#sick and twisted to desire beyond ones means

[bytebun]

.

[lovemyavatar]

Temptation

| Neteyam x F!Avatar!Reader |

Summary: when you aren’t busy getting into trouble with the oldest Sully, his brother is more than happy to provide some entertainment

Warnings: angst, broody/mean Neteyam, drunk shenanigans, long af, brief smut-ish

dialogue in Italics is Na'vi translated to English

chapter one

Chapter Two

“Put your hands here.” Neteyam's voice is low, focused as he firmly guides the boy's fingers around the string of his bow.

He gives a slight nod of approval, motioning for him to hold the position. He's barely taken a step back, poised to move onto the next Avatar waiting patiently for instruction, when a distinct thwap catches his attention.

His head jerks to the side, eyes instantly narrowed in warning. He acts before his brain has time to catch up, strong legs closing the short distance to the end of the line in only a few long strides. His heated gaze flicks over your taunt form, where you've clearly just shot an arrow without permission.

To his dismay, a sick sense of pride wells in his chest as his eyes flick toward the target, lingering on the arrow that’s landed dead center. He shoves the feeling deep down, welcoming poignant frustration as it creeps into the hallow space left behind.

When close enough, he doesn't hesitate to harshly rip the bow from your hands, lips pulling into a frown at the sight of your pleased smirk. Wide, mischievous eyes glimmer up at him, and he seethes.

“Tiftang si (stop it). I told you to wait.” He glowers at you, chin dropping in a way that should be intimidating.

Instead, it ignites the fire raging in your lower belly, fanning the flame of desire that's been brewing for weeks. You blink up at him, feigning innocence despite the fact that you're clearly trying to rile him up. It's become a game of yours, to see how far you can push before he snaps.

It doesn't take much these days. Early on, you decided to use the way your eyes seem magnetically attracted to him to your advantage. You watch him. Study the most minute of reactions, the almost imperceptible ways his face pinches when he's nearing the end of seemingly endless patience.

After nearly two weeks of constant training, he's been...different. Still the picture of a flawless rising leader, with his stoic and firm nature. But the tiny moments between you have increased. The lingering glances, roaming hands...you suspect he thinks you haven't noticed, but how could you not?

“We're not children, Neteyam. It wouldn't kill you to move a little faster.” One of your hands extends forward, aimed for the bow, and he's quick to place it behind his back, out of your reach.

His ears flatten, the sound of his name on your lips making his stomach twist with an uncomfortable feeling. His tail swishes from side to side, and your gaze drops to the irritated movement before finding his again.

Warmth blooms under the skin of his cheeks, so he dips his head, letting a few stray braids cover his face.

“From now on, you go last.” He mutters, quickly averting his eyes as he moves back to the next Avatar in line.

A satisfied smirk tugs at your lips, arms crossing to appear unaffected as the lesson continues.

The following days go on much like this, with you ruthlessly digging your way under Neteyam's skin while he does everything in his power to retain what's left of a crumbling resolve.

A rough sigh falls from his lips as he stalks toward the base of Home Tree. The muscles between his shoulders ache from coiling so tightly, but he hasn’t been able to relax for days. Truthfully, he hasn’t so much as taken a deep breath since the Sky People landed on Pandora two weeks ago.

He’s worried, scared, even. For his people. For his family.

It's a foreign feeling, one he hasn't confronted before. Not to this magnitude. He's never laid awake at night, wondering if, along with the emerging sun, the next day will bring unimaginable loss. The thought alone tears him up inside, makes him weary and anxious beyond belief.

Everyday begins with a debriefing with his father. And everyday he desperately tries convincing him that he’s capable of more than standing by the sidelines. He aches to be a part of the conflict, to help his clan in their path to victory.

He’s a warrior just like the rest of them, having completed his Uniltaron (dream hunt) before the enemy’s arrival. He’s a warrior, and a skilled one at that, so the fact that his father won’t even entertain the idea of him fighting alongside his people is infuriating.

Something dark and twisted curls in his stomach, the whisper of newfound petulance nagging at him. He’s never questioned his father’s orders, never faltered in his practiced role of the perfect oldest son.

But lately…it’s been weighing heavily on his shoulders. The expectation, the responsibility, it’s all too much. There aren’t enough hours in a day to watch over his siblings, The People, and adequately prepare for upcoming battles.

The threat of full out war grows closer with each passing moment, and there’s only so much space for the pressure to build within him before something has to snap.

He doesn’t feel like himself, not accustomed to being so on edge all the time. He’s been irritable, snapping at anyone and anything at the slightest inconvenience. He isn’t sleeping, partially because of his brother but mostly because his mind never stops racing.

The days are no better because then there’s…you.

He can’t escape you. Can’t avoid your persistent nature. He's never dealt with someone like you before. There's Lo'ak, of course, with his mischievous tendencies. But you...it's like you do it on purpose. Like you get a kick out of his frustrated reactions.

It's impossible to miss the satisfied twinkle in your eye every time he snaps or prods at you. And it confuses the hell out of him. You confuse him because despite it all, despite the fact that he doesn't like you his traitorous heart skips a beat when your challenging gaze meets his.

Every. Single. Time.

He should hate you on principle alone. You're everything he isn't. Loud, boisterous, overly confident. Though he would never admit it, he's grown fond of your dynamic. His entire life, he's been revered and respected by the clan, treated with the utmost respect that the son of Toruk Makto deserves.

It's stifling.

No one has ever challenged him. Never spoken out of turn or questioned his teachings. So, despite the spark of anger your actions cause, a deeply repressed part of him likes it. Appreciates the defiance because it means you don't view him as some unobtainable leader-in-training, but as an equal.

It's something he's never had before, a strong presence at his side. Arguing and bickering with him like they aren't afraid to offend the future Olo'eyktan. With it, comes an unfamiliar warmth that settles in his lower belly, the beginnings of an affection he's nowhere near ready to accept or acknowledge.

He was doing well, clinging onto what's left of his restraint, until one early morning caught him by surprise.

He found himself wandering through the upper levels of Home Tree during a rare few hours of peace. To his great relief, Kiri had been tasked with giving the Avatars a tour of the village that morning.

His father wanted them to get accustomed with all aspects of Omatikayan life in these brief moments of calm between training and battles with the Sky People. An order he found himself grateful for as he savored the unusual quiet.

A long-forgotten ease worked its way back into his muscles, stiff shoulders finally uncoiling as he climbed, clutching onto these fleeting moments of solitude. That is, until a quiet grunt sounded from above, making his ears twitch with recognition.

His brow pinched in confusion at the sight of you, dangling from a thick tree branch near the sea of swaying hammocks. His head tilted back, curious gaze trailing over your wobbly form. He was momentarily stuck in place, reduced to simply watching as you slowly made your way down the length of the branch.

Your expression was tight with determination, shaky limbs losing their inexperienced grip with every other movement. His legs moved before he knew what was happening, a strange tightness strangling his heart.

“What the hell are you doing?” He barked, narrowed eyes boring into you pointedly as he easily hoisted himself up one level.

Your head swiveled to the side, eyes widening briefly before a soft smile pulled at your lips, face relaxing as if you weren't hanging a hundred feet from the ground.

“Oh, hey Neteyam.” His name was a breathy sound from your tongue, and he cursed his weak stomach as it flipped.

“You're supposed to be with the other Avatars.” His eyes scanned your body, lingering on the loose hold your legs had around the branch.

His fingers curled into fists in an effort to keep them at his sides. For some reason, he ached to reach out, to grab you firmly and pull you from the precarious position. He settled for watching every twitch and sway of your muscles, tensely poised to bring you back to solid ground if necessary.

“I got bored.” Your shoulders raised in a casual shrug, nearly throwing you off balance.

A tiny gasp lodged in your throat, arms tightening around the tree limb. Rough bark scratched at your skin, heart racing at the possible danger. It didn’t spark fear within you, but rather excitement.

You’d been craving more since arriving in the village, and decided to make your own fun when training became too monotonous. Neteyam's jaw clenched, unable to stop himself as he closed a bit of the distance, taking a small step toward you.

“Learning the ways of my clan is boring?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, though he still watched you closely.

Your eyes found his in a pointed stare. “You know that's not what I meant. I'm just picking up on things faster than they are, so...”

“So you abandon training when it doesn't interest you. How very humble.” He murmured, head cocking to the side in a show of mock interest.

Your hands and feet called out in protest, tired muscles quaking more with each passing moment. Your nose wrinkled, tiny huffs leaving your parted lips as you tried pulling yourself up, to no avail.

“Oh, yes. That means a lot coming from you. Neteyam Sully, the picture of humility.” A breathy chuckle rumbled your chest, despite the twinge of panic curling in your stomach.

From there, everything seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. You tried a different approach, one arm lifting to hook around the branch. Your other arm almost instantly gave out under the increased weight, muscles too spent to hold you up for even a moment longer.

Your legs quickly followed suit, releasing their weak hold. It was only a split second, only a fleeting moment that your body spent plummeting toward the ground. But your stomach still churned, bile rising to your throat when nothing separated you from the hard, unforgiving earth.

In a flash, a firm pressure wrapped around your waist, hauling you up harshly. You stumbled, feet barely catching on rough bark before losing grip, sending you flying forward. Breath caught in your lungs, arms blindly grabbing onto the closest thing available to right yourself.

Neteyam stepped back, guiding you away from the edge, arm tightening around your middle as you fell into him. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, feet finally finding stability beneath you. The two of you settled, muscles pulling taunt as your close proximity became apparent.

Only a few inches existed between you, heaving chests nearly touching with each ragged breath. Your eyes slowly trailed up, following the pattern of deep blue stripes along his collar bone, up the column of his throat, until they locked with molten yellow.

“My hero.” The quip was shaky, less confident than you hoped as your skin burned in each place he touched.

Long fingers twitched against your side as his hold tightened almost unconsciously. His lips pulled into a frown, eyes narrowing in warning. The fact that you were still making jokes, still unable to be serious for one single moment—even after nearly falling to your death—irritated him to no end.

“You are reckless.” He hissed, heated gaze scanning your body, as if making sure you were really okay.

Heat washed over your skin under the weight of his stare, stomach turning with anticipation. You couldn’t help but inch closer, body moving on its own volition as you pressed your hips into his. He stiffened against you, but made no move to pull back.

“But it’s charming, isn’t it?” You murmured, blinking up at him innocently, a small smile curving the corner of your lips.

A low growl rumbled his chest, fingers of his free hand balling into a fist at his side. His gaze snapped up to meet yours, pinning you in place with the intensity raging behind bright yellow. Heaving breaths mingled, melding within the minuscule space that remained between you.

You admired his tight expression, having never been this close before. Your eyes grazed over each stripe, counting the glittering freckles that dotted smooth skin. Meanwhile, his gaze dropped to your mouth, unable to look away as his heart thumped harshly in his chest.

He was burning up, a sensation so hot and unfamiliar igniting in his belly that it urged him forward, head jutting toward yours minutely. His breath hitched at his own actions, the tip of his nose brushing along yours as he swayed, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

His mind went hazy, thoughts jumbling in a conflicting mix of desires. To push you away, to bring you closer. But he was frozen in this torturous limbo, unable to do either. His heart constricted in his chest, air leaving him in short pants.

You couldn’t take it for a second longer, hands moving to sink into the braids at the base of his skull, lips claiming his in a searing kiss. You swallowed his strangled sound of surprise, mouth slanting over his. After only a beat of frozen tension, he responded with equal passion, free hand cupping the side of your neck firmly.

Your lips fought for dominance, his claiming yours with bruising force while you nipped at his skin, fingers tugging lightly at his hair. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, arm unconsciously tightening around your waist to pull you flush against his front.

He spun you quickly, pressing your back into rough bark. At your sudden gasp, his tongue dove into your mouth, clumsily exploring. His heart thrummed so violently in his chest he feared it may break through the skin. His stomach burned with a tightness, a mix of emotion he had yet to experience.

Of course, he’s found other Na’vi attractive. He’s had fleeting crushes here and there throughout his life, but he’s never acted on it. Never had the time or interest to give any women his attention. He’s never explored this aspect of life, never allowed himself the pleasure of feeling another’s skin on his in such an intimate way.

And now, within only weeks of knowing you, he’s lost all resolve. Years of restraint crumbled in only days—mere moments under your tempting presence enough to make him lose his mind.

As your lips continued battling for the upper hand, his mind raced, warring thoughts making him feel woozy. The fact that you’re the one that’d broken him, the one to shatter the plan he made to wait, to save these kind of experiences for his mate…it makes him burn.

“Neteyam?” At the rough call of his name, the two of you instantly lurched apart.

His palms shoved against you, and you stumbled back, nearly losing balance for the second time that morning. Wide eyes caught pointedly, chests heaving, labored breath the only sound other than quickly approaching footsteps.

“You up there, boy?” Jake’s deep voice echoed through the trees, an ice cold shock of reality to both of your systems.

“Yeah—yes, sir.” Neteyam cleared his throat, averting his eyes as you watched his every move, frozen in place only a foot away. “Coming!”

He hastily jumped down, not sparing you a single glance as he raced to meet his father. You were left standing there, heart racing, fingertips ghosting over your lips as they pulled into a small, victorious smile.

“Ow! Ow!” Lo’ak squirms, hissing lowly as his mate smears a handful of yalnabark over a deep gash in his chest.

She grumbles under her breath, brow pinched with an emotion Neteyam can’t quite decipher. His lips purse, jaw grinding under the pointed sting of his sisters hands as she works on the few scrapes marring the skin of his back.

The day wasn’t entirely a loss, but it didn’t exactly go well, either. Sky People hit the forest, closer than ever before. Neteyam, along with the other warriors, were hastily rounded up before flying toward the danger, not to be seen again for several hours.

Neteyam and Lo’ak were supposed to be spotters. They had direct orders from their father to stay far away from the conflict, something that did little to calm Neteyam’s already raging frustration after his morning with you.

He was distracted. Utterly and completely unfocused, the only thing on his mind the way you made him crumble. The way a simple touch of your lips on his set him ablaze, shredded every fiber of control he’d spent nearly twenty-one years carefully weaving.

So, when Lo’ak raced toward the ground, straight to the one place they weren’t supposed to be, he instantly followed, mind already too clouded to think of a better plan.

Another pained grunt echoes from across the room, causing Lo’ak’s mate to growl, a sound that has Neteyam’s ears twitching with interest. His eyes flick toward the pair, secretly watching the lovers quarrel unfold.

“You should have been more careful. You really couldn’t wait until after the first mission to get hurt?” She roughly scoops up another glob of the healing ointment, eyes narrowing at his brother.

“Tahni (star)—Eywa!” He curses when her fingertips press into his skin firmly, jerking away from her touch.

