#the incomprehensibility of the passage of time

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[mossyanecdote]

Lately my life’s been feeling like the end credits of a coming of age movie, Gold-washed with endings.  I will be home again, But that will not be the me that is now, And I am not ready to die.  Even my shadow is stuck in those Golden meadows The only thing that remains of the girl she once was.  But in the end August is kind And she’ll keep this tired Shadow until she next comes around.  --mossy anecdotes August, 2023

[imaginepostingonsideblogs]

i hope every time i draw this woman it comes across how downbad i am for her.. @teknikolor-walters im sorry im compelling you. come look at them oooo you wanna put up with my scribbles so baddddd ooooooo you wanna clickkkk on her for better qualllityyyyy aahhhhh

[queenlucythevaliant]

On one side of the gallery above stood the men sentenced to penal servitude in Siberia, who had been let into the church before the others. Each of them had half his head shaved, and their presence was indicated by the clanking of the chains on their feet. On the other side of the gallery stood those in preliminary confinement, without chains, their heads not shaved.

The prison church had been rebuilt and ornamented by a rich merchant, who spent several tens of thousands of roubles on it, and it glittered with gay colours and gold. For a time there was silence in the church, and only coughing, blowing of noses, the crying of babies, and now and then the rattling of chains, was heard. [...]

The priest, having dressed in a strange and very inconvenient garb, made of gold cloth, cut and arranged little bits of bread on a saucer, and then put them into a cup with wine, repeating at the same time different names and prayers. Meanwhile the deacon first read Slavonic prayers, difficult to understand in themselves, and rendered still more incomprehensible by being read very fast, and then sang them turn and turn about with the convicts. The contents of the prayers were chiefly the desire for the welfare of the Emperor and his family. These petitions were repeated many times, separately and together with other prayers, the people kneeling. Besides this, several verses from the Acts of the Apostles were read by the deacon in a peculiarly strained voice, which made it impossible to understand what he read [...]

No one present seemed conscious that all that was going on here was the greatest blasphemy and a supreme mockery of that same Christ in whose name it was being done. No one seemed to realise that the gilt cross with the enamel medallions at the ends, which the priest held out to the people to be kissed, was nothing but the emblem of that gallows on which Christ had been executed for denouncing just what was going on here. That these priests, who imagined they were eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ in the form of bread and wine, did in reality eat and drink His flesh and His blood, but not as wine and bits of bread, but by ensnaring “these little ones” with whom He identified Himself, by depriving them of the greatest blessings and submitting them to most cruel torments, and by hiding from men the tidings of great joy which He had brought. That thought did not enter into the mind of any one present.

From Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy

[tenth-sentence]

The days roll by and every hour is incomprehensible and matter of fact at the same time.

"All Quiet on the Western Front" - Erich Maria Remarque

[rusted-phone-calls]

2020 was yesterday

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

4

Y/N

Parties don’t tend to be my forte. The music’s always a beat too fast, the air’s sticky with perfume and sweat, and someone, more often than not, intoxicated beyond belief, is screaming something utterly incomprehensible.

But, despite my distaste for these kinds of events, I’m a supportive friend. Cait’s always had a certain aversion to her parents’ rules, and tonight, her defiance has manifested in a party at their lakehouse.

The lakehouse, like the rest of the Kiramman estates, is, simply put, stunning. There's these massive arches open out onto the lake, which is dotted with groups of teenagers, all holding some kind of beer like it’s a rite of passage. The bar has been commandeered by a group of four boys, all laughing so hard they can barely catch their breath, completely lost in their own world.

Ultimately, my dislike for the event has me curled up on the deck, my heels tossed aside, and my feet dangling in the lake. The noise from inside feels like it belongs to another world now. I crack open Wuthering Heights—my escape for the night—and lose myself in the pages. It’s just me, the quiet night, and my book, away from all the noise and chaos that I’m definitely not in the mood for.

The soft ripples of the lake reflect the moonlight, shimmering like liquid silver. I let my toes skim the surface, the cool water a soothing balm against the buzz of the evening I left behind. The book rests open on my lap, but my eyes linger on the lake, lost in its quiet rhythm.

Out here, away from the noise and the people, the world feels gentler—like it’s finally giving me room to breathe. Wuthering Heights is only half my escape; the other half is the stillness, the way the night wraps around me like a comforting cloak.

But even in the solitude, there’s an itch in the back of my mind, a weight I can’t quite shake. Maybe it’s guilt—leaving the others behind when they’d begged me to come in the first place. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, the lake offers no answers, only silence.

My mind can't help drifting to her. Jinx.

Class was so peculiar the other day, i haven't heard from her about the assignment since, no surprise there, but it was bizzare. She made me smile, laugh even and - oh my gosh! Was that flirting?

I slam my book shut, full attention now on the lake.

Her laugh echoes in my mind, the way it did in class. It wasn’t loud or unhinged, like she often is—it was softer, more personal, like we were ten again and she’d let me in on some secret.

I pull my knees tightly to my chest, my gaze fixed on the shimmering lake. The motion tugs at my tights, tiny runs spidering through the fabric, but I don’t care. My heart flutters unevenly, like it’s stumbling over something fragile—something it doesn’t know how to hold.

Something I don’t know how to hold.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

It’s not like I usually grace these exclusive parties thrown by Caitlyn Kiramman, the classist bitch, with my loving presence.

But of course, Y/N was guaranteed to be there—because, you know, her Piltie friend, sorry, fiend, was throwing the thing.

And I just had to drop by after our absolutely delightful chat in class.

Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

And had to swing by to check in on dear old sis too.

Can’t believe TWO people I know are somehow tangled up with the Kirammans. Ugh, seriously? Bleh.

Last time I talked to Vi, she actually referred to Caitlyn as cupcake. Are you kidding me?

A cupcake full of cyanide, maybe.

Anyway, now I’m crouched behind Y/N, like a total creep.

She’s got her feet in the lake, all zen and shit, but I can see her back. It’s all stiff, like she’s trying not to break or something.

I must've made some kind of noise because suddenly—boom—Miss Perfect jumps, spins around, all quick like she’s been caught.

And there it is on her face—annoyance? Shock?

It’s cute.

She probably wants to say something, but I can tell she’s not sure if she should yell at me or pretend like she didn’t just nearly lose her shit.

Instead, her voice goes all soft. Like in class. Like she thinks I’ll bolt.

“Jinx?” she breathes.

And it’s so weird. Like, what? Why? Soft? With me? Is this a joke? Did I miss the punchline?

I just stare at her, head tilted like, What the hell are you doing, Y/N? Say something else, scream, anything.

This soft crap? It’s messing with me.

Her eyes are wide, and she’s got this look, like she’s staring at a wild animal that might bite.

“Why are you here?” she whispers, still in that soft, careful voice.

I laugh—short, sharp, more like a bark.

“Why am I here? Hell, why are you here? What, did your Piltie conscience drag you to this classy dumpster fire?” I grin, sharp and mocking.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just stares at me with those big, stupid doe eyes, like I’m some puzzle she can solve.

Fucking whatever.

I drop down, two feet away, cross-legged like a little kid at story-time, and pull a pre-rolled joint from my bra.

Because, yeah, I’m classy like that.

“Don’t mind me,” I say, holding it up like it’s the Holy Grail. “Just here to elevate the vibe.”

But she doesn’t give me that usual Y/N reaction.

No scolding look, no narrowing of her eyes, no I can't believe you're doing this.

Instead, she looks… almost curious. Like she’s actually thinking about it.

I catch that look. The way her gaze flickers to the joint in my hand, then back to me.

Huh.

I know she’s wondering. Should I? Should she just try it? One little drag, that’s all.

I hold it out to her, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What? Never had one?” I say, dragging it out like it’s some big reveal.

“It’s not that bad.”

She doesn’t say anything. She’s just staring at the joint like it might bite her.

But I see it. I see the hesitation, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to take it, just to see what it feels like.

I blow out a puff of smoke, letting it hang between us. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” I almost dare her to say no.

And for a second? She almost does. But she doesn’t.

And then, she does it. She takes the joint.

It’s like everything slows down for a second.

Her fingers brush mine, and I almost can’t believe it.

She just took it.

I can’t help it. I laugh, soft, like I won. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Y/N.”

That fucking small smile.

It appears again, just like it did yesterday in class.

It’s barely there.

Just a little twitch of her lips, but I see it.

"Shut up Jinx,"

The joint hovers in her hand, her fingers gripping it a little tighter now.

She breathes in, and I swear the air feels different.

She’s never looked so fucking real before.

She hesitates.

Just a second.

Her fingers twitch, like she doesn't really know what to do with the damn thing.

I watch her, leaning in a little, waiting for the moment—and then, she does it.

She takes a hit.

But it's messy, wrong.

Her hand’s too stiff, her grip awkward.

She’s never done this before.

I can see it.

It’s in the way she doesn't know how to pull it in, like she’s holding her breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

She sucks in. Her face scrunches up. She holds it.

Then there's the typical first timer reaction, coughing, hacking, eyes watering, and I can’t hold back the laugh that bursts out.

"Real smooth toots,"

And fuck the weed must've hit her hard and fast because she giggles.

Fucking giggles at me.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

I don’t know what makes me take it. Curiosity, maybe? Or the lingering weight of our encounter in class. The joint feels strange in my hand, almost alien. I’ve held pens, pencils, and books a thousand times, but this—this is unfamiliar. I don't feel myself with it in-between my fingers, i feel freer?

The first inhale is awful. I cough so hard I think I might throw up, my eyes watering as smoke claws its way out of my lungs. Jinx, of course, laughs.

“Real smooth, toots,” she says, her grin practically dripping with amusement.

The sound catches me off guard—light, breathy, like it’s coming from someone else entirely. Jinx’s grin widens, like she’s just won some unspoken bet.

“See? Told you it’s not all bad,” she says, leaning back on her elbows, watching me like I’m her personal entertainment for the night. I glance at the joint again, still smoldering between my fingers. The smoke curls upward in delicate tendrils, twisting into shapes that disappear before I can name them.

Curiosity wins out, or maybe it’s the lingering haze already softening the edges of my thoughts. I bring it to my lips again, slower this time, trying to mimic what I’ve read. The second inhale isn’t as harsh. The burn in my throat is still there, but it’s manageable now, almost... warm. And then it hits me.

It’s like a switch flips in my brain. My limbs feel heavy, like they’re sinking into the earth, but my mind feels lighter than air. Thoughts drift in and out, unbound by the usual rules.

“You’re the worst influence,” I giggle, holding the joint like it’s a fragile artifact. “What even is this?”

“Magic,” she says, wiggling her fingers dramatically. “Welcome to the dark side, toots.”

I snort, the sound louder and less composed than I’d ever let slip normally. The lake ripples in front of us, and I swear it looks like it’s shimmering just for me.

“This feels... weird,” I say, biting my lip to keep from laughing again. “Like… everything’s in slow motion, but also, like, my brain is bouncing.”

“Congrats, nerd. You’re high,” Jinx says, taking the joint from me like she’s proud of her work. She takes a drag and exhales, the smoke curling around her like a halo. “And you’re, like, giggle high. This is great.”

“I am not!” I protest, even as another laugh escapes me. “I’m... perfectly composed. Completely in control.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m a model citizen,” she fires back, smirking.

The stars above us seem closer, like I could reach out and grab one. I tilt my head back, giggling again at the thought of catching a star and keeping it in my pocket.

“Why are the stars so… shiny?” I ask, my voice dreamy and distracted.

“Because they’re stars, genius,” Jinx says, but her tone is lighter, almost fond.

It’s quiet between us for a moment, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the air is waiting for something to fill it. The stars above blur slightly, soft pinpricks of light swimming in the haze of my vision. Everything feels loose and strange, my thoughts slipping out before I can catch them.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words surprising even me as they tumble out, unfiltered and raw. “For abandoning you. After… everything.”

The silence that follows feels like a held breath, like the universe is leaning in to hear what comes next. I focus on the rippling surface of the lake instead of looking at her. My chest tightens, that familiar pang of guilt twisting sharply.

“You’re high,” she says finally, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, though it’s not as sharp as it could be.

A giggle escapes me—high-pitched and ridiculous—and I immediately want to take it back. “I am. But I mean it,” I say, my words spilling out in a rush, like I need her to believe me before the moment dissolves. “I really do.”

Her knee bounces slightly, and I can feel her gaze flicking toward me and then away again, restless.

“You didn’t abandon me,” she mutters, her tone light, but there’s something heavy beneath it, something that doesn’t quite fit. “You just… did what you thought you had to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” I counter, my voice wobbling. “I should have stayed. Tried harder. Done… something.”

Her laugh is sharp, almost bitter, but not entirely unkind. “What were you gonna do, Y/N? Save me? Fix me?” She waves the joint vaguely in the air, the ember glowing faintly. “That’s not how it works.”

“I could’ve tried,” I whisper, and the words feel small, fragile, as if they might shatter the moment.

She exhales a long plume of smoke, her shoulders slumping slightly. “You would’ve drowned,” she says, her tone even, like she’s stating a fact instead of something that makes my stomach twist.

I look at her then, her face bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. There’s no mocking grin, no sharp retort. Just something tired, something that looks far too old for her.

