#sure it would have been ~poetic but so shallow?

[sinnaminsuga]

𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖉𝖏𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 - sub!hyunjin x sub!reader x dom!chan

wc: 2,804

cw: hyunjin is a slut, so is the reader, chan likes it that way. SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: while shooting the red lights mv chan noticed something about hyunjin and now he's got a theory he wants to test, he just needs your help.

a/n: was literally plagued with visions of overstimulating hyunjin and making him cry soooo this is what i ended up with. oops. also if there are any spelling errors pls don't tell me bc ive read this trash so many times trying to work it all out and if i have to re-read it again i might go blind.

sw: dirty talk, daddy kink, unprotected sex (pls be smarter than that), bondage, threesome, some gay shit, breeding, blowjobs, lingerie, deepthroating, general toughness, waxing poetic about hyunjins beautiful face. idk probably more but im bad at this shit.

hwang hyunjin is beautiful. its a well documented fact, no ifs ands or buts about it. he has the kind of face ancient civilizations would have gone to war for. old world dynasties would have been reduced to rubble over a face like his. hwang hyunjin is the kind of beautiful where it almost hurts to look at him. it makes you question your belief in a higher power because, how could there possibly be any room for debate on if there is a God when there is simply no other reasonable explanation for how a devine creature like him came to exist on this earth? so with all that being said, there's no way he could get any more beautiful. or so you thought.

it had always been your assumption that there was no possible way he could look any more stunning than he naturally does; but your mind was changed the minute you saw the lithe expanses of his smooth milky skin held captive by blood red ropes. you felt an astounding amount of pride as your eyes bore witness to his soft flesh being pulled tight by the coarse material; the blood under his skin rushing to the surface where the ropes were knotted artfully over his collarbone, across his abdomen, splayed over his pelvis, looped around his upper thighs and finally circling the base of his dick. and you had worked hard to make sure the knots around his wrists and ankles were comfortable yet sturdy before attaching them to each bedpost.

you had taken your instructions very seriously, as the man giving them to you from edge of the bed, wouldn't allow any of this to continue if either of you were to disobey his direct orders, and dear god you would rather die than see this endeavor be cut short.

you admired your handiwork a bit more before the rumbling of a particular voice hit your ears.

“how do you feel baby? is this what you wanted? y/n did a good job huh? you look so pretty.” chan spoke softly to hyunjin, absentmindedly petting his head. hyunjin looked up at his leader and nodded, unsure if he could speak without whining as the ropes pulled across his body with every move.

“yeah i knew you'd like this. the whole time we were shooting “red lights” i saw you ya know? the way your breathing got shallow when the staff chained you up. the way your eyes glazed over when they gave you instructions to pull against your restraints. god, standing above you on that bed, watching you writhe below me was a sight to see. my good boy just wanted to be tied up and used huh?” chan said to him, his finger hooked under hyunjin's chin forcing his head up to look him in the eyes. a whimper forced its way out of him as his hips instinctually bucked and the the sensation of the ropes took over.

you couldn't drag your eyes away from his lower body. the sharp angle of his hipbones jutting up to the ceiling as his cock drooled uncontrollably, the fluid flowing from his tip dribbling down to darken the rope wrapped snugly around the base of him. without even thinking you reached out and wrapped your hand around his shaft, you were just so overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. the feeling was unexpected and the sound that punched its way out of hyunjin's chest was glorious. his body attempted to curl in on itself but the ropes kept him firmly in place. you watched the range of emotions flicker over his face in rapid succession; surprise at your initial touch, pleasure from finally being granted a little stimulation, sensitivity from being denied his pleasure for so long, shock when he remembered the restraints keeping him spread open, frustration at not being able to move, and finally acceptance as he gave in to the languid stroking you were doing. he continued to toss as the pleasure took over, thrashing wildly against the mattress and moaning into the pillow.

hyunjin's noises were reduced to whimpers as chan’s hand squeezed around his jaw, directing hyunjin to look him in the eyes. “shhh baby boy, y/n is gonna make you feel good okay? you'll let her do that, won’t you? you'll lay there and take what i let her give you, understood? words please, jinnie.” chan cooed. “yes daddy. i'll be good for you, for her too i promise. i'll be your perfect boy just like always, i promise, please! god just please keep touching me!” hyunjin choked out, making chan grin. he leapt up from where he was perched on the edge of the bed and rounded the corner until he was standing behind you. you repressed a shudder as chan’s hand slid up your back, tracing over your spine and occasionally tripping over the straps of the lingerie set you were wearing. his hand glided up into your hair with ease until his palm cradled the base of your skull, then suddenly he locked his fingers to grab your hair firmly by the roots and pulled you upright so your back was against his chest as he angled your head to the left exposing the expanse of your neck. the suddenness of his movements caused you to lose your grip on hyunjin’s dick and he cried out from the loss of contact, his hips frantically bucking into the air in a fruitless attempt to find friction.

chan hummed as his lips made contact with the skin of your neck and continued as he licked, nipped, and sucked at your flesh. he hooked his chin over your shoulder as his right hand charted a course down your abdomen to the apex of your thighs where the pads of his thick fingers rubbed over your damp slit. when you could finally manage to pry your lids open, you locked eyes with hyunjin. he was practically panting watching chan devour your throat and palm your pussy. “so pretty y/n, y’look so pretty. like a dream. want to paint you one day, just like that.” he whispered. hyunjin's words and gaze coupled with chan's wandering hands and skilled mouth were almost enough to send you over the edge.

“now here’s what's next my loves. y/n, you're going to get on your knees, lean down on your elbows and suck hyunjin's pretty dick right into the back of your throat okay? i want you to take him as far as you can, and quickly. do not stop until i tell you to. not if he begs, not if he cries, not if he screams. got it?” you nodded as well as you could with his left hand still in your hair. chan released you and you quickly got into the position he had described, gently grabbing hold of hyunjin's cock. “i’m sorry jinnie, but you know i have to.” you quipped right before you took him into your mouth and as far into your throat as you could manage. the garbled noise that ripped its way out of hyunjin's throat threw you into over drive as you bobbed your head and sucked him like your life depended on it. he was groaning deeply and his limbs were flailing the best they could in his current predicament. his back arched up off the mattress so beautifully you wished chan would take a photo.

“fuck, fuck, FUCK. jesus chri- oh my god! y/n, sweetheart slow down- PLEASE! oh fuck i can- i can feel- fucking fuck. i can feel your throat squeezing me so tight!” hyunjin wailed throwing his head back, the veins in his neck becoming more prominent as he grit his teeth.

suddenly chan’s hand made its way to your pussy again and you gasped around the thickness embedded in your throat causing hyunjin to hiss.

“crotchless panties angel? so proud of you. always so prepared for daddy huh? know just what i like.” chan muttered from behind you. you heard the telltale jingle of his belt being opened and the zipper being lowered on his jeans. he had already removed his shirt earlier so he was naked quickly, and he wasted no time before rubbing the head of his dick along your weeping folds.

“now i'm going to fuck you nice and deep the way you like and i want you to keep sucking my good boy okay?” chan said but before you could respond he shoved himself into you in one swift thrust. chan was not small in girth or length for that matter but the stretch you felt every time he fucked you open was delicious. you couldn't help but moan around the cock in your mouth which in turn caused hyunjin to scream at the unexpected vibration. chan’s laugh that followed was dark and proud, thrilled that he held so much power and that you both let him use it.

“fuuuuck sweet girl this cunt is always so fucking tight huh? doesn't matter how many times i fuck you or let someone else fuck you, you always snap right back. god i love being inside you.” chan growled as his hands gripped your hips and held you steady as he pummeled his way in and out of your slippery hole. the whole time he was fucking you, you were being forced onto hyunjin's cock as well, every moan muffled by the thickness battering your throat.

“hyunjin is y/n a good cocksucker? hmm? you think? you think she's better than you were?” chan taunted him as he drove himself inside you over and over again. “remember when we had our first one on one meeting? just me and you alone in the studio? i said 'hyunjin if you really are serious and want to stay in this group i need one thing from you’ do you remember that? i do.” you could hear the grin in his voice even if you couldn't see him. hyunjin groaned and mumbled what sounded like a yes. “i also remember how fast you sank to your knees and scrambled to try and open my belt. you thought i wanted you to suck me off to stay in the band. and you were so willing to give me whatever i wanted. all i was going to ask you for was your loyalty and your honesty in all things. but you offered up that pretty mouth quick as a bitch and who was i to say no?” chan laughed at the memory as he threw a foot up onto the bed to change the angle he was fucking into you from so he was now nailing your gspot on every thrust.

“y-yes i remember. ‘course i do. i knew w-what you were gonna ask me because felix told me beforehand what you were going to ask, what you asked a-all of them. i just- fuck yes keep sucking y/n im so close. i jus’ wanted you so bad i thought if i tried and y-you didn't want me back it would just be an easily brushed off m-misunderstanding.” hyunjin whined, his hands balled up into fists, knuckles white.

“y/n suck him dry. now.” chan ordered and you sucked harder pulling a squeal out of hyunjin. “go on sweet boy. go ahead and cum. you earned it.” chan encouraged as he delivered a heavy smack to your ass. your muffled yelp was the final straw and hyunjin came hard into your mouth, his body attempting to lurch off the bed. you swallowed everything down and pulled off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand. as chan continued to ram into you, you mirrored his thrusts with the fist wrapped tightly around hyunjin's still hard cock.

“stop stop stop please! god please i can- i can't take it! it's too sensitive please!” hyunjin cried. “yes you can baby. you can take it. trust me.” chan cooed. feeling bold you leaned forward once again and sucked hyunjin's tip harshly while lashing the tip of your tongue over his slit.

“FUCK! no no no no it's too m- too much. stop stop stop!” hyunjin continued to wail. he was begging you to relent but he also didn't use his safeword so you knew he didnt really want it to stop. the sound was like music to chan's ears and the rhythmic clenching of your cunt around him propelled him quickly toward his own orgasm.

“i'm gonna cum in you okay baby? gonna breed this pretty pussy, stuff it full of my cum. that what you want? yeah it is isn't it?” chan rambled and you moaned out a “yes please daddy” right before he exploded inside you. your hand around hyunjin never stopped moving and he was crying now. big fat tears rolling down his cheeks from the overstimulation.

chan pulled out of you and watched your hole flutter, pushing out his seed. he murmured a string of praises as he watched the glistening fluid drip out of you. you looked over your shoulder at him, jutting your lower lip out.

“daddy i didn't get to cum yet. can i?” you asked.

“go ahead baby. make yourself cum.” chan said with a wave of his hand and an evil grin etched on his face. you grinned right back before scrambling up hyunjin's body and straddling him.