Her face pinches with a scowl, and she suddenly drops the bowl harboring her supplies, letting it clatter onto her work station loudly. With a final pointed huff, she storms from the tent. Lo’ak is quick to follow, instantly uncurling from his seated position.

“Baby, wait!” He rushes after her, a few seconds of amused silence following their absence.

(see extended Star Girl scene here)

“Skxawngs (idiots).” Kiri mutters, a quiet laugh rumbling her chest as she continues tending to the wounds on Neteyam’s back.

He doesn’t fight the smirk that tugs at his lips, finding their dynamic endlessly entertaining. He’s become used to it, the way they seem to deal with everything so passionately. Whether they’re bickering or keeping him awake with their lovesick mumbling, it’s clear that their connection is strong.

He watches them disappear through the entrance, spine straightening when his eyes land on his father through the newly opened gap in the woven door. It's not Jake that's gotten his attention, but the small group trailing behind him as he nearly runs through the gathering area.

Neyeyam is on his feet in an instant, ignoring Kiri's confused calls as he bats her hands away and races from the tent. His head swivels from side to side, eyes scanning the area until he finds you, almost to the tree line already.

“Dad!” He shouts, jogging to catch up.

For some unknown reason, his heart is pounding, stomach in knots as he takes in his father's worn expression and the large gun held tightly in his hands. His tail flicks to attention, standing tall at his back.

“What's going on?” His gaze moves to you briefly, skimming over the bow slung across your chest.

His chest tightens, something unknown squeezing his heart. His eyes linger for a second too long, meeting yours for only a split second before quickly falling to the ground. Jake turns to face him with a rough sigh, the sound drawing Neteyam’s eyes reluctantly from the dirt.

“We need help transporting the rest of the wounded. And picking up the supplies we couldn't get to.” His voice is rough, clipped with obvious irritation.

Neteyam's chin drops, ears flattening, knowing his mistake—his carelessness—left the clan unable to finish the mission. He forces his eyes up despite the unease in his stomach, meeting his father's disappointed gaze.

“And you’re bringing her? I will come.” He can't even begin to explain why, but the thought of you going anywhere near the battlefield has his stomach turning with anxiety.

“No. You'll stay with your brother and sisters.” The statement in final, leaving no room for argument.

“Out there is no place for her kind.” Neteyam's jaw clenches, the words coming out much harsher than he intended.

His gaze remains locked on his father, but he still notices the way your ears tuck against your head, lips pursing at his words. One of the warriors at your side snickers, until another clan member elbows him pointedly. Neteyam's hands clench into fists at his sides, an unexplainable anger washing over him.

“I need all the hands I can get and—you know what, I don’t have time for this. Go finish getting patched up.”

“Dad—” He’s suddenly desperate, the need to make Jake understand overwhelming.

“Son, you've done enough. Go.” He walks away, shoulders tight, the small group following close behind.

You’re frozen for a long moment, watching Neteyam curl inward at the admonishment. His ears fall, jaw clenching as his chin tucks into his chest. His tail swishes from side to side roughly, an obvious sign of his distress.

You ache to reach out, to comfort him, but the sharp call of your name has your arm returning to your side swiftly. With one last long glance, you scurry away, legs moving quickly to close the growing distance between you and the Olo’eyktan.

The moon has long eclipsed the sun, blanketing the base of Home Tree in darkness.

A small, awe-struck smile pulls at your lips, eyes locked on the earth as it bursts to life beneath each of your careful steps. Your toes press into the dirt experimentally, and it instantly responds, vibrant colors shining through low twilight.

In the last two weeks that the village has become your Avatar’s home, this has been your favorite time on the moon. You find comfort in the quiet stillness of nighttime, often exploring while the rest of the clan sleeps.

The beauty of the moon amazes you, leaves you breathless as glittering bioluminescence seems to beckon you closer, urging you to discover every treasure Pandora has to offer.

The sound of laughter and shouting echoes through the forest, guiding you forward. You’re a bit hesitant as you break through the tree line, unsure if you’re welcome at the celebration.

Despite the day’s earlier conflict not going perfectly, a few of the warriors were able to convince Jake that the clan needed a chance to let off some steam. They’d been fighting for weeks without rest, without more than a few moments of reprieve. He agreed to a small, quiet celebration, but it’s clear that didn’t last long.

A large fire rages in the center of the gathering area, Na’vi dancing and singing happily around it. Small groups sit around, chatting and drinking casually. A soft laugh bubbles in your chest as your eyes scan the crowd, watching Na’vi who’ve been so composed and fearsome until this point let their inhibitions go.

“Y/N!” Your head turns at the call of your name, curious gaze landing on Lo’ak’s mate.

A soft smile pulls at your lips, a warm sense of comfort washing over you at the familiar presence. Her free arm waves you over happily, while the other is slung over Lo’ak’s shoulders. She’s perched on his lap, both of his arms resting loosely around her hips.

“I heard you saw some action today.” She beams as you grow near. Your eyes flick over her swaying frame, noticing that her pupils are dilated, her cheeks tinged with a deep shade of purple.

“Barely.” One of your shoulders lifts in a dismissive shrug, attention shifting to Lo’ak who seems to be just as tipsy as his mate.

By the time you’d arrived at the battlefield, all humans were long gone. The only thing left to do was sort through the rubble, ensuring no one was left behind. A few clan members were recovered, thankfully all still alive, though some were badly injured. Jake ordered you to help move discarded weapons, which you gladly did.

All in all, it wasn’t a very exciting scene.

“Want some?” Lo’ak’s voice rips you from your wandering thoughts.

He raises one arm, a dark liquid sloshing inside a hand-carved wooden cup as he holds it out toward you. You lean forward, eyes dropping to the mystery drink, inspecting it for a few seconds. One smell has you recoiling, nose burning from the strength of the alcohol.

“Oh, god, no. I think that would actually kill me.” You laugh, moving back to cover your nose.

“Come on, don’t be a wuss.” A big, teasing grin splits his lips, and he pushes it closer to you.

“Lo’ak!” His mate hisses, palm slapping against his chest in warning.

He grunts lowly, but otherwise ignores her chastising. Your eyes flick to his, finding him already watching you with raised brows. A grimace tightens your face, regret already twisting your stomach at what you’re about to do.

But you can’t deny the challenge, your competitive nature demanding that you accept his offer to prove yourself. Your fingers close around the cup, taking it from him and lifting it to your lips in one quick motion.

The pungent smell fills your nose, making it wrinkle with hesitation. You force a slow breath through pursed lips, head tilting back to drain the remaining liquid from the cup in one swig.

“Lo’ak, I don’t think this is a good idea…” His mate giggles, unsteady on her feet as her head tilts back, wide eyes following your careful movements closely.

“It's fine, baby.” He waves her off dismissively, watching you just as attentively. “We'll catch her if she falls.”

“We?” She emphasizes, another inebriated laugh echoing through the trees.

Your lips purse, fuzzy brain doing it's best to ignore them as you slowly walk across a low hanging branch. Both of your arms are extended outward, helping you maintain shaky balance, feet moving with purpose along rough bark.

It all started after you took Lo'ak's drink. He couldn't help but stare at you, mouth agape with shock at the way you chugged the whole thing seemingly effortlessly. He wasted no time in grabbing another, and then another, quipping that he could drink faster.

The challenges kept coming, both of you growing more intoxicated—and competitive—by the minute. Every drink hit you especially hard, since you'd never tasted the stuff before, but you were determined to hold your own.

You'd raced, climbed high up in the trees, and now, in your drunken state, the next best thing was this tightrope act. Lo'ak's mate has been watching the two of you with an amused smirk the whole time, your little group receiving many quizzical glances as you tuck further into a corner of the ongoing party.

You're not far enough off the ground to risk serious injury, a fact that convinced you it would be a good idea. You offered to go first, so here you are, barely managing to keep yourself upright several feet above the glowing earth.

Once you reach the end of the branch, shaky legs clumsily lower you into a seated position before you jump down. You sway on the landing, nearly falling over until Lo'ak's mate reaches out, fingers wrapping around your arm to steady you.

“Easy.” The word falls from your lips thickly, syllables slurring together.

Your tongue feels too heavy, sticking to the roof of your mouth uncomfortably. The ground beneath your feet is unsteady, shifting every few seconds. Bright colors blur together as your eyes blink slowly, struggling to focus through the low evening light.

“Now let me show you how it's really done.” An amused chuckle rumbles Lo'ak's chest as he strides past you, stumbling a bit as his arms reach for a higher branch.

“What the hell is going on here?” A deep, disgruntled voice suddenly cuts through the lighthearted atmosphere.

None of you heard him approach, too distracted by your current antics.

“Oh, shit.” Lo'ak's mate whispers beside you, grip on your arm tightening.

You turn too quickly, the world racing to catch up, making your stomach flip. Sharp teeth cage your lower lip, heart swelling at the sight of Neteyam, all hard edges and seriousness. You eagerly watch his brow furrow as he glares at all of you.

Your greedy eyes slowly trial down his form, following the path of glittering freckles from his broad chest, along his toned stomach, to his loincloth that conceals what must be a huge—

“Come on, bro.” Lo'ak rolls his eyes with a rough sigh, jumping down from his half-perched position in the tree. “Lighten up.”

Neteyam's frown only deepens, shoulders tightening as his eyes flick over the three of you expectantly. The skin of his face warms under your dazed attention, a shiver running down his spine. His jaw clenches, heart constricting with unwelcome emotion as he quickly averts his eyes.

Despite his best efforts, his mind has been stuck on you since your little group disappeared with his father. He searched for you once the other warriors returned. Secretly, of course. His eyes carefully trailed over the crowd, tongue clicking against his teeth to prevent himself from asking where you were.

It’s driving him crazy, the way his body won’t let you go. He wants nothing to do with you. And yet, he can’t deny this inexplicable pull, the overwhelming desire to be near you at all times.

“Curfew?” His hands lift in exasperation, gesturing to the nearly empty surrounding area.

Your brow furrows, upper body shifting to peer around his tall frame. Almost everyone is gone, only a few stragglers left behind. The fire has long been put out, glowing embers releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the night sky.

The three of you were completely unaware, too caught up in your drunken fun to notice.

“And you. What the hell are you doing?” The curt acknowledgment has your eyes snapping back toward him, spine straightening.

“Who, me? Oh, uh, I’m just…I was on my way back to the hammocks. Yep. That’s what I’m doing.” You point in a random direction clumsily, pulling your arm from the light touch still holding you upright.

You stumble without the assistance, tired muscles giving out under your own weight. A giggle falls from your lips as you barely manage to catch yourself, arms splayed outward dramatically. Behind you, Lo'ak staggers back to his mate, slinging an arm over her shoulder lazily.

He's the picture of nonchalance, one leg crossed over the other as he leans into her. Her hands move up to hold onto his, still swaying on her feet slightly. Lo'ak's brow raises in silent challenge, and a low growl breaks the steadily growing tension.

Neteyam’s glare turns lethal as his narrowed eyes snap from your clearly intoxicated state to his brother.

“Did you get her drunk?” The accusation is ground out through clenched teeth, frustration tightening his chest.

“We were just showing her a good time.” Lo'ak's arms raise in mock surrender, a huge, unapologetic grin splitting his lips.

Neteyam's jaw grinds, tail thumping against the ground in irritation. Truthfully, he'd rather be anywhere but here. He's simply following orders, locating his brother and his mate as Jake requested. He didn't expect to find you, of all people, hanging around them like a leech.

He just can't escape you. You're everywhere, consuming his thoughts, making him distracted. He's never struggled with something like this before, never met someone so vexing that he can't even complete his duties in peace.

“Hey! That's not fair.” Your head swivels, attention jumping between brothers as they speak in a language you don't understand. Finally, your bleary gaze lands on Lo'ak's mate, lips pursing in a pout. “What are they saying?”

Her only response is a tiny shake of her head, golden eyes widening in warning.

“You really enjoy making things hard, don’t you?” Neteyam hisses, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

He’s so tightly wound, muscles aching from how tense this day has made him. His mind is still reeling from the kiss he hasn’t had time to process, and his brothers careless actions that nearly got the both of them killed.

He’s a ticking bomb, frustration and anger mounting so fiercely inside him he knows he’ll explode any minute. He just can’t take it, the pressure within him needs some kind of release, or he fears what may happen next.

“Sorry I’m not the perfect son like you.” Lo’ak’s brow lowers, all amusement gone from his face in an instant.

Neteyam’s chest aches, ears flattening at the loaded insult. His shoulders drop, responsibility weighing so heavily he feels it in his bones. He knows Lo’ak will never understand, never bear the duty of being the first born.

He tries so hard not to blame him for the hand they’ve both been dealt, but in moments like these, it’s nearly impossible.

“Go home. I will clean up your mess.” His voice is low, rough with finality.

He holds Lo’ak’s fiery gaze for several long beats, until his mate gently urges him away, murmuring quietly in his ear. As they disappear toward their home, his eyes pinch closed tightly, a tired sigh falling from his lips. He inhales a long, grounding breath before spinning on his heel.

He stalks toward you, eyes locked straight ahead. Long fingers curl around one of your arms in a firm hold as he walks past, dragging you along with purposeful steps.

“Come.” He mutters, not sparing you so much as a single glance.

Your wobbly legs struggle to keep up, feet catching on the loose dirt every couple of steps. Your stomach turns at his quick pace, free hand moving to grip his wrist in a silent plea to slow down. The two of you only make it a few feet before your limbs get tangled, nearly bringing you both to the ground.

“What was that about?” You slur, heavy-lidded eyes blinking up at Neteyam as he mercifully stops.

He begrudgingly turns to you, chin dropping as his eyes bore into yours with indignation. Your lips part, breath hitching at his sudden closeness. Your gaze trails along his face, lingering on his mouth for a second too long before they flick back toward his eyes.

“Your eyes are actually kinda pretty when they aren’t glaring at me.” The words are a breathy whisper as your body sways toward his, the skin of your chest grazing his for a quick moment until he jerks back.

Warmth washes over his skin, and his gaze instantly hardens.

“Oh, you ruined it.” Your lips press into a pout, an action Neteyam's traitorous eyes jump toward eagerly.

The world suddenly shifts, knocking you off balance. Your free hand swings up, looking for the nearest source of stability. It skims his shoulder, before slowly falling to his chest where it presses into his skin firmly. You sway, forcing him to pull you closer to ensure you won't fall to the ground.

Your hazy mind struggles to catch up as something strong and warm, so warm, encircles your waist. He releases your other arm, and it instantly wraps around the back of his neck, fingers diving into his braids.

Neteyam's heart skips a beat, then thumps erratically between his ribs. He doesn't know what he's doing. His body is acting on it's own accord, disobeying his thoughts that scream to just let you fall, to leave you to find your own way home.

