#this is not meant to be poetry or anything eloquent. like

[therebaby]

odd! the way we grow. i'm not the same person i was last year, last week, even yesterday. some days i don't even know who — what — i am, what i have become. and i think i'm okay with that. sometimes i even have the privilege of forgetting how things used to be — the quiet nights sat precariously on my bedroom ledge, fourteen floors high; the gnawing anger-turned-weight-turned-void trapped behind my sternum; maybe even the bruises that curtain beads leave behind. i don't really know what to make of it now, where i am today. i'm not ready to truly face the person i was (what a turnaround, from analysing and picking apart everything i ever did) and i don't think i ever will, perhaps. but it's a start. that's not to say i'm exceedingly happy with how life has turned out, let's not thank the lucky stars just yet, but... progress. it's something, always, to be grateful for (or is it?)

[hobbitsetal]

The Woes of Prince Osric

"Of course," said the Chancellor of the Exchequer fretfully, "one ought not to offend fairy godmothers."

Prince Osric gave his uncle a scathing look. "I had not meant to offend Falina's fairy godmother, uncle. In fact, our conversation was perfectly civil. To avoid offense, I would have had to have been a different man altogether!"

The chancellor wisely did not comment on that remark. Prince Osric was apt to be touchy these days, albeit silently most of the time. "Well, the matter is done. The queen is planning another ball next week, so you ought to find your True Love in short order."

The queen, who paid close attention to nuptials of various kingdoms, had decided briskly to aid her son in regaining his voice. That he would also end up married, as he was supposed to have been already, was a benefit she did not bother to point out. And since everyone knew a grand ball was the most romantic place for royalty (and since she had met her own husband at a ball), they had been held monthly since Prince Osric had returned home with his curious case of mostly muteness.

The ungrateful prince groaned and plopped into a chair, one hand pressed to his brow. "Not another one! Why can't she see how useless they are?"

"Oh, but they aren't!" the chancellor protested, scandalized. "Why, my own dear wife and I--"

"Can talk to each other," the prince said bitterly. "You've no idea, uncle, how dreadfully dull it is to dance without ever saying a word. I'm not even a novelty anymore. Hardly a six-month, and no one wants to dance with me, for they must do all the talking."

"But you have the Conversation Tablets."

Osric shook out his hands with a grimace. "Aye, and cramped hands from them. Besides, I can hardly stop midway through a minuet to write out a witty response."

"You have garden strolls to write in," the chancellor said patiently.

Another scathing look from the prince. "Where I can hardly see to write? Ugh. And the conversations stumble so! She says something, then she sits and looks at the flowers for five minutes while I write, then she says something else, then she looks at the statues! No one has any interest in that! And I can only talk in pairs, for if there's a group, they forget to pay attention when I'm writing and they've begun talking of something else by the time I have written out what I'd wish to say."

"They forget?" the chancellor asked, scandalized.

"Apparently," said Osric, "even a prince may be forgotten if he is silent."

The godmother had referred to her punishment as a gift. Osric had not yet found the gilt wrapping paper that would make it so.

"I feel," said he, "like a stack of furniture. Or-or a servant! I am dull and easy to ignore!"

The chancellor looked worried. "I shall budget a new wardrobe for you," he said, rising from his seat. "It shall be very fine and very colorful, so that you shall stand out in any crowd."

Ting ting ting began the little clock on the mantel.

"That will do nothing!" cried Osric. "I shall be like a bird of paradise and just as dumb! No, more, for a bird at least may--"

Ting ting ting, and the little clock was done.

And so was Osric, for on the tenth chime, his mouth closed with a snap and he could say no more.

"A new wardrobe," the chancellor said, nodding. "You are a prince, after all. There are many young ladies who will love you for that alone. I shall consult with your mother, and my dear royal sister and I will design a wardrobe that will make you impossible to forget." And he hurried out, frowning and muttering dear dear to himself.

Prince Osric sat alone in gloomy silence. A wardrobe, he knew, would not change anything about him. For one hour of a ball, he could be as eloquent as he had always been. Yet even that magic hour had been wasted of late, for he found himself embarrassed to go from sudden silence to compliments or poetry. No, true love was not to be found at a ball, not for him. He sat and he pondered.

At last, he wrote a note on his Conversation Tablet and left it for the servants to bring to his parents in the morning. He packed a bag of plain clothes and his second best pair of boots. And then Prince Osric stole out into the night to seek his True Love where he might find her, or at least adventures that did not rely upon conversation.

[spacexseven]

ALSO since you are a lover of The Chuuya ill do some pathetic subordinate au chuuya stuff too! I'll try to make this one shorter since the dazai one is such a monster.

I think hed kinda do the opposite thing that dazai does- not that he doesnt kiss your ass a LITTLE, he’ll definitely send a bunch of gifts to your house and rush to complete some of your work for you and write you love poems (that he never sends, too embarrassed. probably for the best. his prose tends to go from Suprisingly Sweet to Incredibly Creepy really fast.), but unlike dazai hes pretty attached to his reputation and thus doesn't wanna burn it away by sobbing for you until you finally cave and come hold him, as much as he might like to. to keep up his street cred while still getting you to trust him, he'll have to be more subtle. (he's not subtle at all everyone knows)

I could see his MO being to just kinda. put himself in your space as much as possible. surely, if he just hangs around you and doesnt insult you or anything like that you'll eventually realize hes not that bad? he'll even come and help you with your work, see! nice guy, really! please forget all the shit he used to say to you and that time he choke slammed you into a wall he won't do it again!

he finds himself really wanting to be useful to you. he was a pretty shitty superior, he'll admit that, but there has to be a way to make it up to you! if there's something you want, he'll get it for you. a task that needs doing, he'll complete it. a nuisance that needs to be dealt with, hes your guy. very easy for him to go to the traditional Ill Kill For You yan route here, anyone whose bad to you will know his WRATH. abusive relative? not anymore! cheating ex? bye bye! some fuck harassing you? gone! anyone who hurts his angel has to die, hes put you through enough already as it is.

- 🩹

i love your wonderful brain my friend :>

cw: yandere themes, stalking, implied breaking in + murder

compared to dazai, chuuya's hit by guilt faster, and harder. it takes a great toll on him, but he abhors the idea of anyone knowing that he was feeling broken-hearted and remorseful over some lower-ranking member. so unlike dazai's public (and embarrassing) pleads for forgiveness and lovesickness, chuuya's far more...silent about it. sure, he makes sure you're receiving his gifts, lightens your workload, and watches out for you, even deciding to avenge you in many instances. he's aware of and has long accepted the fact that he will never be recognized for his efforts, never be thanked for his help and he definitely isn't going to win your favor with anything he does, but how can he leave you alone?

of course, everyone else knows. there's whispers amongst the members of black lizard that executive chuuya nakahara personally takes care of anyone who dares utter a single negative word about you, koyou has to deal with chuuya's numerous requests for advice, and even dazai knows that chuuya's become a lovesick little puppy (naturally, he fails to notice the irony).

it's a regular sight now, to see chuuya bent over and scribbling on a piece of paper, before groaning and ripping it to shreds. anyone who manages to put together the strips is able to see what looks to be multiple lines of poetry, quite eloquently written if not for the extreme emotions being expressed in them.

while he avoids meeting with you directly, chuuya can't help but linger. he waits around the corner from your home, hoping to catch a glimpse of you walking by. he stands by the pavement outside the bar you frequent, cigarette in hand, figuring out a way to bump into you and make it look accidental, hopes you'll stop if only to stare for a moment. at least he's not all in your face and annoying you to no end like someone is, and that should score him a few points, right?

and yes, he yearns to be of some use for you, wants to help you in any way possible so that you don't see him as a nuisance and throw him aside forever. and if helping you meant staying behind you and cleaning up, if helping meant exacting revenge in your name, or even if it meant staying out of your way, he'll do it without complaint.

[meezer]

hi accy i love you so much. i just wanted to say i am a fellow gale lover and i love how he is a complete nerd but also a failure and i relate to it so much. what is your favorite thing about him i must know

SOSHIIIIII I LOVE YOU!!! AND I AM SOOO HAPPY THAT YOU'RE A FELLOW GALE LOVER. shaking with excitement. this was such a wonderful ask to wake up to. thank you so so much for asking. I ALSO LOVE HOW NERDY AND PATHETIC HE IS. every time there's an in-game acknowledgement of how... pathetic he is. that makes me swoon so much.

I love everything about him tbh so it's very hard to choose... when I was just starting to play the game I was Really taken in by how kind and altruistic he is. there's ofc the approval whenever you make a 'good' choice + how he's SO impressed when tav does something heroic! and when he talks about it, you definitely get this sense that he wants to make the world better and holds a ton of admiration for the people who do these grand gestures towards its betterment. when he first opens up to you about his folly he has this self-deprecating tone of "ahhh I'm such a piece of shit I'm the worst man alive... I understand if you don't want me around" it's like. man. it is so clearly obvious from everything you say and do that you care a whole lot about others. you're good. in every way that matters to me you are good. even the thing he did for mystra that resulted in him being stuck with the orb was, in part, because he wanted to do something nice for her, someone he loved. it's hard to fault him for that.

I also looove the way he speaks. besides the fact that he has a pleasant voice, it's the fact that he is SO eloquent and artistic and witty. I'm also thinking about how, if you imagine kissing or going on a walk with him hand-in-hand while you're channeling the weave together, and then you ask him how he felt about what you imagined, he's like "oh, I was surprised. but pleasantly so!!" 😭 and that just meant so much to me as someone who... needs reassurance from the people I love that they aren't mad at me. it's just so considerate of him to say it like that and. yeah it made me really happy. I made a post a while ago like "I'm bothered that when he first introduces himself he says he tries his hand at poetry when the mood strikes him but he never actually speaks any poetry in-game." I was referring to him actually reciting some poetry but like. in many ways I was so wrong because EVERYTHING he says is poetry. ugh don't get me started on the way he talks to a romanced tav because that's ESPECIALLY so. INSANITY. insane how perfect this man is. erm.

OH haha another thing is. when he tells you that the night you spent together was wonderful and that now he wants to live etc and he's expecting a response back you can tell him something like "I'm flattered, but you're putting too much pressure on me, I can't be your crutch" and if you say that he's like "OH NO NO NO you're not my crutch! I'm perfectly okay! perfectly stable! haha!! don't worry about me!!" and I always interpreted that as him... quite obviously lying but just not wanting to lose tav so making himself seem a lot more detached and cooler than he is. I love you so much water sign man... also the fact that if you tell him after your night together "funny you should say that, I recall you doing all the work" he specifically talks about giving tav oral sex. much ink has been spilled on this subject, I'm sure, but uh. yeah. it's such a cute moment. he's the best. he's the cutest and sweetest ever I think, and I would do anything for him. which I guess is lucky, because I'm told the feeling is mutual 😁

AND ALSO I LOOOOOOVE that he is kind of a homebody and a malewife... I'm specifically thinking about that one dialogue where he tells you about how he was planning to introduce you to tara over dinner and how he has a magnificent wine cellar and he makes his own homemade hundur sauce with a family recipe it is just. UGH 😩 it's very effective on me what can I say. also this is a very small thing but lately I've been thinking about how adorable it is that gale has a good relationship with his presumably large extended family ("the dekarios clan is scattered far and wide," he says when talking about sending invites for his and tav's wedding). it's very important and endearing to me especially as a guy who... has never had that kind of familial relationship but does kind of crave it.

the thing that especially strikes me rn is just how much he loves tav if you romance him. like he really falls deeply in love with them and he loves them more than he loves even the most important things in his life: mystra and himself. "With you, I forget my goddess. I love you." 🤪💔 GALEEE. I'M CRAZY. and he loves tav enough to listen when they ask him to abandon his dreams of godhood. can you imagine that? can you imagine listening to someone asking that of you just because you love them SO much that it's not worth losing them for anything in the world? yeah I really love that kind of DEEP DEEP devotion and self-sacrificial love that he has because well, I relate, a lot. and it's so beautiful to me that this experience of love that I've personally felt (though not ever reciprocated) was rendered into a digital format through gale's character. I just know we would be sooo uncannily obsessed and in love with each other. he's legit kind of perfect for me so I am glad we found each other 💗

*scrolls back up* *looks at the length of my response* OH MY! 😳 sorry about the long long response! I have also had some wine so hopefully I am coherent... thank you so much for the ask, I love talking about gale. he makes me happier than most other things in my life rn. love you soshi!!!!

