#refusing heaven: poems

[whisperthatruns]

Beyond Pleasure

Gradually we realize what is felt is not so important (however lovely or cruel) as what the feeling contains. Not what happens to us in childhood, but what was inside what happened. Ken Kesey sitting in the woods, beyond his fence of whitewashed motorcycles, said when he was writing on acid he was not writing about it. He used what he wrote as blazes to find his way back to what he knew then. Poetry registers feelings, delights and passion, but the best searches out what is beyond pleasure, is outside process. Not the passion so much as what the fervor can be an ingress to. Poetry fishes us to find a world part by part, as the photograph interrupts the flux to give us time to see each thing separate and enough. The poem chooses part of our endless flowing forward to know its merit with attention.

Jack Gilbert, Refusing Heaven: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)

[aedearly]

✎ . . . 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑨 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑹.

₊˚⊹ a collection of loose poem verses, quotes or lyrics from various books and chansons. most were written originally in portuguese or french, and were translated to english by me. some are extracted from personal poems, as well! they all have some type of religious reference/motif. writing/roleplaying prompts. from fluff to angst and suggestive! feel free to edit as you see fit.

❝ i never felt more alive than when you called me your angel. ❞ ❝ saints above help me… don’t look at me like that. ❞ ❝ admit it, you’d have taken a bite out of eden, too. ❞ ❝ what are you waiting for? pray. ❞ ❝ confess. repent. repeat. ❞ ❝ for you? i will be any believer you want me to be. ❞ ❝ run away with me, where no gods can find us. ❞ ❝ i begged for a miracle. instead, i got you. ❞ ❝ you smell like the devil. ❞ ❝ where is your faith now? ❞ ❝ call me a sinner. ❞ ❝ the way you call my name sounds like heresy. ❞ ❝ in your gaze, i find my prayers answered. ❞ ❝ your lips are scriptures i long to memorise. ❞ ❝ even silence feels sanctified like this. ❞ ❝ when you embraced me, i felt like i was cradled by divinity. ❞ ❝ i do not wish for the stars to hear us now. ❞ ❝ meet me at our shared altar, where our ghosts can dance. ❞ ❝ kiss my hand. make me feel holy. ❞ ❝ your love feels like a fallen angel’s curse. ❞ ❝ please, can’t you be my sanctuary tonight? ❞ ❝ should i kneel and beg you to look at me again? as if you’re a saint? ❞ ❝ worship does not come cheap. ❞ ❝ must i pay for my sins? cry for forgiveness? ❞ ❝ hate me, blame me, crucify me; just please don’t walk away. ❞ ❝ i do not know how else to love you if not like a sinner. ❞ ❝ you were my redemption; now you are my ruin. ❞ ❝ the weight of your absence is my penance to bear. ❞ ❝ i built cathedrals of dreams, and you razed them to dust. ❞ ❝ you’re a hymn that haunts my mind at midnight. ❞ ❝ you left me bleeding for you, devoted—abandoned. ❞ ❝ i prayed to forget you, but even the heavens refused. ❞ ❝ do not tempt me with your promises. ❞ ❝ hellfire has nothing to your touch. ❞

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: Names for the Devil

The word devil comes from the Greek diábolos, which literally means “slanderer.” The Spanish diablo and the adjectival diabolical also come from this word.

Satan

Perhaps the most well-known name for the Devil is Satan.

This name appears repeatedly in the Bible, such as in Luke 22:3 when the Devil is blamed for Judas Iscariot’s betrayal of Jesus Christ: Then entered Satan into Judas surnamed Iscariot, being of the number of the twelve.

The name Satan is recorded in English before the year 900.

The English word comes through the Greek Satán from the Hebrew word śātān meaning “adversary.”

Ash-Shaytān (Shaitan)

The Devil appears in Muslim scripture as well.

Comes from the Arabic al-Shaytān and is etymologically connected to the English Satan. The “ash” or “al” indicates that one is talking about the Devil (with a capital D) as opposed to a devil or demon.

The name Ash-Shaytān has several different variants in Arabic, including Shaytan, Shaitan, and Sheitan.

Iblis

Often used to tell the story of the origin of the Devil.

According to the Qur’an, God commanded all the spirits to bow before Adam, but a spirit named Iblis refused.

For this blasphemous act, Iblis was cast down from Heaven.

Iblis is actually a source of debate among Islamic scholars and thinkers. Some consider Iblis to be a fallen angel or archangel. Others count him as a jinn (a spirit that is lower in rank than an angel), usually the jinn that fathered all of the others.

The name Iblis comes through Arabic from the Greek diábolos, that same word that is also the origin of the word devil.

Lucifer

Often a source of debate among Biblical scholars.

In the Bible, the story of a fallen angel is mentioned in Ezekiel 28 and Isaiah 14.

According to the Bible, this angel became so vain and proud that he thought himself above God. As punishment for his wickedness, the angel was cast out of Heaven and into the dark pit of the Earth so that he would be even lower than humanity. In translations of the Bible, such as the King James Version, this angel’s name is said to be Lucifer.

The Bible does not say that this angel Lucifer is the same being as Satan. That connection was popularized by poet John Milton in his famous epic poem Paradise Lost (1667), which tells the story of the fallen angel Lucifer becoming Satan after a failed rebellion against God during a War in Heaven.

Paradise Lost is so popular that its depiction of Satan still heavily influences modern depictions of the Devil and the lore many people associate with him.

The name Lucifer comes from Latin and means “morning star” or can be literally translated as “light bringing.”

In classic mythology, Lucifer was the name of the planet Venus, which was personified as a man holding a torch.

Prince of Darkness

This name for the Devil appeared in Paradise Lost, as well as William Shakespeare’s King Lear (1606).

In the Bible, God is often associated with light, while the Devil, the opposing force, is often associated with darkness.

The Devil has turned away from God’s light and embraced the darkness of sin.

Prince of Darkness, then, accurately describes the Devil’s role as the ruler of the darkest darkness that is the pits of hell.

A few other names for the Devil, such as the Lord of Darkness or the Dark Lord, similarly give the Devil a diabolical-sounding title.

The Serpent

Largely based on Genesis 3, wherein Eve is tempted by a talking snake to eat the forbidden fruit. Although the Bible doesn’t explicitly say so, popular biblical interpretation is that this serpent was actually the Devil.

This belief that the lying snake was the Devil was the reason behind his many other duplicitous names, such as the Deceiver, the Tempter, or the Father of Lies.

The Devil seems to enjoy taking the form of nefarious lizards, as he is said to take the form of a gigantic dragon in the Book of Revelation. This explains another of his reptilian nicknames, the Dragon.

Old Nick

An informal nickname for the Devil that has been used since the 1600s.

Although there are many theories where this name came from, nobody can say for certain. This one is surprising given that Old Saint Nick (or Nicholas) is a commonly used nickname for Santa Claus, who is about as far away from the Devil as you can get.

Interestingly, though, there is a bit of a connection between these two in the form of Krampus, a terrifying goat-demon creature who, according to European legend, emerges during Christmastime to beat naughty children or bring them to hell.

The Devil’s age inspired a few other nicknames, such as Old Scratch and Old Harry, which also focus on his long lifespan.

Belial

In the Bible, the name Belial is used to directly refer to the Devil in 2 Corinthians when it is used to contrast the Devil as being the evil to Jesus’s good.

Used throughout the Old Testament to describe wicked or sinful people as being men, children, and sons/daughters of Belial, meaning that they have turned away from God and serve the Devil.

Comes from the Hebrew bəliyyaʿal and is equivalent to a combination of the words bəlī (without) and yaʿal (worth).

Used in the Bible to say that a person embodies wickedness and is therefore “worthless” in the sense that they only take from others by performing evil deeds.

Beelzebub

Used to refer to the Devil himself or another devil that serves under him.

Appears in the New Testament in the Gospels of Luke, Matthew, and Mark.

According to the Bible, some onlookers accused Jesus of having the power to exorcise demons because he serves Beelzebub, who is said to be “the chief of devils.” Jesus assures the people that his power comes from God and not Satan.

Comes from the Hebrew bá`al zebūb, which literally translates to “lord of flies.”

In popular culture, Beelzebub is often depicted as a horrifying fly demon when he is considered to be a separate being from the Devil.

Apollyon

Mentioned in Revelation 9:11 and is used to refer to a king of demons.

The Bible names Apollyon as “the angel of the bottomless pit” and states the name Apollyon is the Greek name for the being known in Hebrew as Abaddon.

Common interpretation of this passage says that Apollyon is Satan or a powerful demon that serves him.

As the Bible hints at, the name Apollyon comes from the Greek apollýōn, which is a participle of the verb apollýnai meaning “to destroy.”

The name Abaddon comes from the Hebrew ăbhaddōnōn, which means “destruction.”

Whoever Apollyon/Abaddon is, they are also often referred to as the Destroyer.

Mammon

Appears in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew when recounting one of Jesus’s sermons. Jesus uses this term to refer to the wicked greed and desire for wealth. He states that it is impossible to serve both God and mammon.

As time went on, writers would interpret this passage to mean that Jesus was talking about a demonic entity named Mammon that embodied wealth and obsessive greed.

Comes from the Aramaic māmōnā, which means “riches” or “wealth.”

Legion

The name of a demon or a group of demons that Jesus encounters in the Gospels of Luke and Mark. Jesus asks a demon who is possessing a man their name and receives the famous answer of “My name is Legion: for we are many.”

The name Legion comes from the Latin legiōn, which refers to a body of soldiers.

Ancient Rome was famous for its legions (of soldiers) that made it a dominant military power.

Azazel

Used in translations of the scapegoat ritual as mentioned in Leviticus 16.

According to the account of the ritual, a goat would be offered to God and a second goat bearing the sins of the people would be offered to Azazel.

This being known as Azazel is also referred to as “the scapegoat.”

Interpretations of this passage would suggest that Azazel was some kind of demonic entity, possibly even the Devil himself.

Mephistopheles

Comes from the German legends of Faust.

In the legends, Faust is bored with life and pleads to the Devil to give him knowledge and pleasure. Happy to oblige, a demon named Mephistopheles appears before Faust. Depending on the story, this Mephistopheles is either the Devil himself or a devil who works for him.

Either way, Faust makes a deal with the Devil and gets the sinful pleasure he wants in exchange for his soul and an eternity in hell.

The Antichrist

Only briefly mentioned in the Bible in First and Second Epistles of John as some kind of being that is acting in opposition to Jesus.

However, the role of the Antichrist would be expanded on in other Biblical texts and by many Christian writers.

In most versions, the Antichrist is imagined as an unholy opposite to Jesus Christ; the Antichrist is a being that will bring sin and damnation to mankind.

It is said that the arrival of the Antichrist will signal the end of the world.

In modern depictions, the Antichrist is frequently imagined as the son of Satan, mirroring how Jesus is the son of God.

More Devils and Demons

While Satan is the Devil, he doesn’t rule alone in his fiery pit of hell.

He has many devils that work under him, gleefully spreading evil and corrupting humanity. More words used to describe these infernal denizens of hell:

devil

demon

fiend

imp

succubus

incubus

jinn

The Devil is often said to have many lesser demons that help him rule over hell. The names of these were catalogued in the Dictionnaire Infernal (1818).

Some interesting names include Belphegor, Lamia, Astaroth, and Garuda.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ��� References for Poets ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[mswyrr]

I don't think of the ending of Conclave as a separate, tacked on twist. I see it as the natural culmination of the themes and theological argument of the story. For me, it went along with the reminders of women's subordinated status throughout and the necessity of Sister Agnes for the Spirit to move - what are these hard lines used to limit and demean people? The work of men, not God. In God's eyes, "There is neither... slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one" (Gal 3:28).

What are these supposedly bright lines by which we decide who is worth more than another? Where are they located exactly? Chromosomes? Certain tissues of the body shaped in a particular way? In the mind? Where? Do they truly make sense when we look at the sheer diversity of "God's creation"? Is this a world of simple dichotomies or is that what we humans crave and impose?

Lawrence seeks after the divine, which doesn't actually fit neat human labels, and saw it in someone. In seeing it, he was challenged to expand his understanding. Benitez is, like all people according to Lawrence's beliefs, made in the image of God. Is he willing to perceive something of God he's not comfortable with?

For Lawrence, it's about having the grace to be able to love beyond those limits. He truly wants something beyond him to come down and touch him. He reminds me of this one poem: "I want heaven to descend and sit on My dinner plate / and so do you./ I want God to put His steaming arms around Me / and so do you" (Anne Sexton, "Jesus Dies"). But when heaven descends and sits on your dinner plate, it is not, cannot be, an easy experience. It challenges him.

Before him is an image of God in a shape and life history he has not been taught to recognize or understand. But he will try to love and move with this impossibility, beyond his fear and confusion. It's an act of humility over the sin of certainty - instead of telling another human being (the image of God!) you should take X shape, you should make Y kind of sense, and if you don't I'll hurt you -- he opens his heart. He loves this person and he loves God too, who came down and refused to be simple or easy. "Whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen" (1 John 4:20).

From a more universal pov: what is all the horror and domination and death we see around us but a violent and twisted refusal to see ourselves as one - part of the same biosphere, part of each other? What is the bigotry we see capturing so many minds but a refusal to see each other--in religious or humanist terms--as *sacred* parts of something beautiful - nature or the divine or both? Powerful men seek to dismember humanity and the planet to deny "you are all one". Ordinary bigots look at the sacred in another person and, if that person doesn't take the precise shape that they want, they try to hurt and destroy them instead of expanding their understanding.

The final "twist" is a deep, spiritual and philosophical repudiation of that. The whole story was something I needed, but particularly that. We can embrace the light in each other, without trying to control or dim it. We can have the courage to love beyond our understanding and find grace in that. To let our sense of the sacred, in whatever forms that takes, speak to us instead of trying to make it the instrument of our own ego.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Too Sweet

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Drabble

Summary: You and Wednesday were simply night and day, contrasting personalities preventing any chance of pursuit

Warning(s): No dialogue, pining!Wednesday, & no pronouns but the word 'goddess' is used once

Notes: Based off of 'Too Sweet' by the lovely Andrew Hozier, this song feels wenclair coded - hopefully I get the energy to edit them to it one day. This is my first time writing for Wednesday, so constructive criticism is more than welcome, and much appreciated! 🙏 (as it always is)

Wednesday despised you. She loathed every fiber of your being, every word you spoke, every path you chose. Yet no matter how deep her hatred for you ran, it was all out of pure spite.

You were close friends with Enid, so inevitably that meant you and Wednesday often found yourselves in the same atmosphere. Sometimes you and Enid would have sleepovers and it did not take long for Wednesday to discover you were an early bird opposed to her late night writing sessions. 

You always looked so peaceful while resting. How do you sleep so well? Wednesday wondered. What do you dream about? It’s silly and utterly ridiculous, she knows. But her mind can’t help but stray when it comes to you. You have shown your own concern when it comes to the Addams’ erratic sleep schedule, if you could even classify it as one. You have always said to others—including Wednesday—to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. 

You wake up to watch the sunrise;  it was repulsing how rottenly pure that is. You were drunk on life, a poet—but far from Wednesday’s brand. You had a bright perspective; it was naive, yet wholesome. Your poetry revolves around the optimistic, steadfast side of life—while Wednesday’s consists of more realistic themes such as death, betrayal, and eternal heartbreak. It was a drastic contrast.

Wednesday could never bear such a naive way of life, so she simply doesn’t understand how you do. It was such a frustrating thought, the way you went about. Don’t you just want to wake up dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? You lived such a reserved life in her eyes; treating your mouth as if it's heaven’s gate, your body like it’s the TSA. 

She wasn’t oblivious to the glances you spared her; it was an internal battle refusing to meet them. But there were consequences. Wednesday has seen horrific things, things she believes would force a person like you into abandoning their wide-eyed outlook on life; she refuses to be the one who corrupts you. She wishes she could go along, don’t get her wrong. You were a goddess on earth, inside and out; bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. Tooth rotting was what you were, but Wednesday did always deem herself a masochist. 

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe she’ll wait. But until that day, she’d rather take her whiskey neat, raw as the honey in your tea, and coffee black as the ink you use to craft your sugar coated poems. Your sweetness was too overwhelming for her to carry, the looks you gave her alone were laced in your perfection. 

Everything pointed to the evident conclusion; you’re too sweet for her.

-----------

A/N: I feel eh abt this one, but I need to experiment with Wednesday more if I wanna get used to writing for her

[emblazons]

"How many years I know I bare— I found something In The Woods somewhere."

Phoenixflare x Hozier's "In The Woods Somewhere" "Lost in the Woods" Secret Santa Prompt for @february13rose "In the poem, the protagonist finds himself in the woods, and is terrified by beasts until his love interest in Heaven sends a mentor to pull him out of the woods and set him back on the virtuous path he had lost." (x)

To me, this gifset is a very loose 'retelling' of Dante (Dion) moving through the "circles of hell," though primarily the version of the stories presented in Hozier songs (both In The Woods Somewhere, which these lyrics come from, and most of the phenomenal album Unreal Unearth: Unending, particularly Hymn to Virgil) which that draw very heavily on the imagery and themes of The Inferno, albeit in that more romantic way only Andrew Hozier Byrne can be. In my mind, we are following a Dion reflecting on the madness inflicted on him by Ultima, both the slow degradation of his confidence in his father and his ability—and how, after what he did in Twinside, he considers himself lost and unworthy of saving. At the start, he is waking to a version of himself he cannot face, one burdened by regret & a lack of desire to live–but who is slowly led back to "the surface" and forgiveness by "the voice from heaven" (Joshua), who is also in a way his Virgil in that he is the authoritative guide leading him through things he doesn't understand.