His skin burns where it touches yours, muscles tensing under your light caress. You feel his heart hammering beneath your hand, a fact that has a small smirk pulling at your lips.

“Let go.” His rough voice breaks the spell, makes your eyes flick up toward his.

A giggle bubbles in your chest, because he must not realize that he's the one holding onto you so tightly. Weight shifts between your feet, dragging your skin along his in a way that makes his breath hitch. It's such a small movement, barely perceptible, but you catch the subtle parting of his lips.

“I don’t think I can.” Big eyes blink up at him innocently, waiting for the inevitable tension once he realizes what he's done.

Your inebriated mind wants to take advantage of this moment, wants so badly to close the last few inches that separate you. Your stomach twists with anticipation, fingers lazily playing with the braids at the nape of his neck.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me today.” You coo, watching intently as his expression hardens.

“It was stupid, bringing you to the battlefield like that.” The excuse is weak, even to his own ears, as it's ground out through clenched teeth.

“I think you’re forgetting that's the whole reason I'm here.” You can't help but inch closer, heated gaze exploring his skin.

A rough sigh falls from his lips, eyes narrowing in warning. “You’re forgetting that I don’t like you.”

“And how many times do you have to repeat that? Just to keep yourself from…” Your attention is locked firmly on his lips, unable to resist the pressure in your lower belly that begs for relief. Relief only he can provide.

“Y/N, you’re drunk.” He leans back several inches, using what's left of his quickly dwindling control.

No matter how enticing he finds the fire in your eyes, he would never act on it, not while you’re under the influence. You probably don't even mean what you're saying. This morning was a one time thing, never to be repeated. It was a mistake, plain and simple.

Even while these thoughts race through his mind, his arm tightens around your middle, keeping you upright when you nearly fall again.

“And you’re so tense.” His jaw ticks as you edge closer, hand trailing down his front. Strong muscles twitch under your light touch, ragged breaths filling the small space between you. “You know, it’s okay to want something…for yourself.”

Neteyam's eyes pinch closed tightly, heart constricting, because you couldn't be more wrong. From childhood, it's been drilled into his head that he's the oldest, that his siblings are his responsibility. Individual desires have never been encouraged, never even been a consideration in his mind.

He hasn't had the time, let alone the opportunity to want something for himself. The stark reminder makes his stomach turn, shattering what's left of the sultry haze that surrounds the two of you.

His hold drops from your waist, free hand moving to firmly peel your roaming fingers from his hair and stomach.

“What is it going to take for you to understand that I. Don’t. Want. You?” He accents each word with a harsh glare, hands circling your wrists as he finally manages to remove your hold on him.

He pushes you away lightly, dropping all contact as if you’ve burned him. He just can't take it for a moment longer. Not if he wants to maintain his tattered shreds of restraint, to prevent either of you from making another mistake.

Your breath catches at his sudden dismissal, feet tangling from the weight of his gentle shove. The ground shifts, bright colors blurring as you crumble to the ground, landing harshly in a jumbled heap of limbs.

Your hands barely manage to smack against the dirt before your face hits the unforgiving surface. A soft hiss falls from your lips, expression tightening with the painful sting along your palms as the earth cuts into your skin.

“Fuck.” Neteyam mutters, instantly crouching to your level, arms extended to help you.

He didn't mean for you to fall, never intended to push you that hard. He wasn't thinking, so blinded by the need to put some distance between you that he forgot you weren't steady on your feet.

In your drunken state, you’ve lost the ability to mask the hurt that crosses your face. It’s only a split second, a fleeting moment of vulnerability, but it pierces his heart all the same. For a long moment, you stare up at him, equal parts disbelief and anger welling in your eyes along with unwanted moisture.

“I can find my way back.” You're quick to cast your gaze toward the ground, batting his hands away.

All emotion is gone from your voice, cold acceptance left in it's wake. It feels as if you've been doused with a bucket of icy water, clarity washing over you so abruptly it constricts your heart. Embarrassment colors your cheeks, hazy mind clearing enough for regret to trickle in at your actions.

You clumsily scramble onto your feet, swaying a bit as your hands brush away lingering clumps of dirt from your skin. Neteyam is quick to stand beside you, teeth grinding, stomach flipping at the hard expression on your face. It's so different from your typical openness, the usual playful light that glitters behind your eyes long gone.

Suddenly, he's found something he hates more than the roots of affection that have cracked through his resolve.

He aches to reach out, to apologize, but his lips only purse more firmly as he watches you stagger away from him. Because if he’s learned anything in his nearly twenty-one years of life, it’s that he can’t want anything for himself.

Even so, he takes a single step forward, calling out as if there's a chance to salvage the growing connection between you.

“You won’t be able to climb in your current state. Just let me—”

You cast him a withering glare over your shoulder, the pointed anger in your eyes stopping him cold. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, restraint tightening his chest as he prevents himself from stalking toward you and making this right.

In an instant you're gone, hastily stumbling up the carved staircase in the center of Home Tree. A ragged breath rumbles from trembling lungs, ears flattening as remorse twists his stomach.

His tail swishes with displeasure, but for once, he has no one to blame but himself.

taglist:

@rainbowsocks @b-tchymoon @quest-for-pluto @neteyamwifesstuff @neteyamforlife @anxietydrogz @alexandra-001 @jdbxws @squidalapobre @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @daeneeryss @ihave500hubbiez @queen190 @mightyneteyam @pipopapipobear @sharkybabe9 @gretesstuff @neteyammmmmms @who-is-ej @fanboyluvr @leilaniers @daughterofthequeen @aonungsmate @ebbonic @gamerxpfighter @certifiedpussyeater @jakexneytiri @tammitammytime @tiredmamaissy @lovedbychoi @valenvl12 @minjix @moslaying @sullyswife @arcwanderer @glimmering-darling-dolly @danyxthirstae01

[belladonnadawn]

My Tears Ricochet

“And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want; just not home. And you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones.”

After the war, Lawrence (Xanthus) went back to his home, only to be a witness of his own wake.

Dark clouds enveloped the skies as the rain continued to pour. Lawrence’s clothes soaked and wet, he shivered at the cold breeze that came along with the weather. But that was the least of his concerns. 

Standing by the tree, he watched it all– a witness to his own wake. Lawrence observed intently, still unable to wrap his head on the absurdity of it all. Everytime he asks himself what has happened and what occurred, he was answered by the spear that pierced his chest. The memory was fresh, the torment won’t seem to end sooner. 

To rub the wound with salt, his heightened senses made him hear everything: the sobs, the quiet utterances filled with condolences, and the heartbeats. It was overwhelmingly painful, as if he was being punished for a sin he could never atone for. He wanted to tell himself that it was a dream, but it's hard to lie to himself when the truth was right in front of him, rubbing it in his face. 

Audric was one of the guests, muttering condolences and wearing a sympathetic look on his face. Lawrence could laugh at the situation, as if it was a sick and twisted joke hurled to him. Nevertheless, he was amused at how Audric got along with the crowd, blending in perfectly and concealing their lies. Any questions about his corpse or casket, Audric would answer it swiftly: “I found the poor young man’s body in a ghastly manner…. in a way that’s beyond me. Even so, we all know that he died with honor, let us leave it at that.”

His eyes scanned the crowd, some faces were familiar, some faces weren't. Baron, count, viscountess, duchess; his ear picked up their titles. Lawrence wasn't surprised, his father was a noble before he was a father. That didn't stop the disappointment and hurt knowing where his priorities truly lies. He went with his orders, he obliged to his commands no matter how much he opposed it just to be in his favors. But even in death, he was just a mean to the end.

“Oh, Lawrence! My son! My poor son!” 

His eyes widened recognizing the voice. “Mother…” Lawrence spoke gently, his voice cracked hearing his mother’s wail. He watched through the open windows how his young brother came to her aid. Nathaniel tried to console their grief-stricken mother while he cried with her– but to no avail. He understood her grief, to know that someone that you deeply love was taken away in a gruesome manner– in a fight that he never chose to be in. There was a deep regret in her heart, she wished she stood up against her husband’s order, she wished she had stopped her son from leaving, she wished she hugged him a little longer. Now, their Lawrence was nothing but a memory. 

Nathaniel tried his best to act tough, but his facade was not strong enough. Lawrence’s heart ached further at his brother’s situation, knowing the pressure and challenges he might experience– but his brother’s concern was far from that. Nathaniel reminisces at the times where he’d talk about his dreams and adventures, how his brother listened to his stories and rambles no matter how nonsensical it is. He’d remember the times where he’d go along with his newfound hobbies, encouraging him to explore and be whoever he desired to be. 

And now that his brother was gone, who was going to listen to his stories? Who will join him in his make believes? Who is he going to run to when the horrors of reality come after him? Nathaniel wiped his tears, a bitter feeling on his mouth as his brother’s absence left an empty hole in his heart. 

So long to the adventures that Nathaniel and Lawrence tried to make, it was merely a dream never bound to come true.

The weight of his death slowly engulfs him, he finds himself in a state of turmoil. Was it grief? Was it anger? Was it regret? Lawrence felt his emotions crash into him, it resonated to his heart, his body, everywhere. He was just a young man, a son, a plebe. Forced to face the atrocities of war to fight for his honor– his father's honor. Only to be met with fate worse than death. He choked on his sobs, begging to God to bring his life back, to wake him from this nightmare. But would God listen to a mere vampire like him– does God even consider him as their child?

He could only pray– pray that the path he was led to was worth the suffering, that at the end he won’t look back filled with regrets. Lawrence felt a small tap on his shoulder, interrupting him from his thoughts. He composed himself, wiping the tears as he faced him. 

“If you’re going to stay here, you’d blow your cover.” Audric spoke. It was time to go. 

He only nodded as he began to walk towards his new residence. Lawrence left the wake, with a heavy feeling in his heart. In the casket was the body that was never his– along with the life that he has left behind. The tomb will be etched in a name that he’d soon abandon. 

Farewell Lawrence Claiborne, you were a doting brother and a loving son.

[drama-trauma]

LEVEL 72

Tw:short smut,manipulation,plot twist,minor character deaths,daddy issues,suggestiveness,a little grooming if you squint, consent

You were the illegitimate second heir to a dukedom.Born from an affair whose mentions were swept under the rug by your father — not for your well being but for his status.

What made you stand out the most was your intelligence. Being labelled as a child prodigy and remaining to be a genius while growing up.You were chosen to be a royal advisor to one of the princes,Atticus de Margalline.Being the sixth child, he didn't really have a chance for getting the throne unless through slaughter. But you highly doubted if he could do it, considering the way he follows his other siblings around, in hopes of a single glance from them.

You knew all too well what power could do to a man. Alas, to survive —one must first be willing to die and kill. And you were willing to do whatever it takes to survive.Even if it means to guide a naive prince in a world of darkness and show him just how cruel the world can be.

From the first meet alone, you could tell that the prince did not want the throne one bit. What he wanted was affection and attention from his father and siblings.Yet there was always a longing for something far beyond his reach that shined through in his eyes. For what? you didn't know and you were not interested in finding out either.A wish that would always remain unfulfilled was what it would be.

It was hard to gain his trust at first. He looked at you with eyes filled with naivety yet a kind of suspiciousness at first. After a while of being with you, he had come to terms with your presence. He started to seek you out more. You had seen the smiles that followed after each request fulfilled. But you remained unaware to the cold and calculating gaze he had on you at times.

To ensure both his and your survival, slowly but surely , you had started to spill the poison of envy and greed.His mother will die soon of sickness, his father could care less and his siblings are too busy trying to save themselves, so who cares about him other than you? They would all leave him without a single thought but not you. You will be his guide.He only has to follow your words and you will be with him? You will protect him? You will cherish him? Only you would do that.

You started tempting him with the luxuries the throne has to offer, the way no one will take their eyes off of him and how the people will kneel and follow his every word . And lastly, how you would stand by his side through it all.He gave into your words and massacred his family. They were nothing to him, right? So why are there tears from his eyes as blood falls everywhere?Atticus knew this moment was inevitable yet the grief of a sin committed haunted his mind.

That was the night where you first held him.Taking Atticus to his room and pushing him down on the bed. For the first time in his life, he knew what it meant ,to be comforted by entwined bodies.

He was crowned King and you stood by his side. You got rid of pests that came in both your ways. And that included your family. Years of your planning led to their downfall and you, to your success . The people threw rocks at them while they admired your righteousness.Your greatest desire was being fulfilled right now.

You could see the horror stricken look on your father's mistress. The look of grief , hatred and regret on your siblings. Yet the expression you wanted to see the most was your father's.On his face was a look of acceptance. He knew that his schemes couldn't be concealed forever. Not with a prodigy like you in the house. Right before the execution, for the first and last time in your life, he smiled at you.

Tonight, it was you who wanted comfort. For the first time in years, you cried. That man couldn't spare a glance at you when he was well off but smiles at you as he's about to die!? What in the world was his problem!? Does he hate seeing you happy? Does he hate seeing you alive? Does he hate your very existence?

To Atticus, who only knew comfort by intercourse, that was what you needed tonight. You did or said nothing as he lubricated your hole. He kisses you, one filled with gentleness. He kisses you again, one filled with passion. And he kisses you once more, one filled with hatred.

He enters you gently. You wanted nothing more than to have your mind blown out. For a genius like you, the curve of his dick, it's size or the vein at the top meant nothing more than a tool for pleasure. For a fool like him, the crevices of your hole, it's twitching and the moans you let out were the only good things in his boredom filled life.

As he went rounds after rounds, your brain was turning into mush. Too tired to keep up , you fall into slumber. After spilling his seed inside you one more time, he covers the blanket over you two.

Tonight's events will be kept a secret just like any other of your shared nights. Yet what makes tonight special is the small light emerging from the room, one Atticus states at intensely. And it's source is a screen which says

★★★[MISSION COMPLETED]★★★

[COMPLETED QUESTS: COMFORT AN NPC

EARN THE TRUST OF AN NPC]

[REWARDS: 1500 EXP

5000 COINS

<<FATE'S PENDANT>>]

[ LEVELLED UP ]

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ ad victoriam

strange how there's always a little more innocence to lose.