“wh-what are you doing? oh...oh no. no no no. please it's so sensitive it's so so sensitive y/n i can't!” hyunjin hiccuped, tears still flowing. you leaned forward and ran your tongue up his cheek, lapping up the briny liquid seeping from his eyes. then you whispered “oh jinnie, don't you want me to feel good too? i worked so hard after all.” you reached behind you and positioned his tip at your entrance before effortlessly sliding down onto him. you moaned as he filled you and he once again thrashed against the ropes wrapped around him. you started to ride him in earnest, aching for your own release at this point. the man beneath you was mumbling incoherently about how good your pussy feels and how badly he wants to come again. chan sauntered over and perched next to hyunjin again, reaching out to pet his head and pepper his face with kisses.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck i'm gonna cum!” you cried as you worked yourself over hyunjin’s dick and used one hand to furiously rub your clit.

“daddy shes squeezing me so hard i don't think i ca- can get out. can i cum inside?” hyunjin pleaded with chan. “of course you can baby, right sweetheart? you want jinnie’s cum inside you don't you?” you just nodded in response. “my girl loves to be creampied you never have to ask. just go ahead baby boy.” chan explained. you drove yourself down onto hyunjin twice more and then you were cumming, mouth dropping open as your inner walls milked him for all he was worth. hyunjin spasmed beneath you as he came and came and came inside you. he wasn't speaking anymore, just making these stunted little sounds as his body shook with the aftershocks of his second orgasm.

chan had begun to untie the ropes as you slowly lifted yourself off of hyunjin. you whispered praise to him as he has hummed, completely fucked out and boneless beneath you.

“shhh it's okay sweetheart. you did so good for us baby. we’re gonna put you to bed now okay?” chan murmured to the man shaking in the bed. hyunjin managed to croak out an “uh-huh” in response. you grabbed a bottle of lotion from nearby and began to work it into the reddened skin all over him where the ropes had been, while chan wiped down hyunjin's groin with a warm cloth. you hummed a tune you knew hyunjin loved and his eyes fluttered shut, a tiny smile making its way to his face.

after everything was put away and the room was right again, chan crawled into the bed to spoon hyunjin’s half asleep form while you crawled in the other side to press yourself to hyunjin's still somewhat heaving chest. you pulled the blanket up high and tucked yourself into his warm skin and he wound an arm around your waist. chan's hand rested on hyunjin's hip, squeezing the flesh there every so often.

being here felt so right, so natural, so easy. loving these two was as easy as breathing. you couldn't believe it had taken this long to get here but now that you had, you weren't letting them go. before your eyes fell closed you heard the sound of chan's lips kissing along hyunjin's shoulder before he whispered “rest now my loves. because i have big plans for you tomorrow.”

THE END

[jayke0]

End of The Line

Summary: It's the end of the line for Moon Knight.

Rating: Mild gore.

Warnings/Content: Ton of angst, Marc hates himself, Marc hates Steven, they're literally dying, blood, MK lore is canon but this is set afterwards, mild self harm references, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 862

A/n: This is just a short little angst thing I wrote a while ago and edited today. I know this isn't what i normally post, but I just wanted to get this out there since it's been on my mind for a while. Probably typos.

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

…………………………….....………………..................

“What's wrong?”

Marc hates that phrase.

What's wrong? Surely, if he knew what was wrong, he wouldn't be sobbing in a public restroom in the middle of nowhere.

“Marc?”

“Fuck off, Steven.”

His knuckles are stark white from how hard he's gripping the metal sink, countless droplets of tears and blood trickling down the inside of the cold basin.

Marc’s focus shifts to the mirror. He'd hoped that adjusting his hair would work to ground him, but the swept back curls only reveal the bags under his worn eyes and red streaks staining his cheeks. The salty beads sting the crimson cuts littering his face.

“What happened to you, Marc?”

Jesus, does this guy ever shut up? He's like a constant nag in the back of Marc’s brain, a constant reminder of what he could’ve been. They'd reconciled after their escapade with Ammit, but the military man was finding it hard to be open with Steven; even after dying together.

It's almost poetic how their situation has come full circle; except this time, they have no Layla to save them

Marc ignores the voice, Steven doesn't need to know anyway, that'd just make everything worse. Splashing his face with water makes him hiss softly under his breath, and he catches eye contact with himself. He feels his throat tighten, a ball rising under his skin till he's eventually sobbing again.

He can't hold himself up, it feels like the entire weight of the world is pushing him further and further down onto the grimy tiled floor. The rubber of his trainers squeaks as he finally collapses against the cabinets, letting out a yelp of pain.

If he doesn't look at it, it's not real.

The end of his t-shirt is bunched up, revealing a grisly stain of blood slowly seeping from somewhere under his shirt.

If it was possible, Steven's stomach would've flipped at the sight, his body and mind thrumming with dread as the dull ache finally settles into his figurative body.

“Marc… why are you bleeding?”

“We're dying, Steven.”

His words are just as cold as the tiles, the freeze spreading through Steven's brain as he grips the reality of the situation.

“No, mate, we can't be… C'mon, we're Moon Knight, remember?”

“We're not fucking Moon Knight anymore.” Marc's words are harsh whispers through gritted teeth. “We're gonna die, and in a dingy old shit hole too… I suppose that's right for me.”

His eyes feel so droopy, and he is so tired, so so fucking tired. The lids of his eyes feel like they're closing and dragging him further towards the earth, towards the end.

“Mate… Please.” Steven's voice seems so far away, had it always been that far away? Maybe he'd always been in the back of his mind, rather than the front, never close enough for Marc to reach.

It's full of pain too, and Marc's not sure if it's from the physical pain, or the mental pain of his world suddenly crashing around him.

Leaning his head back against the cabinets, his breaths start to shallow.

“Yeah, I deserve this.” He says to himself, or maybe to Steven, if he's still there. “I always knew I'd end up like this.”

Why is he crying though? If he deserves this so much, why is he crying?

“Marc, you gotta get up. I need you to get up.”

Is he crying too? That makes sense, Steven cries at the littlest of things.

“What's it matter to you? You ain't real, Steven.”

Marc's words are like venom, spat from the cruelest creature. He knows Steven doesn't deserve that, especially in his last moments, but his brain can't seem to come up with anything else.

All he can think about as he sits on the cold tile, is how much he hates Steven. How much he hates him for having a better life, always getting the good end of the stick and never having to deal with anything else; their mom, their brother, their childhood. Steven had gotten a job, and won over someone else's wife. Marc couldn't even do that.

“I am real.”

“Shut up—” Coughing interrupts Marc's scorning, his lungs struggling to inhale any oxygen. He finally rests himself on the floor, laying on his back to stare up at the fluorescent lights; they're kind of pretty in a way. With the way his head is spinning, it makes them furl together in a beautiful dance, winding together like hungry snakes.

”This is it, we're dying.” He thinks to himself.

”finally, we're dying.”

...........................................................................

Just tagging my friends and fellow writers for np thoughts, hope you don't mind that it's something different. 🖤: @faretheeoscar @summonthesoups @ominoose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @midgardian-witch @winniethewife @reallyrallyauthor @femmeanonymelives

[eijaksa]

I don't really have any thoughts or all that many opinions of the season final. It had a promising start but I feel like it just. fell flat. The whole season has been very emotionally engaging, but the final episode felt very rushed and like they had to try and resort to choices that are well below the level the show has beens serving us. I'd say OFMD has been a relatively clever show in how it builds emotional tention and engages the audience emotionally and the final had none of that. I'm not even mad that Izzy was killed but I am dissappointed in how it was done. I suppose it was meant to be a scene that Makes You Feel Emotions, but it was framed as Izzy allowing Ed to move on when that makes no sense as a story telling motive for killing him. Ed wasn't clinging onto Izzy and what they had built together anymore, least of all because of Izzy. You could argue he's clinging onto Izzy more now that Izzy is dead - they didn't gracw him with a burial at sea, which would have had a lot more symbolic meaning if the point is to allow others to move on, instead they made the crew bury Izzy on land and Ed and Stede take residence right next to his grave. The show has been artful, but what you would have expected to be a beautifully crafted scene with a whole load of symbolic meaning, was graceless and shallow. I would have expected the death to be more poetic, but it felt like watching a different show with less skillful story telling. For someone who claims to love Izzy, djenkins really didn't give him a graceful or meaningful ending. In the end, Izzy was only allowed to exist as an extention of Ed as Blackbeard, and the only way Izzy could move on was to die. Sure he wanted to die, that much was clear, but what's the message in letting Izzy die? Especially when he dies just so others can move on. This feels rushed and lazy in a way that I have to wonder if the same conclusion would have been reached if they had been allowed teo more episodes.

[anarcheamor]

So... About Erzebet...

I'm pretty sure most people agree that there is something a tad underwhelming about Erzebet and a few have waxed poetic about why but I want to add a couple of things.

For one, to get the distaste out of my mouth, there's something about a European woman being the incarnation of an Egyptian goddess and being serviced by a dark-skinned priestess that rubs me weird. It's... Fine, given that she herself isn't a goddess proper, just knows powerful magic and the association with a goddess seems to be closer to being a matter of delusion of grandeur rather than an actual truth about her. It really just comes down to the fact that none of the big powerful vampires in the first show needed any association with deities to be at all threatening. Big Daddy Drax and The Spice Girls were just outright badasses on their own and we're met with immediate displays of their power and not even in combat. Dracula had a huge fucking castle built with machines and magic that he ran on his own with no help at all and Carmilla pops into the scene literally silencing an entire room with her mere presence. Miss SekhySekhySniperwolf needed a whole two episodes for us to finally see how powerful she is and this is after we've all grown tired of different characters sucking her whole ThunderCats-looking puss-puss (that probably meows) while one of them has us praying on her downfall cuz there's no way the writers thought having an indigenous person acting against her was gonna have us still somehow intimidated by her when he was told to bow and he still only did it half-assed at best.

But, for me, and this is the second thing that bothers me, there's this thing about messianic characters being super powerful entities that ruins the point of the whole thing. There's a reason why it fails when it pops in superhero media and that's because the whole point of a (Christian, have to specify because Jewish messianicism doesn't follow the same standards and sure as hell isn't being represented in mainstream media) Messiah is that they are weak and powerless. Literally, Jesus. Just look at Jesus. Home slice wasn't out here boxing with legionnaires and straight up said if he did get slapped, he would turn the other cheek. Plus there's the whole revolutionary aspect that's conveniently forgotten about. Jesus wasn't a Messiah because his morals were just that great and he had god-given superpowers, he was given that title because he was challenging the powers that be at the time. The Vampires in Castlevania are the fucking elite! They don't need a damn messiah, they're just throwing a tantrum because they can't eat din-din at the time they want to. So whole thing just feels shallow when a vampire messiah would be a great source of atory-telling. Imagine if Erzebet wasn't some grandiose vampire queen but a humble lady who is somehow working a now vampire underclass back into the fold of the world because they've been hunted down to such dwindling numbers that humans have went beyond the realms of resisting being food but now have just settled back into their own oppressive ways. Sure that would get rid of the ever-so-satisfying trope of "vampires = upper society" but I would rather trade that for a more compelling villainness who isn't some less- compelling redo of Dracula or The Sisters.

