn't happen.

As the man worked on pulling your car up so you could drag it to the workshop, you could ask him a ton of questions - why was he naked in the middle of such weather? Was being pissy his all-around mood? How was he doing? Yet out of respect, you were just standing there with the same terrifying smile and watching him doing all the job. If you weren't standing there and if you weren't watching him without moving, he'd have so much easier job. Jacob would just take the car, drag it to the hook and click to place - but solely because of your stare, he had to pretend he was struggling with the task a bit. Yet even though he was pretending to struggle, he was done in a few minutes. - "Well, get into the trunk. We don't want you to get... Cold." - Jacob spoke out to you carefully, trying to lower the level of annoyance in his voice.

It was just a simple misunderstanding - while Jacob was worried that the weather around here, to which you quite obviously weren't accommodated to, had done something to the muscles in your face, you were just worried that the man might do something to you if you say something wrong. That was the whole problem. You couldn't know that Jacob wouldn't ever hurt anyone and he couldn't know you're just afraid of big boys. With a nod, you walked to the cabin of the old Chevy truck. It was pretty old, but taken care of  - the black paint wasn't that old, it was still shiny in the drops of rain.

The way to the workshop was as quiet as hell - and uncomfortable the same. Jake didn't know what he did wrong and how to start a conversation with you. Honestly, you were just glad that the cabin of his truck was nicely warm. The color got back into your face in no time. And seemingly, the worried smile had disappeared as well. The way was quick - sooner than you'd say, Jacob already had the car inside his workshop. - "So, here's what I'm going to do. I'll check your car, see what's wrong and what can I do for you. You wanna a coffee, tea, or a cup of hot chocolate in the meantime? There are some magazines in the waiting room too, if you're interested." - The man looked at you while he cleaned his palms in the rug. - "The chocolate sounds nice if you don't mind." - "That's a buck worth of excess fare." - He mumbled to you, but walked to his office, getting the coffee machine ready. You almost wanted to tell him something back - yet just at that moment, the man turned his head at you.

His palm quickly pulled a strand of his black hair behind his eyes while his brown, warm eyes gave you a look. - "I was joking. It's counted into the services." - Jacob explained quickly. Oh. You nodded. It didn't sound like a joke, but who were you to judge that. Were all the people in Forks like this? If they were, well, this was sure a great place to live at. Just after he put the small cup on the table in the waiting room, he made sure the heating is on in there. After that, he disappeared into the workplace. All you could hear was some quiet music and rattling of tools as Jacob got into work.

All you did was that you sat there like a small kid, sipping on the warm treat. It was making you feel a bit better. Suddenly, the man almost kicked the door, standing in there with a horrified expression. - "How old is the car?" - Jacob asked simply, rubbing his palms into the rug again. Something in his eyes told you he's being freaked out by what he had seemed. - "I don't know. I bought it six years ago from my neighbor who was forbidden to drive because she couldn't see anymore." - You answered immediately, standing up to look the man in his eyes. - "I don't know how did it drive for so long. This is a wreck." - The mechanic informed you and turned on his heels, marching back to the shop. When you didn't get his hint and didn't follow, he turned his head at you and rose his eyebrow. You were there in no time at all.

"I don't even know where to start. The AC is busted, the hoses in the engine are clogged by various stuff, your alternator... Wow, I'm wondering that it's one piece..." - He was pointing his fingers around, talking about the breaks, some small parts, and various other stuff. - "Um, Mr. Black, I don't understand what you're trying to say, so... Can you get to the point? What is wrong and how much will it cost to repair the car?" - The expression you had on your face told Jacob that you, indeed, were confused as hell. He knew women, Rosalie Hale and such, who were into cars massively, so he would never say that cars were just a 'guy thing' - yet there were people who just weren't gifted in this sort of thing. - "Uh, I think it might be better to just buy some new car," - Jacob started, but your face told him you weren't thinking about leaving the beloved Beetle behind. - "Or, I can try to figure out what to do, yeah." - Suddenly, he walked to his small desk and started to work with his calculator, writing things down on a list. Then, he showed you how much you were about to pay - and the sum made you sit on the chair he had there. With a long sigh, you leaned your elbows to your knees, trying to keep it together.

700 dollars with his work counted in. That was quite something - somehow, you were positive that Jacob Black gave you a pity-discount as well. Sure, you had something saved - but you needed to eat something in Tacoma and 700 bucks wouldn't be healthy for your dying bank account. As a university student, you had multiple loans and stuff, you also had to pay the rent... And certainly, you didn't have spare 15.000 bucks to buy a new car. And you needed one. With a shaky sigh, you put your head to your palms and tried to keep it together. - "It will take me at least two weeks to get all the parts I need and then... Listen, I didn't know the car's this bad either." - Suddenly, you realized that the man is standing next to you, smoothing your shoulder. He could understand people in bad financial situations - he hadn't much himself, though it was significantly better than when he was younger.

He wanted to help you somehow, but the parts were simply too expansive against his liking. Especially for something like the Beetle in front of him. This bad boy needed to take care of everything - and Jacob, sure of his experience with old cars, knew he can repair it... Somehow. - "Is there a motel somewhere out here? Do you know the prices?" - You asked silently. Dear God, were you crying? What should he do? A crying woman, when did he encounter a situation tricky as this one the last time? His brain circuits almost burned up when he thought about what should he do with you. And suddenly... The small bulb was there. - "Um, are you a murderer or something like that?" - Jacob mumbled, trying to joke - and to his surprise, you joked back. - "I won't be killing anyone for you to repair my car with a discount." - This made him chuckle.

"That's good to know. I'll present you an idea, okay? Since I'm now sure you're not so mentally okay..." - "What did you say?" - Suddenly, you sprang up, making Jacob grin even more as he walked around the room. - "Nothing. All I'm saying is... The motel could get expansive for a long-term stay and I have one spare room above the shop. It's used for visitors mostly, so nothing you'd have to worry about. I'll ask ten bucks for a week and it would be kinda fine if you'd buy some food sometimes... And if you'd like to, you can help me out here - and in exchange for that, I'll give you a discount. I think I can lower the sum to 500, maybe 450 if I'll be lucky. I have to make something outta this, you know?" - The man leaned his ass into the car standing behind him, smiling at you carefully. Okay, this sure as hell was an act of pettiness, you could tell just by the look he gave you. But, honestly, he didn't seem to be that bad now.

Also, this was genuinely nice of him. When you imagined how much you'd pay for the motel, the car, and your food altogether, just for the two-week stay, your eyes rolled on their own. - "Why are you doing this?" - You asked quietly. You appreciated the help, you did, but it was strange. Maybe, if everyone was like the mechanic Jacob Black in Forks, the town wasn't half bad. - "Listen, I'm not some dude who would be into a kidnapping or other weird stuff... I just know how it's like not to have much money. You're young, driving this piece of crap, what do you work as, might I ask?" - "A teacher. I'll be starting in Tacoma this September." - Jacob didn't answer to your answer, he just rose his eyebrows to get his point across. - "Take it or leave it. That's all I'm saying." - "You also did miss the fact that I don't know cars at all." - There you were again, the joking-around girl he had seen just a few moments before. - "I also didn't say you'd get near my cars, God protects you if you'd try to do so. I have... Uh... Some problems with the administration if you wouldn't mind. Paperwork isn't my thing and picking up calls isn't my stick either." - "I've noticed."