In my original vision, the ending of this set is a lot sadder—more in alignment with the tone of the game and Hymn to Virgil (where Dante refuses to leave hell because he won't leave Virgil, and...they are trapped in hell together lol). In this, he escapes that hell with Joshua (out of respect for Luna's desire for a happy ending), both because he #DeservesIt and also because of the Phoenix's proverbial and literal ability to "revive" him, whether through love or his powers. Either way, the redemption and forgiveness he desires is achieved through his alliance with Joshua–which is actually kinda like the story told in canon, at least to me!

Also, side note: the grid was done in reference to Dion’s talk of his gilded cage in the quest Clive does for him in the Hideaway. It just struck me as poignant to give to him here.

Hope you enjoy your gift! :)

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and I) | Last Part

Word Count: 13.8k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Summary: When you first met your boyfriend, it was love at first sight. No, more than that. It was love before you even met. It felt like you had known each other in another life and were meant to find each other again. 

But that's not actually true, is it? You and Beomgyu don't actually know each other from another life, and the dreams you've been having aren't memories of your past life either. That's ridiculous. 

But then why does Beomgyu get so defensive about them? And why does each dream feel more real than the one before? 

A/N: this is the sequel to my series YAMQN but I'm trying to write it in a way that it would be comprehensible to people who have never read YAMQN. The parts in italic are the dreams. 

Warnings: fem!reader, sub!gyu, dom!reader, dom!gyu, sub!reader, fingering, handjobs, missionary, doggy, mentions of previous noncon, yandere behaviour, violence, bodily harm, alienation

You still have the dreams, the memories, the torment. They never went away despite you trying your goddamn hardest. Your brain seems to conjure them up harder and more vividly the more you work to push them away. You don't know if Beomgyu knows this but he's beside you every possible second of every day, keeping you busy and helping to push it all away, or at least distract you from it. 

You've quit your job. Beomgyu isn't unreasonable. He will help you get another job, just as soon as you feel better. But not right now. You're not ready yet. You need rest and he makes sure you get it, devoting every second he's not at his job or getting you food and stuff you need to taking care of you.

He wanted you to move away, just pack your things and get away from this place that had brought you both such grief, but you couldn't go through with it. Not yet. You had freaked out when he suggested it, telling you it would do you good to get a fresh start and get away from Taehyun but you know he wouldn't be the only one you'd be getting away from. All your friends are here. Your family is here. And even though you're hardly seeing them right now, you know it wouldn't be right to completely uproot yourself from everything you've ever known except Beomgyu. Even though you'd promised to completely and fully devote yourself to only him, you know it can't be good for your already unstable mental state.

You tell him that you'd feel so terribly alone if you move away, especially when he goes to work. So he offers to quit his job to spend all his time with you, explaining that he has put aside some savings he could use for the time being but you still refuse. You tell him that you'd be horribly selfish to let him waste the little precious money he saved up just so he can babysit you but you don’t tell him about how much it scares you to cross that last boundary, to let him completely and utterly devour your entire life despite something at the bottom of your soul telling you to just give it to him.   

Beomgyu reassures you that he doesn’t mind. He wants to spend his money to make sure you're taken care of, but you still refuse. You stand your ground and hold onto the last shred of your life that is not his–for what? You don’t know–and he reluctantly lets it go, for now at least. 

Instead, he uses the time he does have with you to pamper you, feeding you breakfast in bed, getting you things to occupy your time while he's away, drawing baths for you when he gets home from work. It all feels so terribly familiar. The sense of deja vu choking you but Beomgyu is determined to mentally and physically push it all out of your mind and take its place instead. 

He only reads you happy poems and stories, only sings you cheerful love songs. You feel like he’s lulling you into a deep slumber. You're still where you've always been–your friends and family are still within reach, your old life is there to reclaim if you want to–but it's like he'd succeeded in putting a wall between you and the world just like he wanted, and it scares you that you can't tell if that is a good or bad thing. Maybe you should just give into him, fall into him and dissolve into his being until no one will ever be able to pull you apart again. 

You feel his fingers knead the skin of your shoulders as he sits behind you in the bathtub–once again using his free time after work to take care of you instead of giving himself a break after working hard all day. Bubbles and candles surround you, the calming scent of them permeating your brain like a drug, aided by the glass of wine in your hand, to lull you further into your slumber. You let out small hums of appreciation under Beomgyu's expert hands that seem to know you better than you know yourself. How does he know where exactly to touch to unwind a particular knot in your back or relieve a certain stress that has been nagging you for a while? All you have to do is sit there and sip your wine, letting the groggy feeling from the liquid combine with the blissful pleasure of Beomgyu's touch to submerge you deeper into a dreamy state that one day you may never wake up from. 

“There is this beach I was reading about online that I'd like to visit.” You tell him lazily and he chirps happily. He always gets so excited when you initiate any outings or dates to go on and it makes that familiar tender spot in your heart ache at how selfish you’re being. He tries so hard to make you happy and fill your life up with fun and exciting things to do to distract you from the loneliness, and yet you so rarely respond in kind. “Sure. Anything you want, my love.” 

You smile, hearing the relief in his voice, and you go on, a little more excitedly. “It's near that old medieval castle at the cliff top. It's very popular.” 

“Oh, that place.” His hands falter and you can feel a sudden strange chill in the air. “It's just an overrated touristy spot. I know plenty of other beaches that are better.”

You pout. You didn't expect his response. He is usually happy to do whatever you want and you had actually been looking forward to going to that particular beach for a while. “But I want to go there. The beach looks really nice and I thought I could even go explore that old abandoned castle with my prince.” You giggle, trying to crane your head back to send him a flirty look but the expression you find on his face wipes all hints of playfulness off yours.

“And I don't want to. Pick literally anywhere else.” His response is strangely irritated and you frown. You should probably drop it. He is right. There are plenty of nice beaches around. You don't have to go to that particular one. But something about his sharp refusal prompts you to dig more. Stupid girl. Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat? 

“Why do I need to when we can just go there?” You huff, tension creeping back into your shoulders. 

“I said no.” He rebuts with no explanation and your fiery temper sparks through the heavy fog that has been weighing on your brain. 

“Oh, you said no? Well then if Master says no then I guess that's the end of it.” You snap, your anger begging for you to let it catch fire.  

“Why are you being difficult? I thought you said you'd listen to me?” 

And just like it, he snuffs it all under his finger. You immediately shut down. How long is he going to hold that over your head? You've quit your job. You haven't spoken to Taehyun since then. You hardly see your friends. You stay home waiting for him like a dutiful little housewife. What more does he want from you? You know you've made a mistake. You know you promised to make it up to him and regain his trust, but surely asking to visit a stupid beach doesn't count as a potential breach of trust, does it? 

“Forget it.” You mumble, deflated. You were really looking forward to going there. The place looked super pretty online. It was one of the few places lately that have managed to get you excited at the prospect of visiting them. It held a certain vibrant draw to it when everything else seemed gray and dull in comparison. But you guess you can’t have even that.

You try to get out of the bath, no longer in the mood for intimate messages, but Beomgyu holds you back. Of course, he does. 

“Wait.” You hear Beomgyu sigh and let his hands drop to the water to circle around your waist and pull your body back against him, his lips kissing the junction between your neck and shoulder gently, apologetically. “I'm sorry, baby. I just have a bad feeling about that place. Can't you trust me on that?”

A bad feeling about the place? What the fuck does that mean? It’s just a beach, what could possibly go wrong there? 

Still, you hesitate. You didn’t think that anything could go wrong by being friends with Taehyun either and that Beomgyu was being overly jealous and paranoid but here you are. Maybe if you go there you'll fucking drown or something crazy like that.

You suppose you can give him that. You know if you had a bad feeling about a place, Beomgyu would not force you to go there. It probably wouldn’t be fun anyway if you make him go and he hates every second of it. You want to do something you both enjoy. 

But you really wanted to visit that place. Maybe you should go when he's at work… 

No. Just the idea of going out in public alone without Beomgyu makes you shudder. You can't handle being around people without Beomgyu's comforting presence to rely on. He's got you right where he wants you.

“Fine.” You say in a small voice, finally relenting. 

“Thank you, princess.” He sighs in relief and the tension in the air begins to dissipate once again. “I know you’re bored. I promise to take some time off work and take you on a nice vacation somewhere. How does that sound?”

“Okay.” You mumble unenthusiastically. 

“Come on. Cheer up.” He holds your jaw gently and turns you towards him, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that slowly turns sensual. 

“Beomgyu…” You whine into his mouth, the water shifting as you rub your thighs together. He will never not have an effect on you. You’re too weak for him. 

“I know, princess.” His hand drops between your legs, loosening you up. “I got you.”

His light touches are as strong as electric currents coursing through your veins, and before long, you find yourself squirming in his hold, pushing yourself closer to his touch while paradoxically trying to get away from the intense feeling at the same time. 

But he doesn’t let you. He throws his other arm over you, caging you into place as he takes a hold of your breasts, kneading them until your nipples have pebbled in need. 

“Baby…” You keen, pushing your breasts further into his hand, and crying out as he pulls one of your perked nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Relax for me, baby.” He hums, holding you in place as he works his fingers inside you. It stings a bit as the water dilutes your arousal but he throws your legs on either edge of the tub to give him more space for his fingers to easily breach your hole, the heel of his palm working in tandem to bring you to the edge so scarily fast that you barely even register the sharp bite of his teeth on your neck as he zealously marks you. “Let me take care of you.” 

It’s a spell–a bid to get you to let go, and it’s so hard to not give in when he makes it feel so damn good. 

You're so exposed like this. Even though there is no one here to see you but Beomgyu, it feels like the whole universe is watching him spread you open to his satisfaction and no amount of faux demurity would fool the universe into believing you're not a willing participant in all of this. It's hard to care about your debauched display when your orgasm was heating you up from the inside so much you feel like you might spontaneously combust. Why is it always so intense with him? How does he do it so well? 

You may never know but what you do know is that your orgasm was rolling towards you like the water rolling over the edge of the tub, sharp and sudden, and when it reaches you it threatens to take you under. But Beomgyu holds your head above the water as his relentless fingers continue to fuck you until you yield to his will. You break apart under his touch, forgetting about everything except him in those few moments, forgetting about the beach, the castle, Taehyun and everything you've lost–the only thing registering in your mind is Beomgyu's touch, Beomgyu's smell, Beomgyu's warmth.  

“Beomgyu, Beomgyu, Beomgyu!” You cry as your whole body convulses in his arms, yet it doesn't slip from his hold for even a second, and when you finally come down from your quaking orgasm, you're still in his hold but half of the bath water had spilled over the edge, exposing your skin to the chilly room air–a stark contrast to the searing heat of Beomgyu’s hard cock pressing against you lower back as he tries to subtly jerk himself off against you, and it's your turn to hold him in the palm of your hand.

His quiet desperation brings even more memories to mind, memories of prince Beomgyu needily humping you in frantic attempt to get off, secret exclamations of desire and forbidden love whispered hotly on the skin of your neck or ears or breasts as he mounts you like a dog in heat in a way that he makes sure to tell you is not befitting the image of a prince like him. 

But when you turn around, it's your Beomgyu you see there, a regular college student on the surface, though nothing about him is regular. Is he really even your Beomgyu? The image of him in front of you shimmering and wavering between the Beomgyu you know and prince Beomgyu, and you're not sure which one is real anymore.

“You’re perfect.” He tries to reach out to you but you put his hands on either edge of the bathtub. “Keep those there.”

“Baby–” He starts to whine but shuts up when you grab his submerged cock and start jerking him off roughly. More water splashes out of the tub but neither of you care. He'll clean it up after anyway and you don’t even feel guilty about it. 

“Please, please.” He cries pathetically as if you're the one in control.

“Please what?” You ask curiously as if you're expecting him to suddenly reveal something that would make sense of the tangled mess you've made of him in your mind. 

“Anything.” 

You snort. “God, if someone is to see you like this they'd think I never touch you. You've been cumming every day, in my hand, my mouth, my ass, my cunt, on my face, my tits, my back…”

“It's not enough.” He shakes his head, looking delirious. “Never enough.”

“Well if it's not enough then what's the point of me doing this?” You taunt, going to pull your hand away from him but his own hands quickly fly out to grab yours and put it back on his cock as his whole body springs forward to get close to you as if he could glue his body to yours so you can't escape. “No! Please!”

“Get your hands off me.” You growl and he quickly puts his hands back on the tub's edge, trying to appease you so you wouldn’t deny him, but it’s not enough. He has to feel as helpless as he makes you feel and so you push him away roughly, his head almost hitting the ceramic as his back meets the wall of the tub. 

“You can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?” You purr, raising your free hand to his chest to play with his nipples, making his back arch and his fingers turn as white as the ceramic they're gripping onto while your other hand twists over his cock. 

“Sorry.”

God, you hate hearing that false word fall out of his mouth. You're pretty sure Beomgyu has never been sorry for anything in his life. 

“Are you?” You challenge, squeezing your hand around the head of his cock tightly. “Are you really sorry?” 

“Princess?” He cocks his head to the side innocently, as if he has no idea what you’re talking about. God, how he drives you crazy. “Please, I’ve been good.” 

Has he? You can’t tell anymore. He's poisoned your mind so much you can't think straight. 

You sigh, jerking him off fast, hard, knowing that the only thing that can soothe your troubled mind right now is watching your tormenter–your everything–fall apart in your grip just like he had done to you over and over again. And he doesn't disappoint. 

“Fuck! Oh, gods, I'm so close.” 

“Gods?” You laugh. That’s new. “I'm your only god, baby.”

“Yeah… only you.” He easily agrees with whatever you say, no thoughts behind his big adoring eyes, his body lying limp in the bathtub, only his hips moving to meet your fist everytime it goes down to smack against his pelvis. “Wanna cum for you. Worked so hard for it.”

“You did, didn't you?” You coo, one of your thumbs brushing against his hard nipples while the other teases the slit of his leaking cock. “Worked so hard to take care of me. Just need a little bit of attention in return, don't you?”

He nods eagerly, his lewd unabashed moans echoing all around the small bathroom as his high builds and builds, not daring to snap without your divine order. “Please, please…”

“Poor baby.” You tsk, looking at the man laid out before you and knowing in your heart of hearts that he was far from innocent. 

Rotten. That's the word that comes to mind when you look at him and you can't put your finger on why. But then why does he still look so beautiful to you? 

“Cum for me, love.”

“Yes! Thank you!” He cries out, his cum shooting out of his cock and immediately dispersing in the soapy water, tainting it like he's tainted you but you can’t get yourself to get away from it, the same way you can't get yourself to get away from him. You're rotten too now.  

“I love you so much.” He slurs as his body sinks into the water. 

“I know.” You do. It's the only thing you can be sure of anymore in the confusing mess that has become your life. That and “I love you too.”

___________________________

“Taehyun, what are you doing here? How did you get this address?” Your slow dreamy life comes into sudden disturbing focus when you see the one person you've been hiding from standing right outside your door. But your barrage of questions can't stop him from pushing past you into the apartment and back into your life. 

“I got your address from Yujin.” He explains once he's in and you look around in worry. He shouldn't be here. You'd barely managed to convince Beomgyu not to hurt him when he found out you had kissed him. What is he going to do if he finds him alone with you in the apartment while he's at work? You can't even let yourself think about it. It's too terrifying. You need to get him out. Why the fuck would Yunjun give him your address? Is she doing this to get back at Beomgyu? To get back at you? 

“Please leave. Beomgyu is going to lose his shit if he sees you.” You tell him as if that's not the understatement of the century. But Taehyun doesn’t appear to be phased. 

“I know. He is very dangerous. That's why I'm here.” He tells you, calmly acknowledging your statement that would have anyone else possibly running for the hills. “I have to tell you something. I think you were right. I think the dreams are memories.” 

You freeze in your spot, all thoughts of getting him out of here suddenly put on the backburner. What the hell is he saying? Has he gone crazy too?

You have secretly, shamefully, been harboring that rotten suspicion for a while now. The dreams just all felt too real to just be dreams. Nothing that vivid, that detailed, could just be the product of a slumbering mind, right? Besides, it didn't even stop at the dreams. You were having these “recollections” even while you're awake now, but you don’t dare believe them to be real memories because what would that mean for you? Best case scenario is that you've officially lost your mind and worst case scenario is that all of those dreams and images actually are real and Beomgyu really did all those awful things. You did all those awful things for him. 

“What makes you say that?” You gulp, asking cautiously. This feels like one of those moments that could forever change the trajectory of your life and maybe if you keep a cool safe distance away, you'd come out of this unscathed.

“I have been having more of them too. They have been plaguing my every sleeping moment, my every waking moment. They’re driving me insane–” He looks up at you and his expression almost knocks you off your feet. You know that look all too well. You see it in the mirror every day now. It’s the look of someone feeling themselves going mad and hoping that they really are because the alternative is just too cruel to consider–all the grief, all the blood, all the loss. No, it’s simply too much to bear, and you can hear the same torment you’re running from twisting his voice as he goes on. “Memories of us together… we were married in your dreams, right?”

His face is afflicted with an agony so raw it lashes against your skin in thick, bitter strokes that leave you gasping.  You never told him that. How did he know that? Okay, calm down. Breathe. This doesn't mean anything. He just had a lucky guess. Nothing more. 

“Yeah.” You admit slowly, watching him cautiously as if waiting for a further attack from him, and he doesn't disappoint. 

“You left me for him.” He says, an accusation in his voice that makes you falter. He is speaking to you as if he’s now fully convinced that the dreams are true, as if you really were married and you’d left him for Beomgyu. 