❧ ꒰ childe × genshin impact × quote cr : dishonored ; kudukolove ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

ACT 1 : IF THE WORLD DETERMINES EVIL BE MY NAME, THEN SO BE IT

THE FIRST TIME YOU WITNESS FOUL LEGACY IS IN MEANS OF PROTECTION, your body dyed in horrid colors, chest heavy in trepidation and all things alike, your mind a haze in the midst of doom & survival. you do not know what to think, what to feel, what to do. your hands tremble with a violence unheard and unfelt, but you do not know if it is from the adrenaline that has failed you, the air of death that grants decay to your lungs, or the transformation of someone you love twisted into something unrecognizable yet all the same at once.

it is silent. heavy, deafening. you feel so terribly dreadful, but you do not know if there is justice in such fear. something has gone terribly wrong, yet you are safe now, you think, the figure before you surrounded by what once was and who once was.

but your heart pounds against your chest in warning , tells you that you should run, hide, understand that you are living in falsehoods & fatalities.

you do not move. you do not know if you can. foul legacy approaches you, and there is something you understand in his gaze : yours filled with bewilderment, his with fascination and the faintest of relief. slowly, cautiously, as if to not frighten you further, he gets down on one knee before you, notes the tension that fills your body.

he does not speak. what is there to be said?

so he holds out his hand, watches as you still, place your hand in his. how beautifully so that it trembles even more.

WHAT WILL WIN, YOU WONDER : LOVE OR CORRUPTION?

ACT 1, REVERSED : IF YOU ARE THE WORLD'S JUSTICE, IT MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH

THE LAST TIME YOU WITNESS FOUL LEGACY IS IN MEANS OF A KILLING, your bodies dyed in crimsons, chest heavy in fatigue, your mind steeled in the midst of blood lust and the knowing of morality. you do not know what to think, what to feel, but you know what to do. your hands do not shake like they did once before, but the fear still remains, and perhaps there is a guilt that follows in its shadows.

it is silent. heavy, deafening. your heart was right all along and maybe you knew it, knew that this love was not meant to be forever and that it would succumb to his desire and loyalty for the cruelty in higher beings.

you recognize him beyond the transformation, the disfiguration that tears his body and soul asunder, infects him with a madness and brutality. you recognize him, and it hurts very much so. you miss him.

you will miss him after this is over, too.

neither of you speak. what is there to be said?

so you smile in devastation, fail to notice his expression falter only the slightest bit, and ready your weapon.

IT IS CORRUPTION THAT TRIUMPHS OVER LOVE, AFTER ALL, AND IT IS YOU WHO WILL BRING THE END TO THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN CAPTURED BY THE ABYSS.

[cvpitvno]

PRINCE CHARMING (part two)

𖤐 — 6k

𖤐 — fem!pronouns, soulmate au, angst, fluff, open ending (but happy), mean!mingi, mentions of a troubled home life for yeosang, unhealthy relationship examples, yeosang is pushy but he means well

they were far from friends and could hardly be considered acquaintances either. blame it on her avoiding all things fun or cool in the eyes of the crowd, or be it his insatiable need for popularity, their paths were just never meant to cross.

to him, saving a little face, remaining untouchable, and being someone other boys looked up to and who girls drooled over, meant much more than any of that soulmate bullshit the world shoved down the youth’s throats the minute they turned sixteen.

you see, yeosang never understood the want or desire for an eternal pairing against his will. to wake up one day, freshly sixteen and still sporting a baby face, and have words written delicately on his wrist determine the rest of his life.

the sight was beautiful he could admit, but for a boy whose own parents were a walking disastrous pair of soulmates who fought and who raised their son to believe that romance, feelings, and all things that followed, were signs of weakness – the disgraceful femininity that some men embrace.

they taught him in their own twisted way without meaning to, that soulmates were a load of shit. people didn’t just magically fall into place with their counterparts because of some writing on their wrists. no, people were cruel, sick and twisted individuals who only used love as a way of personal gain and pleasure.

it was all phony.

and while yeosang didn’t listen to many of the things his parents told him due to the lack of care for their words, he always remembered one thing his father had told him when he was just a boy.

to be in love is to be weak.

she hadn't attended school for the rest of the week.

her parents had been beyond understanding of her feelings and had brought up the idea of spending some time by herself to promote healing. it was difficult the first two days – yeosang’s words playing on a loop like a broken record in her head, the phantom feeling of her classmate's eyes burning into her from all directions, and the stinging feeling in her palms from the pavement only worsened when she thought about showing her face at school again.

while the days still hurt, she, with time, had improved.

however, moving forward, she had changed her wishful and loving feelings towards soulmates.

some people in the world were lucky enough to be soulfully destined to be with someone kind, loving, and selfless. they were paired with someone who would give to them without expecting an ounce of anything back.

she acknowledged that love wasn’t dead for most people and that there were examples of soulmates all around the world who had found or were set to find someone who could love them with their entire being and be able to return that love ten-fold.

but her thoughts about her own pre-written love life had turned sour.

she didn’t go to bed and dream about her future wedding, those dates that everyone envied, dinners on the town or in the comfort of her shared bedroom with her soulmate, or those blurry, never fully pieced-together dreams of a family. it was tragic, really. to lose the one thing she dreamed of since her youth in such an embarrassing, heartwrenching, and unforgettable way is something she had feared since the ink had appeared one day.

school was inevitable, this she knew, but it still shook her to the core to think about the sneering faces or the laughs that would echo as she walked by. all that paired with the chance of seeing yeosang made everything resurface.

but while her parents were understanding for the first week, they too, had their own limits.

her brother had driven her to school that day, windows rolled down and aux handed over to her (read : against his will), he had gone above and beyond to make her no doubt stress-filled day to come at least a little more bearable.

“listen,” he spoke as he pulled to a stop in front of the gates of the school. “you call me or mom if anything happens and we’ll both come running in a heartbeat,” he held his pinky out for the girl to take. “while i can’t promise today is gonna be easy, i can promise that people who love you will be there for you when things get rough.”

she was glad to have someone like her brother in her life. 

and hey, even though romantic soulmates didn’t work out for her, she knew she didn’t have to have a soul mark on her body to know her other half was sitting beside her.

“thank you, really,” she intertwined her pinky with his. “and i’ll probably end up texting you about every little thing that happens, so i hope you don’t have any important meetings today.”

he laughed at her words, shaking his head. “i don’t, but even if i did, i’d ditch them without a second thought if you needed to rant about all the bitches at school.”

before she could reply, the sound of a loud stereo playing interrupted her.

what shortly followed the sound is what truly made her quiet.

a car packed with a few of yeosang’s friends and the man himself pulled into the parking space beside her brother and her – the boys singing loudly to the music in the back of the car.

without so much as a goodbye to her brother, she grabbed her bag and almost sprinted away from the scene, legs trembling while carrying her toward the building she had fled a mere week prior. 

perhaps it was the fact that the boy she wanted to avoid like the plague was meters behind her with the boys who had laughed and snickered at her distraught self a week before, or if she had realized the time it was, she had run with so much power behind each step that she thought she’d collapse when she stopped.

one thing was for sure though.

she was officially late to class.

first period was beyond brutal.

after being openly criticized for being late and being a disturbance to the already commenced class alongside the obvious stares and whispers that followed her as she walked to her seat, it had certainly set the pace for the day she was to face.

the second period wasn’t any better. 

nor was lunch.

and neither was third.

but fourth was the one thing she dreaded the most out of her day since she knew the angle kissed boy sat a mere two seats from her in her last period.

she had arrived early, rushing from one class to another without heading to her locker as most students did. she didn’t want to have to drag herself into a classroom that he was already sitting in, and instead, she wanted to sit down and try and blend in before anyone could point and laugh in her direction – something she has had enough of already.

however, her plan would have been flawless if the boy she wished to avoid hadn’t beat her to the classroom first.

yeosang sat in his seat staring blankly at the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. he hadn’t noticed her arrival, or if he did, he didn’t show it, much to her appreciation.

while she was grateful for the boy making her life easier by pretending she didn’t exist, her heart twisted at the sight of him.

the thought of how ruthless he had been a week prior and how he had blatantly thrown her soulmate realization to the ground and stomped on it without care resurfaced. she had thought that the boy would taunt, tease, and make a show out of tearing her heart out again the minute he saw her face. but instead, he ignore her, and acted like she was just another face in the crowd- no, she seemed less than that to him. a gust of wind that he faced as he walked through the halls.

and the ignorance hurt more than she expected.

time rolled by quickly after that.

keeping her head down and focusing on her work had proven to be beneficial. getting lost in the notes she took and the planning she did for an upcoming project had kept her distracted throughout the whole period, and before she knew it, the dismissal of bells had interrupted her thoughts.

collecting her things quickly and fitting into the rush of students as they fled from their teachers yelling reminders at their backs, she thought everything would be smooth sailing from there. yeosang had surely shown his disinterest in her during class, so why would he bother her moving forward, it was one less person, the main person really, that she had to worry about.

the halls were a blur the minute the final bell rang. any quarrels that people had with one another were forgotten since everyone had one common goal : to get home quickly so they could relax.

she had avoided the cruel remarks, snickers, and staredowns in the hall, and for once in her life, she truly appreciated that everyone was so in line once school let out.

it was smooth sailing from there on out. she collected her things from her locker, packed her bag full of school work she had missed from last week and changed out of her school shoes, leaving the slightly heeled uniform shoes behind without a second thought.

she could blame it on the faux hope distilled in her from the ease she experienced during the last period of the day, but she had let her guard down as she walked through the front courtyard like she had done countless times before.

that was her first mistake of the day.

“oh my god, it’s my soulmate!” the shrill voice of song mingi rang out from the group's designated bench in the school courtyard. turning her head to see the boy with dyed hair grip his friend's uniform lapels and pull him close, shaking the boy slightly. “look yunho, it’s my soulmate!” his words trailed off into a laugh, yunho, joining him shortly after.

taking in the scene, she noticed the lack of boys on the bench.

song mingi, jeong yunho, kim hongjoong, and choi san sat on the bench, but the other four were missing.

she lowered her head again, and continued on her walk, ignoring the shouts and footsteps that followed her until she no longer could.

mingi had caught up to her quickly thanks to his long legs, throwing an arm around her shoulders as he steered them back towards the bench. “c’mon now, you shouldn’t ignore people like that,” mingi pouted, bringing the girl down to sit between yunho and him once they reached the bench. “i was just joking, you don’t have to get so riled up over something so small.”

the boys drowned on, taunting the girl to speak, but she kept her mouth sealed, hoping that her lack of response would cause him to grow bored and let her go on her merry way.

but mingi was a patient boy, and he lived for the chase.

she couldn’t find a way out of the situation, and the boys who gathered around weren’t helping her cause either. they talked amongst themselves, pulling her into the conversation when they saw fit even when they knew they wouldn’t get a response.

with her head still faced down, she hadn’t noticed the group of four that approached the table.

while the other three idly took their spots on the bench and fell into the scene easily, yeosang slowed to a stop as he took in the extra body at the table.

his eyes wandered over her tense frame stuck beneath mingi's arm and squished between the two large boys. it was evident to anyone who cared to look that she was uncomfortable. she was shaking like a leaf, her eyes avoiding everyone and everything, and her hands gripped so tight that her knuckles turned white.

“why is she here?” yeosang grunted, not moving from his spot a few paces from the bench.

mingi looked up at the boy's words and grinned. “just getting accounted with your soulmate here,” he pulled her frame further into his side. “thought we should get to know her, y’know?”

yeosang knew mingi wanted to start drama.

the boy wanted to dig the hole you were already in deeper, even though there was no reason to. after all, yeosang had already caused enough trouble as it is, even he himself could admit that.

“why should we?” yeosang grunted with a shrug. “it’s not like it matters anyways – already made it clear i wanted nothing to do with her.”

his words evidently stirred something within her as her shoulders tensed.

mingi noticed this, and despite knowing yeosang wanted nothing more than for the girl to leave, he decided to continue his little game.

“awe did you hear that?” mingi brought his face closer to her own to whisper. “little sangie over there doesn’t want a damn thing to do with you–”

she got up quickly, nearly bashing the boy learning in towards her in the face, and taking a few steps away from the now wide-eyed group.

yeosang was sure the girl was going to yell, scream even, at the boy who sat stupidly with his mouth hung open – the words he was ready to speak dying on his tongue the moment the typically silent girl stood her ground and put space between them.

but she was silent.

just like she had always been.

quite frankly, yeosang hadn’t heard the girl speak before she had to him that week prior.

then again, yeosang couldn’t say he remembers even seeing the girl in his life, something that twisted his gut in an odd way.

without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away from the scene, her eyes burning at the unleashed tears from embarrassment and anger at the same time. she hated how affected she was at the mention of yeosang, even more so at the teasing she underwent from his friends.

the entire week she had spent reflecting, preparing, and calming her nerves were all for nothing.

she knew it would come to pass with time, but she truly didn’t know how much she could take with seeing her soulmate who evidently wanted nothing to do with her stand by and watch his friends torment her.

surely deep down somewhere he cared enough to spare her.

but yeosang didn’t chase, nor did he yell – hell, he hadn’t tried to contact her in any way to apologize for his friend's behaviours.

just another reason to hate the boy she used to call prince charming.

the rest of the week was silent for the most part.

her walks down the hall were slightly easier – fewer stares followed her, whispers weren’t as loud as they were before, and she hadn’t heard as many snickers behind her back as she had grown used to yesterday – but it was unnerving.

drama as public as hers never got swept under the rug as fast as it did.

she had seen her classmates force kids to transfer schools because of the harassment they received for things less than what she went through, so to be able to walk down the halls, sit through her classes, and eat lunch in peace… was odd, to say the least.

yeosang hadn’t said anything to her during the last period, and while one part of her wanted him two, she also didn’t expect much from the boy. she had gotten her hopes up one time too many already.

she avoided the courtyard once the bell rang.

it was the fastest route home for her to take since it saved her from having to walk around the block, but she was playing it safe for once. the last thing she wanted was to have a run-in with mingi or the other boys – but when she thought of it, none of them had even looked her way in the slightest during the day.

again, it was odd.

the walk was quiet for the most part. a few groups of students who were also stuck walking in the rain occupied the sidewalk with her. many students were able to bypass walking at all seeing as their parents would pick them up or they’d catch a ride with a classmate. the roads were quiet as well – minimal traffic due to the weather, but enough to provide background noise. 

it was peaceful compared to some other places she could be.

school was never quiet, nor did she expect it to be. students packed each and every corner of the school, so even the quietest of conversations added to the noise.

home wasn’t entirely calm either with how her parents loved to play their shows loudly during the night, or the sound of her dad working in the garage. 

her walks home were a slice of quietness that she adored.

no one bothered her, she walked alone for the most part, and people kept their distance – it was perfect.

until it wasn’t.

the sound of tires on gravel was hard to ignore – paired with its proximity, was worrisome as well.

she wasn’t one to jump to conclusions at any given moment, but it was a given that the minute you hear a car slow down next to you, the chances of abduction were high, so who could blame her for tensing the way she did, or the way she started to walk faster.

the sound followed her – whoever was driving it made no move to park or call out for her. she was too anxious to look back anyways, so she kept her eyes trained forward, but kept an ear open, waiting for the signal of an upcoming attack.

