#thread: stop touching your bow and come touch grass instead

[romancandlelight]

Stop Touching Your Bow and Come Touch Grass Instead

(with @immovablewill )

Festival season or not, Naganohara Yoimiya was always working hard to make fireworks that would catch the eye of even the most unimpressed spectators. Throughout the years, she had made all sorts of unique fireworks: ones that darted across the water, ones that exploded into intricate designs, and even ones that resembled stars in the night sky when they set off at the apex of their climb. These innovations sometimes came with a cost, however– such as multiple fire mishaps that accidentally set a bush (or five… or ten… or twenty?) on fire, but Yoimiya was always careful to bring the suitable equipment needed to put it out. Usually.

Unfortunately for her and the fire brigade that came to clean up her mess, this was not the case today. In her defense, she had finally figured out how to make the fireworks change color mid-explosion, and she just had to test it out, just to check that it wasn't a fluke!

That's what she tried to tell Kujou Sara anyways, her hands clasped behind her back sheepishly as she tried to claim whatever innocence she could.

"I didn't mean to set the fire this time– I promise!" she protested, even though she knew that it would do little to change what Kujou Sara's verdict for her would be. Another fine to pay, no doubt, but if she was lucky enough she could avoid some jail time. (Hopefully.) She chewed at her bottom lip, anxious to hear what the taller woman had to say. Although she was never frightened of the tengu, per se, it wasn't hard to at least be a little intimidated when the woman always had her arms folded and a disappointed frown across her face.

[immovablewill]

[DRESSING ROOM]

"Goodness, is this what the Tenryou commission has you wearing now? Almighty Shogun above, we've got to fix this..." Chiori would crouch, taking measurements of the crow-feathered general. "They just let you all wear anything? I forgot how traditional Inazuma still is."

⁀➴ OVERTURE 2024

That—…

…A heavy frown tugged at her lips, golden eyes following the infamous designer’s while shifting uncomfortably from where she stood. Her usual uniform—one she had always worn with pride and confidence—felt suddenly inadequate under the designer’s sharp gaze, even when she couldn’t recall exactly how she’d been roped into this. Something about an official shoot, was it? All she knew was that one moment, she was walking a few steps behind the Almighty Shogun, guarding her, and the next, the same Shogun had easily pawned her off when someone, a director or photographer, had requested for their aid.

It felt absurd—here she was, the General of the Tenryou Commission, reduced to standing stiffly under the scrutinizing eye of a sharp-tongued seamstress. That all she could do was to lower her head slightly with a quiet hum in response to the harsh words only made the situation feel even more ridiculous.

So… So perhaps she does not have the best sense of fashion (in fact, the Lady Guuji once said she had absolutely none of it), but what good does fashion serve in her line of duty? She had no need for expensive kimonos or fancy dresses. Her uniform alone should suffice. (Thus, explains why she only ever wore them, having ordered multiple such that she wouldn’t have to worry about needing to wash her clothes for five months, should an emergency arise.)

“ My uniform does its job well, " came her delayed response, her shoulders slumping slightly. " It is easy to move in and does not hinder me from my duties. I don’t see why we must go through all this trouble and change out of my usual clothing… ”

Any other excuse she might have offered died on her lips as the seamstress swiftly fixed her with a sharp look, and just as swiftly, Sara’s resolve faltered.

She heaved out a heavy sigh, surrendering to the inevitable.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Many Hands

Gale x F! Tav (named)

(Child Of Dawn, part 8)

PG-13 religous trauma, feelings of self worth/utility, implied trauma, implied violation, admissions of feelings, tenderness

With the knowledge of Aurum's heat death approaching and Gale's long awaited reunion with Mystra, both of their lives come to a precipice. Whether they can emerge together will remain to be seen...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

There was an absence in his tent again.

Sitting up he looked over to where her body should lay. Finding nothing but unsettled blankets.

With sure movements he pulled his shoes on, the pull of their lovers rings assuring him of her safety. Late night wandering was not uncommon for her, and though it spiked loneliness in his heart when she slipped out, it no longer incited fear.