For a moment, you've been looking at the dude in dead silence. Well, it was a risky plan - but you weren't in the position to do much more. Jacob gave you the best possible alternative you could hope for, it was just because he, under all the annoyance, could maybe be a pretty reasonable guy. - "I'll take your offer, only if I can tell the chief of local police that I'm staying in this workshop." - Jacob snorted at your condition, but he needed to say it was fair enough. - "Sure. So... Is that a deal?" - The man offered you a palm and you stood up, shaking it. - "It is a deal, Mr. Black. Name's Y/N, by the way. You probably should know that."

[homogrimoire-archive]

Life Loves to Surprise

Qrow/Hazel smut with the barest amount of plot.

AO3 Link

Qrow thought he had been to every bar in Vale at least once before, but apparently not. He found one he hadn’t noticed before on his way to his dingy, and rarely used, apartment. He had to be able to say he had gotten drunk in every bar in Vale, and he honestly needed a few drinks after the emotionally draining mission he had finished earlier. So, he made a small detour to the bar that was lodged between two much larger and more noticeable buildings.

The place looked alright, though it was likely it looked better during the late hours. A few strippers were working their pole, though most of the patrons were minding their own business. It was that time of day when sad, unfortunate souls came to drown their sorrows. At the very least, he knew it was unlikely he’d end up in a fight, even with his luck. The people here just wanted to be left alone and forget the cruelties in their life.

Qrow fit right in. He ordered the thing with the highest alcohol content, and took a seat in a dark corner out of habit. Scanning the place lit only by neon lights, he saw that he was right to presume so much about the fellow drunks there. They all sat miserably by themselves, nursing whatever drink they could afford that would get them drunk.

He took his first sip. It went down comfortably warm, with just a bit of bite to it. A few years ago, he would have gagged drinking such a thing, but now, the taste was graciously welcomed with open arms. He let out a low groan of satisfaction, the ice clinking as he placed it back down on the table. Qrow saw that the man in front of him was staring at him. The man quickly averted his gaze and went back his drink the moment he realized Qrow saw him.

Qrow knew at that moment one of two things would happen later: he would either have to fight for his life again, or he would get laid. Whatever would happen, a drunk him would deal with it. Qrow kept an eye on the man as he went through a round of drinks. Qrow caught the huge man staring a few times. Qrow smiled knowingly each time, and Qrow knew he saw, but each time he shrunk away, acting like he wasn’t caught leering. It was cute.

By his final drink at the bar, Qrow decided to make his move. He got up and out of his chair, and sauntered over to the man’s table. He took a seat right in front of him. The man looked up real quick to acknowledge him. Up close, Qrow could see that the big man was very cute and very hot.

“Hey there handsome, come here often?” Qrow asked the man. Yes, it was cheesy and basic, but it got the man to answer.

“Not really.” he answered. Qrow likes his deep voice.

“Yeah. There are better places to be at. There’s a bar a few blocks from here that’s cheaper with better drinks. My place is also a better place to be. I’ve heard it has some really good customer service. Not too far either.” he drawled. The guy was cute as he blushed.

“... You’re not a prostitute, are you?” the man asked. Qrow laughed.

“Sometimes, I wish I was.”

“Your place sounds good then. Lead the way.” He said as he stood up, revealing his full height. Qrow was in awe of how huge the guy was. Already, his hopes were high. On the short walk, he learned that the man’s name was Hazel, and that he was currently a bodyguard for a ballet school.

The moment Qrow unlocked the door, Hazel was all over him, and Qrow was all for it. The guy was an aggressive kisser, and Qrow was going to be just as aggressive. It had been a while since he had been so aggressive, and with a big guy like Hazel, he was going to be as aggressive as he wanted. As they made out intensely, they practically ripped each other’s clothes off.

Once Qrow’s pants were off, Hazel pinned Qrow against a wall, and sunk down to his knees, caressing Qrow’s body as he did so. Qrow didn’t even get to see the other man’s cock, to his dismay, but the view certainly made up for it. If Qrow could have gotten any harder, he would have. The sight of the huge man starting to play with his cock was the stuff of the wettest dreams.

First, Hazel slowly played with the head, liking and sucking on it, teasing Qrow as he moaned. What soon followed was positively lewd. Qrow yelped as Hazel went all the way down on him, moaning as he took Qrow’s dick down this throat. The sound of him gagging every now was not enough to compel Qrow to pull away. And if anything, it made Hazel just want to swallow the cock even deeper. With his strong hands, he gripped Qrow’s hips and guided him into face fucking him. Once Qrow got into a rhythm, Hazel used his now free hands to tease Qrow’s sensitive nipples.

“Damn, you’re─” he said in between heavy breaths and another groan of pleasure. “You’re─ Fuck! I’m gonna─” Instead of finishing his sentence, he screamed as he shot his load down the other man’s throat. Qrow could hear the man choke a little, but he didn’t pull away. Hazel made sure to swallow every drop. Once the cum stopped flowing, Hazel took the cock out of his mouth with an obscene pop.

“Are you,” Qrow said, sitting down to catch his breath after having his soul sucked out of him, “you sure you're not a prostitute? Make a damn good one.”

“Hmm. Not a bad prospect, now that you mention it.” Hazel replied. It would be a good way to experiment more, and bring in some more money too.

“My turn!” Qrow eagerly said as he grabbed the hard cock in front of him. It was thick, and dripping precum. He couldn’t wait to have it stretch his hole. He made the move to begin sucking on it, but was stopped by the man’s hand pushing his head back.

“Huh?” he wondered. He wanted to suck some dick, dammit.

“Later. Where’s the bed?” Hazel asked, and Qrow quickly led him to the bed. He laid down on it, and spread his cheeks open for Qrow.

“Ohh.” Qrow said with surprise and excitement. An unexpected, but very welcome development.

“Thought you might be hungry.” Hazel said with a sly smile.

“You thought right.” Qrow replied with a carnal look in his eyes as he dove in to eat the man out. Qrow moaned as he licked and entered Hazel’s manly hole with his tongue. Getting to hear the hulking man moan vulgar words was enough to get him hard again.

“H- hey,” he said to get Qrow’s attention. “I’m ready.”

“Mmm. I think I wanna have a little more fun first.” Qrow said as he pulled out a bottle of lube from under his bed and uncapped it. He spread a layer of it on his fingers, and prepared to prepare the other man even more. But before he even put his fingers in, the bed’s legs gave out, the bed landing against the floor with a loud thud.

“Uhh…” Qrow could hear the concern in the man’s voice.

“Don’t worry about it. Thing’s cheap and I’ve got bad luck.” Qrow sighed.

“If you say so.” Hazel replied.

“Now, where were we…” Qrow said, and went back to fingering the man’s hole. It was a lot more comfortable for Qrow now that Hazel was lower the floor. He hissed as the first two fingers went in. Qrow took his time opening him up, slowly jerking the man’s cock as he did so. Hazel let out a moan when Qrow found his prostate, bucking his hips in retaliation.

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” he said as he put in a third finger and massaged the spot, reducing Hazel to a whimpering mess. Qrow could spend all day listening to that. After about another minute, Qrow took out his fingers and put on a condom, lubing it as well.

“Ready?” Qrow asked as he got up and onto the bed. As he lifted Hazel’s legs up, he could see that the man was in a state that was blissful, yet frenzied state.

“Gods yes!” he answered in exasperation. Qrow was more inclined to be in Hazel’s position, but it sure was damn nice to have a guy like him crying out to be fucked by him. So, eager to comply, he started out with just his head, slowly going in and out.

“Come on, fucking fuck me!” he ordered.

“Bossy.” Qrow teased with a wicked smile. He played with the man for a moment more, pusing in only his head still.

“I swear, if you don’t─” he was cut off by his own scream as Qrow thrusted his cock all the way in. He kept the pace going, eliciting even more of those indecent noises Qrow loved out of the man. He leaned forward so he could sloppily make out with the man as he fucked him nice and hard.