“jesus, you’re gonna make me talk aren’t you?” a voice called from what she presumed to be the following car.

at the familiarity of the voice, her head snapped toward the car.

a scowling yeosang greeted her, his window rolled down, allowing the rain to drip into his treasured car. she couldn’t see any of the other seats occupied, meaning his friend group wasn’t able to poke fun at her drenched form.

“what?” she tilted her head in confusion, not quite knowing what to say in response to the boy's words.

he rolled his eyes, nodding towards the passenger seat. “just get in the damn car,” yeosang focused his eyes on the steering wheel, not bothering to look at her any longer.

perhaps it was his attitude, or perhaps it was the fact that the last place she wanted to be stuck in was yeosang’s passenger seat ( read : maybe a mix of both ) but she found herself scoffing at his words and continuing to walk away from him.

she walked several more paces before she heard the sound of his car switching gears, and the sound of his car's tires speeding to pull up beside her again.

yeosang kept his pace with the girl, halfway leaning out of his car as he tried to reason with her.

“listen, just get in the car,” he sighed. “i’m trying to be nice and you can’t even accept the offer?”

she continued to ignore him.

he sighed, leaning back into his car before speeding off.

her shoulders sank in relief, watching his car drive away, only to stop in her tracks once again as she saw his car pull into a driveway only a few meters up, successfully blocking her walkway.

“will you stop being a brat and get into the car?” yeosang gave his best attempt at a puppy dog look, internally cringing at the thought of going through the trouble for a girl.

then again, she wasn’t just a girl.

while she looked down her nose at the boy, she knew she had no other options.

he was going to keep annoying her until she agreed anyways.

sighing, she shrugged her bag off of her shoulders and shoved it into the hand of the boy who had it held out of his window in waiting, before hurrying around his car and sliding into the passenger seat.

if she had thought she liked silence before, she was dead wrong currently.

upon getting into yeosang’s car, she thought she would be forced into a conversation with the boy, but she was dead wrong. his insistence and bugging had turned into ignorance. he hadn’t said a word to her since she had sat down in the passenger seat – and in all honesty, she thinks she would have rathered listened to the boy throw insults her way than sit in silence.

she had said her address when they had pulled out of the driveway, but other than that had let the silence drown on, only the faint sound of the radio playing in the background filling the space.

yeosang hadn’t spared the street he was supposed to turn on a single glance, instead, passing by it quickly – his mind giving him the directions to the place he had actually intended on going to.

she had noticed this as well, and while she didn’t want to make a scene, she found herself turning to the boy in question, the words of complaint dying on her tongue as he gave her a look out of the corner of his eye – a look that read ‘don’t ask.’

the silence continued to engulf the two as they drove – the scenery around the two still familiar, which brought a sense of comfort to her.

the sound of his signal light blinking snapped her out of her thoughts and drew her eyes to the building to which they had pulled up.

yeosang was up and out of the car quickly, not waiting for the girl as he walked ahead towards the entrance of the building.

she hesitated in getting out of the car – the sight of the diner in front of her making her heart speed up just a notch more than she would’ve liked to admit.

he stopped at the door, looking back with a drawn look as he signalled for her to follow.

why he had brought her there was something she wondered all the way to the corner booth of the diner.

the silence followed them within the small restaurant as well, but yeosang seemed adamant about trying to start a conversation without actually creating it himself. he was more awkward than she had initially thought he was.

yeosang fidgeted with the menu, tapped his fingers on the underside of the table along to the music playing from the jukebox in the background, and made eye contact every few seconds – every action of his seemingly trying to urge her to say something.

but the two were both dead set on making the other talk first.

so, the silence had continued, and continued, and continued, until the server walked up to the table, successfully popping the little bubble of challenge the two of you had formed.

“what can i get you two today,” she talked with a smile, one that was sincere and rarely seen on someone who dealt with half of the shit they dealt with while working in the food business. 

she hadn’t been there a lot, but she had been there enough to see the scenes students from both her school and other schools within the area cause with the staff of the establishment.

“can i just get the chicken tenders with a side of fries please?” yeosang spoke first.

while she wanted to poke fun at his order, she knew she would end up ordering the same thing.

“can i also get that please?” she spoke lightly, aware of yeosang’s sharp eyes on her as she ordered.

the waiter nodded with a smile, eyes examining the pair in great detail as her eyes wrinkled – the space was odd, but she could sense something between them. something that they didn’t seem to sense themselves.

“i’ll get right on that for you two darlings, if you need anything else, just shout for me and i’ll be here in a jiffy,” she sent a wink towards the skittish girl, her smile widening as she could tell the small action caused her to flush. before she fully left, she nodded toward the boy, hoping her message travelled to him successfully.

be nice to her, boy.

yeosang nodded his head back to the waitress and watched as she wandered to the back with their orders, silence returning yet again – yeosang, however, was set on trying to shift the mood to the best of his ability.

“so you're copying me now, huh?” yeosang poked fun at the girl's order, expecting to earn a laugh, but was sadly rewarded with a scowl sent his way. so much for lightening the mood.

he watched as she averted her eyes, no doubt wanting to look anywhere else but the boy's direction. he hadn’t meant to make her mad or uncomfortable, but perhaps it was just his own fault for not seeing how the nature of his words could be mistaken after what had happened that week prior.

the boy sighed, “look i didn’t mean it like that, i just meant- y’know…” he trailed off, eyes trying to catch the girl's eyes with the hope that she’d understand what he was trying to say, but she kept her eyes trained on the parking lot. “i just wanted to say that i thought it was funny that we ordered the same thing,” yeosang huffed, leaning back against his own seat and looking away.

he was trying and it was evident to her, but she couldn’t help but doubt his playfulness and kindness after everything he had said and done in the past to her. 

yeosang was cruel, she was sure of it – but if that was the case, why’d he go out of his way to get her out of the rain and drive the two of them to the small yet cozy diner?

while she wanted to stick to her silent and broody personality in front of the boy, she felt bad for dampening his own mood since he was simply trying to make conversation – even though the conversation could have started off on a better note.

“y’know you’re the last person i wanted to see today?” she spoke, watching as yeosang’s eyes filtered back to hers. “after that day, i never wanted to come back to school – i didn’t want to see you at all and yet… here i am,” she let out a dry laugh. “sitting across from the person who broke my heart the minute after i found my soulmate.”

she hated how her voice cracked as she spoke, but the tears in her eyes never fell – she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction ever again.

“but despite how much i hate your face, your name, and the fact that i’m tied to you whether i like it or not… i still can’t help but be happy to be around you,” the boy listened without interrupting, his own eyes growing glossy at her words. “in some sick and twisted way, the universe is still telling me that no matter what, you’re the one,” she smiled at him. “and i hate you for that.”

yeosang felt like his throat would close at any moment. 

that his final breath would be painful, and his lungs would burn as they tried to fight for just another ounce of air so he could live to make it up to her.

to make up for the pain he had put her through.

that he was still putting her through.

the waitress had made her way up to the table once again, setting down both plates and their drinks. she didn’t say much, respecting the fact that even if she had, the two teary-eyed teens would likely not be able to speak back without choking on their words.

she didn’t make a move to touch her food, and neither had he. the two of them sat in silence once again and just looked at one another – looked at one another as if it was the last time they’d see each other.

it had taken them over an hour to finish their food in silence – both too scared and worked up to say anything else to the other. despite this, she still got into the passenger seat of his car and allowed him to drive her home.

the ride was quiet like before, but held an air of sadness and desperation in it – both had so much to say to the other but were beyond too scared, and too tired to speak.

yeosang wanted to start over.

he wanted to tell her about the things he’d gone through, what role models of love he had growing up, and the way he had been raised to see love as nothing but a weakness. but he didn’t want pity – didn’t want her to think he was using his childhood as an excuse for his vile behaviour.

his childhood was rough, yes, but he didn’t have the right to treat anyone like that.

to treat anyone the way he had treated you.

she, on the other hand, wanted to tell him how much she hated him.

how she hated his existence, how she hated his friends, and how she hated how he ruined the one thing in life that she had looked forward to since she was a child. 

yeosang had ruined the concept of love for her, and yet while she wanted to cuss him out for eternity and more about it, she also wanted to let him in and give him another chance.

love made people foolish – something she only started to comprehend now that she was experiencing it for herself.

loving yeosang was foolish.

his car rolled to a stop outside of the girl's house, the roar of the engine now calming to a quiet lull that complimented the sound of rain hitting the roof and windshield of his car.

grabbing her bag from the backseat, she pulled it into her lap, looking at the boy for one last moment as if to give him one more chance to speak his mind.

she wanted him to be like all of those boys in the movies that she had grown up watching. the boys who would confess their love, show their intense spiral of emotions, and the boys who would kiss the girl with soft lips, only pulling away to take a breath.

but he hadn’t.

yeosang couldn’t even bring himself to look at the girl who looked to him for a response.

she nodded at his lack of acknowledgment before getting out of the car and into the pouring rain, slamming his car door behind her.

her heart hurt, but she hadn’t expected anything less seeing as who she was in company with.

in a matter of seconds, she was soaked to the bone – hair clung to her face, uniform clung to her like a second skin, and papers in her bag no doubt ruined. she didn’t look back, knowing yeosang’s car was far off in the distance now, probably going to see his friends and tell them all about the new feat he had pulled off with the soulmate he could care less about.

yeosang watched as the girl turned her back to him, not bothering to look back to see if yeosang was going to make a move to say something, to stop her from walking away from him, or to chase after her like some lost puppy.

never in his life had he expected himself to fall so quickly into the role of a fool who chased after love.

and yet here he was,

his door slammed much as her own had, and he paid no mind to the dirty puddles that soaked his shoes to the point of ruin. he doubted he would regret the blotches of brown and specs of dirty that coated his pristine white shoes later on anyways.

“y/n,” yeosang didn’t yell, didn’t cry out like all those love-sick fools did in the movies, but he spoke quietly. loud enough to hear over the rain, but not loud enough to draw out attention from the neighbouring houses. “can we talk?”

she had half the mind to scoff at the boy and continue on towards her front door, but she also knew she sought out the conversation as well. she feared being hurt once again by the boy she once thought of as prince charming, but then again, what more harm could he do that he hasn’t already done?

all he needed was a minuscule nod for him to continue.

“i’m sorry,” he started. “for everything, truly, i am sorry,” yeosang took a deep breath, thinking of what he could possibly say to make her understand his brain, even though he couldn’t quite understand it himself. “nothing i say or do can change the things i did the day we both found out about the whole soulmate thing,” he looked to the side in thought. “and i know i’m far from the person you deserve – i’m not even in the same universe, let’s be honest,” he chuckled dryly. “but i want to start over – right from the beginning.”

yeosang expected nothing from the girl, but he had hoped for some sort of acceptance.

maybe another one of those small nods of acknowledgment that she gave him and her peers, something he had only noticed after she started to tune everything and everyone out.

or perhaps he wanted to hear her speak – lord knows he had long since heard her speak to him with anything but hesitance, fear, or anger.

and truthfully, yeosang would have taken a harsh slap to the cheek if it meant any sort of answer from her.

but she had done nothing – no nod, no words, and no slap. just blank eyes staring into his own hopeful ones.

yeosang had cut his losses moments later, accepting the fact that he– no, his father, who had brainwashed him into thinking love was a weakness, was the cause of his soulmate, the one person in the world who could truly understand him, to start pushing him away.

his shoulders drooped in shame and under the weight of his rain-soaked clothes and his chin fell into his chest as he tried to fathom the pain in his chest.

so this is what it feels like?

he laughed through his tears, bringing his eyes up to meet the girl's eyes for the last time and offering her a small, broken smile.

“i’m sorry.”

he turned his back to her as he walked back towards his car.

stupid, stupid, boy, his brain cursed himself. you have no right to pout and to whine, after all, it was you who pushed her away so roughly in the beginning.

“yeosang…” her voice was soft as it called out, fading out in hesitance at the end.

he halted his steps but didn’t turn on his heel to face her, knowing the wave of self-deprecating voices would flood in tenfold. but he had stopped and waited, giving the girl time to collect her thoughts – gather the strength to yell at him or come up with some silver-tongued insult.

the memories of the night flashed behind her eyelids, the boys who pulled over to pick her up despite it being out of the way, the sight of a vulnerable yeosang who tried his best to start a conversation in the small diner, and the boy who had paid for her food without complaint or annoyance.

he was trying the whole night, and she had ignored it, wanting to see how far the boy was truly willing to go to show his desperation for forgiveness – for a second chance.

“would you like to come in?” she twiddled with the buttons on her uniform. “y’know… get out of the rain until it settles?” 

yeosang and herself knew he could simply drive himself back home if he was seeking out cover from the rain, but the offer was there for other reasons.

his mind translated her words without much hassle.

would you like to start over?

@m4rsluv // @camzpetite // @pikapixa // @yourfavoritefreakyhan // @joongs-moon // @kawennote09 // @lonelyboiiisworld // @peaches-are-sweet // @itzsavage07 // @licorne-manon // @eastleighpierce // @acciocriativity // @layzfeelit

[annabelvallie]

The Regime of Gluttony and Starvation.

a dystopian short story by Annabel Vallie.

I wonder if they know. Do they sip the golden bubbled concoction and think of every throat that spit cannot even comfort? If they pull seared flesh from polished forks do they imagine the gnashing, desperate teeth of children who claw desperately at what they call “dog food,”?

They call this city Eden. In school, we’re taught that we are safe from disease, agony, and sadness. Something everyone at this grotesquely over-decorated table knows nothing of. How can the pleasured know they are joyous when they have never been pained? How can the glutted know themselves satisfied if they have never been hungry? Eden was built on gluttony. We are told the outside world is sick. A type of illness that doesn't forgive but punishes. I wouldn’t call it sick—morbid maybe. I had learned that word from one of the novels we read in Lyceum education; the book ‘A Dark Hour’ was written some 500 years ago in a place called Vietnam. The author called the country hell on earth, a place where filth and evil are magnified. Our city’s teachers reference beyond the walls as desolate nothingness, birthed from a war that was far worse than Vietnam. 

Rusted oranges and browns made the outside world. Kicked-up dirt filtered the air with a thick haze; irritating eyes that would never know tears; water was too precious to be wasted on emotion. The heavy sound of moans and comfortless cries carried with no destination, as did the smell of waste, constantly assaulting the hairs in your nose. Hot air thickened my throat, making it hard to breathe. Bodies discarded like statues haunted the breathing, similar to those on paper that piled into sunken earth. Every movement was strained as if they had to fight for the ability to take a step. Through the swarm of people, there was no end.

Barbed wire snatched a handful of skin from my thigh, making me wince. Before the sultry air could oxidise the gash, flies were frenzying on the crimson. 

I had never known suffocation until the day of Matia.

