#that the pain of losing a cherished one must not make one forget the joy to have known them

[questing-wulfstan]

Listening to Last Heaven a lot these last few days. I wonder whether Ruki thought of Hide specifically while writing it, or that dedication was only posterior and what he allowed himself publicly to explicit it being about grief ... Either way, it's bringing me immense comfort in the wake of Reita's passing. I am so grateful for this band that is capable of consoling me even of the death of one of its members ...

[painandpoesy]

LOVELY RUNNER FIC

Sunjae's POV (when he remembers everything)

"Ajushi!"

What? Whose voice is that? Why does she sound so familiar that my flesh starts to tremble in anticipation? Why does the rain feel so familiar on my skin? What are these memories that are rushing through my head? Why does my heart ache like I am about to die? What is this longing, and how come I am desperate to hold that girl running with a yellow umbrella in her hands under the rain in my arms like she's my lifeline? Like she's the air I breathe, the reason for my existence?  Where is this greed to feel her warmth coming from? Why does my chest feel like it's about to explode? Am I losing my mind?

"Sunjae. I'm your fan."

How come she's in a wheelchair? What happened to her, and why was she looking at me with tears welling up in her eyes? What is this feeling of helplessness, and why does it start building up in my lungs? Why do I feel like I am carrying these regrets on my shoulders?  I feel like shit, and it's torturing me. A fan? She's telling me she's my fan, but why does my heart start breaking upon hearing her say that? Who am I to her? Who is she to me?

"Sunjae-ah! It must have been so hard for you to go through this alone. You couldn't tell anyone that you were struggling. I didn't know how much pain you were in. I'm sorry that I didn't know."

Why is she running towards me with tears brimming in her eyes? Why is she calling my name as if she only has one chance to do so? Why does she look like she's filled with regrets? Why is she hugging me as if she does not want to let go? How come I feel comforted? How come my heart swells with joy? Who in the world is she to make me feel this way?

"Im Sol!"

Why am I frantically calling her name? Why am I running as if my life depended on it? Where is this fear coming from? Why am I trembling with fear of losing her? Why am I desperate and helpless at the same time? When did this kind of fear make its way to me? Why am I scared cold of not being able to see her again? Of not being able to hold her hand again? Of not being able to wrap her in my arms again? Im Sol. Why does your name seem to be at the tip of my tongue all this time? Who are you to make me feel everything at once?

"Sunjae-ah. I like you."

"Sol-ah!" I called out as I stood still at the sidewalk.

I remember everything now.

I catch my breath when everything starts to make sense. My head hurts as the images flash before my eyes like a cinematic de javù with no end. I clutch my chest and dig my fingers into the fabric of my coat, as the unexplainable yearning for something I could not even name all these years and the void that keeps haunting me now make sense. Even the moments when I catch myself in tears for reasons I cannot even figure out start to feel real.

"Im Sol," I muttered under my breath as tears started brimming in my eyes.

Why do you have to do this, Sol? After remembering everything, I cannot help but ask all the whys. Why do you have to make the yearning worse by erasing yourself from my life? Why do you have to make your life miserable just for my sake? Why do you have to suffer by remembering everything while I live the life you chose for me, oblivious to the lives I have lived with you in it? There is no crueler torture than losing every moment I have spent with you and not being able to miss it, relive it, or cherish it. It is much worse than death. I chose to die for you, and it was never your fault. I have loved you in every timeline, and I would die for you over and over again without regrets.

"Sol-ah!"

Right. That's your name. The girl I secretly loved during my youth. How dare I forget your name? The way you smiled at me and how your eyes lit up the first time we met under the rain? I should not have forgotten the numerous times you uttered my name. How you came back for me in your desperate attempts to save me when I was also desperate to save you. These memories, good or bad, I'll cling to the last bit of them because you're there. Remembering everything at once makes me want to run to you despite my lungs closing in, despite my knees losing strength, and despite my heart pouncing inside my chest.

"Im Sol." I can barely hear myself as I fell on the pavement as the overwhelming realizations made my knees weak.

"I beg you. Please allow me to remember." I watch the starless sky above me as the tears start to trail down my cheeks.

"Look! This watch is a time machine. I'm Im Sol from 2023, the future."

Allow my heart to break because, for the longest time, there was nothing in here but longing.

"Even if you were to end up in a different time. I would jump over space and time to see you."

Allow me to shed these tears for you because 15 years was a long time of waiting, and you must've gone through prolonged agony in your waking days.

"I hope you're selfish. I hope you think about how you can be happier and live a better life at times like this."

Allow my hands to hold you once again, because for once I would really like to be selfish. Let me soak in your warmth, because a decade and a half without you has left me cold.

Allow me to be the Sun Jae you knew from the start. Allow me to dedicate the rest of my life to you from this day forward and slowly fill the void fate has brought upon us. Allow me to continue to foster the kind of love that transcends time and space. The kind of love that is only meant for you, my Sol.

Note: This was inspired by a prompt by @saltedsan

[texture32]

Some things, insight.. full of love… it seems.. but what is true of what is happening. To some joy is a pity.. almost lost in the dust of the ashes, burned cashes and stashes for the sake of what we feel is a better future.. the past is always new.. remember that.

Love found again, is like brand new.. swaying the mind in to the beuatiful blue is nothing new.. but that magic can break hearts.. like lost joy. Real joy

That is what some search. I researched as a past time. Some would pay a dime for that, in other places and other times.

And like lemons, same with limes. I dont spit bars, i make lines. For myself.. sad as it seems, blue was always a hint of the dream.. in all senses..

Romanticism is often plagued by the word love. But like a virus.. if true, only corrupts the bad in us… So keeping the dark hidden and what not, i feel i have a step towards true thought.

Purified, process or not, direct indirect, both, indirect direction and vice versa.. my boredum may be a sign to myself that i should do something. I dont know what ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ weakness like luck? Hard to care.. when all is confusion to one. Understanding what pain is.. something ive pondered if i should have knowledge of. Something ive.. thought to sought from time.

Path of pain.. suffering understanding how not to blame…

Stay ignorant. Or not. Enlightenment has a dark or.. soft spot. But like a compass without gauss to gauge and navigate the seas, lost adrift, maybe to find a new breeze. A new scent from shrubs and foliage and trees. Blue fruit.. blue weeds..

They say the Dao flows to the lowest place.. im quite simple.. but i know that means searching low is where you find peace. Be that it, i search deep. Desires euphoria is not what i thought it was. Glad to know. Never knew magic existed. Now i must play the true fool, and be caring of the seeds i sow.. and when they grow.. not take them for granted. Thats human to understand.. but what would an inscect think of such a thing.

Humanity brings forth good things. Maybe i should stay in the know. But keep my darkness for those who need it most. Doping the brain with drugs.. id rather not, however im stuck in this rut. Humanity brings good things. Nature and its creator mapped out something… im just a screw lose. Its somewhere out there stranded. I can hold myself together. But i actually feel unhinged, windows got no outside pane, no ledge.

Of itself.. can you go below the Dao.. maybe the blueprint of life is being rebuilt to something high.

Natural true joy and bliss, no needs to be met.. thats the paradise i imagine in my head. But never a memory to forget.. only grateful we met the goals end and start. Maybe build higher things, dream new dreams. Find a higher place in harmonious strings…. Ionic bonds and spag being old things, i cherish the old teachings, taking them literally.

Intelligence… ive always loved.. but my heart is upside down. And the higher parts not so well. Confusion alone isnt so swell. So i keep to myself. Compassion turning on itself.. purify the truth within..

[sepublic]

           God seeing Marcy in that tank, floating and healing, unconscious… A part of me is relieved as hell, but;

           A part of me is still in utter despair. It still hurts to watch; Not only because of what happened, the emotional and mental and PHYSICAL anguish she went through… But also, even if she’s recovering, well, she still WENT through that to begin with, she shouldn’t be in this kind of state, EVER! She’s literally a child and Marcy has gone through unimaginable trauma of multiple forms, and it shouldn’t have happened at all!

           She’s not fully safe yet, she’s still by herself, still wounded… Hurting, scarred already- GOD, can you imagine Marcy handling a scar for the rest of her life, of her most traumatic experience!? Dreaming, possibly having nightmares, not even fully aware or realizing that she’s alive- She might think she’s dead, or is in too lucid of a coma-like state to even realize or remember, too lucid to be relieved and given hope. She looks so lonely in there, so forgotten...! So small, but also weirdly peaceful and tranquil, like a dead body resting... It’s bittersweet and leaves me conflict and confused like her. Blissfully unaware... of the pain but also that she’s safe and still alive, so she’s trapped in that terror in a sense. The void- She must FEEL dead and I hate it. That this is the rest from life she wanted all along...

           And I’m sad because… Marcy was so afraid of being left behind. Sasha and Anne didn’t even KNOW she was going to leave them, can you believe that?! How they’d have reacted if Marcy told them, but she didn’t trust them, didn’t feel safe enough to admit this first at least? They had no idea that they were about to lose her too, they would’ve found out on Anne’s BIRTHDAY… Marcy was so afraid of being left out, behind, alone from the others, and she kind of was on that day; Anne and Sasha had fun (well mostly Sasha) as they forgot about Marcy, who had to grapple with the worst news of her life all by herself.

          Watch Sasha and Anne’s antics, knowing that somewhere out there, Marcy is having a borderline panic attack and feels so incredibly isolated and detached, desperate even- It’s the end of the world for her, while for Sasha and Anne, it’s just goofy antics; The worst thing for Anne is being late to her own birthday, but at least there will be more birthdays, and more times to hang out with her friends. But Marcy…

           Now, Marcy is left alone, once again! Because Sasha and Anne… They have company. They have people, REAL friends. And they’ll no doubt reunite and put in the work to stop Andrias. Sasha is going to learn and heal from her mistakes, but Marcy… She’s probably going to float in that tank, all by herself, taken advantage of by Andrias’ master, for who knows how long. Marcy’s going to miss out on so much, the chance to grow and develop and be with her friends against Andrias, because now she’s trapped with them…

           Even though Marcy lived… Just. The WAY the show handled it. The complete and utter breakdown. The despair, the terror, the regret… The genuine belief that she was dead, the shock from Marcy and everyone else. It all felt real, and still does, in the moment, that you keep forgetting she lives- Like you’re actually there, reliving the moment as if it were new, each time and feeling the dread alongside everyone else. For a moment, Marcy DID die- And they’ll never forget that. She went through the experience of believing, of feeling she was dead, and for all intents and purposes she was. Marcy shouldn’t have EVER been dead…

          We would’ve had to wait who knows HOW long before we got reassurance that Marcy lived, had True Colors aired properly. Even if Marcy lives, that trauma… She’ll NEVER be the same after this, the innocent girl she was, it didn’t grow into someone else- It felt more like it was brutally murdered to make room for another, more mature yet scarred Marcy.

           Marcy may not have literally died in True Colors… But it was the death of her innocence. Her spirit, her hope, and dreams and fantasy… The fun, the carefree attitude that every kid is owed; And the trust from her friends, the trust towards others, the belief in herself. Marcy may not be completely dead, but a part of her DID die, irreparably I feel… And I’m just afraid that Marcy is going to return rather late in Season 3, and be forced to catch up on all this growth she missed out, on the time Sasha and Anne had together. Still left out…

           But, hopefully they’ll stick with her, to let Marcy know they’re never leaving her behind. But DAMN it sucks that Marcy might not get this full development on-screen, and it just feels so unfair and descriptive of her life, always overlooked and ignored, given the short end of the stick… Barely making through with the bare minimum of a victory, and just being grateful for that! I swear, I NEED to see Season 3 fully delve into Marcy’s recovery from her wound, let her realize she’s alive and still has a chance, fully develop her hope, rekindle friendships with Sasha and Marcy, actual time to do so, at her own pace (mostly)…

           Just… let Marcy be here. Let her participate like the rest of the girls, and not be forgotten and sidelined again. NOBODY deserves this, least of all a literal child like her… She just wanted to avoid loneliness. She could’ve learned her lesson without this sort of trauma, so all of it, all of Marcy’s suffering- It’s just pointless and needlessly cruel, and accomplishes nothing but to break her. And she had NO ONE to listen to her, no one who actually cared… So dammit, I want to see Marcy reconcile and vent and admit to Sasha and Anne, and have them listen and forgive her, and let Marcy know that she’s HEARD, all right! I just need some full emotional closure for her, some on-screen, canonical development, inarguably there and described, and not just alluded to or set up in an off-screen epilogue.

           And I need Marcy to know that it’s all right. That as she floats, she’s going to be dreaming a lot, and… A lot of her dreams will be nightmares. She won’t wake up for a while, she’ll be trapped in her fears, reliving trauma and isolation and despair, over and over again, not realizing that there’s an end or even that there was ever anything else to begin with. But you’ll wake up soon, Mar-Mar, and it’ll be all right… It wasn’t just a bad dream, a lot of it DID happen- But the rest, Sasha and Anne will fight to make sure it never occurs, no more pain. No more suffering and anguish… They know what happened and they will FIGHT for you this time! They’re here to protect and defend, and you can trust them, rely on them, to come for you in the end… They’ll come back, I promise.

           I want to see it- The hope, the glimmer and realization, the new life and invigoration and joy in her eyes, when Marcy first realizes that Anne and the others are coming back for her. I want to see it. And I want her to experience and appreciate this joy by herself, to be left alone with it, without Andrias or his master or anyone else there to ruin it.

           ...Not too long ago, she was so HAPPY singing with Anne and Sasha. She really thought it’d all be okay and she was looking forward to it, even! I see her in that tank and I want to hold her, cherish her, cuddle and comfort Marcy, and tell her it’s gonna be alright, it’s okay, you’re safe now- And we understand. We still love and forgive you.

[stramberryparadice]

SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN #139 - THE IMPOSSIBLE FREEDOM ?

Here is the English translation of the post I wrote here in French.

I apologize in advance for my mistakes, I'm not good in English but I hope that will be understood.

---------------

Shingeki no kyojin is finished. A leading manga of the 21st century has just ended in tears, blood, mourning, disappointment, frustration… and love. So many emotions come to me when I read this final chapter, I needed to express them as clumsily as it is. I’m sure it’s going to get lost in the Internet, but whatever— it is necessary to remove both the joy and the frustration that I feel to pay tribute to Isayama who offered us a work as powerful as it is cursed.

As intense as it is uneven, as perfect as it is imperfect.. like his tragic hero Eren Jäger, who shows us that men are so weak and pitiful in the face of time and the cruelty of the world. How much even if this hero possesses in his hands the power of a God. My analysis will surely be clumsy, I apologize. And I will not fail to point out at the end the bitterness felt on the final development of some characters including that of Misaka Ackerman.

Eren like “CryBaby”

What a slap for the reader to witness such an emotional picture. Yes. Isayama reminds us to what extent Eren isn't a brave knight, not a charismatic hero, not the genocidal demon of this story but a child.. whose weight of Destiny is too heavy to bear. Scan 139 reminds us to what extent we have lost ourselves, just as Eren has in the way, forgetting the very essence of the story that has been told to us from the beginning. It’s not a story of geopolitical warfare, a biological parasite, titanic monsters, a northern deity, or a philosophical-esoteric trip. It's the story of a boy who wants to emancipate himself, to live for himself, tasted of the thirst for adventure, the tranquility of his loved ones but born in a cruel and alienating world that leaves room only for death, abuse of power, betrayal and despair .

A journey where the child becomes an adult at the cost of his or her life. Learning the most painful lesson… To be an adult is to renounce one’s dreams, to bend one’s knee in the face of the servitude of one’s mortal condition, to be content with one’s cage in order to enjoy the little that one can have at one’s disposal, to mourn those who may disappear from one’s life.

A young boy who dreamed only of freedom, surrounded by people who love him. A child whose inspirations, as impulsive, unreasonable and immature as they may be, will push him to his limits. A child who grew up too fast, who could not mourn his mother, aware of her physical and spiritual weakness, who was confronted with the violence of this world which reminded him of his condition of being insignificant, a pawn on the chessboard of the "Way".

A child whose powers worthy of a God then gives him the possibility to realize the unthinkable, almost the absolute fantasy of every Man : to shape a world in his image, to be as free as a bird flying above the clouds without reddish stain to touch the sky. Move forward, Move forward whatever the price… move forward for an illusion of freedom, for an infantile obsession.

And by assuming the role of the wicked “demon” of tales so that the brave knights can free this world from the evil that eats it.

Lost between the present, the past, the future.. time no longer makes sense. Only finality counts, annihilating its titans whatever the price. They have to pay for his mother. They have to pay for his fallen comrades. They must pay for reminding us of our pitiful helplessness as human beings.

But the Demon also has a heart, remorse, feelings, there are people who attach him to this world. Therefore, what to choose?