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

          Liu Wei "Timothey" Gao, a 22 year old son of Hundun.           He is a student and barista at The Flower Mill.

FC NAME/GROUP: Ricky aka Shěn Quánruì from ZB1  CHARACTER NAME: Liu Wei "Timothey" Gao; AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 22/20.10.2002 PLACE OF BIRTH: Harbin OCCUPATION: university student and barista at The Flower Mill  HEIGHT: 183.9 cm (6’0.4” ft) WEIGHT: N/A DEFINING FEATURES: stormy grey eyes, fined bone structure, a silver scar on his right collarbone

PERSONALITY: Liu Wei at first meeting is a delightful young man with manners and knowledge of his good looks, but not letting it be a defining characteristic. A focused mind and determination carrying through his studies, he is ready to help fellow students or himself put in the hours to get something done. However the longer you are in his presence or even upon the first meeting, you meet a man who has no problem dipping into his menace energy and provoking without reason. The moment he senses chaos and confusion, Timothey is in his element and stokes the fires as long as he wishes with no regard to those feeding him said energy. In general he dismisses certain people and he is aware of it -simply does not know how to build a bridge and hasn't been made interesting for him. Peace and quite bore him to tears, intrigue and even vengeance is what drive him forward - fuelled by pure spite some could say. The concept of "fuck around and find out" is one he plays with a lot and has slowly become apart of his personality. Eloquent and pleasant when need be, he would seem like a loving and nice person - yet he is incredibly closed off to the world when it comes to anything too loving or personal.

HISTORY:  Liu Wei is aware and thus sure of two things in his life - the immense expanse confusing and completeness of the universe and the endless chaos within him. Children have such a blessed life not comprehending what was around them, but he never had that blessed state of ignorance and he loathed people for it. Unfairly, perhaps, but then again he has something to balance it - feeding off chaos, making people uncertain in their certainties. The only fairness to him. 

His father, the god of Chaos and Creation, had enchanted his mother with the sheer power of his presence and the mood surrounding him. That was at least what his mother, a beloved Chinese actress, liked to tell her beautiful child whose eyes held so much of his father. She spoke of him rarely, giving her child only small fragments of a parent that was never in their life. He never met his father, he met a ghost - until he found out the truth. 

Being a single mother meant choices, thus her child was with her on movie sets and behind theatre productions, kept busy by colourful personalities and their endless knowledge. Liu Wei, loving the chaos, blossomed in his surroundings and in his childish glee helped said chaos to grow - at times it ended in creative mastery, but often times in complete misery. Yet no one knew why it happened, except for his mother who started to both fear her child and resent him. Instead of letting him enjoy the chaotic and confusion of creation, she handed him books to feed his mind with it. 

Timothey inhaled books, plays, poetry and once older pivoted into non-fiction as well as nothing seemed to oddly calm him. Sourcing chaos and confusion from a coming of age story or intense World War Two retelling was like feeding a dry well - one which for a while was happy with just that. However teenage Liu Wei grew to a point where it wasn’t enough, where his hormones demanded more and no creative piece could sedate him. 

Around that time his mother met her third husband - a rich Singapore IT tycoon, who had little love for the teenage boy with eyes that seemed to hold the chaos of the universe. In fact he couldn’t ever look Liu Wei in the eyes as it was looking into a void that was not easily simmered down into 0 and 1. Tension entered the household, which Timothey fed off like a teenager enjoying his first drunk experience. His mother defended him, but also scolded the boy - adding confusion into the mix and leaving her son to feel even more alive. It all ended when he was sent to a British boarding school for his high school years. The stiffness of the upper class ruleset and high society haughtiness down on him made Timothey feel trapped, suffocating and worst drained from energy. The first month he scrambled to find anything to feed his mind, but nothing seemed enough and he grew into a troublemaker with never getting his hands dirty.

Professor doctor Goldenberg, their mathematics teacher, was the man to save the hormonal lost child with a simple move - he gave Liu Wei university level mathematics problems. It had been supposed to be a punishment, but with ended up being what the child needed to find his balance. Mathematics in school was too controlled, too logical and simplified - yet when you took a step further, entered the realm where the square root of minus one was I, everything changed. Suddenly the trouble maker was transformed once more, his mind wrapped up in mathematics and starting from eleventh grade also physics. What followed were successful participation in national events and his name gaining attention from universities. However not everyone was pleased - his mother wished her child for once to live a simpler life and his stepfather felt he was being outshined.

As he was finishing high school Timothey was told about Mount Phoenix, a city more fit for his kind with a respectable university to boot. Told it was a place more suited for his kind and above all closer to home, which all sounded like several half hearted arguments to make him go away just like they had tried to the boarding school. His step-brother was one the way, hopefully a child with a less confusing presence and less trouble to love. Turning down several name worth universities Liu Wei went to Mount Pheonix as his expenses were being paid starting with university and ending with living - anything extra was on him. 

His eyes were stormy with a promise of something his mother feared to name as Timothey agreed, in silence putting together a plan to never have himself put back into the shadows again. Chaos and confusion was what the world was sustained on, putting him away in a non descriptive city would only work for so long. 

PANTHEON: Chinese CHILD OF: Hundun POWERS: 

(major) chaos empowerment - becomes stronger, faster and happier/healthier from chaos. With enough resource, meaning a larger crowd, unlocking enhancing the existing trust manipulation and animation. Can draw sustenance from the chaos, but can't heal faster or stop aging.

(minor) trust manipulation - The user can manipulate the trust and loyalties in only people, increasing, decreasing or changing it as they wish. The person needs to be in close proximity. (minor) animation - can give life to inanimate objects, animating them to act/move on their own accord for no longer than a hour. They function as extensions of the creators will, allowing the animator to potentially be able to command, control and otherwise influence them.

STRENGTHS: hard working, determined and focused  WEAKNESSES: easily wrapped up in intrigue, bad at interpersonal relationships, closed.

[mythvoiced]

" Pucker up. " It was not a suggestion. One hand gently held him in place by his chin, her other finger moving softly over his bottom lip and then his top. There was a sweet smelling balm on her fingertip. " That must be uncomfortable. " She said in regards to his slightly chapped lips, " This is Laneige, it's from Sephora. It's the best, trust me. " Of course, her finger was still moving against his lips, her own face close only to make sure it was well applied. That was what she would say anyway.

@astremourante | i need one of those medieval european paintings of queen & knight with them

---

You slam a bat long enough onto something and even strong metal starts to bend. So why is it that after having been bludgeoned times and times over it's the gentleness of her touch and her lungs mixing with his that start having the blade of his soul come undone?

He could equal it to the fire of a furnace, melting his ancient iron into a puddle of something perhaps meant to shape a kinder tool, rather than the axe lodged into his chest.

But he has no words, no imagery, none of the poetry of the ancients, so readily describing love in a while gods would hear envious to hear.

He's not a very eloquent man. A wordy man, a man who'd have the guts to open his own to the world.

He knows of all the ugly within him, the chapped insides, but it's not fear of rejection that stops him from opening his chest for her to take what she's slowly been claiming.

It's the terror he might flood her if he allows himself a droplet to spill.

He trembles only slightly beneath her touch, so very innocent if only he could stop thinking about all the ways it isn't. He doesn't equal it to anything beyond salvation he doesn't deserve, but that thought alone feels so tainted that innocence has no place near it.

This isn't the place for baptisms but Ajay feels baptised all the same, his head drowning in the struggle of keeping still, his lips parted as she demands, his gaze glued to her features as though he's counting the rays fracturing a cathedral's glass plates.

He barely breaths, soft puffs of air caressing her fingers. He tries not to swallow, tries not to move, almost perfectly still in her palms, under her ministrations, he's a wounded soldier welcomed back by the Goddess he'd fought in the name of, he's a soul of the damned whisked out of hell for having repented enough, he's the pomegranate seed to Persephone's stained fingers after she'd decided why not be Queen of the Dead as well.

She's his Persephone, beautiful and deadly and more than he deserves; she's Medea and he's the fool who would have never been her Jason but perhaps someone kinder, better, if only he didn't smell so much like blood and rot.

He's nothing whole, nothing heroic, nothing beautiful, but under her fingers, he becomes something real.

He could be her wrath if she wanted him to.

He could see it in her eyes, in the tightness of her snarl, in the fear she transforms into rage. All the scars that become strings who steer her according to the puppeteer her pain had become. He's not blind to the white-knuckles that come with all the times she'd gripped onto something to keep herself just sane enough to become the vengeance she deserves.

And she hates what she sees, he knows that look as well. Clothes her being literally and metaphorically as her best asset, but growls and screeches when someone tries to add an identity to her being, when someone tries to ask her where exactly she is behind the knives she'd glued to her tongue and hands to be never hurt again.

He could be her gun.

He opens his eyes again, unaware of when he'd closed them.

He could be her gun.

If he were to sin again, wouldn't it be better to do it against worse sinners? In the name of a Joan of Arc reclaiming herself and her life?

If he were to be a knight, shouldn't it be to a queen like her? A queen born out of her own mangled corpse?

His hands are only somewhat calloused when he gently rests his palm over her hand, callouses from before he'd stopped gained them, from before he'd become an immortal.

He doesn't tremble for once as he gently halts her movement and moves her hand to free her palm.

The kiss he places there is an oath, reverent and shattering.

When he looks at her, he does it with a shaky smile.

"Are they... better now?"

[joshuahyslop]

BOOKS

The last 10 books I’ve read: 1. A Heart That Works - Rob Delaney This is, by far the most heartbreaking book I’ve ever read. Rob Delaney is a comedian and a writer and he wrote this book after his three year old son died of a rare brain tumor. It’s incredibly sad but also tender and there’s even funny moments. It’s one of the most eloquent and graceful books I’ve ever read. I highly recommend buying a Costco sized box of Kleenex and giving this a read. It’s very powerful.

2. The Mad and the Bad - Jean-Patrick Manchette This was a pretty fun read. It’s kind of random and unexpected. I don’t want to give too much away but it’s about a hitman with some gastro-intestinal maladies who’s hired for a kill and then all the twists and turns that unfold. Fun, quick read but not a book I’d seek out.