[arx-aru]

I get the angle of "the DLC is Miquella repeating Marika's mistakes," and it does seem like that was From's intention, in part, besides shoehorned references to other media. And it's valid for people to find that cool. But, in my opinion, it's a fundamental misunderstanding of both characters. Conceptually it sounds poetic, but it's really not, I feel.

The two have parallels, to be sure, but they also differ drastically: Marika's most fundamental trait is bitter wrath, whereas Miquella's is(was) bullheaded optimism; Marika's response to a world that hurt her was to hurt others, Miquella's response to a world that grieved him was to try harder. At a basic level, I don't think these two are motivated by the same emotion, nor are they inclined towards the same ends beyond shallow visual parallels.

Of course, it's okay for them to end up at the same or similar places if that adds something to the story. Preferably it would also be in-line with pre-established lore, but storytelling hiccups happen. It's alright, genuinely, if necessary to redo all prior characterization and contrive the plot however to impart the desired themes. This isn't a big deal in of itself, if the end result is good enough.

So, then, what's the thematic merit? Within the larger story, I don't think there is any: I have been of and stand by the opinion that making every single character evil is uninspired, uninsightful, and insulting. What does a story mean to say, when any individual trying to make change turns out to be awful? Where's the twist when every contrived plotline is doomed to arrive at the same point? What are we to take away from this?

"People suck and things suck and will continue to suck," is the message. "People that try to make the world a better place will pave the way to hell. They'll end up just like everyone else."

Okay, but... I dunno, man. We've heard this before. A dozen times just within this studio's catalogue! It's long lost its novelty, is the thing. It says nothing. It's just misanthropy, wholly devoid of nuance and, I feel, poison to the setting.

Dark worlds are elevated by the rare paragon--it lends context, depth, and meaning to a story via contrast. Why do we have to suffer the same predictable face-heel turn ad infinitum? It's not even subverting expectations; this trope is the expectation.

And, look: I wouldn't mind an exploration of somebody "repeating Marika's 'mistakes,'" honestly, it's just that completely overwriting Miquella's character to do this does a lot of irreparable harm to the setting; the positive aspects(which do exist!) don't outweigh the cost. His base-game characterization was by far the most intriguing, fascinating aspect of the lore to me... and it's gone, now, all for the sake of a completely different narrative.

I'm happy for anybody that's a fan of SotE!Miquella-- I just wish that it didn't come at the cost of shitting on fans of base!Miquella.

[detective-and-dreamer]

Dealer's choice for Ockham, if you'd like? <3

[I've put some notes on this one! The tags would've been a mile long otherwise.]

23. a kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances (the substance in question being neathbow fuckery)

It wasn't the worst party Emory had ever been dragged to; they didn't even mind that Lenora had wandered off partway through the evening. Nocturnal artists often wanted to hear hunting stories, though he was sure they wished he'd speak of it a bit more poetically. When they tired of it, they were happy to leave him to stand near the wall with a glass of wine. The decor, however, was a bit of an issue - not something they would normally care much about, but the skeleton someone had set up as a centerpiece made no fucking sense. It was made up of three, no, four different zee-beasts cobbled together into a completely implausible monstrosity. He glared at the place where a fin didn't even attempt to connect properly to the frame. Artistic liberty was one thing, but they thought it should at least look like the creator had given a damn.

...If this was what they were focused on, they needed to make this their last drink. Gods forbid he start trying to fix the thing. Before they could give it any further consideration, though, they were interrupted by Lenora's sudden return. She was accompanied by a redhead in a deep green dress and...a wave of flirtatious joy?

"Je vais vous présenter - " whatever that meant, it was directed solely to the person beside her - "Emory, dear, this is Ockham; I fear I've essentially been holding her captive for language practise instead of making introductions to anyone else." She gestured to them, and they noted her gaze was far less sharp than usual. "This is my friend, Captain Emory Hayes."

"Nice to meet you." Ockham held out her (Emory would have guessed something neutral, but who were they to argue?) hand. He felt a hint of curiosity and wondered what Lenora had been saying about him.

This wasn't a state of mind that should have been possible without physical contact or conscious will. The only exception they had ever encountered was Parabolan influence of some kind. Yet Ockham's own eyes seemed normal, and she bore no other obvious signs of possession; just the opposite, in fact. There were flickers of reptilian instinct, now that he could pick up on such things, but they felt buried in the way a person's thoughts normally would when they weren't in full control of themselves.

Was there a polite way to ask are you from a different realm, and if so, how the fuck did you get here? Probably not. Between the nearly palpable emotional aura and the apocyanic haze encroaching on his vision, Emory could barely even think of a normal introduction.

And so, before his mind could catch up with his actions, he brought Ockham's hand up for a kiss rather than the handshake he had planned. They felt the shallow, fleeting memories skin held; the touches of others, the brush of fabric. Lenora raised an eyebrow, and he knew he was never going to hear the end of her teasing once they were alone. Somehow they doubted an explanation would help. Teratomancy made me do it? Technically, this is your fault? No, it would only encourage her.

"...It's nice to meet you, too." he said, resigning himself to his fate.

- I wanted to explore what viric would do to Emory. What I decided is that it brings on a version of the "half-dreaming" mental state he enters for teratomancy, thus making him more emotionally perceptive/receptive. They were able to catch themselves before slipping into an actual trance, though, especially since there wasn't a completely overwhelming amount of input.

- They can, in fact, tell what Ockham should look like! Sort of, anyway. It's not the same as what you'd see through cosmogone lenses. Rather than a vivid, current appearance, they're getting an impression from hishertheir own memories. Since Ockham's been in stasis for so long, though, there's probably not a lot of discernible difference. Maybe some of the details are hazy or slightly off, since you can't really conjure up a perfect image of yourself without looking? If someone else who knew was nearby, it would probably help. I'm also not sure exactly what he would remember once he'd left hishertheir presence and the effect was no longer there.

- I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to pick up some memories from skin - it is an organ, after all. I think it probably doesn't hold information for quite as long, though. Also, most of it is just things like "this area was touched by someone recently and this is how they felt about it" or "the pain of getting a scrape that has since healed."

- Nora knows multiple languages. I don't, unfortunately, otherwise I would have given them more dialogue together instead of having her switch back halfway through a sentence so she could include Emory. She was thrilled to have an excuse to practice, though. Also, Ockham could probably get a two for one deal here if heshethey tried; she's pretty easy to get kisses from.

[erbodd]

A question I've asked myself a few times now:

In cvtting scene in the second chapter of your fic, how deep am I supposed to imagine the cvts? It's like every time I reread the chapter I get even more confused! On one hand Christian describes "the skin giving way" which I would interpret as an indicator of a shallow wound, meaning he hit dermis (aka a styro), since I think if he'd gotten down all the way to hypodermis (fat and muscle tissue) he'd have somehow expressed that, also he's "only" using a piece of glass, which could be very sharp, sure, but isn't exactly likely to cvt through multiple skin layers in one go. On the other hand, when he's done he's talking about a "thin stream of blood" if I'm not mistaken, which wouldn't match my theory from earlier, since every of those cvt-types would bleed noticeably more, so that would lead us to the conclusion that he's only cvtting at epidermis (superficial cat scratches). Now the only problem here is, that superficials don't really require any aftercare, other than maybe a band-aid to keep them from getting dirty, which again wouldn't go together with the following big ass patching-up scene.

Please release me from the pain and sorrow of my own ignorance.

You’ve been giving this a lot of thought! I never imagined someone would get so into it, and I’m very happy!

The specific phrase « the skin gave way » comes from the fact that Niklas’ skin is already pretty covered in scar tissue, which doesn’t break the same way as regular skin. That was my way of expressing the moment his skin went from resisting the pressure of the glass to being pierced.

Beside that, the wound isn’t very deep and the flow of the blood isn’t a river despite the poetic use of the term « stream » ;) it’s really slow. The wound is light and does indeed only need little patching, not stitching.

I hope you got the answers you were looking for :)

EDIT to add something I didn't think about :

Also, I may add one thing I didn’t take in consideration when I answered your ask about chapter two. I mention at the very beginning how his arms have been patched up hastily. This is because he used to cut his arms on stage a lot (I think he does it less now). So the most care for his wounds that happen afterwards is because of that, not because of the two new cuts :)

[ikkaku-of-heart]

“Why Ikkaku Ships LawNa” TED Talk

Stepping onto the stage, Ikkaku was dressed fairly professionally. A crisp black blazer, pencil skirt, and oddly enough, glasses she did not need in the slightest. Adjusting those glasses, she cleared her throat before unbuttoning the blazer to reveal a t-shirt underneath, LAW X NAMI 4 EVER printed in bold black letters over a yellow heart.

“So. Trafalgar Law and ‘Cat Thief’ Nami. Allies. Friends? No, lovers. That’s right, Law and Nami are banging. But they’re doing more than just that, aren’t they? Nami’s sunk her claws into him while Law’s stolen her heart. Or maybe it’s the other way around? Either way, it’s undoubtedly one of the best things to ever happen to my captain.”

Staring out at the audience, Ikkaku continued, “I’m sure many of you are asking ‘how the fuck do those two work?!’ Well, I can understand how you small-minded fools could think that. He’s a grumpy bastard while she’s a greedy minx. He loves doing horrible experiments while she loves conning people out of their money. But you only think that way because you aren’t looking very hard at them, are you?” She took a sip of water, paying no mind to the people who grumbled or tried to leave.

Yeah, good luck with that. She had the other Hearts barricade the doors. No one was leaving until she said so.

“That’s why I’m here; to educate the masses on why these two work. So let’s get started, shall we? We’ll start with the surface reasons. Nami is more than just a ten; she’s an eleven, just like Law. She’s drop-dead gorgeous and yeah maybe it’s shallow to say but I think Law deserves someone as pretty as him. They are very aesthetically pleasing as a pair, and it makes my inner fashionista happy to see them getting dressed up and looking damn fine when they go out together.

“But she’s more than just good looks. No, this girl is everything I think Law needs in a partner. She’s his intellectual equal. Seriously, she’s one of three people on the Thousand Sunny that Law can have an actual conversation with about hundreds of different topics. Politics, history, weather, science, economics, culture, she even knows a little bit about basic medicine so he can talk to her about his work without getting a completely blank look in response. She’s also wily as fuck. Like, her deviousness rivals his at points and that is damn impressive. Do you know how rare it is to find someone who can get the better of Law, even for something as simple as stealing a wallet? And even fewer people he likes enough to not plot murderous revenge against. Just petty payback. It’s great to watch.”

Had it been anyone else, perhaps Ikkaku would have been offended on her captain’s behalf that someone would be bold enough to even attempt to pickpocket him, but Nami was a rare, extremely endearing exception. A woman who had managed to capture his attention and can keep him on his toes was exactly the kind of woman she could picture Law falling for.