Divine Freedom or Mortal Love? The impossible equation... Although Eren may have travelled the road in search of the answer, how can freedom and humanity be reconciled? Free your people and protect your loved ones, though imperfect?

______

He will not find the answer— neither by searching the past of the goddess Ymir, not by consulting the other Titans carriers, not by creating the different alternative realities that led to the same observation… only death can free the bird from its cage, only the death of Humanity is able to reconcile the sublime and the hideous. Or rather, a common enemy that will crystallize all their ills. But who would be crazy, brave enough to accept being the victime ?

Like a Christic figure, Eren will assume this role. But not without having to confide his last wishes, his last secrets that can no longer contain… because yes, the demon is limited by his adult condition of 19 years. Yes.. the child has grown up. Recklessness, impulsiveness, daring in the face of death, the omnipotence of the child leaves room for a teenager who is now afraid of dying, who has succumbed to love, who doubts, who is aware of his weakness.

Eren has finally become a man...in pain. He finally accepts his feelings, his weakness in the face of death that awaits him.

He’s not a running child anymore. The plates are only explicit about this. The power of narration.. we come back to the fundamental of this history, which is human psychology. The feelings, the relationships that unite all people between them. Friends or enemies, men or women, child or adult, Eldien or Mahr... Despite our differences, our disagreements, we are all equal and weak in the face of death... but also in the face of the love we can bring to others.

Yes, Eren is a weak hero. Yes, he admits to loving Mikasa. He admits that until the very end, he didn't know how it was going to go. That he was himself a pawn in the divine game of Ymir. Another puppet at the service of a little girl who is also blinded by her duality, by her toxic love for her executioner. One cannot remain insensitive to this remarkable development of the character of Eren whose death was inevitable. For whoever plays with divinities can only lose his humanity, his freedom too. By the ultimate sacrifice of his selfish and human desires finally. Eren alone became the true savior of this world. He will also have kept his promise to his friends, to the beings he loves by offering them last memories through the “Way”.

Selfless Love or True Freedom

As Mikasa said: The world is cruel, but also … Very beautiful.

Whoever sets a glance without hatred on the world, with compassion, with love for his neighbor will be able to claim to touch with the finger this Freedom so sought.. a selfless love, not turned to satisfy one’s own selfish desires.

Because Love, like hate, takes different forms.

Love connecting us to our roots, our family of blood…

Love binding two beings who love each other, desire each other, cherish each other, seek each other….

Love that binds us to his comrades, his battalion, his family of choice, his heart…

Love that life brings to us in all its forms…

Love… this power that is unpredictable and uncontrollable.

And that can become the obsession of a lifetime. It is by becoming an obsession that love becomes as destructive as hatred, and sends us back to our condition as an alienated Man… locked up in his “Path”, in his cage.

It's by demonstrating resilience and self-sacrifice that man can taste freedom. We can find redemption in the love that others have for him, that we also have for him. For a few hours, a few years…

At the cost of a renewal of the cycle of hatred, because man remains selfish, not all are ready to make sacrifices. Therefore, Mikasa and Eren have made the greatest of sacrifices for the survival of their comrades and the world: they give up their chance to be happy together, sacrifice their desire to be together for the rest of humanity. As in tragedies, the main heroes are victims of Destiny, are those who will pay the price so that others can flourish and live. The children have become adults.

Just as Armin is no longer the whiny little boy to protect. Unlike Eren, he managed to learn from his mistakes, grieve, face his own fears, confess his love to the girl he loves. It is finally he who will raise the wounded little boy, who will comfort him.

The frustration

Mikasa is the main character of the story. It's through her that awakening is made, it is through her hand that she closes this long journey. In Eren’s memories, it is always central. It is the key, the final solution.

It's his psychological, his emotional journey that we will follow throughout the manga. Eren is only a complement, the character who crystallizes his goals. In a world where men are “dominant”, the woman must bend her knee, support her prince so that the light shines on him. Isayama knew how to play perfectly on this classic code of narration. Whether one agrees or not with the conclusion of certain female characters, the work often highlights the fact that men are only victims of their passions and obsessions.

-------

Only women seem to emerge victorious in the face of the cruelty of the world : they take up arms (Historia), continue to fight in the face of despair (Mikasa), enjoy life and bring joy around her (Sasha), support other women in their emancipations ( Ymir with Historia) question their education (Gaby) disobey (Annie), go against the “moral” principles to survive (Ymir Frizt who continues to love his executioner), sacrifice for the common good (Hanzi Zoe)… But of course… without also paying the price of sacrifice and making concessions.

Historia bears a child of a man whom she does not seem to like but assumes the role of the mother whom she would have liked to have while assuming the heavy attribute of the office of Queen in a country plagued by nationalist tendencies guided by fear. With Eren’s help, she did not give in to the temptation of self-sacrifice but decided herself who she would save or not, what path she wanted to follow. Her desire was to be a mother, a good mother. Whatever the father, it was an indestructible motherly love that she wanted to offer to a child. The one she never had.

Mikasa agreed to kill Eren because, if she had given him another answer, their life as fugitives would have been but a fleeting dream and Eren’s death was inevitable.

Despite her powerful love for Eren (as addicted as he may be, explained by the power of the Ackermans?), she will break the chains of her servitude by killing her only Love. She is the light. She accomplished the journey of a true heroine by demonstrating resilience, by giving of herself for the world.

She had only eyes for Eren.. was open to others, to show empathy, a desire to continue living for other comrades who are dear to him.

-------

Mikasa also leads the way in Ymir Fritz… you can love a monster, you can be a prisoner of a toxic relationship but you can free yourself from it. One can become free, but the price to pay will be to carry this infinite sadness, this frustration of having been able to live another story if things would have been different. By her kiss, she showed what true Love is.

Although the frustration is present, although we would have liked her to turn the page and rebuild her life, she must also pay the price of her “freedom”, of her “survival”: haunted by the sacrifice of Eren, guardian of her memories, from her grave as if to preserve her existence as long as she can live.

Once again, women show that they are stronger than we think. So Ymir was also able to free himself of his toxic link with the King by making the Titans disappear.

In the image of the bittersweet end of the chapter, which shows us that the disappearance of a monster, of a divine force “responsible” for the horrors, is not the long-awaited salvation.

The vices, the human fears will remain the poison, preventing us from reaching this illusory freedom. Men do not need deities to dig their own way to death.

-----

From "occidental" point of view, it is true that this is a blow to the “strong” women of the work still alive. Reduced to being collateral victims of Love, as toxic as this link may be (Ymir-Mikasa). Reduced to attaching themselves to winning or losing romantic figures depending on whether their love-interests is the villain of the story (Mikasa-Annie). Reduced to their role as mother-benefactor (Historia-Gaby).

It’s awkward, but I think Isayama wanted to show that no one is spared. That no character can claim complete tranquility and sweet freedom.

Everyone has had to sacrifice something to survive, and women and men are equal in this judgment. Women also remain victims in a world that remains dominated also by the cruelty of Men (the human race in general). They are not completely free, they are also trapped in roles.

Everyone carries the weight of his choice. That characters have a duty to remember, to pass on to future generations the horrors they have lived to try not to reproduce the same mistakes. Even if their new life choices are imperfect, disappointing for those on the outside.

Levi sacrificed many of his comrades to fulfill his promise to Erwin in his quest for truth and to continue the fight for Eldian freedom.

Armin and Mikasa sacrificed Eren: their friend, their love, the dearest being to fulfill their promise to discover the outside world and touch that freedom.

Like Levi Ackerman and his love for his battalion comrades. As for Mikasa and his love for Eren (because she saw the human behind the monster). She has been waiting for a sign for 3 years to see him again in order to follow up on “see you later Eren”.

Finally, a bird comes to give him his wrap. To encourage him to go forward again. To continue to live…

--------

The most free people are those who honestly and sincerely love someone. Those who are able to see the beauty of the world despite its ugliness. Who give without waiting for return. Those who continue to look at the world without hatred, those who do not succumb to its cruelty. Tears are running down…

[jaurnals]

Ghost of You // Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha passed away due to certain circumstances. Will R be able to move on?

Word Count: [573]

Here I am waking up

Still can't sleep on your side

There's your coffee cup

The lipstick stain fades with time.

Y/N's POV:

[Start Recording ▶️]

"It has been 552 hours since she left me. Well, 23 days to be exact. The love of my life, that is. She was in a "deadly car accident." Announced "dead" as soon as the car hit the tree. Now, you must be wondering: how did this all happen? Let me tell you this, no one knows. Crazy, right? No witnesses, no leads, and no one knows how her car hit the tree. It definitely wasn't the weather, so what was it? Since the accident, nothing has brought me joy. I spend my days mourning over someone I've lost, but have yet to forget. This past week my anger has gotten the best of me. Just today, I threatened the Chief of the Police to get answers or else I would. Natasha meant everything to me. She was the light of my life. I never thought I'd lose her. At least, not like this.  I doubt I'll ever actually process the fact that she's gone. Someone beautiful and talented. If only there was a way-“

*thump*

A loud thump came from the attic. I quickly grabbed my camera and started making my way to the attic.

"Now this is exciting. Talking about my deceased lover and now investigating what the thump in my attic is. Nice."

I make my way up the ladder and my eyes focus on a book? Or is it a diary?

I picked it up and see "Natasha's Diary" written on the front cover.

"How did this fall from that tall a*s bookshelf? I thought- You know what, I don't f*ck with demons. Why does this have to happen to me? I did nothing to deserve this. Guess I gotta leave."

I sighed then grabbed the diary and made my way back to my room.

First, I'm making a video to cope with the loss of my lover now I'm left with her diary and my overthinking.

Love that for me.

But wait, this isn't a diary. It's a bunch of letters from Natasha for ... me?

However, a particular one caught my eye.

For: My Love

From: Yours Truly

{Open this when I'm gone.}

"Oh, f*ck me." I thought to myself.

Nat's POV:

"Dear Y/N/N,

I'm afraid my time has come.

I really hope you aren't mourning.

There's no need to.

This was supposed to happen.

You may think I passed away in a car accident.

At least, that's what I wanted you to believe.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer not long before I passed on. I had a few days left when I found out. There wasn't much I could do to save my life so I decided to cherish my last moments with you. We may not have accomplished much, but it meant the world to me.

Please forgive me for causing you pain.

I never wanted to hurt you.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for making me the happiest girl alive.

I'll forever be by your side, my love.

I love you.”

Yours truly,

Nat

I just sat there. Dumbfounded. Without a clue of what to do next. Nat had breast cancer.

She lost the battle.

"Little did you know, Natasha Romanoff.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer 24 days ago."

——————————————————————————

A/N: Hello! This is my second story. I currently have writer’s block and have had this one up on my Wattpad for awhile, but I can assure y’all that I will be writing soon as I decided this account will be one-shots based on some of my favorite songs. I actually have a Yelena x Reader one shot coming either later today or tomorrow so look out for that! I’m only writing for Wanda, Nat, Yelena, and Carol so feel free to send requests of your favorite songs, a prompt, or any ideas you have! I’ll see y’all soon~

(p.s Did anyone watch black widow? It was so good!)

[orangegreet]

Photo by Florian Olivo on Unsplash

The morning of the twin’s birthday, Alina woke from a fitful sleep.

Strange dreams colored her feelings and her ears rang with the sounds of a dark chanting verse that had haunted her thoughts and that she could not place.

Dreams aside, the incident in the study, too, left unresolved emotions which clung to her insides like sludge and would not go away.

Her mind reminded her again and again of that feeling of being pressed into the door by Lord Kirigan’s body.

The hard plane of his chest crushing her soft breasts. The heat of his breaths on her skin. His lungs pushing out, hers falling in.

The raw desire that blazed to life when she thought he was going to kiss her. The crashing humiliation after.

She should be disgusted.

Clearly, he had been so, given the way he threw her from the room and slammed the door. Left alone and without a candle to find her way back to her room.

Desperately, she searched for that anger toward him that she had been diligently collecting and storing for weeks on end. Holding it inside of her like a talisman against his pull, against the thrall he had on her.

By the time she had washed and dressed for the day, Alina found herself right side up again.

Completely prepared to go to his study and drag him to the party regardless of the state of their professional relationship.

********

Genya and Marie were finished setting the garden together, ready to receive the guests while Nadia and Tamar ran the food from the kitchen.

Alina exited the garden to go take a rest in the house before the party when she caught sight of a little white blur at the edge of the woods.

Lillian.

The little girl looked at her and then ran into the woods and out of sight.

Alina gathered her skirts in her hands and gave chase, “Lillian! Please slow down!”

Though she had not explored the woods much in her time at Blyth Fell, having been preoccupied with the garden in the first couple weeks and then quite busy with the children since, Alina was certain it would not be a completely safe place for a seven-year-old to venture into alone.

The white pinafore dress stood out against the shadowed woods and Alina just barely kept the girl in her line of sight even though she was losing her speed.

By the time she caught up, she found Lillian stopped in a small clearing, looking over her shoulder at Alina.

The governess approached slowly, hands aloft to say, ‘I come in peace’. Lillian turned away.

She was standing in front of a little stone block. Grass seed grew up close to it and Alina looked at Lillian and then sank to her knees, guessing what this was in an instance.

She brushed the weeds down, snapping them and breaking them away so the writing on the stone was legible.

LUDA ZENIK KIRIGAN

BELOVED WIFE & MOTHER

CHERISHED SISTER & FRIEND

The birthdate was some twenty years prior to the death date which was…today’s date, just seven years ago.

Alina stared at the words, moving slowly out of the way so Lillian could sit in front of the cleared space.

They sat in silence for a very long time.

So long that Alina wondered how close they were to the start of the party. Still, she waited for Lillian to say something first.

“My Aunt Nina said I look like her…that I have her eyes,” Lillian said eventually.

“Uncle Fedyor says she was very sweet so…” Lillian trailed away, wiping her nose on her sleeve and then sitting up straight again, “So I think Georgie must have gotten that part of her.”

Alina would have laughed if she did not feel so sorrowful in this moment.

The idea that the traits of your parents were doled out to the children like pieces of pie—that the total is finite—it was so child-like to believe that broke her heart to hear it.

“I am not so sweet,” Lillian said finally, scrunching her face and pulling up a blade of grass. “I am not like her really so I must be like him,” she said with disdain, “and that is why mother died. I am bad like him.”

Alina was careful not to refute the child outright, it would not be helpful. She was careful to make sure she understood. Instead she asked, “Why do you think she died?”

Lillian turned her gaze upon the governess, wide blue eyes shining and wet, “Georgie was born first and then me. She died because I was all tangled up in her belly.”

“And you think because you were born second, you caused her to die?” Alina asked.

Lillian nodded.

It was easy to forget sometimes that children had a higher threshold for morbidity. Much higher than adults. The way they could simplify life and death and boil it down into ‘if and then’ statements was shocking each time.

“I understand why you might think that, Lillian. I was not there when you were born but I do know now I am older that it is not babies who kill their mother’s in childbirth. It is just something that happens sometimes. It is not anyone’s fault.”

Lillian scrunched her face further and Alina continued, “You do not have to believe me right now but I do hope you will listen when I say, I know what it feels like to be without a mother. It is lonely and scary.” Alina stared at the headstone. “I wished to be held all the time when I was your age.”

Lillian glared at the ground, tears falling silent into the grass. A shuddering breath extracted from her mouth every few moments.

“You are not alone.” She finished.

Lillian wiped her nose on her sleeve again. Alina did not feel invited to touch the girl and so she waited.

Neither of them spoke for a few more minutes and then the little girl got to her feet.

“I-I am ready to go to the party now.” She left without a backward glance but Alina felt that something in their relationship had been resolved at last. Alina followed close behind her.

********

Despite the interlude in the woods and the tearful admissions, Lillian and George thoroughly enjoyed the festivities planned.

The joy and excitement from each of the attendees was contagious and each person had planned a special game or activity for the group.

Nadia and Tamar had made several special cakes with surprises inside. Something stuffed and hidden in each one as a little game.

Maxim coaxed Ivan into a race wherein the children were lifted onto their respective shoulders as each man raced across the yard.

Ivan won with a mad-cackling Lillian gripping his ears and spurring him forward like a tyrant. He looked more thrilled than she had ever seen him.

Alexei, Marie and Sergei had put their heads together to come up with the best parlor games and refused out right to play anything which had previously been deemed ‘boring’ by either of the twins.

This, Alina gathered, alluded to a game of charades played last winter which contained several references that went promptly over the children’s heads but which had the adults roaring in laughter. The twins had spent the hour bored and unamused and declared they would never play the game again.

Genya and Alina had gone into town and picked up a special gift for each child.