“No!” It feels strange defending something that a possibly fictional, possibly real version of you may have done because she's not you!--or is she? You didn’t leave him but you did. You don’t have to answer for her crimes but you feel compelled to try to anyway. “I thought I was saving you.”

But that just makes him angry, his fury so deep it couldn’t possibly have just been born today. It feels ancient, the edge of it sharpening over centuries. “Don't lie. That's not why you left.”

“It is. I swear. I just wanted to save you. I wanted to save everyone.” Your words sound insane even to your own ears but they're tumbling out of your mouth before you can even fully process them, again feeling compelled to defend yourself. You don’t even understand half of what you’re fighting about–your only aid in this battle are half-formed images of a fabled previous life you don’t want to remember.

“You’re lying to yourself.” He spits out bitterly, his visage taking on a hue that makes him look much older than he actually is–that makes him look like the Taehyun from your dreams, afflicted by loss and death and forced to grow up way too quickly. And here he is again, aging years in the blink of an eye. “You knew how crazy he was. You knew he wouldn't stop and you didn’t care. You just wanted to go back to him. You never fucking cared.”

“I didn't. I swear to god–” The way his conversation was heading brings a fresh wave of nauseating deja vu crashing onto you. You shake your head, trying to dispel whatever Folie a deux you both seem to have fallen victim to. You need to pull the plug on this insanity before you completely lose your mind. 

“Forget it. This is insane. Those memories aren't real. We're just working ourselves up into a frenzy. My brain has obviously sprung up all that shit out of my anxiety regarding me and Beomgyu's relationship, and after I told you about them, you started dreaming them up too.” You narrow your eyes at him as you attempt to rationalize your way through this mess, “Or you're taking advantage of my obvious mental instability to convince me to ditch my boyfriend to be with you.”

That must be it. It's the only explanation that makes sense and you try to hold onto it like a woman drowning, but Taehyun refuses to let you. 

“For fuck's sake, woman, wake up!” He grabs you by the shoulder and shakes you as if he could forcefully shake off the walls of denial you’ve been trying to build around yourself. “It's me. We've been reincarnated again for some sick reason and we're forced to relive everything we've done again, just in a different setting. Maybe it's a punishment. Maybe it's a test to see if we would choose differently. Choose right.”

“And the right choice is you?” You ask and he scoffs, looking affronted by the mere idea of there being a question about it. “It clearly isn't him. After all he's done to you. He imprisoned you. He raped you… He killed you.”

He looks as if he doesn't fully realize what he'd said until he’d said it, as if the returning memory was compelling his tongue to speak before it's been fully realized in his brain, and as the memory passes through him to you, you suddenly feel a sharp, piercing pain in your abdomen. It only lasts for a second but it draws the breath right out of you. For that second it feels like your soul is being carried away on that breath and you panic at the terrifyingly all too familiar sensation of dying. No. No. No.

But just as suddenly as that breath was exhaled, it was shoved back into your chest when Taehyun covers the phantom wound with his hand. Your own hands quickly clasp around his, and your eyes widen in a gruesome realization. 

“He killed our baby.” You whisper, your face suddenly wet with tears you didn't realize were there. Oh god. You're the dead ex-girlfriend, aren't you? There was never anyone else. It was always you.

“He did. He wasn’t going to let anyone have you if he couldn’t. Even your own child.” Taehyun says, allowing a painful melancholy back into his voice. “So he stole you from the world.” 

You and Taehyun slowly and fearfully piece together this traumatic past life you seemed to share, some details you had already recalled before while others were triggered by Taehyun’s own mad recollections. It's not a perfect story. There are many gaps in it but the main frame is enough. 

You were a Lady at Prince Beomgyu's royal palace. You loved each other but couldn't be together because he was betrothed to someone else, couldn't even tell eachother. But Beomgyu was secretly plotting to keep you bound to him, and it was working until Taehyun came into the picture and you developed an interest in each other. Beomgyu didn’t like that and he went crazy and… he hurt you. That pushed you to finally escape from him and marry Taehyun but your marriage wasn't perfect and Beomgyu took advantage of that. He threatened the lives of thousands, including Taehyun, if you didn’t go back to him. Taehyun told you not to but you did. You thought you'd be saving him and everyone else but you had just stupidly walked into Beomgyu's trap. He never intended to let Taehyun live. And when you finally realized your mistake, when you saw Taehyun's life on the line, you acted in a moment's frenzy to save him, plunging your knife right into Beomgyu's heart and ultimately succumbing to a fatal wound he dealt to you in response with a kiss and a promise that he'd find you again.

And he did. Gods help you, he did. 

It's a horrific story, disgusting, cruel, and you don’t want to believe it. It can't be. 

“We have to go. We have to leave before he comes back.” Taehyun pulls on your arm but you hesitate, automatically digging your heels on the ground and not letting him move you. He stares at you in shock. “You can't be serious? You're choosing him again after everything?”

You shake your head, panicking. “No, Taehyun–”

You want to tell him that you haven't chosen anything. You just don't know enough to make a decision. You still don't know if any of this is actually real or if you're both just mad. Even if your brain tells you it is, your heart tells you that it can't be true. This is ridiculous. Beomgyu loves you. He would never do this to you. And who is to say that he even knows any of this himself? What if he's just like you and Taehyun were at first, only feeling an inexplicable sense of love for you and hatred towards Taehyun that he doesn’t even understand the source of? Is that why he had been acting so irrational and scared to lose you? Because he has all these emotions he can't explain? 

And what about Taehyun? Yes, you had something maybe in a past life but does any of that translate into right now? Can you abandon Beomgyu and the real love you have for each other in order to build a relationship based just on memories of a previous life that ended tragically for all of you? Did that past Taehyun even love you?

You want to explain all of that to him but you don't even get the chance to before you're interrupted by the sound of keys turning in the front door's lock. 

Your eyes widen and fear grips your heart. Despite what you tell yourself about none of this being real, you suddenly fear for Taehyun's life. 

“Hide. Please, hide.” You try to tell him but he's not listening to you. He has no intention of hiding and you can see that when he grabs your hand and pulls you behind him roughly. 

When Beomgyu steps into the house and sees you, all doubt in your heart about the memories being false dash out of the room with the first word out of his mouth. 

“Again?” He asks coldly, viciously. “I knew from the moment you met him that this would happen. Even centuries later you can’t fucking help but act like a slut when he's around, huh?”

“You knew.” You croak, throat closing up to try to prevent that breath from escaping once again, fear shaking you to your core. “You always knew.”

You were too kind. Too stupid. He wasn't acting crazy because he loves you so much and was afraid of losing you. He wasn't acting crazy because he didn't understand his own feelings. He was acting crazy because he's done this before and he’ll be damned if he lets you ruin it again. 

"Of course I did. I have to find you every time.” 

“Every time?” The shaking spreads to your heart, weakening it, throwing off its rhythm. Your poor, naive heart that doesn’t know what to do with itself when the one person it loved and trusted in the world has been lying to it this whole time. “This happened more than once before?”

He laughs cruelly. “This, something else, the details differ but it's always us. Me and you.” He turns to Taehyun with rage that could hardly be contained in the small room. “Not him. I haven't seen him since that first time. The gods really wanted to piss me off this time.”

“Or maybe they wanted her to finally break free from you.” Taehyun's grip tightens around you–to hold you back or to protect you, you don’t know–something that Beomgyu doesn’t fail to notice, his upper lip curling in a snarl, clearly displeased that Taehyun even dares to touch you. But before he can act out on his rage, you speak up. 

“So what? We just keep getting reincarnated and reliving this misery over and over again?” You’re surprised he hears you when you can hardly hear yourself. 

“You do. Not me. I was only reincarnated once, right after we died. I spent many lifetimes in your tomb, mourning you. I thought that was what I was brought back for and I would've stayed there forever but I was drawn out by the gods who wanted me to realize they’ve sent you back again and again for me to find you. It's amusing to them, to see me suffer and lose you.” 

He knew from the beginning. He knew lifetimes ago and he lied to you from the start, made you feel crazy for having these dreams, tried to gaslight you into believing it was all in your head all while working to put distance between you and everyone else so he can have you all to himself. How long was he going to keep up the facade for? Is this what he did every time or does he always come up with new cruel and unusual ways to break you just like he did that very first time? 

“Why?” You ask lowly and he stares at you in confusion, not understanding the question so you gather up your strength and speak louder, more clearly. You need to finally get answers. “Does it ever work?” 

“Sometimes it does. For a little while anyway, before the gods decide we've had it good for too long and tear us apart again.” He scowls, blasphemously enraged at those mythically evil gods. “At first I thought they were giving us second chances but they're just laughing at us, watching us get together before ripping us apart like a child ripping the wings off a fly.”

“Then why let them? Why keep doing it?” You ask again and Beomgyu directs his anger at you. 

"Would you have been able to have all those memories of us, not just of our first life but every single one after, all these fragments of our infinity together and just ignore it and move on, just pretend like you don't know the other half of your soul is out there waiting for you to complete them?"

You shake your head. No. You've fallen for it before you'd even regained your memories. You can't imagine how brutal it is on him. God, to imagine him scouring the earth looking for you only to lose you again and again in horrific ways… it made your soul ache for him despite everything. 

"I have to keep trying. We were so close this time. We were fucking happy. I worked so hard to make everything perfect for us but you had to ruin it. You had to let him in.” He growls at Taehyun who was unimpressed with his entire confession. 

“If my mere existence was enough to ruin your happiness then maybe it wasn't real from the start.” He challenges, not letting you go for a second. He'd learned his lesson. His hold on you hurts, turns your hand cold and blue but you dare not protest. “You've lied to her, manipulated her and blinded her until she bowed to your twisted will and even then she was still struggling against you every step of the way. If you really loved her, you would let her go. I bet she was the most happy during those lifetimes when you were under the ground in her tomb where you belong. You killed her. You deserve to mourn her for eternity. You don't deserve to get a second chance with her.” 

“It doesn’t matter what I deserve. I know she wants to be with me, which is more than I could say about you.” Beomgyu’s face twists in a sadistic grin. “Despite everything, she still can’t live without me. You know, because you've tried to make her. She never loved you and it kills you to know it.” 

That works. Taehyun lets go of your hand and lunges at him. Beomgyu is on the ground before the scream leaves your tense throat. He didn’t stand a chance. You’ve seen Taehyun fight before, and Beomgyu–immortal being that he is–still is not able to weather the flurry of punches Taehyun’s trained fists are raining down at him. 

Taehyun pummels him to the ground right in front of your eyes and you can’t bear to see it. Yes, Beomgyu has hurt you. Yes, he has been lying to you and manipulating you all this time. Yes, he's done unthinkable things for you, to you, but you still can't just stand there and watch him get hurt. You're sick of all the pain. You want it to be different this time. Maybe that's the way to break free of this curse. 

You try to tear them apart but Taehyun is like an unstoppable force that has been dying to be unleashed. You cry and pull and plead but he doesn’t stop, slowly reducing the love of your life into a bloody, gory crime scene before your very eyes and you don't know what to do to stop him. 

It’s only when you see the glint of a knife as he pulls it out of his pocket that you’re able to finally do something to stop the carnage, and you throw yourself over Beomgyu in order to protect him. 

“Please!” You cry out, inconsolable. “Please, stop hurting him.”

Please, don’t take him from me again. You hear her sob from deep inside your soul, getting louder and louder by the second as she struggles to finally break through the rusty door of memory and time. 

“He has to die.” Taehyun growls, looking crazed. “He won't stop until he’s dead.”

No. No more death. That can’t be how it ends again. 

“I can't let you hurt him.” You sob, shielding Beomgyu with your life. You don’t know if this Taehyun would kill you–You don’t know if past Taehyun would’ve killed you–but you can’t let him do this. 

“I knew you would choose me, princess.” You hear Beomgyu’s muffled voice from beneath you and look down to see a demented, bloody grin on his face before you and Taehyun are thrown off him. 

He does it so easily, leaving you to gape at him in shock. If he could’ve done this from the start then why did he let Taehyun beat him up? 

You watch in horror as the tables quickly turn and in the blink of an eye it’s Taehyun that is on the floor and Beomgyu is on top of him with his hands around his throat, choking the life out of him. No matter how hard Taehyun tries to push him off, he does not budge. 

You try too. Beomgyu was never heavy, even you are usually able to throw him around if you really wanted to, but now he is like a rock that can’t be moved. You rip at his clothes and nothing. You claw at his skin and nothing. Nothing happens except the slow snuffing of Taehyun’s breath under him. 

“No. Why are you doing this?” You wail, tears burning on your cheeks. “Just stop. Please. I can’t lose either of you again.” 

But you should’ve known better. You should’ve known that would only make Beomgyu angrier. "This is why he has to die. We were happy before he came along and we’ll be happy again once he’s gone.” 

You can see Taehyun’s face turn blue as he struggles and fails to push Beomgyu off him, the only sound coming from him are his thrashing limbs, no air able to escape from under Beomgyu’s death grip. 

The view is enough to suffocate even you and you quickly say everything you could think of that might persuade Beomgyu to spare Taehyun, even if spelt your own doom. “Don't hurt him. I'll go with you. I swear I will go with you and I won't try to fight you ever again. Just let him go. Let him go and I’ll be all yours.” 

“Your promises mean nothing to me when you’ve broken them so easily before. It doesn’t matter. You’re mine anyway.” He answers, unimpressed and you shake your head. “I will fight you every day if you hurt him. I will never forgive you. You may have me physically but my heart won’t be yours anymore. You’ve fucked up so much Beomgyu. You owe me this.” 

He grunts, his hands tightening around Taehyun’s throat for a second–the poor man’s face almost turning purple now–before he loosens his grip enough to allow a thin, raspy breath of air into Taehyun’s lungs. 

“What does it matter anyway? He'll be reborn again. Away from us.” He spits out angrily, his fingers twitching–dying to resume their vice grip on Taehyun’s throat but thankfully holding back.  

"It matters to me. If you want me to let you have me, you’ll spare him.” 

To your surprise, it is not Beomgyu but Taehyun who speaks up, his voice so uncharacteristically weak coming out of his almost crushed windpipe. “Let him kill me. Maybe then I'll be rid of you.”

The coldness in his voice freezes the air in your lungs, forming jagged icicles that tear you apart from the inside. 

“You've made a fool of me too many times before. I will not live out another life as a fool. Free me of you.”

You hold back your tears. “Taehyun…” 

“You'll never escape from him because you deserve him.” 

Beomgyu looks torn between his fury at Taehyun’s vicious attack on you, and his relief that he’s ruining whatever goodwill you’d built up behind his back, but he seems to settle on the latter, a slow unkind smile warping his lips. 

“See what he is? He was never the better option. He would never love you like I do, unconditionally and forever. Let me kill him. It will do us all good.” His voice turns fearsome on that last appeal and you struggle to remain unshaken in the face of it. Yes, you deserve this. If all the little and big pieces of your past life that have come back to you are real then you deserve to live in a world bound to the monster you nurtured and hated by the one man who tried to break you free from him. 

“Let him live.” You insist, fighting both men for Taehyun’s life now. “Let him live or I’ll make sure that all that you’ve worked for this time will have been for naught. You may as well kill me after him because you’ll never be able to have me in this lifetime again.” 

Beomgyu bares his teeth at you like a feral dog, unhappy about your demands of mercy for the sake of the man who in his eyes was the reason he lost you–and by the sounds of it is intent on doing it again.

“If you keep me alive I will hunt you both down until I kill you.” He warns and Beomgyu looks at you in a silent plea, like a child begging to pour salt on a slug, but you shake your head at him. 

Do you not care about his threat? Of course you do. Do you not believe him? Of course you do. But just like before, you've got no one to blame but yourself and Beomgyu–Beomgyu because he forces the strings of fate to weave to his will and bring you together no matter how ugly and knotted it ends up making your lives, and you for always stringing along innocent people into it, tying them up into a mess that isn’t their own. 

“Come on, Beomgyu.” You put your hand out to him. “Let’s go.” 

You see the vitriol in his eyes soften at the extended hand. You know he wants to take it. He wants nothing more than to take your hand and disappear forever with you–Taehyun is an afterthought to him, this entire life just a distraction in the grand scheme of things–and so he does. He reaches out to take your hand, but not before he grabs Taehyun’s head, smacking it against the hard ground and knocking him out. 

You gasp at the violent action, withdrawing your hand in shock but Beomgyu doesn’t let you, reaching out to clasp it tightly in his own hand, reminding you that once you give him something, you can never have it back. “Beomgyu!”

He rolls his eyes, standing up and pulling you flush against his body. “He’ll live. Might take some time to recover, or better yet he’ll be dumber for it, but he’ll live just like you wanted. Now forget about him and just focus on me.” He grabs your chin and turns your gaze away from the unconscious Taehyun and towards his own face. “You have to hold up your end of the bargain now princess or you'll pay with his life.” 

Of course. Even this small act of kindness couldn't be selfless. He only did it in order to ensure your good behavior. As long as you live, you’ll have to appease Beomgyu's demented whims or Taehyun’s life will be on the line. A deal with the devil.

Your lips tremble and you ask yourself. Is this really what you deserve after all? Were the sins of your past life so offensive to the gods that the only way to pay for them is through eternal damnation with your monster? Was there no hope of salvation for you? And would you have taken it if there was? 

“Where are you taking me?” You ask in a shaky voice as he pulls you after him and away from the flat, leaving every part of this temporary life behind. 

"Somewhere no one will ever find us.”

__________________________________

The journey to this place in the middle of nowhere lasts longer than you could’ve imagined, longer than you could stay awake, that it feels like he was really taking you somewhere at the edge of the universe where no one can reach you ever again. You doze off as the adrenaline that had kept you going until now leaves your body, and Beomgyu is more than happy to let you rest in the backseat of his car as he takes you through dark remote areas you wouldn’t have been able to keep track of even if you were awake. 