The pull of their rings leading, he followed out of the edge of the city where their camp resided. Seeking her where he often found her, in a field of high grass.

As he approached a faint glow of blue and purple lit his path. Something utterly and worrisomely familiar. Weave in the air.

He did rush forward then, the smell of rosewater confirming his suspicion. A fraction of Mystra was present with Aurum, and something in that struck a primal terror in his heart.

Aurum uses magic. She's been touching Weave, though not in its raw form, on some level this entire time. Mystra was well aware of her. He didn't need to shield her, surely. Yet his feet disagreed, only picking up speed.

Then he heard it, the high haunting call of her singing, communing with short phrases of piercing beautiful cries.

That made him slow. Was she... speaking through Weave? And if she was, was it to Mystra?

He approached slower then, coming up on the broken treeline. The clearing swimming with the light of Weave, an impressive amount twining around her in slow circles.

She stood at the apex of it, watching the thread push and pull. Taking in lungfuls and calling out changing tones of song. Some soft and hopeful, morning bird cries. Some passionate and triumphant, a battle cry cresting.

The Weave responded to these phrases, lighting and twisting. A little more or less with her inflection.

But when she cried out mournful and pleading, a scream for mercy, it lit up so bright he needed to shield his eyes. Twisting and vibrating in excited thrums at her heart-wrenching wail.

She looked around at it. Face bordering on disgust, but more than anything, a knowing disregard.

For the first time, he heard her sing with words.

And of the gods

Of bright yellow and deep blue

In mortal presence seek to be awed

Only in cruel nature prove themselves true

The Weave sparked and rippled harshly, dissipating around her in an angry hiss.

She only folded arms across her ribs, cupping her elbow in one hand. Watching it go with a certainty, a defiant calm in her narrowed eyes. Gentle wind swirling her hair, tall grasses bowing around her in slow waves.

He gawked at her. This woman, with the lining of her heart still burnt, just told off a god. Successfully.

He drew forward, in utter awe of her. Those glacial eyes meeting his, lighting with warmth.

"Hey, did I wake you?" She called softly.

He was still reeling, her casual tone making him near giddy. What a fascinating creature to defy a god within their own magic, then carry on as per usual.

"Aurum, you just..." He tried to start, but her scoff stopped him.

"I have had a god speaking from my throat for most of my life. I've long been desensitized to their tactics." She explained, as if that made her feat less impressive instead of more.

"They all want power and attention. Give them neither and it starves them of control. Then you've lost your utility, and in turn, their interest." She shrugged, entirely unimpressed.

The raw truth of her words struck through him like an impaling spear. In three succinct sentences, she had wrung the essence of his torment out onto the waving grass in which they stood.

"Well, I should say most gods. Selune seems alright." Her chest lit up silver in agreement, and she smiled down at it.

Dame Aylin's gift still made his heart race hopefully, surrounding her sun shard with her mother's moonlight. Cooling it's power enough to weaken flares and slow down its heat death. Not a cure, but a blessing nonetheless.

He reached out on instinct, feeling the pleasant warmth under his palm.

She hissed slightly. "Careful, it's still tender."

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking." He sighed, taking her hand instead.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" She hushed.

He wanted to weild the unflinching resolve she had just shown, but he refused to lie to her.

"Yes, I am."

His own long overdue meeting with Mystra at its precipice. The walls of the Stormshore Tabernacle to be their witness.

"Though it steels my resolve to know I'll have my love at my side. To know you'll be there, waiting for me on the other side... it is a balm on my shaken soul. I dont deserve you, truly."

She pulled their folded hands up, kissing the bend of his fingers, eyes bright with gentle adoration.

"Mmm, I'm going to fight you on that one wizard. I have it on good authority that you're quite lovely and very deserving of my affections."

Tears prickled his eyes, stepping forward to catch her sweet mouth in a kiss.

He loved her so much it made him simultaneously dizzy and held down anchor. Even the height of his romance with Mystra seemed one dimensional in comparison. This was warm, tender, of the earth. A crackling fire warming him through and a cool river he dipped his hands in. Utterly mortal. Real.