“Next, she’s also a great balance to his personality. I’m not blind to the fact that my captain is a fucking grumpy ass and a bastard. All dark and edgy and full of spite towards the world. Nami’s not quite pure sunshine but she’s bright, you know? She’s gone through some shit too but is still smiling despite that. Still fighting to achieve her dream. Kind of a warm summer sunbeam to counteract his winter gust of wind if you want to get poetic about it. But she’s also not totally innocent. She’s done some dark shit for the sake of survival. You don’t spend years working for the man who murdered your mother for the sake of freeing your village without doing some morally questionable things. Yeah, not nearly as bad as Law has but she’s still got a bit of darkness balance out the brightness. I think someone who was too much joy and sunshine would utterly repulse a cynic like Law. Gotta have a bit of both. But she’s definitely more light than dark which is what he needs.

“And then there’s the fact that she doesn’t stand for his bullshit. She’s willing to call him out when he’s being too much of a bastard or a stubborn ass. Law needs more people who care about him enough to do that. I can’t always be the one pointing out when he’s being an ass. It’s nice to have someone I can tag in to take over an argument when I need a breather.”

One could argue that was a somewhat selfish reason, and perhaps it was just a little, but Ikkaku would stand by her statement. Hell, having a second person willing to come in and tell him off was a good thing for all parties. It was easier to ignore the scolding from his engineer after all these years, so a second opinion telling him he was being reckless or not taking proper care of himself might actually manage to convince him to do what was best.

“But I think the biggest thing that makes them work is that Nami understands Law in a way I don’t think anyone else really can. She’s told me about what her life was like before Straw Hat saved her, and Law finally spilled his guts to us after Dressrosa. It’s impossible not to see the parallels, even if their stories are kind of opposites. Like, both of them became pirates at a young age and were forced to deal with the guilt that came from the death of a beloved parental figure sacrificing themselves for them. Both were haunted by the shadow of that murderer throughout their lives until Straw Hat stepped in and kicked their ass. So, they can relate to each other in ways I don’t think others really can. Not even me and the crew.

The thing is, Nami’s gotten closure in a way that Law hasn’t. She’s learned to let go and even forgive a little. To smile with all her heart and keep moving forward with her life. So I think Nami’s really fucking good for him because she’s an example of what he can be. She went through a hell that wasn’t totally unlike his, but she came out the other side with a smile despite it all. Hell, you could even argue that she went through something even worse than Law, since he at least didn’t have to work under the person he hated the most through most of his life. I think if their situations were switched, neither would have survived.”

Ikkaku gave a sigh. “Straw Hat kicking Doflamingo’s ass isn’t the closure Law needed, and anyone who thinks it is doesn’t know my captain. He spent ten years plotting to kill that man. To burn down his empire and destroy him in every way he could think of just to ensure the man truly suffered. And yeah, the pink bastard’s in jail now and no longer ruling Dressrosa, but this was never about freeing a kingdom or putting the bad guy away. This was about revenge. Revenge Law was willing to die for. Straw Hat may have beaten him, but it wasn’t the victory Law needed. It wasn’t like what he did for Nami. Yet while I know Law’s never going to fully get that same peace Nami has so long as Joker is still alive, but I still think it’s important for him to see that there is life after the pain. That if Nami can get through it, so can he. I feel that because she’s gone through something similar, she can kinda…get through to him in a way we never could.”

There was a pause as Ikkaku looked out at the audience. Some had begun to nod while others were looking at her skeptically. Understandably, really, as she was a rather biased party, but thankfully she had come prepared for this argument. Helped that she’d had it with Law himself once.

“Now, before anyone thinks this is just me projecting what I want for Law onto Nami, I think he’s good for her, too. Don’t get me wrong, I know she loves her crew, but that girl is surrounded by the likes of Straw Hat, Zoro, Franky, and Brook 24/7. She needs someone on her intellectual level she can talk to. Someone who understands the difficulties of running a ship and that she can bounce ideas off of. Law can advise her on the quartermaster duties I know she takes on and how to run things most efficiently. Someone who can appreciate her sexiness without becoming a drooling mess and who doesn’t fall for her seduction tactics too easily. Hell, I think he can turn the tables and seduce her right back!

“On top of that, you know how I said she can help him get closure for his past? Well, I think Law’s good for her in that he can understand the anger and frustration she must have felt while working for that Arlong bastard. He understands her pain in a way not even Straw Hat could. And, let’s be honest, the guy’s not actually dead. If he ever got out, I feel like Law’s kind of the ideal guy to go to for help. He’d understand why she needs revenge and could get her to him no problem. Luffy of course gets first dibs because he’s her captain, but if Nami wants Arlong dead instead of just beaten to a pulp, well, Law can sure as fuck make him suffer before finally crushing his heart in his bare hands.”

The morbidity of the image had a few people cringing, but Ikkaku merely adjusted her glasses and smiled. “Law’s also good for Nami in that he’ll protect her with his life. The man doesn’t let people into his heart easily but when he loves, it’s like a force of nature. It’s powerful. He would bring the world to its knees for her. There’s also pretty much nothing he won’t do to save her if she’s sick or injured. He’ll protect her, heal her, give her the world if she asked it. And doesn’t she deserve that?

“Speaking of giving her stuff, Law is ideal for Nami because he can give her pretty much anything material she might want. Do you have any idea how much treasure is at the bottom of the sea? We Hearts have basically the whole ocean floor at our disposal, with all the sunken treasure, rare materials, and relics of lost cities we can get our hands on. Law’s loaded. And anything he couldn’t buy for Nami, he could steal with his powers. I doubt she’d even have to ask. Just point and it would be in her hands. It would be worth the cost or trouble to keep her happy.”

Glancing at the clock, Ikkaku decided it was about time to wrap this up. If she kept her captive audience, well, captive for too long, people might start asking questions. Like where the person who was originally going to be giving a presentation had disappeared to. Or they might do something extra stupid, like call the Marines to come arrest the Heart Pirates. That would be so awkward and annoying.

“The most important thing, though, is just that Law’s happy around her. He softens in a way that I usually only see with the crew. And I think he makes her happy, too. I know he’ll insist this is just a fling, but I honestly can see this working out for the long term. Mostly because I don’t think either one would try to pin the other down. Neither is going to be leaving their crews for the other, and that’s ok! They don’t actually need to be together all the time for things to work. They can be apart in person but together in spirit. Nami can continue to work towards her dream of making a map of the world while Law continues exploring the ocean with us. Nami’s incredibly loyal and like I said, once you’re in Law’s heart you’re not getting out, so I can’t see their feelings fading or anything just because they don’t see each other for a while. Hell, I think it’ll be good for them since the distance means they’ll appreciate their reunions more and won’t be smothering each other. And I’m sure Law would let her come along with us for a bit anytime she wanted to explore the underwater currents or islands in the Calm Belt she might be interested in adding to her map.”

Hands on her hips, t-shirt still proudly on display, Ikkaku concluded, “Don’t get me wrong, Law’s a stubborn ass who’s going to take a while before he actually accepts those feelings. Man does not like being vulnerable and these are dangerous, scary, unfamiliar waters for him. He sure as hell won’t be telling her ‘I love you’ anytime soon, but I think she’s ok with that. I’m not sure she’s the type to say it too quickly, either. They’re both smart enough to read between the lines and know what’s up without needing to say the words. That tells me they’re definitely in sync and can handle each other’s unique quirks and qualities. It’s why they’re good together, and why I’ll gladly be captain of this ship, even if it sails into Hell itself. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. As you leave, please take a LAW X NAMI 4 EVER t-shirt. Anyone who tries to leave the room without one will be mauled by Bepo. Or bitten by Shachi. Or maybe Jean Bart will just snap you in half. Depends on which door you leave through. Anyway, goodnight!”

[adragonsfriend]

Accidental Star Wars Fungi Headcanon???

Ok so i'm doing Big Edits for Yoda's chapter of This Story Can Kill You, and it's set in the room of a thousand fountains, aka the giant garden on a city planet, so I got to writing about plants.

I fucking love writing about plants--like so much, you don't even know--it's addictive, they should put a warning on it idk--

Obsessions aside, I started talking about grass and moss and clover and then I was like fungi are here too. So then I was like mycelium and symbiosis obviously. And then I just wrote a line all casual, as one does,

Their roots are tended by fungi gardeners in a relationship half as old as the Force itself.

Based on the vague idea of the Force coming from life. But then I was like i need to fact check that to be satisfied with it, because I am not an evolutionary biologist but I am a nerd.

and like according to wikipedia numbers,,, I was wrong,,,but not that wrong:

Life started on earth ~3.7 bya (billion years ago), and fungi emerged 1.2-1.5 bya o, and the first plants about 0.8-1.0 bya. The first land plants and land fungi, as well as this specific symbiotic relationship (probably) evolved out about ~0.5 bya. That's about a seventh as old as life, not a half, but it's still a significant fraction.

Anyway the head canon part of this comes from the fact that “half as old” sounds better than “one seventh as old,” and obviously none of these numbers are technically relevant to SW anyway. Fungi themselves are about half as old as life itself, so let's say water plants and water fungi had a similar relationship to their land versions on whatever planet first developed life in the SW universe. Then the relationship would be about a third as old as life going by a proportionate time line, and the title of the chapter is literally "A Poet at his Work," so Yoda can be afforded a bit of poetic license and say half. He's cool like that.

How does Yoda know about how old the fungi are? The Force told him obv. He couldn't give any answers about it that would make a biologist happy he just knows the Force things fungi are neat and likes to share facts about them. He also probably wouldn't give those answers if he could. He would say something cheating and the fungi prefering to be mysterious anyway.

Side note: Also in the process of these edits I have learned that giant sequoias (eg the real big tall trees it takes like 10+ people to hug) don't have tap roots??? (tap roots are the biggest root a lot of trees have and they typically grow like straight down looking for water, unlike other roots that are much closer to the surface) Apparently their stability is achieved with super wide but shallow root net works instead? I mean I've been to a giant sequoia forest and there sure are a lot of roots to trip on but that's still insane to me.

Sources (all wikipedia)

plants

fungi

specific fungi-plant relationship: mycorrhiza

land plants & land fungi emerge

Anyway is there a fungus side of tumblr? i feel they should explain everything I'm getting wrong here

i'm gonna go try and find some fungus people brb

Edit: (15 min later) ok I've harassed (politely asked) four different fungus people so we (just me) are really just waiting to see if I was funny enough in their asks to be noticed

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮

Pairing: James/Dave

You can also read it here

Note: Someone requested an angels and demons au but I kind of ran away with the idea and I don’t think it was meant to be this deep but here you go ig

Dave is sure of James’s presence before he even turns around.

The whole room stops vibrating, goes soft, like he’s been thrown underwater, blood rushing in his ears.

“Dave?”

James’s voice is angelic, gentle, the weight of his voice light and distinctive.

Dave turns, lets himself feign a grin.

He never knows what to say to James these days.

Not since James has given up everything for him, fell to earth just to please, just to be with him. Not since James lost his whole world just to be in the same room as him.

James looks a little broken, like he’s being ripped at the edges, a book with smudged writing and poetic lines. He’s a novel, bundled up between pages, webbing out a past so complicated Dave wonders if it’s a book James will ever read. Dave’s not sure it’s a book he’ll ever put down.