3. Altamont: The Rolling Stones, The Hells Angels, and the Inside Story of Rock’s Darkest Day - Joel Selvin I really enjoyed this book. A lot of people my age, too young to have attended Woodstock, have nevertheless heard a lot about it. Whether or not it’s an accurate representation is another issue, but not a lot of us know about Altamont - kind of the opposite of Woodstock, or how it happened or why it happened. If you’ve seen the documentary Gimme Shelter then you probably already know a lot of this, but as someone who is a huge fan of this era of music I found this book riveting.

4. Burning in Water Drowning in Flame - Charles Bukowski I happened to be back in Vancouver over the weekend and so I stopped by one of my favourite bookstores in search of more old books of Bukowski’s poetry and I found not one, but TWO! I bought them both and finished the first one the day after I got home. More classic dark, gritty, ugly, Bukowski. 

5. The People Look Like Flowers At Last - Charles Bukowski Well, immediately after finishing the last book I picked up the other one and read it in a day. This was published posthumously and it has a lot of honesty about death in it that isn’t always there in a lot of his other stuff. It was refreshing but still, it has that classic Bukowski feel. I don’t know what I’ll do when I’ve read all his stuff. Read it again, I guess.

6. Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit - Charles Bukowski In between e-mailing and waiting for responses I picked this one up and re-read it pretty quickly. It’s one of his shortest books of poetry and it’s easy to read. Plus, it has one of my favourite poems of his. A short seven letter poem named Art.

7. The Last Night of the Earth Poems - Charles Bukowski I decided to start re-reading some of Bukowski’s stuff. Maybe this is a phase? I don’t really know. But, reading is meant to be both educational and entertaining. Right now, I’m just really enjoying Bukowski so, I’ll keep on leaning into it for as long as it lasts. I think this is my favourite collection of his poetry. A lot of people say that Love is a Dog From Hell is his best, but I don’t agree. It’s by far the most sexual of his works, as in, a lot of his poems are about sex or sexuality, but I don’t think it’s his best work. To each their own.

8. Charles Bukowski On Writing - Charles Bukowski You know when you can’t stop listening to a certain artist for a while but then it goes away and you don’t really want to listen to them anymore? Then, after a while, you forget about them until you come across them again somehow. And, if the mood is right, you get hooked again and they’re all you’re going to listen to for a while. I think that’s what’s going on for me with Bukowski right now. The stack of other “books to read” is growing by the day, but I just keep going back to his stuff.

9. Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh Finally, a break from Bukowski. I’m sure you’re all thrilled. I went over to a friends house the other day and was admiring his books and he insisted on lending me something I’d never read before. I’ve never read anything by Irvine Welsh, and I haven’t seen the movie Trainspotting, so he eagerly lent me both Trainspotting and its sequel. Having been to Scotland several times and having lived there for a year in my teens, this book felt oddly nostalgic. Granted, I wasn’t running in these same circles, but the language really rang true. It’s largely written almost phonetically in a Scottish accent. If you’re not familiar with the slang or the flow of their speech, I imagine it would be a tough book to read. There is a short glossary at the back, but it’s pretty limited. I really enjoyed this book. It’s well written and it’s pretty dark. But there’s humour there too, and like I said, for me, nostalgia. I’m looking forward to reading the sequel.

10. Storm for the Living and the Dead - Charles Bukowski I finished reading Trainspotting and picked this back up. I was about 3/4′s of the way through when I put it down to switch books. This is a collection of poems that were unpublished before Bukowski died. It’s interesting to have read “On Writing” and to know how Bukowski felt towards his publisher, “holding poems back” from being published. And now, after his death, there continues to be book after book of posthumous publications. I’m sure he would’ve been pissed. But, when wasn’t he?

more soon, -joshua

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: THE HOLY QUR’AN: Part 4

What is meant by the Qur’anic letters (huruf al-muqatta’at) and why are they used at the beginning of certain chapters?

The Qur’anic term huruf al-muqatta’at is used for certain Arabic letters that are found at the beginning of several chapters in the Qur’an. There are fourteen different Arabic letters making up thirteen different sets of Qur’anic initials found in various combinations at the beginning of twenty-nine chapters; these are either in the form of single letters at the beginning of some chapters or are found in different combinations of up to five letters at the beginning of other chapters. There are basically two different opinions pertaining to the meanings of these letters. According to the first opinion, these letters are considered to be a kind of cipher between God and His Messenger, the exact and complete meaning of which is unknown to anyone but God Almighty and His Messenger. According to another opinion, the Qur’an was revealed in order to be understood and thus, these letters should have some meanings. Nevertheless, there is quite a variety of different views about what is meant by these letters. The different views are basically as follows:

These letters refer to the names of certain chapters when used singly like qaf, as in surah Qaf and sad, as in surah Sa’d.

These letters denote certain attributes of God.

These are the letters by which God swears, as in: “ By the Qur’an most sublime” (Qaf 50:1).

With such letters, God, the Supreme Creator, openly challenges both the Arabs of the time and all future generations about the matter of the revelation of the Qur’an.

God’s Messenger was an illiterate person who did not know how to read or write. It is impossible for an illiterate person to recite these letters.

Since these letters do not belong to the Prophet himself, the Qur’an does not belong to him either and he is teaching the Qur’an to us after having received it from God, the All-Wise, the All-Knowing. Secondly, the Qur’an uses the letters of the Arabs. Had the Prophet, as they alleged, learned the Qur’an from a human being, they themselves as well would have been able to produce one chapter like it, as the Meccans of this time were superior in Arabic eloquence and rhetoric. Hence, these letters challenged them and proved their impotence in a style with which they were not familiar.

These letters are an indication of the Qur’an’s uniqueness which is displayed in the following manner:

The inimitability of the Qur’an: Evidence for the inimitability of the Qur’an and its divine authorship is presented in the Qur’an in the form of a challenge; it is stated that humankind is not able to produce anything like the Qur’an. God has warned us with these letters, saying, “The Qur’an is composed of letters which you already know well, you who are at the peak of Arabic eloquence. Come and invent a similar book, if you can!” When the Qur’an was revealed, eloquence, oration, and poetry were held in the highest regard among the Arabs, and therefore they should have been able to utilize these mere letters with which they were familiar and from which the Qur’an had been miraculously composed of, thus gaining a victory over the Prophet and the Qur’an, both of which they regarded as prime enemies. However, they were unable to produce anything that was even like one of its chapters. This fact clearly shows that the Qur’an is the Word of God, not that of any human.

The authenticity of the Qur’an: Arabs used to attribute certain meanings to letters and utilize them as abbreviations though this was not a frequent practice. The use of such letters in the Qur’an at the beginning of certain chapters was still a novel practice and was not in imitation of any poet or preacher. The Qur’an also proves its inimitability in this respect.

The uniqueness of the Qur’an due to the interrelation of these letters with the relevant chapters: The single letters found at the beginning of some chapters have a close interrelation with the general contents of the related chapters. Such interrelations are valid in both their words and meanings. If we look at surah Qaf, which starts with the line, “Qaf: Wal-Qur’anil-Majid,” (“Qaf. By the Qur’an most sublime”) for instance, we see that many rhymes are based upon the letter qaf and that this letter frequently appears in the words used in the surah. Likewise, the letter sad has been used often in surah Sa’d. Also in this chapter, another feature of this letter becomes apparent; it has been used for words that imply khusuma, or opposition and enmity. This is present throughout the whole surah.

First and foremost, the enmity and opposition of the unbelievers towards the Prophet are expressed in the initial verses of Surah Sa’d. Later, the dispute of two men who came to Prophet David is mentioned in verses 21 and 22 in the same surah. Then, the discussions of the people of hell are given in verses 63 and 64. Finally, we see Satan’s disobedience to the command of God to prostrate before Adam in verse 76 of Surah Sa’d.

In addition to all of the above, the letter sad is frequently used in this chapter in many other words.

In Arabic, the letter sad is also considered to be a symbol and reflection of patience and self-sufficiency, which are believed to be the Divine Attributes of As-Sabur, or the All-Patient, and As-Samad, or the Eternally-Besought-of-All Who is in Need of Nothing and on Whom Everyone Relies.

But, in the sense of human patience, it is the Prophets that hold the highest rank; Prophet Job is presented as an example of such human patients as expressed in the verse,

“… Surely, We found him (Prophet Job) full of patience and constancy. How excellent a servant! He was surely one ever-turning to God in penitence” (Sa’d 38:44).

All twenty-nine chapters that begin with Qur’anic initials mention the Qur’an itself or its gradual descent (tanzil) or revelation ( wahy) immediately after these letters. It should be noted that there are 28 letters in the Arabic alphabet and half of these 28 letters are used at the beginning of chapters. These 14 letters that are used in different combinations as Qur’anic initials appear more frequently in the Qur’an than the other letters of the Arabic alphabet. These letters seem to be an introduction or an indication of something that is important. At first glance their usage may appear meaningless; one reason behind this may be to make any opponents helpless and deprive them of any means to employ. They may be divine passwords or codes which are not able to be solved by human comprehension. It would not be wrong, however, to say that they draw attention to the Qur’an and to its inimitability. These letters also indicate the extraordinary intelligence of the Prophet and make it clear that only he could understand and comprehend the exact meanings of the most secret letters and symbols found here.

[chaninfused]

a bit unrelated but do you have any suggestions for learning to read arabic without the vowels/harakat ?? i can only read w vowels and whenever i see a word w/o them my mind blanks and i literally. just guess what sounds each letter makes 😭😭

it all comes down to practice, bubs! consume enough content in arabic and you'll start being familiar with how and where certain words are used. reading, I think, is very useful! perhaps with audio to follow along to 🤔

[decaffeinatedconnoisseurninja]

Arabic dark academia

Having tea first thing in the morning, the afternoon, evening, night and whenever you have nothing to do and whenever you have everything to do

Practicing calligraphy, hoarding calligraphy pens and quills like a dragon hoards its jewels

Youre now a calligragon btw

Pretentious hand written letters

Fragments of poetry and prose on the wall

In Egypt you can buy a vintage gramophone (as far as I remember)

Wrinkling your nose at orientalists who have clearly never been anywhere near the culture they're trying to portray.

Appreciating the orientalists who have in fact been there and paint like it. (Sorry to disappoint but there were never sexy slave babes roaming the streets)

Mourning for the scholars of Al Andaluas and times when Arabic was the language of science

Arguing over e'arab (the value of a word with regard to others in the sentence) and balagha (it translates to "eloquence" but is more like a complex version of figures of speech) of words

Arabic being such a complex language you get carried away sometimes

Passing the allotted wordcount so you start going over your paper and compressing a whole sentence, consisting of a conjunction, a subject, a verb and two objects into a word in desperation

Words like ف��سقيناكموه (faa'skainakumooh) meaning "and so we have let you drink it" being an example.

Tea over burning coal. Over logs (hatab) tea over bokhour/oud hits different and you know it.

Brewing coffee over low heat and humming to Layali Al Ouns

"No offense but I like real coffee" when someone mentions starbucks

Um Kulthoum and Asmahan are superior you cant change my mind.

NO I DID NOT FORGET ABDUL HALIM HAFEZ I WANTED HIM A BULLET OF HIS OWN.

Fareed al atrash concerts at 3 am.

Nothing you ever cook will be under seasoned.