A skipping rope with wooden handles carved in delicate patterns and a kaleidoscope with colored glass beads inside. Alina had not yet been paid but Genya assured her this money was directly from the Lord himself since, to their knowledge at the time, he would not be in attendance.

It was unusual, to be sure, to see servants show such happiness and care for the children of the household but then, looking around, Alina realized that of all the people gathered here, one glaring fact seemed to be shared—none of them had homes or families to go back to anymore.

At least, not to her knowledge. A great many of them had confirmed their status in the world noting that either war or the cholera outbreak or simply poor living standards had left each of them quite alone in the world before coming to Blyth Fell.

It was a grim truth but one which seemed to bind them all here now.

Alina wondered idly how it was that they all happened to find employment here. It pressed on the definition of coincidental.

The only person conspicuously absent, aside from the Lord himself, was Misha.

Alina asked Alexei about this while the others were tasting cakes and he wrinkled his brow and looked away from her. “He had a rather, er…difficult evening. His duties sometimes are more challenging than…well he will be around for dinner tonight, I expect.”

Alexei patted her arm and walked away, inviting no further discussion on the matter.

********

As the hour passed and Lord Kirigan had not made his appearance, Alina contemplated the very real possibility that she would have to corner him in his study and frog march him into the garden.

She wondered briefly to feel bad about accosting the Lord last night now she knew today marked the anniversary of his wife’s death.

But then, the memory of Lillian’s tearful face as she stared at her mothers headstone and George’s pained tone when he inquired for weeks whether his father would return for his birthday, reinvigorated her.

And so, just as they slipped a blindfold over Lillian’s eyes for her turn in Blindman’s Bluff, Alina resigned herself to her duty and slipped away to collect their father.

She made it halfway across the yard when she saw him.

Lord Kirigan appeared around the broadside corner of the house, walking toward the garden and fumbling with an oddly shaped box in his arms.

Alina warmed at the sight of him and promptly blamed it on the sun which was currently hidden in the overcast sky.

She was, however, pleased to see that he looked very nervous. At least this indicated some amount of care and concern for the children.

“Where are you going?” The Lord asked, sharply. “Is the party no longer in the garden?”

Alina straightened her posture, “Of course it is. I was simply heading inside to…fetch a few extra napkins—”

The box in hands emitted a strange noise and she thought for a moment she saw it tipping in his hand.

He grabbed a strong hold on it and called back, “Come along then, Miss Starkova. Some gifts do not keep well and we do not want this day to spoiled by another ill omen.”

His words relieved her lingering tension. He meant to act as if last night had not happened at all and Alina was content with this decision.

She turned in the opposite direction and led the way into the garden, her excuse with the napkins well forgotten until she was already back inside the walls.

The shock at the sudden appearance of Lord Kirigan was written on the faces of everyone in the garden caused a laugh to bubble up her throat.

The Lord glared at her and then turned back to the children.

George was beside himself at his father’s presence, hugging him then standing on the table to press the kaleidoscope over his father’s eye and twist it for him.

Lillian looked neither pleased nor dismayed. The vulnerability she had displayed this morning lingered around her and she simply accepted his presence without many words or interaction to follow. Reserving her judgement for later.

As the children opened the box from their father and exclaimed over the little orange kitten inside, Alina wondered later if the ‘ill omen’ to which Lord Kirigan had referred was an allusion to the anniversary of his wife’s passing or if it was a reference to that dead pet of hers, the pony in the bog.

Alas she would not be able to ask him with the excitement and horror of what would follow later that day.

********

The party itself was very successful and though Lord Kirigan did not participate in any of the games but rather took a seat next to Ivan, he did help himself to a few cakes left near his reach.

Alina watched him with covert eyes and relished the image of icing on the corner of his surly mouth. An image which she could save up for some inevitable moment in the future when he would try to intimidate her again.

The break in the games was welcome as the kitten was passed around to be cuddled.

Maxim disappeared to the stables and reappeared with a long piece of leather and brutally removed an aster bloom to attach to the end. He handed it to Lillian who dragged it around for the kitten, urging it to pounce.

Alina lingered near Genya as they watched when a shouting occurred from the door to the garden.

“It’s ready now and today is the perfect day to try and so if you could all gather in a line, we can put it to the test!”

Alina turned toward the newest party attendee.

A young man with dark hair holding a large box and setting up what looked like a three legged stool.

Looking around, Alina was not the only one confused but the others, at least, recognized the man and began to laugh. Genya was flushed as she pulled on Alina’s arm and directed her to stand near the end of the group.

“Genya, what is going on?” Genya looked distracted and did not seem to hear Alina. It was Nadia who answered.

“That is our Mr. Kostyk. He is a business partner of Lord Kirigan’s. He does actually live under this roof with us but I suppose this might be the first time you have seen him in person.”

Something clicked into place and Alina nodded. The man in the workroom who received his meals hand-delivered by the grace of Genya.

“And what is happening now?” Alina asked. Genya moved along the line, arranging people into view and pulling the children to stand in front of their father.

The kitten did not seem to want to still in their hands so it was shoved into Ivan’s arms who accepted it with a grunt.

Nadia smiled at the sight of Ivan and answered, “It seems Mr. Kostyk has engineered yet another device to try to get a portrait taken.”

“A portrait?” Alina asked as Mr. Kostyk was setting his box on top of the three-legged stand and hiding beneath a heavy black curtain behind the box.

“It’s something of a family business for Lord Kirigan,” Nadia explained. “The late Lord Kirigan and his business partner also worked on the inventions and would also have the people in the house to test out his progress. Or so I hear.”

She arranged the hair around her shoulders, “Although Genya says some of those models required sitting for thirty minutes at a time so I can only hope Mr. Kostyk does not expect that right now.”

“Look this way,” Mr. Kostyk pointed at the black circle in the middle of his box, “and do not move, if you please!”

They stood still for a few minutes, long enough that the children began to shift their feet in boredom.

Ivan held the cat in place and Alina, on the other end let her mind wander as she contemplated this inventor from the workroom and his patron, Lord Kirigan. She had seen examples of these paint-less portraits in London, of course, but never imagined she would be the subject of one.

When Mr. Kostyk was done, he stood and smiled at them all, not really seeing them and said goodbye with a short wave. Then he was gone as quickly as he had come. Alina giggled and wondered if he had been there at all.

Lord Kirigan watched Mr. Kostyk’s retreating back and then followed the man out of the garden, effectively leaving the party as well.

Alina frowned and glanced at the children. Lillian took the blow stoically and went back to her cake. George looked distressed once more but Ivan plopped the kitten in front of him in the next moment and he was well distracted.

********

When the party was over, Alina gathered the children to go inside for a rest. As they passed the edge of the woods again, however, Lillian spoke.

“I want to go back to my mother.” She said.

George hesitated and Alina surveyed him. “All right, let us take George inside and then you and I can go back out.”

“No.”

Lillian looked at George and took his hand, “Let us go, Georgie, please. I want to go with you.” George looked fearful but nodded.

It was hard to explain the distinct feeling of foreboding Alina felt upon entering the woods now.

It was still as dark and shadowed as it had been in the morning but now there was something in the air which was disquieting. Alina wrapped her hands on either of the children’s shoulders as they walked the same path toward that small clearing.

They had been walking for a few minutes when George stopped again, shaking his head and looking at his sister. “Lillian, I don’t want to go.”

Lillian scowled at him, tugging on his arm, “You have to, you have to come see mother, with me. Please, Georgie. Just once.”

George was shaking his head and staring past the thinning trees, fear widening his eyes.

They were in sight of the little clearing now and even through the trees, Alina looked to where she knew the gravestone sat.

Only the place where she knew the stone sat, the place where she herself sat just this morning, was covered in dark shadow.

Alina squinted, trying to discern what she was seeing and she stared, the black mass thickened.

It grew and spread like a dense, black smoke, covering half the clearing like a slow-moving predator.

A frisson of fear shot through her body and inexplicably she thought of the chanting from her dreams and more words bubbled into her throat and she prayed to Alatyr with a fierce concentration.

While she was distracted George took off on the path back toward the house.

“George, wait!” Alina called, pausing only to take Lillian’s hand in hers as they ran after the little dark-haired boy.

“George, wait for us!” Lillian shouted, sounding fearful herself.

He turned a corner and slipped from their sight and Alina panicked at the realization that he was taking a different path. One that did not lead them back to the house.

“George, stop! You are going the wrong way!”

They followed, turning the corner and he came into sight yards ahead. He stood stock-still.

“Georgie?”

His hands were up in front of him and as they drew closer, Alina saw a thick black mass rising before the boy’s body like a snake from a basket.

Was it a snake?

The woods were so dark, it was difficult to see for sure but Alina thought it’s shape was distinctly snake-like.

“Stay still, George.” Alina cautioned. She held Lillian in place with a sharp look and began to slowly approach the quivering little boy.

She was not sure what to do. Did not understand what she was seeing. Not exactly.

The snake rose up to eye level with George.

It reared back.

The boy threw his arm over his face and the snake struck with a whip-like movement.

“George!” Alina yelled, running forward to grab his shoulders as he screamed out.

It echoed around the forest and bounced off the trees and Alina held him in her lap as he continued to scream and cradle his arm.

Frantic, Alina looked around for the creature and saw nothing but dead leaves crushed on the forest floor. Everything was still and silent save the screaming from the boy in her lap.

“Let me see, Georgie,” she soothed, trying to move his hand to get a look at his arm.

George whimpered and cried and Alina gaped at the mark.

Two little puncture wounds on his pale little forearm, seeping black liquid like ink running down a page.

[kookiepredictions]

Message from Jungkook’s Higher Self to his DF

My most precious,

I have been thinking about you again. Well, I say again, but I had never stopped in the first place. Do you think about me too? I think you do. At least I want to believe you do. I feel like that’s all that I have left right now. I feel so lost and confused. I feel like I’m trapped in a maze, but I’m not stuck in one place. I’m moving through this maze. And I’m moving willingly. It’s like there’s something at the end of that maze that is calling out to me and I can’t seem to refuse. I feel like I’m ensnared by that calling and I must keep moving towards it. It feels like I have free will but at the same time, I have absolutely no control over it. I don’t want to stop, but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop. So I have just 2 choices: either move towards the end of that maze, or be constantly restless. The only problem is, I don’t have a map to this maze. I’m moving but I don’t know if I’m moving in the right direction. Am I getting any closer or am I getting further away? No one else seems to know either. I look for help from others but when they do, I feel like it’s useless. I have to find my own way. I’m all on my own in this path. The only person I know can help me is you. I know you are the only one who can tell me exactly what is wrong with me and how to right it. So I look for you everywhere and everytime. And then it dawns on me— is this maze leading me to you? Is that why I can’t refuse its calling? Or is there more to it? And why do I think you are the only one who can help me? I’ve known for a while now that I love you. But this feels like a lot more than what I have known the word “love” to mean. Who are you to me and why do I need you so much? Every song, every movie, every person, every place reminds me of you. How are you more present in my life than the actual people present in my life? How do you have more control over my feelings than I have over them? As if it’s not scary enough that I am so addicted to you, I don’t even know if what I’m addicted to is real or an illusion. Are you even a real person? Is our connection even real or is it all in my head? Are you a “Twin Flame”, a “Soulmate”? Have I met you in the “Past?” I don’t understand these terms and the more I learn, the more confused and lost I feel. Are you a “Karmic”? Are you here to punish and torture me for everything that I have done wrong? Tbh, that seems more likely. Half of me expects you to one day say to me, wake up, all that shit is in your head. Or, haha, you really thought I would fall in love with someone like you? However that conversation goes, it always ends up with me heartbroken. Maybe I want you so much because I believe I can never have you. And why would I? What have I ever done to deserve you and a love so perfect? Why would I get so lucky? There are so many other people who deserve this more, then why would I be The One?

Frankly, this is what I’ve always felt about myself. I got all this success and fame at such a young age. And what have I done exactly for this? I have only done what I have been told to do by other people. When there were struggles and problems, the older members and other people stressed out and solved them. I didn’t do much. Yeah, I practice hard and all, but that’s really the least I could do. Failure or success, whatever has come to me, has fallen into my lap due to someone else’s effort. I have never felt like I completely deserve it. People always say, BTS are so humble, Jungkook is so humble. But I have never seen myself as an amazing person or even a nice person. Yet people always seem to believe that about me, so I’m like, alright if that makes them happy. And so I live a dual life every day. I give people what makes them happy, but I never let myself believe what they believe about me. I know who I am. I have indulgences that I am not proud of. If people knew everything about me, they would not love me at all. Not that it mattered to me that much. I had adjusted to this dual life. But now it does. It matters to me what you think about me, how you see me. And it terrifies me because what if you think I am bad person? What if you don’t love me or even like me? My mind says it shouldn’t matter, but my heart says it does. Why does your opinion matter so much?

For as long as I can remember, I have had very high ideals regarding love— and boy I started young! I wished for a perfect love story and went into connections hoping for it but somehow it always eluded me. In my head, it always seemed perfect, but the reality always turned out to be different. I don’t really blame the other person either. I just blame it on my fate, really. At some point, it started looking like I was fated to be in connections that would never fulfil me. Sometimes I tried to adjust and compromise, and sometimes I felt really frustrated and restless for more. I never categorically felt like I wanted something more, but it always felt like there could be more. And yet, how do you look for something you don’t even know exists?

I wished for a perfect love but I did not know what I was signing up for. I always thought if and when I fell in true love, my life would become so much easier. And so when I met you, and I had all these deep feelings for you, I thought, that’s it, now my life will be so much easier and happier. But then things took a drastic turn. You know how it feels when you are taking a trip somewhere and you’re on the bus and everyone later talks about how amazing the journey was, and you realize you missed it because you were asleep throughout that journey and now you wish you weren’t? That’s how it feels right now. I wish I wasn’t so asleep when I met you. I wish I had cherished you more. There’s so much I want to do for you now but I feel like I missed my chance. I feel like I let you down and I can’t forgive myself for that. I replay the past over and over wishing I had acted differently. I pray often and every time, I pray for a second chance with you. But then I think, if I hate myself so much for having hurt you, surely you must hate me more. You always assure me that you love me, but I find it so hard to believe because how could you ever forgive me? How could you ever want me back? And that’s the moment when I feel like I am only being delusional. You are no Twin Flame of mine, you are a punishment served to me by God— a punishment the pain from which I can never recover from. Once again, love has eluded me and I am fated to live the rest of my life in pain and regret, only this time I can clearly see that I have ruined it with my own actions.

But then again, a part of me never wanted to accept this fate. A very, very small voice inside me told me this time it was somehow different. That I still had hope. That I had reason to keep trying. And that is crazy because what reason do I have? I don’t even know if this is real! I have been advised by people to be careful, to not trust you so much. And truthfully, I have tried doing that as well. I have tried forgetting you, not thinking about you. But it’s always like when you’re told not to think about something, and you start thinking about it more. I have tried to reason with myself, used logic. But I always keep drawn back into that maze again. I must find my way through it. I’m afraid something dangerous might be on the other side of it and I don’t want to land in trouble and take those who I love with me, but I can’t stop! What is this self destructive behaviour? When and how did I start trusting you so much? I feel I am at the edge of a cliff ready to take a plunge and I am terrified. What if you are not on the other side of it? What if you deceive me, let go of me, leave me to die? I think of all this and then an even terrifying thought comes up— that I am, indeed, more willing to destroy myself at your call, than to take the chance to lose you. No one should have that kind of power over anyone. I feel like you have me under a spell but it is a spell I am willingly submitting to because it brings me so much peace and joy. I have never known this ecstasy and I am addicted to it. And it’s irreplaceable and unreplicable. You are the only source of it. I know because I have tried finding it elsewhere. From other people, from work, from my ambitions. It’s never the same. You make me so happy! I can spend hours with you and still never get enough of you. I could have you wrapped tight in my arms and still feel like you’re not close enough. You feel so close to me and still so far away. You’re always right within reach and yet I still can’t hold you. It’s frustrating! I don’t want to be stuck in this place forever because it’s torture. I want all of you but I am afraid you’ll not want me. I don’t know which is worse— to be rejected by you or to never try and find out if you wouldn’t. I throw emotional tantrums trying to get you to react and respond because that’s the only way I know how to get your attention because what else can I do? What can I give you that you don’t already have? And this is another aspect of this connection that I am scared of as well. How can I match you? What can I give you? For many years, I have seen myself in a certain way. I know why people like me or love me. I am Jeon Jungkook of BTS. For so long, that was my identity. You came along and shattered that illusion. Suddenly that identity isn’t enough anymore. I feel naked around you. I feel poor. What is my identity, I don’t know anymore. I was comfortable living a life of playing a role for other people to make them accept and love me, but it’s not working on you. And honestly, now that I see it through your eyes, I don’t like it anymore either. Who am I now? I feel like a nobody. What can a nobody give you? What can a nobody give anyone? I hate being here. And yet, there’s a strange sense of liberation in this that I have never felt before. As comfortable as I have been living a dual life so far, it also felt like a burden on my shoulders. I could never truly be myself with anyone. Now I feel like I can, with you. But what if you don’t like who I truly am? I am so scared to look at myself. This is the reason why I throw tantrums to get your attention. It is easier than looking into myself. Because I fear that if I did, I will only see bad things. I will only see myself taking and taking and taking from others and I will see my judgment in there— that I am indeed a very bad person and for that, I am punished to live a life without you. If that is the truth, I don’t want to know the truth. I want to live in this beautiful illusion forever— or so I think, until I am tired of living in the illusion and want the truth. I want to know how you feel about me. I want to know if there is hope for me in this journey or if I am trying in vain. I want to know if I’m on the right track or if I’m going crazy. I am lost, I am lonely even with so many people around me, and I have no map nor a compass. All I’m being shown is the edge of this cliff and being told to take a leap of faith and even the courage that it requires I need you for that.