When you finally reach your destination and groggily step out of the car with his help, you almost think you’re still dreaming, because in front of you is a massive mansion you’ve never seen or heard off before. All the way around was nothing but empty woods, the imposing and impressive structure seemingly completely cut off from the rest of the world. 

You look at Beomgyu in shock, the sleep flying off your eyes at the unexpected sight. 

Beomgyu grins–or at least attempts to through the swelling of his lips, his bloody teeth barely visible underneath. Oh, your poor beautiful boy. He looks like a mess. “Do you like it, princess?” 

“H-How?” You ask cluelessly as he pulls you towards the entrance. “Being immortal has its perks. I knew I needed to make myself a small fortune to show off whenever you were ready to come back to me.” 

You’re in for a bigger shock when you finally step inside the mansion, because everyone and everything here–all the decorations, furniture, servants and household staff gathered around to greet you–are all styled in a way you only recognize from your dreams. The entire mansion looks as if Beomgyu had plucked it straight out of your first life. 

And yes, there are people there. You had been fully expecting this grand building to be running on magic or something ridiculous like that. After all, if immortality and vengeful gods are real, what makes the thought that stupid? But no, there are people here and you honestly can’t tell if they belong to this era or if Beomgyu somehow stole them from your previous life. 

“Welcome home, my lady.” A woman who you presume to be the head of the household staff bows towards you. You just stare at her, mouth agape. She didn’t look like she was wearing a costume or putting on an act. She looked exactly how you remember the staff at the old palace looked like.  

And what did she say? Home? Is this really home? It looked like it–definitely smaller than Beomgyu’s old palace despite how big and opulent it is by modern standards– but you’re scared by how your guards are already going down by the familiar sight. 

Beomgyu nudges you as the woman straightens back up and stares at you in expectation. 

“Uh, yes, thank you.” You chew on your lip and Beomgyu chuckles lightly. “You’ll have to forgive my princess. This is all a bit of a shock for her. I am sure once she goes back to her old self, she’ll be much more mannerly.” 

“Ah, yes, of course. Silly me.” The woman laughed graciously in turn, “The poor dear must be exhausted from all that travel. I know we have all been waiting for her to finally arrive but I suppose our welcome party will have to wait for the morning when she’s properly rested.”

They have been waiting? They knew you were coming. Beomgyu was always going to win, wasn't he? It was just a matter of time. He always does.

“That’s right. She can hardly stay upright from the fatigue.” He pulls you towards him, and you realize belatedly that he’s holding you up by the waist. “Pray tell me that our bath is ready.”

“Of course, my prince. And a fresh change of clothes too.” She chirps happily, proud of her immaculate service. “It’s all waiting for you upstairs.” 

“Wonderful.” Beomgyu turns towards you and smiles, “Let's head to our chambers, love, shall we?”

Your spacious bedroom has an almost equally large ensuite attached to it where some servants were still fussing about, putting extra oils and salts into your bath to make it gentler and more calming, before Beomgyu dismisses them and goes about his familiar habit of bathing both you and himself. You barely register any of it, too preoccupied by the overstated luxury of the place around you to pay much attention to him undressing you and pulling you into the large tub–the water a perfect temperature, the smell heavenly, his touch both gentle and purposeful as he attempts to cleanse you of your previous life. 

You feel both out of place and right at home, the two very different sides of you pushing and pulling as you look around the room. The way this bathroom is decorated and even the products he’s using look and feel more expensive than your entire life had been so far, and Beomgyu appears well aware of that fact and quite pleased with it too–happy that he could finally show off what he’s been dying to for so long. You always had a feeling he wanted to shower you in the finer things and you never understood or accepted it because you thought he was just another broke college student making stupid rash decisions in order to impress his love, but now you get it. 

He makes sure to explain to you the source of everything he’s using and the rare ingredients that go into it, trying to appeal to that old part of you that had apparently yearned for spoils and riches. Of course these weren’t just simple shower products that normal plebs use. These were made specifically for you, just waiting for your arrival. He points out every aspect of the bathroom and the room attached to it that seems to be catching your eye at the moment and tells you how he chose them and where he got them from–how he chose the golden and brown accents because they’re reminiscent of the sunflowers you so adore–how he had the ceiling decorated in shining stars to resemble the stars you would see when you laid in each other’s arms in the palace gardens. It was all so meticulously planned and decorated just for you. 

Is it really for you though? It may have been for a past you but are you still her? Can this extravagance be for you when you never even realized that anyone would ever care to spend so much money on a place that everyone else uses only to get rid of their waste or wash off the dirt and grime off their bodies? 

But as Beomgyu continues to flaunt it all to you, you realize that even a room as ordinary as a bathroom is another space where the rich and powerful can show off their wealth. It’s a room where they go to shed the filth of the outside world away and relish in their highly curated luxury and beauty just as Beomgyu is doing right now–diligently scrubbing that real world off you and washing it down the drain until this fantasy mansion looks like it could be where you belong. 

If just the bathroom was hard for you to wrap your head around, you can’t even begin to describe how lavish the connected bedroom is, but one thing that catches your eye amidst the exuberance of it all is the portrait in the middle of the wall facing you. It’s a portrait of you and Beomgyu, or rather prince Beomgyu and the person you were back then. He is standing behind you in all his royal garb and you’re in front of him dressed in the finest silks and jewelry money can buy, shining like his most prized possession as one of his hands rests on your shoulder and another is seen wrapped around your waist possessively.  

“Do you like it, princess?” He asks after he dries you off with the softest towel you’ve ever felt on your skin, his hands almost mirroring the portrait as his slightly bloody lips follow the curve of your neck, not caring if he leaves small crimson streaks on your skin. “Does the place suit your taste?” 

“It’s…” You utter slowly, eyes jumping around the room as Beomgyu stares at you with hopeful anticipation, waiting for the realization of all his effort, but as you say your next words, his expression falls. “It’s a lot.” 

“A lot?” He scoffs, offended. “The you I know would never say such a word.” 

You gulp. “Well maybe that person isn’t here anymore.” 

Why would you say that? Why would you purposefully upset him when he’s shown you time and time again what he’s capable of? It’s a lie of course. She has always been there deep inside, slumbering but not dead, just waiting for him to come back and awaken her. 

“Not there anymore?” He growls, pushing you onto the impossibly soft bed and climbing over you, not as gentle as he had been so far. “Bullshit. You just need a little reminding.”

He kisses you roughly, angrily, with the weight of centuries of longing that had turned sharp and tender. You can’t help but respond back. Despite your words, she claws her way out of the abyss at his beckoning. 

“Why do you always have to make me work for it?” He growls, nipping at your neck while his fingers find their way between your legs, the easy practiced way he can get you dripping no longer such a mystery to you. He has honed it over lifetimes. “Why do you love torturing me?” 

You? Torturing him? He has controlled you in this life and the first one and probably all others in between. He has manipulated and hurt you in countless ways and yet you’re the one hurting him? 

“Because you deserve it.” You breathe out mournfully, “We deserve it.” 

His swollen lips curl in distaste. “I don’t care. As long as I got you, I don't give a shit about anything else. Let me be damned for all of eternity as long as you're mine.” He kisses you again, the metallic bitter taste of blood combined with his natural sweetness so fitting for him, your corrupted angel. “Always mine.” 

He pushes his fingers inside you and your pussy takes him easily, knowing who it belongs to before even you did. 

The way he has you on your back with your legs open and your feet in the air is a scene you’re sure has recurred over and over again across your centuries with him, repeatedly laying his claim to your pliant body until you can no longer rebuke him, your body knowing what to expect now even if your mind still struggles to catch up. 

You feel Beomgyu pull on your hand to wrap it around his cock, the silent order from him not needing to be said out loud for your body to start acting, your grip on him turning firm as your hand moves in that practiced way over his cock that has his jaw hanging open and his back arching into your touch, his eyes hungrily feasting on the sight of you splayed open and ready for the taking.  But he waits, letting both your desires build up to an unbearable heat. 

“Fuck, Beomgyu… just do it already.” You hiss, sick of the wait. He knows you're his. You've always been and always will be so he should just get it over with. But of course Beomgyu can't let it be that simple. He has to force you to say it. He has to rub your face in it so you won't dare disobey or deny him again. 

“Is my princess in there?” He cocks his head to the side, his thumb flicking your swollen clit, making you bite down on your lip. You can’t bear the way he looks at you. It makes your skin burn. 

“Yes.” A few hot tears fall down the sides of your face. Why bother fighting it anymore? He has won. 

“Does she want me?” He continues, pulling his fingers out and making you whimper at the emptiness as he takes your hand off him so he can replace his fingers at your entrance with the head of his cock, hot and thick, taunting you with what he could give you if you bend to his will. “Do you want me?”

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, locking eyes with you and looking right into your core, forcing you to face him as you give in. 

You let out a pathetic cry. “Yes. I want you. I will always want you.”

“Good girl.” He pushes inside you, letting out a heavy sigh of relief, like coming home after being lost for so long. “I missed you so much. I always knew you'd come back to me.”

He did. This entire mansion is a testament to it. And so you lie there on your back and take it, getting fucked open by Beomgyu, his beat up face not taking away from his beauty. If anything, his bruised and bloody visage contrasts with the backdrop of the elaborate and extravagant ceiling above him and serves to drive home the lengths he’s willing to go–the ugliness and horror he’s willing to let come pass so he can have you, so he can steal you away and keep you as a good, pliant fucktoy for the prince who had always been greedy for more than his fair share. 

“Maybe I should thank the fool for getting you back to me.” He murmurs, making your eyes jump from the glittering chandelier above him to his sparkling eyes that cannot be dimmed even by the blackness around them, that have only been put off once by death itself before he revolted against it and came back for you. “Getting you to remember us.” 

You frown. You know what he means. You were together before Taehyun came into the picture but not fully, not the way he wanted you to be. But now he's slowly getting back the you he's always been chasing, the you he may have only reunited with a few times over centuries. You understand that. Still that doesn't mean he can disparage Taehyun, and it doesn’t mean that you want to be reminded of him. 

“Don't speak of him.” You don't want to hear it. You're here, aren't you? He won and you’re here. He should just let you forget what that has meant for you. 

He smiles, more than happy to not speak another word of Taehyun ever again, and rewards you by bending down to kiss you as he fucks his cock ruthlessly in and out of you, fully devoted to helping you forget. 

“Fuck, I really missed you.” He groans against your lips before pulling back so he can feast his eyes on you. “Now that I have you back I don't think I can give you a break until I show you just how much I missed you. Gotta make up for all our lost time.” He drills his cock faster and harder into you, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh ringing around the room so loudly you're worried that all other occupants of the house can also hear it. “Not gonna rest until all your holes are filled to the brim with my cum and you remember just how much I love you.” 

“Gyu…” You whine at his loud promises, fearing the rest of the household is hearing his filth. “Keep it down.”

He laughs, fucking you harder. “Why should I? Everyone here knows who you belong to. They know their master will be fucking his princess every night. Every day. They may as well get used to it now because I don’t intend on hiding any of it.”

“What?” Your cheeks flush bright, surely he is not suggesting what you think he’s suggesting. 

“This isn't our old palace, princess. I don't have to hide what is mine anymore and I expect you not to either. And if that means they can hear or even see me claiming what is mine then so be it. It’s what I always wished I could do anyway.” 

Yes, you know that very well–images of Prince Beomgyu’s attempts at inappropriate touches in public flitting through your brain. You shake your head, whining. “Not hiding, just common decency…” 

“Fuck that. Gonna show the whole universe who this pussy belongs to.” He growls, and you feel one of his hands move between your bodies to reach your pussy, his fingers easily rubbing your soaked lips and making your thighs tense up. 

“Beomgyu!” You cry at the sudden spike in pleasure, your pussy clenching around him when you get no escape from it, his hips incessantly thrusting against yours and barreling you towards what you know will be a blinding orgasm. “It’s too much.” 

He shakes his head, fingers going faster. “Not enough. Never enough. Now cum for me, princess. Make a mess on my cock.” 

As if you could have stopped it even if you wanted to. Your orgasm causes your whole body to seize up–your thighs crash around his thin waist, your pussy spasming on his twitching cock, your nails digging down into the flesh of his back as you throw your head back and cry out loudly, the irony of you asking for decency not lost on your grinning lover. 

“That’s it. Good girl. Now take it. Take all of me.” He grunts, spending himself inside you, the first of the many times he promised you he would. The first of your lifetime together. “I love you. I love you so much.” 

In the heat of it all, it takes you a second to respond, a second too long for Beomgyu’s liking, and he grabs your face and makes you lock eyes with him. “I love you.” He repeats, continuing to fuck his cum into you as he waits for your response. 

“I-I love you too.” You gasp out, your nails digging even deeper into his skin, begging him to give you a break, the overstimulation ruthlessly gripping your own flesh. “I love you. Please.” 

He finally slows down. It takes him a minute to completely stop, and you can see that he didn’t really want to but he does iit for you. “Did you miss me?” He asks, doubt and insecurity plaguing his swollen features, silently asking you to put his troubled soul at ease. He may be a cruel and calculating being sent back to punish you for your sins, but underneath it all he’s still your lovesick boy, your prince whose soul yearns for yours, and it would be the cruelest thing of all to deny him that one thing that keeps him from perishing.  

You nod, reaching out weakly to play with his hair, your muscles cut down by fatigue then completely turned to mush by pleasure. “Yes, I did. I missed you even when I didn’t know who I was missing.” 

He smiles gently at that, letting out a small breath of relief that conveys all his vulnerability before bending down to give you a sweet peck on the lips. “I’m right here. I promise to keep reminding you..” 

You don’t know if he’s promising this to himself or to you, but it leads your mind to troubling questions. 

“Are they going to let us stay together?” You frown, suddenly apprehensive at the thought of those cruel gods he’d spoken of. Now that you have him–now that you know exactly what you’ve been missing, it petrifies you to have him ripped away from you again so soon. If you must be damned to be with him, then let you be with him, damn it!

“For this lifetime, maybe.” He answers hoarsely, uncertainly. “Every time you choose me, we're doomed further. They're just letting us rack up the debt.” 

“Choose? Do I ever have a choice?” Your question is innocent, your mind too scrambled to come up with an intentional attack, yet Beomgyu still perceives it as such. 

“Of course you do. You always do. If you reject me enough times, you condemn me to a hell like no other, to being cut away from you forever.” He answers defensively, needing you to know that you’re not blameless in any of this, and you know you’re not because your heart spasms painfully at the thought of being forever severed from him the same way an artery spasms around itself to keep from bleeding out. “If I force you then it's the same. You have to choose me yourself. That's the only way we can be together.”

A sick feeling of realization hits you. You suddenly get it–why he let himself get beat up by Taehyun. He had to wait for you to choose him. If he had just killed Taehyun and took you away, it would’ve tallied up against him. He had to let you doom yourself. Even if all you’ve done to earn damnation is to hesitate when Taehyun asked you to run away. Even if you did it to save Taehyun, it didn’t matter. You choosing him will always be your sin.

He's right. These gods really are wicked and unjust.  

“Do I choose you every time?” You ask in a small, shaky voice and he frowns, your question prompting what must be disturbing memories to spring to his mind. “Not always but most of the time.”

“What happens when I don't? Do you let me?” You hold your breath, anticipating his response. Does he let you be? Does he force you? Does he hurt you? Is every time you choose him similar to this time and your first life? Could you be pardoned by pleading that you’ve been forced into it or is the sheer amount of times you chose him enough to prove your wickedness beyond a shadow of doubt?

“Why are you asking about that now? You chose me in this lifetime. The rest doesn’t matter.” He brushes you off, goosebumps prickling your skin at his diversion. In his nonanswer lies the truth. No, he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t accept defeat. He never did and never will. 

“Doesn’t that bother you, what they’re doing to us? Forcing us into this cycle over and over again?” You push tentatively. “Don't you want to be free?” 

If you stop choosing each other, will you break this infernal cycle? 

“From you? Never.” He tells you with all the certainty and conviction a man can hold, forehead pressed against yours, your breaths intermingling as if your souls are greeting each other. “Darling, if they give me the choice between heaven and you, I would choose you every time. My existence is meaningless without you, salvation is nothing to me if I can't be with you. I would go through this hell again and again just to spend these precious few moments with you. Let me suffer alone for lifetimes if it means I get even one day like this to feel your love once more.”

Your heart swells, different emotions warring inside of it–eternal love for him, happiness that he is so devoted to you that even death can’t keep you apart, anger that he won’t grant you salvation, hate for everything he’s put you through, horror that you will never escape, soul deep fatigue at the weight of it all–but you can’t even begin to untangle them from each other because he doesn’t let you. This is your reunion and he won’t let it be ruined by your doubts. 

Instead, he flips you over, pushing you onto your tummy and pulling your ass up, the sound of him jerking his drenched cock to hardness the only thing you can hear over the ringing in your ears before you feel it breaching your pussy to fill you up again. He lays himself over you, his hips immediately go to work fucking you, making use of every moment he has stolen with you. 

“Gyu…” You whine, mind too fried to care much about the way you’re drooling over the expensive sheets. “Too fast.” 

“I’m sorry, princess. Just wanna make up for all the lost time. I promise I’ll be gentler later, will take care of you so well.” He babbles, the strain of the pleasure he’s getting from your tight walls evident in his voice. “Promise. Just be good for me tonight. Okay?”