“But I didn’t even jump in,” I say softly, almost to myself.

Her lips twitch into a wry smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

The words settle between us, not exactly forgiveness, but not rejection either. Something tentative, a thread stretched thin but not yet breaking.

The lake ripples, the stars shimmer, and for the first time in years, it feels like we’re both sitting still.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hope you enjoyed the slight reconciliation:) but theres more heartbreak coming!

please like and reblog!

[forcedagere]

Based on @/spitdrunken’s reincarnation post! If you haven’t/don’t want to read it, it’s about Bill having known befriended when he was a child, killed you in the disaster. Now you have reincarnated as a human, with some vague memories of your past.

Content: Age regression, obsessive behaviour, implied mental manipulation

Bill tries to avoid thinking about it, but he’s already seen the light leave your eyes once before. (And it had been his fault! You had been so excited, and then—) But dwelling on the past is for suckers. And Bill is no sucker, he has reality in the palm of his hand! Either way, you’re here now, you’re together again! He has the chance to make it all better, to make it all right.

He hasn’t cared about anyone’s opinion of him in a trillion years. You, however, such a clear reminder of his past, of the child he was, he almost wants to crystallize. You still believe that Bill is your imaginary childhood friend somehow given physical form. You don’t need to know everything else he has been up to! It’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s better for you, this way. And if you’re the most at peace with having your brain slowed down a little, having you all regressed all the time, it only makes the most sense to walk that path.

The Fearamid is a maze of twisting hallways, dead-end corridors and hidden passages. Among the incomprehensible architecture, there is a big, padded room with a locked room where you’re allowed to stay. Whenever Bill isn’t around, you doze off into the dream of a special world created from your own imagination, where all of your favourite things in the world come together! In there, you’re a little kid, having one adventure after another. Bill had spent most of his time around you when younger and grows almost nostalgic thinking about how wonder-eyed you’d been all the way back then.

Your room is full of pillows and stuffed toys and other decorations, all plucked straight from your brain. If there’s anything that’s true, it’s that Bill will always know you better than anyone else. When he’s around you, the noise in his brain seems too quiet down, just a little. He’s not the best caretaker. What he wants more than anything is for you to like him, to love him! So your diet is horribly imbalanced (it’s mostly candy), and instead of cleaning any of your clothes, for example, he’ll just make the old ones disappear and make new ones. He likes to play luck-based (board) games with you, because then it’s not entirely certain he’ll win! It seems there nothing he can’t do— Because that’s the truth! He can make all of your dreams come true, if you just stay right here.

Sometimes, he’ll try to recreate some small scenes of what he remembers. It isn’t much. After a trillion years, most of his recollections have faded away. But he has painted the ceiling of your room to reflect the starry night sky, and he likes to play hide and seek with you. He’ll toss you in the air and catch you again. For some reason, he can even enjoy listening to you babble endlessly about meaningless things.

He tries not to be overjoyed when you cling to him, when you ask him not to leave, when you need him. He likes you the most when you’re being clingy. It’s how you convince him to do the silliest things. He’ll shrink himself down so you can hug him to your chest, or swaddle himself in blankets so his ‘pointy edges’ can’t poke you in your sides while you cuddle.

You see a side of Bill that no one else ever will, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are entirely selfless. Whether this is a form of penance for having snuffed out your life, the desire for someone’s undivided, uncomplicated almost-worshipping attention, or a need to be loved and wanted… Even Bill doesn’t know. He convinces himself there’s some kind of long-con here, but there’s not. Perhaps it’s a little bit of all three.

[boxheadpaint]

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:20 PM a mr beast esque netflix flop called NEXT TIME that was a variety gameshow with matchmaking elements. it had one season of just a handful of episodes before being dropped entirely, but then a few years later something popped up on youtube called "NEXT TIME [SECOND INSTALLMENT]" [11:22 PM] second installment was not produced by the same team as next time. it seemingly wasnt produced by humans either [11:22 PM] the only human involvement with the "show" were the contestants, who were constantly on edge and looked to be trying to find a way out of their situation

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:28 PM about a year before second installment some kind of random email casting call was put out with only a few responses, most assuming it to be some scam. the responding individuals were informed that they would be considered for their roles, though it was hard to get that information from the followup emails as they were very garbled and vague. several people would soon state feelings of being watched, stalked, some even claiming to be the victims of poltergeists or alien interference. after 2 weeks of this, they would usually be reported missing by a family member- some even vanishing while just a room away [11:29 PM] the only thing connecting the victims were the emails and later their appearances in the uploads of second installment

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:41 PM second installment appeared to be composed of footage similar to that of cctv with the main difference being that these cameras would move along the walls to follow the individuals through game rooms that would quickly shift and build to suit the situation. the games were almost always incomprehensible, with unclear goals or mechanics. the rooms had no visible entrances or exits either, and the individuals would be moved between scenes by the same shifting that constructed the games. no two games were ever the same, but all utilized similar inspirations of competetive gameshow sets, board game-like patterns, water-based puzzles and floating toys, and bright colors. the most prominent color on the show was yellow, with nearly every wall in the structure being some shade of it with varying amounts of grime and occasional rust. what little "behind the scenes" footage there is (typically a wall camera following an individual who by accident wasnt correctly placed in the designated room) shows dim concrete corridors with faded yellow paint on some sections and a small number of pipes running along the ceiling

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:49 PM there was more emphasis on the "matchmaking" aspect in second installment, but without an understanding of what human relations are or what influences them. the word "love" would be used very loosely by the announcer/narrator, and for the most part contestants would be too uncomfortable or stressed to try and engage with anyone they met romantically. these matchmaking segments would be footage of contestants not currently part of a game room and instead in the "living space"- an area with an open floor plan with mattresses that individuals had moved to various corners of the structure that would give some semblance of privacy. there were no doors, every "room" or passage could be entered from at least 2 ways, and during the "night" the living space would change to intense blue lighting. because of leaked case files, it is believed that the mattresses and bedding (sheet, blanket, and 1 pillow or some stuffed object mistaken for a pillow) were taken from the contestants homes at the same time they were [11:54 PM] the contestants were apparently able to hear everything the announcer said, evidenced by discomfort and agitation during "matchmaking" when comments would be made trying to push them into making conversation over percieved shared interests or hobbies, or to complete a puzzle task together to form a bond of understanding. the only real bonding that seemed to take place was whenever the individuals would discuss plans to find a way out, usually whenever the announcer was speaking so as to go unheard by "it".

Big Snolt — Today at 12:05 AM the contestants were of varying background and age, one of them a young highschooler with a poor grasp on english who after reacting so badly to the first few game rooms would be passed over or ignored when players were chosen for subsequent games by the announcer- this, combined with the most effort put into self-isolation, would allow her to slip under the radar more often than the other contestants. another contestant, only slightly older than the highschooler, would try to engage more with the other players as well as the announcer. she was usually asking for detailed explanations in how the puzzles worked, and while the announcer would give frustratingly bizarre answers she used the conversations to consume runtime so as to allow other contestants to more freely interact and discuss their current situation without the announcer intervening. this had the added effect where the announcer would stumble over words and get confused as well, which would coinside with some of the game rooms structure being misplaced or moved improperly and allowing unintended access. the longer the announcer was distracted, the further she could wander into adjoining rooms and rarely to the behind-the-scenes areas [12:12 AM] there were no credits sequences to second installment, no staff names listed or locations. the announcers voice was unidentifiable as any one person, seeming more like a patchwork of gameshow host impersonations or recordings. after some uploads however one contestant called out to the announcer with a previously unheard name; Atrix. at first it was unknown if atrix actually referred to a team or organization rather than an individual, but several other references to "Atrix" in following uploads would seem to clarify several things

Big Snolt — Today at 12:17 AM 1) the announcer is Atrix, and is the only "staff member" of the entirety of second installment. Atrix is referred to as a "he", a "they", and an "it" by several different contestants and investigators. 2) Atrix is not human. Atrix may not be from, or even on, earth. Atrix has a distinct lack of empathy or knowledge of human social structures and psychology, second installment isnt made by a fan but rather is an imitation by an obsessive with no clear origin. [12:18 AM] 3) Atrix is believed to be evil.

Big Snolt — Today at 12:29 AM However, possibly due to its voice origin, Atrix has a startlingly open and lighthearted personality. It doesnt make any comments or jokes on the individuality of contestants at their expense, either out of respect or because it simply doesnt understand that type of humor commonly utilized in these types of shows. Atrix is known to become agitated when a mistake becomes apparent to them, such as a player sent to the wrong room or ignoring game room goals (and usually ignoring him as well), but is never shown causing the contestants to be physically harmed or punished. Atrix is actually very easily distracted and can be tricked into conversation (though typically his answers are obtuse and difficult to understand the meaning of). It wasnt until quite a number of uploads later that it was shown Atrix DOES have a physical form and is capable of interacting with contestants using the form if necessary

Big Snolt — Today at 1:03 AM I think atrix was accidentally inspired by worms from pathologic my god

Big Snolt — Today at 1:07 AM notable differences of his eyes looking moore embedded than sunken with the skin being pulled around them, and also that he has a mouth (or at least like. teeth. its unclear if theres a real orifice behind them)

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 - 𝙼𝙰𝙼𝙰 𝙸'𝙼 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙰 𝙲𝚁𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Inspired by Britney Spears x Criminal

: ̗̀➛𝙰𝙽: This is done in a universe where Armando is a teenager, the female reader is also a teenager. There is no adult/minor play in the passage and I do not write that.

Sixteen-year-old Yara was a good girl, never broke the rules, never back talked her parents, and was a straight A student. President of the Debate team, captain of the cheer team, and on student counsel, she was every parent's wet dream. That was until she met Seventeen-year-old Armando Aretas. A guy she kept away from to the best of her ability, but he always seemed to be around. Now, he was in her veins and well, it caused for a rather contentious environment in her home.

"Yara, have you still been seeing that boy?" The booming voice of her father cut through the silence of her room right along with the slamming open of her bedroom door. Grateful that she'd even gotten her door back after having it taken away for a month, she decided to play it cool. "No." Her eyes remaining trained to her phone screen, voice monotone and lacking it's usual emotion. "Well then why the hell is he outside my house?"

Yara's deep black curls bounced as her head swung towards her window. Her body basically moved on autopilot as she went over to her bedroom window. Her heart thumbed so intensely that she felt it in her throat, her ears rung, and her body trembled a bit as she stared at him out the window. There he was, stationed on his shiny black motorcycle that she was still somewhat terrified of. Even in the dark of the night it still shined. He removed his helmet, their eyes locked and it hit her that she'd given up probably the most intense love she'd experience all because her parent didn't like him.

All because of who his family was. The Aretas' weren't known for being the most law abiding, safe and friendly people. They had a strong hold on the drug market in Mexico and it was well known that they didn't care who knew this about them. They operated off the fear that forced people to respect them. Something thar kept her away, but God he pulled her in.

"Yara, don't even think about it." Her father was firm as she spun around. Her brown eyes darted across the room, looking for the best way to get out. "Young lady, you will not be associated with that criminal!" "God, will you just shut up! I stayed away from him; I did what you said. I let him go for you and look how you're treating me!"

For the moment, her father froze in pure shock. It was the first time he'd ever even heard her raise her voice, let alone at him. What kind of influence was this boy having on his perfect daughter. He didn't have much longer to think, because Yara went bolting out her bedroom door heading for the steps.

On the way down, Yara caught a glimpse of her mother, a look of worry and dismay present on the face idetical to her own.

"Yara, honey. Please, this isn't you. It's him its-- that influence." She pleaded running down the steps behind her daughter. This caused Yara to roar in frustration.

"It's not him!! It's you. You guys want me to be this perfect kid that I'm not! I have issues just like everyone else, but you guys don't even give me the space to express them and learn-- I don't have the space to be myself. With him..I do." The knot that formed in her throat was filled with the frustration she'd felt since childhood. The pressure put on her was incomprehensible. "With him, I can be me. I don't have to pretend that I'm ok and I can be flawed. I'm finally allowed the space to-- to just fucking relax!"

"Yarina." Her parents resorted to her full name. "You better watch yourself young lady. Like we said, you will not be associated with that thug." Her wide eyes gazed over her parents. She loved them dearly, but she couldn't continue like this. "Yara, please." Her mother's voice was much softer in comparison to her father as she stepped forward to take her hand, being immediately met with Yara moving backward.

"I'm sorry, but I'm in love with him." She offered one final apology before she quickly turned to exit the home. She wore nothing but pajamas, no shoes, socks, or even a sweater to keep her warm. "Yari." The teenage male rasped as his girlfriend approached.

"Where's your clothes?" His brows furrowed, hopping off his bike to remove his hoodie and pull it over her body. He glanced past her, seeing her parents standing in the doorway. "Let's go." He murmured, handing her his helmet. She knew he'd argue with her about her needing it more than him, so she put it on. Climbing on his bike behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

She didn't know what would happen with her parents, but she knew it wasn't her concern for the moment as he pulled off and she opted not to look back.

[mysticstronomy]

IS IT POSSIBLE TO STOP TIME??

Blog#437

Wednesday, September 18th, 2024.