-

Aurum pressed her forehead to his, staring deep into his endless brown eyes.

"You're ready, Gale."

He laughed nervously. "Am I? Gods I wish you could come with me. I could use a pillar of strength to bolster my nerve."

"I'll be right here, waiting for you." She cupped his jaw. He turned into her hand, kissing her palm.

"I'm still not certain what I'm going to say. You must have some words of wisdom to impart before I go?"

She considered it. Of what she knew of gods remaining impartial was key to gaining any footing. To go any way in either direction sealed your fate. And they were here to release him from his ties, not strengthen them.

"She will ask something of you, of that I am certain. But also reveal information, some I'm sure she's loathe to part with. Ask questions when opportunity presents, stay on the back foot and make no promises."

He blinked then smiled at her, awestruck.

"You're kind of terrifying, did you know that?"

She smiled, sighing. "Despite my best attempts, I am my father's daughter."

This is what she was made for. First line of attack was subterfuge, entice, then persuade. If that fails, cleave them in righteous anger as his holy sword, his golden scythe.

Born to be a weapon of equal parts beauty and fury. The training was sewn into her body, same as the gold ink that lined her face. She could deny every god, but she could not deny that.

Stepping forward, she leaned up and kissed him tenderly. If he understood what she was, the extent of what she had done, would he still want her? She wasn't certain.

But she was certain of this:

"You have done enough. You do not need her forgiveness. You never did."

He took a shaky breath out, linking his pinky with hers. One firm squeeze.

She responded in kind, giving him one more quick kiss for luck.

"I will only be gone a moment. See you soon, my love." He sighed, arm raising to open the channel.

He disappeared in a flash of white. Despite her certain words, she couldn't help but hold her breath. Astarion's hand came to brace on her shoulder, her hand weaving over his gratefully.

One, two more beats and he was back in her world. Already explaining breathless what he had learned, the nature of his condition. Gripping her upper arms to steady himself.

"She's offering a cure?" Aurum clarified through his flurry of words.

"Yes, it seems so." He finally took a staggering breath in. Giving her time to process everything said, and what was unsaid within it.

She started slowly, gathering her words carefully.

"What would you like to do with the crown?"

He froze. Eyes searching hers, confused. Then his face fell, stricken.

"Do you think I would still consider harnessing the crown? After everything...?"

She wanted to say no, of course not. But on some level, she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. That she knew better. If she chose to not be a goddess for him, then he has no reason to stay.

She knew worship. It was always held to her at point blank range. A choir that cannot move their flock will not sway. A sacred text read without fervor held no weight.

A holy object that cannot make its devotee feel fufilled has no purpose.

If he had forsaken his god, and was forbade from using her as a replacement, then he must be tempted to become one himself.

She had left him godless. Of course he would consider it.

He was searching her face with rapid eyes. Lips parted, desperate for answers he must have saught there.

"Aurum...?"

"If a cure is on the table, I think we should take that offer." She kept her voice diplomatic. Not her most graceful side step.

For the first time, she felt an insistent pull from his worm. He was trying to open her mind to him.

She reeled back, shaking her head. Eyes wide on him in shock.

"Don't... Don't do that." She breathed. Feeling many hands on her body, flinching. Looking down to see only one pale set of hands, bracing her reeling body. A knowing presence taking up behind her.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I just... I wish that you would talk to me. I love you, I want to know what you're thinking. Always."

"I'll..." She started, feeling Astarion's hand squeeze her back in encouragement. "I'll try. To tell you more."

Gale sighed, reassured. Taking her hands, smiling down at her. "Thank you."

"Gods, I'm exhausted. Let's get to the Elfsong already." He was allowing her release for the moment, and she appreciated the out.

"Ohhh, frosty pints..." Karlach moaned.

-

Gale woke in their private suite, that familiar absence. Slipping on his shoes, padding past softly snoring bodies. Down into the rain slicked street. Already knowing where he would find her but still led by hand.