You get it–his desperation, his insatiability. This is one of the only few times in his long, lonely existence when he gets to be with you and have you fully in this way–his princess brought back from the unfathomable and untraversable void of death and lost memories for him. And you can’t find it in you to deprive him of you right now. You’ll think about it later. You’ll worry about what this means for your soul’s eternal damnation tomorrow, but for tonight, you’ll let him have you. You’ll let your rotten souls rejoice in the company of their other half. 

“Okay.” You mumble dumbly, letting him take you like a bitch as tears of overstimulation line your lashes and your fingers clutch tightly onto the sheets. You can’t even pretend that it doesn’t feel good, every thrust of his hips, every touch of his hands, every filthy word he says, every load he release inside you–it all shifts and molds you into the wretched lover he’s been searching for, the walls you’ve built up to contain her getting torn down with every position he takes you in until you lay limp with no fight left in you and it’s revealed that there is no one behind those walls. There never was. She was always you. 

When he’s finally has his fill, and you’re more dirty and ruined than you ever were before the bath, he lays down next to you and takes you in his arms–his tight embrace suffocating and hot after what he just put your body through but he doesn’t care. You don’t care. You’re with each other, and that’s how your story always ends and begins. You've been here many times before and you'll be here for many more to come. 

You are at the edge of sleep, almost falling over, when you hear a small sniffle and feel him shake ever so slightly under you. You look up to see his teary eyes and you lift your hand to his face to brush those very costly droplets away. “Why are you crying, baby?”

“I'm just so happy. I missed you so much.” He whimpers, his hold on your getting even tighter. “I love you.”

You know. You couldn’t have understood it so fully before but now that you know a fraction of what he went through to get here, you know that his love is not a mere mortal love. It has defied fate itself and it will live on for eons to come. As long as you're on this earth, he'll stay here to find you, and when you leave, he'll follow you wherever you go, be it heaven or hell or the unfathomable unknown. As long as you're together, his wretched and weary soul can find its peace. 

“I missed you too. And I love you.” 

And I'm sorry it has come to this. I'm sorry I let our once precious love grow so gruesome and hideous that this twisted ending is our only version of happiness. 

_______________________________

A/N: aaaand that's the end of this portion of the story. let me know what you think of this ending. less death than usual lol.

would you rather get tyun's ending (mostly tyun focused) or continue the story from where this chapter leaves off (mostly gyu focused)? Or would you rather a new unrelated story entirely?

Here are some teasers for the two ideas

Tyun's ending:

“Where do we go from here?” You ask defeatedly and he narrows his eyes at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re clearly angry at me. You don't trust me.” 

“Yeah, and?”

You frown too. How can he not see where the problem lies? “How are we going to stay together like this?”

“Are you thinking of leaving again?” Now he starts getting angry, vindictive, the wrath of the warlord in him cutting through the centuries. 

“No–”

“Because I won't let you. All your bullshit excuses are gone. there is no war. You can't pretend you're going back for the greater good.” His voice is mocking on the last part, and you feel your face heat up.

“It was not an excuse!" You sputter. You can't believe he's saying this to you. "It was real!” 

“You’re my wife. That's what's real and you should've stayed loyal.” He tells you unkindly, not interested in your explanations.

“So you want me to stay just out of principle even if you're just going to hate every second of being together?” It would be funny to see the way he has completely not changed even in this new life if it wasn't so painful.

“Maybe. But I certainly won't be made a fool of again and maybe it's high time you experience some consequences for your actions.”

Gyu's ending continuation:

“How could you do this? How could you be so stupid?” Beomgyu's response to you slipping out for the day seems like a wild overreaction. You know he insists on controlling every aspect of your life so you won't leave him again but going out to walk through the surrounding small village for a few hours could hardly have many consequences. Not when he apparently controls the whole village. 

“You’re overreacting.” You roll your eyes at him but that just makes him freak out more. 

“You don't know what you're risking. He could have found you! He could have taken you away from me!” 

“What are you talking about?” You push him off you. “How would he do that when you know exactly where he is at all times?”

You scoff at him but the scared look on his face makes you falter. “You've lost him, didn't you?”

He doesn't answer you, and you watch his face grow paler. “What is he going to do? You’re immortal.” 

“But I am not all powerful, and there are beings out there more wicked than me.” He tells you fearfully, reaching out to hold you once more. 

Unrelated fic idea:

“Fuck, this feels amazing.” He groans and turns to you, “Can I use him every day?” He asks you cheekily and you grin as you hump against Beomgyu harder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Look at him, he’s soaking my hand with precum.” 

You hear Beomgyu garbled moans around Soobin’s cock and you question him. “What’s wrong, baby? Is Binnie using his big cock right this time?” 

Beomgyu whines again and you laugh at him, but Soobin doesn’t find it so funny, not with his cock getting the full brunt of all of Beomgyu’s vocalizations. “Oh god, I’m close. Can I cum on his face?” 

You grin widely. “Of course, Binnie. I’m sure Gyu wants to help out his hyung any way he can. He’s so needy he’ll let you cover his pretty in cum because he knows that will earn him a reward. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Also you can send and ask for any of the characters and I’ll answer as the character

[andre-and-cal]

give me your sweetest yet freakiest headcanons for these little faggots, like sickly sweet and disgustingly freaky

Of course !! Enjoy :)

Fluffy and NSFW Caldre HCs

Andre likes to run his fingers over the scars on Cal’s thighs and arms. When they’re alone, sometimes Andre keeps his hand rested on Cal’s arm or thigh. And when Calvin is wearing a simple t-shirts or shorts, Andre can usually feel the mounds littered over his limbs. As a result, Andre frequently finds himself absentmindedly grazing his thumb over the raised scar tissue. Cal finds it quite soothing and hasn’t said anything about it; he just lets Andre do what he wants. After all, Andre is stubborn, and he dislikes being told to change or that he’s doing something wrong. Additionally, when he’s in between Cal’s legs and sucking him off or peppering slow, lazy kisses over his skin, he makes sure to place his hands against the other evident ridges on his inner thighs, so that he can feel the scars’ unique shapes and textures beneath his fingertips. He finds it fascinating how Cal’s previous self-inflicted cuts scarred over in a similar manner to his own.

Calvin tries really fucking hard to stay awake when he sleeps over at Andre’s. But by the time the clock hits midnight, or even an hour after, he’s out cold. Cal becomes determined to stay awake when they’re over at each other’s houses, but he always falls asleep first. One of Andre’s silent, unspoken displays of fondness toward Calvin is leaning down to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead after he’s fallen asleep, or his cheek, or anywhere on his face. Funnily enough, though, Cal’s a deep sleeper, while Andre’s more of a light sleeper. Andre often finds himself tossing and turning in bed, restless. He’s not sure if it’s maybe because of the subtle, lingering stress in the back of his mind toward planning Zero Day with Cal, or if it’s something else. Also, a lot of the times when they’re cuddling, Andre likes to be the little spoon. He refuses to admit it, but Cal holding him helps him sleep better.

Andre acts on certain desires for the sole purpose of just hearing Cal make noise and to watch him squirm beneath him, because listening to Calvin’s mewls makes Andre’s dick stand right up. To elaborate, sometimes Andre will drive his shaft against Cal’s prostate gland a little too roughly, or he’ll pinch or lap at Cal’s nipples ever-so-suddenly to watch his face contort in bliss, to listen to him let out grunts, gasps, and moans. Cal feels that Andre’s body looming above him, face burrowed into his neck, is heaven. Calvin is the furthest thing from religious, but he finds that Andre is the real-life personification of a sacred object. Or a poem. Definitely a poem, too. When he’s on top, when he’s bouncing on Andre’s dick or has his dick in his mouth, Cal will occasionally lean down or pull back to leave deep, bloody bites on Andre’s shoulders or taut thighs. He’s extremely intrigued by Andre’s body and blood, and he likes to inspect his comrade by watching him bleed.

When the air surrounding them is content and they’re alone together, Andre finds it easy to relax— especially after a difficult day at school— by playing with Cal’s hair, feeling the oiliness of his bangs beneath the pads of his fingers. It’s rather mesmerizing to them both, and Andre finds it attractive how naturally light of a blond Cal is.

Occasionally, Andre does allow Cal to stick his fingers inside him, albeit dubious. Calvin was the first one to bring it up, intrigued by the prospect of Andre experiencing the pleasure similar to what he himself does. And Calvin loves exerting a sense of possessive control over Andre, feeling him tense up and clench around his fingers and all. He relaxes when Calvin kisses down his neck and licks up his naval, and he lets out strained moans he has no idea he’s got in him when Cal rubs firm circles against his sweet spot. When either one of them is on top, they have an unspoken “lieutenant-like” role. At least, in their eyes they do.

Prior to the establishment of their “comradeship” and “superiority” on the social hierarchy, Andre’s heartbeat would quicken when he and Cal were close in proximity. He still gets nervous at times— a rather good nervousness— but it’s now become natural to him. He would get all hot and red in the face when Calvin was near him. It used to be such a gross, sickly sweet feeling that it made Andre want to projectile vomit whenever the “bullets” would swarm his innards. He wondered if this was how other people felt about someone they exhibit amorous tendencies toward. Andre knows that he and Cal’s relationship is vastly different than what the majority of the world engages in. In addition, when Cal is experiencing a low mood and idealizing suicide, he believes that he and Andre could be gods somewhere else if they really wanted, though they’re stuck in this “useless world” and at their “fuckass school”. Cal likes that Andre views the world similarly to how he views it; he feels that they were inevitably bound to connect the way they do. Because to him, their unity is high above all else.

Calvin was just-barely able to convince Andre to slice his name into his arm, since he’d already cut Andre’s name into his. He feels that it secures their unspoken suicide pact.

Holding Cal in his arms, and Cal holding him in his arms feels right. Years of regret from longing and aching to be closer than they actually were paid off. Especially when they’re physically intimate; they’re like two pieces of a puzzle connecting together. Or like two bullets fitting perfectly inside a gun magazine, ready to fire. Click.

[aaknopf]

Rufino Tamayo’s painting “El Hombre,” the inspiration for this poem, shows a man both grounded powerfully into the earth and reaching up to the heavens. Here the novelist and poet Sandra Cisneros gives a close account of several struggling hombres, situating them compassionately in the broader context of Mexico-U. S. relations.

El Hombre

          After Tamayo

On the eve of International Women’s Day In a field on the road to Celaya They find her body. The deaf-mute girl who Walked her dog in Parque Juárez.

No one tried, blamed, named. The town knows:

It’s her father’s debts. This is how they pay Un hombre who can’t pay.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

In small print, in the back Pages of today’s paper, I read this small news:

Un Hombre Purépecha Lifted from His Purépecha Village.

Daily the Purépechas demand his return. Daily el hombre does not return.

He is only one of the many “lifted.”

When you are native in your native land To whom do you demand? Who listens?

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The bird merchant at the Tuesday mercado, Six cages of cenzontles strapped on his back, Shoves a mesh shopping bag so close To my face, I have to step back to see. A flutter of frightened canaries. In the eyes of el hombre, The same urgency, the same fear.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The gringo Alan tells me the story Of the pig who thought he was a dog. Solovino he was called, Because he came alone.

How each day Alan drove Along the road to Dolores, The dogs would run from The squatter’s shack and give chase, The pig who thought he was a dog Trotting behind them.

Until one day the pig isn’t there. The dogs disappear too. One by one by one.

Alan shrugs. When un hombre is hungry, There is no one to blame.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The “Religion” section of Our Guanajuato newspaper Features an article on St. Francis, Un hombre of austerity, as A model for all to live in poverty.

This in a country where almost every Hombre, mujer y niño is already On the path to sainthood.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

How it happened was like this. One night Rosana catches un hombre Breaking into her grocery store, The son of a neighbor.

Her shouts wake the barrio. They’re able to hold the thief Until the police arrive.

Rosana is there to bear witness At the court proceedings. And to Witness the court set him free.

She gathers her pain in a handkerchief, Goes home and calls the boy’s mother.

Rosana and the mother of the thief. Each Woman lets loose a sea of grief.

When she tells me this story, The sea is still there in Rosana’s eyes.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Carlos and Raúl, the silver-tongued Poets of Chicano, Illinois, have never Been to the country of their ancestry, Though they’re silver-haired hombres.

When I invite them south, they refuse. They’re afraid of bad hombres.

No one has told them The ones who buy drugs and Sell arms to los bad hombres Are U.S. citizens.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The blind harmonica player, Un hombre who plays “Camino de Guanajuato” In front of Banco Santander, Clutches his baseball cap of small coins Whenever he hears someone running too close.

No vale nada la vida, la vida no vale nada. Life’s worth nothing, nothing is what life’s worth.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Un hombre tells me: You don’t even have to learn Spanish to live here. Amado the San Miguel realtor. You can train your staff to do what you need, And you don’t have to pay them much either.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Dallas, 1953. A seer named Stanley Marcus Purchases a mural by Rufino Tamayo To reinforce friendship between Texas and Mexico.

This in a time in history When Texas still posts Signs on restaurants: “No dogs or Mexicans.”

The painting is of un hombre Anchored to the earth Reaching for the heavens, A balance of earth and sky, North and south, yours and mine. Because the universe is About interconnection.

Tamayo calls this painting, Man Excelling Himself.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Message from Mexico to The United States of America: When we are safe, you are safe. When you are safe, we are safe. Tell this to your politicians.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

There is a Mexican saying, Hablando se entiende la gente. Talking to one another We understand one another.

I would add: And listening We understand even better.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light. Mándanos luz. Send us all light. Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Woman Without Shame by Sandra Cisneros.

Browse our special Everyman's Library edition of The House on Mango Street and other books by Sandra Cisneros; you can follow her @officialsandracisneros on Instagram and @sandracisnerosauthor on Facebook.

On April 12, Sandra Cisneros will appear on two panels at the San Antonio Books Festival.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[enviedear]

would modern!jace be the drinking kind… if so, i can see him being drunk and showering his lover in random love poems that cross his mind :p

imo, modern!jace will drink. but it’s absolutely not his favorite thing. i think he’s one of those people that refuses to mix his liquors, “i get the worst hangovers when i do.” he’ll excuse. he’ll never admit that it’s just him following his aunt rhaenys’ belief.

if he is drinking, it’s usually with cregan or the twins or maybe even at a dj gig. his most common orders are manhattans…but like his mother he loves a good gin and tonic (looking to you negroni sbagliato) modern!jace loves a gin fizz, less heavy than a negroni and easier to down!

as for how he behaves when drunk (a rare occurrence, he tries to maintain a tipsy state of anything) i think he’s extremely clingy. he wants to hold his partner, have his hand in theirs. i think when he’s sober he’s less likely to be super touchy in public, but when he’s drunk? he’ll pull you in for a kiss, not a care in the world as to who can see you. so yeah, i also think in between asking for you to come closer, to kiss him, to hold his hand, he’s stumbling through his favorite poems. he’ll be staggering out of the club, fingers interlaced with yours, mumbling something like, “and neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful annabel lee.”

[mcumorningstar]

His Muse

pairing: larry durrell x reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, erotic letters, body worship, oral (f receiving)

summary: after your relatives forbid you from seeing larry durrell, a series of notes begin to appear.

a/n: yes i snuck in an atonement reference🤭

Having relatives on the Greek Island of Corfu lent itself to the most brilliant summers a girl could ask for.

Swimming in the crystal blue ocean, running through the cobbled streets of the town centre, picking fresh fruit at the market and riding donkeys along the beach.

A girl. Not a woman.

The summer of your 18th year you were worked until your bones were sore and your cheeks ached from the forced smiles.

For three consecutive summers, you worked at your auntie and uncle’s bar as a waitress. Men often flirted with you or asked to take you out. Unless you wanted to face the wrath of your uncle, you always refused.

That was until Larry Durrell sidled up to the bar, folding his sunglasses into the pocket of his shirt and placing his book on the bar top.

“Two of your finest whiskeys,” He ordered with a cheerful grin.

After an all-day shift, you simply nodded and retrieved his order, like a well-oiled machine.

“My name is Larry Durrell,” He announced to fill the silence, “I’m an author. Are you native to the island?”

“I moved here two months ago,” You smiled forcefully, too exhausted from the sun and workload for conversation.

“How wonderful! I can show you around if you’d like,” Larry leaned forward onto the bar, a striking smirk across his lips, “I have lived here for almost a year.”

“That won’t be necessary,” You replied, exchanging the drinks for his money.

“Are you sure? I know some excellent spots,” He sipped his drink and raised his eyebrows.

There was an air of confidence surrounding Larry and it was hard not to get sucked into his natural charm.

“What’s your book about?”

He faltered for a moment before sunshine burst from his features and he grinned giddily, “What isn’t it about! I can bring you a copy if you’d like?”

He lit up with hope and so you nodded politely, “Yes but you’ll have to bear with me, I work a lot.”

Larry shook his head, “I wouldn’t worry about that. More reason to visit you.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

Larry chanced a look outside where his brother Leslie was sat before reaching over to brush his fingers over yours, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Yes.

Swatting a dish cloth and yelling with a thick Greek accent and broken English (although it was miles better than your Greek), your uncle ran over, “No! She not interested! Go away!”

Larry backed away with a boyish laugh, grabbing his book and rushing across the cobbles with Leslie. Biting your lip, you fought back girlish giggles.

He flashed you a cheeky grin and a small wave before he disappeared around the corner. Your uncle grumbled to himself, wildly gesticulating with his hands.

“He is trouble! He is English! Stay away from him!” He jabbed a finger at you. Ordinarily, he was a lovely and generous man but you were under his care while you were in Corfu.

Nodding, you got back to work, hoping to see Larry Durrell again.

A few days later, a book appeared on the bar top while you were serving customers. There was no sign of Larry other than his name in bold print on the front cover of the novel.