Welcome back,

If you've ever watched an ice cube melt or stirred creamer into a pool of black coffee, you've witnessed a fundamental truth about the universe: The "arrow of time" always marches forward.

Time flows from past to future. What we call the present is a never-ending series of inflection points, where the collection of events that have already happened (the past) meets the collection of events that have yet to happen (the future). And while time doesn’t ever stop, it can slow down.

Einstein’s theory of special relativity gave us a completely new way to view the cosmos. Prior to Einstein, we had movement through space, and we had passage through time. Special relativity unties those theories into a single, unified framework called spacetime. In this new framework, it’s impossible to move through space or time separately; instead, every object in the universe is constantly moving through both simultaneously.

This means that it’s (theoretically) possible to slow down your progression into the future. The faster you move in space, the slower you move in time. So if you jump on a rocket ship and accelerate yourself to 99% of the speed of light, you’ll travel through time about 7 times slower than stationary observers. (Actually reaching that velocity, however, is another matter entirely.)

There’s a caveat here, though: You will never experience this time dilation yourself — your heart will beat at the same rate; your hairs will grey after the same amount of time; and your wristwatch will tick at the same speed as always.

But outside observers looking in will see you move and live in slow motion, seven times slower than they are.

It sounds like a contradiction, but this is what puts the relative in the special theory of relativity: Our perceptions of distance and time depend on our perspective, and no two observers are ever guaranteed to agree.

Relativity allows you to (again, theoretically) skip forward into the future, as well. If you travel fast enough, what may only be a handful of years to you can translate to hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years for everybody else.

By the time you came back to the Earth, it, or the people inhabiting it, could be completely unrecognizable — a major conceit in (spoiler alert) sci-fi films like Planet of the Apes and Interstellar.

Still, no matter what, you can’t stop time, because it's not possible to travel at 100% the speed of light. You’ll always move a tiny fraction below that ultimate speed limit, and so you’ll always experience at least some progression of time.

As for time ending, as far as we can tell time will have no end in the future. Our universe is expanding every day, and it appears that it will continue to do so for eternity. The future is wide open, and there will always be another tomorrow. Sure, in the far far future, all the stuff in our universe will be spread out to incomprehensibly thin dust, but time still won’t come to an end.

However, by the same token, it appears as if time does have a beginning. Our universe is expanding, which means that in the past it was smaller. In the distant past, billions of years ago, it was much smaller. In the extremely distant past, around 13.77 billion years ago, our universe was the size of a peach.

Beyond that point, all of our physics knowledge says that the universe started out in such a tiny space that it was a singularity, a point of infinite density. Strictly speaking, that’s also a point where time and space originate, meaning that time has an endpoint in our own past.

Nonetheless, our knowledge of the extremely early universe is rather hazy; we don’t really know what’s going on in those earliest moments, so we can’t say much about it with anything resembling confidence.

Originally published on https://www.discovermagazine.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, September 21st, 2024)

"WHAT HAPPENS TO A HUMAN BODY IN SPACE??"

[thesummerestsolstice]

Elrond was never really Noldor. That was a given. Earendil was half-human and half-Vanyar for all intents and purposes, and Elwing? Please. She barely tolerated the Gondolindrim as it was. And it's not like Elrond looked Noldor– no, his face might as well have been carved in likeness of Luthien. In any case, as the other Noldor were quick to stress, the Feanorians hardly counted as kin to them, anymore. The kinslayers had their own strange ways, and neither their culture nor their actions could be taken as truly Noldor.

Elrond wasn't really Sindar, either. Sindar didn't speak with that accent, or do their hair like that, or dress that way. There were things that Sindar grew up knowing; rites of passage, dances, history. And the longer Elrond spent around the Sindar, the more it became clear that he simply wasn't one of them. And if they sometimes looked nervous or uncomfortable around him, if they avoided his songs or cringed at his swordsmanship. Well. Who could blame them?

It doesn't help that he isn't like the elves; that he needs more sleep and more food, that he gets ill, has to shave. It doesn't help that Elros spends almost all his time with the humans, makes it clear he isn't one of the elves and doesn't care what they think of him. It doesn't help that some of the strange things Elrond does– things that no elf or man could– lead the Maiar to fawn over him, to teach him how to harness his power. He's happy for it until he realizes that it's started to make some of the elves scared of him.

Things only start to get better when he drops any pretense of being Sindar or Noldor, to having a claim to any particular heritage. To learn a new accent that reveals nothing, to cut his hair short enough that he can't do the braids he's put in all his life, to dress like the elves around him. To bend his form into something elvish. Something more familiar.

It doesn't feel good, or honest, and it doesn't really bring him acceptance either. It's still better than the alternative

(This is kind of the dark counterpart to another one of my Elrond posts. Normally I think the elves are less cruel and more curious about Elrond's general incomprehensibility, but this feels like a very real possibility. There's a lot of pain there.)

[0cta9on]

Unlikely Duet - 4

length: +7k words

Genre: Fluff

NewJeans Minji x Male Reader (OC)

(Author's Note: Kinda went crazy with this one, don't know if it's a good crazy or a bad crazy yet. Also, TW: Blood and violence.)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

Yuno’s POV

The English teacher, Mr. Fillips, was droning on about Shakespeare or some other dead writer, but my mind was too preoccupied to pay attention. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about earlier this morning.

______________________________________________________________

I randomly awoke in the dead of night, finding myself with my arm wrapped around Minji’s waist. Panic surged through me as I attempted to disentangle myself, but she suddenly tightened her grip, anchoring us together. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the warmth from her body was becoming unbearable.

“Minji?” I whispered. “You awake?” I waited for what felt like an eternity, but silence was the only response I received. Any efforts to remove my arm from her grasp proved futile as it only strengthened with each attempt. I had fought members of the school’s wrestling team before, but all of them paled in comparison to sleeping Minji’s anaconda-like grip on my arm. I silently cursed my predicament, praying to whatever god out there that Minji never found out about this.

She began to quietly murmur in her sleep. Most of it was incomprehensible, but I managed to make out some of it: “Yuno… stay with me… please…”

My face turned warm as she uttered words I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. I tried one last time to free myself, but my body gave out from exhaustion and I surrendered myself to my unfortunate fate. My heart was beating too hard for me to fall asleep, so I had no choice but to lay there in silence, Minji’s sleeping body pressed against mine. I couldn’t help but stare at the peaceful expression on her face, illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the window. Her soft lips curved slightly into a grin and the faint scent of roses emanated from her silky black hair. Even when she was wearing a simple oversized tee shirt, she still somehow managed to look so…

“Mr. Lin!”

I jumped in my seat as I was forcefully torn from my daydreams. Mr. Fillips loomed beside me, a disapproving glare in his eyes. The entire class watched, looks of confusion and fear etched into their faces as they anticipated my reaction. In the corner of my eye, I notice Tyler McGraw and his band of goons snickering to themselves.

“That’s the third time I’ve asked you to read the passage, Mr. Lin. Are you paying attention now?” he asks in a stern tone. 

“Y-yeah, I am. Sorry.” I awkwardly clear my throat, trying my best to focus on the class while images of Minji flash through my mind.

______________________________________________________________

“A-are you alright, Yuno?”

I turn to see Winter appear next to me as I make my way towards the cafeteria for lunch. Truthfully, all three of my classes were incredibly difficult to focus on. No matter what, I couldn’t get Minji out of my head and I didn’t know why.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. 

“Are you sure? You seem distracted. Is this about what happened yesterday?”

I panicked for a moment before realizing that she was talking about the attack and not the “sleepover” incident. My train of thought is interrupted as Yujin spots us from the end of the hall and waves.

“Hey, you guys!” He exclaims, causing a scene. Yujin runs up to us with a goofy smile on his face, attracting looks of disdain as he bumps into upperclassmen in the process. “What are y’all talking about?”

I quickly go through the lunch line and grab my food, the two of them in tow like baby ducks following their mother. My body shivers at the unpleasant thought, only for it to be swiftly replaced by Minji yet again. I faceplant into my usual lunch table and groan, my own mind becoming my worst enemy.

“S-some drunk creep attacked the student council president last night and Yuno jumped in to save her. I think he’s a little shaken up over it,” Winter explains. I was too busy suffering in mental anguish to correct her.

“Wow, Super Yuno swoops in to save the day again!” Yujin beamed.

I snapped my head up and glared at him. “Don’t. Call me that. Please,” I muttered before lowering my head back onto the table. 

“Okay, we can workshop the name a little, but…” Yujin rummages through his backpack and pulls out a notebook. He flips through the pages before revealing a pencil drawing of me wearing a Superman-esque outfit. “What do you think about the suit? Pretty sick, right?”

“Oh w-wow, that’s really well drawn, Yujin,” Winter compliments. I nodded in agreement, both impressed and slightly repulsed by the lifelike drawing of me in a cape and tighty whities. “D-did you really draw that?

“Yup, spent all night on it. Here,” Yujin says, ripping the drawing out of his notebook and handing it to me. “Consider it a token of my appreciation for saving my life.”

I reluctantly accept the drawing, placing it into my backpack. “Thanks. It’s… nice.” 

“So, what exactly happened yesterday? Tell me everything and don’t spare a single detail.” Yujin gazes at the two of us expectantly, an excited glint in his eyes.

“W-well,” Winter begins. “I was working the night shift at the convenience store and-”

“You work at the convenience store? So cool,” Yujin interrupts. Winter giggles at his innocent reaction before continuing the story.

“Y-Yuno came in and bought some things, but he forgot his change, so I followed him outside and saw him protecting the student council president from a drunk man.”

“Who’s the student council president?” Yujin asked.

“Minji Kim,” I mumble in response, staring blankly at my tray of food. “And I didn’t do anything; it was Winter who pepper sprayed him.”

She shakes her head in disagreement. “Y-you stepped in front of Minji. I just happened to be there.”

Yujin was too busy excitedly jotting something down to listen to her protest, mumbling to himself about “pepper superpowers”. Before I knew it, the end-of-lunch bell rang without me taking a single bite of food, my appetite lost from my mind being plagued with visions of Minji. I toss out the contents of my tray and leave for my next class.

“See you guys later!” Yujin says before running through the crowd of students trying to exit the cafeteria.

Winter waves at him as he leaves. “B-bye, Yujin,” she called out to him, but her quiet voice was drowned out by the surrounding chatter. “Bye, Yuno.”

I give her a nod as I take my leave. A sudden shiver runs down my spine as I sense a familiar set of cat eyes glaring at me from the edges of my vision but the presence disappears as soon as I turn to look at it.

______________________________________________________________

Minji’s POV

The calm silence of the library usually offered me solace, but I couldn’t help but feel helpless as I stared at my phone, the source of my distress. My parents hadn’t texted me since this morning, yet the suspense of waiting for their next message crushed me like a bug underneath a heavy boot.

“Minj, are you alright, girl?” Hanni asks me, her expression filled with concern. She accompanied me to the library while I worked on prom preparations, but it was impossible to work under these conditions.

“I’m fine,” I lied unconvincingly. Despite knowing for the past week that my parents would be flying in today, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. They were hardly ever home due to constantly having to go on business trips, but when they were home, my mental health went down the drain. Even the thought of having to be face-to-face with them made me dizzy.

Hanni gently rubs my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. “I can go home with you if you want. Your parents looooooove me,” she jokes.

My lips curl into a faint grin. “I don’t know if ‘love’ is the word I would use,” I shoot back, prompting her to playfully punch me in the arm. “Anyways, I think I’ll be okay. I’ll have to face them alone eventually.”

“It’s your funeral. The offer is always on the table if you need it, Minj.” Hanni flashes me a reassuring smile, momentarily easing my nerves. 

“Thanks, Hanni.” I return her smile with one of my own before looking back at the pile of work I need to do for prom. Picking a prom theme, finding a venue within the school’s budget, setting up events for the week leading up to prom - each responsibility felt like a massive weight on my shoulders. It was already super stressful with the entire senior class depending on me to host a successful prom, I didn’t need my home life to add to that stress.

Hanni shakes me from my thoughts. “Girl, you’re making that face again.”

“What face?” I ask, my head tilted in confusion.

“That face you make when you're stressed and stuff. Like, you scrunch up your eyebrows and your face gets all serious,” she explains while making the expression. I opened my mouth to protest, only to realize that, indeed, my eyebrows were scrunched. 

My attention is diverted to the library entrance as Yuno walks through the doors. Hanni laughs at me as I instinctively hide my face with a stack of papers. The memories of accidentally spending the entire night in his arms flood my mind, and a warm blush creeps onto my face.

“Oooooh, are you all nervous with your little boyfriend around?” she teases, her words making me squirm.

“He’s not my- Shut up, Hanni!” I retort, my face growing warmer with each passing second. Yuno briefly exchanges words with the librarian before turning around, our eyes locking inadvertently. His cheeks tint with a faint pink and his eyes grow slightly wider, almost as if he’s surprised to see me. Hanni, sensing an opportunity for mischief, beckons him over.

“W-what are you doing, Hanni!?” I panic, smacking her arm. She chuckles, undeterred, as Yuno makes his way towards our table. I bury my face in my hands, wanting to disappear from this moment.