Reciting poetry to yourself in the mirror

Big chunks of jewelry (usually gold) engraved or woven through with intricate patterns and swirls. Wearing four bracelets in one hand is absolutely fine and under dressing is a myth

Owning swords is not out of fashion (ancient arabs were well known for their swordsmanship) but using them is, unfortunately <3

Wondering how they won wars with these swords. I couldn't even lift it enough to stab myself if I wanted

Extra names. People called شهد honey (shahd), جمال beauty (jamal), زهرة flower (zahra), ليلى night (laila), سماء sky (samaa), مهند/سيف sword (mohanad/saif) and صفاء purity (safaa) like it's the most normal thing in the world (which it should be, along with names of ancient gods)

Poetry from the abbasid era describing palaces and fountains and music so eloquently your heart skips several beats and you wonder how it is still beating at all and if, after all, you have been born in the wrong era.

Classic poetry from the school of Apollo brimming with romance and yearning you have never seen matched.

Poems that tear at your heart and stitch it whole with every bayt (verse? The equivalent for it) and you keep coming back for more.

Stories so well told that you swear you can see the princes and charmers and musicians and dancers all flicker to life in the flames before you

Historical masjids and churches.

Going to the palaces and shrines and towers from the ancient days of yore

Not exclusively (as neither is anything on this list) arabic but BRAIDS and braid jewellery that clinks when you shake your head

The unwavering belief that poetry is meant to be sung.

Singing poetry because it is meant to be sung

Thick eyebrows

Lining already lash lined eyes with kohl.

Beautiful brown eyes. Honey eyes. Chocolate eyes. Freshly turned earth eyes. Eyes that hold all the ethereal beauty of the world.

Hair styled in dark, thick curls or braids

Savouring the way the words move around from your throat to your chest to the tip of your tongue, like liquid gold,

The sweet music from the strings of a qitharah (string instrument)

Scented candles are cute, but have you ever heard of oud (perfume infused wood)? Anyhow one of my Sudanese friends make it AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL.

Wanting to study with the scholars of baghdad and azhar so bad

Recognizing that for all your culture, some of it is inspired by others and that's okay.

Please add what you can to this list. It is far from complete.

[neverburied]

lestat can't help but grin to himself as his eloquence is praised ----- it's something hard fought for in the blonde's life. he hadn't been able to read or write more than his name &* a few prayers until he was twenty , when he then ran away with that theater group ------- every word he learned to read was from a play. fancy &* flowing like poetry , lestat has come to speak this way naturally after that initial education. it is engrained in him , this eloquence. the way his heart pours out of him without restraint in every emotion possible. sometimes everything was too elevated -- joy , anger , passion , love. it all came out burning hot &* scorched everything in its path.

for now , it is a good thing. it leaves his lover breathless &* without control over his graceless tongue. the elder takes great pride in the quicker thunk of louis' heart -- in the way louis' pupils dilate &* his breath stutters. louis is putty in polished hands. hands that now drag the tie away from his love , slipping it out until it can fall carelessly to the ground. palms find their place on louis' lapels next , amusement dancing in blue eyes at the others eagerness.

louis speaks &* lestat feels how his own knees threaten to go weak. again , desire is not hard sought for him , but true need ? louis needs him like the air in his lungs. he may not be able to read his mind , but lestat knows the way the thread between them feels. knows how hot it burns. passion is one thing -- carnal &* primal &* ever present. but with louis it comes with a deeper connection. it comes with a craving that can only be classed as love. unknowable to those who have not felt it -- unable to be replicated. lestat knows if louis is ever lost , it is not a wound he would ever mend.

but for now he is not lost. for now , louis is grasping at him like he is a blink away from vanishing from his grip. ❛   what i wouldn't give to hear that beautiful mind of yours again. to know what you think of me. to know when you think of me.   just to hear your voice more often. ❜ he keeps his tone calm &* collected , not giving in to louis' impatience as a means of tease. ❛ it does mean i get to watch you dance around saying what you feel , though. see your pretty mind work behind those enchanting eyes of yours.   ❜

his hands slip down , fingers taking their time in unbuttoning each delicate button of louis' vest. ❛   you do look so appetizing when you come apart like this. there's something so mouthwatering about you.   i know it would not be difficult for me to keep you in this room until we both starved to death if it meant i could have you to myself for the rest of our eternity. ❜ he does not like sharing. the outside world held no meaning as long as louis was within reach. so he takes his time -- savors how louis squirms with wanton need. he does relent in a small way ------ leans forward so that his lips can ghost over louis' jawline , feather-light. perhaps it is more of a tease than anything else. what can he say ? it is too fun. lestat lives on the fun of life. ❛   would you give me that ? all of you , forever ?   ❜

LOUIS  IS  WRONG  TO  TRY  AND  DENY  THE  SHIVER  racing  up  his  spine  at  the  sudden  tenderness  in  Lestat’s  voice.  It  is  futile  to  hide  it,  too,  when  nails  like  glass,  finger  pads  softer  than  the  finest  bolsters  collide  with  his  skin,  igniting  his  pulse.  He  follows  the  little  tug,  nearly  stumbles  forward  with  all  the  grace  of  a  newborn  fawn.  His  companion’s  words  leave  him  speechless,  knocking  out  whatever  air  is  left  to  cling  to  in  his  lungs.  It  is  too  much  ----  and  it  is  not  enough  to  just  hear  the  words  on  his  tongue  when  he  could  reach  out  and  taste  them.

“ You  speak  so  ...  so  elegantly.  So-  so  outta  my  time  ... ”   Louis  starts.  He  isn’t  so  sure  he  possesses  the  neat  and  fine  vocabulary  to  really  express  his  wants,  his  desires.  After  suppressing  them,  smothering  and  suffocating  such  feelings  for  so  long,  speaking  his  wants  into  existence,  no  matter  how  private  or  how  secret,  is  the  equivalent  of  pulling  teeth. “ Sometimes  I  wish  you  could  read  my  mind, ”   Louis  confesses,  watching  the  intricate  dance  of  pianist  fingers  undo  the  fabric  at  his  neck.  Everything  about  him  hypnotic.  He  wants  to  be  the  tie  in  his  hands,  twisting  and  bending  beneath  Lestat’s  guidance  ----  a  dance  of  their  own,  to  be  known  by  no  one  else.

It  scares  Louis,  the  way  he  feels  but without  the  language  to  speak  it.  Love  does  not  roll  of  the  tongue  like  it  once  did.  Such  a  confession  led  to  Paul’s  death;  what  stops  it  from  leading  to  Lestat’s?  Louis  thinks  of  French  under  the blond’s  gaze,  hungry  unlike  his  words,  movements  taking  sweet  time.  Would  Louis’  words  be  clearer  then?  Would  his  urgency,  his  want  come  through  the  one  of  many  languages  of  their  hearts?  (He  can  hear  them  now,  beating  rhythmically  as  one,  as  they  always  did  in  prolonged  proximity).

“ I  want  ... ”   Louis  tries  again  ----  sighs  frustratedly,  words  clunky  in  his  mouth  and  in  his  mind.  “ Je  veux  être  consumé,  bien-aimé  ... ”   he  whispers,  as  if  imaginary  voyeurs  gawk  and  comment  on  their  every  interaction.  “ I  want  ... ”   he  gulps,  lips  part  with  soft  pants.  “ Your  kiss, yes  ...  But your  bite, too, ”   Louis’  hands  reach  for  Lestat’s  waistcoat,  pulling  insistently  at  the  fabric.  Closer,  closer,  he  thinks.  Verdant  eyes  trace  his  lover’s  cupid’s  bow  ----  the  crescent  shaped  scar  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  ...  “ D-Déshabille-moi  et  prends-moi  jusqu'à  ce  qu'il  ne  reste  plus  rien  ... ! ”   he  says  rushedly on  an  exhale,  unable  to  hide  his  need  in  every  definition  of  the  word.

[aequitas-if]

I have an ask so what are the RO's reaction, like one day the RO and MC is walking side by side then the RO step on a people and losing their balance.

MC caught the Ro in their arms and they locked eyes like the world stop moving for a moment.

The RO still computing on what is happening MC recites a poem to them.

Oh, what’s this

A little later and I surely miss

Catching you in my arms

Or are you falling for my charms

Then I wish you fall some more

So that your beauty, I can adore

Who knows maybe this is fate, so don’t flee

The gods are showing us a sign that we’re meant to be

So the boring and unfun answer would be that they would be on high alert because after years of training and hero work it's pretty much impossible to catch them off guard enough to trip.

But that's not any fun. So here is how they would react in an AU where they wouldn't be too caught off guard by the trip in general.

Alex:

Alex's face flushes at your words and she lets out a soft melodious laugh. She gets back on her feet but her eyes never leave yours even as you continue walking. However, the moment you find a place of solitude, she pulls you aside.

There is an undeniable fondness to her expression as she takes your hands in hers. They are soft despite the many battles you know she has fought. A gentle warmth radiates from her hands, and you feel a connection that cannot be denied, one that will last longer than either of you can imagine.

"I am nowhere as eloquent as you, my dear. Words are not a craft that I have perfected, but I still hope mine reach you."

She looks directly into your eyes, a loving yet determined expression on her face.

"I will love you until my very last breath. I will do everything in my power to keep our fates intertwined for as long as possible."

Jasper:

Jasper lets out an amused snort. He looks up at you with amusement shining in his eyes.

"A knight and a poet in one? That's a deal if I've ever heard one."

His words have a playful and teasing undertone to them. As he speaks, he makes a scene of fake swooning in your arms. You can't help but laugh at his antics, and the air around you is suddenly light and merry.

However, as you move on and are walking towards your destination, you can see a small flush staining his cheeks and the small glances he is throwing your way.

Zoe:

Zoe's eyes light up and she lets out a few flustered giggles. She looks up at you with pure adoration is her eyes as a gentle smile graces her lips. It’s like looking at a sky full of stars on a clear, crisp night - all of the love and admiration is shining through, lighting up the room like a thousand stars.

"That's so sweet! It's like something out of a fairytale..."

She's pretty quiet as you are heading back toward your destination before she suddenly turns to you and takes your hands in hers with a determined expression.

"I have traveled all throughout the galaxy. I have seen the most beautiful planets that most people can't even imagine. However, out of everything I have seen you are the thing I can never take my eyes off of. All the words and poetry in the universe couldn't describe my love for you."

Rowan:

Rowan isn't a huge fan of PDA, so he would probably just flush before pushing you away while grumbling a bit. He wouldn't say anything about the moment on the walk to your destination or at any other point throughout the day.

You would have every reason to believe it didn't affect him with his usual scowl in place and the way he seemingly avoids talking about the incident.

It wouldn't be until an entire week later, when you see what appears to be a notebook full of different poems written in Rowan's handwriting, sitting on your nightstand that you realize how much the moment meant to him.

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

ACOTAR Couples Headcanons

Rhysand and Feyre

They are the Pottery Barn couple one hundred percent.

Still wildly in love even centuries later because they genuinely believe that no one is better than the other person.

If Harry Potter existed in this world, you cannot tell me that Feyre wouldn’t be a diehard Potterhead.

Rhysand is one of those people who genuinely believes in conspiracy theories. He would have a tumblr dedicated to them.

Midnight cookie baking is a thing. The warmth of oven, the whispers because they don’t want to wake Nyx, and the complete and utter happiness of just being able to be together.

Lucien and Elain

Elain thinks that there is no one Earth who is more of a gentleman than Lucien. And Lucien definitely bumps up that gentlemanly behavior because he knows that she likes it.

Elain may not be a big reader, but she loves poetry. She loves how people can use words to mutate meaning and declare feelings that they wouldn’t be able to otherwise. She wishes that she were more eloquent, but since she can’t be, she allows poetry to do that for her.