It was hours later that you sat on the beach and thumbed through your new gift when a hand-written note slipped from the pages.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

The following stanzas were written and attributed to Lord Byron. You didn’t know what most of it meant but a girly giggle fell from your lips as you covered your mouth.

He sent you a love poem. What a gentleman.

After the first note, he began to visit you in the alley behind the bar, only able to steal a few minutes of your time.

More notes began to appear over the following few weeks, either handed to you directly or tucked away for you to find.

“Tell me, my darling. I want to know everything about you.”

“My beautiful, exquisite darling. Starry nights are reminiscent of your glittering eyes.”

“You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read." — Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Hand-written notes piled up in the box under your bed, and you reread them over and over. Larry was a writer, an artist, and you were seemingly his muse.

Three weeks after your initial meeting, you bumped into Larry in town with his brother.

“Good morning Durrells,” You smiled, offering your hand to Leslie and introducing yourself to him.

Larry smirked at you, “Are you working today? I was thinking about going swimming.”

You nodded disappointedly, “But I finish at 11 if you fancy a night swim.”

Leslie guffawed, “That’s very unsafe. Mother will crucify you!”

Larry sighed with frustration. Leslie grinned, amused by his brother’s obvious affections and embarrassment.

Another note appeared later that night, rolled and sticking to the rim of a beer glass.

“Meet with me. Prepare for a swim.”

Larry smoked a cigarette on the patio of his family home, overlooking the ocean. He smiled when he saw you and pointed towards the path to the beach.

“Hello,” He whispered as soon as you were close enough, “How was work?”

“Tiring but I’m glad to be here… with you,” You whispered back, only raising your voice when you were far enough from the house.

God forbid you wake his family. What a mortifying way to meet them.

“Well then, I will refrain from challenging you to a race to the water,” His shoulder bumped yours, his smile infectious.

“You will do no such thing,” You shoved him and raced off down the beach.

Piles of your belongings were strewn about the beach, as you ran along the stone pier and jumped into the ocean in your underwear.

Larry rose from the water, shaking droplets of water from his curls. Swimming back to shore, he broke the silence, “Don’t ogle me too much when we get out. It’s very cold so I’m not on top form down there.”

You were in a fit of laughter, echoing around the high walls of the cliff.

Wrapping you in his arms, your back to his chest, Larry carried you onto the shore. He laid his shirt out for you to sit on, wrapping an arm around your back.

Although the sky was dark, the warm air brushed against your wet skin pleasantly.

“I finished your book,” You leaned against his chest, staring out at the glistening black water. Larry’s eyes burned into your skull as he awaited your thoughts.

“It was good. Filthy but good.”

Larry’s chest bounced as he laughed, “Leslie thinks I’m obsessed with sex. He once stole the X from my typewriter to stop me writing about it.”

“A fruitless effort, it seems,” You teased.

“I’m not. I write about it, and think about it, and talk about it but I don’t actually do it all that much,” Larry pulled back to meet your eyes.

Nodding, you smiled, “Sounds a little obsessive.”

“Well yes maybe,” He conceded bashfully, returning to your lax position against one another.

“Did you bring a towel?” You were never going to dry off in the moonlight.

Larry clicked his tongue and shook his head, the realisation dawning on him.

Hand in hand, Larry crept into his family home and left you in his bedroom as he went to retrieve towels, dripping salt water onto the floor.

The house was silent and it was slightly eerie, but Larry’s room was lit with a few candles. The warm glow was comforting.

Pages of paper spread across his desk and spilled onto the floor. A fountain pen sat in an inkwell and his typewriter sat pristinely in the centre. Books of all colours and sizes littered the shelves and floor.

Despite your efforts, you couldn’t help but have a closer look. A page of typed words sat in the typewriter, half-finished. Probably for his next novel.

The books beside his bed were a mixture of novels, notebooks and an… erotic poetry book.

Your interest was piqued. His novel was quite filthy so this wasn’t a shock and yet you found yourself thumbing through the pages.

Clippings of notes were hidden between the pages, all hand-written in Larry’s familiar cursive.

“I long to see you. I fear worsening the situation if I pose as a customer at the bar but my skin itches to feel the heat of your skin on mine. I burn for you.”

“Pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever — or else swoon in death.” - Keats

“I want to kiss your cunt. Your sweet cunt.”

You failed to suppress a scandalised gasp. The door creaked open and you scrambled to put the notes back in the book.

Larry stared as you put the book back on his nightstand, avoiding his eyes.

There was no hiding your sudden shock. At least he had the decency to give you a sheepish smile.

“Did I mentioned Leslie thinks I’m obsessed with sex?” He attempts to joke, gesturing to the book with pink cheeks.

“I read your novel, Larry. I don’t know why I’m so… surprised.”

Silence stretched between you as you ran the towel over your sopping hair.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Something burned inside of you, igniting an unfamiliar but powerful flame. You reached for Larry’s forearm to halt him but refrained from touching him.

“Have you done that before?” You asked, forcing your eyes to stay on his, anxiously twisting your fingers.

Larry furrowed his eyebrows at you. Taking a breath, you searched through the poetry book and held open the page to show him the last note.

Silence hung in the air to taunt you, as he scanned the page.

“I have,” was Larry’s answer, closing the book and tossing it aside.

The space between you stretched for what felt like miles, and you desperately wanted to reach out to him.

Wordlessly, Larry stepped towards you and tossed your towel onto his desk chair before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Call me a philandering bastard, a pervert, and this all stops,” He softly spoke, warm breath fanning across your face. Green eyes traced your features for any signs of uncertainty.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you pressed a soft kiss to Larry’s lips. He didn’t react at first, savouring your decision.

He was quick to press his lips firmer against yours, introducing his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

His movements were so slow and sensual, licking into your mouth and kneading the fat of your hips.

Stepping backwards, you pulled him by his shirt to follow, warm bodies pressed together.

“Thought about this, ever since that first day,” Larry whispered hotly against the skin of your neck, kissing along the column of your throat.

Large hands lowered to grab at your ass, as you let your hands wander across the covered planes of his chest and stomach.

“Me too,” You whispered despite your nerves. It was barely audible but Larry pulled back to meet your wanting gaze.

Silently, he watched your features morph into something he had never seen from you. A pout on your lips and your brows pulled together. Want.

Larry kissed you again, passion and heat, as he lowered you onto his bed. The metal bed frame creaked loudly, groaning out in agony, and Larry winced.

“Your family…” You pressed a hand to his chest as he joined you on top of the sheets, pulling you against him. Larry just shook his head.

Warmth emanated from him, as his body covered yours, lying between your spread legs. The soft pass of his fingers brushed your hair out of your face and he kissed you, any thoughts of anything but him escaping your mind.

Larry pulled his shirt off, revealing his surprisingly toned and tanned torso, before urging you to do the same.

Clothes piled on the floor by his bed until you were both in your underwear, caressing warm skin and kissing like you were drunk on each other.

Hovering above you, Larry lowered his mouth to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth before lowering to your chest.

Soft gasps and moans tumbled from your lips at his attentive kisses, unhooking your bra and tossing it away.

His warm tongue circled your nipple, sucking and catching it between his teeth, before moving to the other. Large hands toyed with the seam of your panties, ignoring the desperate squirm of your hips.

Instinctively, you snaked a hand into his black curls and tugged at the strands softly. Larry pulled away with a soft ‘pop’ and gave you a wicked smirk.

His spit-soaked lips continued their descent down your stomach, littering your hipbones with red and soon-to-be purple marks.

“You’re ethereal… my goddess,” Larry stared in awe, resting his chin on the lowest point of your stomach to watch your chest heave, your skin flush and your eyes squeeze shut.

“Larry… please,” You whined, rutting your hips involuntarily and fisting your hand in his hair.

Kissing over the front of your panties, Larry pulled them down your legs and immediately lost them in the tangled bedsheets.

He positioned himself on his stomach between your legs, manhandling each leg over his shoulders.

His warm breath on your inner thighs made you shiver, combing your fingers through his hair.

Without warning, Larry pressed his mouth to your heated skin and licked a stripe from your weeping hole to your throbbing clit.

Plump lips closed around the bundle of nerves and sucked softly, laving his tongue wetly. A loud gasp escaped your lips and you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth, panting deeply.

Larry repeated his movements, gripping your writhing hips firmly to hold you in place as your heels dug into his shoulder blades.

Sweat beaded on your skin and a rush of moans were poorly repressed. A string of spit fell from Larry’s lips, mixing with your arousal, before he resumed his ministrations.

The coil deep and low in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. You struggled to stay quiet, moans and whimpers of his name bouncing off the walls of his bedroom, and Larry was too thrilled to silence you.

Fisting roughly at his hair, you pushed him further against your sex, eliciting deep groans from him that vibrated against you.

One of his hands snaked up your torso, palming your tits before hooking two fingers into your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure. Lust-darkened eyes watched you fall into a pit of pleasure as he licked and sucked at you.

The band pulled taut until it eventually snapped, your back arching off the mattress.

A loud cry erupted from your chest, muffled slightly by Larry’s thick fingers in your mouth. Your leg straightened over his shoulder and your thighs caged his head at the intense wash of bliss.

With a heaving chest and sweaty skin, you slowly came down from your high. Limply you untangled your hand from his hair and let him pull your legs from his shoulders. You were boneless and pliant beneath him, smiling lazily at him.

Larry smirked, kissing up your body before kissing your lips softly. He lay beside you as you both panted with pleased grins.

His erection tented his boxers but he stared at the ceiling with as much satisfaction as you, wiping his slick-covered mouth with the back of his hand.

Aside from your heavy breathing, silence filled the room until Larry turned his head to face you and you mirrored him, erupting into giddy giggles.

The first man to eat you out and make you cum.

Larry wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest.

He kissed your head softly and whispered, “Satisfied?”

“Very,” You kissed his chest, your breath slowly evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut at the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat.

Larry pulled your leg over his hips, getting into a comfy position cuddled up against the pillows.

Thoughts about leaving before his family discovered you escaped your mind as Larry smoothed a hand up and down your thigh, slowly drifting to sleep.

No matter how forbidden he was, you would be seeing Larry Durrell every chance you got.

[seaswallovvme]

I see you wanted some request... May i suggest Baldwin laying his head on reader's lap and sharing a romantic moment? Maybe reader reading some poetry for Balwin and some soft kissses in his gloved hand. Just if you want, of course.

Have a nice day ♡

Shallows

A/N: This is inspired by the song “Shallows” by Daughter just in case you wanna listen to it! Also the poem is a shortened version of “Anim Zemirot” which is a Jewish liturgical poem. I thought it fit nicely cause often the love we share with others brings us closer to God and sometimes God reflects in other people to bring out the best in us🤍

The stifling Jerusalem heat was something she would surely never get used to.

She was born in a place far from the holy land, raised in a land that was so far she doubted she’d ever see it again.

A land where snow would fall and cover the mountains and endless meadows in a thick coating of white.

Sometimes she missed her home which now seemed impossibly far away, and everything in her new home couldn’t have been more different.

The first few months she had cried a lot, she had been homesick to a point where she could hardly eat, unsure about her fate of being the new queen of the kingdom of heaven.

It was such a heavy weight that lasted upon her shoulders at such a young age.

It was burden that threatened to crush her whenever she would wake in the mornings and yet, when she thought the sun would never rise for her again, a single ray of light made its way into her heart.

Her husband had always been so gentle and patient with her, coaxing her out of her shell when she shut herself away, bringing a small tray of her favourite cakes and spiced tea into her room.

He was so gentle, so kind and fair and so different from what her mother had told her about the ways of men.

He was exactly what a king should be and there had been so many before him, older and more experienced too but their glory faded in comparison to Baldwin.

She had never minded that he was sick, a part of her hoping he would leave her alone to lament his fate and yet she found herself to be pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.

It had taken time for her to get used to his presence and the duties that came with being a queen but she would have been a fool to keep him on a distance forever.

She simply couldn’t.

Not when he would sit by the side of her bed when she refused to leave her chambers for the first week, not when he would never raise his voice or have any demands other than to at least try to give this new life a chance.

A hour of him sitting on the edge of her bed had soon turned into more.

Spending the evenings playing chess or visiting the gardens at sundown, talking of books from lands far away, myths and stories or battles that had been fought long ago.

She simply couldn’t keep this gentle and soft-spoken young man at arms length.

One night however he didn’t come to her chambers.

She waited for the sun to set but even then, no trace of him.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her stubbornness.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her self pity?

And how could he not?

His fate was much more agonising than hers, his existence was a matter of life and death every day, only alive and breathing by the grace of god.

She felt like a fool to cause such an ordeal in front of the man who suffered each day, bearing his cross yet being so kind to her.

She was tossing at turning in her bed.

It was hot and the silken sheets that wrapped around her body so softly even felt too heavy at this point, too hot, too tight.

It was no use crying now, she decided chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully while slowly climbing out of her bed.

The marble floor was pleasantly cold underneath her bare feet as she slipped through the darkened hallways of the palace, quiet as a cat, a burning candle in one hand a book in the other.

She knew the way to Baldwins chambers.

He had shown her on the first day she arrived, explaining she would be welcome at any time of day or night no matter the reasoning.

And this reasoning was very important, she was sure.

She would head inside and apologise.

She would apologise and ask if she could read to him the way he had read to her so often.

She would say how sorry she was for being so ignorant and selfish, how she was sure she would do her very best from now on to be a proper queen and wife.

However as soon as she knocked softly and slipped past the guards with an apologetic smile the words died in her throat.

His chambers were dimly lit by candles, a faint trace of sandal wood lingering in the air.

Here it was cooler than elsewhere in the palace, to help his weary lungs breathe.

He was laying in bed, on his back.

His hands were freshly bandaged, his face too now that he was not wearing a mask and she could smell the herbal ointments.

Quietly she stepped closer but still he noticed her, raising his head as his eyes widened and she was sure had never seen a man this worried in her life.

“I am so truly sorry I was not able to visit you my beautiful darling”

When he spoke she had to step even closer to hear his voice, so soft and quiet that it easily could have passed as a hushed wind.

“I have developed a fever, nothing grave yet my physicians refuse to let me leave my chambers” he explained, a sorrowful look on his face.

“I had sent for a servant to inform you about the situation..did no one tell you at all?”

In that moment all of her hesitance, fear and standoffish thoughts melted away and instead her heart soared with an unfamiliar feeling.

It had first started faintly in her stomach when he would offer her his arm in the gardens a while ago but this was a much more intense feeling.

So intense it almost hurt yet in such a strangely beautiful way and she could feel the tears stinging in her eyes.

“Please do not apologise..it is I who should tell you how sorry I am” her voice was a mere whisper, strained and she licked her lips to wet them before slowly climbing into his bed, so careful not to hurt him.

She looked up, facing the guards by the door.

“Please leave us”

She rarely ever addressed them but now she did, her timid voice so loud against the quiet of his chambers that it nearly startled her.

Baldwin seemed curious by the way she was behaving and even more so when she spoke again as soon as the guards had left and closed the heavy door behind them.

“I want to apologise” she started quietly but her voice got more sure the more she spoke.

“I want to apologise for having been so difficult when I know you are feeling much worse than I. I have never wanted to be a burden to you or make your days more difficult than they are already”

When she had first started talking she avoided his gaze but now she looked at him, truly, for the first time ever and despite the fact she could only see his eyes she knew underneath the bandages he was smiling.

“An angel sent from heaven could never be a burden to me” he whispered back, reaching out to place his bandages hand on hers so very softly.

Her vision became blurry with tears and yet she smiled, gently squeezing his hand back and oh how she thanked the almighty to have given her a husband as gentle and righteous as hers.

She slipped underneath the covers, nuzzling into him hoping he could forgive her but the way he held her close made her feel like there was nothing to forgive at all.

After a short while they had settled in comfortably and now it was her turn to return all the affection, love and care he had showered her with in the last few weeks.

His head was heavy, resting in her lap and his eyes were shut as she gently traced her fingers over his bandages face, every now and then raising his hand to her lips to kiss it.

A fever was always worse at night but she hoped her presence would bring him at least a small sense of comfort, even if it was the least she could do.

Her plan however seemed to work just fine, his breathing slower, less laboured and his limbs had relaxed, his free arm wrapped around her as if he were scared she would leave.

She wouldn’t, never again.

“Would you like me to read to you? I finished one of the books you gifted me and when I read one poem I was reminded of you” she admitted, somewhat glad the dimly lit room disguised the flushing cheeks that came with how she hated herself emotionally.

She wasn’t worried he would make fun of her though, he never had made her feel uncomfortable and now it was on her to make him feel just as safe.

His response was a faint nod and a whisper, his blue eyes opening and he looked at her with so much adoration that she could feel her heart ache once more

“Yes please..”

She was eager to comply, not wasting a second she straightened up a little, opening the book she had brought, flipping through the pages until she found what she had been looking for.

With care she tilted the book in a way for the torches on the walls to hit the paper in a way that would make it possible for her to read.

When she did, her voice was quiet and she made no pause, only rubbing his hand through the bandages.

The way he squeezed her hand back made her stomach flutter, sure that he could feel her touch.

“Melodies I weave, songs I sweetly sing;
longing for Your Presence, to You I yearn to cling.

In Your shelter would my soul delight to dwell,
to grasp Your mystery, captured by Your spell.

Thus I glorify You in speech as in song,
declaring with my love: to You do I belong.

The scope of your greatness and he marvel of Your strength
are reflected in Your actions all described at length.

Youth and force in battle, old age on judgment day;
like a seasoned warrior, with strength He clears the way.

He wears triumph as a helmet on His head,
His power and holiness have stood Him in good stead.