“Joseph, pass the grapes please.” A short man whose jaw seemed to rest slack held out his hand, motioning to the silver bowl that harboured bulbs of green and purple. Passing it to him, I watched as he pierced the skin of a grape with pearly teeth. All I could think of was the people beyond the wall who would fight one another for a cluster of what he would consume in a short moment, not out of hunger but boredom before the main course arrived.

Praefectus Cain, the man sitting at the head of the table with a Navy Blue suit, held up his glass, motioning for silence. “Welcome, Abigail Dupont, Elijah Fournier, and Joseph Martin.” He hovered his glass in the direction of the girl on my left and the boy on my right. “We thank you for taking your position in the Imperium. We trust that after Matia today your eyes have been opened and you will continue Eden’s legacy and keep our people safe and at peace.” 

The values of Eden surround love, whether that means the effort and care of a pastry or the simple act of clearing a guest’s plate. Gratitude is more important than the act itself. The way your fork and knife lie after a meal is communication and appreciation on its own. The meal was delicious if the handles were south with their blade and prongs pointed east. Lust, the overwhelming desire of another, is praised almost as highly as a perfectly smooth-shelled macaroon. Devotion is embroidered into liquor that makes your brain twist as if it were inside a dough mixer. 

Here, to love is to feed, eat, indulge, and blur gluttony and greed into the same idea. Seared beef, vanilla sponge cake, caramel, strawberries that dribble at the corners of your mouth, thick shakes with colour dye, the peel of a mandarin, wishbones, salted butter, sherbert, pineapple that burns your tongue, appetisers, and hors d’oeuvres. The table shrank as plates piled from the kitchen, what used to be a pristine cotton table cloth now plates of every meal imaginable. It is a special day of course. As people began to feast I felt as though my body had conformed to a jelly-like substance, unable to move on its own, only able to react to the drunken movement surrounding it. 

The next day I found myself focused on every passing person on my way to work. Specifically, I stared at how their mouths curled into smiles and eyes creased with joy. Stupidity and negligence are bliss. If they knew what was outside they too would be burdened and distraught. 

A woman with blonde hair that moved like ripples around her head caught my attention. Her cheeks and lips looked to be stained with cherry juice, and she took her time letting her heels click on and drag with every step she took. At that moment I thought of how she laughed—if it was quiet and withdrawn or louder. How did she prefer her eggs—scrambled, poached, fried, or boiled? I thought about a lifetime in a minute, and during that time, I forgot about what was beyond the walls. Possibly, I could remain this way. If I mocked what everyone around me did, I might find the joy that they experienced. If I married and partied and ate would that sickening feeling I have held with me since Matia dissipate? 

The Imperium was stationed north of Eden just past a row of oak trees that signified the end of the orchid plantation. I would park in the furthest spot from the entrance, press through a swing door that moves awfully slowly to accommodate those who wobble more than walk, and make my way through the hallway that runs through the city wall. Even though I pass through five days out of seven I cannot help but stare out the wall’s windows every chance I could. The small slits in the hallway that allowed tainted auburn light to flow through and the large painting-like glass in the central office reminded everyone of what we shield from our citizens. At lunch for an hour we sit at a stretched table overlooking Eden’s farmland and feast on whatever specials the chef had plotted, yesterday was a honeyed duck. “I don’t know what is wrong with you Joseph, this is one of the best ducks I’ve had this year and you refuse to eat more than an appetiser,” Abigaile exclaimed after finishing off the meat. 

I replied softly, knowing more than one ear was listening. “My appetite isn’t as strong as it used to be. Thank you for your consideration” It was an uncommon phenomenon, a refusal of food. Not eating is the equivalent of vetoing oxygen. “I’m just going to use the bathroom, excuse me.” I stand, placing the folded unstained napkin on the cushioned chair. Taking a last glance at the quantity of people and the view of my city I continue down one of the hallways. Even though my stomach growled the idea of eating repulsed me. During the day my mouth would salivate in the hope of relief, by night when all I wanted was to binge I would finally make myself something.  Tonight I may have the oysters my father brought round this morning. He works at a lease and every time I crack salt over my plate I think of him, how his skin smelt like the unfiltered water and his hands that were callus and corse from cutting open their shells. 

Taking each step I find myself mimicking the women I see most days on my way here. Click, drag. Click, drag… and just as I do with every window, discarding the bathroom where I was headed, my eyes wander to the clear surface overlooking the apocalyptic world a mere twenty meters away from our utopia. Instead of continuing further, my body lurches to a frozen halt. Apparently, on the other side, they can’t see through the glass. To them, it looks like the stone pattern remains unbroken. I don’t believe that. Staring through the glass, I am met with another man mirroring myself. His eyes are tired but focused and unwavering from mine. His nose has a crease at the bridge as if it were broken, and his teeth are jagged with gums receding so highly that they could have been finger bones. What scared me the most was how hollow his cheeks were. As if scooped with a soup spoon. His face resembles somewhat of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. 

Instead of taking a step forward in concern or back in retreat, I simply stared. When I felt someone lock their knees next to me, my gaze remained on the window in a competition-like fashion.

Praefectus Cain’s firm voice began, “Joseph, is something upsetting you? Are you hungry?” 

Pulling my head back, feeling the muscles tense around every vertebra in a rehearsed sequence like piano keys in a glissando. I looked at him—at his round stomach, at his creased forehead, at his thin blond hair, at his tie bar with the words ‘Ab ovo usque ad mala’ engraved into the silver—before staring back at the window like a child and a cartoon film. I felt nauseated like I had just drunk vomitorium, a tiny ounce glass filled with yellow liquid that made you sick so you could go on eating. They usually have them at balls and galas. “I’m fine, thank you… Do…” My voice crackled as if a teaspoon of honey sat on my windpipe. “Do you ever think of helping them, the people out there?”

He thought, not about the answer but how to word it. “Yes, when I was your age.”

“I can’t think of how to describe it. I feel bad, sorry.

“Guilt.” The word was spoken as if he had been waiting to use it. 

The word was alien: “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what that means.”

We remain facing forward, “It means you have morals, something only a few here hold. Knowledge is the heaviest of all burdens, even if it carries no weight.  

“We have food to spare.” By then the man on the other side of the wall had walked off, his feet kicking up more loose orange powder-like dirt.

“How could you choose who receives a bounty? Every living thing is bound by fate. The people of Eden are safe from hunger because they are lucky. If we were to open our resources, what would happen? They are animals, Joseph. Unlike us, their world does not have a drop of civilisation.” Through the window, two boys ran towards a bird that had fallen to the ground. With desperate efforts, the taller one had proved victorious in the feathered corpse, and the shorter one crouched over the ground, echoing the fallen animal. “Tell me, Joseph, would they eat, or would they devour? The flesh of our loved ones would be torn from their bones and they would drink like we do red wine. These animals do not know amity, love, or kindness; we are survivors, that is what separates us.”

With a sigh, I could feel the pads of my fingers tingle with anticipation of cold sweat and unease. “Then, if being inhumane constitutes our difference, are we not the same?”

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 5: Stamp

Fishing off the edge of Pier #2 was an everyday kind of farce in Kugane. A good catch wasn’t impossible, but the anglers that congregated around the dock stuck near boats where they were unlikely to get a bite. Many didn’t even bother to bait their hooks. During the day it was a place for those with someone to avoid and nothing better to do beyond gossip with the locals. At night, it was a useful place for calm and quiet, and many a henpecked spouse stayed out late “fishing at the pier” only to come home empty-handed.

Calm and quiet also made the pier a useful place for clandestine nighttime meetings, something the Sekiseigumi also knew, which is why Suzume only went fishing during the day. Despite the bustle of daytime business, it was harder to be observed among the business at the docks. Don’t do anything outlandish, focus on the rod and water, and every so often, cast and recast, and blend in. Few would notice a ragged-looking peasant woman in a frayed and old-fashioned sugata, and fewer would care. The common folk of Hingashi were much like those of Doma in their desire not to trouble themselves with what did not concern them. She appreciated that.

Beside her, Ryūsai was trying, and failing, to avoid outlandishness. He’d made the effort to blend in, trading his robes for a cheap outfit from the shops, one so bland and grey she felt inclined to ask after the tailor. The failure was in his reaction beside her. She’d delivered the prints to him for review as planned but his loss of composure was not: From the corner of her eye, she could see his curiosity change to revulsion as he flipped between each thin piece of parchment in the pack. By the third one, his mouth was half-open and his brow had knit in upon itself in disgust, lip curling up his and hiding his thin mustache, and by the fifth he looked as if he might retch.

Wordlessly, she took one hand off of her rod to place it on his left shoulder. It wouldn’t do if he dropped them the goods off of the pier. He didn’t bother looking through the rest of the papers in detail, simply packing them back up with shaking fingers and placing them back in their case. “It’s perverse,” he said, his voice trembling to match his hands, which carefully tied a set of twine string and wrapping paper back into place around the set.

Suzume shrugged, drawing back her fishing rod. “It’s art.”

“It’s sick. How could you stand to see it?” “I didn’t look for long.” She had seen worse in the Resistance, but there was no point in mocking Ryūsai for his reaction. Suzume envied his disgust; when she had reviewed each piece of the set, in detail, she had felt an anger, a tightening of her chest and a desire to strike the artist that she still suppressed. She would gladly have traded that for disgust. “But they work, don’t they?”

“I don’t see how they won’t get a reaction, no,” said Ryūsai. “Put them in the right places with the right people and the Enclave will have no end of complaints. It’s a small set, though, so we’ll have to be careful.”

“What do you mean, small?” Suzume tipped her head just far enough to get a better look at him, her mouth twisting to the side in irritation. “The artist said the same thing, but that’s nine-hundred pages.” “Right, and they’re nine to a set, so you have a hundred sets. That’s not bad, but it’s mass distribution. And the people who use these most, they hide them away. It’ll work for a test run, and that’s what we asked, but soon enough we’ll need ten times this many.”

“Oh.” She looked away from Ryūsai, keeping her eyes fixed on the water. “I thought he was trying to gouge me.”

“...Did you tell him that?” Ryūsai asked, but Suzume didn’t respond. He turned his head and bent forward to look her in the eye, causing her to twist her face farther and farther to the left to avoid his gaze. He gave up when looking any further would risk him tumbling off of the pier. “Do I have to apologize for you?”

“No.” Her sigh was soft and exasperated, and some chatter on the pier behind them, and the call of a ferryman looking for passengers, filled the silence. “Maybe.” “If he’ll still take our money, I’ll check with him after the test run. I meant to see how he block prints anyhow, or get something designed.”

“Fine. When you see him.” Suzume’s lip curled and nose twisted in frustration. Without warning, her head fell to the side, landing on Ryūsai’s shoulder and loosening the ill-kempt bun that tied up her hair. “I want to see her again,” she murmured.

“You’ll see her soon, you know that.” Ryūsai’s shoulders tensed, and he continued looking straight ahead. His voice dropped to match hers; the moment she had made her request, secrecy trumped the need to blend in. “It won’t be much longer.” “You see her all the time. It’s been weeks for me.”

“Not as often as you say,” he replied. Suzume kicked the side of the pier with her feet in response. “I know, it’s tough. You have the worst job. Somebody has to keep an eye on things here. Please, endure it.”

“We don’t endure.” Her reply was sharp and icy, and Ryūsai flinched, seeming to regret his choice of words. “Stay in my place,” she continued. “Just for a few days. I’ll deliver the prints and come back right after.”

“Right after, of course.” Ryusai placed a hand in the folds of his kimono. Shortly after, a small card passed from his hand to Suzume’s, that of a bright, white full moon on a red background over a dark hillside. She was quicker with her hands when she placed its identical counterpart in his palm.

“Thank you.” She lifted her head from Ryūsai’s shoulder, and looked back at her fishing pole. “Why didn’t you bring your own, anyway?”

“Was I supposed to? I thought we were only making the exchange.” “We were, and we did. You can’t just get up and walk away right after, though, that’s suspicious. Here,” She passed the cheap bamboo rod into Ryūsai’s hands. “Just cast for a little while. Anyway, you still look a little pale, it’ll take your mind off of things. Please, just end - “ She stopped herself mid-sentence, and Ryūsai gave her a wry smile. It was a difficult phrase to overcome, beaten into both of them as citizens of Doma.

“We don’t endure,” he said. “But it’s a nice day. Show me how to use this.”

[a-mahoroa-blog]

Hi!

May I please ask for a Crowned Magolor x reader? I know you’re busy, so take your time!

Sure! You're pretty lucky I logged in now lmao

Void, clear and simple. His eyes are maddened, impassioned with his desire for the conquest of the worlds. Cruel sorcery spun shackles on your soul.

Still, your feelings toward him--

"Magolor." Your voice is quiet. He left the four heroes behind on his quest to Popstar, spiriting you away upon sorcerous hand. "Where are you taking me?" He does not look at you. Perhaps he never did, if what he says is truth.

He does not answer, his gaze set on a horizon beyond your comprehension. Universal domination... such a grand scheme you could never comprehend. Of course you would fall for such a thing. You miss his golden gaze already; the hue of the orange eyes feels a mockery to your feelings. The metal of the crown seems to dig into his scalp more at your words.

He barely even flinches.

Perhaps he does not notice it. Perhaps he is too focused on his newfound apotheosis, his ascension into divinity to feel the pain. Drunk on power, he sweeps his iron hand through the land to conquer.

...But you recall his reactions to pain. Not this single-mindedness. He falsified his pain to get you to look at him, to softly smile and pat his head as you took care of him. Playing up reactions to get a rise out of you. You suppose this is what this might be on a larger scale.

So what, then, does this mean? You ponder, but in truth, you have already despaired. The crown's extensions appear more like the fingers of a great, clawing hand to you than a benevolent device. "Magolor." You try again, and this time, his glassy gaze snaps to you.

You have never feared him, not even in the moment he betrayed you and your friends, but in this second, you regret what you said. There is no feeling in those eyes. Nothing toward you. Then that instant passes, and this twisted warmth fills his gaze. He coos your name back, nuzzling into your cheek with his face. You smell the stench of dark magic. You feel the cold metal of the crown against your forehead, you feel the probing intrusion, and you push back with your own magic force. He yanks you away from his from suddenly, frowning suddenly with a confused look, before shaking his head and looking back with that same lovestruck gaze. You'd be sick from the transport, but you don't think he'd like that, so you try to hold it in.

"You never were good with dimensional travel, were you?" He chitters, holding your smaller form in front of him with his magically-empowered hands. You shake your head, no longer trusting yourself to speak with that horrible look he directed at you. It stings that he would remember even that. Is this a mockery? He sighs into your ear, holding you against himself once again. "Well, you'll surely get used to it. After all, I intend to make you mine."

There it is.

You close your eyes. Is this all you are fated for? To be the consort of some creature wearing your beloved one's face? But even so, his personality is neatly packaged there. It is as though someone took his worse traits and blew them into a larger part. As though he was shown through a distorted mirror.