Qrow moaned into Hazel’s mouth as he slid in and out of his hole. It felt so good, he had half a mind to just become a top. But, the thought was interrupted by that telltale tension growing in his groin. Before he could even say anything, he was already cumming, thrusting deeper and more erratically as he groaned from the release. Eventually, he pulled out his cock and yanked off the cum-filled condom, tossing aside it with careless abandon.

“Forgetting something?” Qrow heard Hazel ask just as he was about to rest his head on Hazel’s beautiful, pillowy pecs.

“Hm?”

“Get on your knees.” he ordered, and Qrow realized that he almost forgot to do one of his favorite activities: sucking dick. As Hazel moved to sit at the edge of the bed, Qrow excitedly got on his knees on the floor, and placed his head in between Hazel’s thick thighs. He leered at the hot and thick cock before him as it leaked more precum than before. It looked like it could burst at any given moment. He began to diligently lick every inch, but was pulled up by his hair, making him moan in ecstacy.

“Just suck.” he commanded, and then released his grip. As ordered, he took the cock in his mouth.

Although he couldn’t take it all in like Hazel had done with him, Qrow was superior in his technique, bobbing his head much more efficiently and using his tongue to greater effect. As predicted, Hazel was dangerously close to cumming. He pulled Qrow back by his hair as he groaned loudly from the intense orgasm, letting cum decorate Qrow’s face. As he came down from the high, he looked down at the beautiful and obscene sight before him.

“And here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” he smiled with pride.

“Is that a challenge?” he joked as he made his way to the bathroom.

“May─ Crap. Sorry to leave, but I have work in fifteen minutes.” he said. Qrow could hear him hurry to throw his clothes in.

“It’s cool!” he shouted as he got a shower started. “There might be water in the fridge if you want! And if that sex worker things works out, let me know!”

“Yeah! Will do!” Qrow hears as the door shuts.

As Qrow relaxes under the warm water, he wonders if this bossy bottom would be the one to tame him. He certainly wouldn’t mind. The guy seemed nice enough. Though, he always imagined someone different. But, life likes to mess with Qrow Branwen.

-

Qrow curses the heart that gives him hope, but knows he wouldn’t be alive without it, so he keeps on hoping, for someone.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

So Dick and reader in love but too stubborn to admit it. Reader has healing powers but more an exchange where she takes the pain and carries it herself and Dick is protective and forbids her to use it and they get in a fight and he blurts out his feelings (enter smut maybe?) ... they date low key (cute fluff?) until one day other titans find out. One day dick is badly hurt and they bring him back to the tower and their only choice is for her to save him ... can go where you like with it 💔❤️😭😫

OKAY! It took me a while, but there it is. It made me so happy to write on Dick for a first time fully on him (thought I couldn’t resist the slightly Jason Todd usual angst, I’m sorry, it’s just a taint, I swear). It’s 8:46, I’ve been all night writing because I really felt like so, and I just hope you like it as much as I did. AS you will quickly notice once the smut enters, the second part is not yet posted, written; without the smut alone it was something like 3000~4000 words, and it was quite long, thus, I decided to make it into two parts. As soon as the second is posted, I will edit this post and leave a link so that you can follow it. It was such a beautiful request! I tend to make my characters more... Red Hoodish? Angered? Petty, snarky? But this time it came out as vulnerable. I KNOW she can come off as intense, but it’s all for a reason; I hope I properly conveyed that. WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:

SUMMARY, PT. 1, as stated in the ask, will include: Reader with healing powers who gets included into the Titans has a close relationship with Dick, eventually. They crush on each other, quite hard, and smut eventually ensues.

WORD COUNT: 5040

TW: various abuse mentions implied, not explicit. I tried to keep it as vague as possible. JUST A WARNING for the second part, it will contain definitively ANGST. So if you are here to stay, just take that into account, Happy ending not confirmed.

It has been done before; the Robin’s have never had any unnatural powers but they’ve been prepared for every occasion. Dick wants you do the same, just in case something happens – and you can hear Kori’s scoff from the back as he proposes the weekly training to the rest in the tower. It’s not like it’s uncommon to have one on one’s; but it’s frowned upon within the tower, as when mandatory it implies that something needs reinforcement. You don’t want to be exposed, and as one of the latest additions you haven’t gotten close to the group yet. It has never been really your style to integrate yourself into already made up friendships. It made you uncomfortable, so you have been sticking to Nightwing’s schedule and company when offered; he seems to have a soft spot for you, and as much as you’ve been trying to not be too easy, you know that are crushing on him hard. From the glances here and there, the murmurs and the scoffs, you can guess Koriand’r and Nightwing are not on good terms as of now. Maybe something personal? Your first instinct was an intimate relationship; but for the moment nothing has been confirmed, even if you can see the faint jealousy in her eyes whenever he asks you to stay behind.

           You wish that every little thing imagined by each of the Titans would be actually true: hot and heavy makeout sessions in the main room of the tower; quickies in the bathrooms after sparring; maybe even intimate moments alone, reassuring him like you know he does sometimes after making a specially difficult decision (and having people go against him, all the time). But what actually happens is quite pathetic; you really do train and spar, hard. Until you are out of breath, your lungs burning and every little muscle of your body aching and begging for a rest. Nightwing is relentless; you can’t use his name yet, it’s too uncomfortable, too personal. And you don’t want things to get to that level yet, as bad as you want to kiss him though.

           The reason for the one on one’s training? None other than him not wanting you to use your powers. Abilities. Whatever the name, Dick does not feel comfortable with it, not after seeing some of your scars and the hurting nature of what you can do. Showing him was easy; he recruited you after all, and saw the conditions you were enslaved under, for a Gotham mafia serving for the constant regeneration of hurt dogs in fighting rings; sometimes men who came too hurt. Other was just simply some hardcore sparring they could have for fun, having you as a backup for curing them whenever necessary. You don’t know really when you acquired them, but for as long as you have known, you can exchange physical and psychological pain, make it yours. With physical contact, always physical contact in between, you could absorb the pain and own it; depending on the gravity of it, it could open wounds in your own body (generally arms and legs, sometimes on your sides and back, but those were hardcore ones). Psychologically it was trickier; you could absorb trauma, scarring experiences or unprocessed events from members who had been in catastrophic events. It was quite useful in Gotham where there was a shooting, bombing or slaughtered every three days. It kept them in top form, in and outside of the business – and as expected, it was the thing that hurt you the most. You were not sensitive by nature, but this made you cry. You could generally process it, in due time; but the nightmares were something out of your control.

           Nightwing’s room was the closest to yours, and he generally pounded on your door until you woke up and came up to apologize in the door. He would look at you with… Pity. You despised it. Felt embarrassed, felt less, felt little; like you were again chained to the mafia and someone looked down on you. But you weren’t there anymore, and his intention wasn’t really that of making you feel less. He just wants to hug you.

           He confesses so after your second month in the Tower, while sparring. Gar and Raven have actually welcomed you quite nicely, and you are able to use their names (not Beastboy, not Nightwing). Dick and you have gotten quite close; close enough to at least confide in you before officially explaining some plans, laying out schedules seeming as you seem to be very aware of every person’s response inside the tower

           (“No, if you assign Gar on training grounds again he will fume for days before actually getting started on it. Give him first day of patrol so he can feel better about herself, then training grounds. Maybe include Kori.”

           “No, I think Kori would be better on the front lines of the sky. Maybe borders?

           “Uh, well, I don’t mean to dwell on errors, but do you remember the last time you assigned Kori alone on the skyline frontier? It’s a bit risky, Richard.”

           “Dick.”