The cracked door of Stormshore Tabernacle leaked a stripe of light onto the street. He pulled his overcoat tighter around him and angled inside.

He expected her to be sat in front of the all-god idol. But she sat legs folded into each other, staring up at Mystra's likeness with a slightly cocked head.

He took a short breath through his teeth. Somehow, he had the sense that Mystra was staring back.

"You know, I don't mind staying up with you. I'm no stranger to late hours and maintaining a terrible circadian rhythm."

She looked up at him, smiling sheepishly and holding out her hand.

"You looked so peaceful, I couldn't bear to wake you." She sighed, eyes drawn back up as soon as he settled next to her.

It was quiet for a moment, soft candlelight striking their shadows against the cold stone of his former lover.

"Copper for your thoughts?" He offered quietly.

She smiled sadly, looking back down.

"I was just thinking about..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. A slight clench in her jaw. Clearly fighting herself.

"Well, that your god is willing to forgive you."

He heard the subtext she wasn't saying.

Your god is willing to cure you.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't like Mystra." He smiled at the clear disdain in her voice.

"But... that she's willing to help. Even if her motives are less than altruistic. I mean, that's something."

He wasn't used to her speaking so candidly, her mask of saintly presence fallen away. How tender and uncertain her melodic voice bounced around the room.

"I would exchange our places a thousand times over if I could, Aurum. You deserve a second chance far more than I do." He held her hands between his. The realization that he had a way out and she didn't making bile rise to the back of his throat. He couldn't think about that right now.

Aurum's eyes wandered back up to her cold face.

"Did it feel strange? Seeing her again?"

He considered her question. "Strangely, no. Once, a mere glimpse of her face would have been enough to turn my insides over, but not this time."

His eyes drawn again to the facsimile of her, finding no fondness, no longing there.

"In her likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death."

Smiling back down at his radiant earthly love. "I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling. No god could ever compare."

Tears poured silent down her cheeks, eyes wide. Shock striking her face for the second time in this temple.

He felt a prickling of worry, checking the hue of the sunburst on her chest. Burning a brilliant white.

"I love you." She whispered.

His whole world swept out from under him, breath utterly taken. Heart singing so high and so full it made him lightheaded.

"Please, please say it again." He breathed.

She closed her eyes, opening her mind to him. He accepted swiftly.

The tempest of her mind threatened to overtake him for a moment, until she pulled him back into her presence. Surrounding him in her love, the entirety of her affection. Washing up over his body as many hands, warm waves of fingers.

I love you, Gale Dekarios.

His own tears fell heavy, a sob threatening in his throat.

His mouth found hers, smothering her in his adoration. Cupping her precious face in his hands. His love wrapping around her, intricately woven. A shroud, a shield.

When he finally pulled up for air, he realized she had left her mind open. The corners of it unguarded in offering.

Are you sure? He looked into her eyes, searching for permission.

She took a shaky breath out, but he felt the determination in her mind.

Yes, it's time I show you.

~

Part 9

[smoochkooks]

—golden boy (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, fluff, disney hercules au, meg!oc, hercules!jk

⟶ summary: jungkook finally has you all to himself. and oh, is he going to cherish the moment wholeheartedly.

⟶  word count: 2.7k

⟶ warnings: virgin!jk, switch!jk if you squint, exhibitionism (they do it outdoors but it’s ancient greece so it’s not even surprising), soft to kinda rough sex, heavy petting, oral (f receiving), slight dirty talk, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie, jk in a man bun, pegasus cockblocking his partner in crime

a/n: i got cherry vodka drunk and wrote this in two hours. it’s jorny hours so please forgive me for the sins you’re about to read with your very own eyes. hercules is one of my favorite childhood disney movies and watching it today i just couldn’t stop imagining jk as the greek god. if you see any mistakes - please ignore them. it’s almost 2am. enjoy!! xx ps. I had some major difficulties with posting this one so if you were one of the first people to read it and sth was off: read it again now thank u

Jungkook thinks you're the most beautiful person in the whole world. 