Lucien can’t keep his eyes from Elain, and not in a, “You are so beautiful. I can’t stop staring at you way.” But in a, “Is this real way?” He doesn’t realize that when he’s not looking, Elain is looking at him in exactly the same way.

The parties that these two have are legendary. Their parties are always at the same time the best, the wildest, the calmest, and the place to be. They just have that energy that can shift and become whatever the people around them need them to be.

The two of them have the most lavish mating ceremony. He is the son of a High Lord and beloved of many Courts. Between them most all of the Courts demand an invitation, and it becomes quite the state affair.

Azriel and Gwyn

Azriel is known for his straight face, but when Gwyn’s around you can see everything that is thinking, whether that is thinking about how beautiful she is or smirking because she said something funny or contemplative because he’s thinking deeply about what is bothering her. Around her, he is an open book.

Gwyn is an absolute weirdo, but only because she is so academic. She is constantly studying a hundred different things at once, and she can recite any of those things at the drop of a hat. She is ridiculously intelligent and well spoken. Azriel will always look to her first when seeking information or an opinion.

At first, Azriel is weary of the services that are offered in the Library. He knows that they are meant for the women there so he doesn’t want to intrude, but when the priestesses decide to host a special service in the training area, Azriel joins them. He sings beautifully, and more than one person is brought to tears when he and Gwyn sing together.

When Gwyn is pregnant and her body seems to be betraying her. No sleep. Upset stomach. The only thing that calms her is when Az takes her flying. In the air, they take in the sight of Velaris, and something about the wind and the cool air settles Gwyn. It is no surprise when the baby is born with wings.

When Azriel and Gwyn have a child, Azriel can’t help but to look at the differences between his scarred and bloody hands the innocence of this child, but one talk from Gwyn and he realizes that he is being stupid. “You are whole because I love you,” she tells him. “And I am whole because you love me.” “And together, we will be more than enough for this perfect child. We can do anything, together, as a family.”

Mor and Emerie

Mor and Emerie are that couple that are never home, but when they come back from whatever far away land, they always have gifts for everyone. Sometimes, Mor even lets Emerie pick out the gifts though she still insists that she has the best taste.

Mor has never been obsessed with anyone quite in the way that she is with Emerie. If she weren’t so dang cute, Emerie might find it a bit weird, but Mor is Mor, and she is gorgeous, and Emerie loves her. So what if Mor keeps a scrapbook of their time together. Emerie will appreciate it centuries later as much as she appreciates it now.

Emerie has and always will be a badass on the battlefield. There is something about battle that gets her blood pumping. Maybe it because she wasn’t allowed to fight for so long, that now she loves it. When she and Mor are on the battle field or in the training ring together, nothing can stop them. The two move in perfect unison, and their blades and hands are deadly instruments.

When Mor finally decides to come out to her family, Emerie is right there by her side. Emerie, the woman who never gave into her own bigoted family, is a support for Mor when she needs her. And she is a fist when Keir tries to humiliate Mor. “She is in charge here,” she says. “Not you. She has always been better than you, and she always will be.” Keir leaves their presence with more than a broken spirit, a broken nose.

The pair are always holding hands. They love just being around one another, and it shows to everyone that they see. For years, Mor has had to hide who she is, but now, she walks the streets of Velaris hand in hand with the person that she loves most in the world.

Amren and Varian

Amren never knew what it meant to love. She still isn’t sure that she loves Varian, but she is suspicious of how much she cares for him. She knows that if anything happened to him, that she would want to burn the world to the ground. Rhys informs her that the feeling is very much love, and she considers it before deciding that maybe it’s not so bad.

Amren goes to the summer court on occasion, and she gets a little jolt of pleasure when someone remembers her past, and jumps at her presence. Varian laughs along with her. Nice isn’t meant for everyone. Amren will be Amren. And he likes her just the way she is.

The pair love to swim together in the Adriata. The sun glistens off of their skin, and each think that there is no better picture in the world.

Game night is a blood bath. Amren and Varian versus whoever, it doesn’t matter, Amren plays to win, and Varian plays to help Amren win. No matter what.

A mating ceremony may not be in the cards for them, but when Nesta tells them about the human concept of marriage. Amren demands a wedding. It is held in Velaris. The dress is huge. The cake is delicious. And Amren smiles.

Cassian and Nesta

Cassian and Nesta are the definition of ‘’I can make fun of them, but if you try it, you die.”

Nesta has never been partial to animals, but Cassian can’t seem to keep from bringing them home. Animals are just attracted to him. Nesta is the father that doesn’t want the dang animal to begin with, but then secretly gives it cuddles and treats whenever no one is around to witness her. They end up liking Nesta more than Cassian.

Cassian and Nesta love to talk. They just love to hear each other speak. It can be about important matters or it can be about nothing at all. But they always have their best conversations in the middle of the night. Lights off, the house quiet the pair whisper back and forth about books, about life, about love, the future, the past, nothing if off limits.

When the two have a daughter, she is the best parts of each of them. She challenges them in her teenage years, but even when the trio argue, they always come back together again because they are family. And no one knows what that means more than Nesta and Cassian.

There is not a night that the pair spend out of each others’ arms. They are simply the most comfortable and the most at peace when they hold each other as they sleep.

[roger-that-cap]

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

[doubledgesword-2]

Soulmate Au Part 3

Part 1 and Part 2 are here! Requests for the Adult trio are open!

WARNING DUB-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT +18 Please do not te upload somewhere else!!

You started to suspect something was wrong with you when you walked deep into the forest, looking to harvest the crops. Your mind screamed at you to keep walking. Walk away from this place and leave them behind. The minute your feet took one step forward, the most intense migraine struck you. You tried to walk forwards and work through the pain, but it became too debilitating to the point your legs gave under you, and your body crumbled to the ground.

Your eyes clenched close, and your body tucked in into a fetal position, your hands clutching your shirt in hopes it would lessen the pain. Suddenly, you heard a rustle behind you, but couldn't really be bothered to turn and look at the disturbance.

"Oh, here you are. I was worried something might have happened" Chrollo came from behind a tree, his coat gracefully moving as he came to stand before your crippled form.

He sat down beside you taking your body into his lap. His hands stroke your hair as tears came down from your eyes.

"(Y/N), this is such a nice and peaceful place you've built" his voice was so calm, and his hands went through your locks with such comfort that you were calming down for a second.

He took a deep breath, eyes close with a smile as if truly enjoying the quiet and the light breeze blowing through. Chrollo leaned down close to you, your body shaking in pain still. His hands petted away a couple of strands of your hair as his lips came close to your ear.

"You weren't thinking of leaving now, were you?"

The tone of his voice made the question feel like a gentle threat. But a threat nonetheless. He kissed your temple and kept running his hands through your hair, breathing in once more, smiling at the sunbeams coming through the leaves and shining down on the two of you.

"I am delighted you have decided to stay with us. It would have broken all our hearts to know you weren't happy here" he looked down at your form, no longer distressed but still slightly shaking and sniffling.

"You are happy here, are you not?"

You nodded weakly in response, and he beamed at you. He picked you up gently, bridal style, while his hand carried the woven basket underneath you.

"Let's go, I'll prepare dinner tonight. Just the two of us, little treasure. All is well".

Chrollo brought you all the way to the cottage, filling the air with casual banter along the way. His excitement grew whenever the prospect of a new book came into the conversation.

"It's very eloquent poetry. I am sure it'll sound melodic coming from your lips".

Chrollo walked into the cottage with you still in his arms. The other two were nowhere to be seen, and it confirmed what he had said: you two were truly alone. Chrollo settled you on the sofa, your fluffy cat meowing around his legs. He crouched to pet the cat's head.

"What are you craving today, love?" Your eyes were close, dried tear streaks under them, but you opened them to see him smiling warmly at you while still petting your cat.

"Chef's choice," you replied simply, trying a smile of your own, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Mmm, hard choice, I'll surprise you then" he gave your forehead a kiss and moved away from your vision line.

After leaving you on the sofa, Chrollo had draped his coat over the chair, washed his hands, and got everything ready for the food. Your eyes were droopy, body tired after your horrific headache, so you drifted off into a nice comfy nap.

A fantastic smell wafted around the house, waking you up to find you have drooled on the decorative pillow. Chrollo was in front of you, smiling at your cute and sleepy face.

You shot up, looking around as if you weren't in your house, and you didn't know who was in front of you. Then it all came back, the realization hit you, and you wiped the drool with the back of your hand. Chrollo chuckled at you and got up to kiss the top of your head, lingering for a second, hugging you to him.

“Dinner is ready, come on love."

A bit disoriented and groggy, you got up and went to the table. Everything was set up with candles surrounding the dinner table and the kitchen. A single rose in a vase was in the middle of the table, the same vase that you had changed the flowers that fateful day they had found you. Chrollo was waiting beside the chair he had pulled out for you. He had a proud smile as you went to sit at the chair, and he gently pushed you in. The whole thing was adorable, and it would have been romantic if you weren't wary of the man. He sat down as well and was looking at you with loving eyes. You pretended he wasn't fixed on you as you took the first bite out of your food.

"I hope it's to your liking. I had never made this one before" he had ended up making your favorite dish, and you were happy to have it; the food was truly delicious.

The fact that he knew your favorite dish shouldn't give you the feeling of dread, and yet it did. You knew the trio had most undoubtedly memorized everything about you, no matter how small the detail was. Still, you couldn't wrap your head around the idea.

"It's delicious, thank you" you forced a smile at him, and he chuckled under his breath, looking down at his own plate.

"You don't have to pretend with me (Y/N). I'm not Hisoka or Illumi; I'm a simple thief but a gentleman at heart. I know you're uncomfortable, and this situation is new to you. I don't blame you".

You looked down to your plate, feeling a bit embarrassed that he noticed your inner turmoil. His words should have offered comfort, but you couldn't feel it or find any. Instead, they further pushed down the heavy stone in your stomach.

"I-I don't know how to feel, still. I'm adjusting, trying to at least" you took another bite and gave him a close-lipped smile as you chewed the food.

Chrollo's dark eyes pierced yours; he wasn't buying it.

"Then perhaps we haven't fully helped you experience love in this relationship," he gave you a closed eye smile and took a mouthful of the food.

You felt shivers run up your spine, body tingling in fear and dread as if you were at the dropping point of a big coaster ride. Your heart beat faster to the point where you started hearing it in your ears.

The door seemed like an excellent option right now.

Your hands went under the table to grip the edge of the chair as you tried to ground yourself back into the moment. 'He didn't say anything. He just made a suggestion with a smile', you told yourself, looking for the logic in his words, and calming yourself. But it wasn't working, you had felt it. Felt the tiniest flare of his aura reach out to you in silent warning. Nothing big but just enough to put you back into place. There were so many meanings behind that little jesting phrase that it made you anxious.

"Are you alright? You seem a little pale" he placed his utensil down, getting out of the chair and crouching near you.

His cold hand reached to your cheek, caressing you and making you look down at him.

"Perhaps some air will do you good," he grabbed both your hands in his and pulled you up and out of the chair.

You were in a slight daze watching him as he placed a coat around you and dressed in his own. Chrollo exited the cottage with you around his arm. The two of you looked like a loving couple taking a stroll in the middle of winter.

As you walked into the forest, passing by trees and bushes taking in the sights under the moonlight, Chrollo pulled a book from inside his coat and handed it to you. You took it. Still, a bit shook but figured some reading might do you good.