           “Yes, Dick, okay”

           “Well, you get a point I suppose. Should we include Raven?”)

           It was quite direct, now that you remember it:

           “Stop scoffing! God, get over yourself!”. You laugh; you joke now, a bit. It’s mostly jabs against him, seeming as you two haven gotten more comfortable and can even talk now when sparring.

           “It just was too predictable, (Y/N)!”

           “Oh shut up! You are the predictable one. I just wanted to try out a move”.

           He makes a feinting, making you stupidly step back and protect your upper body before being swept down in the floor. You fall on your ass, groaning out of exasperation rather than out of pain. He still comes to offer you a hand, with a brow arched.

           “What do you mean I am predictable? I’m Nightwing, baby”. “Baby”. Or babe. He has been calling you that for a while, endearingly you guess. Does it actually make you close? You can’t really speak on his behalf, but he makes you smile, and you would say you are friends. Maybe not the closest, not like him and Wally that go way back, but you two confide and have sometimes spent dawn talking until getting into bed.

           “You and your nighttime routine, come on. It’s always the same: making sure everyone has dinner, everyone interacts together at some point, and then sending them off early whenever they have to patrol or have something planned. Then you think no one notices, but when you ‘go to make a midnight snack’, you are just checking everyone is in their beds tucked in and fine. Not like me, I guess”. You scoff; it’s not meant to come off as a self-deprecating joke, but you can see why it comes as so when he furrows his brows. “I just meant insomniac. Fuck you”.

           He laughs and so do you, but you can see something’s bothering him. You stop smiling and while getting into a sparring position again, you look at him expectantly, before making any move. You are telling him, without actually doing so, to just spit it out with your expressive eyes. He gives in, sighing.

           “It’s just-I know it took you a lot of time opening up. And I swear I have never entered your room without permission, but finally noticing you leave it open in the night makes me sleep better… Even if your… “Dreams” seem to have stopped.”

           You don’t actually know how to take the information in the moment, quite taken back that he noticed. You trust his word, and assume he hasn’t really come in your room, not that there’s anything worthy of being inspected; you only brought a few civilian clothes and a couple of books with you.

           “Did you every try to come in? The first nights. I guess it would have been scary. Or worrying, rather.”

           “It just made me feel powerless. I-“. He stops himself. It is getting deep, and you have never dwelt on these topics before. It was left unsaid; acknowledged, but not talked upon. You didn’t want to, after all, they had mostly stopped. It was over. “Someone close to me before used to have them as well. It was distressing to see them woken and completely… Lost. Scared and alone.”

           Your mind immediately assumes things. You open your mouth, and this time it is him the one urging you to continue, with his dreamy and perfect eyes. It is going to sound bitter, and worse than that, jealous. You should have shut up, not even think about it.

           “Kori?”. You mutter, almost in silence, refusing to meet his eyes and refocusing your attention into your feet, like they were not in the perfect position to launch onto him. It will, hopefully, make your intentions less obvious.

           “No.” He’s particularly fast in answering. You can tell he is trying to see what’s wrong in your feet, you fumbling with them and refusing to meet his honest eyes, but you don’t give in. He continues, for your surprise. “My brother. He is dead.”

           Fuck. And you assumed it was his fuckbuddy. You wince, embarrassed, but he quickly comes to your rescue, just saying it is fine and that he is not grieving anymore. He hast let him go, as much time as it has passed; but something in his eyes seems broken, which is odd. Richard-Dick wouldn’t lie to you. If he was not over the death of his brother, he would tell you. It’s something that bothers you while he comes close to you, and you get yourself into a defending position. This time you don’t control it when he grazes your arm, but it goes numb from the pain: you are absorbing it.

           You fall to your knees, as dramatic as it can sound, taking your left arm harshly with your right hand, as if trying to stop the pain from getting to your hand. You groan and Dick is quickly to get next to you, confused to what might happen until the gears in his head start moving and make it click.

           “I told you not to use it!”

           “You were lying!. How the fuck was I supposed to know?!”

           “Fuck!”

           The pain is intense, but it’s short-lived in comparison. It doesn’t spread to your hand, and you are able to use it; but your arm is render useless after moving it a couple of times. You can’t feel anything inside. If someone were to break it, you wouldn’t notice.

           “Are you okay?”. Dick seems really distressed; he hasn’t been able to do anything for you, other than staring and hoping that it would go quick. You nod, biting your tongue still; once you release it, it hurts less. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. I thought I-. God. Don’t do that again. You have to control it!”

           You close your eyes, wincing still; is he really lecturing you? You can’t believe it, gripping still your arm; still with some pressure, like it will help. It doesn’t.

           “Oh, fuck”. He sits in the mat, and you copy him as well, both of your hands in the cool material of the sparring floor. It helps a bit, and thus you lie down. Dick lays with his head next to your, but his body on the other direction. It feels actually quite intimate. “It’s just-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scold you, it just took me by surprise. I just remembered-“.

           There’s a pause, where you only press your cheek to the mat, staring directly at him, curious. You don’t need to urge him on; he will continue on his own, when he is prepared.

           “I remembered your nights. The tore my heart apart. Every time. I wished I could just-go in and hug you, like I did before. Try and make it safe for you, even if it’s just a bit”. He looks at you, your eyes unfazed, maybe confused and a little scared; not of him, just the warmness of your heart as he talks. He must misinterpret it. “No, shit, I meant-ah. I know I must sound like an asshole, right? Paternalizing and-“

           “No. Nononono” You mutter quickly, almost getting up as he makes the attempt to do so, maybe escape. You cling onto his shoulder, stopping him from actually doing so. You roll over yourself, resting now your chin in the mat. The mats are getting warmer under your presence. You can touch now where his head was, can almost savor the sweetness behind his intentions. But you can’t help but feel a bit scared; no one has done that to you before, cared like this before. You have been alone for quite some time. These kind of pretty empty words can be your downfall, because you want it. You want it so bad it hurts a bit like before. “I mean-I wanted that. It’s just-I-I have never had that. I don’t know how to accept it, how to take it. Or if I’m being stupid for taking your word as truth and I’m just being… Trapped, so that-“. The more you talk, the worse it gets. You sit up, sighing and hiding your head in your legs, for a second. Darkness makes you think better, it can calm you down amidst the silence of the training room. “I’m being really stupid here. Just please, forget it. I know what you meant, and I really appreciate it, Richard.”

           Things can get personal. You can get too emotional. And he most definitively didn’t mean it like that; it’s just you and your desperate need to feel loved, wanting to be loved. You thought it could be him, with him, but-is it too perfect? It would be too perfect. You are self-sabotaging; probably, at least, you think you are. Things are good, and you have a good friend to confide in. Feelings are just getting in the way to confuse you, to lose him-no, maybe not even that. Just use him, like he wants to use you. You are a healer, the secret weapon of the group: he hasn’t tell the rest because he plans on taking advantage of it. You are just a tool, you’re still being used by Gotham’s mafia, still chained, still-

           “No! You are not getting it! Wait stop, please! I won’t raise my voice, I-“. You have tried to escape. As soon as you stopped talking, you got up and was really prepared to lock into your room, take a deep breath, and calm your feelings down. But Dick is faster; he grasps your arm, stops you dead in your tracks, slightly pulling you into his arms. You wince, sore and still a bit hurt even when you can’t fully feel your arm. You quite thank it, given that where he is grabbing you seems slightly red. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to you stay”. He says, taken back; you can’t see it, but your eyes seem scared by his violent movements, the way he wants you to stay. He knows a small part of your life only, but he can imagine so much when your eyes look at him like a defiant small animal, terrified but putting a brave front. He feels like shit, you can tell quickly. “Please listen to me. I promise I’m not putting you in any position; I’m very aware of how inappropriate I am being, with my position in the Titans group and-and you being new. With what I said before I just meant I cared for you, (Y/N); deeply. I know it’s not been long, but I have strong feelings towards you. I’m not sure yet if they are because I see you as someone I deeply trust, or because you are something much more to me. But I know- I know I like you. And I want to do these kinds of things with you. Can I?”