May my prayer rise to the Creator of the miracle of birth,
Master of beginnings whose might and justice fill the earth.

May You find sweet and pleasing my prayer and my songs;
my soul goes out in yearning, for You alone it longs.”

Silence stretched out near torturously when she had finished reading and neither of them said a word.

She felt embarrassed all of the sudden, awkward having read a poem filled with devotion and yearning such as this, both for him and for God but when she looked down into his face all of those feelings faded.

His eyes were open, glossy with adoration and a sheer layer of tears and she could have sworn she had never seen a sight this beautiful.

No matter the illness, no matter the bandages and physical fragility that seemed to drain him, none of that could take his beauty away.

His voice broke when he spoke and she was so taken aback it took her a moment to recognise his words were a quote from the poem she had read

“..declaring with my love: to You do I belong..this poem is about the Lord is it not?”

She smiled faintly, shutting the book as she placed it down on the small table next to the bed.

“It is..it reminded me of you. Of how brave and good you are and I cannot help but feel as if the Lord wanted us to cross paths. Your love turns me into a better person Baldwin. When I am with you I feel as close to him as I have ever felt before”

His hand squeezed hers just a little tighter and he took a deep breath before he continued

“Sometimes I cannot comprehend the Heavenly Father and his mysterious ways. I used to think my illness was a way for him to punish me, scorn me for my sins but how could I ever doubt his justness, his everlasting grace and love when he granted me the time I get to spend with you?”

[artemlegere]

Satan, Sin and Death (A Scene from Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’)

Artist: William Hogarth (English, 1697–1764)

Date: c. 1735-1740

Medium: Oil paint on canvas

Collection: TATE Britain, United Kingdom

Paradise Lost Epic Poem

Paradise Lost is an epic poem in blank verse by the English poet John Milton (1608–1674). The first version, published in 1667, consists of ten books with over ten thousand lines of verse. A second edition followed in 1674, arranged into twelve books (in the manner of Virgil's Aeneid) with minor revisions throughout. It is considered to be Milton's masterpiece, and it helped solidify his reputation as one of the greatest English poets of all time. The poem concerns the biblical story of the fall of man: the temptation of Adam and Eve by the fallen angel Satan and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden.

The main conflict of the poem involves Satan’s jealous desire to corrupt God’s new and beloved creation by creating human distrust in God’s plan, a distrust that will lead to disobedience. Through the temptations of the antagonist, Satan, Milton emphasizes the corruption to which humans are vulnerable if they are not spiritually aware of the manipulative power of evil around them. Adam and Eve’s inner struggle, an effort to resist temptation, symbolizes the innate human desire to stay loyal or true to a spiritual compass, which, in Milton’s poem, is represented by God’s exhortations and the messages of his angels.

The inciting incident of the poem finds the antagonist, Satan, banished to hell, where he and his fellow devils construct a temple called Pandemonium, a symbol of chaos and irrationality, and then plot both to make a good out of evil and an evil out of good. Milton portrays the devils’ apparently democratic decision as ironic evidence of their failed capacity for reason: Satan refuses to accept God’s rational hierarchy—that the Son is superior to him—and settles on irrational disobedience. In an allegory reminding the poem’s readers of a conventional Christian understanding of the fall, Satan begets Sin who begets Death. He volunteers to corrupt God’s new and beloved human beings, and a bridge is built between Hell and Earth.

The rising action explores ideas about free will and a redemption in which God’s Son will willingly sacrifice himself, God’s plan for human salvation. The Son is the instrument through which God acts, and Milton shows how God and the Son work separately, yet are manifestations of the same entity, working as one. Free will is one of the major themes of the poem, and Milton suggests a paradoxical idea about it: a human being is free to choose, yet is only truly free when choosing the good. Events unfold as Adam is visited by the Archangel Raphael who recounts the story of creation, reveals the primary conflict between God and Satan, and describes the latter’s fall and the War in Heaven. The war stands as an extended spiritual metaphor in which disobedience leads to one’s blindness from the truth. Raphael warns Adam to be wary of Satan’s temptations; Adam’s choice will rest entirely in his own hands.

At the poem’s climax, Satan accomplishes his goal by convincing Adam and Eve to become disobedient. Plagued by envy and despair, Satan flatters Eve, convincing her to eat the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. He presents knowledge as a means with which she might equate herself with God, using his perverted reasoning to demonstrate how knowledge can be used for evil. Eve, in turn, convinces Adam to join her in this act of disobedience, and he dooms himself, unable to bear the thought of losing her. Ultimately, he chooses loyalty to Eve over loyalty to God. As the pair’s heightened senses take over, their capacity for reason diminishes. The further Adam and Eve drift from God, the more reduced their powers of reasoning become.

In the falling action, Adam and Eve awaken to their banishment from Paradise. They find themselves in a world of shame and evil, blaming each other for their condition, and Sin and Death subsequently enter the world. The fall, however, paves the way for humanity’s redemption and salvation; thus, Milton claims that his epic surpasses the ancient classics, as it pertains to all of humankind, not to a single hero or nation. The archangel Michael grants Adam visions of a future in which his offspring commit murder, as well as scenes of people living for pleasure and the flesh. Unlike Satan, Adam and Eve repent by praying to God.

Michael, in the poem’s resolution, recounts the idea that a Messiah will eventually arrive to reunite Heaven and Earth, noting that there will be much suffering before that reconciliation. Milton suggests that Adam and Eve’s fall is the “felix culpa,” or happy fault or fortunate fall, for God’s mercy is shown. Individuals, he suggests, may hope to redeem themselves through devotion and obedience to God, forming an aspect of his ultimate plan. Comforted by these suggestions, Adam and Eve, in the poem’s final scene, exit into a new world. They have been led to understand that obedience to God and his love for his creation will lead humanity toward salvation, toward regaining a Paradise that has been lost.

[mik0rin]

the ways i love you

“love manifests in many ways: the flowers that bloom after the may rain, the poems that new poets create, the gentle streams used to wash one’s hands, and the sweet filling of a freshly baked pastry. love exists in every open field, dark alleyway, and dusty crevice of the universe. And most importantly it lives in the hearts of people; in the heart of a man whose soul only yearns for you.”

alternatively: Geto Suguru isn’t the most verbal person, his emotions don’t come out in a string of words or paragraphs scratched on crumpled notebook paper. His voice is a private one, reserved for when he feels the necessity to speak, and sometimes that’s what gets him in trouble. It makes him look like he doesn’t care but that couldn’t be further from the truth; in fact, he cares too much, so much so it’s difficult to put into words. Suguru wonders if that will push you away one day, but he fails to realize that verbal expression is not the only way to say “I love you.” Sometimes it’s the little things. So here are a few ways in which Geto Suguru loves you.

geto suguru x black fem reader‎‎ ‎ genre: pure fluff, romance warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol consumption word count: 5,301

a/n: this isn’t in chronological order, so it skips around from the time in college and being adults in the workforce. and it moves around from different parts of the relationship !!

zippers and laces

Autumn always hosts a shy sun and chilly wind, and you watch the leaves fall like snowflakes off the tree right outside your bedroom window. You hear your boyfriend walk through the living room and grab his keys off the hook in the foyer. There’s a rustle of nylon as he slides on his coat and bends down to tie his shoes. You quicken your pace, applying your mascara with one hand and lipgloss with the other because you know soon to follow would be:

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Coming out now!” You reply, grabbing your coat off the back of your vanity chair and sliding an arm in as you exit the bedroom.

Geto hears the soft tinkle of the multiple bracelets that adorn your wrists and his attention is all on you (when was it ever not?). And no matter how often he sees you, his reaction is always the same; his eyes soften and light up all at once, his hands itch to be in yours, and his heart beats in the same rhythm as your voice.

You cross those few meters to meet him in the entryway and pull a pair of sneakers off the shoe rack. You drop them with a gentle thud and slip your feet into them and before you can bend over to tie your laces, your sweet boyfriend is already on his knees and tying them into cute little floppy bunny ears. And when he stands back up to his full height, he’s pulling you in close by the lapels of your coat and zipping you all the way up, making sure to pull your twists out of the confines of your collar. A grateful smile paints your lips and Suguru’s hands move from the collar of your puffer to caress your cheeks. With a grin so delicate- that if you were to blink you would’ve missed it, he sighs in complete adoration,

“My pretty girl.” And then he’s opening the front door of your shared apartment.

bedtimes and bookmarks

It’s a hot summer night and the cool silk sheets felt like absolute heaven on your bare legs. Soft yet rapid clicks of the keyboard echo throughout the bedroom and the faint turning of novel pages come from your end. Suguru was finishing up a report from his job because he would rather work overtime at home in your presence than be subjected to staying in that hellish (a very heavy exaggeration) office.

Sleep was tempting you like the devil in the Garden of Eden but you refused to succumb to it, if it wasn’t in the arms of your beloved boyfriend. You set your book down and walk over to him, slinking your arms around his neck and pressing a tender kiss to his cheek.

“When are you gonna be done?” There’s a slight whine in your voice and Geto has to fight the urge to abandon everything and take you to bed.

“I still have a bit more, angel. If you’re tired, just go to bed without me.”

A huff leaves your full lips as you pull away and the long-haired man turns his head just in time to see the pout that graces them.

“You know I can’t do that,” You tell him, “It’s impossible for me to sleep without you.”

You settle back into bed and continue reading the page you left off on. Suguru fights the smile that grows on his lips because he knows if you even have the tiniest inkling that you were going to win this battle, you would pull out all the stops.

And Geto might be a champion in all other aspects of his life but he has a continuous losing streak when it comes to you.

The man turns in the desk chair to face you and you peek at him over your thick novel with pleading eyes.

“I have about an hour left and then I’ll be done.”

A total lie.

He had at least two more hours to go but he couldn’t say no to you, especially when you so sweetly made that earlier declaration.

You beam triumphantly, “I’ll just read my book and wait patiently then.”

Thirty minutes barely pass before deep breaths reach Suguru’s ears. He saves his work and shuts off the computer before making his way to you. Your book lays face down, luckily still open on the page you last read. Geto begins to search for your favorite bookmark very quietly so as not to disturb you. He finds it wedged between the mattress and wall, he pulls it out slowly. When it comes free he looks at its fraying edges and peeling laminate; it’s a photo strip from your third date and he remembers how nervous he felt when you sat right in his lap in that cramped space and made him do silly poses with you. That’s when Geto Suguru realized he is completely and utterly weak when it comes to you.

Your boyfriend slides the bookmark in between the pages, closes the book, and sets it on the nightstand. He lifts the covers on his side of the bed and lays next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and he doesn’t even have to pull you in. It was instinct to you even in your deep slumber, your body craves to be close to his like two magnets finding their way to each other.

“Thought you couldn’t sleep without me?” He whispers into your neck and you shift in your sleep, mumbling the most adorable “Sugu.” A blush peppers his cheeks in the darkness of your bedroom and he slides his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. And as he falls asleep, he prays you two see each other in the land of dreams.

puppies and pamper

The hot water loosens your muscles one by one and you watch the sun start to kiss the earth goodbye. You turn around, shifting your position in Suguru’s loving grip, your bare chest now pressing against his. You whisper “Sugu?” and he looks at you with expectant eyes, waiting for the rest of your sentence.

“We should walk around since we have some time before dinner.”

His large hands caress your lower back as he nods a yes. And after another ten minutes, you’re stepping out of the open-air bath. The warm spring breeze blows over your wet skin as you wrap the towel around your body and walk back into your room. Both of you lotion your skin before putting on your Yukatas and exiting the room.

The sky's a perfect balance of day and night, and the wind rustles through the fabric of your robes. You and Geto walk side by side, occasionally commenting on how pretty the cherry blossoms are. Maybe it was the mood set by the events prior or the affection that always exists between the two of you, but there is something so tender and warm about being next to each other, bodies just barely touching and eyes meeting ever so often.

Older couples pass by you, cooing at how sweet young-love is, and Suguru can’t help but feel over the moon at the fact that the love between the two of you is so evident. As more people comment on how cute the both of you are, he spots a bridge that overlooks a small pond. The weakening sunlight and budding moonlight create picture-perfect lighting and he wants to see you under it, that way he could burn the image into his mind forever.

The dark-eyed man grabs your hand and points toward the bridge, “Let's go.”

You hum in agreement and let him gently tug you along, happy to see his subtle excitement. You don’t know what he’s thinking but his determination is oh-so-cute. The two of you walk a grand total of fifteen steps before something catches your eye: an older woman with the most adorable puppy. Your hand slips out of Geto’s almost immediately as your attention shifts to the small dog.

You’re now walking in the opposite direction, approaching the woman and her dog with a shy smile. Your boyfriend is very used to the way your attention diverts when you see a cute animal and he finds it endearing that your heart welcomes them all the same.

“Can I pet your dog?”

The older woman returns your smile with a small one of her own and nods her head yes.

“She’s a little shy, so she might not let you pet her.”

You let out a little “That’s okay” as you crouch down in front of the fluffy puppy and put your hand out for her to smell. Contrary to what the owner said, the dog is more than happy to see you.

“Hey, cutie,” You giggle, as you scratch a spot behind her ears and she all but melts in your arms. “What’s her name?”

"Sora," the woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "She's not usually this energetic around strangers. She must really love you."

You rub the puppy’s belly and tell her, “I love you too, Sora. Sugu doesn’t want us to get pets right now but I’m sure he would fall in love if we had such a sweet baby like you.”

“I guess that’s who’s waiting for you.” The woman gestures behind you and there Geto stands, watching you with honeyed eyes.

“Go, go” You motion to him, letting him know that you’ll meet him at the bridge. You turn back to play with the dog a bit more and when you feel like you’ve held up the poor woman long enough, you thank her and say goodbye to Sora.

Geto hadn’t moved, he didn’t walk to the bridge without you as you told him to and his expression hadn’t changed either. When he realizes that you were returning to him, he starts back on his previous path as you trail behind him. The man walks forward a few steps before stopping, his arm is now outstretched behind him waiting for your palm to connect with his. Your cool hand makes contact with his and he starts moving again. You’re beyond thankful that he waited for you and you display it with a squeeze of his hand and he responds back with two squeezes of his own.

Your shoes make a hollow click on the metal floor of the bridge, your hand gripping the railing as you watch the moon's reflections ripple in the dark water. You’ve gotten used to your boyfriend’s intense staring but somehow you’re always inclined to ask,

“What?” You turn to look at him, and Suguru knows that he was right about coming here. Your eyes glitter like jewels as you return his gaze and it's as if you’re illuminated by magic, everything about you just seems to glow at that moment.

“Nothing.” He mutters.

There were two beats of silence before he speaks again.

“Do you really want a puppy?”

juice and jewelry

The study table hosts the usual college student materials: lecture notes, concerning amounts of empty coffee cups, and the sleepy heads of a few students. This is your usual routine, cram the night before the exam and pray for the best. It’s nearing the group’s sixth hour of studying and anyone within a fifteen-mile radius could feel the dread and fading determination radiating from every single one of you. You glance over at your boyfriend, his hoodie sitting on his head and his glasses slightly sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks over the same lecture slides. And as you look around the table, everyone else seems to be losing much-needed energy.

You stand up, grab your purse and make a small announcement, “I’m going to the corner store, y’all want anything?”

The simple question suddenly breathes life into everyone as they recite their orders and offer up their humble gratitude. You type all of it into your phone and start to make your way to the 7-11 across the street. Suguru trails behind you, never wanting to be more than two feet away from you especially when the night envelopes everything like a dark wool blanket. You can feel the comfortable weight of his arm on your shoulders and the two of you walk that short distance to the store.

The fluorescent lights and jingling bell greet you as you walk in, and you waste no time picking up the things everyone requested and the small basket that rests in the crook of your elbow starts to fill up.

“Pink lemonade or mango green tea?” Suguru asks as he slips your favorite sandwich into the basket.

You look at him as if you’re fighting an internal battle of indecisiveness and he holds onto both as you approach the register. You stand behind him wrapping your arms around his waist as the poor cashier rings up an almost alarming amount of items. Once everything is in bags except for one of your drinks and one of Suguru’s, you start walking back.

The bags swing slightly from Geto’s arm as he opens the drink in his hand and switches it with the one in yours. You sip the drink and smile at the small gesture, he always does these things like it's second nature. He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever dated and you hope it stays that way.

You walk back into the student center and dump the bag in the middle of the table, and watch everyone scramble to desperately pick up their items. You fall into casual conversation trying to stay away from any exam topics or anything schoolwork related.

You’re trying (to no avail) to get Shoko to quit smoking, it’s a common argument between the two of you. You tell her you don’t want your best friend to end up terminally ill, and she tells you that won’t ever happen. She always tries to reassure you that nothing will happen to her health and you always show her research that proves otherwise.

Somewhere between you showing Ieiri graphic images on Google and her trying to turn off your phone, a warm hand grazes the back of your neck. If not for the familiar smell of vetiver and iris, you would have a few strong words for the person randomly touching you. But, you continue talking about the dangers of tobacco and nicotine, as you feel your necklaces being gently removed from your neck.

Geto had noticed it from the moment you walked into the convenience store. The multiple array of necklaces you chose to wear today wove themselves into a tangled mess. So, he does what any good boyfriend would do: he untangles them. Everyone around him was deep in conversation and Gojou was teasing Nanami about his new budding crush, giving him the opportunity to fully focus and not be bothered by his best friend’s chattering.

Suguru hums the tune of a song that you’ve been playing on repeat for the last few days as he works through the various knots. He never understands why you always decide to wear so many, only for them to end up in a tangled mess and you in a teary one. He’s asked before and you responded with a,

“It’s called fashion, babe.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he hasn’t said anything about it since.