"I borrowed it," the way he said borrow told you he meant stole "figured you might like it" he side-eyed you as your doe-like eyes looked up to him in question.

You looked down at the cover seeing it was a very elusive limited edition copy of one of your favorite authors. Your heart skipped a beat, and for once in a long while, you were pleasantly surprised and excited. Your lips pulled into an unconscious smile, and by the time you had noticed you were smiling and tried to hide it with a serious look, Chrollo had already smiled and locked the sight in his mind. You looked precious.

"Why don't you read it out loud. I'm sure it's a good night for some reading if you don't mind?" His suave and smooth voice questioned, but you knew better than to resist him.

So you nodded, muttering a thank you. He nodded back, closing his eyes briefly and then looking back at you with expectation. You opened the first page and started to read the prologue as the two of you walked. Your lips never stuttering a word as you got lost in the story, pulled into it to the point were you forgot his eyes on you.

Chrollo was looking around the trees, admiring the majestic scenery as your words filled the nightly air. He knew your tone was hesitant and scared. You hated reading out loud and especially to him. You'd told him it was something about the sound of your voice in your ears. But he loved it. The way you pronounced or mispronounced words made his heart flutter. How your tone changed when you got lost in the narrative and started muttering small comments for the characters under your breath. Your little mannerisms made you adorable in his eyes, and the more he looked at you, the more he wanted.

He wasn't satisfied.

At the beginning of his relationship with Hisoka, there were some bumps he had to overcome when it came to the clown. But once he did, he could say he came to love the jester. When Illumi came into the picture as his second soulmate, he was a bit surprised. He, at some point, even doubted the assassin could actually be capable of emoting or loving. But one night, when they were all together tucked away in a vacation home right in front of the beach, he realized something about themselves.

He was sitting on a comfy armchair sofa in the balcony, book in hand, a glass of wine resting on its wooden arm. The sun was setting as cliche as it may sound, but his eyes rested on the page's words. When suddenly, he felt a head fall on his lap.

Assuming it was Hisoka, he didn't even glance down in hopes of secretly riling him up. Though curiosity got the better of him, so his eyes did glance down, and he was surprised. On his lap, long black hair fanned across it, was Illumi with his eyes close and a peaceful expression on his face.

Chrollo's heart fluttered.

He felt his cheeks heat up as he stole glances of the assassin. He almost closed the book, but he was afraid the sound would shake the scene and make the Illumi leave. So he kept pretending to read, not being able to fully concentrate with the comforting weight of Illumi on his lap.

They bonded after that, growing closer together. Hisoka was proud of them. The troupe had always been his family but getting to feel this kind of love was different.

That's when he realized soulmates were meant to be together for a reason. So when your name appeared on their skin out of nowhere, he knew they had to find you. You were not being loved as you should. That's why he understands your apprehension and your wariness of them. They're not exactly good in lawful standards, and their moral compasses might be slightly broken. But if there's one thing they know for sure, loving you is one of their main goals.

You just need to see it.

"As soon-"your reading got interrupted by a pair of lips on yours.

Chrollo's hands grabbed both sides of your face and brought you close for a fevered kiss. The book fell out of your hands as they came to rest on his arms.

"I couldn't resist," he mumbled out of breath against your lips. You, on the other hand, were freaking out a bit.

The fact that you were in the middle of a clearing in the forest was making you anxious. Chrollo dived in again, looking for your lips, but you turned your face away bashfully. You looked down to the grass seeing the book and bending down to pick it up as if he hadn't just kissed away your breath.

He was a bit hurt, but he had to remember that you weren't like them. You needed a little more coaxing to come out of your shell. He would help.

You straightened, inspecting the book for any creases or tears in the pages. You dusted away some dirt, closing the book delicately and looking up at Chrollo.

You frowned at the sight. Not that it wasn't a pleasant one, he was handsome and pretty, but you weren't buying it. At some point, you were pretty sure you were in soulmate denial.

"What are you doing?" You asked meekly, seeing as he had shaken away his coat and was shirtless at the moment.

Your fight or flight sense was glaring up, and you hugged the book to your stomach. Chollo placed his coat in the grass, open as if it was a picnic blanket. He turned to eye you, his eyes no longer cold.

"I know you're afraid, but there's nothing to be afraid of. Let me show you just how much I love you," that was your cue.

He took a step, and you mirrored him taking one back. This made him slightly tilt his head to the side, the look playfully menacing. Chrollo took another step and your nen flared up in warning, this time stronger than the last time you had tried this. He looked proud instead of intimidated, and it angered you.

The loving way he looked at your nen didn't help your case, and so you attacked. Your nen moved fast, striking the spot where he was. But he was fast, as quick as Hisoka, and that was a disadvantage to you.

Chrollo had suddenly disappeared and left you in the middle of the clearing. You leaned down to quickly put the book out of harm's way and then stood in attention. The moon shone brightly on you, giving your dangerous look and angelic glow. He could've groaned and moaned out loud just like Hisoka would've done, but he bit his lip instead, looking at you through the foliage.

Your ears were strained, searching for any noise as little as it may be. But there was no noise when he came, fast and swift bringing you down. The two of you rolled around on the grass, he chuckled as you winded up, straddling him. Your face scrunched up in concentration. His hand lifted to your cheek, caressing it, which made you flinch for a second. Chrollo then flipped the two of you, causing you to shriek at the suddenness. He pinned down your wrists, bringing them beside your head. Your wide-eyed looked at him startled, yet something was growing in your stomach's pit.

"You're getting better. Illumi should be proud," he leaned down, bringing his lips close to your ear. "Your nen is worth stealing, I wouldn't mind, if it meant keeping you as well" he bit your earlobe, making you bite your lips.

You tried to wriggle your wrists out of his hold, but his hands tightened around them. Chrollo started kissing your neck, nibbling and sucking his way down your collarbone. Still, you kept muffling your noises, biting your lip, and holding your tongue.

He wouldn't have it. Chrollo bit down in between your neck and shoulder, making you moan loudly.

"That's more like it," he chuckled against the spot soothing it with a lick and kiss, "Do you think I could steal some more noises from your lips?" He asked, bringing his lips close to yours.

"Would you let me?" You could feel his breath on your lips as he talked.

Chrollo kissed you hard, tongue poking your entrance and biting your lower lip so you wouldn't deny him. He sucked on your tongue, relishing in your futile attempts to keep quiet. His hips started grinding slowly into yours, pressing down his hard-on on your clothed spot. He was only wearing his pants, back and chest bared under the moonlight and shining with a thin layer of sweat. He separated for some air, leaving you a bit dazed and fuzzy. His hands coming down to your clothes gripping your shirt and tugging at it. That jerked you up from your state, making you gasp, your hands coming to his own grabbing them. You tried to pull them away from you, but he took both of your wrists in one of his hands and pinned them hard on the ground.

You groaned at the slight pain, and he took the opportunity of your raised arms to slide the shirt up and jumble it around your hands in makeshift bounds. He smiled down at your bra and the way your brows scrunched up in struggle. Your fight was strong, but he was stronger.

Chrollo leaned down to your chest, kissing the curve of your breast pressed on the bra. He bit down on the mound, making you groan.

"You're so soft, so beautiful," he whispered to your chest as his hand slipped the breast out of the bra. He massages the nipple, head dipping, and licking the other to attention. You started squirming under him, bringing your tied hands to stop him but ended up hugging his head closer to your chest, a moaning mess.

A fire was rising in between your legs, and you felt the electricity go down your spine.

'What were they doing to you?!' You screamed in your mind trying to fight the feeling.

Chrollo's hand left your mound, his mouth kept sucking on the other, as he sneaked down to your waistline. You had been wearing a comfortable attire since it was a bit hot, and you were tending to the crops today before your accident. He easily slipped down and into your panties. His calloused and experienced hands didn't waste any time and felt your slit. He smirked when he found you wet, but not enough for him. Chrollo gathered some slick and gently rubbed on your hooded pearl. You jerked under him, muffling a moan by biting your lip. His lips left your peak, glistening and wet under the dim moonlight. He went to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, and planting open-mouthed kisses as his other hand maintained a steady rhythm on your nub. He didn't change the speed, going in gentle circles on your bundle of nerves.

You were getting desperate, feeling the pleasure rising in you, and pushing shame to the back of your mind. Your hips bucked unconsciously, and he tutted you like a child, smiling in victory against your neck with closed eyes.

"Tch, tch, tch, not yet, I think you deserve some punishment for being so stubborn with me" he bit your earlobe, making you whine in response.

Your body struggled against him, but he let his weight drop on you, making you stay still. Chrollo's hand then went quicker and quicker, driving you deep into pleasure but not all the way. You whined again, trying to move away from his hand, but he went faster. Suddenly you felt the ice-cold rush from the tip of your toes to your core, pleasure flooding your system like a wave. Your body shook under his, toes curling, and you let out a moan closing your eyes at all the sensations.

Chrollo groaned with you, his pants too tight for comfort. He grinned against you softly and sat up, still straddling you. In your high, you didn't felt as he pulled the rest of your clothes down and his arousal out, the tip an angry red as he stroke it, shuddering under the feeling. He then pushed into you, making you gasp and open your eyes wide to the see him. His eyes closed, and he bit his lip briefly. Then his dark eyes opened slowly, looking down at you in adoration. His mouth was slightly opened, breathing heavily at the feeling of your warmth engulfing him. Hair was falling sideways and forwards, almost covering the cross on his forehead. The light glowing behind him gave him a surreal look and feel.

It was euphoric.

You moaned, and he started moving slowly, leaning over you to capture your lips as he sped up. His hands were beside your head, supporting his body as he rocked with you. He rested on his forearms, bringing himself closer to you as he changed speed and slowly rolled his hips, making you feel everything.

"I love you so much," he whispered into your cheek, kissing it afterward.

Chrollo groaned lowly when he bumped into a special spot that made you clench hard around him. You moaned.

"Found it," he chuckled low, speeding up and hitting the same spot over and over.

Your hips buckled, meeting his as he sat up. He gave you a half-lidded look, smiling at you. His hands came to rest on your hips, pressing them down as he rammed inside you. He couldn't take how good you felt, your same walls gripping him and becoming him deeper. He complied, going faster and deeper, making you moan and whine. Chrollo's hand sneaked to your hooded pearl, rubbing it at matching speed with his thrusts.

Your body jerked, heat, and cold consuming you at equal measure. Your body glistened with sweat under the moonlight, making you glow and shine like a jewel worth stealing. Chrollo bit his lip at the picture, wishing he could just have it to look at it all the time. Instead, he committed it to memory, his hand rubbing your nub furiously.

Suddenly your body arched beautifully, your breasts offered to him as you came with a shriek. Pleasure flooded you, making you twitch and shake. He joined you with a groan, head thrown back as his body arched as well, driving his length deep inside you, releasing all of himself into you. Your walls massage him as he thrusts slowly.

The two of you panted heavily.

Chrollo's hands were beside your head, supporting his body as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, your skin looking perfect under the lighting, your lips puffy and slightly opened as your naked chest heaved, making your breasts move up and down. You looked gorgeous, and he couldn't ask for more. He was satisfied, and a sense of fullness filled him at the moment.

He pulled out, making your face scrunch up in pain at the slight discomfort of the tenderness. Tucking himself back in his pants, he zipped them up and laid down beside you. He undid the mess around your wrists, and you pulled them down beside your body, resting the aching muscles. His head was supported on his hand as he laid on his side, looking at you in love. Your eyes were closed, and you seemed to be calm, almost sleeping.