           He asks permission, as he grabs your chin and pulls you closer. You won’t say no. Not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to. You’ve wanted this probably since the start and kissing him feels just like you imagined and so much more. It is like a fairytale finally savoring him: it’s sweet, it’s tentative and caring. There is warmth, no passion, just like you want it. His hands move quickly, almost possessively to your sides, slightly scratching the outside of your thighs, and you know what he wants to take, grasp. Almost like he knows, when you gasp as he moves his hands slightly, he stops touching you altogether, saying sorry quite quickly.

           “Just surprised, don’t stop”. You gasp out, going for his mouth again, with a bit more of passion. You feel his muscles underneath his training shirt, his masculine scent; he is safe, he is protection and trust at the same time. You have never cared too much about love in the situations of the like, but you need someone you can feel safe around, not judged. Trust. “I’ve wanted this as well. I just didn’t think you would want me, I’m a mutt”.

           When his blue eyes get to yours, he is heartbroken. He kisses your eyelids softly, with an extreme care. It almost makes you cry.

           “You are not a mutt. You are wonderful, caring, kind and noble. You have the warmest heart I have seen. You are intelligent, funny and just a tiny bit sarcastic. The right amount to actually offend me.” You laugh and he looks more relaxed. He is serious looking at you; his bronzed skin, sun-kissed and his perfect eyes piercing yours. Like he wants to make sure you know. You nod, slowly. “Don’t’ say you are a mutt, because you are not. You have been gifted an incredible ability; I just don’t want you to use it because you get hurt in the process. Nothing else; not because I think you would come off as weird or unnatural, (Y/N). You are beautiful. I’ve wanted you for a long time, but we don’t have to do anything. I can make you believe it other ways.”

           You kiss him back as an answer. It’s all he needs to know, all you really need to say. You still want it to happen naturally, but your hands are cleverer, know more, as they get under his shirt, touching his sides. He slightly shivers, making you botch chuckle, before he actually gets his shirt off. He tosses it aside but doesn’t instantly try and take yours as well. You kiss, deeply, tongues starting to intertwine and slight moans escaping your mouth.

           “You are driving me crazy, (Y/N). I have goosebumps”.

           “You are such a dork.”

           He laughs as well, and you stop kissing him just so that you can take off your shirt, revealing a grey sports bra; it’s not very attractive and you open your mouth, as a defense, to protect yourself from criticism. You expect it.

           “I will bring my lingerie for our next sparring session, I promise.”

           “What are you talking about? You are divine”. You feel hot, dizzy; no one has told you that. Not even in your first time, where you were supposed to lose your virginity in the midst of a teenage love hurricane. “You look so good it’s insane.”

           You giggle (giggle!) into his mouth as they meet again; but this time he is surer of his movements, he makes you step back, retreating into a more secluded area of the training room. He presses your back into the wall, slightly shivering and making you moan due to its coldness. He says “sorry”, as his thumbs play with your skintight pants, slightly pushing them down. It feels almost teenagerly as you moan into his mouth and fumble with his sweatpants, showing off a bulge against his grey boxers. It’s the sexiest thing you have seen, and you want to drop off your knees.

           “I want you to fuck my mouth”. You say, in the heat of the moment, still looking down at his underwear; and this is the moment where it changes, where Dick charges against you and starts eating your neck, his hands making their way into your bra.

           He is turned on. Maybe he didn’t know you were like this; you didn’t know he would be like that, either. You feel his hard fingertips almost tentatively graze your nipples once your bra is over your tits, discovered; they pinch them, slightly press them in, playing with them and making your stomach squirm of excitement, a slow build-up. Your knees press themselves together, but he makes his way in, separating them and making you sit on his, as his right knee presses into the exterior of your core, damping your underwear. You are wet; starting to be so, at least; the neck kisses are a weakness of yours. Quite audible and visible, one could argue, seeing as in trance as you are as he leaves marks on the skin, makes his way up to your ear where you obscenely moan as he turns you on, bites on it and whispers: “I want to make you cum”.

           “Fuck, Dick.”

           “If you want to.”

           You close your eyes, slightly chuckling, as his mouth makes his way down this time, his thumbs slowly taking the pants of you as his tongue gives some attention to your perked-up nipples.

           “They are divine. So unbearably cute and excited. All for me?”

           “Yes, yes. All because of you, for you.” Devour me, you could say, and he would bite with your hips squirming and your knees weak as he presses his knee again into your core, this time underwear fully sticking to your damp area. His mouth gets around your left nipple and bites down, gently; it makes you gasp quite loudly, your own hand trying to cover the sounds of your mouth. “Dick, I-“

           “I know. I wouldn’t have taken you as moaner, but I love it. So vocal, so sweet and cute. Just want to make you scream now, though. I want to see your blissed-out face.”.

           He is going to go down. You know it as he gets on his knees and his nose traces a way down your chest, to your stomach, and finally your pubic area. He takes your underwear down, dark, with his teeth, your stomach trembling and excited; you shiver, his tongue making his way up once your knickers are off the scene. He licks the interior of your right thigh, until he can almost taste you dripping on your thighs and onto the floor. It’s insane, but it’s been too long and Dick is giving you the right attention in all the right places, again licking a stripe up your left thigh, until he almost reaches a drip going down, leaving you hot and bothered, whiny.

           “Oh, please, please”. You beg first, quite quickly. He laughs, giving in and eating your thighs out, leaving out some marks and cleaning you, almost. But he never goes in, never touches you inside, your pussy still exposed and trembling, opening up almost in anticipation.

           “Please what? Eat or fuck you?”. His mouth. His dirty words get you off, almost, shivering and moaning. Both sound equally good, and you can feel yourself dripping a bit more, getting impossibly wet. It has never been a problem, but maybe after when it comes to cleaning-“Love, if you don’t say it-“

           “Fuck me with your fingers. Then fuck me”.

           His tongue seems like too much. Too intimate at the time. It will probably make you cum quite quickly, and you don’t want that yet. So he complies, his fingers getting covered in your lubricant before attempting to go inside. Relief is in your face as they get in, and you almost bend over him. He kisses your stomach, goes slightly down; he seems almost tentative, and you can feel he wanted to lick you up. Maybe he’s into it.

           “Next time”. You murmur; one of your hands tries to stick to the wall, to not fall onto him. The other one is on his hair, caressing him. His fingers are slowly getting deeper, two, and making you moan, close your eyes.

           “You are a bit tight, love. Nervous or-?”

           “It’s just been long, I’m just-not used to it. Please just fuck me.”

           The desperation in your voice is audible, and thus, he does not question it. He digs in a bit deeper, attempting to get three fingers, before he gives up, licking them out plainly in your sight. He, without you seeing it, has been palming himself; he is hard, twitching slightly in anticipation. You lay down on some mats that are piled up in the corner and open your legs, inviting him in: his eyes are bright, shine, as his forearms rest at both sides of your head. You would say it’s like a cage, but it isn’t: he’s not caging you, he’s protecting you from the rest of the world. He has been doing so, but offering you freedom from within. He is demanding for you to look at his eyes.