And then I wonder, am I annoying you with all my neediness? Are you liking me less and less every day because of how lost and incapable I am in this journey? You are so smooth, you have figured everything out and everyday I try to catch up to you but you are progressing at the speed of light and I feel more and more lost. I feel like I am failing us again. But believe me, I am changing. It might be at a slower pace than yours but I have changed so much than who I used to be before I met you. And that is why I feel that there is something special about this connection— it hasn’t just changed me with regards to you, it has changed me in all areas of my life. And I am so proud and grateful for that. But the path ahead seems to be so long still and then I lose hope and hate this journey. Why does it have to be so difficult and complicated? You love me, I love you, then why can’t we just be together? Isn’t that what love is? That’s it, I am crossing my arms and sitting here and pouting until I get what I want. (lol cutie). And then after my tantrums dissipate, I see the meaning of this journey again. I see all that it has done for me, the way it has changed me, and I am grateful and hopeful again. That small voice has actually been getting louder and louder over the days. I think the balance is tipping in favour of hope. Every day I feel a little more hopeful that we are indeed meant to be together. Maybe that’s what this maze is all about. I see light flickering more strongly at the end of it every passing day. I just have to figure my way out. In doing so, I have been learning to grow more and more confident in my own ability. I may have been discovering my own true self, devoid of my past identity created from my ego. I am purging past energies heavily and having multiple tower moments and ego deaths on the way which is where the moments of pain, the anger comes from, but every day, my resistance is weakening and I am, little by little, accepting this journey for what it is, not what I want it to be. I think I am noticing a pattern here— after the pain always comes the feeling of liberation and power. I want to be everything you want and everything you deserve. No matter what it seems like on the surface— it may seem like I am this selfish evil person who only thinks about his own needs, but believe me, I want to return back to you all the happiness and peace that you have given to me, I want to fulfil all your dreams. It may seem like I don’t value you, but you are my most precious treasure, and I want to make sure you know what your worth is to me. I am trying my best to get there. I am navigating my way as best as I can. I hope it is enough for you. I hope you can be patient with me. I hope you never give up on me. Please don’t ever leave me.

[friedloverherringfarm]

The loss of your cat Dear readers, losing your cat is devastating. Meanwhile some people don’t really understand that. Considering they may either never experienced it or they may have a rock as a heart. When our cat dies we can’t stop our tears because such an event we do not expect, we do not think of it, never. But it happens. Whether it was an accident, whether it was a disease. Animals can’t live as much as us humans. And it is a fact, we cannot hope it will live longer than it already has. And I am sorry, I know it is hard and dramatic and that you have your mindset that you were the cause of its death, I know that you feel responsible for what happened, I know exactly what you feel. I have experienced it and it is really devastating and it hurts more than anything, because we grew fond of them and we grew closer to each other every day. And actually I never let it go because there are moments that come out of the surface when I least expect it, reminding me of how much I cherished it. If there is something I regret is not spending more time with it even though we shared a room and a bed and the air together for 3 years. I regret not hugging her more, kissing her, telling her how much I loved her. The difference between me and my cat and others with their cat is that my cat didn’t come towards but I was, and even if I knew she didn’t like me to take her in my arms I still did it because I loved how warm she felt and soft her felt on my skin, and not to forget her smell, I really loved to kiss her on her head, sometimes even biting her cute ears while calling her sweetheart, it may sound a little bit cringe sorry I just really loved it. As well my hands and my shoulders were always scratched by it but I didn’t mind it as long it didn’t hurt to the point I’ll cry.  Even though my parents said to me to stop it scratches you because she hates you or something, I knew better than anyone she didn’t, she just needed to make sure she did not fall and I understood it. When it was scratching me it was never with hate and I could feel it. By the way, I got this cat as my seventeenth birthday gift. I was really happy because I really wanted a cat from a long time ago. And for the first time I fell in love with it, I wanted to take care of it and the feeling of protecting it was invading me. This is the moment I felt like I became a whole new person, I grew in myself a motherly affection and I really kept it until the very end. This cat not only brought me joy but also made me a better person, brought me confidence and love. Since I was in my first year of high school, I started to encounter hardships and was very depressed by my results and this little being just gave me the strength at the right time, helping me to seize myself, to not let myself fall. And already the next year I was getting better results. I was progressing because I had someone to keep company. Don’t get me wrong I had my parents by my side too but the real helper was my cat. And in my last year of high school, I may have been down many times because I still did encounter hardships at school but my cat always helped me, always made me feel better, the strength she gave me was amazing. Each day I felt and really did  felt she grew to love my company too which by the way the best feeling you can get. Finally the day, but before a week before, I was working hard because I had exams coming and my cat was by my side, all good. And the day before my exams, it happened. When  I was finally feeling that everything was working perfectly, even my relationship with my parents was doing really great, my revision was good too, I felt really confident actually and my cat grew closer to me. That day I was feeling happy, there always been days similar but not the same I had days when I felt maybe about seventeen percent happy but the rest I still had worries, though that day I had zero worries and I could imagine myself at ninety or ninety nine percent happy and this was truly a first since my careless childhood. But you know it when everything feels too right something bad happens. Just after I was finally revising for the last time, and went to have a sleep break along with my cat. After sometime my cat wants to go out so I wake up mid sleepy and open her the door. Usually I would take her in my arms, kiss her head while inhaling her smell and even calling her sweetheart and telling her at least once that I love her but that day I felt sleepy from the whole week of revision so I can’t forgive myself that I didn’t do it. Anyway I knew I would see her again later so I went back into my bed and fell dead asleep. After two minutes my heart just doesn't feel right but I don’t wake up. One hour later I wake up, I go downstairs to eat a sandwich and from the kitchen's window I see my mother talking to someone I don’t mind and keep eating. My mom comes to the kitchen and tells me with a sad tone “Sweetheart, I have bad news” my heart already starts to break and I ask her right away “What?” She tells me then that my cat died and that my neighbors happened to see it and they brought her to us liveless. I stood up from the chair and ran towards the garden throwing my sandwich on the grass, my mind was blank and I started to shout Where is she Where is she. My mom appears and points with a finger. I spot her, laying on the grass, not like she always does when she enjoys the sun but like a being lifeless. I’m breaking into tears. I can’t control my sadness. My baby, my happiness is gone. An hour ago I was sleeping alongside in my bed and then the next moment I saw it dead. I started to caress see if her paws wouldn’t move. Maybe she was still alive but nothing. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t answering even if I touched her tail. I knew she didn’t like it. After crying until I couldn’t anymore, I went to my parents and told them that we needed to bury her. I didn’t want her to be like the dead cats left on the left side of the road lifeless and starting to fade. My dad agreed to come with me, he is the one who made the hole and I was the one who put her in. First I said my farewells, I held her in my arms and told her how much I loved her and kissed her on her head for the last time. My hands trembling. I put her in the hole and left so my dad could bury her. The day I felt the happiest became the worst day of my life, I felt guilty for a long period and was completely at loss of appetite and everyday I would look at her pictures and saying each time “I will never forget you” The reason why I came to reveal everything here is because I don’t want people who experienced the same tragedy to feel lonely, I want to call a community that will warm up and help those people to regain strength bit by bit. At first it feels hard to reveal everything and every memory of it  hurts but trust me sometimes saying it out loud it heals you much more than hiding it in your room or under that fake smile you would put everyday so no one asks you what is the matter with you. I used to think that I would look powerless if I said it and if I expressed my sadness openly. It is alright to express our feelings. We are beings with emotions too. It is ok to feel you were responsible for its life and not to have accomplished that duty. But your mindset should be more like this: Did I do my best so it had everything she needed? Did I make good memories with it? It is alright to feel it is unfair. It is alright to want to hide from the world, I respect the decision you made because I was the same. The pain is growing and sometimes you will feel like there is no point in life though it isn’t true. You must come back! Don’t stay on the ground, you’ll catch a cold! Get up and find a way to express your feelings. Maybe sometimes you will feel like crying but you can shout, you can draw and tear that paper. You have the right to do it and no one has to tell you that you are only making a fuss for a dead cat because that cat was your everything and no one has the right to disapprove it. If you ever lose your temper in a way even yourself couldn't have imagined you could, there is something I know will change you and bring you back bit by bit. Trust me, it was my best remedy. It is called Passiflora, a plant documented with therapeutic properties, helping not only reducing stress but also helping with sleep problems, anxiety and depression.  Finally I hope I didn’t add more tears to your face but instead I hope I extended a little hand so you can reach it. I want to be the hand that makes you stand up from the cold ground. Please take care of you and remember to find you need to find again something or someone that you’ll want to protect. (Ps: Sorry if I made mistakes while writing this.)

[nutty1005]

How “The Untamed” reversed its fate, Xiao Zhan went the hard way in his depiction of Wei Wuxian

Original Article: https://www.weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404476523863212216#_0 Original Author: 乍暖已寒 (Published by: 爱战DAYTOY_1005)

(TN: The Untamed was based off the novel “Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” or “Mo Dao Zu Shi / 魔道祖师”. Bringing this novel to the silver screen had its fair share of troubles and many did not look kindly at this project in 2018, nor believed that it would fair well in China.)

I have said this before – when a new top celebrity with stunning good looks appears onto the scene, immediately accompanying it will be forceful criticisms of his/her acting. Xiao Zhan, who burst into fame because of The Untamed, is no exception to this as well.

Endless negative articles, out-of-context screen snaps with negative captions (e.g. the first 3 episodes where he had to act as Mo Xuanyu, a lunatic), slowed down GIFs, or even insinuating special effects… they really tried their best to smear his acting.

Just this once though, Xiao Zhan prevailed despite all of these. The endless waves of well-prepared negative articles did not prevent Xiao Zhan’s acting chops from appearing on Weibo’s trending topics  (instead of his appearance). His unforeseen, exceptional performance in The Untamed proved them wrong – such a great refute to their efforts!

Xiao Zhan’s Exceptional Moments

He had multiple different ways in handling his crying scenes, and they were all able to invoke a lot empathy in his audiences. There were tears of helplessness, tears of doubt, tears of pain, tears of false bravado, tears like that of a lost child – and every teardrop touched his audiences’ hearts.

This scene was my personal favorite – it was as painful as it was beautiful. Besides grief and hopelessness, you could also sense Wei Wuxian’s helplessness, and it became extra heartbreaking. Yes, many would always forget that beneath the all powerful Yiling Patriarch, he was merely a teenage boy, and he had just lost his home. 

Besides his crying scenes, Xiao Zhan also had similar delicacy and accuracy in managing the character’s psychology – for example, the scene which Wei Wuxian discovers the method to transfer the Golden Core. At the moment of discovery, he was filled with exultation, but the joy in his eyes slowly dimmed down, ending with relief. There was this sliver of sadness amidst the jubilation but it was quietly set aside.

Xiao Zhan used his “eyes acting” to great effect, and performed the series of complex emotions perfectly – from the discovery of a cure, to understanding that someone has to sacrifice his Golden Core, to deciding that he would be this person. This made the audiences want to ask, “What about you? What is going to happen to you?”

I also admired Xiao Zhan’s attention to details in the scene where Wei Wuxian brings Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli to Yiling Supervisory Hold – he was like a helpless prey trapped at a dead end.

Wei Wuxian was just an child when his family perished, and he had just went through another massacre – there was simply too much death and bloodshed. He was high strung and any bit of provocation could make him lose his rationality. He was instinctively biting his teeth and shaking as he forced himself to protect his only remaining kin.

In fact, after leaving behind the first 10 episodes of happy-go-lucky, Xiao Zhan had countless exceptional moments such as these. I could not even finish describing 10% of them in this long article of mine. For someone who was the lead actor for the first time, his future is really filled with endless possibilities.

As such, I could not even fathom why someone would blindly mock Xiao Zhan’s acting, even more so than when someone mocks his appearance. For someone who could weep while script reading with his fellow actors, how could he be someone with “zero acting chops”?

“Empathic” Style of Performance

The most apt words I can use to describe Xiao Zhan’s acting are “graceful” and “touching” – there appears to be no discourse to his acting, but yet his acting draws empathy and his characterization extremely believable.

To an actor, this is a solution, but this is one of the dumbest method as this is also one of the most harmful method. This is because this method requires the actor to breakdown his personality and restructure himself to suit his character. It makes entering and exiting the role extra difficult – every teardrop is created from the actor’s blood and soul.

To me, I am an extremely sensitive viewer and I like the acting to be natural; I cannot accept any bit of deliberation. I do not like it when performance leaves a trace of the techniques used, instead this “dumb” method is what that can touch me – to become one with the character.

This is probably why this silly child could weep like this during script reading. He might really be a natural born actor, but also a gentle angel – what kind of soul resides in him? How is he able to empathize entirely with Wei Wuxian such that he could tear up like this? Who would not love this boy, who is naturally extraordinary, but yet also incredibly compassionate?

He Understands Wei Wuxian

And because he understood the true meaning behind “becoming Wei Wuxian”, so he understood him even in the smallest details.

Have you ever wondered how Wei Wuxian was like beneath the manically cool Yiling Patriarch and suave youngster?

Firstly, he was an insecure person.

Below is from the author’s Weibo:

His childhood as a stray set the tone for him as person who is always filled with uncertainties – he will subconsciously attempt to change his facade in order to please his loved ones.

And it is evident that Xiao Zhan understands this – you can see that Wei Wuxian has a different facade when dealing with different people. To Jiang Cheng, he is his best buddy; To Nie Huaisang, he tries to be the friend who leads him astray; To Jiang Yanli, he is unashamedly a child begging for praises; To Madam Jiang, he is the most proper and obedient student.

In fact, this scene of an obedient Wei Wuxian gave me more affirmation that Xiao Zhan knows Wei Wuxian, more than any of his crying scenes. (Madam Jiang appeared, and he was the first person who stood up, in apprehension.)

Secondly, he puts up a false front.

Before the broadcast of the drama, Xiao Zhan gave an interview which caused displeasure among part of the novel fans. He said “Too many crying scenes, Wei Wuxian cried too much.” Some of these agitated fans expressed that Wei Wuxian was actually a cheerful happy-go-lucky person, he does not like to cry – he only cried twice in the books, Xiao Zhan must not understand his character!

However, is that really so? Evidently not. The novel was written from Wei Wuxian’s angle, therefore the story was told to us by Wei Wuxian, and hence we are actually reading his version of the story.

When you think about it, how is it possible for Wei Wuxian to not be devastated at the massacre of Jiang Family, the death of his brother-in-law due to his misstep, the death of Jiang Yanli, who took the sword on his behalf, or his own death, where he despaired and allowed himself to be devoured by ghosts? It is definitely not possible, but why were these not described in the books? Because, Wei Wuxian, who liked to put on a false front, decided to sidestep these in his own version.

Yes, our Wei Wuxian was the sort of person who only spoke of the good, but never the bad. No matter how much trauma he suffered physically or mentally, he kept smiling and kept his false front. He always looked like nothing mattered to him and he never suffered.

Hence, when he was battered and wounded by the demonic dog in the drama, despite being covered in wounds, after he took a bite of the bun he got from Jiang Cheng, he smiled brilliantly and said “delicious”. This part made me cry for him – I felt so much for this stubborn child.

Below is why, I was sure from the beginning that Xiao Zhan would do a good portrayal of Wei Wuxian. He told Wei Wuxian at the end of The Untamed shooting to “cherish yourself more, stop putting on a false front”. 

He really knew him. He really felt for him.

He came from a boyband, he had no professional acting training, he did not even have much experience in acting, but he lived up to Wei Wuxian.