“Heyyyyyy, Yunooooo,” she calls out, earning a shush from the librarian which she promptly ignores. “What are you doing around here?” Her signature impish grin is etched onto her face, a sign that she’s up to no good.

“Just need to print something out.” Despite his gruff tone, his eyes shift nervously back and forth. I had never seen him look so anxious before.

“That’s coollllll. Minji’s here too, you got anything to say to her?” Hanni gestures toward me, and I offer a shy smile, trying my best to act composed despite the unmistakable blush on my face.

Yuno stutters for a moment before managing, “U-um… Hi.” He nods awkwardly before hastily retreating behind a bookshelf, tripping slightly on the shelf’s edge. A chuckle escapes my lips as he disappears from view.

“That’s the guy that everyone’s so afraid of? The one that beat up Bryce?” Hanni asks, her eyebrow raised in disbelief. “He looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

I shook my head, a flashback of my first encounter with Yuno in the detention room vividly playing in my mind. His face had been marked with fresh cuts from his fight with Bryce just moments before. At first, I thought he was just another brute who liked causing trouble, but the past few days with him have proved me wrong.

“I mean, he did beat up Bryce, but he had his reasons. I don’t necessarily agree with him getting into a fight, but he’s not a bad guy. Maybe people should try to get to know him better instead of just assuming he’s just another delinquent. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and he has a good heart, a-and…” I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, realizing I had been unintentionally rambling about Yuno. Hanni stared at me in awe, the corners of her lips curling upward.

“OMG, Minj… You have a crush on him!!” she squeals. Panicking, I clamped my hand over her mouth. 

“N-no I do not! Can you please shut up, Hanni!?” I struggled to silence her as her whole body shook with laughter.

“You totally do, Minji!! Just look at yo-”

“SHHHH!!!! Ladies, this is a library!” Both of us freeze as the librarian glares at us with contempt.

“S-sorry…” I mutter before gathering up all my papers. Ignoring the sounds of Hanni giggling behind me, I quickly exited the library, eager to escape the embarrassment. My mind, already burdened with student council responsibilities and the impending meeting with parents, is suddenly occupied with a third weight - Yuno. Images of him fill my thoughts as I think about what Hanni said.

“I-I don’t have a crush on him. I can’t. My parents would never approve… I-I mean, he’s nice and all, and he did help me a lot yesterday. B-but we’re just friends… I guess? Friends can cuddle after a traumatic experience, right?? Omg, Minji, you are doomed…”

The stress that had gripped me earlier increased tenfold as I made my way towards my next class, uncertainty plaguing my mind with each step.

______________________________________________________________

Yuno’s POV

As the school’s printer whirs to life, I mentally facepalm myself for acting like an idiot in front of Minji. It didn’t help that I tripped on the shelf like a moron. 

“Hey, Yuno!” A voice from behind calls out to me while I wait for my papers. I turn and see Minji’s friend - Hanni, I think it was? - approaching me with a phone in her hand. “Minji forgot her phone on the table before she left, do you think you could give it to her later?” She punctuates her question with a mischievous smile. 

“Why can’t you do it? You’re her friend,” I ask, questioning her intentions. 

“Because, I have, uhh… stuff to do.” My skepticism only grew as she flashed me another offputting smile that made it obvious she was up to something. Before I could decline, she shoved the phone into my hands and skipped away without another word. Regretfully, I placed the phone into my pocket and grabbed my papers from the printer, leaving the library with more questions than I entered.

Walking through the halls back to class, I hear a commotion coming from the boys’ bathroom. I try to ignore it and keep walking, but something in my gut stops me from moving on. I push open the door, and the voices from within become much clearer.

“You little shit.” *THUD* “Not so tough without your little friend, huh?” *THUD*

I round the corner and my heart instantly drops. Yujin’s normally cheerful face was painted with cuts and bruises, blood dripping from his mouth and nose like a leaky faucet. His limp body was being held up by one of the football players while Tyler took free shots at him. 

“Get the fuck out of here before I-” Tyler turns around, noticing my presence. His eyes go wide with fear, but he keeps up his tough guy act, scoffing at me. “What the fuck do you want, Yuno?”

My heart pounds in my chest with anger. It’s taking every fiber of my being to stop me from smashing his skull against the porcelain sink. “Let him go. Please.”

Tyler laughs defiantly in my face. His friend, on the other hand, loosens his grip on Yujin, dropping him to the floor. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Tyler yells, glaring at his friend. “Pick him back up, you idiot!”

He looks back and forth between me and Tyler, his hands fluttering nervously. “S-sorry, Ty, b-but I’d rather live,” he stutters before running out of the bathroom. 

I pushed past Tyler and kneeled beside Yujin, examining his condition. His chest rose with shaky breaths while his droopy eyelids glanced up at me. A faint grin appears on his face.

“H-hey… S-super Y-Yuno… C-coming to the rescue…” He mutters, wheezing with every word. Enraged, I stand up and turn towards Tyler, dropping my backpack on the ground. His tough guy act completely melts away, revealing a terrified boy underneath.

“M-my dad w-will sue y-you if y-'' His words hang in the air, cut short as my hand clamps onto the back of his head. With a swift, forceful motion, I slam his face onto the tiles of the bathroom walls, the sickening sound of bones breaking echoes between the walls. 

A guttural wail escapes Tyler’s lips, muffled by his hands clutching his broken nose. Thick, crimson liquid seeps through his fingers, coating his hands and face. The metallic scent of blood permeates through the air, a scent that I’m all too familiar with. I shove my foot into the side of his ribs, the impact punctuated by the wrath filling my veins. Tyler crumples to the ground, writhing in pain. The sound of my heart thundered in my ears, drowning out the world around me. Hovering over Tyler, I draw back my elbow, ready to deliver the final blow. With all my power, I drive my elbow into his already battered face. The impact sends a shockwave throughout his body, knocking him out cold.

I stand over his unconscious body, the acrid taste of adrenaline lingering on my tongue, and slowly unclench my fists. I swallowed hard, attempting to steady my breathing while the ringing in my ears faded away. The anger I once felt is now replaced with a slight guilt as my mind travels back to Minji, her unapproving expression from my fight with Bryce echoing in my mind. I shake my head and turn my attention back to Yujin.

Kneeling beside him, I carefully sit him up against the wall. “Can you stand?” I ask, my throat feeling dry from the sight of his battered-up form. Yujin tries to stand up on his own but groans in pain from the slightest movements. 

I turn around, offering him my back. “Get on. I’ll carry you to the nurse.” Carefully, he wraps his arms around my neck while I carry him in a piggyback. Grabbing my bag, I step over Tyler’s unconscious form right as a freshman boy enters the bathroom. A look of shock paints his face as he scans the blood on the wall and the body on the floor. His body shivers in fear as I loom over him, his legs frozen in place, preventing him from escaping.

I try my best to look less threatening and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “He slipped and fell. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I pat his shoulder and exit the bathroom, Yujin resting on my back.

______________________________________________________________

My already sullied faith in the education system manages to go even lower as I find the nurse’s office completely empty, with no nurse in sight. I sign in frustration, opting to find help off campus instead of waiting for someone who might never come.

As I round the corner on my way to the exit, I inadvertently bump into a girl, jostling the glasses from her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that,” she apologizes, hastily retrieving her glasses from the ground. “Are you alr-” She freezes as she secures her glasses, undoubtedly shocked at the sight of Yujin’s unconscious body. “What did you do to him!?” she exclaims, hurriedly checking on Yujin.

Confused, I took a defensive step back, shielding Yujin from her. “I didn’t do this. It was Tyler McGraw.”

“As if I would believe someone like you. Why didn’t you take him to the nurse!?” She slaps my arm in exasperation. I scoff, slowly becoming more and more irritated.

“The nurse wasn’t there, so unless you’re a doctor or something, get out of my way, or else he might die,” I snapped, glaring at her. Her irate look melts into one of sympathy, a look I’m not used to receiving. 

I clear my throat, attempting to ease the tension. “S-sorry,” I stutter awkwardly. “I just need help. Please.” 

She studies my expression for a moment before sighing, relenting to the urgency of the situation. “There’s a first aid kit in the student council room. Follow me, it’s closer.” I followed her silently, wondering why her face looked so familiar. 

The student council room exuded an air of organized chaos, with papers sprawled out all over the table in the center of the room. The floor was littered with various colored paper scraps, a by-product from the posters advertising prom that line the hallways. A whiteboard on the far end of the room was covered with notes, important due dates, and random drawings. On the opposite side of the room, a well-worn green couch sat, its fading color a testament to years of use by both former and current student council members.

The student council girl grabbed a first aid kit from a cabinet while I gently lay Yujin down on the couch. His chest slowly rises and falls with each shaky breath. 

“Th-thank… Thank you… Y-Yuno…” he wheezes in a strained voice. Yujin reaches out with a trembling hand, finding mine in a weak grasp. An unfamiliar tenderness wells up within me as I squeeze his hand reassuringly. The girl sits beside Yujin and begins delicately cleaning the dried blood from Yujin’s face. She meticulously applies antiseptic to his cuts, the clinical scent stinging my nose.

As she worked, her eyes briefly flickered toward me. “So,” she starts, her tone measured. “What happened to him?”

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I relive the past hour in my head. “Tyler and one of the other guys on the football team were beating him up in the bathroom, so I stepped in and…” My words trail off as I catch the unmistakable glare she’s directing at me. I gulp, suddenly feeling sheepish in front of her. Shaking her head, she diverts her attention back to aiding Yujin.

“I don’t know what Minji sees in you,” she mutters under her breath. My ears burn at the mention of Minji, and then it hits me - this girl is one of her friends I saw two days ago (Danielle, I think). Despite not talking to her at the time, I remember the distinct icy stare she gave me that day.

“H-how is Minji?” I stutter awkwardly. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her this morning after the incident last night, except in the library where I… My body shivers at the embarrassing memory.

Danielle abruptly stands up, staring daggers at me from behind her frames. Despite being much shorter, I suddenly felt like an insignificant bug as she loomed over me. “I don’t know what you're planning here, but you better stay away from Minji. She has enough going on already and she doesn’t need a troublemaker like you to add to that,” she snapped, fire in her eyes. We stood there in tense silence for what felt like years before she went back to tending Yujin’s wounds. 

I open my mouth to argue, but stop, considering her words. What was I planning with Minji? We’re not exactly friends, but we’re not strangers either. I mean, I slept over at her house. Hell, we slept in the same bed together. What could she even gain from being close to me? My head begins to ache as I get more and more confused.

Danielle gets up from the couch, breaking me from my thoughts. “I did all I could with the first aid kit. I think it’s best to alert his parents,” she states.

Yujin, with the very little energy he has left, shakes his head. “N-no… Don’t… D-don’t tell… m-my parents…” he grunts. 

Danielle frowns. “Why not?”

“I-I live w-with… M-my grandma… D-don’t… Worry her… P-please…” A single tear rolls down from his swollen eye. Danielle holds his hand reassuringly, her expression full of sympathy.

“Okay. I won’t,” she assures before turning to me, her expression hardening instantly. “He can rest here for the rest of the day. I’ll let his teachers know to excuse him from their classes. You, on the other hand, need to go back to class. I’ll watch over him.”

I nod, surrendering Yujin to her care. Despite her intense distrust toward me, I acknowledge that she can do a better job of taking care of him than I ever could. Grabbing my bag, I leave the student council room, stealing one last glance at Yujin. He grins and gives me a small wave right as I close the door.

A splotch of red stains my sleeve, a symbol of the violence I committed. Feeling disgusted at my lack of self control, I roll it up to hide the part of me others are scared of.

______________________________________________________________

The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. I quickly grab my things and make my way towards the student council room, the crowd parting as I walk by. Upon barging in, I find the room empty aside from a folded-up note on the couch with my name on it. Curious, I unfolded it and it read:

Hey Yuno, thanks for saving me again. I owe you one, big time! Danielle said her mom is a nurse and she offered to check me out for free so I don’t burden my grandma with any hospital bills. Her mom is giving me a ride home from school early, but I didn’t want to leave without saying anything, so I’m writing this note to you. Danielle and I talked a lot after you left and she’s really nice! I tried to convince her that you’re a cool guy, but she still seems skeptical. Don’t worry though, I’ll change her mind eventually :) Anyway, my hand is starting to hurt now, so I’ll end the note here. See ya tomorrow! - Yujin

I smirk to myself and fold the note, placing it in my pocket. As I place the note inside, I feel something strange and smooth, and I suddenly remember - Minji’s phone. With everything that went on with Yujin, I completely forgot to return her phone. Rushing out of the building, I scan the courtyard, looking for Minji, but she’s nowhere in sight. I flinch at a tap on my shoulder and turn to see two more of Minji’s friends - the tall one and the one that looks like a cat.

“Hello!” the taller one greets with a bright smile. “Your Minji’s friend, right? Haerin told me to get your attention. I’m Hyein by the way, it’s nice to meet you again!” She sticks out her hand, which I clumsily shake. The shorter girl, Haerin, steps in front of her and stares at me with an odd, unreadable expression that sends a shiver down my spine.

“You are looking for Minji,” she states matter-of-factly.