           “I’m not particularly big, but it’s going to take a bit to bottom out, okay? You don’t have to, sweetheart. Just tell me whenever it hurts, or at any discomfort. I want you to feel good.” He puts your pleasure above his, and you nod, signaling its fine; but you don’t fully know until his head gets in and you clamp down on him, feeling it foreign. It’s intense as he gets in, and your nails go into his back quickly, holding onto him. You trust him to be stable, resist as you press your fingertips only; he doesn’t tremble or budge, just moans out as he gets slowly in. “Fuck, (Y/N), I feel like a virgin”.

           You laugh out as you can, opening your legs slightly so that he can slide in easily even when you are completely closed down on him. He has to force himself a bit on you, but it’s worthy; he grazes something inside you that make you shout his name first time in the night, leaving you lax in the floor and completely open. He takes advantage, sliding himself until he is halfway there, your hips searching for him and gasping, feeling full.

           He moves just like that; cradles you almost, in a slow rhythm as he makes love to you in the floor. His arms are strong, and your hands hold onto them, almost desperately at times as he makes you moan again and again; eventually they get turned into shouts. He doesn’t get to bottom out, not completely; but you definitively can feel him in, as he groans and moans your name in pleasure.

           Like out of frustration, he turns you on the floor. Your nipples feel the warmth of the mat, your cheeks against it, in a submissive position almost, with your butt, almost automatically, in the air, on fours. He doesn’t press your head into it, but his hands take your hips like you are all his, all for his pleasure. He hasn’t gotten out, and thus he tries to get in a bit more as well; you moan, slightly out of pain, slightly out of pleasure, as he resumes his pace. It turns out to be mortal, as you get transformed into jelly, a moaning doll that cums twice under his touches, his bites on your nape and back, and the kisses in the middle of your back that make you tremble. You shiver, unable to maintain your own weight once you have cummed for a second time; he lets you rest, open your legs slightly more and relaxing as he stops, not budging in or attempting to go any further. It’s you the one that sits on his slap and almost fall onto him, clamping immediately down and almost cumming for a third time. You are so sensitive, you feel the orgasm on the border, on the brink; his pace is brutal, as you try to meet his thrusts up. The sound of skin against skin is the only thing audible, unless you are attentive enough to hear the little muffled moans by his hand; the only way to keep you down, as tears are making their way through your eyes, out of pure and divine pleasure. It’s too much, too much – and at the same time, it’s the perfect amount as he gets to come, moaning into your neck and eventually biting down your shoulder.

           He presses his forehead to that same spot, kissing it slowly as if asking for forgiveness.

           “I’m sorry, so sorry I hurt you, (Y/N). I just-“

           “I love you”. You say before, shutting him up immediately. It just takes him a second to response, looking more vulnerable than ever at your lips, your eyes.

           “I love you; just as much, if not more”. He confesses, kissing you deeply, full of care and love, respect as his hands caress both of your sides, again saying something similar to “sorry” to your body. He has not been violent; you can tell he has been containing himself, but you like that too. He cares. He is not like the rest. “Promise me you will come to my room tonight. Or I can come to yours, if you are fine with that. I don’t want you sleeping alone. I need you.”

           And no one has ever needed you like he does, like his voice shows, more vulnerable than ever.

           “Okay”. You mumble, too tried and pressing your forehead to him, kissing him slightly. “Come tonight. Only cuddles and pecks allowed, though. We are keeping it PG-13 for the tower, hm? ”

           “Whenever you are ready we can tell the rest. Under your rules, love.”

           And you think this time it will all be okay. As he hugs you closer, naked and trusting, you realize you love him, all of him; and maybe, as well, you know that you won’t be able to resist him or follow his promise. In a heartbeat, you would give your life for his.

[foxymoxynoona]

omg I am in total shambles after the newest lowlander update!! (but really I always feel this way and by no means am I complaining at all, if anything it’s great because I love how life seems to stop for me when I read your stories!)

I was getting so worried that you’d decided to end the story early due to any response from yesterday’s chapter (or just because you wanted to) I think it definitely served as a great potential ending for anyone who needed it at this point, although personally I’m still excited to see it through until the ‘real’ end!

I feel kinda conflicted about m’s ‘powers’, (dragon-dream skills) because while yes, her dreams were somewhat taken into consideration by some members of the hold during her time with jk, I feel like maybe if the hold treated her better they would’ve been able to somehow notice or predict that she has some sort of power that was perhaps dormant or not tapped into before? idk this was just another thing that made me feel for m, so much could’ve been different if people from the hold simply treated her with a bit of respect or decency :( if anyone actually gave her the time of day rather than looking down on her, beating her, treating her as a slave etc maybe she might’ve been very powerful for good things rather than revenge!

sometimes I get frustrated with myself because I very frequently find myself unintentionally feeling sad for several characters who, when I really think about it, do not completely deserve it... but yes, my heart did go out for jk fighting alone and then witnessing the dragon attack and yes, I did find myself wishing that he would be okay after reading that it would be unlikely for him to survive the thane. yes, my heart did also go out a lil for his mother and even though at times she’s been downright evil to poor m, I found myself hoping she was okay too. yes, I even felt bad for everyone travelling with m too, despite knowing that her words, that were likely hard for them to swallow, were true. agh I feel like I’m one of the gods in this story watching everything unfold and feeling sorry for everyone but the thane!

I just think how you’ve come up with such an intricate, dramatic, intense and unpredictable plot is amazing, I’m really in awe! so far, I have never been able to predict anything correctly in this story lol but I love it because you always find a way to surprise and impress me!

hope you take as much time as you need to unwind after blessing us with so much amazing content, I can’t imagine what it must be like to own your brain/to have your imagination and know what’s to come next in all of your stories; I think if I had access to your brain power and imagination I wouldn’t be able to rest for weeks!! anyway, thanks again and have a great weekend, 🧩

My brain wears me tf out, LOL. But at least now I focus it in writing instead of it just locking me in daydreams all the time!

I don’t think it’s a bad thing to sympathize with everyone even when they don’t “deserve” it! I’m that way too; I’m overly forgiving, but you can always drawn the line before actually forgiving people, and recognize that they need to make reparations while also feeling bad about how things are going for them. I think that’s a lovely way to be.

As for the dragon dream powers and whatever that means, it’s definitely something Thekla and her ghosties had an inkling of but did not take advantage of quickly enough. Agreed, that could have been so useful for them, if only people had not looked at her through this dismissive lens from the beginning!

[chemtrailsovertheclub]

old poems v1.

here you go. dated august-september 2019 or so.  

my brain is a conglomeration of suffering it is everything it's all in my head though. by the time it shows on the physical, the damage is done, the war has been won and i am not victorious, maybe i won a few battles but ultimately i gave more than i gained from all the agonizing pain it's all in my head though.

i don't have a sense of identity and i don't have very much empathy because i feel so much to begin with how am i supposed to take on your problems too? i don't want to hurt you that's the last thing i ever wanted to do but so i push you far away and i don't say the things that haunt me because i know you feel so much empathy i can't have your hurt be because of me so i push you away

it's all in my head though. it's not a real problem. i'm perfectly fine. and i live a lie.

-

you make my heart beat go faster and the time goes slower and i feel my heart get closer and it melds into yours for hours that seem like years so when you go and i'm left alone my heart craves you my mind misses you my body is cold our love grows old and i worry it'll never be renewed

you are my drug, my medicine, my addiction my confliction of interest, of distress, of wondering what will come next my love, my joy, my shining light, my star so bright, those lakeside nights, those neck side bites, those streetside lights, those endless nights, those endless nights

-

i don't know what you want from me i don't have any sympathy for your self made misery

i don't know what world you live inside, all you seem to do is hide maybe you should step outside

into the light i promise it's not too bright i promise it's not a fight i promise if you'd just try you'd see just why life isn't just suffering until you die.