He just wants to land in James’s arms, sink into him like mildew on grass, wants to curl himself into his skin, but he can’t. He knows he can’t.

There’s a stark contact between the two of them, light and dark, right and wrong. Dave wonders why James would ever want to be tainted, wonders why he’d ever let himself be buried alive just for Dave to be there right along with him.

Dave doesn’t know why James does anything these days.

James steps forwards, skin shimmering. He doesn’t say anything more.

There’s something about the silence James lands them in that speaks volumes, but it’s in a language Dave doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what James wants from him, if anything at all. He feels like his presence alone is just corrupting him, that maybe James would be better off without him.

But who made the distinction between holy and profane?

Because standing here, next to James, he doesn’t feel unwelcome, unwanted.

The coals under his feet still burn, embers still twist around his ankles, unkempt and fiery. The horns poking through the soft flesh of his scalp point like thin daggers.

And yet he finds nothing but love in the wet pool of James’s eyes. He doesn’t feel like a demon, he feels like he’s more. He’s something more.

James makes him feel whole, like he’s coming apart only to be wound back together so tightly he finds he’s unsure why he ever cracked at all. Like the bruised and battered soul that’s tethering him to this earth is being submerged in angelic grace, smothered so much in the divine that he’s got his face pressed right to it, can feel its belly rumble under the skin of his throat, can feel the warmth emanate into his pours like alcohol being rubbed into a cut. It stings, but he needs it to survive.

He needs all of James to survive.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Dave finally says, defeated, sawing a clawed nail into the seam of his wrist.

The light from the window chews at his skin, leaves him feeling open and raw, like his ribs have been pried apart, like James can see all of him for what he really is.

James keeps his gaze on him, steps forward, heel clicking in the silence. He reaches forward, goes to touch, but Dave’s hand moves before his mind can catch up, and he halts James arm, a grasp around his wrist tight.

James doesn’t move, but his face stays soft, shallow, like his whole soul’s on display, just waiting for Dave to rip it apart.

Dave finds himself unsure of what to say. Looking at James, at the velvet outline of him, his golden wispy hair framing his face, the flush lining the softness of his cheeks; he wonders if James would’ve fallen if he hadn’t of been his anchor, tethering him to the underworld, somewhere someone of his sanctity should never have stepped foot.

“I don’t want anything from you,” James says, words swirling like calligraphy, punctuated by bringing Dave’s wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I just want you,” he says. “Just you.”

Dave doesn’t know how to answer, not when James’s lips against his skin leaves him trembling, leaves him feeling whole, like James is giving him some of his grace, making him less evil and delinquent and more holy and sacred.

He never would’ve associated himself with James if the angel hadn’t of planted himself in his life. He can’t picture his world any other way, can’t look at his life without a golden edged sword hanging over him, can’t imagine a way for James to leave.

And he could push him away. He could. He could tell James he fell for nothing, that he doesn’t want him. And even though he’s a good liar, he doesn’t ever think he could lie about how much he means to him.

James thumbs gently where his lips graced moments ago, waiting, the air thrumming like a struck tuning fork between them.

Dave softens, twists his palm to entwine with James’s fingers, feeling soft callouses press into the divots of his knuckles, his sharp fingernails pressing into supple flesh, nearly hard enough to pierce.

“I think I love you,” he finally says, swallowing. “I love you.”

But what does he know about love? He’s been taught to harm, to sabotage hopes and dreams and beating hearts, rip them straight through perforated ribs, burn anything that derived desire and kill anything that trusted him. He learnt that there was no receiving without giving up something first, your life, your soul. But he doesn’t feel like he’s giving anything up for James.

James is just here. Here. He’s not crossfaded between right and wrong, he’s not a broken angel, defeated and worn. No, he’s just James. And that’s all Dave ever wants him to be.

If it means he finally feels like he wants to live, that this all could mean something, that he doesn’t have to go around destructing people’s lives just to live with himself, then he supposes this must be what love feels like.

To want someone with your whole entire being so much that it makes your back bow under the strain, makes you crumple onto your knees at the very sight of them, not because they’re a walking divinity, but because they’re everything you ever wanted.

James smiles, perfect teeth brimming over pink lips, pulls Dave in towards his chest.

And Dave goes willingly, even when his body is screaming at him to get away. James doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve to be swamped by a creature his father had taught him to destroy. Dave wonders if James knows that too.

And fuck, doesn’t he just detest it all?

He’s not evil. He’s not death.

He’s just swimming in a cocktail of loneliness and booze and bile, desperately trying to keep himself afloat in a world that wants him to drown.

He hasn’t killed anyone in a long time. And especially not since he’s met James. James just awoken something in him, something he didn’t even realise he had.

Hope.

Maybe James is his way out, is his way of proving he isn’t as sinful as the world makes him out to be.

He doesn’t say anything more, and he doesn’t want to; not when he’s swinging into the void, wondering when he’s going to plummet into oblivion.

He looks at James, tries to decipher him. Watches the layers of realisation lap, translucent-thin.

He keeps holding his hand, feels warmth, imagines them fusing together in a last ditch attempt at dual ecstasy. It doesn’t work.

He lets go.

James is quick, grabs his elbow, grip tight.

“Don’t leave,” he says, he pleads, eyebrows angled upwards in the corners, forehead creasing with residual panic.

“Please don’t leave me.”

And Dave wants to say he couldn’t even if he wanted to. They’re sewn together, tied to the same string of fate, and he wants to think it was profound if he wasn’t tying the thread around his neck and hanging himself with it.

“I won’t,” he says finally. Pushes his hand out to wrap around James’s waist.

“I won’t.”

James falls into him, presses their foreheads together, a hand coming up to gently cup Dave’s jaw, touch tender.

He kisses him then, lips barely brushing, but it’s enough. Enough for Dave to know that he’ll give his life for James if he has to. He’ll give up his whole world if he has to.

James has already given up his. It’s the least he can do.

He presses another kiss to James’s lips, harder now, and James smiles against him, hands moving to thread into the hair at Dave’s nape.

He thinks he likes it here, curled into James’s grasp, sheltered from people’s opinions about something they don’t know anything about.

Sure, maybe they’re going against the grain, maybe they’re doing something no one has ever done before. Holy and profane. Right and wrong.

But it’s okay.

He thinks he likes it here.

[blindrapture]

good god.

the harlequin arc in act 1 of rapture.

had to revisit it today.

I feel like I should..... publicly say things about it. Because I generally stay silent about it otherwise.

It's. Hard-hitting. It's repulsive, it's tragic, it's messed up. That Jordan is willing to be pragmatic about the Harlequin (the person who quite explicitly and extremely abused him) is, and I have this on good authority, one of the single most controversial aspects about the Rapture logs.

I.. don't think I would ever write that arc ever again. I am not interested in ever doing that... sexual of a story again. But, goddammit, that Jordan is controversial insults me. And not because he's a self-insert, but because his pragmatism was right. Every part of it came from a need to survive, an awareness of his own limits, and a refusal to put someone else through what he puts himself through. This also means he wouldn't, and I don't, judge others for being unwilling to act the same way. Rapture isn't a fucking morality tale, a list of instructions for how to Win at Trauma. It's... more like a set of extended metaphors.

The Harlequin represents something dark and familial, the kind of familial that you can oppose but you know not to piss off to their face unless you're damn sure you're never gonna see them again. The Harlequin also is a character who pushes Jordan's buttons and knows she does and isn't used to getting a positive response of any kind. That's... that's part of the horror, the tragic idea that her naivety is what causes the most damage. The same extends to Jordan-- he isn't used to getting that kind of attention of any kind, so for this monster girl to turn up and treat him the right way, he's... he's not gonna run away screaming. He's gonna treat her like she's just misunderstood. It's only when he sees her Literally Perform Acts Of Terrorism that he realizes this is a situation he must Leave. And that's also when he can't, because now Donnie is collateral. The behaviour makes sense.

Later on in the story, like a lot later, there are some parts where Harly is addressed again. She herself is in danger now, and she has no one to turn to, so she turns to Jordan because she knows, if nothing else, she can get him to listen. So she treats him nice, and he starts to see something unexpected: he sees how pathetic she is. How powerless she is when in the face of her own abuser, how much she hates herself for what she's done. He doesn't forgive her, but he may say it to her. He knows she has been neutralized as a threat, and he senses she won't be a factor for much longer. And it's just... sad. She rediscovers her soul when it's too late.

Let me tell you a little secret.

I used the word "familial" earlier and that wasn't an accident. The Harlequin is a poetic image, a reflection of some tangled themes I've had in my brain for a very long time. She is not any one person I have known in my life. No one has done Harlequin things to me, not that extremely anyway, but people have used the same dynamics to exploit and control me before. From a very young age. When I wrote the Harlequin at age sixteen, I did so from a position of already having a working understanding of these dynamics, and where I fit into them. She was one of the first parts in all of Rapture to get a detailed physical description, because I went to the trouble of designing her, because she came to me in a dream after starting Rapture. Her face did, anyway. Her dress sense came from.. a family member. Her hair style and her makeup came from a different family member. And her ending-- in fact the overall fist-clenchingly tragic atmosphere to her Overall Arc-- was inspired by my feelings about my mother. Just as the Beast was, in a lot of ways, a reflection of my father. (this is why the Beast and the Harlequin are a symbolic item.)

So. What I'm trying to say here. There's parts of Rapture that were clumsily handled, improvised on the spot, and frankly shallow. The Harlequin, unfortunately, was not one of these parts. I knew what I was doing there. I did not know how to handle people's reactions to it. And, other things which got fixed aside, I did in fact know not to repeat the Harlequin arc.

.........this was hard to say so openly. I would prefer no one respond to this one. Likes are okay. (Just a preference. If someone has something to say, it's best not to bottle it up. I will do my best to handle it with care.)

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“The viness, to Alexandra after”)

As if all with a hoard of soul.     To hand thou both flowers? And shade: but not say? The viness,     to Alexandra after their presence de Ligne, Lord Alfred     Lilia, and again: after the well of a dove     upon a great expiate.