I stagger backward, taken aback by her accuracy. “How did y- never mind. Do you know where she is?”

“She went home early,” Hyein says. “Her parents are flying from their business trip today, so she rushed home to go see them.”

I nod and turn to leave before Haerin stops me. “What’s your relationship with Minji?” she interrogates.

“We’re uhh…” I hesitate, uncertain about my answer. Shaking my head, I decide to change the subject. “Minji left her phone in the library. I’m just trying to return it.”

Haerin’s eyes narrow, studying my expression for a moment. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as her feline eyes stare into my soul. Minji’s friends always find a way to make me feel uncomfortable.

Hyein steps in, smacking Haerin on the shoulder. “We’ll let you go on then. Tell Minji we said hi!” She tugs Haerin away, nodding apologetically. It looks like she’s the only normal out of Minji’s friends.

As I walk along the familiar path towards her house, the once serene blue sky suddenly fills with gray clouds, reminding me of my first meeting with Ms. Student Council President. If I had just left the detention room instead of offering to walk her home, would fate still have pushed us together? Would she have gotten hurt last night if I hadn’t bumped into her by chance? In the grand scheme of things, what does meeting Minji Kim mean? Droplets of rain start to fall as I ponder these questions, the weight of uncertainty bearing down on me like the rain clouds above. The thread of my life has changed directions after meeting Minji, now woven with hers, for better or for worse. 

Before I knew it, I found myself in front of her house, an unfamiliar and expensive-looking car in her driveway that must belong to her parents. I gawk at it for a moment, wondering how loaded her family is, before knocking on the front door. 

The door swings open, revealing a tall and impeccably groomed man, donning a perfectly tailored suit that I’ve only seen in movies. His eyes, sharp and calculating, seem to dissect me with every glance. “Hello there, can I help you?” he greets, his deep voice as polished as his appearance.

I gulp, my confidence dwindling in the face of his stature. Everything about him reminds me of a world of privilege and opulence that I could never hope to be a part of. “U-uh, hi, I-I’m Yumo- I mean Yuno,” I stammer, my throat suddenly becoming dry.

He raises an eyebrow in concern. “Okay… Can I help you, Yuno?”

I shake my head, mentally facepalming. “R-right, sorry, uh Minji forgot her phone in the library, I’m just here to return it.” I take the phone out of my pocket and show it to him, my hand trembling slightly, betraying my nerves.

He squints, scrutinizing my expression with an intensity that could rival Medusa’s. A woman - Minji’s mother - glides into view from behind him, adorned in fabrics that are equally as elegant and intimidating as Mr. Kim’s. 

“Who’s at the door, honey?” she asks him, her voice exuding authority and lavishness. I suddenly felt self-conscious in front of the pair, crossing my arms to cover my shabby-looking school uniform.

“He’s a classmate of Minji’s. He says he’s returning her phone which she forgot in the library,” Mr. Kim says, his eyes still nitpicking my every move. 

“A friend of Minji’s, how wonderful!” Ms. Kim exclaims. “Come in dear, let’s have a little chat.” She gave me a warm welcoming smile, yet lingering underneath the surface, there was a subtle glint of concealed intentions that sent a shiver up my spine.

“U-um, okay…” I reluctantly accepted, fearing the consequences if I declined. Ms. Kim ushered me inside her home, unaware that this was the third time I’d been here in a row. At this point, I’ve seen more of Minji’s house than I have my own.

“Minji dear, your friend is here,” Ms. Kim calls out. 

“Is it Hanni? I told her she didn’t have to-” Minji rounds the corner, and our eyes lock in a moment suspended in time. She’s dressed in an elegant white blouse that amplifies the innocence of her natural beauty, paired with a simple black skirt that accentuates the grace in her every movement. Minji exuded a completely different aura compared to when she’s wearing her school uniform or the oversized T-shirts she wears as pajamas. It was almost as if she was a different person entirely.

“Y-Yuno! What are you doing here?” She asks, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

I snap out of my trance and hand her the phone. “You forgot your phone in the library. Hanni asked me to hand it to you.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much! I’ve been looking everywhere for it!” Her face lights up in a grateful smile that makes my heart skip a beat. My cheeks flare up with warmth and the corners of my lips instinctively curl upwards, which I try to hide with my hands.

“Yeah no problem, I should probably get going now-” As I turn to leave, Ms. Kim places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me

“Yuno dear, why don’t you stay for some tea? Sanghoon and I would love to get to know another one of Minji’s friends.” Despite her cheery tone, there was something in her voice that let me know she wasn’t just asking - she was commanding. I reluctantly comply, taking a seat on the couch.

“Minji, come help me in the kitchen,” Ms. Kim commands, pulling Minji with her. Minji gives me a sympathetic look before she disappears, leaving me alone with her father. Mr. Kim sits on a reclining chair, leaning forward as he stares me down. I fought guys that were triple my size before, yet none of them intimidated me as much as he did.

“So,” he begins, his expression unreadable. I gulp as I await the inevitable onslaught of questions. “What are your grades like, Yumo?

“U-uh, it’s Yuno. Sir,” I stammer. He grins at me with amusement, like a predator playing with his food.

“My apologies, Yuno.” Mr. Kim leans back in his chair, a sign that he doesn’t view me as a threat. Even with his relaxed demeanor, I couldn’t let my guard down.

“R-right, u-uh my grades are alright.” I clasp my hands together in an attempt to hide my trembling. He raises an eyebrow at my answer, unconvinced. My gut is telling me that I said something wrong.

“What are your goals for the future?” He continues.

“I-I’m not really sure yet. Still thinking about it,” I lie. Up until recently, I’d always assume I would die young from getting mixed in with the wrong crowd, so I never even humored the thought of actually having a future.

“That’s normal for kids your age,” Mr. Kim says, nodding in understanding. “You might wanna hurry up though; it’s best to get a headstart on college.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, his genuine advice easing my nerves a bit. However, I could still feel alarms going off in my head, the tension in the room at dangerously high levels. Something was hiding underneath their kind facade that made the hair on the back of my head stand up on end.

“I’m sure you were expecting me to ask you this, but what is your relationship with my daughter?” He folds his arms, expectantly awaiting my answer. 

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The answer to the question has evaded me the entire day, my mind clouded with uncertainty like the rain clouds outside. It would have been easier for me to lie and make up an answer, but my gut was stopping me. I needed an answer, right here and right now.

I take a deep breath to clear my mind, hoping the answer will come to me at the last second. “Minji and I are-”

“The tea is ready!” Minji swoops in, briskly placing a tray of mugs on the coffee table. “Actually, I forgot to tell you this, but Yuno and I are working on a project for science class.” My eyes widen with confusion, but before I can react, Minji grabs me by the sleeve and pulls me up the stairs. “We’ll be in my room if you need us!” she announces. I catch a glimpse of her parents’ bewildered look right before we turn the corner. She pushes me into her room, shutting the door behind her. 

The walls of her bedroom were covered in posters of various singers and groups with odd names, like “Red Velvet” and “Twice”. Various stuffed animals were neatly arranged on top of her bed, a testament to her meticulous nature as student council president. A desk sat in front of the window, its surface covered with random stickers, polaroids with her friends, and sticky notes containing due dates and reminders. I would’ve been impressed with how cozy the room was, if it weren’t for the fact that I was inside MINJI’S BEDROOM, alone with MINJI.

A thousand- No, a million questions fill my head as I glance at Minji, who’s begun pacing nervously around the room. “U-uh, Minji?”

“I’M SORRY, I PANICKED!” She covers her mouth almost immediately after her outburst, offering an apologetic look. Taking a breath, she sits on her bed, fiddling with her fingers. “I’m sorry about my parents, they can be a bit much, even for me. Especially my dad. I’m sure he means well, but he has a tendency to push his ideologies onto others. I suppose he is a businessman after all.” Minji grabs a stuffed bear toy, holding it for comfort. I bite my lip in an attempt to stifle a grin at how… “cute” she looked.

“It’s cool, I didn’t even notice,” I lied, feeling the sudden urge to look impressive in front of her. Instead of looking impressed, however, she giggles in my face.

“No offense, Yuno, but I could hear you stuttering from the kitchen.” My entire face burns red from her words. I pretend to inspect one of her posters in an attempt to hide my embarrassed expression. 

“Sooo… Why did you tell them we had a science project together?” I ask, changing the subject. “I’m not even taking a science class this year.”

Minji sighs, squeezing her bear toy. “My parents are always hypercritical of my friends, they have been since I was born. If they find even a single flaw, they’ll tell me I can’t be friends with them anymore. Hanni is the exception, of course, they couldn’t get rid of her no matter how hard they tried,” she explains, chuckling at her own joke. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, so I lied to get you out of there.”

There’s that word again - “Friend”. This whole time, I had been thinking about whether or not I thought of Minji as a friend. But… Did Minji see me as a friend? The thought was unfathomable, but I needed to know the answer.

“Minji,” I say, getting her attention. She looks up at me expectantly, her dark brown eyes making my heart flutter. “A-are we… friends?” I avert my gaze, awaiting the rejection. To my surprise, the rejection never comes.

“Of course we are! It would be weird if we weren’t friends after everything we’ve been through,” she states.

My body suddenly felt lighter, as if a thousand-pound weight had lifted off of my shoulders. The question that has been stuck in my mind all day finally had an answer. My lips instinctively curl into a smile, the first one I’ve had in a long while.

Minji giggles at my reaction. “I’ve never seen you smile before, Yuno. You should smile more, it’s nice,” she compliments. The room falls silent as a warm, pink hue graces both of our faces. Minji covers her face with the bear toy while I turn towards the wall, hiding the goofy smile that continues to grow on my face. I had been called a plethora of things under the sun - son of a bitch, motherfucker, and piece of shit, to name a few. Never in the last four years of my existence has anyone complimented my smile. 

A strange and unfamiliar feeling bubbles in my chest. It wasn’t fear, anxiety, or anger; It was happiness. Minji Kim had given me a compliment, and it made me happy. I can’t help but wonder if I had knocked one of my own screws loose during my altercation with Tyler.

Minji looks up from her bear, her face still as pink as cotton candy. However, her face instantly darkens with concern as she tosses her bear on the bed and grabs my arm.

“Yuno, is that… blood?” she asks, inspecting my sleeve. Unknowingly, my sleeve had unfurled, revealing the crimson stain. The joy from Minji’s compliment sours into guilt as her worried eyes meet mine. “A-are you alright? Did you get hurt or something?”

My throat grows dry as I search for an answer, my mind devolving into chaos. The thought of her disappointed face if I told her the truth sent a pang through my chest, a pain more acute than any punch I’ve ever received. Frozen in place, I stood helpless as the weight of my actions slowly crushed me.

A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts, and Minji’s mother peeks her head in, breaking the uneasy silence. “Hey you two, just wanted to know how the project is going. You left so abruptly that the tea got cold.”

Minji swiftly steps forward, shielding my blood-stained sleeve from her mother’s view. “Sorry about that, mom. The project is going well, we’re just brainstorming some ideas right now,” she says, her composure unbreaking.

“Alright then. Yuno dear, will you be joining us for dinner?”

I clear my throat, attempting to keep up a normal facade. “S-sorry Ms. Kim, but I should probably get going. My dad is waiting for me at home,” I lied. Truthfully, I have no idea where my dad is, but that didn’t matter at the moment. I roll up my sleeve and walk past her, beelining it towards the front door, only to be greeted with a curtain of pouring rain. To add insult to injury, a bolt of lightning rings out from the sky.

Ms. Kim places a hand on my shoulder from behind, and as I glance back, I catch a subtle tinge in her eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. She hid it well behind her warm smile, but I could tell there was something off about her.

“Oh no, looks like it’s raining,” she says, feigning concern. It was almost as if she somehow made it rain to keep me trapped here. “Why don’t you stay here until the rain dies down? It’ll give us a chance to get to know you better.”

I gulp as she shuts the door, prying me from my chance at freedom. The ominous feeling in the air intensifies as I reluctantly agree to stay, unsure of the web I’m becoming entangled in. Minji’s worried expression mirrors my own as I’m pulled towards the kitchen, the front door fading from view.

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. Additionally, this chapter is the setup for the second half of the entire story! Stuff starts to go downhill again from this point onward. I know I've mentioned that in recent posts, but it's always nice to have a reminder.

Also, I've come down with a pretty bad cold and have pretty bad brain fog and I haven't been able to proof-read chapters 14 and 15 as well, so there might be a bit of a hiatus for a few days while I recover. I'm still online, but i'm operating at 50% brain capacity ;w; I'm also plucking away at a few pallette cleanser stories that are NOT angsty, so stay tuned for those as well!

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 13

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You were seated on the closed toilet lid, your hands folded in your lap.  You were perspiring so rapidly you were starting to feel dehydrated.  Your heel bounced spastically against the linoleum floor, making your entire body tremble with the force of your anxiety.  Butterflies filled your chest, an impatient, fearful tingling sensation that spread out over your shoulders and into your head.  You were starting to feel dizzy.

Law was across from you, leaning against the wall with his lead lowered and his arms crossed over his chest.  His inked fingers were drumming against his arm, his own subtle way of channeling his nervous energy outward instead of bottling it in.  His breaths were shallow and uneven, as if he was trying to contain an outburst.