-

it's fine, pretending you're divine, that life is great, you feel no hate, there's no need to do a thing did i mention life is great?

it's a shame there's no one to blame for all the ways you bleed from your very own knives what a surprise! you take so many lives, why not your own? when you're finally all alone, when everyone you ever cared for is gone, when you've pushed them all away, i promise i won't say i told you so don't you know?

it's fine, pretending you're divine, that life is great, you feel no hate, there's no need to do a thing did i mention life is great?

black like mold the staleness you bring to the air gets old darkness and decay only leave so many words to say statements of agony proof you're not okay, proof that there's no way, you're ever going to change

-

i like the way you make feel at home like i do when i'm all alone i like the way you love me with all of your fragile heart like it won't get broke, like what all i said was a joke i knew it from the start, and every, day and night, it tears me a-part

i like the way you make me wanna run, away, never to be seen again by anyone of any concern, it's like i never learn, but they're my bridges to burn, it's my turn

it's not too hard to disappear, if you live your life running in fear if all you ever wanted was right there

i like the way i sing this song so soft and distraught when i let out my thoughts

i can't maintain my composure it's over exposure it's vulnerability it's me showing me for all the world to see and i can't take criticism very well and i didn't think this would go so well go so well can't you tell can't you tell? i burn my bridges before anyone can cross them but you must have swam, you must have swam because you made it across and what happens now? all my defenses are down. fire at will.

-

i want to bleed out every single ounce of my soul let it leak out of my body through each and every pore i crave liberation from my whole i would much rather be a piece of the puzzle than the whole fucking picture but here we are and the light, the light is blinding, and the darkness is consuming and the love is gone the love is gone. i am not at home in the one vessel i have for my spirit. can i get a replacement? is there a warranty on the carrier of my essence? dance with me and sing with me and drink with me and smoke with me and numb your feelings numb your pain numbness is satisfaction and as a matter of fact, satisfaction smells like worms in the rain.

-

i am a person for equality i am of a nationality that presents me with an easier way across the street, a paved path to walk on, the white privilege meant i could easily defeat, anyones suspicions, all your nonsense superstitions, all your tired inquisitions, all your conniving accusations, declarations, the satisfying sensations that you leave dripping down my throat

i feel everytime i forget to wear a winter coat, it is a message from you, a dream in the way it is afloat, it will never actually be perceived as more than glasses that need to be cleaned but no one told me the world wasn't this messy, i grew up in a world that's so numb to their feelings it's depressing. and the weather, it gets colder than i planned for, my jacket still probably lying on the kitchen floor, i am getting older and the blasphemous ones wear sheep's clothing, my mom is in the basement crying in the basement cause she's insecure, she's not sure she's worth anything, not a price at a bargain store, please close the door, oh please no more, i do implore have some sympathy for my dystopian society it's not predicted (but it is) it leaves me conflicted (i start to hiss) it leaves me afflicted (with all your sins) and i will not repent, for the message is best sent through a "i'm disappointed" by your closest parent.

i will not listen nor will i give in, when the chorus comes in, when the guards come in, when the cops come in, when the lights go out, when the last bit of tension building inside my cranium as your fingers instrument a destruction of the last thing you have finally learned to call home, for when you are alone who is there to judge you for not conforming when you are the whole, you are 100% of whatever you want to be and if one day you can wake up and finally see the reflection that stares back at me from the awkward first compliments to the snarky half-assed arguments that ended with my sticking out my tongue at you and kissing you and forgiving you because no one is perfect and i am sorry, i am sorry i created a pedestal for you in my head, you know some days i'd rather be dead, or at least just in a coma something to give me a moment i got my highschool diploma like you said i was supposed to you said, nothing.

i didn't really plan to live this long. how could the world have done me so wrong? trying to teach me a lesson? but here i am just stressin? my fight or flight reactions actin up, i think i'm coming up, i think i've had enough, i think i'm kinda fucked up, someone get me off this ride i can't decide for the life of me why i get no sympathy, like the simple fact of my humanity, negates my value as a human being. i am seething, soon no newborn babies will be teething because the majority of people i ask on the street, seem to agree that this world ain't so organized and neat, and the people here all be trying to compete, trying to delete, any trace of their origins or else how are they supposed to make their fortune releasing an autobiography with insights the one and only, the prized show pony, the don't leave me i'll be lonely, the if you could see me maybe you'd tread slowly, maybe you'd consider the possibility that you are not everything a human can be, sure it is possible, but you sir are making me rethink making me wonder making me more aware, more scared, more fear, more here, less beer, more liquor and it's getting quicker to take a shot or two or three down my throat and the warmth has finally become an expected gift, it's not something i try to shift away from my body, it's not naughty to want to feel comfortable in your own flesh, you are some combination of all your physical features but most importantly you are a culmination of your choices, of every single one of the voices that you decide were worthy of being heard for a change, i know they may sound strange when they first start on the stage, but look at them, they are acting their age they are being vulnerable they are feeling satisfied without eating till they're beyond the limits of full, they are complete before you two even meet and if you refuse to give her the heat, the intensity, the devotion, the endless flowing fountains of emotion, she gives you all of hers if you just would pick her a pretty flower.

so what if, we were to develop a place where the motif, the reason for the season, the blinding sheet in which they are not told they are a project, no for once, they are not simply something someone has likely forgot, can't you see how i'm falling, desperate and distraught death is sometimes a thought, quite a lot. but instead i make a scrapbook, i get a pretty one, i make it fun, i try to make unburdening all the weights others put on my back a thing i do everyday but it's so much easier to say, to delay, to just offer "how much do i need to pay", what feminine figure of weakness do i need to portray so you can save her? every page has effort and time put into it and just because you're not as into it as that little girl fantasizing about that imaginary world doesn't mean you can't for one second for one, humble, moment, for one silent showing of hands, of all those who have demands from the dead, they must be read, we do not judge nor hold any grudge for the ending will be the same, no matter what personality we choose to play the game today.

[mysticdragon3md3]

The Meaning of Death: BoJack Horseman vs. The Good Place by Wisecrack

When they started talking about “all books have endings”, I couldn’t help but think of comic books, going on and on and on.  Before I switched to manga, I read American comic books, americomi.  So it was a shock to me, to get into one of my first favorite manga series and reach its end.  No rolling into new writers, artists, or storylines.  Just “this is the end of the series”.  And yes, it was nice to have a story so cohesive---with repeating motifs, foreshadowings, properly placed milestones of emotional progression, a perfectly unfolded theme(s)---because CLAMP had an ending in mind, even when they gave Rayearth a sequel series.  But when that first series ended, I didn’t know what to do.  Magic Knight Rayearth had taken up so much real estate in my brain’s fangirling, that I didn’t know what to do with it gone. I felt an empty spot, that was pretty big.  And years later, when Ranma 1/2 ended, there was melancholy and loss too.  ...Though, Ranma 1/2′s open-ended  “ending” to the manga felt reassuring, that Ranma and Akane were still out there, up to their antics.  But I think when that manga ended, some small part of me was still a little unsatisfied with the lack of finality.  Though compared to the vast majority of fans, it was a very small part.  I was actually very happy to feel like Ranma and Akane were still out there.  Even if their further adventures were only in our imaginations.  But yeah, it’s got nothing on americomi that has gone on for years and years and decades.  LOL

I watched Bojack but not the Good Place, so I thought I’d stop watching this video before spoilers.  But I don’t think this is even the first video essay on The Good Place, that I forgot to check out of before spoilers.  Whatever.  I used to be immune to spoilers.  My immunity has gone down, but I still feel that a series is as good as the experiences of its moments, vs just knowing what happens in the plot and the end.  I want a series/movie/story that feels good to re-watch, because the individual scenes are good experiences, in and of themselves.  So what do a few little spoilers---like plot points---matter?  lol  