The dark-haired man finally untangles the last necklace and arranges them flat on the table, trying his best to remember the order you had layered them in. Once he decides that the order of the necklaces matches what’s in his memory, he starts to put them back. It’s an easy task for him, taking him only about two minutes, thanks to you slightly turning and your braids already being held up by a sage green claw clip. He adjusts the pendants and gems in the front, flipping them over so they would be facing the right way. Suguru, however, fails to notice the fact that everyone is now whispering and most of their attention is on him. The boy only looks at you with almost glittering eyes like he’s very proud of his work.

And to show your never-ending appreciation, you lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, my love.”

Geto smiles at the term of endearment and he opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by the sound of gagging.

“Disgusting. You can’t do all that coupley shit somewhere else?” Gojou scrunches up his face and covers his eyes with his sunglasses.

“Shut up, Satoru. You’re just jealous because your girlfriend dumped your sorry ass, again.” You spit back.

“I told you we’re on a break!”

“I really don't care what you told me. You got dumped, loser.”

Everyone tries their best to mask their laughter, except for Shoko who laughs out loud.

The white-haired man narrows his eyes at you and gears up to say something back, but the sound of his best friend clearing his throat stops him. You look at him with a triumphant smile, ecstatic you got the last word.

Satoru mutters a “Whatever,” under his breath and dramatically turns his chair away.

Your boyfriend finds your hand under the table and only looks at you with an amused expression. And for good measure, he kisses your temple which results in a disgruntled sound from Satoru and more laughter from everyone else.

seatbelts and safety

Frank Ocean’s Novacane blares from the car’s speakers and you pull down the sun visor, using its mirror to apply your lip liner. It was well past the sun’s time and the moon is what reigned over the sky now. You glance over at your date, practically drooling at him in his tailored suit and perfectly styled hair. He’s so fine it causes the car temperature to rise above its already rather toasty atmosphere. You shrug off your fur shawl, fold it up in your lap, and adjust the strap of your pink evening gown.

You and Suguru have barely started your relationship and you’re already dragging him to your internship events on such short notice. But, if you were the only one to show up without a date to a Cupid-themed benefit gala, it would be beyond embarrassing.

You turn towards him, your voice coming out half apologetic and half grateful. “Thank you so much for coming with me and for driving. I know this shit is last minute but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m your boyfriend, it’s fine.” Suguru waves off, but the blush that burns his cheeks at the word boyfriend betrays his rather cool attitude. And your eyes widen at that statement as well, the fact you’re his girlfriend is still incredibly fresh and sometimes you have to tell yourself it isn’t a dream.

“But still, you were visiting your family in Kyoto and-”

“It’s okay, don’t stress it.”

You want to say more but you decide to listen to him, because if he didn’t have a problem with it then there is no reason you should.

The tension in the car is palpable and there are so many words (compliments) that sit on the tip of Geto’s tongue but his nervousness is taking over his senses and the fact you look like an absolute dream, like a prayer that heals even the most rotten hearts, is not exactly helping either.

The car slows as you approach the red light and your boyfriend takes the opportunity to drink you in. And he wonders if you can feel him staring at you because if you did, you were doing a wonderful job at hiding it. All of your focus was on your phone and the hundreds of texts you were sending.

Geto thanks any god out there willing to listen for this unnaturally long redlight because it gives him extra time to appreciate his girlfriend’s beauty. But when his eyes drop down to the corset detailing on your waist, the boy notices the lack of seatbelt and he immediately unbuckles his own. There are still thirty minutes of driving before you reach your destination and he rather you stay safe for as long as possible.

So, he leans over and you slightly flinch at the sudden motion. His cologne surrounds you and his hair brushes up against your collarbone; you almost ask what he’s doing but when you hear the soft click of the seatbelt buckling into place, your question is answered. Suguru starts to settle back in his seat but not before stopping so his face was right in front of yours, your heart beats wildly against your chest and you can see his pupils dilate.

“You’re so beautiful, I don’t think I can describe it.” He whispers like he’s scared if the words were too loud it would ruin everything. But no matter the volume of his voice, your body burns at the compliment and you don’t know how to respond.

But before you can formulate your next thought, green tints the inside of the car, and the person behind honks their horn. Suguru quickly sits back down and puts his own seatbelt back on, but his hand still lingers on your thigh and pink still lingers on his ears, while a smile paints your lips.

rainstorms and relocation

Rain hits hard against the roofs of houses and drenches the trees and flowers. You peek out the store window, wondering how in the world the two of you were going to make it home. It had been 75° with sunny and clear skies when you had left the house three hours ago, so you had decided to leave the car behind and take advantage of the late spring day. But you know better than to ever leave the house without an umbrella, the only problem is that your umbrella is only for one person, and as much as you call your boyfriend your “other half,” that is obviously figuratively.

You hear footsteps approaching from behind you and a hand on the small of your back guides you toward the exit.

“I’m hungry, let's go.”

“It's raining.” You state.

Geto flashes you a look of amusement, the corner of his lips perking up at your extremely serious expression. “I see that, angel. Do you not have your umbrella?”

Your lips fall into a flat line, “I do, it's just way too small.”

“We’ll be alright.”

The two of you were not alright.

Somehow the rain starts to come down heavier as you walk out the doors of the furniture store and it beats against your poor umbrella, causing it to bend every so often. Suguru holds the umbrella, leaning it slightly to his right so that you are fully covered. However, that leaves his left shoulder completely unprotected and you don’t notice it until you’re waiting for the crosswalk signal to show the little green man.

“Suguru, your entire arm is wet!” You exclaim, trying to take control of the umbrella but he has a death grip on the handle.

“It doesn’t matter.” He says, ushering you forward as the crosswalk starts its countdown.

“I don’t wanna hear all that because of course, it matters. We can just buy a bigger umbrella.” You’re trying to reason with him but once Geto Suguru is a hundred percent sure about something, it’s almost impossible to change his mind. And he just so happens to be very determined about making sure you arrive home without ever feeling one spring rain droplet.

Your boyfriend shakes his head, “Our apartment is right there, there’s no point. And it’s good practice, we’re gonna be sharing a lot more than umbrellas now.”

Suguru is right.

And oh how you hate when he’s right. However, his correctness causes your heart to sing a sweet melody, only because you know tomorrow and every tomorrow after that your love will live in the same place, like how it’s meant to be.

cocktails and cotton pads

The front door swings open and Geto has to take a step back to avoid a broken nose. You flash him the sweetest drunken smile as your body collides with his. His arms wrap around your waist to keep you stable and a silent laugh falls from his lips. You were clutching onto him so tightly like you were afraid he would disappear.

“You should’ve come! I missed you.” Your voice was a little too loud and your consonants were turning into vowels.

Suguru starts to lead you into the bathroom, his heart smiling at your words. “You said it was ‘girls’ night,’ remember?”

“Oh… ” Your face scrunches up in thought as you try to remember, “I did say that! I said that, right?”

He gives you a slight nod, “You did.”

“Next time, it’ll be a Suguru Night.” You shove your left pinky in his face. “I promisssee”

Every night that you came home to him would be a Suguru Night in his eyes. He didn’t need you to promise anything special as long as you kept loving him as you did and he could keep loving you. But, he humors you nonetheless because he knows how seriously you take promises.

His pinkie wraps around yours and the pads of your thumbs touch. The two of you lock eyes and place a kiss on your touching thumbs.

“And it’s sealed.” You slur as your bare feet finally touch the cold tile floor.

Suguru sits you down on the toilet before turning around to open the medicine cabinet full of all your skincare products. He first grabs your fluffy pink headband and turns back towards you to put it on.

“I have to put this on, stay still.” It’s a very soft command, full of care and kindness.

Your boyfriend slides on the headband - effectively pushing your hair out of your face, then he gets to work. He’s memorized your skincare routine after watching you doing it night after night and so he starts with your oil cleanser, using it to take off all your makeup. He continues with the next steps and you sit in patient silence, your body humming with drunkenness and pure admiration.

When the dark-haired man turns around to grab one of your serums, it dawns on him that you have yet to speak. Usually, you would’ve told him all about your night, every tiny detail that you could possibly remember. But instead, you were staring at him, your lips curved into a small smile and your hands clasped together in your lap.

His eyebrows furrow in concern, “You okay, princess? You need water or somethin’?”

“I’m okay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper like you were holding something back. And in an instant, Suguru is right back in front of you, his warm hands on your exposed shoulders. You look at him, really look at him (even if he’s a bit blurry due to your lingering buzz) and you notice so many things.

His hair is still slightly wavy from the French braids you gave him last night, he smells of vetiver and iris, and his lips were coated in that pink-berry chapstick you bought him last week. Geto has always been and will always be the most attractive man you have ever seen but something about tonight makes you realize how pretty he is.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at how your eyes soften like ice cream on a hot summer afternoon. He’s praying this isn’t some prelude to you crying.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are, Sugu?”

You have. Multiple times. He thinks. He flashes you the usual look of disbelief and begins to apply your moisturizer, giving you a face massage in the process.

“Mhmm.” He hums, entertaining you for the moment.

Your lips fall into a pout and you huff a “You never believe me. I wouldn’t be with you if you were ugly.”

“Good to know.” He shakes his head in amusement, you’re always so honest both drunk and sober.

“You know I was banned from talking about you tonight. Supposedly I talk about you ‘too fucking much.’ But my thing is, I have the best boyfriend in the world and I love him more than love itself, so why wouldn't I let everyone know how much I adore him? I would even tattoo ‘I love Geto Suguru’ on my ass.”

You pause for half a second and then you continue on, “Actually, no I wouldn’t. That’s tacky as hell. You know what I would do?”

Geto’s thumbs rub small circles into your cheeks, his tone giving away that he has no idea what you’re going to say next. “What would you do?”

“I’d take your last name, I think that’s way better than a tattoo.”

Geto goes silent but he swears his heartbeat is echoing off the bathroom walls and his inner thoughts have become outer ones. His hands leave your face and opt to grab your toothbrush instead. He puts the toothpaste on and runs it under water before handing it to you.

No matter how many times he hears your drunk babbling, everything you say still shocks him. He never doubts your love for him, however, the two of you are both private people when it comes to relationships. So the fact you talk about him that much is news to him, and something about you being so proud to have him as a boyfriend has him a little bit dizzy.

And the casual confession that you would marry him, that you would love to be his wife.

“I’m getting you water, I’ll be right back.”

“M’kay” Your voice is a bit muffled from the foam in your mouth.

Suguru takes a minute to catch his breath in the kitchen.

You are going to be the death of him.

How does he even respond to that? With an engagement ring he has yet to buy (it’s still sitting in his online cart waiting for Shoko’s approval)? Or maybe with a proclamation of his own, one that you will only half remember come morning time.

The dark-haired man walks back into your shared bedroom after collecting himself and catches sight of you pulling one of his graphic tees onto your body. You barely glance at him before settling into bed, fatigue now coating every single one of your features. All the drinking and dancing is finally catching up to you. Geto hands you the cup of water and you softly thank him before drinking it. He slides your bonnet on as you down the water. He wonders if you could feel his hands shaking due to his racing heart, or the way his breaths are heavier than usual.

But you don’t. The alcohol still clouding your sense of awareness and your laser-focused on trying to pull Suguru into bed. He wants nothing more than to lay next to you and rub your back until you fall asleep, but he’s now full of the sort of energy that is created by love - true love.

And you give up after a few tries, mumbling something that’s close to a “goodnight” and drifting off to sleep. Your boyfriend grabs one of your many lip balms off of your vanity and applies it to your lips before finally settling down next to you. Suguru’s back is against the headboard, one hand scrolling through his phone and the other one tracing shapes on your arm. He looks down at you, eyes shining with the kind of emotion that is only captured in two sentence quotes and letters from another time.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Then he phone pings with a text that says: “it’s perfect for her.”

a/n: hey yalllll, it’s been a hot minute but i hope you liked this (i lovedddd writing it) and i have two other wipes, luv y’all <3333 and let me know what you thought :))

[whencyclopedia]

Ninigi

Ninigi-no-Mikoto, or simply Ninigi, is the grandson of the supreme Shinto deity Amaterasu, the sun goddess. He is the son of Ama-no-Oshiho-mimi and, descending to earth as the first just ruler, he brought with him gifts from Amaterasu as symbols of his authority which remain part of the Japanese imperial regalia today. Ninigi became the great-grandfather of Japan's first emperor, the semi-legendary Emperor Jimmu, and so established a divine link between all subsequent emperors and the gods.

Ninigi Descends from the Heavens

In Japanese mythology, the sun goddess Amaterasu Omikami asked her son Ama-no-Oshiho-mimi to descend from the heavens to rule the world of the mortals. Twice refusing this honour after seeing the general chaos that prevailed in the world, Ama-no-Oshiho-mimi nominated his son Ninigi-no-Mikoto (full name: Ame-Nigishi-Kuninigishi-Amatsu-hiko-no-ninigi-no-mikoto) to go in his place. To this Amaterasu finally agreed, and she gave Ningi three gifts to help him on his way. These were the Yasakani, a fabulous jewel (or pearls or magatama beads), source of the ancient quarrel between Amaterasu and her brother Susanoo, the storm god; the Yata, the mirror which had been made by the gods and successfully used to tempt Amaterasu out of the cave which she hid in following some typical bad behaviour from Susanoo; and Kusanagi, the great sword Susanoo had plucked from a monster's tail. These would become the three emblems of Ninigi's power (sanshu no jingi), and they became the imperial regalia of his descendants, the emperors of Japan, starting with his great-grandson Emperor Jimmu (r. 660-585 BCE). Thus, all subsequent emperors were able to claim a direct descent from the gods and so legitimise their authority to rule Japan.

The celebrated 7th-century CE poet Kakinomoto Hitomaro composed this poem on Ninigi's descent to govern humanity:

At the beginning of heaven and earth

The eight hundred, the thousand myriads of gods

Assembled in high council

On the shining beach of the Heavenly River,

Consigned the Government of the Heavens

Unto the Goddess Hirume , the Heaven-

Illuminating One,

And the government for all time,

As long as heaven and earth endured,

Of the Rice-abounding Land of Reed Plains

Unto her divine offspring,

Who, parting the eightfold clouds of the sky,

Made his godly descent upon the earth.

Manyoshi (Keene, 104-105)

Amaterasu also gave Ninigi some specific instructions regarding the Yata mirror: "Consider this mirror as thou wast wont to consider my soul, and honour it as myself" (Hackin, 395). Eventually, the mirror would indeed become an object of worship or shintai and end up in the Ise Grand Shrine in the Mie Prefecture, dedicated to Amaterasu and still today Japan's most important Shinto shrine.

Ninigi, carrying his three precious goods, and accompanied by three gods (including Ame-no-uzume, the dawn goddess, and Sarutahiko-no-kami, the god of crossroads) and five chiefs, landed on earth at the top of Mt. Takachiho, in the south of Kyushu. From there, after first building himself a palace, he went to the temple of Kasasa in Satsuma province where the five chiefs set about laying down the principles of the Shinto religion, creating a priesthood and organising the building of temples. The chiefs would pacify the land and establish the clans which would dominate Japanese government for centuries to come such as the Fujiwara clan. In this capacity, the five became the ancestral deities of these clans, the ujigami.

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[april-is]

April 24, 2024: How Can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time Like This, Hanif Abdurraqib

How Can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time Like This Hanif Abdurraqib

dear reader, with our heels digging into the good mud at a swamp’s edge, you might tell me something about the dandelion & how it is not a flower itself but a plant made up of several small flowers at its crown & lord knows I have been called by what I look like more than I have been called by what I actually am & I wish to return the favor for the purpose of this exercise. which, too, is an attempt at fashioning something pretty out of seeds refusing to make anything worthwhile of their burial. size me up & skip whatever semantics arrive to the tongue first. say: that boy he look like a hollowed-out grandfather clock. he look like a million-dollar god with a two-cent heaven. like all it takes is one kiss & before morning, you could scatter his whole mind across a field.

--

From the poet:

“I was at a reading shortly after the [2016] election, and the poet (who was black) was reading gorgeous poems, which had some consistent and exciting flower imagery. A woman (who was white) behind me—who thought she was whispering to her neighbor—said ‘How can black people write about flowers at a time like this?’ I thought it was so absurd in a way that didn’t make me angry but made me curious. What is the black poet to be writing about ‘at a time like this’ if not to dissect the attractiveness of a flower—that which can arrive beautiful and then slowly die right before our eyes? I thought flowers were the exact thing to write about at a time like this, so I began this series of poems, all with the same title. I thought it was much better to grasp a handful of different flowers, put them in a glass box, and see how many angles I could find in our shared eventual demise.” —Hanif Abdurraqib

Today in:

2023: Lit, Andrea Cohen 2022: Meditations in an Emergency, Cameron Awkward-Rich 2021: How the Trees on Summer Nights Turn into a Dark River, Barbara Crooker 2020: Ash, Tracy K. Smith 2019: Under Stars, Dorianne Laux 2018: Afterlife, Natalie Eilbert 2017: There Are Birds Here, Jamaal May 2016: Poetry, Richard Kenney 2015: Dreaming at the Ballet, Jack Gilbert 2014: Vocation, Sandra Beasley 2013: Near the Race Track, Brigit Pegeen Kelly 2012: from Ask Him, Raymond Carver 2011: Sweet Star Chisel, Dearest Flaming Crumbs in Your Beard Lord, John Rybicki 2010: Rain Travel, W.S. Merwin 2009: Goodnight, Li-Young Lee 2008: Bearhug, Michael Ondaatje 2007: Meditation at Lagunitas, Robert Hass 2006: Autumn, Rainer Maria Rilke 2005: On Turning Ten, Billy Collins