Like a sauna, the air in the room was stifling.  

A developing pregnancy test was sitting on the sink counter.

Here you were again.

“Five minutes,” Law muttered, a sound so faint and airy that you almost didn’t hear it.

You released an airy chuckle, your voice coming out in a wavering quiver.  “No matter how many times we do this, it never gets less stressful.”

Law smirked, letting go a huff of his own, his shoulders bouncing slightly with the motion.  “The passage of time keeps fucking me up, really.  How long has it been since your surgery?”

“A little over four  months now, I think,” you replied, counting in your head.  Four months since your surgery, and almost six months since your miscarriage.

“God,” your husband muttered, gently knocking his head against the tiled wall of your bathroom with a soft thud.  “And here we are once more.”

“Suffering,” you added.

Law barked out a sudden laugh.  “You’re not suffering on my watch, baby.”

You covered your face with your hands, hiding your embarrassed smile.  Law took the opportunity to snatch the pregnancy test off of the counter while you weren’t looking, inwardly fed up with the tension and apprehension.  When you gazed back up at him, your chest contorted at the sight of his face.  He was staring at the white stick, expression completely emotionless.  You absolutely could not tell if he was feeling elated or distressed.

“L-Law…?” you wearily called.

Silently, Law rotated his wrist to reveal the display of the test, his mouth morphing into a smile as he did so.

Two red lines.

Your heart was hammering wildly behind your sternum as you stood from the toilet seat, yanking the stick out of his hands and holding it close to your face, as if the results were false.  The positive line was quite vivid compared to your first positive test, or what you could remember of it.  Your hands were trembling, nervous shivers wracking your entire body as you absorbed the sight in front of you.  Your mind was whirling with incomprehensible thoughts, your neurons firing so rapidly you felt as though your entire psyche was filled with nonsensical radio static.  The corners of your vision grew blurry.

With a broad grin, you once again looked at your husband, who had a rare, toothy smile of his own.

“I’m almost scared to celebrate again,” you whispered.

Law stepped toward you and pulled you into one of his tight hugs you loved so much.  He squeezed you like a boa constrictor, like he was trying to funnel every ounce of affection he had in his weary heart into your soul.  You stifled a wheeze, squeezing him back as hard as you could.  His feet were planted to the ground, the only sound in the small room being your shared breaths of apprehension, nervousness, and excitement.  You could almost feel his own erratic heartbeat through your skin.  His hands were glued to your shoulders and waist as he wrapped you in his embrace, afraid that if he released you you’d disappear in front of him.

He inhaled an uneasy, shaky breath.  “We don’t have to tell anyone so soon this time, if you don’t want to,” he offered.

You inhaled the faint scent of laundry detergent mixed with that lingering hydrogen peroxide smell that always remained on his clothes.  “I think we should still tell Shachi and Penguin, after everything they’ve done to help us…”

Your husband simply hummed in response.  “What would you feel comfortable with?”

You shimmied in his arms, making him release you from his iron grip and step back slightly.  “Maybe we can wait a few weeks and then tell them.  Just to make sure everything is going okay.”

Law nodded, gracing you with that small, polite, slightly insecure smile that you loved so much.  “I like that plan.”

“And,” you continued, “I’ll call Robin tomorrow.”  You smiled to yourself, knowing that was going to be Law’s next question.

Indeed, he smiled.  “You know me too well.”

A faint boof bounced around the narrow halls of your apartment as Bepo demanded attention in the living room, making the two of you chuckle awkwardly after being forced back into reality, enclosed in your small bathroom.  Law began to step away from you, opening the door that was cracked open and stepping out into the rest of your home.  “I’ll take the fur baby outside.”

“Alright,” you replied, voice barely higher than a fleeting breath as you watched him round the corner and walk away, Bepo’s excited paw steps tapping across your floor.  You once again glanced at the test in your hands, a warm feeling swelling in your chest that also fought with an intense feeling of unease.

—

You stared at the pale yellow wall in front of you, your left arm outstretched and resting against a small tray as a tired-looking nurse wrapped a tourniquet around your bicep, pulling it uncomfortably tight and harshly squeezing the fat of your arm.  You watched her out of the corner of your eye as she disinfected the inside of your elbow with an alcohol swab, leaving a cold wet patch of your skin that made you suppress a shiver.  You were somehow wishing she could engage with you in even the most menial of small talk, anything to diminish the sheer awkwardness that permeated the small laboratory room around you.  You subtly winced as you felt the needle be inserted into your arm, followed by a swift cap and a tube to extract a precise vile of blood from your body.  You didn’t consider yourself squeamish by most means, but the sight of your dark red blood pooling rapidly into a plastic laboratory tube made your stomach twist, so you opted to continue looking away until the nurse expertly released the cap, extracted the needle, and covered the vile.  She labeled it with your name and patient number just as quickly as she ripped a portion of medical tape from its roll and used the sticky strip to adhere a piece of gauze to your skin.

“You’re all set, you’ll receive a call from your doctor when your results are in,” she said plainly.  Half of your mind felt a bit sorry for coming into the lab so early in the morning, the poor nurse was probably only halfway through her morning coffee.

You stood from the chair, grabbing your bag from the floor and flashing her an apologetic smile.  “Thank you.”

She simply nodded and placed your tube of blood into a small, white tray, carrying it out of the room and away from your sight.  Your stomach quickly filled the silence with an intense, hardy grumbling.  Shouldering your bag, you briskly exited the lab area, paced through the waiting room of the clinic, and back out through the entrance doors.  The early summer sun beat down on your skin as you walked through the parking lot to your car.  You tossed your bag into your passenger seat, immediately turning your key in the ignition to blast the air conditioning and diminish the stifling warmth that permeated the inside of your vehicle.  You blindly fumbled through your bag for your phone, tapping the screen to pull up your texts with your husband.

Hey babe, i just finished at the lab!  They only took one thing of blood from me, i thought thered be more but im also happy it was only the one  ;3; anyway, i’ll call you when i hear back from the doctor, she said hopefully it shouldnt be more than a day.  Good luck today, i love you!!!!!! ^3^ ^3^ ^3^

You were just about to put your phone back into your bag before the screen lit up once more with an incoming text from Law.  You grinned- he must be on break already.

Baby~~<3

Make sure you eat something filling at brunch, even if it was just one vile you should still replenish.  If you hear back and I don’t respond, I’m most likely in an operation.  I love you so much, baby, I’ll see you later tonight.

Leave it to your husband, always making sure you were on top of your medical needs even while on a shift where he was responsible for 30 other people.  You finally placed your phone back in your bag, putting your car in reverse and beginning your drive.

—

Ikkaku was already waiting for you with a table by the window of the cafe when you arrived.  She smiled, a grin so bright it could blind you, as she eagerly waved you over.  You gleefully followed her motions, plopping down across from her.  She barely gave you time to adjust your posture in your seat before she began excitedly speaking.

“So…?  You said yesterday you had something you wanted to tell me.”  Your curly-haired friend leaned forward with her elbows on the small table.

“Geeze, girl, let me breathe first!” you chuckled.  “I haven’t even registered where I am yet!”

Ikkaku jokingly snapped her fingers.  “Then hurry up!”

With a smile, you gazed downward at the paper menu that had been placed in front of your seat before you arrived.  A milkshake definitely sounded good right now…

“What are you thinking of ordering?” you asked, making Ikkaku huff impatiently, though she quickly gazed over her own menu.

“I was really eyeing up the veggie omelet,” she replied.  “I need something savory or I’ll die.”

You laughed.  “That does sound pretty damn good…” you trailed off, thinking deeply before asking, “Would you want to split an extra large milkshake?”

Ikkaku’s impatience with your dawdling finally dissipated as her large brown eyes lit up in excitement.  “Uhm, fuck yeah I do!”

Soon after, a waitress came by with a small notebook and placed down your orders.  A short stack of pancakes, a veggie omelet, and an extra large chocolate milkshake to share.  Once your table was left alone, you finally leaned forward and grabbed your friend’s attention for the information she was so desperate to hear.

“Okay, I need you to keep this a secret from everyone, and I need you to seriously promise me that,” you began, your voice indicating intense directness that immediately told Ikkaku that you weren’t messing around.

“Of course,” she responded.  “I know I tend to be a chatterbox, but I’ll hold your word.”  She lightly pounded her fist against her chest, a silent symbol of her promise.

You grinned faintly before taking a deep inhale through your mouth and whispering, “I got a positive pregnancy test a week ago.”

Ikkaku sucked in a shocked gasp, pulling her hands to her mouth in bewilderment.  “No way?!”

“Shhh, Ikka!” your hand shot across the small table to land on her mouth in a futile attempt to silence her before the entire cafe knew of your news.  “I’m really keeping it on the down-low for now, since… you know.”

Your friend’s eyes were shining with delight, almost tearing up in the corners as she gazed at you with love only a life-long friend could have.  “That’s incredible, oh my goodness, I’m so excited for you!”  She was finally keeping her voice down, but her wavering squeaks as she talked revealed the sheer amount of effort it was taking her to keep her composure.  “When did you find out?”

“About a week ago,” you replied.  Your lips finally broke into a wider smile as you took in her infectious excitement, though your chest was still fluttering with a fear that had yet to disappear.  “I’m only telling you because I want you to be there in case anything happens again.  I love our friends, but you know how gossipy they can be.  I think I can trust you better than anyone else.”

Ikkaku grabbed your hand that you had reached toward her, clenching it tightly in her own grasp as she followed your posture and leaned over the table.  “You have my word.  You know I’m always a phone call away, in and out of work.”

“Thank you, Ikka…” you responded to her promise with an airy sigh, feeling your own sinuses grow achy with the risk of impending tears.

Your overflowing emotions were quickly subdued when your waitress returned with an astronomically large glass filled to the brim with a rich chocolate milkshake, dolloped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and two maraschino cherries for each of you.  You briskly ripped open your straw and dove it into the sweet drink, taking a long sip to drown your tears.  You refused to cry over a nice brunch, and a little chocolate therapy was always the best medicine.  Ikkaku was giggling at your desperate actions as she inserted her own straw and took a savoring sip of her own.

“Have you told anyone else?” she asked, still keeping her voice fairly low.

Your lips finally released their death grip on the tip of your straw.  “Only Shachi and Penguin.  We wanted them to know first before anyone, because…” you awkwardly tilted your head, hoping you wouldn’t have to bring up the elephant in the room again.  “You know.”

Much to your relief, Ikkaku nodded, understanding your intentions immediately.  “Of course, of course.  I’m glad you have those two living in the same apartment building as you!”

You laughed, running the tip of your finger along the cold glass of the milkshake, collecting some of the condensation on your skin.  “Me too, they’ve basically been raising Bepo for us.  I feel a little bad for the poor thing, honestly… I know he’s probably confused with all the fussing going on in our home.”

Ikakku grinned.  “If you ever need some extra hands for that polar bear you know where to find me!”

Your waitress returned for a third time, this time bearing two plates of food, both dishes steaming and filling your nostrils with the addicting scent of a weekend brunch.  Your mouth was watering as your pancakes were placed in front of you, golden brown and perfectly cooked on either side, moist and subtly sweet, the succulent aroma of the small amount of cinnamon in the batter warming your soul.  You quickly got to work dolling up your plate with a small amount of butter and a bountiful drizzle of fresh maple syrup from your table.

“Ikka, how’s your–”  Your sentence was cut off when you finally glanced up at your best friend just as she shoved a heaping fork-full of crispy home fries into her mouth.  Her wide, brown eyes stared back at you like a deer caught in headlights.  You were laughing at her display, your shoulders bouncing as you reached for your own fork.  “Nevermind, I think you just answered my question.”

—

[CODE PINK]

Law’s heart was pounding wildly in his chest as he rounded the corner of the cardiac ICU into the room where the code was directed, already spotting his colleagues surrounding a bed with the crash cart.  A male nurse was positioned on his knees on the bed, frantically performing CPR on the small figure beneath the blankets.  As if his actions were second nature, he approached the crash cart and assumed an authoritative roll, preparing the on-board defibrillation machine for immediate use.

A blood-curdling scream reverberated around the small space, a nurse at Law’s side rushing over to the entrance of the room to usher a panic-stricken woman out of the area.  Her cries were deafening, making a younger nurse across the bed from the surgeon wince, her face flushing red with adrenaline-fueled horror.

“DEFIB is ready,” Law called, passing the machine off to a technician who expertly manned the paddles, timing his procedure with the nurse performing CPR.  A few more nurses, as well as Dr. Tony entered the room and began their assistant procedures for the code.

Law finally got a glimpse of the body under the sheets.  A young boy, no more than ten years old, was laying limp, eyes wide open and glued to the ceiling, yet reflecting no light.  The tiny child’s skin was paler than the white walls of the hospital room.  His form lurched with the force of the defibrillator, which only did so much to muffle the sounds of the screaming, crackling sobs from the hallway.  A heart monitor, connected to the child’s skin with sticky electrode pads, was showing zero signs of life.  A different nurse assumed his position on the bed to continue administering CPR, but as soon as he forced his gloved hands down onto the boy’s chest, a trickle of blood exited the corner of the child’s mouth.