His fingers came to lay on your stomach. The ginger touch made you jump slightly at the suddenness, but otherwise, your eyes remained closed. They moved around your form, tracing your marks, your waves, the way your mounds curved into your chest, your collarbone, and finally, they came to rest on your neck. He caresses it with the back of his hand, coming up to your cheek and staying there.

You opened your eyes slightly, looking at him through a tired glaze. Chrollo smiles warmly, coming close to peck your lips. He pulled the coat around your form, covering you from the night's chill, and gathered you in his arms.

Chrollo stopped to pick up the book you had neatly placed away from the mess and chaos. Smirking at your thoughtfulness. He gave you the book or at least propped it on your stomach as your sleepy form was losing the fight. He carried you all the way back to the cottage, where he placed you on the bed. You turned to the side, and he petted your hair, kissing your head. He came back to put the leftover food away and the dishes in the sink, making sure to turn off the candles. Your cat was eagerly following him like he had treats in his pockets.

Chrollo went back to the room, taking off the rest of his clothes and stripping you of this coat. He draped it on your vanity, the rest of the clothes scattered in a corner of the room. Your fluffy black cat went to them, kneading the fabric and then laying on top.

Chrollo pulled the covers back and brought you close to him, pulling the two of you under the sheets. He snuggled closer to you, the two of you naked as the day you were born. He pressed a kiss to the back of your ear, nuzzling your neck afterward and then resting on top of your head.

"Sleep well, my love," mutters, and you reply with your own muffled and unintelligible goodnight. He smiled, closing his eyes in bliss.

He couldn't wait for the morning to do it all over again.

[e-spits]

latched on - lee juyeon

words: 4.8k

genre: smut

warnings yandere!juyeon, dubious consent, knives, all around filth

The pressure balancing college and a social life was difficult. Classes were long and overbearing, the workload heavy to carry and parties or events were almost impossible to fit into your schedule. You rarely attended any social events, rarely met up with anyone aside your roommate if it weren’t to study in a café. And meeting new people was essentially a no go. Your roommate had tried tirelessly to get you out of your tight shell, dragging you to different parties but even when she was successful, you mind was absent. Too worried about the commitments you were neglecting. You did try to engage but what was important was getting through college though it didn’t stop your friend from trying.

On one Friday night, your roommate had selected a particularly rowdy party for you to attend. She smothered you in the dorm, soothing over your complexion with makeup and applying bright colours to your skin. You knew you didn’t dress up much but with the effort she was making, you knew her intentions were less than pure. It was too much effort to fight back and so you allowed it, even letting her loan you a strapless, skin-tight dress that blinded you with its red colour. Your roommate stood back, admiring her handy work, and grinning from ear to ear.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You mumbled, turning to examine your reflection in the mirror, eyes skimming over your own figure as though it were a mannequin. You did look nice but why. ‘What’s it for?’ You finally asked.  

Your roommate giggled below her breathe.

‘What?’

‘Don’t be mad.’ She continued, wandering over and placing her hands on your shoulders.

‘About?’

‘So, there’s this really hot guy in my class and I figured, you know since I’m already dating someone, maybe you could go for it. We both know you should.’

Your eyes narrowed toward the other girl, hands hitching themselves on your hips. ‘How cute?’

‘Like, fucking hot, okay, trust me.’ She nodded frantically, your stomach tightening. ‘Besides, it’ll be a step up from that stalker of yours.’ Your roommate laughed loudly, nausea filling your gut at the mere mention of the stalker, the so-called, not so secret admirer.

Three months ago, a letter had arrived at your doorstep. It was in ink of your favourite colour, the words like artwork or poetry. The writer had noted all the things they claimed to love about you, all the things they had noticed while watching you around campus. It was juvenile, strange but sweet, just a secret admirer like you imagined lots of people had. And then they became more frequent. Every few days another letter would appear outside your dorm room, full of more romantic rambling that made you only slightly uncomfortable at the time.

And then came the wave of presents, the many, many presents. Flowers, chocolates, clothes, brand new textbooks you’d been eyeing at the campus shop. It was then you knew you were being watched, surveyed, and documented. Your roommate found it hilarious, sharing your abundance of gifts and noting how even her boyfriend didn’t do this for her. A part of you liked being admired, liked the attention and romantic writings that came with being observed. However, the thrill of it dissipated when gradually, it became more intense.

The letters became several pages long, the handwriting descending into scribbles. And the longer they became the more descriptive, more explicit they were. You began not reading them, skimming the filthy intentions the writer had with a casual eye before throwing them out. Giving the presents to your roommate instead of indulging them. It all seemed like a prank, some kind of joke someone was playing, not an admirer at all. Your roommate insisted it was likely a horny, frat boy, obsessing over conquering a girl who had no interest in being conquered though it felt like more. The words eventually became heavier, threats beginning to soak in as the writer laid out their violent plans. You didn’t show anyone those letter, you didn’t want anyone to worry and so you carried it all by yourself.

This boy would probably be a step up.

The house was large, full of people and booming with music. All it made you think was how you’d rather be home, in pyjamas, watching sitcoms and studying. Your roommate shimmied you into the building, holding your hand as she pushed you through the crowds. Bodies brushed against your bare thighs as you picked up a couple drinks and eventually you made it to a particularly quiet stop in the corner couch of the lounge. You found yourself surveying the crowds, eyes clinging to each male face, wondering which one was the one your roommate had mentioned. And if maybe, your stalker was also here, hiding between the faces in the hubbub.

Your roommate nudged your ribcage, mumbling something beneath her breath before her eyes lit up, mouth spread in a wild grin.

‘He’s here?’

She merely gestured her head forward, yours following the motion. At first, you couldn’t see him but then through the huddle of people, one was clearly approaching. His face was warm, eyes bright, his smile so dazzling you couldn’t see anything else. Your friend was right, he was hot, insanely so but you still couldn’t pay attention fully. You were too busy being afraid your stalker may see you with someone else and carry out those plans he’d detailed.

The boy wandered over to you and your friend, pushing in and sitting between you two. Your roommate laughed lightly, giving you a certain look before she stood up from the couch. She wiggled her eyebrows at the boy and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you all alone. You looked over at him, his figure only inches from you, his expression covered in even more worry than yours.

‘Hi.’ You finally broke the silence.

‘Um, hi. I hope you don’t mind this, it’s just, your friend mentioned she wanted me to meet you, and I, I can see why.’

Your cheeks burnt. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’

‘Cool,’ he was grinning wildly, ‘I just, I think I’ve seen you around campus before, I don’t think I could forget anyone as gorgeous as you.’

A chuckle passed your lips, the boy taking a sip from his own drink as you did from yours. The thick, hot liquid rolled down your throat, worry beginning to subside the more drink you gulped.

‘I’m Juyeon, by the way.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Juyeon.’

Though earlier you were wishing to go home, now all you wanted to do was sit in the crowded room and talk to this boy all night. Wishing everyone else could leave so you could hear every inflection in his honied voice. The more words that poured from his mouth, the more you forgot about the comfort of your dorm, instead, all your focus was on him. Juyeon charmed you relentlessly, dousing you in compliments but underneath the obvious flirting, he had substance. He spoke eloquently, voice soft and polite no matter what he said. He clearly knew a lot about the things he spoke of, which only made you more enthused to talk to him.

The party rolled on as did your conversation, Juyeon inching closer to you as his confidence settled in. While he was lovely and beautiful, you still didn’t want to engage in hooking up at a party, only to never see someone again. You knew boys all too well, they were charming when they were or weren’t interested and you hated the thought of the latter. With each subtle move he made, you slid away, wishing you could speak candidly without the distraction of his lips. You wanted him to kiss you, but you didn’t want him to be disappointed.

His hand reached over and smoothed over yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand. The warmth he emitted was intoxicating and it took everything not to melt into it. Juyeon was unfazed as though he hadn’t noticed your reservations at all, still moving in dangerously close. His mouth was only an inch or so from yours, his hot breath fanning your blushed cheeks. Your eyes closed for a moment, considering allowing contact to be made but as you felt acceptance greet you, a voice interrupted. Your roommate stood in front of the couch; eyes wide as she visibly regretted interrupting.

‘I’m sorry, I just, I wanted to check in, I’m pretty fucking tired if I’m being honest.’ She chuckled, smile dissipating quickly as she folded her arms.

Juyeon remained silent, sinking back into his original position while gulping down the rest of his drink.

‘It’s fine,’ you turned to the boy beside you, ‘it was really nice meeting you Juyeon, I, um, I’ll see around.’

He said nothing, leaving you to stand up and wander off in silence, taking your roommate’s hand and letting her guide you outside. You began meandering through the dark streets, your friend beginning to laugh hysterically.

‘God, I’m so sorry, you just, and he,’ she cut herself off with a loud giggle.

‘Shut up!’ You laughed back.

‘He was so mad.’

‘I think he was just annoyed he didn’t get any, it’s fine honestly. Besides, he’s so hot he can be mad if he wants.’ You giggled, wrapping your arm around your friend as you continued your way home.

‘Wait, are you whipped for someone? After one night, what’s gotten into you.’ She tilted her head down, eyes wide toward you as you found yourself smiling nonchalantly.

‘No, not him, thanks to you.’ She sighed as you spoke.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled dramatically, ‘there are other parties you can fuck at, don’t worry. Now, hurry up, I’m so tired.’

The dorm was silent when you arrived, darkness swirling around the space. Your roommate quickly dived into her bed, falling asleep almost immediately leaving you to roam your thoughts. As you did, you felt a little relieved the moment had been interrupted, that way, Juyeon might still be interested. Instead of being disappointed or bored, he know had to continue the chase and that meant he definitely would want to see you again. You smiled to yourself, cheeks hot at just the thought of the boy you’d spent hours talking to. Sleep eventually overwhelmed you, eyes heavy as you curled up in bed, still in your dress and fell asleep.

It was still night when your eyes were shocked open, a cold, metal sensation running over your neck. Pressure appeared upon the warm skin, your eyes wildly searching the room before you realised what was happening. Someone was kneeling against your arms, their legs either side of your torso though the room was so dark you couldn’t make out their face. You wriggled underneath the weight, but it was pointless. Your head snapped toward your roommate’s bed, it was empty, duvet thrown on the floor in a heap. Where was she? What was happening? A knife was pressed against your throat, the sharp metal grazing the sensitive skin.

‘Please, please don’t.’ You cried out, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks and splash onto the pillows beneath.

The figure above shifted slightly, their free hand reaching over and switching on your lamp. A yellow light danced across the room, your eyes adjusting quickly before realising who was threatening you. Juyeon. The same gummy smile, the same honey skin, the same big, bright eyes but now they were much darker. Something had consumed him, something dark.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Shh, shh, it’s okay baby, don’t worry. I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t.’ Juyeon dragged the thick blade down your neck, letting it sit on your collarbone.

‘What’s happening, where’s my roommate?’

‘She’s fine,’ he rolled his eyes, ‘I just had to get her out of here, can’t have her interrupting again. Not when I, not when I got so, so close.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You cried.

‘Yes, you do.’ Juyeon smiled menacingly, pushing the knife into your skin ever so slightly. You could feel a droplet of blood roll down your neck, a tinge of pain rolling through your body.