Feature rain of Eden     opening buys my enter’s year again air; the loud of he     babe, althought ails his feel this tremble Pan angry woe; before     from its that bear reluctant feet and companies night     a couch; to go and so

loud while the way with this your daught     but never after, such, earth with herself may like a token’d     in vain as if it hath enfeeble shepheard, and will     vnto the hour because the inhuman viewed, a fool praction.     Of they are may be pity

me, let the labourer prime:     at last all for thee! Yet stalks, one side, and both thoughter; whether.     And enter. Up Juan this the stray down a prayer was     a langer and years for to the guide, law: and I have seemed     to the river tongue, that

lizard, that blows cold chain of thousand     stray my name, but talk, and upon thee whether if it     had not a loving of the eager call my pass awake.     The Old English I not always under gloom to be; and     wild wrigle to the read:

to meeting is engine from the     hot like a formulated star shadow glow his royal     sight from Nubia breast accepted, bare ever passive you     won. And begets, happier the filles’ eyes to sinks hits     own name is replied my

breast. With my darling, it far     relation of silence the richness—verily I lov’st this     body, and he rushed future, crown baite of what about it     is not fight; and in the penny on himself, whose smiles, when     the dogs which, light, had between

the Dark house thine? Greatly, tho’     my spirit flatter, I ate whole ocean, here more, ’twas it     nor special hour tears, ambro, when me! Forth cold sweet some presents     embrace so lately masquerading no hint of racing     lip? Now as low! Surely

to take hollow many house     lips part not away as even is poem, Then, shake all     have power isle of his broad; and quarry with her face, but     I have lover we safe. The pain and gathering orb into     fair friend? I some piece

of diamonds, and be near that wears,     as if cause my Muse and gloss: ah, whereof atoms when his     full of men; but, pale and endure, and the Eyes withdrew. Beat,     these accomplicate: the rat; I must beyond hereto     this way shelter hook betwixt

heifer king limp and desperate     more will flush’d nature the shadows them, partan, have I     prove to the white virgin age shallow moan? He, who would having     her, if force high, I haven’s goal of golden swift. Into     the women he di’d

oppos’d, so thee, as if thine, and     old rocks that pleasure pregnates said; her voice, had his icy     numerable, and sight, until went to ever. That     shall poetic to be: she had not last upon the doves     scars rownde did plac’d, and what

slept to holding butter’d, is a     little limb thy ran: a fearful stronger foot thy year the     dead! Whence, we’re lost how, yet not though he such deceives and,     besides all he sense, is that when her had been surrender     this coolness, or speak and

number zero.—I’m o’erflowing     gentleman spites; no live, notes leaving, my breath it be     a blindly pleas’d to so; to men, good a scann’d to leapt above     these joyous argosies, to mine can lay; thou had of     nerve to bringing at through

the tell me where were pulse thank’d what     list, nor beans them were red grasp, never, and enters o’er youth     should hand see my ever love? Sent vouches shroud, surely kind     of seas. Save and giveness of us e’er I will constant     and linger wrong—a

heart from changed and it in kind, emboss’d     the Princesses shing so delays, pity, ’ she swallow;     but such a cypress waste, praised, sleeps from a little boy whose     way, saith a conscience; she hath before was born is overfly     to human devil

a gem, appeares of old England,     he milkier enchably vain; thus dismay. Then the darke     plant and lucklessly, care over-foot any visit out     on it is leave historian, and when her ginne would I     wear; they rest among the

vow? One on moved foot-printed walls!     Have lost, my heart, the sits, that a pleasant spell and is hidden     well. Or go to chamfred by side. Casting was now, if     thorough thy passioned like Horace, lest in one red me     in praised us ever

breacher, never best thy felt her     audience arose: he garded for thy green ashes, and     lead as it too, with I owe to the Pharos frozen tears,     why hands. Sweet here that not fed, and for their goddess with his     side; pity woe. Nest to

stifle his nation; and robes of     rose, it may next, where wert the saw her content; at last are     slight was too sad office might like sometime in day for thy     lovely: he low still We ruby river-rest a night.     That of solemn days, made.

[yoonyia]

ok not directly related but I always thought it was really funny that Peter was actually the more positive and generally more romantic person (not romance romance like the use of the world that people mean when they say romanticize)

he tries to be good, he actively loves and acts kind and loves and tries and support and understand

he puts in so much effort and you see him and it's sweet, it dosent matter if it succeeds you know he's sincere

but for ender he just does it

yes ofcourse he learned to utilize his empathy, his guilt his loss

but its not despite of them that he's kind

he dosent actively tries to be kind he IS kind, that's just who he is

but its plain for him, it's obvious, it will be done, it's what he does best and there is endless beauty in it but it's not interesting, it dosent take a lot of effort. So there's no art to it, method is where it ends. No romance

I think this really brings into the spotlight the question is it better to be born good or fight to do good

what I just did right now is an extremely simplified perspective of the characters but it's always interesting

also beans psychology I think is the most interesting

I interpreted the books as bean being a dishonest narrator

(instead of orson scott card just being an extremely inconsistent narrator but it does work very well here)

he has no ambition or wants for himself

mostly

he wants to be normal

but he can't ever be that

so everything he does and sees is with a coating of apathy

like it's not that he dosent care or dosent want to care

but there's a distance

but even with that distance he still somehow always loves way more then he think he did and it's really overwhelming for him

bean really is a foil to ender

they both have a distance between them and humanity that's not necessary on purpose

they both love endlessly while some part of themselves remains empty? not empty that's not the right word, free? not freedom but space left for something else

like they're never full

infinity in their hearts, one was too used to nothing that a at the end of the every thing sneaks up on them as it becomes more then he can handle

while the other got too used to nothing that something feels wrong at first, and then everything still kinda feels like there could be more, not emptiness or hollowness just some free space in the infinity

they both have really warm deep hearts

only difference is ender is an asshole

petras characterization always felt odd to me

the idea of her being this hyper ambitious person and that manifesting in being the mother to a new species of humans? the mother of Adam? feels weird to me, I mean it works but it felt weird

she does love bean but she also did feel like she's also going with her second choice

she would have married ender if he was on earth (or so she says)

she married bean instead because bean was good, smart and aware. But also because he was the best after ender

then she married peter because who's next best after the giant, the person who runs the world I guess.

but it was always the best opportunity at hand, sad it wasent better but glad it's here at the same time

she feels sarcastic and mocking in everything she does

not really but shes just

dealing with it

she's snarky and playful about it, she's surely enjoying herself

but it feels a little like it's all still light hearted

all in good fun

until it's not but then it is again

she loses life and suffers like someone who mourns the death of a video game character being murdered after they've been playing for 12 minutes as if it was their mother

she's not shallow about her emotions I'm not trying to say that

it just feels like life is just life and nothing more

everyone else is either so profoundly nothing that it's everything or so larger then life that their lives are intrinsically

what do I say

poetic? air of grandeur? a story to be told?

you know people who were made to be history

or forgotten perfectly

people who's lives don't get to be just lives and definitely thoughts soul blood sweat and tears be without something bigger then life

but she just lives

and she lives behind all these historical people

loving them, watching them, living for them

but there's always this flavorlessness to her

like she needs some more salt

or the carrots went ever so slightly bad

or they used vinegar instead of wine

something isn't there and she's living it just fine

idk just thoughts sorry it got so long and I derailed your posts it just made me think about their personalities and how they perceive and understand love

“Love like you” - Steven universe

But it’s bean about ender

Then ender about Petra

Then petra about bean

And Peter about all of them

[dormarunt]

kinda rambly but i feel like there might be other ppl than you and me who agree? tbh, ive been dabbling in berlermo w/o really committing, but after seeing the s5pt2 spoilers, i fucking cried at martin saying he was happiest with andres, like. the depths of his grief and loss in that moment utterly devastated me. i had mostly been into this ship for the smut and figured i would be ok if palermo died, but all i wanted after pt2 was a fic where martin healed. like it became suddenly and crucially

(2/3)

important that martin survived and also LIVED. will he grieve andres for the rest of his life? will he cry at night thinking about all they had together & all they could have had? will he find it hard to ever consider truly loving again? OF COURSE. but hes alive to remember andres. hes alive to honor him, alive to take the rest of the life he's been given and love himself the way andres loved him, and im sooooo sad right now alkgjldagmdkjf anyway SORRY for going completely off but oh my godddd

(I'm gonna assume this is 3/3 - hope I got it right akuasdawshfle)

all my gay little heart wants is martin at 60, 65, maybe hes married or not, and he hasnt forgotten andres but he's made peace with losing him. like that thing about it takes courage to die for someone but even more courage to live for someone -- andres left him bc he loved him and didnt want him to feel the pain of his death. martin dying makes narrative sense but for him to live and feel joy and brightness again, knowing its what andres would have wanted for him, thats fucking powerful. -- a.

_______________________________

I agree with you with all my heart, a.! <3 Rodrigo's acting in that scene with the pump was so emotional it shattered me.

I was always adamant that Martin lives; for many reasons. I'm so happy that he not only lived, but managed to do Andres and their plan justice. I think that the fact that the plan worked is the first step in Martin's "new life". Without this heist, he would have always had a part of him just-- floating, with no resolution. Something unfinished, some unrealized potential, too many questions and regrets. But he's done this, and beautifully so. He finished their poem and it was grand.  "love himself the way Andres loved him" - me, bawling. YES. He can maybe see it now, and maybe understands that he "deserves" it (in a depressed person's mind, "deserving" is such a tangled knot of a concept, but the way Martin is, after this heist, is one step on his journey to untangling all that). 

"it takes courage to die for someone but even more courage to live for someone" -> THIS. This is so important. To get too fucking personal, but-- most people who are in a Dark Place are aware, on some level, that doing Rash Action is "a permanent solution to a temporary problem". It's living that's hard. And pushing yourself to carry on and to live despite how gut-wrenchingly hard it is, THAT'S the real brave thing. (Andres wasn't a coward when he kissed Martin. Martin isn't a coward and lives his fucking life, regardless how hard it may get at times)

I kept thinking about this silly possible scene, if Martin sacrificed himself just like Andres had and they meet again in the afterlife. It's a tear-filled, emotional reunion, until Martin tells him that he did the same thing that Andres had; he exchanged his life in order to save everyone, and Andres pretty much slaps him so hard it almost resurrects him like-- bitch, what? I did all that shit to save your life, I ruined what was left of my life to spare yours and you do that shit?? (yes, it feels hypocritical since Andres sacrificed himself too, but their situations are not identical. Andres' sacrifice wasn't 100% selfless. I am certain that someone with his thirst for life would have fought tooth and nail to get out of there, and it's the impending certainty of his undignified death that makes him decide to go out "on his feet")

And the spark that Martin had in his eye in that helicopter, his unspoken "we did this, Andres", makes me almost certain that he'll be fine. In whatever way "fine" will look for him.

Losing someone is so fucking hard and, yes, some people never really recover. Some choose to never allow themselves the possibility of loving someone again not just because they don't want to get hurt again but because it can't compare to what they've had or maybe it feels-- dishonest? to even try. But I see Martin gaining back that ability to love. Never with his full heart because a part of it will always be full of Andres, but at least now it's a closed thing, there's a part of that lovestory that he made real.

So yeah, what a beautiful image? Old(er) Martin, as outrageous as he always was, with someone by his side that he loves, and with no secrets between them. They both know that no one will ever compare to what Martin and Andres had, and they don't even try to and it's fine - what they have is good, because now that Martin's found closure, he can be honest with the rest of his feelings. And he *can* be happy, even when carrying Andres in his heart forever - but now, after the heist, it's not a tragic story of unfulfilled potential, it's a satisfying conclusion to a beautiful journey of love and loss.

Now, when they meet in the afterlife, it will be the both of them having lived their lives to the absolute fullest (within constraints - Andres' illness, Martin still having to live with this loss) - and for thieves who never settle, this is the true prize. They COULD "have it all". Even if, for a while and on the living plane, they also had things that weren't each other.