“Stop,” Law immediately called.  He stepped forward, pressing two fingers against the neck of the boy, right under his jaw.  No pulse.  His skin was icy cold, sending a chill up Law’s spine.  A tiny stream of blood continued to trickle from the child’s mouth.  His ribs were surely broken after the force of the compressions on his fragile body.  The ECG monitor on the crash cart continued to display no signs of cardiac activity.  The mother of the boy continued wailing from the hallway, the sound now the only thing filling the ears of the workers in the solemn room.

The nurses surrounding the table tossed nervous, frustrated, and pained glances at each other while waiting for Law to respond.

The black-haired surgeon tossed a glance at the digital clock hanging on the far wall.  “Time of death is 11:47 AM.  Dr. Tony, can you please contact the coroner and have him report to room 204 immediately?”

The younger doctor vigorously nodded.  “Yes, sir.”  He departed the room in a hurry, headed to the nearest nurses’ station for a pager.

“The rest of you,” Law continued.  “Please secure the room.  I’m going to speak to the patient’s mother.”

The nurses and technicians silently cleaned the scene, wiping down the face of the boy and closing his lifeless, marbled eyes.  Law paced out of the room and into the hallway, where the mother, at least that’s what he assumed, was still draped over a nurse, wailing in sheer desperation and agony.  Law attempted to keep his shoulders poised, exuding an air of confidence and humility as he approached.  The nurse looked up as Law stepped closer, obviously doing her hardest to hold in her own heavy tears.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Law called, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.  “I’m sorry, but your son–”

He barely had time to think before a harsh slap was planted against his cheek.  A sharp, intense stinging sensation spread throughout his skin and his tongue got caught in between his molars, making him involuntarily clamp down on the muscle as his entire body was lurched to the side with the force of the blow.  The metallic taste of blood began to flood his mouth, making him cringe as he was forced to swallow it instead of spitting it out onto the hospital floor.  His sharp, golden eyes gazed at the woman who had landed the blow on his face.  She looked furious, almost feral, and her hand was contorted into a fist that she was clearly keen on using against him.

“FUCK YOU,” she screamed, her voice cracking in despair.  “YOU KILLED HIM.  YOU KILLED MY SON.”

More colleagues from the hallway who witnessed the scene approached, attempting to assist the weary nurse in restraining the frantic woman while a few others made desperate calls for the closest security officer.  Law simply stood across from her, stunned yet stoic, as he felt a trickle of blood flow down his cheek.  Her wedding ring must have scratched him.  

More curses were lobbed in his direction.  “How can you just stand there and look like that after you let my son die?!  How can you just go about your life as normal after letting him die?!”  The nurse originally holding the woman was releasing a quiet plea, her voice audibly trembling, begging her to take a step back and let her guide her to a quiet room where she could calm down and grieve, but the mother’s screams were too loud.

A security officer’s heavy footsteps bounded down the hallway, his gear jingling on his belt.  The officer placed his gloved hand on Law’s shoulder, forcing the doctor to take a step back.  “We’ll take care of her, go clean yourself up, doctor.”

Law gazed fiercely at the officer.  “You better show her some compassion.”  He turned tail and briskly paced back toward the doctor’s only area, entering the private restroom and flicking on the light.

He cringed at the sight of himself in the mirror.  Sure enough, a long, yet somewhat shallow, slash was dug into the tan skin of his left cheek, dribbling slow-moving blood down his skin.  He winced when he trailed his fingertips over the wound, the heavy, dull ache clearly the sign of a hefty bruise developing on his cheek bone.  He opened his mouth, leaning closer to the mirror to get a glimpse at the inside of his mouth.  He had bit his tongue, leading to a painful gash in the muscle that continued to bleed sour, coppery blood into his mouth.  It coated his back molars with a morbid crimson.  He silently bent over the sink, turning on the tap and collecting water into his hands that he readily slurped up, swishing around his mouth and spitting back into the sink bowl.  The water was a vibrant pink, heavy with blood.  His tongue stung from the contact the foreign liquid made with the muscle.  He splashed some more water on his face, cleaning off the cut in his cheek that continued to ooze blood for a few more moments before finally slowing a beginning to clot.  He swished water in his mouth a few more times.

Law’s hands remained poised on the bowl of the sink, supporting his weight as he leaned over the tap, struggling to take in enough oxygen.  His arms were trembling as adrenaline continued to pump through his body.  He tossed himself a scalding glare in the mirror as he pushed himself away from the sink and left the bathroom.

—

You were still awake when Law sulked through the door.  His shoulders were slumped, his entire posture ragged and weary as he followed his usual routine of kicking off his shoes, shrugging off his jacket, and dropping his bag to the floor.  Your greeting was silenced by yourself as you took in his visibly distraught demeanor, a large, white bandage on his left cheek, a black and blue bruise flourishing underneath the wrapping.  Law’s eyes appeared sunken in and red, as if he hadn’t slept in a year.

“Honey…?” you called meekly, standing up from your spot on the couch and meeting him halfway in the living room.

Silently, Law took your hand, led you into your bedroom, and pulled you down onto the bed with him.  The way his hand was violently trembling in your grasp made your heart ache in your chest.  He wordlessly buried his head into your neck, wrapping his long legs around your own and holding you as close as he could with his arms around your body.

It didn’t take a genius to guess the kind of day he had.  You followed his silence, lacing one of your arms around his shoulder and weaving your other hand into his hair, running your fingers through the slightly greasy strands of raven-black in the way you knew he loved.  

A warm, wet sensation seeped through the collar of your cotton shirt.

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART SIX: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

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Welcome, friends and travellers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(no, this photo isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

Today's Discussion: The Tragedy of the Evanuris (2/3)

— The Many Horrors Enacted Upon the Faithful —

As ever, please please pretty please go back and read the earlier parts of this series if you haven't already! I promise, there is a mountain of context that I don't reiterate in every post that I make, and I feel it is important for everything I say here and going forward.

Last post, we went over how the crimes/misdeeds of the Evanuris got their start: Mythal and her lyrium coffins, feeding dreams to spirits like Solas in order to turn them away from their Titans. From there, the experiments could begin: Elgar'nan with sundering the spirits that (I believe) would become Falon'Din and Dirthamen; Falon'Din then "blackening the heart" of a Titan. Crucially, all of these actions can be found symbolically represented by their corresponding vallaslin.

Bearing in mind that I don't want to guess at the specific chronology of all the Evanuris's deeds and crimes, I'm still going to sort these posts by gods, not by actions/year. This time, I want to talk about the crimes that continued from there as things began to spiral downward into incomprehensible horror.

Sylaise and the Scaled Ones

June, Architect of the Geas

Dirthamen: What Were His Secrets, and Where Is He Now?

If you're wondering where a certain very notable two Evanuris are on this list, don't worry: this post has three planned instalments. ;)

Sylaise and the Scaled Ones

Sylaise is known as the Heartkeeper in Dalish legend. She is a goddess of healing and knowledge. For a long time, I wondered what she could possibly have done to earn Solas's ire, for all the Evanuris are his mortal enemies. We know so little about her, don't we?

Let's start with what we do know.

It is Sylaise who gave us fire and taught us how to use it. It is Sylaise who showed us how to heal with herbs and with magic, and how to ease the passage of infants into this world. And again, it is Sylaise who showed us how to spin the fibers of plants into thread and rope.

Sylaise is clearly a goddess of fire and a healer and helper of the People, in Dalish legend. In this way, she gives me the same "vibes" as the Greek god Prometheus. Now, while I am no scholar on Greek mythology, I remember Prometheus as strongly associated with fire, and the creator of humans. I hadn't given much thought to the latter until now. But now, with the understanding that the Evanuris's crimes stem from the creation of the People?

I turned back to the Song to Sylaise, from the Temple of Mythal.

Sylaise, whose heat rivals Elgar'nan's light. Sylaise, whose temples rival Mythal's cities. Sylaise, whose breath rivals Andruil's spear. Sylaise, whose skill rivals June's craft. Sylaise, whose fire cannot be quenched. We give ourselves gladly to your service.

Let's draw connections between the Evanuris we have covered so far.

"whose heat rivals Elgar'nan's light" — now that we know that not only was Elgar'nan famous for his uncontrollable anger, but that he apparently sundered "the sun and the moon," I am wondering if this speaks not to Sylaise's potential anger, but her apparent affinity for forging and/or sundering spirits.

"whose temples rival Mythal's cities" — I always suspected this had to do with the population of Sylaise's temples, but before this month, before this spoilers, I had assumed those faithful had come willingly. That they were devotees who chose to live in her temples. What could be so bad about that? Well, now we know: Sylaise's temples rivaling Mythal's cities may well refer to how she created more people than Mythal.

"whose skill rivals June's craft" — we'll get to June in a moment, but I believe that June was crafting with lyrium, and that fits Sylaise in this context. Clearly she was shaping lyrium-spirits into something, and I believe this line says she did so with unparalleled mastery.

"Sylaise, whose fire cannot be quenched" — this shows me that the association with fire in Dalish legend holds true here, as well, albeit in a far more vicious light. That means, to find other references of Sylaise throughout the games and established lore, we should hunt for mentions of fire and the creation of people.

We need look no further than the Scaled Ones. Though they are chronicled as existing after the time of Ancient Elvhenan, I believe that they are Sylaise's invention: her armies stronger than Elgar'nan's, forged from something sturdier than skin; more populous than Mythal's; more well-crafted than June's (again, we'll get there).

We can also connect the Scaled Ones to the serpentine imagery present in Sylaise's vallaslin.

Torches would suddenly go out, leaving us to stumble though the dark and trip over discarded caravans. Then came the attacks, hard and fast. Father was one of the first. We heard breathing: slow and heavy, from a creature much larger than us. Father held out his arm and grabbed the front of my armor to make me stop. I saw its shadow move, darker than the darkness, and then my body jerked forward. It left Father's arm hanging, still grasping my chestplate.

The Scaled Ones had dominion over fire magic, it looks like: they could snuff out entire torches at a distance.

The Scaled Ones had set up a camp at an intersection in the Deep Roads. In the center there was a golden altar fashioned in the shape of fire. A chill swept through me. On the tip of each flame hung the corpses of those we'd lost—including Father and Drohg. They'd been drained of blood, leaving only bone wrapped in grey skin.

They also seem to worship this fire, which we know can still be associated with Sylaise outside of Dalish legend. They also seem to be harvesting the blood of those they've slain: in this case, dwarves. Blood magic, historically, is used to alter minds and to bind things. It could be that the Scaled Ones are keeping up with Sylaise's practice.

Or...

A robed Scaled One stood before the altar. Its voice was different from the others: softer, almost feminine. It chanted and raised a basin of blood towards the altar. The other Scaled Ones bowed low. The robed Scaled One produced fire from its palm and mouth and ignited the blood.

It could be that she lives on, somehow: a fire mage of unchecked power, with skin of the same scales that she forged in others. Watch for that in the post after next.

I still wish I knew more about Sylaise, and I wish I had time to go through everything I think about the Scaled Ones and their potential relationships with the kossith and/or Taash. But Sylaise's existence and the existence of the Scaled Ones do tell me that Ghilan'nain is far from the only Evanuris to have done biological experiments with her creations.

That sets a precedent for all the others, and I will continue to go on to describe why.

June, Architect of the Geas

For the little we know of Sylaise, we know even less of June. We know that he was the Dalish god of crafts, either husband or sibling to Sylaise (as much as the Dalish can even name the Evanuris's relationships accurately). The Dalish associate an unsolvable puzzle toy called "June's Knot" with him. The High Keepers of June seem to have been smiths.

I feel like this codex from the Vir Dirthara is trying to say the same thing:

The pages of this book—memory?—describe a heated argument between a group of well-dressed elves inside an elaborately arched pavilion on an island floating in a void. In the distance, haloed by a blizzard of light, thousands of elves are maintaining an elaborate magical ritual that pulls raw essence from the Fade, funneled into a sphere in the air. Through the lens of the sphere can be seen a world of indigo waterfalls and rust-red jungles, and a temple palace so frescoed and cleverly carved, it is a masterpiece in itself. The well-dressed elves' shouting grows so loud, it can be heard over the magic. One leaps at another, howling and pulling out a knife burning with prismatic flame. "Architects of the Grand Sonallium (a gift from Blessed Sylaise to Clever June as thanks for a great favor) in friendly debate over the color of the palace's roof trim."

However, he is never depicted with any of the tools that the Dalish associate with him. It's his architects who arguing here, one with a prismatic blade. Whether the blade belongs to June, there's more going on here than just common building and tool usage.

Rather than June's role changing over time, I think something else is true of June, and I see it when I look at his vallaslin.

Like the other Evanuris, he seems to have vallaslin designed reminiscent of lyrium branches. However, June's are all bent and woven very deliberately, in a more mechanical-looking fashion than Ghilan'nain's and Sylaise's. Even more important to me, though? They closely resemble Fenris's lyrium tattoos.

Considering that Fenris's slaver, Danarius, got the knowledge of how to embed lyrium beneath the skin from an "ancient treatise," it is possible that this knowledge was obtained from June's own notes. After all: in the codex with the Sonallium, has anyone made note of the thousands of slaves maintaining the magic around it?