Yet his hands are still gentle against your own, and if you keep your eyes covered, you can dream that everything is normal.

[tokyogruel]

For the ask game 1 and Shidou

1. favorite song lyrics?

throw down;

“Throw down” connecting you with me, To keep you alive, you are still living “Throw down” the invitation that I can’t take back,"

"After stabbing you with my words, the blood started to flow And slowly stained my white"

"Hey, you remember what it feels like?"

"Now slowly close your eye, put your regret on display Wish for being there for someone With the same expression no matter who comes I don’t feel scared because I don’t know"

“Throw down” emotions with no color"

also mouiiyo,, and how easy it was to make him say mohito instead

i dont have a lot to say about the kanji in this one, because i dont know most of them. ive also listened to throw down significantly less than triage

triage:

"This sick joke, I can’t take it any more, I surrender You don’t even know yet, and yet Killing, extracting, I still won’t see them again I need to be tagged as RED" (this one is my favorite because, the line is spoken as this: 赤を巻きつけてくれ　"aka (red) o maki tsukete kuRE-" with emphasis on Re, so it gives the impression that he is saying RED at the end of the sentence.

"If the voices crying out in pain, can be saved by me Allow it to be my charge and mission"

"So this is unpleasant, hurling slurs of “hostage game”

the kanji,,

he refers to himself with 俺 and it kind of pisses me tf off like shut up and use 私 before i kick your ass

"ほら必要さ　俺は必要だから"

必要 "hitsuyo" means "necessary" or "needed", its translated to "indispensable" in the song. i think its fun though, 心 is "kokoro" or heart. so it looks like shidou is cutting into the heart of a person, cause this: 要 looks like a person running, right? so fun

liar dance:

"Stolen? Just whatever do you mean?" Feigning ignorance today as well Having made a vow, to you and you alone Declaring this loveless love of mine in front of you"

"Committing myself to this performance, set lines and all Those memories we've desperately created and clung to,"

"This love that's grown so weak, Go ahead and drain the cup till there's nothing left For no matter where we go

There's no fixing this"

"Everyone and their brother is laughing at you Even I've become unable to see you as anything but a lie But somehow I still have these feelings for you"

"Turn me inside-out and I look just like you It's nice to meet you, "Crime" and Punishment"

"It's already twisted beyond recognition It's a bit scary. But the moon looks so beautiful, doesn't it?"

delusion tax:

"Looks like you’re thinking some pretty nice thoughts over there… Are you really satisfied with just that? Don’t you think it’d be nice for it all to come true?"

"Existing for your sake alone, mandatory affections and obligated kindness Though you should be satisfied, a voice from within shouts “NO!” We have an idiot on our hands, it seems…"

"None of it will come true if you don't pay the price Look, just up and borrow the "desired amount" Reality is a bitter-sweet pill to swallow Come now, let’s go beyond all this pain"

"That’s right, for all these dirty delusions, let’s settle the bill with this dirty money" (which is my favorite line of all of his songs, especially the kanji and how he sings it. "そう、汚い妄想は汚いお金で解決させましょう")

"That which you wish for, the person you think of, The past which you hate as well, they’ll all be as you like. The kind of face and chest you desire, they’ll be granted if you pay.

“It’s a promise”

"Turning wishes into reality Right now, buy back your future"

"僕が世界の中心なので"

some recurring kanji in his songs i enjoy also are "sekai" 世界 (world) "ai" 愛 (love) and "tsumi" and "batsu" (罪と罰) which are "crime" and "punishment" respectively, which ill get into more

i also really love how much he makes references to deco's 罪と罰/tsumi to batsu/crime and punishment

throw down:

triage:

liar dance:

this one is a very explicit reference teehee

and delusion tax is the only one that doesnt use 罪 or 罰

[thedragonagelesbian]

12. candles

Micro Story Prompts

It's the same tonight, as it is every night. Candles and vein dripping scarlet. An altar, an offering, a predator's prayer for more prey, not to satiate his starving Urge--how very selfish to enjoy the feast--but to make more beautiful worship of the bodies.

But it's different tonight. Back stiff, knees sore, words he's whispered like breathing now strangled in his throat as his mind wanders. He ought not dwell on anything else bent before his Father's shrine, but his thoughts flit across his body (not his, not a body, Bhaal's implement and nothing more) and catalogue its aches. Tastes again how he acquired them, not in the pitch of battle but the throes of pleasure.

However narrow the distinction. Teeth and nails and rope and leather and a wicked gilt gauntlet. Memory tender in every sense of the word.

"My Chosen child."

Cyrus flinches.

"Father." He dares to look up just long enough to glimpse the unholy symbol of Bhaal floating above the altar, its eyes bleeding crimson. He ducks his head again. "You honor me in gracing my evening prayers."

The question of why rattles against his ribcage so hard that his voice wavers, despite himself.

"I come to reward you, spawn. The plans you have laid with the other Chosen will yet reap a slow and bloody harvest. It seems only appropriate that I bestow a gift upon you worthy of your purpose." Cyrus does not let himself exhale, and yet his breath is forced from him as Bhaal continues: "I will grant you the mantle of one of my avatars: the Slayer."

"No." The gasp leaves him before he can stop it, and something tenses on either side of his spine. The serrated steel of his wings--Bhaal's first gift to him--threatening to break through his skin. "I-- I mean only to say, Father, that I am unworthy of such a blessing as this. I have not yet earned the-- the honor of wearing one of your guises."

The wings burst. Cyrus' back wrenches and arches, forcing him to look upon the amulet. The candles snuff out in the gust of his puppeted body, and in the darkness, the skull's eyes gleam. Somewhere in their ruby depths, Cyrus can almost see a throne. A body. An outstretched hand folded into a claw.

"And yet you think yourself worthy of rejecting my benevolence?"

"No!" Sharper this time as Bhaal bows him like he means to snap his spine. It wouldn't be the first time. "No, please, Father, forgive me my ingratitude. Please, I forget myself, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Bhaal holds him there long enough to wick tears from his eyes, burning at the limits of a pain tolerance that Cyrus otherwise prides himself on, and then the hand relaxes. Cyrus slumps forward. Presses himself as low to the ground as he can. Stammers more senseless apologies. Tries to retract his wings, but they remain distended and bloody above him, their constant pressure at his scapula.

A warning, Cyrus knows, like the Slayer form. Threat. Reminder.

"Son, am I mistaken in believing that you do not desire this most loving of my boons?"

"Yes, Father."

"You will accept it, then?"

"Yes, Father." A beat. "Th-thank you, Father."

"Good."

Bhaal purrs, and Cyrus' blood--Bhaal's blood, wrought anew--stirs with sympathetic contentment. This is what his body (not his, not a body) truly wants. To be twisted into whatever form of devotion most serves his father.

So why is he sick with terror as he is strung in the air once more? Bones cracking, tendons splitting, skin calcifying, teeth and spines and claws and limbs rupture in so many different directions that he loses himself to a haze of red.

But his heart keeps galloping, trying to outrun this new form.

"In time you will come to see the beauty of the Slayer," Bhaal intones, sermon and symphony to accompany his rearrangement. "You keep your Urge--your birthright--on too tight a leash, in the name of piety, no less. Unslaked, your desires manifest themselves where there should be none."

He can't breathe. Can't feel anything beyond the cloying taste of copper and the pain. Can't think through the growling of his stomach, craving and empty worse than the most unruly hungers of his Urge. But something flashes at those words. A golden spark of an idea. A comfort.

Cyrus cries out his name with a mouth he no longer has: Enver!

"The Slayer will be another means by which you express my will. A better one."

[cinnnam0nngir16]

The ultimate love is cannibalistic.

In religions and throughout history, the consumption of human flesh has almost always been deemed as evil, inhumane and repulsive. However, some ancient religions show respect and love by eating the deceased. Perhaps in some way, it is not only for preventing the rotting process of the body but that in devouring the dead -- which, in explicit detail through eating their cells, fibres, muscles and blood vessels, they “enter” the consumers’ physical form and eventually become “one” with the devourer. That way, they are honoured and remembered forever. Their physical form has been reduced to intangible spiritual elevation and energy; they don't cease to exist but transcend into other beings externally and internally. Like eating beef, the joining of cells, the nutrition, and the protein within their flesh help others grow and gain strength. Through the complex process of digestion and absorption, the becoming of “one” is completed. 

“If I’m turning in your stomach and making you feel sick.”

The thought of eating your loved one -- despite being morally awful and unimaginable(and most unlawful), something about it is so raw, intense and morbidly fascinating. It almost feels too intimate. “I allow you to consume my flesh and drink my blood”. What weight of love does one have to bear to state this? What lamb would willingly sacrifice itself for a starving lion? It is so grisly, gruesome and wicked. And how could one exceed such intimacy and closeness by any means when nothing could separate the bond that is tighter than the cord of blood cells, components and organic compounds? Cannibalistic love is devotion. It is beyond our comprehension of intimacy and bonding, sex and pleasure. When you eat someone, you absorb their energy. You become “one”. 

The truth is, you can never get close enough to someone. Even if you are holding each other tightly, clasping their arms and pressing them against your skin, your hearts won't beat at the same time; and there remain two pieces of skin and two rib cages that set your hearts apart. An indestructible distance exists between people; it is both physical and mental. It is an interspace that grows and expands into a void in this cold, isolated world. Words, emotions, sex, success, nothing could fill this void within us. 

I was once inside my mother’s body. I am a piece of flesh she shed. She carried me for forty weeks; she gave me a beating heart—every part of me she created: my eyes, fingers, hair. My flesh belongs to her, and the same blood flows in our veins. My closeness with my mother cannot be replicated with another soul. I know I will always be like a mirror to my mother: I resemble the freckles on her nose, I talk in the same voice, and our eyebrows twist in the same way when we get angry. I remind her of her youth, of her nagging pains. Perhaps the “oneness” is also about carrying someone within you, holding a part of someone and resembling them, acting like a mirror, a reflection: carrying the same passion in reading, sharing the same taste in film, wanting the same things in life. When we love, we desire to shorten the distance between us that is physically impossible to rid of; we exchange body and soul just to be closer to one another, more intimate, more similar, more like “one”. 

[orchid-n-petals]

I continued my f!durge playthrough and am terminally infected with the brainrot that this narrative proposes, so here is another exploration! Featuring a technically canon-compliant, slightly tweaked romance scene with Astarion.

TW: uncomfortable sexual themes, gore ideations (includes a dog). Dead dove!

***

She could have said no. Gods above and below, she should have. She was not ready for this. She didn’t want this. Every speckle of blood in her body was recoiling from the thought of going through with this, the marrow in her bones boiling with the urge to just turn around and go, flee, stop the madness.

Not her twisted compulsion. That, the sanguine little whispers coursing through her brain like ants, making her twitch and desire horrible things; those wanted her to stay. To get him to lower his guard, wrap her arms around his neck and squeeze. To curl her fingers and push against him until his skin was pierced and her palms caressed his spine. Would he have been cold even then? Was there any warmth remaining in his flesh, warmth that she could tear from him? Any last remaining speckle of life his kind desperately clung to, defying sacred death? Defying the glory of murder from those gur that beat him centuries ago?

Sacrilegious. Debased. Revolting. But he could be beautiful again, under her hands. By the time she would be done with him, he would look truly beautiful in eternal stillness. She could marvel at her own work for hours on end until the rest of their camp woke.

These are not my thoughts. I don’t think this about him.

Her affirmations sounded desperate. If not her thoughts, then who else’s? But then why was she opposed to them as well? Raphael’s words were clear; one head, two tenants. The cambion said nothing of one of those being this broken. This irreparable.

She wanted to try. When the vampire made his offer, she almost refused him outright. Sickeningly sweet words with too much pretend attraction, flowery and so outright insincere that each syllable crawled under her skin. He was laying it on thick, too thick for her to believe, instincts from a past life seeing right through a lie best used against naive marks with too sheltered a life.

Did he think her so easy to fool? He lied to her multiple times already. Some with reason, some seemingly without one. Even still, she couldn’t deny that he was the only one who had shown even a modicum of understanding.

Not that she wanted her urges to be understood but she couldn’t possibly help herself. So, when she sounded unsure and he asked for clarification, she agreed to the liaison. Who better to try and cling to a sliver of normalcy than the person who might best understand if she slips? If she can’t quite catch herself, not even awake?

That did not mean she truly wanted this, but she was sick of battling herself, policing every single thought and action in every single one of her waking seconds. How she had to think thrice about grabbing a knife when they ate around the campfire lest her mind would switch and plunged it into one of their necks. How she had to stay away from the cauldron with the boiling stew lest somebody else was at arm’s length and she would suffocate them in the steaming hot food.

Gods, she couldn’t count the ways she had thought about killing them all. Sometimes her mind was left to wander, too, conjuring up images of their bodies made into an effigy, mutilated beyond recognition. Sewn together wrong, entrails stuffed into hollowed-out limbs, decapitated heads arranged in a way they would bite into the very bodies they possessed in life. Even poor Scratch did not escape the thoughts.

She always wondered how the dog didn’t sniff out how inherently wretched she was; animals were supposed to be good at it. At times, this gave her hope. If the dog was fine with her, then maybe redemption wasn’t a futile prospect. Other times, it made her afraid; a dog that trusts her is that much easier to mutilate before it tries to retaliate. Sometimes, when she drifted off, not quite able to fight the chorus of her temptations, the poor animal was the centrepiece of her grandiose plan with them.

And there she would stand, smiling. Shrouded in a sense of ecstasy few things, if any other, could grant any living being. Oh, how she yearned.

She didn’t want to think about it. She hated this. Just for one godsdamned night, she wanted to be normal. To ignore the voices, these disembodied portents of death, telling her what to do, sitting on her shoulders and not far behind her back, looking over every single little thing she did, an audience that wanted to yank her around like a puppet. She just wanted to feel normal. Or anything but the way she truly did.

Or at least try. For one single night. Doing something normal people would.

This is what normal people did, no?

She wasn’t even sure if she ever had sex before. She must have, judging by the primal reflexes she cut his little, no doubt romantic monologue off with a kiss, pushing him against the tree while starting to undress herself, the unnatural cool of his lips barely registering in her mind. Her eyes were closed, not to enjoy the moment but to try and distance herself from the situation. She didn’t want to be here but this was her only chance; sleeping was not an option, not when she could feel the back of her neck aching with a built-up temptation to sink a blade into somebody’s stomach and watch them gasp their last breath when she angled it in a way that would pierce a lung.

So she kissed him, not letting him speak. He didn’t want to, responding to the gesture in kind, hands expertly sliding down her sides and tugging her shirt loose, separating only as long as he pulled it over her head. Kicked down their pants, both of them, a warm body pressed against a cold one. He picked her up, she put her arms around his neck and they continued, both wearing a smile that couldn’t have been more fake.