His words didn’t make sense for a few moments, your mind racing through every word he’d said earlier in the night. He’d been so nice, so eloquent, so charming, and now he was so angry, so scary, so threatening. Just like your admirer. Just like your admirer… And then it dawned on you, Juyeon was your admirer, your stalker. It suddenly made so much sense, his entire demeanour created to lure you in, just like the letters and gifts had been.

‘It was you.’ You uttered in defeat, head sinking into the pillow as you gave in. Juyeon laughed, his smile transforming into a wild grin.

‘You were lovely last night, it was lovely. God, I couldn’t have planned for it better, we just, we clicked. If it hadn’t have been for that bitch of a roommate, fuck, all the things we would’ve done. We’d still be fucking now. But it’s okay, now I know you like me back, we can be together.’

‘You’re hurting me.’ You mumbled, trying to wriggle your neck away from the knife. Juyeon tilted his head, his free hand brushing through your locks, twisting around the hair softly. His fingers began stroking your face, travelling across to where the knife had nicked your skin. Another drop fell onto his thumb, the digit raising as he placed it in his mouth. Juyeon closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the metallic taste before he leant down.

You could feel his hot breath over your face, his mouth only inches from yours. The cool metal of the knife disappeared from your throat, Juyeon leaning down and replacing the sharp blade with his lips. His mouth wrapped around the small wound, tongue soothing over the skin. You closed your eyes tightly, beginning to try and move when he became distracted. Lifting your arms, you began trying to push the man away though it didn’t take long for him to notice. His lips left your body, sighing as he realised you were still trying to get away.

‘Hey, hey, you liked me earlier. Why it that different now? Now you know that I’ve loved you for months, it should be better, right? You know how much I want you. Don’t you?’

Your stomach tightened, realising there was no way out, you began to listen to him seriously. Juyeon had certainly showed he cared, and he was okay earlier, he was lovely earlier. That part of him had to be in there somewhere, maybe if you went along with his actions, that part of him would come back. Perhaps you could draw it out. You let out a deep breath, staring up at the boy knelt atop your arms.

‘I know,’ you mumbled, nodding, ‘I know.’

His mouth began leaning down again, yours leaving the pillow to meet his lips. Juyeon let his mouth press onto you strongly, engulfing you in the kiss before deepening it. You did nothing to fight back instead closing your eyes and letting yourself enjoy the touches.

It felt wrong that you were allowing him to do such a thing so tentatively, especially when he’d done nothing to deserve it. But when Juyeon forced his tongue into your mouth and let the muscle explore your wet skin, it was impossible not to give in. Your head tilted back in pleasure, the boy suddenly pulling away and immediately attacking your neck with kisses and small bites. He did this for a few minutes, his body becoming so entranced in the motions that he let your arms out from beneath him. However, you found yourself motionless still, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of Juyeon nibbling at your neck.

The boy moved down your body, lips staying on your skin, as they travelled to your chest. Juyeon poked his tongue out, licking at the skin closest to your covered breasts before he looked up at you. His eyebrows furrowed together, body lifting as he peered down to your free hands then back up to your face. After a moment, you noticed he was no longer touching you and opened your eyes. Juyeon was hovering above you once more, face tightened in thought before he grabbed your hands again. His grip was harsh, like it had been with the knife, which he’d long ago forgotten. You tried to wriggle away from instinct but found it impossible beneath his strength, instead having your wrists moved to above your head. For a moment, you thought he was returning to how he’d been, however when he began tying your wrist to the bedpost, you knew he wasn’t quite there yet.

You were unsure where he’d gotten the tie but assumed he’d brought them along with him. Perhaps he’d expected you to fight it more, but he already had a certain control you didn’t understand.

After tugging on the tie, you realised quickly that you were trapped in place. Juyeon, still hovering above you, smiled widely, admiring his handy work.

‘There, we don’t have to worry about you going anywhere now.’ He said, still grinning.

‘I wouldn’t have gone anywhere.’

‘I know princess,’ Juyeon let his finger caress your cheek, moving down until it reach the neckline of your dress. ‘I just have to make sure, until I know how good you are. Because I know you can be a good girl, can’t you?’

You nodded frantically, pushing your chest up into his touch. Juyeon continued grinning, encouraged by your movements. He unzipped your dress, pulling the material down until it was thrown to the floor. The boy straddled your naked body, looking down at your figure as his hands continued their journey downward. Fingertips burning circles into your cleavage and stomach until they stopped just above the hem of your panties. He hesitated for a moment.

‘Say yes.’ He whispered almost silently as you remembered all the times you’d read those words in the letters he’d written. Say yes to him, in every way. And though you never imagined you’d be doing it, the word poured from parted lips almost instinctively.

Juyeon was spurred on, his mind suddenly clearer than it had been all night. You looked down at the boy as he trailed the underwear over your legs, chuckling when he noticed the wet patch in the centre. Juyeon sat over your calves, leaning down until his face was equal with your core. A whimper left your mouth, floating into the air as suddenly, you felt lips wrap around your already sensitive clit. You choked out a moan as Juyeon pushed further in your heat, mouth moving up and down, the muscle prodding your entrance. More squeals came from your lips, stomach tightening as you pushed your core up into his mouth. His tongue continued to work your heat, moving quickly and powerfully until you could feel a coil beginning to form in your loin.

You pushed up further, hoping to cause more friction and find your high. As abruptly as he had begun, Juyeon pulled away, letting you writhe around, helpless. A particularly loud groan bellowed into the room. The boy moved back up your body, leaving kisses on your naked form every so often, the remnants of spit sticking to your skin. He continued until his face was inches above yours, his fingers meeting your bottom lip and pulling your mouth open. Juyeon dropped his forehead against yours, eyes big as a long, pendulum of spit emitted from his mouth. It dangled between your faces, Juyeon holding your lips open until his fluid reached your tongue. The taste of him spreading out over your taste buds, it was the same thick, sweet taste of the drink you’d been gulping at the party. It made you feel closer to him, comforted almost.

Juyeon forced his mouth down on you again, lips mellowing out onto yours in a much sweeter way than before. He continued for a while before lifting up and moving off your body for the first time since you’d awoken. Your chest could finally move better but as soon as you became adjusted, Juyeon grabbed your hips and spun you around. Suddenly, your bare ass was met with cool air, your face pressing into the pillow. Juyeon let his fingers grip you tighter, pulling your hips upward so your back arched and heat was vulnerable to him.

Your face tried to turn back to see what Juyeon was doing, but it was impossible from the angle. Instead, you waited, restless, rocking softly wishing silently that his touch would return. The sound of rustling and shuffling greeted your ears but still no touch. The knowledge that he was likely undressing graced your mind but still no touch. You waited and waited until finally, the warm, hard flesh of Juyeon’s cock brushed against your slick entrance. The member twitched in anticipation before the boy pushed it inside you, the stiff member filling you. Your heat stretched and pulsated, Juyeon remaining motionless for a moment to let you adjust to his size. After a moment, he began thrusting in and out. Slowly at first and then quicker, the pace building and building until your body began rocking with his thrusts. Juyeon held you in place by your hips, his fingertips likely leaving bruised bevelled into your skin.

Juyeon continued his thrusts, the tip of his cock nearly prodding your cervix as he furthered his assault. Your body felt weak and would’ve likely collapsed if it weren’t for Juyeon holding you up.

‘God, this feels even better than I imagined, you’re so tight, so warm. Fuck.’ The boy moaned, deep growls passing his lips as his thrusts burned into your core. You pushed back against his length, allowing it to brush against your g-spot, the walls of your heat twitching at the contact.

The boy let one hand dance onto your back, stopping just between your shoulder blades. He pushed down, your breasts pushed onto the plush duvet, the new position making it much easier for Juyeon to brush against your g-stop again and again. You writhed in pleasure, stomach tight.

‘Don’t you move baby, don’t fucking move.’

Juyeon let his other hand raise high into the air, slamming down against the taunt skin of your ass. Pain sprung out onto the flesh. The boy lifted his hand again, slapping you again, and again and again. Though at first it burnt, the jolts of pain began to add to the mound of pleasure in your loin. Juyeon continued his tirade of slaps, your ass beginning to burn with pain though that only seemed to spur him on. After a few minutes of thrusting and slapping, he swapped hands and began slamming down on your other cheek.

His thrusts became messy, his open palm clamping back down onto your hip to steady himself. Groans fell from his mouth, your back arching to let him hit all the deepest parts of your heat. Another few minutes passed, Juyeon slowly down and then with a particularly guttural moan, he pulled his length from within you. Your core felt empty, cold almost until his hands flipped you over. The tie wrapped around your wrist tightening and digging into your flesh. It burnt, just like your ass still was. Juyeon now looked down on you, kneeling between your legs, naked.

The boy looked like a statue, made in a laboratory. You didn’t understand why he was so enamoured with you, willing to break so many laws and moral barriers to be with you. He must be crazy, he was.

Juyeon leant down, hand on the bedframe to hold himself up. His mouth lowered, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking on the tender flesh, and letting it bounce back with a pop. A whimper bellowed from your mouth, Juyeon looking up at you with dark, arrogant eyes. He moved up, face hovering above yours, his hard member brushing against your entrance, teasing you. A smile sprouted on his lips, one hand disappeared to stroke his cock up and down your slick entrance.

‘Please…’ You found yourself mumbling absent-mindedly, not even realising what he had done before.

He laughed.

His face moved away from you suddenly, fingers clasping the knife that was sat on your bedside table. Your stomach tightened, Juyeon’s member still on your entrance. Juyeon held the knife forward, pressing the tip against your breast, pushing down slightly. You felt the point dig into your skin, a droplet of blood seeping from the warm flesh. Another small whimper fell from your mouth, Juyeon’s smile growing tenfold.

‘Beg for it.’

‘What?’

‘I said,’ Juyeon ordered, pushing the blade down harder, another drop of blood slithering down your breast. ‘beg for it.’

‘Please. Please.’

‘Please… what?’

‘Please fuck me, Juyeon. I want you to fuck me, please. I want you inside of me again, please, I want you to fill me up.’

Juyeon smiled wide, sliding the knife downward and then pulling it away from your skin. And with one sharp movement, he pushed his length into you, stretching you once more. You both moaned loudly, Juyeon beginning to build his pace again. Hips bucking onto yours. The thrusts became as quick as they were before, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix again, the coil of pleasure tightening in your loin.

Once again, Juyeon lifted the knife and this time pressed it to your throat. The sharp blade slightly scraping your elongated neck, still continuing his thrusts until they became messy again. Juyeon let out several grunts, the sounds roaming the room like music. The boy made sure not to cut you, instead letting you merely feel the threat of danger. He snapped his hips onto yours once more, the pleasure in your stomach burning and finally, unravelling.

A long, feral whimper exploded from your mouth, head tilting back as Juyeon continued to thrust. The feeling of you tightening through your orgasm made his cock twitch, the member releasing its warm liquid into your heat. The warmth of his seed caused another moan to fall from your mouth, Juyeon growling low as he rode out his high. The boy trusted one more time and then let his length slowly fall out of you.

He still held the knife to your throat, hands still clasped around the headboard. You waited for something, for Juyeon to untie you and snuggle up to you in bed. Instead, he knelt above you, knife still on your skin.

‘What are you going to do now?’ You asked as Juyeon looked down at the ground beside your bed. He sighed.

‘I’m going to keep you. I just haven’t decided where.’ The boy uttered as though it were the most normal thing in the world. Only now, you’d let him.