He hasn't seen many goddesses in his life (hell, he's sure of it, judging by the short period of time he spent on Olympus as a newborn baby-god) but he's positive you would make his aunt Aphrodite jealous. You’re the epitome of his perfection, a walking daydream, his muse and an object of desire.

He could die happily staring at you, though it's impossible due to the fact he's very much immortal. He could travel back to Hades and fight every titan that rots in the pits of Tartarus, just to see you batting your long eyelashes at him or hear you call him ‘golden boy’ again. You quite literally have him wrapped around your finger, not even his father Zeus, the most powerful god in the entire universe managed to convince him to stay on Olympus and bask in the glory with the rest of his family.  

Jungkook chose to live his life with you, on Earth, and there's not a single smudge of doubt or regret clouding his brain. Not when he can finally hold you in his arms and kiss stupidi just like right now when it’s dark out and you’re sitting comfortably on the ground near a small pond.  

“You saved me once again, golden boy,” you murmur, fingers lazily threading through the dark locks on his neck. It almost makes him purr into your mouth.

“You weren't really in trouble the first time.” He bites your lip in return, eliciting a giggle from you.

“But am I not your favorite damsel in distress, Jungkookie?” You place your palm on his rock-hard chest and push, until he's laying flat on the grass, the starry sky above reflecting in his black orbs. “You're my hero, you know that, right?” you whisper, straddling his lap.  

Jungkook's been to Olympus and knows what heaven looks like but this: you above him, your hair cascading down your shoulders, dress bunching up around your waist and revealing smooth expanses of honey skin– is incomparable. It's sweet ambrosia on his tongue, the finest of all tastes, the greatest feeling in the world.  

“Am I?” he asks just to hear you say it once again. Instead of responding verbally you lean down to kiss him, your lips molding perfectly together. He groans into your mouth, two calloused palms itching to touch the bare skin of your thighs. Growing bolder, his hands reach further, cupping your asscheeks and pulling you even closer to him. 

You smirk into his mouth. “Someone's eager,” you tease but give in anyway, brushing your core over the hard length beneath his tunic.  

Jungkook all but moans at that and you relish in the sounds he makes, repeating the movement and slowly grinding yourself on his cock. His face twitches in pure ecstasy and you swear you've never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life– the son of Zeus being at your mercy, helpless to the pleasure you're giving him. “You're going to be the death of me,” he sighs, angling your head to kiss you again. You don't hesitate to oblige, accepting the tongue he slithers inside with a whimper of your own. 

“Thank gods you're immortal.” you say in between kisses.

He chuckles lowly, sending shivers down your spine. He bunches the material of your dress in his hands and lifts it off you in one, swift movement. Your nipples harden feeling the soft breeze fanning over your flesh. Looking down, you're met with Jungkook's blown out pupils. He looks so dreamy like this, the most perfect golden boy you’ve ever seen. His lips are swollen from your kisses, hair a little tussled and falling from his bun. A sight for sore eyes, truly.  

“You're so beautiful, love,” he murmurs, his palms engulfing your breasts. You moan when he sucks one of the nipples into his hot mouth, fingers threading through his hair and ready to pull. “My goddess,” he chants, switching to the other breast. He flicks the pebbled bud with his tongue and then bites lightly, making you cry out in pleasure. “I love the sounds you make. Want to hear you moaning for me. Give me more, love, please.”

He places his hands underneath your thighs and lifts you off him, laying you on your back. You don't complain about the change, not when he trails kisses down your chest and stomach, not when you feel his hot breath on your womanhood. He's determined to please you, it seems, so he mouths over your undergarments, alternating between kissing and licking you softly through the material.  

“Take them off,” you mutter, growing impatient. Jungkook looks up, a devilish smirk on his lips. Oh, how many sleepless nights you spent dreaming of him staring at you like that and practically devouring you with his eyes.  

“Won't you beg for me a little, love?” He's too cocky for his own good but you decide to let it slide for now, your urges getting better of you.  