His eyes were empty, too. A thousand miles away, tucked safely back into his mind as they descended to the ground, both of them moving with experience and yet with the same rehearsed diligence as if they followed some sort of protocol. She offered her neck, he took a bite; no passion despite the intimacy of their situation. Fluids flowed but there was no true ecstasy as their bodies moved, no joy in any of his thrusts or the way her hips rolled. She felt ridges on his back as she held onto him but did not sink her nails into the muscle as she lost herself in pleasure because, quite frankly, she wasn’t present either. Not truly. No emotion in either of their voices. Nothing to be gained.

Just a chore that had to be done, because they were adults, attractive ones, attracted to the other, and they shared some sort of bond, not quite camaraderie or friendship, so why wouldn’t the next logical step be to have sex? Just another checkbox on the list of what normal people did.

She had an inkling neither of them wanted to be there, doing what they did. They were methodical, experts with every one of their moves and yet it amounted to nothing. No allure, nothing to raise their pulse, or, well, hers at the very least.

She didn’t get what she wanted but she got what she needed. Disassociation so potent that her mind completely shut down. She watched themselves from above, two writhing bodies conjoined in consenting displeasure like worms ready to be snatched by a bird. Grunting and moaning without any meaning to the sounds aside from primal, barbaric reflexes, expectations ingrained within them deeper than their personal disgust about the situation.

She didn’t feel anything. A numb, cold sensation so overwhelming that it pushed her out of her own body, deep into the ground and above the sky alike, anywhere but within. With her presence, however, the urge was also gone. Her fingers did not dig too deep, her mouth did not open just to bite until she reached bone, her mind wanted no satiation.

Blissful emptiness, blessed distance. In this feeling alone, she could have spent eternity, paid the price of displeasure a thousandfold. Anywhere but inside her head was better, and if spreading her legs when she did not want to, not truly, not for the right reason, was the price, then she would gladly become a whore.

The right reason. Was there even one? Who was to say her reason was any less pure than that of a star-struck lover wishing to indulge in the joys of flesh with the object of their affection? Who was to come and say, to her face, that her wish to plunge herself out from the losing war within the confines of her skull was any less pure?

Maybe it was unfair against him but Astarion meant no love by this either. He must have had his reasons for doing something he was clearly repulsed by. Maybe to make her his own personal blood bag, given that others were not particularly keen on sharing what was in their veins. Not that her cursed blood was any boon, but at least it was reassurance that she was still better than a rat. Small mercies.

Maybe to lie to her, to make her care. Maybe it was just a checkbox for him, too, something to feel alive, to feel whole when he was so obviously broken. She could see it in him, under the veil of the superficial persona he crafted for himself. It was obvious he tried to hide the carnage in the room with nought but a pretty rug laid haphazardly over it.

He was so quick to reassure her how he understood her. That she wasn’t repulsing him. She hated it, but wasn’t it projection? How he longed for understanding in turn? Handheld in their own crimson nightmares, trying anything not to remain alone. Never again.

What was next? Where would the pendulum swing first and how devastating will be when it inevitably sways backwards? Will anyone catch them after progress? Will they catch one another? Could they?

He came, or at least he faked it, convincingly enough. She didn’t care, overwhelmed by the pull of the end, dragged back into her own mind as she clawed in the proverbial dirt to escape, to no avail. Her escape had ended and the weight of her curse felt more crushing than ever.

The vampire wanted to stand, his movements barely concealing how acidic her touch felt on him, how hard he had to fight to not show revulsion. Yet when her fingers curled against his back as she pulled him close, cheek against cheek, the warmth of her tears she couldn’t quite keep at bay rubbing onto his skin… He stopped running. Just for a second, just enough. Out of pity or compassion, it did not matter. There was a silent understanding that just for a few seconds more, this had to do. Just so that she didn’t fall.

Just a little. They were already through the worst of it. This couldn’t hurt, no?

He could endure that much and he did, without a word. Up until he spoke, mouth against ear while he gently pushed himself away. “Rest.”

She did not answer. She could not; exhaustion was stronger than her will, and so was her sorrow. Tasting victory only to be plunged back into war was demanding of one’s mental faculties, and she was at capacity. Yet, even so, her thoughts remained blissfully blurred, her muscles aching not with an insatiable thirst to maim but with the welcome buzz of exertion. Maybe she would sleep tonight. Not well, certainly, but she couldn’t afford to be picky.

He might have been running, but she knew that when she opened her eyes, he would be there. It was evident to them both. This, what they had, might have not been what they wanted, but it was something.

Something was better than nothing, at least. Neither of them wanted to lose it just yet. Being left with nothing, at the depths of hopelessness, was more unbearable than hoping, even if in vain, for something better. For themselves. For the other. For them both.

How did that devil put it? Hope. Such a tease.

[nokaru]

Red, yellow, green and 8 ball for the OC ask! Any OC(s) of your choosing <3

Meefy my beloved hello hiii ilysm thank u for the ask ^^ this is a LONG one bear with me here jsjsjs naturally AnS OCs!

🔴 Red- What is a trait your OC has that those around them don't see very often? Is it seen by a rare few or completely overlooked?

Zarr: his melancholy and nostalgia. He hypocritically preaches "what is dead is dead, past is past and dwelling on it will only bring you down" but he drags the dead weight of his past along with himself, his heavy heart grounds him in some sense but inevitably it is just what it is - a burden. He doesn't let anyone in besides very few privileged ones, so only one who's aware of his internal turmoil is his wife Rita. and maybe Butcher knows but does not talk about it.

Rita: her aggressivity. She's not naturally an angry person, dare I say she's the calmest of them all actually but she has a tendency to bottle things up and she rarely flies off the handle ...so boy when she does get mad MAD heads start "falling off". Besides that, the actual hidden trait would be her two-facedness. She has an image of a good and approachable person about her but she wouldn't be the big boss of the underground assassination scene if she was all unicorns and rainbows.

🟡 Yellow- What is something your OC wants but knows they can never have? How does it feel to never get this specific desire?

Tsu: something something never shooting his shot with Zarr when he had the change when they were young something something buried first love something something always the right-hand man and close companion nothing more something something just being happy by your side something something gay 🫵

Emi: perhaps it's just in a poet's nature to long for something, to yearn for something more, anything beyond what you have now. Yes, she's the richest she's ever been. She has all the comforts that soothe her whims and needs. Yet she wants more and more. Maybe what she actually desires is the familiarity of her youth, the bad smell of a shady tavern, the sweet taste of her lover's lips- ANYWAY

🟢 Green- What is considered a weakness in your OC that is actually a strength? What is a strength in your character that can be twisted into a weakness?

Sister Fiona: some may say her weakness is her religiousness? ((I hc that the AnS universe runs on multiple gods type of system but even though, Fiona and the underground's main "religion" is pretty pagan. She's a nun/cleric of Somni, goddess of night travelers, thieves and whatnot.)) Even though Fiona does not act as a proper "nun" she has set values and doctrines she follows, which may restrict her sometimes. Lacking freedom and dedicating your life to a god (even tho the god is extremely well respected) can be seen as a weakness if not a burden in the eyes of the underworld. For Fiona her belief is her strength, ofc not as big big of a strength as her sword but still...Her dedication is what fuels her in life. Also being a nun of Somni means you are automatically respected and nobody picks a fight with you so yeah.

Roslyn: her independence is her strong suit. She wouldn't be a fearsome pirate captain without being as independent as her at such a young age. Naturally, too much independence turns into a hindrance. Distrust and loneliness are her two close friends.

🎱 8 Ball- What situation was your OC lucky to escape from or get out of? What or who helped them unexpectedly?

Nokaru: long story short - getting abandoned by Obi, being held and tortured by a rival clan for a few months was less that ideal for her development. She got out, by herself, with no help. She walked all the way back to her clan's headquarters like nothing happened. She's not lucky, she's just competent.

Emi AGAIN cause I love her: Emi's life is just a series of unfortunate events, from getting out of her overbearing, manipulative patron's estate to managing to "take care" of a corrupt almost-husband and his family's sick marriage plan Emi has seen it all when it comes to Tanbarun aristocracy. What helped her get out of all the misfortune in her life were her ambitions for riches and recognition. Also her very nice but very shady and scheming ex-boyfriend (Tom tommyboy 👈 Obi's older bro)

[inkykeiji]

Idk if you ever got this question! but the girls touya-nii got with before reader, were they anything similar to her? like the willingness to completely submit and be good for him and wear similar cute clothing. or was he first attracted to reader becauseee she had those personality traits no one else had? and then from there he just fell in love

ooh anon this is a really interesting question!!

it has a fairly simple answer: touya is not picky at all when it comes to the people he fucks for fun. for him, it was always and would always only be a one night stand type situation; he genuinely had no desire to get to know any of the people he fooled around with, and they were mostly from his crowd/scene (drug addicts, party animals, customers). if anyone tried to get too close, or attempted to form a bond any deeper than surface level, he almost immediately cut them off. he toyed with one or two out of pure curiosity—you know, to see what it's all about, to see if there's anything for him to get out of it, to see if it's worth it—but it was never anything serious or significant. ultimately, he was never looking for any sort of relationship beyond a ‘we fuck on occasion and know a few surface level details about each other, but that's as far as it goes’.

with reader, on the other hand, his original intent was to play with her. he planned to play the long game, to take advantage of the situation that he had been gifted by the gods (that is, her living in the same house as him, and him having access to her practically whenever he wanted) and mangle it beyond repair, twisted around his pinky like some sort of gnarled, sick ring, ready to be tossed aside whenever he grew tired of it. what ultimately makes him fall for her are those qualities you’ve mentioned. he might’ve detected hints of them in his previous hookups, but never to the extent of reader; never on her level of desperation and sheer obedience, never with the same voracious, all-consuming need to please and be good and receive praise—something that seems to be innate within her (rooted in her soul, almost; an irrevocable part of who she is) and purely insatiable.

just as a little aside (because ur question got me thinking), touya-nii has technically never had a girlfriend (or boyfriend/partner) in the sense that he's never been ‘official’ or committed to any one person at one time. he’s had stints and bouts where he fucks and hangs out with and gets high with the same person for a string of months before they really start to bore him, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t off fucking other people on the side, nor was there ever any sort of label slapped on the relationship. as i’ve said before, he’s a certified sociopath and has immense trouble forming (or even desiring, for that matter) lasting, meaningful relationships and emotional connections with others, which is a big factor relating to all of this.

also!!! @ ur second ask hehe your question totally does make sense! thank you for sending it in!! <3 i can see where you’re coming from with your own situation and why it would’ve sparked this question! interesting for sure, and i'm glad it ended up being such a compatible match!! <3 anyway i hope you got some rest anon bb <3 have a lovely weekend and stay safe!!

[tweedledee-and-tweedledumb]

Litost

Napkin tied around my neck,

A growing hunger gnawing inside.

A ravenous demand that only seeks to expand.

An appetite that differs.

A pallette demanding what others couldn't stomach.

*

I don't know why.

*

There is no disillusion for my yearning.

Intimate knowledge of flavors that would burst on virgin tongue despite never having tasted it.

But why?

Why do I crave?

Why a meal that couldn't end well no matter what?

Why dishes that don't bode well?

That promise sickness?

*

Why must I hunger for violation?

To be objectified.

Perceived in imagination from afar.

Why do I thirst for men, women, creatures, of violence?

Exist in drought for the Unclean.

Mouths that taste stale with cigarette smoke.

Hands stained with choice.

Scars earned instead of accidental.

Beasts just as hungry as me.

*

What exists inside of me that wants so desperately claw its way out?

To escape and be fed simultaneously.

*

Why am I starving?

For devotion I already have.

Connection I've already achieved.

Intimate Knowing I've already felt, day in and day out for years.

*

Depression clings to my psyche, I know.

I have for ages.

Accepting of a moral compass drifts further from north with every sun cycle.

Violence lives in my heart, aches to be allowed a Becoming.

But I am not reckless.

I do not feel inwardly destructive.

I do not Want what I Want as a means of self harm.

As a weapon against what exists in my life.

In my past.

I do not crave to compensate.

I do not long for toxicity as a means of distraction, nor to answer the plague of trauma beneath my shell.

*

I simply crave.

I crave the way the vultures of my imagination crave.

Sharp.

Constant.

I Crave like insatiable hunger pecking away invisible remnants of flesh long gone from old bones.

*

It should be fantasy

A far away, twisted and turned around sort of prince charming.

An outline splashed with spots of passion but otherwise left blank, un-filled in, without a desire for anything beyond that.

*

But that is not how I crave.

Not how I imagine.

*

Color exists inside, and outside, of the lines.

Vivid.

Lovingly painted with a longing heart.

A jailed man wishing for the sight of water or a tree.

Creating what he cannot have.

*

Let me have Him. Her. Them. It.

Let me be consumed by it, stretched thin through jagged teeth.

Let me bask in the glow of obsession.

Sickly green.

Speckles of radiation within every photograph.

Let me taste.

And gorge.

Let me find use for myself,

soft but not sweet.

Supportive but far more than tolerant through a blind eye.

Let me show what I can accept, what I can celebrate.

Let me love fully that which should be unpalatable.

*

I want it.

Want it but I cannot seek it.

Can only hope it finds me.

Will want me.

How do I wait? Knowing it might visit, but might not.

Can it be considered faith?

Trusting, waiting, knowing that I can never undo the time I've given freely, but giving it anyway?

Even if misplaced.

Is this why I've opened my arms to wine madness of the stage?

I thought to find freedom, but maybe faith instead.

To learn to have it.

Learn to trust.

Even without promise of satisfaction.

Of acknowledgment.

Of Fulfillment.

*

My stomach is concave.

It folds in on itself.

Eats itself within.

I am full with imitation,

but never anything real.

Finger snacks leave me empty-bellied and thin with hunger.

*

I am patient. But esurient.

Will a meal ever be served?

Rancid for others,

Ambrosia for me.

Will I know the place setting is for me?

Have I already missed my chance at dinner?

Will the craving never cease?

Will I ever be fed?

I am patient. But esurient.

*

The table is empty save for myself.

Dishes gleaming but hollow.

*

Feast or Famine.

I exist in one, I beg to be allowed the other.

Feast or Famine.

My plate is empty.

Feast or Famine.

When will dinner be served?

Feast or Famine.

Is there any food at all?

Feast or Famine.

I crave.

Feast or Famine.

Let me eat.

Feast or Famine.

*

I pray for Feast,

But perhaps there is only Famine.

*

Abundance exists elsewhere, but I will not move.

My place is for me.

My plate is empty but it is mine.

I will wait.

Napkin tied around my neck.