And maybe that explains why I never liked the idea that death gives life meaning.  It sounds like the moment to moment experiences are negated or invalid.  If you’re suffering, it “doesn’t matter” because death will make it end and that will be meaningful in some retroactive symbolic way. If you’re enjoying a moment, then it “doesn’t matter” unless it’s eventually ripped away from you, or you or someone else eventually suffers.  Maybe it’s the suicidal depressive in me that doesn’t like the invalidation of the hells or heavens of each daily, “mundane” moment.  Once my sister and I watched a suicide scene in a movie and she didn’t understand why the character did it because he was happy in his relationship.  I just told her cryptically, “It’s an artist thing.”  Maybe I didn’t want to actually talk about the fear of good moments turning bad or wanting to seemingly stay in good moments by making life cut off right there.  Not that I agreed with the character. (Personally, I think death/suicide is for ending and resting from the never-ending suffering that is existence.)  He could have continued on, having many more good moments, he couldn’t have possibly imagined with his significant other.  My sister was right.  Death doesn’t give anything meaning.  It’s like what dream-Herb said in Bojack Horseman, “It’s just your brain trying to make sense of things.”  That’s just what human brains do.  But the comforting interpretations of people left behind doesn’t make anything better or worse for the person who had the actual experiences.  Maybe my problem with the idea  “can’t enjoy anything without it eventually ending” (or even “no light without darkness and no good without evil”), is because it probably plays into the same anxious insecurity that I have to deal with in real life.  I’d like to be able to feel secure in good things/experiences staying and not being called “invalid” unless it has an end in sight.  I’d much prefer for things to evolve.  Even if they transition so much that they’re no longer recognizable from the original, then at least each state was gradual and the necessary fit for each corresponding situation.  I’d prefer that good moments be appreciated, instead of being told they’re invalid unless they have an ending.  And I’d prefer bad moments stop, vs being told it has meaning, like the universe giving you “tough love” so you can learn to become “stronger” or whatever.  Sometimes shitty situations/feelings are just shitty.  And anyway, there’s no guarantee that everyone reacts the same enough to predict whether “tough love” will yield a “toughened up spirit” or a traumatically scarred mentality; the only certainty is that the dispenser of “tough love” is being callous, discompassionate, and often trying to make excuses to “allow” such abuse.  If there’s anything that’s given me the closest understanding of objecting to “the ends justify the means”, it’s my objection to the implication that the day-to-day daily moments don’t matter unless Death.  Like Cloud said in FF7AC, “There’s nothing that isn’t important.” 

Though I can be a little bit of a nihilist about life never having any inherent meaning, I actually just like the ideas that life can be given meaning and that there’s nothing cheap about that manufactured meaning.  (Who told that allegory about a man-made fire to sit by, being just as good as a fire that came out of no where?)  Even though I haven’t watched The Good Place, I like a lot of stories/series about immortality, my Personal Myth uses it a lot in Thought Experiments, and I do like muddling over such themes accompanying immortality.  I feel, just like a truly enjoyable movie/series/manga, the value is in the experiences of scenes and moments.  So what if you already have experienced everything for yourself and know how everything is going to end or know what patterns are going to repeat forever?  You don’t know what a moment feels like to someone else.  One of the tragic failings of language is that humans will still never be able to communicate their exact experiences to each other, no matter what the means of conveyance.  Anything short of a psychic hive mind is still inadequate communication, even that could be considered a singular being who doesn’t know how to communicate to other entities.  (Not without some trial and error, like in Eureka 7.)  It would be just the same as like individual humans to individual humans.  But maybe I just find an unusual amount of value and joy in experiencing things by proxy or from the outside.  Maybe it’s because I’m oversensitive and the bluntness of actually having first-person experiences is too intense for me.  But I enjoy watching someone else having an experience or even just imagining how they experience something, even if I myself have experienced it a zillion times.  Like when I watch an anime I already saw, in a video room with other people at a convention, or listen to reaction videos of a scene or movie I’ve already seen.  No matter how jaded I’ve become to the event, watching someone else have an experience and me trying to imagine what it must feel like for them, reminds me of how I felt when I first experienced the same thing.  But not just a recall; rather, the feelings actually re-manifest as a full emotional experience in and of themselves.  Not just a recollection of events in a plot.  Of course, a whole group of immortals jaded with their own experiences could become too dependent and addicted to the need for fresh people to have experiences for them to re-experience things freshly, by proxy...  ^.^;  There’s just something irrevocably new each time, to dealing with someone who isn’t already experienced with everything.  And all because no matter how jaded and “been there, done that” you’ve become, you still have to be kind and empathetic to other people.  Like when I was a teacher’s aid for 3 year olds, for 6 years.  I wonder if empathy is the reason why watching someone else’s experience, second-hand, by proxy, can be just as intense as a first-hand experience.  I wonder if the writers of The Good Place or all the philosophers cited would have had the notion that “once you’re jaded to your own experiences, there’s nothing else to experience”, if they were neuroatypical?  Where any of them HSPs?  And I don’t think that using other people as proxies for reinvigorating re-experiences is the only use of inexperienced people.  I think that genuinely caring for their emotions, not knowing what they’re going to do when you interact with them, having hopes that they’ll experience things well, and adjusting your interactive tactics to help guide them to good experiences, is instinctually emotional each time.  Or maybe my brain is just weird to care too much whenever someone is standing in front of me in real life.  But I really don’t think it’s just me.  As proof, there’s a lot of problems in the world caused by people ONLY caring about people in front of them in real life, so it can’t be that uncommon.  So then why get so jaded after depleting your own experiences?  Am I saying that mentorship is the “ultimate answer”?  lol  I dunno. But it would explain why people like raising children, even children not their own, when working as teachers.  In my Personal Myth, my main character is spiritually dying inside because she’s immortal and life is a never-ending hopeless trudge, that she no longer has the Strength to improve.  So she hopes instead for death, as a lazy way out.  But continually, new people she meets, and new experiences with old people she’s met before, keep pointing to the answer being to return to the Fight, the everyday battle to continuously improve.  After all, even in the jaded mindset, apparently perfection is still unattainable, because even complacency and satisfaction can spoil into stagnation.  So the answer was in the “martial arts anime” genre all along.  That must be why it always rung true enough for me to encounter it again, seeing the same tenants repeated in the artist community.  “Continual self-improvement”, “compare to your past self, not to others”, “progression is only measured by your own path, not someone else’s years of experience or natural talent”, “fear stagnation and complacency”, “be more concerned with self-improvement vs aggrandizing your ego”,  “recognize the True Strengths of Compassion vs Power”, etc.  Whether art or in anime martial arts, existence is a never-ending battle, constantly teetering on the edge of falling, then gritting your teeth to climb back up, again and again.  There’s always so much to do in existence, how can any humans get bored?  Maybe being jaded is less about having nothing new left to experience or do.  Maybe it’s more about being too tired to contract and expand to adjust to other people? Or just being too tired to overcome the fear that nothing will be different, no matter what you do or what happens, enough to stop trying?  Maybe I’m just falling into human cliches to value Evolution.  Or maybe that’s just the necessary value of anything living.  “Sometimes life is a bitch, but then you keep living,” to paraphrase what Diane said in Bojack Horseman.  Believing that Living and being truly Alive has to be about constantly evolving, both spiritually and mentally, is probably necessary for my survival as a living being.  Evolved into instinct, out of necessity.