In the End

Finally I wanted to say, analyzing anyone’s acting using static pictures, GIFs or even short video clips, without script or character context, are all biased analysis. True performance is not pieced together by short clips, but by complete characterization. As such, perhaps my article may just be as truthful as those gossip articles online. You are welcomed to watch The Untamed in order to truly understand how Xiao Zhan did.

[jubilantwriter]

Heart Shaped like Sea Glass

(First Part) (Previous Part) (Next)

Part 4 - Distinctions Made to be Forgotten

Summary:  Daniel has to remind himself constantly where he stands in this strange relationship he’s found himself in, less he forgets who they truly are and questions the choices he’s made.

im just.  really living for this au.  wowzers.  this is probably the most prolific i’ve been for a story.  anyway i hope you enjoyed that goofy fic last time because that’s gonna be the only nice, fun treat y’all be getting for a while

// // // // //

Humans are strange creatures.  They experience loss, succumb to their desires, and die in various ways that may or may not feed him.  They have a strange relationship with the ocean, some hating it, some loving it.  Daniel isn't very envious of them - they live such short lives, after all, and they make for filling meals that can last him for days.

So of course he doesn't know much about them.  After all, they're all food to him.  But this human, the one he feeds every day now, is stranger than most he encounters.

The man doesn't protest much when Daniel barges into his home (to which the human tells him is called a "shack"), and he shares his meals with Daniel without a word (after Daniel takes the time to catch him the fish of the day, of course).  He has never met a human more willing and more aware of the fact that he is, in fact, Daniel's next meal.  

The more he provides for the human’s meals, the more he finds himself… feeling this strange tightness in his chest.  It's not that it's off-putting, he thinks.  No no, it must be that... it's too easy.  Yes, that must be it.

It's too easy, sharing meals with this human, sharing conversation, and having the human accept his presence as though Daniel were nothing more than a-

Hm.  Well, there's no fun in a meal that is too easy to hunt.

(He tells himself this over and over.  It is the only reason, correct?  Why he feels this unease, this unnerving feeling when the human's eyes still continue to look dull, like the broken shards he sometimes finds washed up in the sand, before the ocean carries away the debris from shipwrecks past and present.)

That's why he should be ecstatic when the human refuses to eat one day.  He should be ecstatic, the human is being more impossible than usual, and that should make things exciting, right?

...Right?

"Human."  He shakes the human's shoulder again, trying to rouse him out of his fake sleep.  "Get up."  

The human makes no sound, instead pulling the thin, worn cloth over his body some more and refusing to show his face.  Daniel growls, frustrated because- well, it's because his prey is trying to starve himself!  And starved prey never tastes good.  Prey flavored with a proper diet taste the best, and they taste even better when they feel that rush of happiness, of pleasure, of joy, and all those positive emotions that make them taste so much like a sublime fillet of the most richest tasting salmon, or of that meaty, hearty taste of tuna.  And all his efforts will be for naught if this human refuses to eat.

"You need to eat."  Half a day has passed, and the human still refuses to answer Daniel.  He curses himself, shaking the human more roughly as he remembers noticing the distant look in the human's eyes, how he gave Daniel more and more of his cooked fishes, how he grew more quiet, talked less, responded less, looked at Daniel less-

He doesn't know humans.  He can't read the signs.  But he chest squeezes and his face heats up as he realizes belatedly that he should have noticed.  That probably wasn't normal human behavior, right?  Oh but he doesn't know, he doesn't know!  And now this human won't get up and eat, won't acknowledge him, won't speak to him-

The stench of rot almost makes him gag as he stumbles back from the human.  

He's getting worse.

And Daniel doesn't know what to do.

He runs his talons through his hair, pacing around the human's abode as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks-

His song.

If.  If he can't get the human to eat normally then-

Well.  This is how he was always meant to hunt, right?  He's a predator.  Predators hunt.  They kill.  They lure and trap and chase after their prey and refuse to let up.  Predators don't care for their prey as though they're little chicks in need of hand-holding, nor do predators feel... emotions when they see their prey struggling.

(Predators don't pace and fret and worry over their prey.  Predators don't try to make them feel better.  Predators find the weakest one, the sickest one, the most injured, the weakest, the youngest- and they strike without remorse.  Because food.  Is food.

Food.  Is.  Food.)

Daniel clears his throat.  It's been a while since he's sung.  He inhales deeply of the human's scent, ignores the rotting, and focuses on that deep-seated desire of his.

It smells like the ache of sprouts stuck under the shade of trees, unable to grow to their fullest potential.  It smells a bit like bittersweet citrus, of fruits that bite at the tongue despite how desired they are.  It smells like the trees on the mountains he's flown over every winter, the scent strong and overpowering and inescapable if he chooses to fly lower to the treeline.

They weave together into a song as his feathers fluff up, and an ancient power quietly fills his chest up as easily as a single breath of air.  

"Cherished beloved, come lay in my arms.  I swear to you, there'll be no charms.  No more visions of death and harm.  Come to me, and together we'll rest.  From here on out, I promise the best."

The human jolts in his bed before sitting upright quickly.  He turns to look at Daniel with eyes clouded over, (eyes wide and hurt and broken and pained and the stench strengthens and makes him gag) and he utters a soft, "Davey?"

The name of his lost love.  He has no idea how he looks to the human, but he can see the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes as his breathing staggers and he stumbles out of his nest.  Daniel opens his arms in a welcoming manner as he backs out of the shack.  A broken sob escapes the human as he struggles to his feet.

"No- don't, don't go!  It's dangerous, please, come back, I-"

Dangerous?  Daniel quickly stops his train of thought as he continues to sing.  "Follow me, my sweetest heart, and together at last, we'll make a new start."  

"Davey!"  The human lurches forward and tries to grab Daniel, but he quickly leaps back and puts more distance between them.  The sand sifts between his toes as the wind begins to pick up.  Idly, he realizes that a storm is on its way.  The human flinches as a gust of wind hits him, and he stares wild-eyed and desperate as he reaches for Daniel.  "Davey, Davey, come back please, I'll protect you- please, come back here,  I don't need anything else, I don't want anything else, so please, please-!"

Daniel keeps stepping back, and the waves crash against the back of his legs as the human freezes in place.

(He's used to the ocean's angry whispers by now.  That's what he tells himself, as the waves threaten to pull back further and further until they crash over him like a tidal wave.  Except- except, there's something else in the whispers now too.  A bitterness that he doesn't expect.  A bitterness that borders on... dismay?)

"...Don't."  The whispered word leaves the human like a strangled gasp.  He reaches for Daniel again as his eyes widen in a vision that Daniel can't see.  "Don't go in."

In?  Daniel looks behind him.  The ocean is agitated, true, but it won't be for a few more minutes before the waves grow tall enough to sweep and pull him away from the beach.  A wave crashes over his feet, pulling the sand out from under him as he adjusts his position to stay upright.  But the movement is enough to elicit a scream from the human, and before he knows it, hands are grabbing his arm and he's being yanked forward and into something warm.

When did the human-!

They both stumble as the human falls backwards onto his ass, Daniel's face pressed flush against his chest as he braces himself with his hands on the wet sand.  Daniel barely has a moment to lift his face away from the human when the brunette’s hands bury themselves in Daniel's hair and clothes.  He's pressed tight and flush against the human as warm tears splash against his shoulder.  

This... feels familiar.

"Don't go in," the human whimpers out, "the forest is dangerous."

Forest?

The human keeps Daniel in his protective grip, nearly folding the siren into his arms as he curls over the blonde.  "Please, I can't lose you again...!"

Rain begins to pour heavily from the heavens.  Daniel looks down to where his talons can easily dig into the human's back.  How he can sink his fangs into the human's neck and rip out a chunk of flesh that would leave the human's voice garbled and choking.

Daniel is a predator.

He is a predator.

And predators hunt the weakest of the group.

His mouth draws closer to the human's neck as the rain makes their bodies slick with moisture.  The human clings to him tighter, exposing the junction between neck and shoulder to Daniel at a laughably tempting angle.

All he has to do is bite down.

That's all it takes to end his prey's life.

(...That's all it takes to end it all.)

"I love you," the human breathes against his shoulder, "I'm sorry.  I won't let it happen again."  The human's arm slides up the space between Daniel's wings and presses Daniel's head closer to his shoulder.  "I swear it.  I'll protect you this time."

Rain continues to pour around them.  It soaks them to their core, the water sliding off his wings as they continue to sit on the rain soaked beach.  Neither of them move as Daniel slowly brings his hands up to the human's shoulders.  He doesn't push away, nor does he pull closer.  Instead, his voice keeps up the illusion, despite the loss of that melodic beat he's been clinging to for his songs.

"...Let's get inside."

"...Okay."

Slowly, they untangle, but the human keeps a firm grip on Daniel's wrist as he leads them back into the shack.  Once inside, the human leads him towards the fireplace and sits him down in front of it.  A fire is started as the human wanders off, only to return with a single, thick fabric.  Quietly, he uses it to dry Daniel's hair before draping it over his shoulders.

The brunette doesn't get one for himself.

Neither of them speak for a moment as the human sits down next to him.  

Neither of them move as the fire continues to fill the silence between with crackles and pops.

And neither of them acknowledge the lack of haze in the human's eyes.

Instead, they drown in the silence of their voices, the thought of food forgotten.

(The stench of rot fills the air, and he ignores the clenching in his chest as the human hunches forward.  He looks up towards the roof of the shack.  Rain drips through a sizable crack.  

A leak.  

He focuses on the plip of the rain dripping through the crack.

And ignores the plip of the salty tears dripping loudly onto the floor.

It's the least he can do after what he's managed to do.

...It's the least he can do after what he's failed to do.)

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (4/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: Angst, migraines

A/N: Sorry if there are any mistakes. I’m currently running on three hours of sleep today lol. Hope you enjoy!

Part 3

Home was supposed to be a place where one felt the most at peace. It was supposed to be filled with warmth and love, laughter and joy. Home was a place where you could be yourselves without judgment and where memories could be made to look back upon in the future, perhaps with a tear or a smile.

Keanu could look at any room inside the house, and recall almost everything that has happened in there. The talks and the fights. The kisses and the sex. The pranks and the tender moments. Like a movie, a memory would play in his head, reminding him of what home meant, what home truly was.

And to Keanu, home was you.

But ever since the night of your accident, home didn’t feel like home anymore. It was different, both in a physical and emotional sense. The house became a reflection of Keanu’s crumbling state of mind during those three agonizingly long weeks. It had become disarrayed the moment you had walked out of the front door, lacking the sense of comfort it usually had. Barren and cold, the house was also filled with the most unbearable silence, nearly deafening.

Keanu hated being there when all it did was remind him of you at happier times. He felt suffocated by the four walls surrounding him. Walls, which, aside from him, currently held secrets of the past. It knew every hurtful word and action that you had now forgotten. Keanu wasn’t sure whether or not he should be relieved that the walls couldn’t talk. Because if they did, he wouldn’t be ready for you to come home.

It would only tell you the truth. A painful truth that Keanu still had not shared.

For the last two days, Keanu did his best to tidy up around the house, getting it ready and clean in time for your return. He was running a bit late due to folding the laundry, but he wanted to make sure that the place was immaculate.

The floors had been vacuumed meticulously, leaving the hardwood gleaming under the recessed lights. The dishes were all washed and stored away. Every surface was dusted, every pillow was fluffed. Keanu had even ordered a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers as a surprise and had them displayed in a vase on the coffee table.

Looking around one last time, Keanu realized how more alive the house seemed to be, and he couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight of it.

Before leaving to pick you up from the hospital, Keanu quickly checked himself in front of the mirror, also wanting to look presentable for your homecoming. He had trimmed both his beard and his hair yesterday, the dark circles under his eyes were also beginning to brighten up. He was looking more like his usual self now than in the past weeks. It was as if seeing you awake and wanting to stay in Los Angeles with him brought life back to Keanu again.

As Keanu drove to the hospital, scenes from that late stormy evening invaded him. He could never forget the hurt in your eyes, the quivering of your lip as you stared at him in utter shock and disappointment. At times, he could still hear the sound of the front door slamming shut when you left the house, leaving him behind. Then, there was the immense fear and lack of certainty flooding his mind as he rushed to the emergency room after receiving the call.

He had never been so scared and so angry before, and if there was one memory Keanu wanted to forget, it would surely be of this.

Since you woke up, you had never really asked about the events of that night. You only knew bits and pieces from your parents, but not the entire story. There would come a time that you would be so inclined to learn the details of it, and Keanu dreaded for that day to come. He had almost lost you, and if you found out exactly what had happened, he might lose you forever.

And that was the reason why Keanu couldn’t tell you the truth just yet. He was afraid to lose you, despite believing that he didn’t deserve a second chance. Truth be told, he didn’t come back to the hospital after you woke up because he was at war with his own conscience. A part of him wanted to tell you everything and deal with the consequences. But there’s the other part of him that couldn’t handle the thought of letting you go. He wanted to make things right again, undo the damage that he had caused even though the guilt still crept up on him.

One day he would tell you, Keanu promised, but just not today nor the next. For now, he’s focused on bringing back all of the best memories, the ones he knew you both cherished the most.

Parking his car near the entrance, Keanu cursed under his breath when he saw five men lingering by the door with cameras in their hands, acting nonchalantly. He didn’t care that the paparazzi would take pictures of him dashing inside. However, he was more worried about you when it came time to walk out of the hospital. You hadn’t been exposed to this ugly side of fame, and something like this would feel overwhelming.

Putting on his shades, as soon as Keanu got out of his vehicle, he heard the familiar camera shutters around him. He hung his head low as he headed towards the front of the building at a brisk pace, ignoring the overlapping questions that were being shouted at him.

How’s Y/N doing, Keanu?

Keanu, are you still doing that thriller movie later this summer?

Can you update us on Y/N’s condition?

How do you feel about this situation, Keanu? This must be hard on you.

Why was Y/N out driving during that storm?

We thought you and Y/N broke up months ago. Did you two reconcile?

It was only until when Keanu reached the elevator and stepped inside did he finally experience some quietness. Pushing his shades up onto his head, he then pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep sigh simultaneously.

It was moments such as this when he would regret being a public figure. He was extremely grateful for being able to do something that he loved, but there were times when he would ask himself if it was all worth it. Keanu valued his and your privacy, and at a delicate situation like this, that’s what you would need.

The elevator doors opened, and swiftly he walked down the hall to where your room was. He stood by the door for a second, peering into the small window and seeing you laughing with your parents inside. It warmed Keanu’s heart noticing how happy you were because it had been a while since he last saw you that way.

You glanced his way by the door, catching his eyes before gesturing for him to come in.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Keanu began, stepping into the room and shutting the door close behind him. “Are you all set to go?”

“I’m super ready. I haven’t felt the sun on my face in literally weeks,” you announced, hopping off the bed with a grin. “Dad actually suggested if we could have a late lunch together before their flight. Is that okay with you, Keanu?”

“Of course. What are you guys in the mood for?”

“Oh, we could go to that amazing Italian place. I think it’s nearby,” Nancy suggested before turning to her husband. “Pete, what was that restaurant called again?”

“La Cucina,” your father answered. “The food there is the best! You and Keanu treat us there whenever we’re in town. I say, let’s keep up with tradition, shall we?”

“Sounds good,” you replied, reaching down for the set of luggage on the floor.

Keanu held his hand out, signaling for you to stop. “Don’t worry about that. You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things so soon. Here, let me help.”

“Son, it’s fine,” Peter swatted Keanu’s hand away and picked up the bags. “Nance, and I will handle them. They’re our bags after all. We decided to bring them now so that we could get dropped off the airport right after eating.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, can I just borrow your car keys so I could load them in the trunk?” Peter asked before inching closer to the actor, speaking in a voice low enough for only Keanu to hear. “I saw the men outside waiting. I’ll bring the car out in the front so that Y/N doesn’t have to go through them.”

Nodding, Keanu took out the keys from his pocket and handed them over to your father. “I drove the SUV today. It’s parked by the edge in the third row.”

“Great!” Peter said before turning to you. “Okay, sweetheart. Your mother and I will bring the car to the entrance. We’ll pick you two up from there so that you don’t have to be on your feet.”

“Dad, I can walk,” you told him with a slight giggle.

“I know you can, but I need you to take it easy for me, Y/N. You promised that, remember?”

Sighing, you pouted at him until eventually, a smile appeared once again. “Okay. I’ll see you and mom downstairs.”

Before your parents left the room with their bags, Peter shot Keanu a look, indicating to him that he needed to warn you about what might happen outside. Now alone in the room, Keanu approached you, a soft smile on his lips, mirroring your own. The sun streaming through the window illuminated your face, the light hitting your eyes in such a way that made them sparkle. You were simply stunning just standing there, your mere beauty causing all thoughts to elude him.