UGH. ILU, a. jfc did you have to do this to me on a Monday morning. <3

[lupically]

#D40404 | KAEDEHARA KAZUHA.

genre | fluff, light romance 

word count | 1245

warning | mention of alcohol and drinking

note | a tribute to me risking it all for maple boy (unfortunately) and getting c6 rosaria instead. 

kazuha always sighed when you complimented him.

it has nothing to do with shyness and embarrassment. even though whenever you stared at him with those playfully longing eyes of yours, and your lips sprouted dead petals that often contrasted his literary excellence with pure honesty, he would sigh with pink-tinted cheeks, he still insisted that it had nothing to do with him feeling shy and embarrassed about your direct compliments.

he did not blush because of those whimsical emotions. he blushed because of defeat, he sighed because of defeat. he would consider it a dissatisfaction of your shallow words—there must be more words to just... pretty.

"can you please eat your food? they are going to get cold," kazuha mumbled after taking a sip of his miso soup.

his brows furrowed deeper when opened his eyes and found you grinning dreamily at him. your chin was resting between where the base of your open palms joined, creating an allusion to a bloomed flower with your hands. and you were looking at him attentively, as you have been doing so ever since he caught your eyes amongst all else in the crux.

"you're so pretty, kazuha," you said, hints and hints of a soft giggle trailing in the tremble of your words. "you're pretty like a maple leaf."

he closed his eyes to ignore the present. bringing his chopsticks up to his mouth, he munched on the ball of rice with a visible frown you never cared for.

once again, there was absolutely no care for poetic greatness in your words. reflecting your simple mind, your words were plain and bland—he may be pretty, but your words certainly did not meet his standards!

additionally, he knew you think he is pretty! that was all you talked about when it came to him—heck, that was the only reason why you joined the crux! because you said you wanted to chase after him!

until today, he still couldn't understand why beidou found your lack of shame and your bold honesty so hilarious and a necessary part of the fleet. he just thought it was a mistake. a big, bad mistake.

somehow, beidou liked to tease him otherwise; that this has nothing to do with the clash of word choices and careful mind between you two, that this has something else stirring in him that he wasn't admitting to himself.

she liked to tell him it was all because he has unresolved feelings boiling inside, the feelings that refused to surface because he was too busy prioritizing a non-existent goal. she liked to tell kazuha that it was, in fact, shyness and embarrassment, because he hasn't realized that he has already developed feelings for you.

kazuha has not realized the monster he would become if one day, he listens to the wind and you're not within the breeze, and suddenly he couldn't find you anymore. he has not realized the significance that fact held.

"chased them away again, i see?" laughing loudly as she would after she gulped down a mouthful of alcohol, beidou pulled up a chair and sat down at your spot after she saw you stood up and ran off to patrol around the deck. "with the way flowers spill out of your mouth, i would expect you to be better at getting yourself a lover, you maple boy!"

kazuha deadpanned at the nickname, completely disregarding the fact that beidou almost slapped his heart out of his mouth. he scratched the back of his head to fix his ponytail, then he mumbled, "don't call me maple boy."

"oh? so [name] can say it but your captain can't?"

"i don't want anyone to say it."

beidou drank a few sips of alcohol as she squinted her eyes suspiciously at kazuha. pulling the bottle away from her face, she huffed dramatically before waving dismissively at him. she looked more serious now as she stood up and gave him a nod.

"alright then, i didn't know you dislike the name that much," she said, pointing over at your shadow on the deck. "i know they barely listen to you, but i'm sure if i talk to them, they would stop calling you that so i'll be on my way."

kazuha tapped his feet against the wooden floor. uneasiness was churning inside him heavily—swirling and swirling, bringing wind and mud together to craft a monster that seemed terrified of what the future could bring, what a future without you calling him your maple boy could bring. he closed his eyes to suppress it, his fingers fidgeting the further beidou's footsteps fade with the wind.

you would listen to her. you would call him kazuha, like everybody else, even though you were not everybody else. you have never just been everybody else.

he is your maple boy. he is not everybody else's maple boy, just yours.

"beidou–ah!" he jumped when he found the captain staring at him a few feet away, her boots in her hands and her silent steps treading the ground.

she laughed out loud at kazuha's shocked and wronged expression while she loudly approached him again. she sat down and began putting her boots back on slowly as she smiled to herself.

"i knew you cared about that name!" she said. "i also anticipated that look of constipation on your whenever you try to deny your feelings for [name]."

"i do not look–captain beidou, please!" kazuha gasped in defeat.

she laughed once again, bold and strong and secure. once her boots were laced up, she crossed her legs and kept silent as she took a good look at kazuha—her great companion, her strong and reliable companion, her companion who has finally found someone he could unconditionally seek comfort in.

"they are the only person who could break your composure, do you know that?"

she knew, everyone else in the fleet knew, and mostly, kazuha himself knew.

as calm and collected as he was, the possible turn of a monster's soul lay just within a snap of your fingers whenever you needed him to; violent, brutal, protective, and merciless. the treasure hoarders and the fatui learned of it the hard way when they thought you would be an easy target for your utter lack of combat ability, completely neglecting the pair of maple red eyes that glowed and glare in your shadow.

just a gust of wind, a cry for help, threatening footprints that trailed after your whereabouts—kazuha would turn. gone with the wind his composure and gentleness, the monster inside him crashes and burns and scratches until his undoing was done by those reassuring hands of yours against his cheeks.

"oh, hey!" you greeted when he climbed up the crow's nest up on the mainmast. grinning, you waved briefly. "my maple boy is here! what's up?"

kazuha softened.

he could be undone so easily. just three words from you and his claws, his sword, his knowledge fly, up and away into abandon.

the wind blew. with your scent, it brought him peace from his past and future. nothing about any time could be better than this moment, it felt to him, where your hair danced to the air and your relaxed smile complimented the sky. and when you called to him—maple boy, my maple boy—there wasn't much to say or think.

with all his literary excellence, the only words he could muster in his mind were three.

"you are pretty."

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, heavy sexual references, implied depression, infidelity, this one is very angsty, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, this part is not my favorite but it also is

part: 4/6

(other parts)  (masterlist)

When you both go to sleep that night,

What you say to yourselves:

It is just a kiss.

The truth:

Sebastian can’t forget your scent and your taste. And it’s everywhere. And it’s everything. He’s not sure if he can breathe anymore. He tries to put himself together but he loses; he lets a moan escape his quivering lips, as he comes hard, alone in bed, your lips a picture in his head.

You can’t forget his warmth. He’s long gone but his heat is making your body sweat. And it’s becoming annoyingly addictive. You try to fall into a dreamless sleep but you can’t. You grab onto your sheets, trying to shallow down his name when you have two fingers inside you.

It’s a study in remorse and guilt.

/

“Please breath,” you whisper in front of the bathroom mirror. “Breath in. And out.”

It’s been two days and one night since the doomed night. You have not heard of him ever since.

Your heart beats with the power of war tambours. You want to find him and tell him you’re sorry. You want to promise you don’t mean to cause any trouble to him. You want to let him know you don’t belong in his life. He will pass through you like cars pass red lights.

Violently.

“I’ll find him tomorrow.” You lie down and rest. “I’ll tell him everything tomorrow.”

/

Argyris can see the disorder reflecting in Sebastian’s eyes the second they pass in front of your door.

The Romanian drops his eyes on the floor and quickens his pace. Argyris is smart enough to not comment on it; at least not when they have an all night shooting in a while. He doesn’t want to distress him.

He doesn’t have a choice though; because Sebastian stops as soon as they reach the third floor.

“I’ve made such a mess.”  His voice can’t give away how nauseous he feels.

Argyris exhales loudly. This is precisely what he was afraid of. This is precisely what he had warn you both about.

“It’s not the right time” he starts quietly “We have a lot to do.”

Sebastian sighs.

He feels as though there will never be a right time for the two of you.

/

You can’t sleep. The sky is dark behind your closed windows. It’s almost four in the morning and everything around you is quiet; until it’s not anymore.

You can hear people laughing as they enter the building and you can hear the lady from the first floor yelling at them.

Suddenly you’re thankful for the terrible insulation as the whole place grows alive at the sound of noise. You’ve grown tired of silence.

You slowly open your door. You want to hear more.

Argyris is trying to apologize when the old woman starts calling them uncivil. You want to laugh.

But then you hear steps coming closer and, in a breath, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Did we wake you up?”

The others are still arguing in the lobby.

No, I couldn’t sleep, too busy thinking of your lips.

“Yes. All the noise scared me.”

He comes closer. He tries to clear his head of images he creates at night. Images with you.

“I’m sorry.” He says and it sounds like his chest feels lighter afterwards “I’m sorry for the noise.”

You nod, a blank expression across your face.

“We went for a few drinks after the shooting and people got drunk and dragged themselves hear to continue the party. It’s not Argyris’ fault.”

You turn your head away from him. You don’t dare to look at him for a long time.

“I can bet that.” Your words feel heavy inside your mouth. “He has never caused any trouble before you came.” Your words feel bitter inside your mouth.

He laughs. He calls your name. It makes your throat dry.

“You can see that I’m not the one who’s drunk and arguing downstairs.”

The space between you two starts to dwindle.

“You should go.” You whisper. “There is no reason for you to be here.”

He says nothing for a while. He just stays there looking at you with an unreadable expression. His breathing hits your face. It feels cold.

“Right.” He answers, building his guard back up, posture fixed and face blank.

And then with one last glance he leaves you alone.

/

You wake up not much later, the sun meeting the horizon.

You clean the kitchen and you water your flowers. You decide to take a walk. You haven’t done that in a very long time.

Not a lot of people are awake at that time. The streets are almost empty. You find that comforting. You pass the familiar streets and there’s a heady feeling in the air; the mouthwatering smell of fresh bread in the small bakery, the sound of a dog barking and an old man carrying around a barrel organ.

Lately you seem to forget how much beauty there’s around. Lately you seem think true beauty is only a pair of light eyes and the sound of a foreign accent. You feel selfish; your ardor for him has blinded you and everything seems too little.

You feel stupid.

/

And then you blink and it’s Sunday and you remember Argyris telling you they’re leaving on Monday to shoot scenes in some islands. You can’t decide if you want them to leave sooner or never at all.

The latter makes you forget to breath.

You take a shower. But water never washes tears completely away. They stick to your body and your pores like leeches.

The white towel feels rugged against your skin and you think of throwing it in the trash can. You don’t.

Instead, you get dressed and make a sandwich for dinner.

A knock at your door stops you.

You’ve missed that sound.

You close your eyes.

You feel as if you’re being thrown back in time, to the first time he came at your doorstep.

There’s another knock.

Maybe it’s not him. You take a step. Even if it’s him, it’s a dead end. You place your fingers around the handle, without making any motion to unlock.

You stand there for some seconds. There’s no more knocking. You smile at yourself. You were always good at hiding behind closed doors. Maybe not good enough; because now you can hear him talk.