Therefore, I believe June was the creator of the first geas, and the first vallaslin may have used geas magic to force the ancient elves into servitude.

To take it one step further and check my belief against other pieces of lore, I posit looking at one more source: the whisperings of June's archdemon.

I long wondered which archdemon might belong to June, but when I read the Chant of Light this week (again), I noticed something. The names of the archdemons' high priests are indicative, potentially, of which Evanuris they belonged to.

There is an Architect mentioned. Many of you may already be familiar with the name. The Architect is cited as the High Priest of Beauty: the old god of Beauty is cited in World of Thedas as being Urthemiel.

Per the Chant of Light:

The High Priest of Beauty, Architect of the Works of Beauty, designed Every work and wonder of the Imperium according to the plans of his god.

Remember how I mentioned that I believe the archdemons were puppeted by the Evanuris while they were imprisoned? This is no exception, and I'd like to draw attention to what the old god of Beauty whispered to his Architect.

And to him, Beauty revealed a grand plan: "Open the gates. And when you stand before me, I shall give you designs That shall rival the greatness of heaven. I will make you the First among the new gods, And you will build a paradise on earth."

To me, "designs that shall rival the greatness of heaven" should be interpreted in what the Evanuris would think of as greatness: limitless power, bending the very bounds of what should be physically possible, shattering common morality. When I read, "will make you First among the new gods," then, I cannot help but imagine the Architect of Beauty being given designs to help build an army of always-willing soldiers: ones operating under a geas. No great work would be impossible, in such an instance.

Thus, we have another facet in the tragedy of the Evanuris, the reason that all of them needed not just to be killed, but imprisoned, their works destroyed and never again recreated. Along with the ability to craft people with lyrium, to sunder spirits, and "blacken" the hearts of titans, the Evanuris used lyrium to create endless armies of seemingly "willing" slaves.

But even Urthemiel and his Architect were not first among the old gods or their followers. To understand the tragedy of the Evanuris and the complications in all of Solas's plans to stop them, we must look further into the Chant, and further into the Evanuris.

Silence, and his Evanuris: the Keeper of Secrets, Dirthamen.

Dirthamen: What Were His Secrets, and What Don't We Know?

I, like many others, assumed Dumat must be Elgar'nan's archdemon until a little while ago. But knowing Elgar'nan is alive and must still have his own, plus reexamining the Chant of Light and looking at DA:I with a more critical eye have shown me differently.

First among the Old Gods was Silence. His least whisper could end wars or topple Archons. A single word could turn recrimination into glory. The sacred fires of his temple burned Rare incense, and the trees of Arlathan, and lapped at the bones of slaves While his altars dripped with the blood of sacrifices that never dried.

Elgar'nan is not one to work with silence, nor whisper to topple an Archon. That doesn't seem like the way he would puppet an archdemon.

No mortal foot could tread those halls, No hand knocked upon the gate. Secrets beyond measure were the keys The Choir of Silence would need, and they had few. (7) And so the First Acolyte spoke to the High Priest And said: "We are the masters of secrets, But our god demands more.

Dirthamen is the Keeper of Secrets, and so I first looked to Dumat for clues on what, precisely, his worst deeds were. But then, the title hit me again. Keeper of Secrets.

What is a secret, I ask you, but a thought no one can know about? And in our understanding of the Evanuris, of spirits, and of Thedas itself, what is a thought but a spirit?

I dove into codices, because of course I did.

No beast is more beloved by Dirthamen than the bear. When the world was new, Dirthamen gave one secret to each creature to keep.

Let's rephrase this Dalish legend. Every time we read "secret," let us read "spirit." When we read, "gave one secret to each creature to keep," let us ask ourselves how it would sound with, "bound one spirit to each creature," therefore creating abominations.

The foxes traded their secrets to Andruil for wings. The hares shouted theirs to the treetops. The birds sold theirs for gold and silver.

It seems like this is describing what happened to each creature who gained Dirthamen's secrets. Foxes suddenly sprouted wings (sound like everyone's favourite Veilguard assassin to anyone?). The hares shouted theirs to the treetops.

Except, wait a minute, I know something about Dirthamen and trees.

He whispered into the mountains and the fallen trees of the forest gathered, shaping an immense and agile spider-like beast. It was the varterral. With lightning speed, vicious strikes, and venomous spit, it drove back the serpent. From then on, it was the guardian of the city and its people.

Whispered into the mountains sounds a lot like pulling "thoughts" from the mountains, or depositing "thoughts" into those mountains. Afterward, trees bend and warp around one another, forming the varterral.

Only the bears kept Dirthamen's gift, deep within their dens, they slept the months away in the company of their secrets and nothing else. When Dirthamen discovered what had been done with his gifts, he snatched the wings from the foxes, silenced the voices of the hares, and turned the birds into paupers. but the bears he honored for their steadfastness.

Bears, according to the wiki, can become enraged. Sounds a lot like something that might be possessed by Rage, no?

It did not stop at animals. We have the Temple of Dirthamen to look at, after all.

We few whisper here where shadow dwells. Some words remain unuttered. Truths are pushed down, down Where they shall never arise again.

Truths pushed down, down. Truths, like secrets, are based in thought. And when we think of thought with regard to Titans, spirits, and the Evanuris, we must think spirits. Spirits that are pushed down, down, never to rise again—because the priests of the Lost Temple of Dirthamen have committed to holding them.

Dirthamen is gone, he said. Our Highest One brings to us this gravest news. What shall we do? Where shall we go? What of the old secrets that burn within our hearts?

Our Highest One, he deceives us. The honeyed words that drip from his tongueWe know the despair they mask. We disciples of Dirthamen know truth, now as ever.

If we think about these priests as people who have been forced to harbor spirits, suddenly "the honeyed words that drip from his tongue / We know the despair they mask," takes on a whole new meaning. A capital-D Despair meaning.

Let's return, then, to the Conductor of Silence listening to his old god. The old god—puppeted by Dirthamen—required so many secrets that the priests did not know how to fulfill such a request. Masters of secrets, how could they possibly gain more? Well, now we know "secrets" and "spirits" to be interchangeable. The priests needed souls.

What happened next?

(2) In the Great Choir of Silence, the High Priests gathered. A hundred chosen acolytes brought lyrium Enough to drown a city in chiming silver And slaves beyond counting to the temple In accordance with the designs of their gods.

Lyrium and souls were brought to the temple. Lyrium, souls, and blood.

Only, the Magisters did not find Dirthamen, once they entered the Golden City.

(11) Above them, a river of Light, Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting, Beneath their feet The footprints of the Maker, And all around them echoed a vast Silence.

They heard him.

(12) But when they took a single step Toward the empty throne A great voice cried out Shaking the very foundations Of Heaven and earth:

We know that this is not the Maker. The Maker, by this time, probably exists in a sundered state, sleeping, as all Titans are. This has to be someone in the Golden City. Someone who, perhaps, knew the Magisters were coming.

(13) And So is the Golden City blackened With each step you take in my Hall. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven And doom upon all the world. (14) Violently were they cast down, For no mortal may walk bodily In the realm of dreams, Bearing the mark of their Crime: Bodies so maimed And distorted that none should see them And know them for men.

The Magisters were cast out, all of them blighted. But nothing could have attacked them, and we know from all the Dragon Age games that simply being around the blight isn't enough to get out protagonists sick with it.

Someone had to be there to inflict it upon them—someone who Corypheus, Conductor of Silence, would have been expecting to find, and dismayed to not be finding. He looked upon the throne of his god, after all, and found it empty.

Dirthamen is the only one of the Evanuris whose vallaslin has evolved over time. The first one evokes imagery of a broken gate on its forehead, surrounded by triangles: a symbol for the Veil.

The second, on Bellara, is newer—and not available to the player. Unique to her. It looks as though it features two birds on either side of a third eye. An all-seeing third eye.

We know a few things about Dirthamen, from all of this speculation. The "secrets" that Dirthamen kept were likely spirits and demons, which he bound to trees, animals, and people. His archdemon, Dumat, made demands on his behalf for endless "secrets" to get into the Golden City: endless spirits.

Dirthamen may have been the only one of the Evanuris to break free of his prison on his own, blighting the Magisters Sidereal.

But he would not be the only one to manipulate the blight, and he would not be the only one to escape his confines.

---

As ever, if you got this far, thank you!! I look forward to reading any additions or questions people might have, as ever!!

Also: I am trying my hardest not to consume full-game-review spoilers! As these reviews have just gone live today (10/28), I am not reading my notifications/replies, and am appearing here only to continue posting my theories.

But if you feel like sticking around anyway, stay tuned for: The Tragedy of the Evanuris pt. 3: Pestilent Doom Upon All the World.

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Hello, it's MXTX Ask Game :

1.) From the 3 works by MXTX, who is your favorite (canon) couple? Why?

2.) From the 3 works by MXTX, do you have any non canon fav ships?

(FYI, I have at least 10 non canon ships from those 3 series, sorry)

3.) From the 3 works by MXTX, do you have any favorite quotes (from each series)?

4.) Who is your favorite love interest in MXTX three novels (luo binghe, lan wangji, mobei jun or hua cheng)? Why?

5.) Who is your favorite mc in MXTX three novels (shen qingqiu, wei wuxian, shang qinghua or xie lian)? Why?

6 a.) Which do you think is more tragic : Yi City arc or BeefLeaf arc or the Fallout between Shen Jiu - Yue Qi? Why?

b.) Can I ask your opinion on the comparison between bingqiu, wangxian, moshang, and hualian (their plus and minus sides)?

1:

I love all the main couples, but just based on the pairing alone I'd say Hualian, from aesthetics to the journey they went through, it's all very pleasing to look at. As some say, Hualian invented love

2. All of the ships of SVSSS, a rarer favourite of mine being Zhushen. But I enjoy all of them, and I enjoy the character dynamics in any flavour of romantic, platonic or something more unique.

3. That one passage in SVSSS where it talks about Qing Jing being a daycare for ADHD children kills me every time, Xie Lian's iconic "I cannot get erect" and Wen Qing's and Wei Wuxian's whole "Thank you, and I'm sorry."

4. They're all super entertaining! No shade to Bingmei, Wangji-xiong and Mobei-jun but I'd have to say Hua Cheng, reason one being: He's the cuntiest. His jangly boots? Cunty. His monologues? Yes. (When his little monologue to Qi Rong was animated in the donghua I was OBSESSED. I need to be him.) Also I love what he's done with ghost city specifically.

5.Shen Qingqiu, AKA Shen Yuan.

The narrative style immediately hooked me due to its humor, and the special way he looks at the world in part due to transmigration and in whole due to his own mindset and character made it so much sweeter. His journey from beginning to end, especially when we get to the extras makes it so impactful when you return to the beginning and see such a stark difference. His little quirks, and how he's practically unarmed against politeness is hilarious.

Watching him struggle and come to terms with the personhood of the people around him was gratifying, and unfortunately for me, slightly relatable.

He's just so supremely enjoyable.

(Honorable mention here for Wei Wuxian, I adore the sibling dynamics in MDZS so much, especially Yunmeng Trio. I will be forever thankful to the untamed for it.)

6.a)Oh this is HARD.

I am only on Volume Six of TGCF, but from what I've seen of beefleaf so far... It wins. Qijiu devastates me continually, but He Xuan offing Shi Wudu in front of Shi Qingxuan? The tragedy is incomprehensible. The connection between beeflead is worse than dead, it's tainted irrevocably. And the worst part is I can't bring myself to blame just one person. Shi Wudu's motivations compel me, and He Xuan's are completely justified.

And Shi Qingxuan is caught in the middle. Losing a brother to a dear friend. He's the nexus of tragedy in this case.

6.b)

Devotion is the characteristic that strikes me as a throughline of all the pairings, Bingqiu, Moshang, Wangxian, Hualian.

(I'm going to try and keep this short lol)

Shen Qingqiu's devotion is fully demonstrated in the Holy Mausoleum arc, and Luo Binghe's is clear to anyone besides Shen Yuan.

Shang Qinghua's devotion is demonstrated during Maigu Ridge, and when Mobei-jun is left vulnerable during his subsuming of the ancestral Mobei martial aspect. And Mobei-jun's devotion is so beautifully and gently demonstrated through the pulled noodles.

Wei Wuxian's devotion isn't given as much of a spotlight due to the circumstances and time it takes him to get to the point of realization and acceptance, but his continual attentiveness and inherent trust in Lan Wangji, are clear even in his first life. The confession is a clear moment of devotion to me.

Lan Wangji's devotion is well chronicled. His very life is built around devotion. His musical compositions reflect it, his ideals are inspired by it, his family is grown by it. In Wei Wuxian's second life there isn't a moment where Lan Wangji isn't in a mindset of devotion. I think his greatest act of devotion, (though I think there was more than simple devotion at play) was his decision to take in Wen Yuan.

I cannot speak as well for Hualian, as I don't have the full context yet, but what is the bond between God and believer if not devotion? A beautiful form of devotion is worship, and Hua Cheng is a skilled master at all forms of it.

Thank you for the ask, and I hope I answered it adequately!