“You’re staring,” you pointed out, and Keanu felt the warmth of his blush as it crawled up his neck. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh, n-no,” he stuttered. “I, um… I’m just excited that you’re finally coming home.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as your gaze dropped, a common habit of yours whenever you felt nervous. “Me too. I still have several neurologist appointments in the upcoming weeks, but at least I’m out of here.”

“How are the migraines today?”

Smiling softly, you glanced back up at Keanu. “Haven’t had one since yesterday, actually.”

“That’s good,” Keanu whispered, sitting down on the mattress next to him and watched you do the same. “Your dad’s right. You should be taking it easy for the next couple of days to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m planning on doing. Just take one day at a time.”

Keanu stayed silent for a brief minute before his mouth opened to speak. “Y/N, I have to warn you that there are going to be cameras outside. They’ve been hounding by the entrance after word got out that you were in an accident.”

The smile on your face fell, your brows furrowing. Without hesitation, Keanu reached out to hold your hand, immediately intertwining his fingers with yours. He ran his thumb along the back of your hand in a soothing motion. He knew that it was something you enjoyed him doing whenever you were starting to feel stressed out. It never failed to bring you comfort, and based on your calm expression, it worked yet again.

“Sorry, I’m still not used to it… dating a celebrity, I mean. Who would have thought I’d fallen for Keanu Reeves?”

“It’s a crazy idea to wrap one’s mind around,” he joked, hoping that it would lighten the mood. “It’s nothing to worry about. We’ll only be out there for a quick few seconds.”

“Okay,” you could only say. “You must be tired of the paparazzi.”

“They’re just trying to make a living,” Keanu reasoned. “Still, it’s quite annoying, but you learned to ignore them over time.”

The two of you shared a small laugh together before getting back up on your feet, ready to leave the hospital for good. As Keanu walked down the corridor beside you, he couldn’t help but feel relieved. He would have never imagined being in this position almost four weeks ago. He was fortunate that the worst thing that could possibly happen didn’t occur, but instead he was left to face a serious challenge. So far, none of your memories have returned. Though he was hopeful that a miracle would happen somewhere along the way, he was reminded of the chance that this might turn out to be permanent.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Keanu,” you assured him as you took the elevator down to the ground floor. “The doctor said that it can take a while, and we have to be patient with this.”

“I know,” he said softly. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

You smiled when you heard Keanu echo your words from before. Once the elevator stopped, Keanu led you to the exit where he could see both his car parked out front and the group of men waiting nearby. He paused in his tracks and turned to you. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” you whispered tentatively.

Keanu grabbed the pair of sunglasses on his head and placed them over your eyes. “Better?”

You readjusted them a bit on your face before nodding. “Let’s get out there.”

True to his word, you and Keanu were outside for less than five seconds. The cameras clicked and flashed, taking pictures of the two of you quickly walking out of the hospital until you climbed inside the front passenger side. Meanwhile, Keanu took the driver’s seat while Peter joined Nancy at the back. The windows were darkly tinted, shielding you from the prying eyes of the people outside before the car finally pulled away from the curb.

“Are you okay?” Keanu questioned you as he drove further down the street, the sight of the hospital disappearing from the rearview mirror.

“Yes,” you responded, taking off the shades he had given you. “I’m okay.”

Sighing, Keanu knew you all too well. Even though you had said that you were okay, your eyes told an entirely different story.

This was going to be much more complicated than he had initially thought.

---

“How’s the food?” Keanu asked you once you finished chewing.

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you praised excitedly, twirling another forkful of pasta on your plate. “Best Italian restaurant, hands down.”

Nancy chuckled from across the table. “I told you it beats Mario’s from back home. Eating here is one of my highlights every time we visit California. Only coming in second after seeing you and Keanu, of course.”

“I remember the last time we came here, I had seven of their breadsticks!” Peter added jovially. “I couldn’t even eat half of my chicken marsala because I was too stuffed by then.”

Laughing, Keanu then turned to his side where you were sitting. “You know, Y/N, the first time I had brought you here, you used those exact words; ‘best Italian restaurant.’”

“Well, I have to thank you for introducing me to this place,” you replied, lifting your hand up to gently squeeze his arm. The touch was electrifying, and judging by the look on your face, you had felt it too.

For a moment, you and Keanu locked eyes, and he swore that it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room. A smile tugged on his lips, and he could sense his cheeks flushing as you stared at him with bright eyes. Seeing a splotch of red sauce on the corner of your mouth, he gingerly wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His hand lingered by the side of your face, nearly cupping it when Peter’s voice sounded, breaking the entrancement.

“I’m going to the restroom, be right back,” he spoke before excusing himself from the table. “Go order some dessert!”

Keanu heard you giggle as the heat rose to your face. Hearing it made his heart flutter, and suddenly, he felt like a giddy schoolboy around you. What he was feeling at the very second was similar to when you and he went on your first date. It was a sweet reminder of that special night nearly five years ago, and he could only wish that one day, you would remember it too.

“Shit,” you cursed, your eyes clamping shut, and you used the palm of your hand to cover your face. Your body tensed as your breathing grew heavy, an alarming sight to see.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Keanu inquired before glancing at a worried Nancy.

“My head…” you muttered, the pain too intense for you to elaborate.

“Where’s her pain meds?” Nancy wondered, checking her purse to see if she had them.

Keanu grabbed the car keys from his pocket and slid it across the table. “It’s in her bag. She left it under her seat.”

Quickly, Nancy left the restaurant to retrieve your pills as Keanu did all that he could to bring you some comfort. Shrugging off the jacket he wore, he placed it over your head so that the lights inside the restaurant wouldn’t hurt your eyes. He then called a waiter over, asking for a glass of ice.

“What’s happening?” Peter reappeared shortly after, kneeling down next to you, voice laced in concern.

“Migraine. Nancy’s getting her meds from the car.”

Peter nodded, standing up on his feet as the waiter came back with the ice. Keanu urged you to rest the cold glass against your head in hopes of easing the pain. Luckily, the tables around him were empty, and he wasn’t drawing too much attention to you.

“Shh, Y/N,” Keanu murmured softly, draping an around behind your shoulder with one hand resting on your upper arm. “It’s okay. Keep breathing for me, alright. That’s it, baby. Just relax, you’re going to be fine. You’re strong, you can fight this.”

Minutes later, Nancy returned with your medicine in her hand. Fortunately, the migraine was subsiding, and you swallowed two pills, which soon brought you much-needed relief. Eventually, you were able to sit up straight again. Once you convinced your parents that you were feeling better, they left the restaurant to drive the car up to the front as Keanu paid for everyone’s meals.

“Thanks, Keanu,” you said in a soft tone, your eyes showing that same sparkle from earlier. “I appreciate what you did back there.”

“It’s no problem,” he responded, not realizing that he was still holding you close in his arms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your space—”

“Don’t worry, no harm was done,” you assured him, reaching up to place your hand above the one on your arm, and you had yet to move away from him. “I’m just looking forward to coming home. I feel pretty exhausted all of a sudden.”

Keanu used his free hand to brush a loose lock of your hair from your face, his lips merely inches away from your delicate ones. He fought back the strong urge to lean down and capture them in a sweet kiss, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. Again, he was technically still a stranger to you.

“Well, once we drop off your parents at the airport, I’ll take you back home. To our home.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled softly at him before tilting your head up, pressing a brief kiss on his cheek, which made him feel warm all over.

Has it really been that long?

---

“Have a safe flight, guys,” you hugged both of your parents tightly as Keanu took their luggage out of the trunk, wheeling them to where you three stood in the airport terminal.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Nancy kissed your forehead, wiping the tears that were escaping your eyes. “Aww darling, don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

Shrugging, you then let out a little laugh. “Nothing, it’s just I’ve never been this far away from you and dad before.”

Peter sighed, putting his hands on your cheeks to cradle your face. “You’ll be okay. Remember, we’re one phone call away. If there’s anything that you need, call us. I don’t care if it’s at three in the morning or even if it’s for something you think might be ridiculous. We’re here for you even if we’re thousands of miles away.”

Wrapping your father up in a close embrace, Peter glanced at Keanu, who was standing behind you. He quickly kissed the side of your temple before pulling away. Keanu then watched as Peter leaned in to whisper into your ear, and he couldn’t make out what he was saying. Not long after, Nancy invited him to come over and join them in one last group hug.

“You take good care of our daughter,” Peter stated, lightly tapping on Keanu’s shoulder. “Update us if anything happens.”

Keanu nodded. “I will. You have my word.”

After your parents headed inside, you and Keanu got back into the car and drove out of the terminal. For a while, he noticed you staring out of the open window. You were wearing his sunglasses again, smiling at the way your hair flew into your face as the fresh breeze blew around you. From time to time, he would steal a glance as you bask in the warm sunlight hitting your skin. You seemed so peaceful and so happy as if nothing had happened and things were normal.

“Eyes on the road, Reeves,” you quipped when you caught him staring.

“I can’t help it,” he chuckled, his focus returning to what was in front of him. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I truly am,” came your reply, and moments later, you closed the window back up before turning your head to the side. “Hey, I know you’re wondering what my dad was whispering to me back at the airport.”

“You caught that, huh?”

You gave him a nod as you pushed Keanu’s shades on the top of your head. “He was just reminding me that you’re a good man, and you would take care of me. How you acted when we were at the restaurant was clear proof of it. That's why my parents aren’t worried about leaving me here behind.”

Keanu smiled softly at your words. “I’m really glad that you decided to stay with me.”

“Me too,” you returned. “You’re nothing like my last boyfriend, Eric, and I’m starting to see why I fell for you so soon.”

Eric. The sound of his name still made Keanu  feel sick to this day. He would never understand how someone could treat you the way Eric did. But then again, how was Keanu any better for what he had done?

Minutes later, silence filled the car, and when Keanu glanced your way, he saw your eyes drifting close. It had been a long day that’s for sure, and you needed rest. Soon, you had fallen asleep in your seat, leaving Keanu with his wandering thoughts. For now, he cast them aside, choosing to deal with them some other time when he was ready.

With a deep breath, Keanu continued driving down the freeway as the sun began to set over the hills of Los Angeles. Finally, you were on your way home.

Part 5

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @fanficsrusz​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @awessomness​ @meetmeinthematinee​ @ringa-starr​ @iworshipkeanureeves​

[mistress-morgan4]

30[F4M] #NC High Holy Hedonist Mother Goddess Seeks Loyal Weekly Servant For Long Term Worship Arrangement

I’ve heard your prayers my dearest. Your heart cried out to me when you caught a glimpse of the full moon. You wished for a world you’ve only dreamed about; you wished to be taken in hand, firm and warm and lovingly, examined and judged and found - whether you are found wanting, pathetic mortal that you are, or found wanted and cherished by the Great Mother Goddess - you ache to be found.

I’m here, darling. I’ve found you and I’m holding my hand open to offer you a safe haven. You don’t always feel like you fit into the world-at-large; it’s all so disposable and cheap and fast. You crave something in which to lose yourself every day, yearn to find a world far more rich and sensual than any glowing blue screen. You want to be loved but after so many failed relationships you’re not really sure what that would look like. When you let yourself wonder what it would be like - to be loved the way you deeply need but have never let yourself express - those fantasies go to dark humid places, crevices and corners you’re quite sure no one wants to look. 

But hark! Beloved, I want to look deep into the hardest places and shine the light of my total acceptance upon you. I want to fill the back of your mind with the sounds and tastes and memories of your time spent in worship. I want you to always be aware and hungry for your next chance to humble yourself before me. 

There are many important rules to abide by in order to serve me (but let’s be honest, you’re into that kind of thing.)

All messages of praise and adoration are welcome but like most divine beings I reserve the right to ignore your adulation.

You must read to the end of this post and respond appropriately to be considered. 

You will be my servant and plaything to use, command and cherish. You will weep with joy at the honor of kneeling and worshipping my Holy Pussy, my Blessed Bush, the Great Mother writhing in orgasm as she gives birth to the world. I will guide you to reaching new heights of pleasure and I will lovingly, carefully, and thoroughly dismantle your heart, prying you open to see what makes you tick. While we are together, I will own you inside and out. Your submission will be emotional, mental, and physical; your orgasm, when I force you to look me in the eyes and command you to come, will be earth-shattering. 

though I will not be constantly available to you. When you have me, you will have all of me, and I will overwhelm you with the force of my presence brought to bear on your pathetic mortal soul. 

You must be comfortable engaging in extensive written and verbal negotiations and descriptions of how and why I will use and dominate you prior to meeting. We will cover your kinks, desires, shames, needs, fantasies and limits in great detail as well as my expectations and demands. This is to ensure we are a cohesive fit. I will not waste my time or yours unless we are able to thoroughly please each other, which requires excellent communication. I will not ghost you if I decide we are not compatible - I will clearly and directly explain my decision.

You will never forget that I am the Sacred, you are the Profane. Part of your submission to me requires your enthusiastic performance of chores including and not limited to house cleaning, photo assignments, errands, and other tasks. The experience I am offering is a time investment and my time and attention are extremely valuable.

Every moment you are mine will be intense and meaningful whether you are naked but for a lacy apron and rubber gloves scrubbing my toilet or meticulously sucking my toes while I sip a crisp pinot gris and tell you everything I love and hate about you or wearing a chastity cage while you take my packages to the post office. Every moment you are mine will be a moment basking in the almost-painful radiance of my scrutiny and judgement; those memories will carry you, glowing from the inside out, through the rest of your pathetic mundane life. Your time with me will be the only time you feel fully alive and you will crave it endlessly. 

The love of a Goddess is a fearsome and and towering presence and I expect you to cower before me in awe. I have no strong preferences for your appearance; chemistry is chemistry and all are beautiful and stained by mortality in my eyes. In addition to your mundane services I will require your participation in the following holy activities.

Worshipping, massaging and grooming the Heavenly Cunt, the Blessed Feet, and the Holy Flesh.

Pegging. I expect to examine and test the sanctity of your hole and watch you writhe and scream and moan and thank me as you come on my merciful and generous cock. If you are new to pegging we will work up to this. 

Orgasm denial. When and If you come it will be at my whim. While I have focused on the warmth of my blessings, as that is my ultimate nature, I can be capricious and cruel to serve the Higher Purpose. (Myself.) 

Cock denial. However cherished you are for the whole of your being you are undeniably profane and The neither the Sacred Pussy nor the Sacred Ass will not be violated by your mortal worm. 

That said, with time and effort you may be rewarded certain privileges such as cumming on my feet or breasts. You are my acolyte in pleasure, but you will learn that pleasure does not come just with cum. 

Total obedience. Your role and my expectations will be discussed in detail in advance and within your time of worship I will expect your total obedience to my wishes. You will have a safeword and will practice using it. 

Offerings and gifts. The gifts and offerings you make to me must come wholly from your heart to honor my Divinity and beg for my mercy when I push you to the edge. Regular cum tributes, especially when we are in the negotiations phase, will be expected. As a long term worshipper you will shower me with priceless tokens of affection and gratitude offerings in the form of handwritten notes, prayers, locks of hair, art through which I will guide and inspire you, et cetera. 

Many, many more kinks I’m thrilled to describe in even more painstaking detail. However: I am not interested in pure masochism. I am a Hedonist and view all physical and mental suffering as paths to the greatest and most Transcendent pleasure. You should be interested in pain as one of many flavors of control I will wield over you but not the primary method; While I will shower you in the light and love of my Brilliant Presence you should also expect that I will humiliate you for the sake of my entertainment. I want to watch your little cock squirm in embarrassment and glee as I finger your pathetic wet slut hole. I will laugh at your dribbling mortal orgasms, when I allow your dribbling mortal orgasms, and pity that you’ll never come as hard as I do. (But I’ll still try to help you come as hard as I do, it’s quite fantastic.)

- This will be a cerebral, spiritual, magical experience for both of us with the goal of genuinely improving our lives. We will not be entangled outside of this arrangement; we will share the freedom to pursue other entangements provided we adhere to strict safety and testing rules. Again, your worthless little cock will not be permitted the Divine Cunt. In all play we will be safe, sane, and consensual foremost.

Are you still reading? I’m so proud of you darling, you’re an excellent candidate already. This is the kind of steadfast devotion and loyalty I demand from you. My every word is a Divine gift and blessing, a honeyed treat placed on your tongue, and you are helpless to stop devouring me. You are so hungry. You are so thirsty. You are willing to try so, so hard, and give so, so much, and at last I have arrived to save you from your aimless, empty life. 

Is your cock hard and straining yet? I hope so darling. I do want to find you - I think we can offer each other so much. 

Please continue.

You must format your application as follows. Incorrectly formatted submissions will not be considered. 