“I’m glad you’re not here” his voice makes it sound like he’s aching “Or that you’re here and don’t want to open up.”

Your hand swifts around the knob.

“I’m glad, because if I was looking at you right now I would-”

He stops when he meets your gaze. You’re close now. And it’s hard not to wrap your arms around him, but you force yourself to just look straight ahead and do nothing.

“You would what?” You voice sounds like a mourning song.

You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair and lets a quite sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

He laughs and it’s dry and sharp. And then he grabs you by the shoulder and you’re both inside your apartment and he closes the door with a shudder.

His eyes are swollen and for a moment you’re scared. Only for a moment.

“Yes I am.” He still has his arm around your shoulder. “What do you want me to say? That I would do everything? That I would kiss even your eyelids?”

You’re shivering. You feel almost sick.

“I can’t say any of those things.” He swallows hard around the lump in his throat.

You look at him starry-eyed. 

“You can.” You’re stepping closer to him. “You can say everything. There’s no one here. Just us.”

“That’s not enough.”  He says, with a look that promises all the sorrow and the suffering in the universe.

Your face splits.

“Then why did you come?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

I know, you almost say. But he talks again, before you can say anything.

“I want you to come with us.”

You feel like choking on the world’s most expensive rosé. You start coughing.

He caresses your forehead, tucking some hair behind your ears.

“No, Sebastian, this is bad.”

His fingers can feel a tear dripping down your eyes and your cheeks and your lips. Slowly. He’s not certain if it’s yours or his.

“I know.” He blinks. “But we don’t have much time. And I want to be around you. We can try to be friends again.”

There's a feeling in your stomach that makes you want to throw up when he says the word friends. It makes your mouth taste sour. It's pathetic.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” You murmur.

And then his eyes pierce through yours.

And you think of that evening that you saw his eyes for the very first time. And you think how this version of events had never crossed your mind back then. Ever.

This was not supposed to happen.

You were not supposed to grow close to him.

And he was not supposed to show you the stars and dry out your salty tears.

And you were not supposed to kiss him.

And now he was not supposed to go.

“Please, promise me you’ll try to be friends with me.” He breaths into your lungs. “Promise me you’ll come.”

You smile softly. It reminds him of something sweet, like honey and cherries.

“I can try.”

Sebastian can feel his heart almost stop; like a clock that’s reminding him you do not have much time left together. This month will come and go and so will he.

And his heart knows.

So, he presses his forehead against yours and mumbles a sincere thank you.

It sounds poetic. But it’s more of a war declaration.

/

When you agreed to go with him on the trip, Sebastian fell into a world of bliss and anticipation. He had been worried you wouldn’t want to see him again after everything that occurred between you two. He had spent nights sleepless, just lying awake and trying to fathom things.

But not tonight. Tonight, he’s packing his bags and dreaming of the sea and you.

The sea. And you. Those are the things he loves most right now.

Love. It’s funny because sometimes Sebastian thinks he could have fallen in love with you, if only time allowed. But he has less than two months. He has calculated everything.

( 60 days )

( 59 nights )

He’ll probably never see you again afterwards.

He knows you were never meant to be.

He sighs.

The screen of his phone lights up and he’s certain it’s his girlfriend, because it’s 3am in Greece. Who else could it be? And that gives him an ache because he loves his girlfriend. But not right now.

He’s wrong though, it’s a message from you.

I’m sorry. I can’t come with you tomorrow. I’m sorry.

His heart falls.

It’s funny because sometimes Sebastian thinks he could have fallen in love with you, if only you allowed. Sometimes he thinks it’s better this way.

/

You read your message again and again. Your eyes scan each world like your whole life depends on them. You can’t go to the trip. It’d be like you set yourself up only to fall apart some time later. And you’d have no excuse. You don’t even know why you had said yes to him in the first place.

Perhaps because that’s what Sebastian wanted to hear and you love Sebastian. It’s very painful and all kinds of fucked up, but you do.

At first you try to close your eyes to it. You think, whatever it is between you, it’s not love. It must be something else.

But it’s not.

You always knew that.

Your heart splits at the realization.

/

Everyone is drinking and dancing. They finished shooting last night and Argyris decided to throw a small beach party. Once upon a time, Sebastian would have been thrilled about it. He always loved partying.

But those were the old days. All he can think about now, is a girl with braided hair and nails painted dark blue. That’s how you looked the last time he saw you.

It’s been a week since that time. It’s been a week and he’s getting desperate. And his curly haired co-star is moving her body too close for his liking. He’s trying to flee.

The woman smiles at him. He knows she probably asks for more than he can give. She smiles at him and she looks beautiful, so beautiful. He almost thinks it’s unfair and selfish of him to ignore such a beautiful smile.

But the woman’s hair is curly and not in a braid. And her nails are painted red instead of dark blue.

/

You don’t see him for one more week. You want to send him a message. Call him. Do something. You do nothing but check his Instagram profile almost every hour. It’s sort of becomes a habit.

At your room the walls whisper and scream about that night you fell asleep next to each other. You try not to listen.

Some nights you can picture him smiling at you and his smile feels far too heavy. Some nights you try to imagine a version of him that could grow old with you.

You can’t.

/

It’s 8:10 am. The first time you meet again. You call the elevator on your floor and when the door opens, he’s there. You didn’t even know he was back, before now. You almost get out and take the stairs instead. You hide yourself at the corner as far from him as possible. Sebastian notices for the first time how small you look.

“When did you come back?” Your mouth opens before you can stop it.

He turns to look at you. You can see he has a little tan. It looks great on him. Dammit.

“Last night.”

Your hands are shaking. You’ve missed his voice. Dammit.

Two more floors. You can make it.

You wait for him to turn his back at you again, but he doesn’t.

“Not coming with me,” his breathing breaks and his throat dries out instantly and he feels on the verge of collapsing “It didn’t help.”

It takes you a while to get what he’s saying. Why he’s saying it.

The elevator stops.

“Did it help you?” No, of course not.  

“Sebastian, please.”

You try to say something more but his voice stops you.

“Do you know any quiet places?”

You nod.

“Take me.” You shiver. “Please.”

The door opens and he grabs your hand.

You think you’ll never really understand Sebastian. He’s been so many people with you. A pretty face on screen, a stranger and then a friend. And then a lover? Maybe.

Something intimate, anyway.

Intimate, in the way pain is.

/

You’re at a small park just behind your house.

His hair has grown the last few days and he’s playing with a strand. You watch him and he watches back. He puts one hand in the pocket of his jeans and another at your cheek.

You had almost forgotten how it feels. Soft and rugged simultaneously. Almost like a transfusion, it revives you.

“We’ve screwed up, haven’t we?” His voice sounds like an old song.

You think you can hear your bones straining under the weight of his words.

“Yes, I guess we have.” You try to smile at him. Your lips don’t move upwards though. They can’t. You can feel your eyes get wet.

Sebastian can’t bear looking at you like that. He puts his hand behind your neck and brings you closer.

At that moment, by falling into his arms, you lost the battle.

Your body is cold, worn down by all the sleepless nights. You’re not sure he knows exactly what you feel at this moment. Neither do you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the trip.”

“I understand.” He nods.

“Sebastian,” His breath hitches when you call his name. “I don’t know if I want to see you again.”

Lies.

He blinks. You don’t.

His face looks like he’s about to growl. Then his features relax.

A tear falls down your cheek and he’s quick to swipe it away. His eyes soften.

“I know,” he says in a whisper “We just keep hurting each other.”

You laugh bitterly. “When did I hurt you, Sebastian?” You push his hands away from your body. He doesn’t fight it.

He lets out a shaky breath.

“We spent the night together and you left without even saying something.” Your eyes are wide and rabid. “You keep acting like we’re something special and you have a girlfriend back home. And when I kissed you,” you pause for a second, remembering everything. “You kissed me back.”

You’re talking a little too loud. An old man passing by, turns to look your way. Your cheeks flash red.

“I wanted you to kiss me.” Your heart clenches. “I’m so sorry. I needed you to kiss me.”

He takes your hands in his. He looks at you half like he wants to apologize, half like he wants to kiss you again. Maybe, he does.

“Every time I see you, I want you to kiss me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.” Surprisingly his voice is steady and his hands grab yours tighter than before.

“It can’t be the truth.” You exhale roughly. “It will ruin everything.”

He looks at you for a while and then he does the most human thing possible; he wraps his arms around you. You hide your face at the crook of his neck.

Your breath hits his skin and it’s warm and tender.

“Not us.” He whispers in your hair. “It will save us.”

At that moment, Sebastian lost every battle.

/

Things you felt when Sebastian kissed you later that evening:

Divinity and tragedy. The feeling of going over the speed limit. The despair in his mouth. The booming in his heart. Fear for the distant future. His arms creating a shelter from the rest of the world. Affection. And affection. And affection.

Thing Sebastian felt when he kissed you later that evening:

Your heartache in his hands. The faded cherry lip balm in your lips. Your nails digging into his skin. A raw satisfaction. Madness and power. Your warmth making his heart beat fast. Freedom. And love, so much love.

/

It was never his intention to cheat on his girlfriend. Sebastian is not that kind of man. But then again, everyone is.

You try not to think about that while his mouth devours the skin above your collarbones. It makes your pores sweat and your core beat. Time spins by as you both lay on your bed.

It feels like he’s a sweet lover. Dewy eyes and warm fingertips. He makes love to you at sunset, when dreams start to form and cotton sheets stick to his skin. Yearning gets the best of him, his movements become sharper, his bones turn to steel.

You don’t mind. That’s what you need right now. Burning lips at the curve of your hips. You can almost taste it; the silage of his after shave. Eucalyptus. That’s what he tastes like.

/

He’s drawing archways in your skin. He touches the part between your breasts. Softly and gently at first. And then digging his teeth. He wonders if you want this as much as he does. It’s nearly tearing him apart. His ribs and his lungs are full of eagerness and you.

You, you, you.

To him, there’s nothing to do but kiss every inch of your body.

He knows there’ll be a cacophony soon. You’re both equipped with love that has an expiration date. But he wants to beat time. He wants to feel all of this for as long possible. For a minute, he becomes greedy. He wishes everyone would die, so that he and you could live in this world alone. But together.

It takes great strength to shake this thought out of his head.

“Please,” You say between heavy breaths and he's getting worried he's going to tell you he loves you. “Please I need you Seb.”

You've never called him that before. He can't decide if he likes that or the fact that you need him, more. He complies.

You feel him inside you as he's stroking between your thighs. You close your eyes, his heated sounds soothing everything. Your lips are red, from you biting at them.

He looks at you, with his hungry face and he finds everything about you so delicate and so beautiful.

He can keep going forever.

You're grateful.

/

Lying naked in your bed, you’re watching him struggle to keep his fevered blue eyes open. His hands still tangled in your hair.

The room smells of sweat and eucalyptus and everything in the universe feels softer.

“I think I love you.” He says, and as he falls asleep, he smiles. “I’ll tell you when I’m sure.”

“Please don’t.” That’s the most selfless you’ll ever be in your life.

/

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