Message Title: As you wish

Your name

Your preferred title(s) - choose all that apply: Slave, servant, worm, pig, little boy, bitch, slut, cunt, hole, darling, sweetness, honeybear, baby, etc

Or other: What shall I call you? 

Describe first time you will serve me. For the sake of your fantasy, I am a red-headed green-eyed BBW. You will receive pictures - lots of them - when I deem you worthy. 

What are your hard limits? 

Have you ever experienced anxiety or fear during a BDSM scene or during other sexual activities? 

What kind of aftercare do you need? (Snuggling, a shower, snacks?)

What is your safeword or do you prefer red/yellow/green?

Why should I choose you, little worm? What can you offer me? 

[queerchoicesblog]

After The Storm

Folks, here’s the second suggestion (thanks a mill @scottishqueer) for the wlw writing project. Inspo is fleaky lately but I want everyone who sent ideas to know that I’m working on them: I’m just a bit slow to write! But I hope you will enjoy this.

A little note about this series set in the Italian Renaissance. I chose a location very dear to me and - hopefully - a bit unusual: Ferrara, the city where my grandparents lived and my mom was born. I love that place and I’ll probably go back there in August: I still remember my grandpa taking me to the Castle (I have a picture showing little me proudly sitting on a pile of cannonballs in the internal stone garden on a sunny day), the Cathedral and the palaces around town. I incorporated them all in the story.

Ferrara was also one of the capitals of the Italian Renaissance, a Duchy ruled by the House of Este, a princely family, linked with several contemporary royal dynasties, including the British royal family. They were notorious patrons of the arts and innovators (through architeractural projects like the one called “Addizione” they were precursors of modern city planning); Duke Alfonso, who makes a cameo in the story and was the third husband of the infamous Lucrezia Borgia, was a patron of Ariosto, a famous poet to whom - ironically - my high school was dedicated. So yeah, I added a personal to this miniseries.

If you do happen to like this miniseries, please consider spreading the word!

Previous series: Ancient Greece

__________________________

The rain has finally subsided. When I wake up at the very first lights of dawn, only a faint rattling against the windows can be heard, a testament to the storm an unkind wind blew from where the sea lays and roars. I cherish the feeling, the newfound sweet peace after the howling winds of the night. My beautiful little boy is resting by my side. My poor Tommaso: my little angel has been unwell for days, I have never seen him shed all those tears since the day he was born. He cried and cried until his screams of fear and pain were barely audible and none of us knew what to do. Even Riccardo, my ever-absent, ever-busy husband, worried and urged the presence of a physician with great haste, concern written all over his face. I've never seen him like that before. Tommaso is our only son, too beautiful and young to surrender to a hideous disease and leave this world. If I allow myself to dwell into these thoughts, oh that would be enough to kill me! Seeing my boy suffering was almost unbereable: his desperate cries pierced right through my heart as I held him close, impotent yet hopeful that my presence could provide him a little comfort. Mum is here, my love, fighting and suffering with you.

It's an indescribable joy and relief to wake up this morning and see him sleeping peacefully after the agony and the storm. Tommaso is afraid of thunders and dark skies, I hated the rainstorm for being so unmerciful and throwing new fears to my troubled little prince. I wish I could have blown it away like Aeolus but I do not detain such power over the natural elements.

I gently stroke his head, a feather touch: God forbid I wake him! I almost cry but I manage to refrain myself: my sobbing could disturb his heavenly slumber and I don't want him to see me crying. I'll greet him with a smile when his eyes open up again and nuzzle his belly before covering him with kisses from head to toe. Tommaso loves it and I'm sure Riccardo won't object for once, not after what we've been through. I really thought I would lose my angel.

Thankfully, Lady Death spared him or so it seems. When he wakes he looks back to his usual self, no sign of the cruel pain torturing him. He gets all happy and excited underneath my kisses and eats with a good appetite. He simply looks a bit more abashed and tired than usual but it's understandable. I'll follow the physician's advice and ask my maid to get eggs and cook one of those soups and creams I had too when I was recovering from giving birth. That will hopefully help.

Seeing him happy again makes me forget about the events and mundane meetings I have missed over the past few days since he got ill. I love attending them but it all became suddenly so meaningless when my son lost his light and health. I must remember to save a prayer and make an offering for his miraculous recovery. And I can get the report of the latest happenings at court from my dear friends. They sent notes inquiring about Tommaso and I am glad to let them know the fortunate turn of events.

They visit me the day after. I have many friends here but Maria and Virginia are special companions to me. Maria is the oldest of the group, she has two sons already in marital age, but she has been good to me since I first walked into the castle. She comes from one of the wealthiest noble families in town: she's an institution at court and it meant so much to me that she took me under her wing when I was the new girl here, the young bride of "the most skilled diplomat that has ever served the House of Este". She has her ideas and a temper, of course, we don't agree on everything but she's been a sort of mentor to me and I will always be grateful to her for that: all I know about properly living at court, well I owe it to her. Virginia is about my age, another "pupil" of Maria. I like her: she's a bit shier and meeker than our friend and she has a little boy too so I'm sure she fully understood my anguish.

Apparently, I didn't miss anything important as I guarded Tommaso with my life. Same old rivalries between dames, the yet unconfirmed gossips about the Duke marriage plans, how displeased the jealous favourite looked even if she denied her irritation. Good old court life. I comment that there is still so much going on in our fair Ferrara: the Addizione is proceeding and rumour has it, the palace the previous Duke commissioned for court entertainments, Palazzo Schifanoia, is being renewed and expanded. It goes without saying that it is bound to be a work of unprecedented beauty. I don't remember who was saying so but I know the Duke and his passion for the arts so I find it hard to doubt.

Virginia claps her hand and notes that actually yes, I missed something. Speaking of arts and artistic projects, do I remember when rumours of an external artist joining the enterprise spread? Well, it happened! Now, that I think about it, I remember...Riccardo mentioned it one night as we came back from a music gathering. Apparently, our most brilliant architect, Biagio Rossetti, the genius in charge of bringing the Duke's vision to life and into art, requested another artist to join his brigade. If I got it right, it should be a talented colleague from Florence, Sir Davide whatever...I forgot his surname. He served the House of Medici and excelled so brightly that our fair Biagio summoned him as his right hand. Allegedly, our architect - or , God forbid!, the Duke himself - is unsatisfied with how the projects are proceeding and firmly believes that a fresh set of eyes and hands will benefit the future glory of our Duchy.

"The new architect arrived - when was it? Oh yes, the day after you informed us that poor Tommaso was ill, you definitely missed" Virginia explains.

He looks nice: a handsome man, who knows how to behave himself at court, a true gentleman. I tease my friend asking if she has already put her eyes on him. Virginia blushes a little before protesting: of course not, she would never do anything like that, not to her Carlo, she's a married woman and loyal. Maria interrupts her.

"Oh stop it: as if that would be an impediment!"

"Well, ideally it is!"

"Yes, but only ideally, as you said" Maria laughs. "My young girl, you should know that everyone at court has affairs sooner or later. We'll get you a lover too one day"

"Maria, you're incorrigible!" Virginia giggles, pretending a shyness that is no longer there, replaced by a hint of mischief.

Maria just shrugs, picking up a cherry from the bowl my maid laid on the table.

"Just experienced. So believe me when I tell you we all need the thrill of a secret affair in our lives...otherwise what is left to us? We would die of boredom!"

"I cannot vouch for Maria's theory but you said it yourself, the Florentine architect is here now and he's a handsome man..." I add, winking, to join the conversation.

"You'll vouch for my theory too, dove. Give me time and I'll get yourself a lover too" Maria exclaims.

"...Before a fair lady of the court catches his eyes and bewitches his heart" I continue, addressing Virginia as I prevent Tommaso from climbing up the table on his hunt for cherries.

My friends exchange an amused look.

"Oh but he's married, Emilia!" Virginia explains. "He didn't travel alone, his wife followed him here too. We met them both"

Ah, that's unexpected! I have already pictured a handsome bachelor joining our court but that's good to hear. As much as I enjoy the company of my friends and the other dames, I have noticed though the years that new companions are a blessing. A little novelty, even if momentary at times, could have the same effect of fresh air on a hot summer day. Otherwise, we would die of boredom, as Maria said, referring to lovers. I wouldn't go that far but a new lady in town could be good news.

"Oh, nice! A potential new friend. We should invite her to join our next sewing meeting and get to know her. As well as the hottest gossips from Florence, that is! What do you think?" I smile.

Surprisingly, the expression on my friends' faces is unreadable. Did I say something wrong? Was I too straightforward? Oh gosh, I hope they didn't take my enthusiasm as personal displeasure of our sewing meetings or their company! I better get this right.

"So, how's the new lady?" I inquiry nonchalantly as I prove myself in the funniest faces I can master to make my child laugh.

I succeed: Tommaso claps his tiny hands and laughs until he's out of breath.

"Oh, don't even get me started with her!" Maria dismisses my question but I know her long enough to know she can't wait to tell me what she thinks and maybe more.

"Nothing much, she keeps to herself. Not quite the talker" Virginia shrugs.

"Ah, she's way more tolerable when she keeps her mouth shut anyway!" Maria intervenes again and I'm sure she's not done with just that.

"My my, it seems you took quite a dislike for her" I giggle, exchanging an amused look with Virginia.

"I couldn't help myself, my dear" Maria continues, fanning herself as if to cool down her mounting anger. "Another boorish yet arrogant Florentine"

"The Florentine are always so full of themselves" I concede, cradling my son in my arms.

"Then she must be the Queen of them all" Maria barks a throaty laughter. "She looks so...so high and almighty: 'oh no, I'm afraid we don't play this game in Florence', 'I don't know what it means, we don't have this word in Florence', 'Florence here and that'. Believe me, sweetheart, we were trying to be kind to her but she's impossible! She acts like royalty but she's the wife of an...architect"

She pronounces the last words with evident displease. I can't refrain laughter: she's always been such a snob! I comment that she certainly sounds like...something.

"Oh but you'll have the disgrace to meet her soon enough!" Maria exclaims. "You know that our Duke is so fond of artists, he will certainly invite them again at the next dinners and balls"

"Speaking of the ball" Virginia intervenes to prevent her from keeping ranting. "What will you wear at the Masquerade Ball next month? I ordered a most extravagant costume yesterday, I can't wait to show you-"

We spend the rest of the afternoon discussing the upcoming events at court and the latest trends, gossiping about what we suspect the other dames will wear.

Ah, I missed my friends and our conversations...

[fortunatelylori]

Thoughts on Otis Molyneux

I hesitated somewhat before making this post because the fandom seems to have settled on Otis being “a good man who made one terrible mistake” and who am I to rain on anyone’s parade?

Inner goddess: A very opinionated woman … that’s who … No one keeps baby down!

Well … since you put it that way …

My very first meta on Sanditon revolved around the idea that this show is Andrew Davies’ homage to Austen’s entire body of work. And since I discovered a very interesting link between Otis and one of the more misinterpreted Austen characters, I couldn’t resist. Particularly since every time I read a remark on Otis, I end up going:

He is a most fortunate man! Everything turns out for his own good! He meets a young woman at a watering place, gains her affections, she consents to an engagement! He treats her abominably, she bares it like a saint! His aunt is in the way, his aunt dies! He has used everybody ill and they are all delighted to forgive him! He is a most fortunate man indeed!

Emma is perhaps Jane Austen’s most transgressive novel and, while it is not my favorite (that’s Persuasion in case anyone was wandering), I think it’s the clearest indication of her genius. In Emma, Austen not only spoofs herself, as the old maid Miss Bates, but also pulls off a master stroke in concealing her villain, Frank Churchill, not only from the characters but also from the audience.

Austen villains are usually charming, fun and attractive, most of the time far more so than the hero that will eventually win the heroine’s heart. What Austen does with the likes of Wickham and Willoughby is show that superficial charm and a pretty face are poor substitutes for substance, integrity and a value system.

In order to drive that point home, her villains usually suffer a fall from grace: Wickham gets exiled to Newcastle (the degradation!) and is stuck with Lydia for the rest of his life; Willoughby gets ousted by his aunt, told off by Eleanor and publically canceled by Mrs. Jenkins.

Whatever it may be, all of her villains suffer some consequences (even if it’s just not getting the girl as is the case for William Elliot in Persuasion). All except one: Frank Churchill. As Mr. Knightley’s frustrated speech above shows, Frank is so fortunate that by the end of Emma, he gets everything he’s ever wanted and everyone continues to love and cherish him as if nothing had happened (with the exception of Emma and Knightley).

And because the characters move on from his betrayal so quickly you can barely get a glimpse into their POVs, so does the audience. By the end of the book, most of the readers are as pleased with Frank as the people of Highbury.

I can just imagine Jane Austen cackling with joy at our silliness.

Just because there are no consequences for Frank and because all ends well despite his efforts to the contrary, it doesn’t follow that he should be absolved of responsibility. For all his professed love for Jane, Frank involves her in an imaginary extramarital affair, flirts with Emma in front of her and ultimately humiliates her at the picnic. For all his friendliness and affability, he is less than generous to his father, uses Emma for his own motives and is secretly chopping at the bit to see his aunt, the woman who raised him, dead so he can inherit her fortune. Despite what his endgame would suggest, Frank Churchill is an immature, selfish man who is used to getting his own way with little thought or care about how that might hurt other people.

Which brings us to Otis “I fell in love with your soul” Molyneux.

But, but … I hear you say … Fortunatelylori, he did suffer consequences. He lost Georgiana!

To which I say don’t bring out the pity parade just yet. Because in losing Georgiana, Otis’ actions are reduced to an unfortunate youthful indiscretion by the characters (Georgiana and Charlotte) as well as by the people watching. Because he shed some resigned tears and spoke prettily about how much he loved Georgiana’s soul, everyone is “delighted to forgive him”.

But just as with Frank, is his love for Georgiana enough to absolve him of his wrongdoings? Should we cheer for their potential reunion or think she deserves better, the way Mr. Knightley thinks about Jane? And while we’re on the subject, what are Otis’ crimes? He clearly never meant to cause Georgiana’s kidnapping so what’s the big deal?

What gets lost in Charlotte’s “you are insensible of feeling” rebuke of Sidney is that Otis isn’t a victim of circumstances nor is him honestly being in love with Georgiana a get out of jail free card. Otis is a gambling addict who has amassed debts so vast that the man who is trying to collect them resorts to kidnapping a teenager to get his money back. And that’s just one guy he owes money to.

Does he love Georgiana? Yes, in his own way he loves her just about as much as he loves losing money at cards. What do you think would have happened if they married? Because me thinks Otis would run through that 100.000 real quick while simultaneously loving the hell out of Georgiana’s soul.

Which brings me to Otis’s less than agreeable character traits: lying and manipulation. He lies to Georgiana from the first moment he meets her. Worst yet, he takes advantage of her vulnerability and he encourages her to rely solely on him for emotional support:

Georgiana: I was uprooted. Lost. In despair. Otis restored me to life. Those 3 months were the happiest I’ve known.

That sounds great and all but what happens after he’s gone from her life is that Georgiana feels like she suddenly has no one and nothing. Because her entire sense of self was tied to Otis.

He also allows Georgiana to believe that her guardian is a racist monster who is keeping them apart because of the color of his skin when he knows full well that’s not the case and also that Georgiana needs to have a good relationship with Sidney for the foreseeable future at least.

In order to keep up the charade, he takes active part in poisoning Charlotte against Sidney and very much enjoys playing the wronged party in this whole scenario:

Otis: But then your friend, Mr. Parker, took it upon himself to rip us apart.

Charlotte: However painful that might have been, Mr. Parker must surely have had Georgiana’s best interest at heart.

Otis: Then you clearly don’t know Mr. Parker as well as you think.

 Lying is so ingrained in Otis’ modus operandi that he can’t help himself from doing it even when there’s not even the slightest chance that he can get away with it:

Beecroft: Oh, yes! The famous Miss Lambe! Mr. Molyneux speaks of little else. Miss Lambe this, Miss Lambe that.

Otis: That is a lie! If I mentioned her it was only in passing …

Beecroft: I’m not the liar here. You told me a wedding was imminent. That her fortune was as good as yours. I never would have let him run such a debt otherwise.

Otis: All I wanted was to buy a little time … If I had known even for one moment …

What was that about Sidney not having good reason to keep you away from Georgiana, Otis?!?

Also look at him running the eluding responsibility obstacle course like a pro:

Otis: He’s sold her! The villain has sold her!

Charlotte: What?

Sidney: In return for a promise to buy his debt, she’s been handed to some dissolute named Howard. Even now he’ll be dragging her to an altar.

Charlotte: An altar? But that cannot be allowed without your permission.

Sidney:  No. They have no such laws across the border. There they will marry you with impunity.

Otis: Had you only allowed us to marry!

Otis has gambled himself silly, bragged about Georgiana’s money to the worst possible people, disappeared from public view (he hasn’t picked up his mail in weeks because he’s in hiding from the debt collectors) and his reaction is to put all the blame on Sidney. That is not the behavior of a well-balanced adult. This is the behavior of a gambler who thinks he can talk his way out of anything because he has “game”.

This brings us to his last scene with Georgiana when everything comes into focus. If you really think about it, there is not a single moment during their relationship where Otis isn’t lying to her, including the romantic separation that hit everyone in the feels:

Otis: I’ve gambled. That is true. But whatever they tell you, I never gambled with your name.

Notice how the first thing out of his mouth is manipulative. “Whatever they tell you” i.e. turst no one but me. I’m the only one who is telling the truth so listen to me as I lie my ass off right now.

Otis: I never boasted of your wealth. I boasted of you.

Two lines in and he’s already lied twice. You can actually do a play by play of what he says here and what he says in the Beecroft scene.

And then comes the coup de grace!

Otis: It was pride. That is all! And Lord knows, I have paid for it!

As consequence of his gambling, hiding from his creditors and running his mouth about Georgiana’s fortune, the woman he loves was kidnapped, Charlotte almost got raped and Sidney is however many thousands of pounds lighter for paying off his debts. So bring out the waterworks for Otis, guys! Let’s not forget who the real victim in all of this is!  

Alexa, play Despacito.

Otis lies so much he has ended up internalizing his lies to such an extent that he has turned himself into a victim. His narrative is ultimately rejected by Georgiana, leaving him pained but that shouldn’t fool you into thinking he’s a good guy. Neither he nor Frank are moustache twirling villains but their flaws and the way they allow those flaws to affect the people they supposedly love speaks volumes about their character.

Maybe, eventually, they both grow up. Maybe Frank becomes more selfless and starts treating others with respect. Maybe Otis never gambles again and becomes the responsible civil rights leader he wants others to see him as.

But as things stand at the end of their story line, I, for one, am not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s sadly too late for Jane to pick herself another husband. But I haven’t given up hope that Georgiana will shake Otis off like a spot of English rain.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 27: The Mad Hatter Kind of Crazy

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena isn’t about to just let things, and you, go.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

"You don't get to do this!" Rowena shouted, hot on your heels just outside Wonderland. "Not again! Don't you dare walk away from me!"

You stopped in your tracks. The cold air nipped at your skin, seeped into your veins like poison. It burrowed into your bones, sending shivers through your entire body, from the top of your head to your toes. You pulled your scarf further up your neck. Cursed yourself for forgetting your gloves. Wrapped your arms around your middle in a feeble attempt to save what was left of your warmth.

The tears kept coming. They were falling like a downpour, drenching your puffy, frost-whipped face. Your eyes hurt, pricked by the never-ending stream of tears. Your cheeks were raw. Lips trembling, more from crying than the cold. Nose stuffed, making it hard to breathe.

God, you were a mess!

You kept your back turned to Rowena. After what you did — after what you tried to do, again — you didn't dare face her.

Feeling guilty for taking advantage (regardless of whether or not it'd happened) was one thing.

Pushing her away and running away — turning your back on her — was something completely different.

You were crazy. The Mad Hatter kind that made sense to no one, not even you, and least of all Rowena.

You were a bad friend.

And, worst of all, you were a coward.

Instead of facing your fears, trying to address them, you fled. Like a child caught eating cookies they weren't supposed to touch, hurriedly pulling their hand out of the jar and hiding it behind their back. You got caught, and you ran.

It was pathetic, really. You loved Rowena. Wanted to be with her. Wanted to kiss her and hold her and cherish her till the end of time. She seemed to be feeling the same. There was absolutely no reason to think you would lose her.

And yet…

Yet the images of her leaving, of her walking away with her head held high filled your head and there was nothing you could do but cry and work hard to keep the rising sobs from breaking free.

"I-I'm sorry," you whimpered for what must have been the hundredth time today.

"Stop bloody apologizing!" Rowena snapped.

You flinched at her tone, at the whip-thin sharpness of it.

What were you supposed to do, if not apologize?

What other options did you have?

"Tell me what is going on." It was an order. A command that left no room for argument for she certainly wasn't in the mood for any. "I have a right to know."

"This isn't about you."

"Oh, is it not? Could have fooled me."

It's about me.

If only you were brave enough to say it out loud.

"Am I so horrible that you can't even lie to my bloody face?!"

A sudden, unexpected wave of heat washed over you. You whipped around to face her. "I'm not lying! And you're not horrible. Don't say things like that!"

If anyone was horrible, it was you.

You were the one running from your fears instead of facing them.

"What do you want me to say?" Rowena demanded. "Because I would love to say plenty! I prefer talking to running away like a bloody coward!"

You deserved that.

Your vision blurred as tears kept coming, restless, unforgiving. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your coat. The fabric was rough against your raw skin; it scratched, and the cold kept on its assault, slamming into the tender flesh.

It stung as if a million ants had bitten into it.

You barely felt it.

There was only one ache that soared through you. One ache that ate away at you like acid, one painful bite at a time, that made your legs feel as if they were made of jelly and your arms tremble.

It came straight from your heart.

A horrible cliché, you were.

You almost wanted to laugh at yourself. But you didn't — you couldn't — for, however silly it sounded, the pain was real and strong and you were barely keeping it together.

"You're right," you said, every inch of you — every cell, every nerve — flaring. "I'm a coward."

You sucked in a breath. Then another. And another. Breathed in and out like a good little girl. Your family's pride and joy, you thought bitterly.

Rowena had to know.

It would be horrible and embarrassing and there was a chance — big? Small? One could never know with her — she would be mad at you (well, madder than she already was), but you had to tell her everything.

Every single detail.

From the beginning and up to the very end.

What was the point of keeping it to yourself?

It wasn't like you had anything left to lose.

"You used to annoy me so much, you know that?"

You gave a small chuckle at the memory of the times you rolled your eyes at her antics. You used to think she was a bitch, a cold, heartless thing that didn't give a damn about anything or anyone but herself.

My, how the tides had turned.

She still annoyed you from time to time; it was in her DNA. But now there was no malice to it. No bad intentions. It was an endearing personality flaw. Sort of cute, if you gave it some thought.

"The feeling was mutual," Rowena said with a smirk.

You'd grown on her.

That, too, was mutual.

"I used to think you were this heartless bitch." A laugh, a nervous one. "And then…" Your expression softened as new memories flooded your brain. Her smile. Her laugh. Her endless patience as you struggled to understand the most basic math. "I got to know you."

Not many people got the privilege.

Rowena was a secretive creature. She kept her mask of iron on at all times, kept the walls she'd built over the years up. She'd put up a front and stuck with it. Adapted it into a new personality; one of cruelty, of indifference, of arctic coldness that screamed at everyone to stay away.

Love was weakness.

Feelings were weakness.

Then you started spending time with her and, slowly, the ice melted, revealing a girl who was just like everybody else. Soft. Sweet. A person made of flesh and blood. Capable of kindness despite how much she wanted to believe otherwise.

Capable of — you still couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend how and why it happened — love.

You were unclear what led to it. Weren't sure what you'd said or done. But somehow you'd gotten her — Rowena MacLeod, the ice queen, the evil bitch — to care about you.

A popular girl and a loser girl.

It sounded like a bad fanfiction.

"You're so fucking precious, you know that?"

Rowena's cheeks flushed ripe cherry red. "I've been called worse."

You chuckled through tears. "You are. Took me a while to realize it. But once I did, I knew I never wanted to lose you." You swallowed a lump in your throat. This was it. Now or never. "You know how I said I heard Lucifer and Olivette?"

You'd meant to explain it ages ago.

But then the entire breakup drama happened, followed by the New Year spectacle, and you'd forgotten all about it.

It was time to come clean. Rowena deserved to know the truth.

"I was gonna tell you the next day."

She cocked her head to the side, curious. "Why didn't you?"

"Because…" A new batch of tears, fresh and salty, down your raw cheeks. You sniffled. "You were so mad at Crowley when he told you Lucifer was cheating. And he's your brother. I'm just your friend. I thought you'd say I was lying, or that I was jealous, and you wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore."

Rowena flinched as she took your words in. Understanding spilled over her face, hit her like a slap.

Neither of you were innocent here. This situation — this drama — wouldn't have happened had you been reasonable individuals. Instead, you were both dramatic, each in her own way. Two impulsive, hormonal teenage girls. Too smart for your own good. Too opinionated, rebellious. Brimming with feelings neither of you knew how to deal with.

"I wouldn't do that," she said, picking her words with utmost care. She set her jaw. "I was blind when it came to Lucifer — I'm not denying that — but I would never have chosen him over you."

"You would have."

It stung to say it out loud.

"A long time ago," she conceded, and hated herself as she did so. "Not then." A pause, then, "Not now."

Things were different now.

She felt… something for you. Something friendly, surely no more than that, but it was something.

She liked you.

She wasn't with Lucifer anymore. She was single, and into you, and she'd flirted with you and had practically goaded you into kissing her.

She wanted you.

And you wanted her.

And it terrified you to the bone.

"You've nothing to be afraid of, darling." The pet name rolled off her tongue with ease, an endearing, delicate little sound that made your stomach flutter with thousands of butterflies. "Nothing is going to tear me away from you. I promise you, I am not going anywhere."

"Stuff can happen."

Knowing your luck, something bad and horrible would happen.

Things would be okay, and then that something would reach for your heart, pull it out of your chest, and crush it right in front of you as blood dripped into a puddle at your feet.

"Nothing will happen," Rowena insisted.

"You can't promise that!"

You knew you were being childish. Your fears were unfounded, worries baseless. And yet, you were still scared. You still trembled at the images of her back in your head, of her legs walking into the distance far away.

"Goodness!" She groaned in frustration. Threw her arms up in surrender. "Forget I said anything. Can you do that? We never kissed. I don't like you. Today didn't happen. Okay?"

But it did.

You couldn't just move on.

"It doesn't work like that."

She sighed. "What do you want, then? Because you aren't making sense. I don't know if you're angry at me, or at yourself, or at the bloody weather!"

"Things aren't that simple!" you exclaimed. Why couldn't she understand?

"Then make them simple!" she demanded. "I'm sick of playing cat and mouse! Tell me what you want and you will bloody get it! Just stop this nonsense!"

"I can't! Don't you get it? I can't stop! I'm scared, and I know it's stupid, but I can't fucking stop it!"

More tears fell. You wiped them away, cleared your blurry vision for a moment before new ones poured out in their place.

"It's all because of you!"

She shot you a glare, incredulous, pissed to high heavens. "Oh, so it's my fault?"

"Yes! It is! Always being so fucking nice. Why couldn't you just be a bitch like normal?"

Your heart raced. Hands balled into fists. Heat rushed to your cheeks and down your back like millions of fire ants crawling underneath your skin.

"You lured me to you, and now I can't even bear the thought of being away from you!"

That was right.

She needed to hear it.

You needed to tell her, needed to make her see what she'd done to you — what she was still doing to you.

"You made me be your friend! You made me care about you!"

She hadn't even tried, and you were in her web, a trapped little fly with no way out.

Didn't she see how dangerous she was? How enticing, how alluring? Didn't she see what she was doing to you?

Didn't she see how much power she had over you?

"And now — you went too far."

You stalked over to her. Stared her down like an animal, a wild, accusatory look in your eyes. Rowena gave back as good as she got, but you didn't stumble. You were done letting her get away with wrecking you.

"I love you." It came out as a squeak, weak, pathetic. You cleared your throat. "I fucking love you, Rowena!" A whimper escaped you, like that of a hurt puppy. "I love you, and I don't know how it happened or why, but I know you did it to me, and I'm scared and angry and I don't know what to do anymore!"

Rowena gulped. Her eyes widened, shock painting her face, twisting her features. She stared; at you, straight into your eyes, to the core of your soul. When she spoke, her lips were trembling, "You… love me?"

"Yeah."

A wave of panic swept over you, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face.

Was telling her a mistake?

Had you gone too far?

Cold, dreadful chills bit at the back of your neck before sliding down your spine as the realization of what you'd just done settled in.

You told her you loved her.

You bared your soul. Exposed your most intimate, most vulnerable feelings. Laid your heart out on a silver platter like an offering for a sacrifice.

You might as well have shoved a knife through it.

"Go ahead," you said in a small voice. "Laugh." It would — you hoped — hurt less if it looked as if it were your idea. If you gave her permission. "Get it over with."

After all, love was weakness.

She'd made herself clear on that.

Rowena looked at you as if you'd just sprouted a pair of horns. "Why in hell would I do that?"

Because I'm a fucking scaredy cat!

"Love is weakness, right?" You gave a bitter laugh. "God, I'm so stupid."

She grabbed your shoulders. Dug her thin, tiny fingers into your coat. "You are not stupid. I don't ever want to hear you say that again! Do you understand me?"

Her gaze was intense, focused. Honest as her words.

"It's true I used to think love was weakness. But, as you know yourself, things change."

You turned your head, avoiding her eyes as more tears fell from yours.

"You made me change." There was softness in her voice, a gentleness that made warmth swell inside of you. "I'm not the same person I was a few months ago, and I owe that to you. Your friendship made me see there was more to life than popularity. I was a horrible person, and you were still kind to me. You gave me a chance."

You willed yourself to face her. "You deserved it."

"I didn't," she said, utterly sure of it, "but you still gave it to me. You allowed me to redeem myself. You were there for me even when I chased you away. You looked out for me."

You shrugged. "It's what friends do."

"Aye. You were my friend. My first true friend." She swallowed a breath for courage. "And then you became something more. I thought the feelings I had for Lucifer were love, or something of that nature, but I know now it was nothing but infatuation."

Your mind was in panic mode. Thoughts a jumbled mess. Breathing hitched, ragged.

"What are you saying?"

Rowena smiled, big and wide and warm. Happy and honest and bright as sunshine. "I'm saying, you silly girl, that I love you, as well."

It was as if ground had opened down from under you, about to swallow you whole.

If only it would.

Your legs were jelly, knees trembling. You didn't dare take a step, make a single move, for fear of tumbling down like a sack of potatoes.

She loved you.

Rowena MacLeod — queen, goddess, the love of your life — loved you.

Jesus fucking Christ, she loved you!

You wanted to jump out of your skin.

It sure felt like you were about to for your body was on fire and your skin was too tight and your clothes were suffocating you and you couldn't breathe and—

Relax.

You had to relax.

Take it easy.

Only, you couldn't, and the more you tried, the more you felt like you were dying.

At least you would die happy.

"I didn't think it possible, but I do," Rowena said. "I love you, and I am not going anywhere."

Her gaze intensified, daring you to disagree, to counter her, to put up a fight.

You could barely hold yourself together.

A breeze brushed past you, cold, chilly; you barely felt it, your body engulfed in warmth, blood hot as lava.

Something wet landed on your cheek. You looked up, mouth falling agape at the sight of snowflakes drifting in the air. One after the other, they fell, glided, danced, slow at first, then faster. Bright and white under the dim light of streetlamps, glittering like fairies.

This winter's first snow.

Mouth curling into a smile, you willed yourself to lock eyes with Rowena. "You promise?" Your voice was soft, quiet.

She heard you more than well. "Aye. You're stuck with me." A chuckle. "If you wish so."

Daydreaming those exact words coming out of her mouth was nothing compared to the real thing.

"You have no idea!"

If it were up to you, you would never part from her again.

"Then there's no point in torturing ourselves, is there?" Rowena said.

And then her lips were on yours, and she was kissing you, and any response you were about to utter was thrown to the wind.

She tasted like mint and honey and everything nice. Like love and warmth and promises. You drank her in, gave yourself away to the sensations that swept over you, that swallowed you whole. Still as a statue, you let her lead, let her do as she pleased.

You were hers now.

Truly, irrevocably hers.

Rowena deepened the kiss, her hands gripping your shoulders tighter. You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her closer against you as you kissed back just as ferociously, giving as good as you were getting. She moaned into your mouth, which prompted you to kiss harder.

You parted for a moment, both gasping for breath, breathing in deep and fast. Your eyes met and you laughed, happy, united.

"Don't you dare ignore me again," she warned playfully.

"You said it yourself — I'm stuck with you," you said. "And you're stuck with me."

Forever, if you had a say in it.

"Poor wee me."

"Indeed."

Your lips connected again, and this time you held on for longer, pressed against one another, lost in each other's warmth.

Snow kept falling, and you kept kissing. As if it were a competition neither of you planned on losing.

You kissed and kissed and kissed.

Forever, it seemed.

And ever.

And ever.

*****

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