“Please, Jungkookie, make me feel good.” you keen in saccharine sweet voice. He doesn't need to be told twice, ripping the undergarments off your body. “Oh, yes!” you moan when he gives you first, experimental lick up your slick folds. He swirls his tongue over your clit, making you choke out a, “Right there, darling, right there.”  

Jungkook's certain his newfound favourite place in the world is going to be between your thighs. He's already addicted to your taste, to your smell. He lavishes your cunt with passion, devouring you like the finest meal. He loves the sounds you make, love the little whimpers and breathy moans. He wants to listen to them forever. 

He groans into your heat when you pull his hair, pulling away from your pussy with a wet pop. “Do it again,” he rasps against your core and that's probably the hottest thing you've ever heard. You grant his wish, repeating it every time he delivers a toe-curling suck to your sensitive bud. “You're dripping, my love. Is this all for me?” Jungkook asks, lifting his head up enough so you could see his lips and chin glistening in your arousal. He’s getting bolder again but you’re too consumed with your own pleasure to pay mind to it.

“All for you,” you murmur, the pads of your fingers trailing through his locks lightly. He closes his eyes, lets you massage his scalp for a brief moment. “You're doing so good, darling. You're going to make me come.” 

He takes it as a sign to continue, diving right into your cunt. He shows no mercy, bringing you to the edge of release. You wonder how could he possibly be so good at this already but then you remember who exactly your lover is– a son of Zeus can only be either a fast learner or natural.  

With one, final flick of his tongue on your clit the coil in your stomach tightens and you're coming, more slick gushing out of your and coating Jungkook's face in translucent release. He doesn't seem to be bothered though, licking his lips and chin obscenesly and moaning at the taste. Your hole clenches, needing to be filled.

Jungkook discards his tunic and now you have a perfect view of his sturdy muscles, the byproduct of his training with Phil. You almost drool at the sight, running your palms greedily over the wide expanses of his chest. When your finger ever-so-slightly brushes his nipple, you feel him chocking out a tiny moan. Smirking, you repeat the motion.  

“Y/N, love, please don't tease me. I need to be inside you so bad.” he husks when your other hand travels down his abdomen and trails over his aching cock. 

“As you wish, darling.” With shaky limbs you manage to turn him on his backside again. Right when you're about to pulls his undergarments down, you hear something rustling between the trees. You stop abruptly. 

“Did you hear that?” you whisper, squinting your eyes to see better although there's no use for that during the night.  

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Hear what?” he mumbles and props himself on his elbows to look, but then you see it yourself. A glimpse of white fur that can only belong to– 

“That stupid horse!” you shriek, covering your bare breats with your hands.

“What?!” Jungkook yells, equally as shocked as you. He scrambles for his tunic to cover your modest figure. “Pegasus! Get out of here!” The magical creature neighs in response and peeks from between the bushes, looking at you pitifully. 

“Oh gods, he saw me naked!” you wail, mortified, as Jungkook gets up to scold Pegasus. “I'm gonna die from embarrassment!”  

Jungkook angrily gestures to the horse to leave you two alone, standing only in his undergarments. You want to laugh at how absurd this whole situation is. Pegasus nods with his head bowed down. Fulfilling the order, he spreads his wings and flies away somewhere. You hope far, far away from here.

“Hey,” You hear Jungkook's soft voice. He takes your hands in his and uncovers your red face. “We're alone.” he says, smiling apologetically at you.  

“I can't believe your stupid, magical horse almost watched us fuck."

“Keyword: almost.”

You cry out, burying your face in his neck.  “It's not funny!” you huff, punching him in the chest however you know he probably hasn't even felt it. But you did feel pretty much though; it hurts like you've hit a stone.  

Jungkook chuckles, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, rubbing your back soothingly.  

You look up to meet his eyes. “Do you?” you repeat with raised eyebrows.  

There it goes again, the damned sly smirk. “I'm still very much hard, love, and I'm afraid it won't go away that easily.”

“Yeah?” you murmur, thoughts about Pegasus and his prying horse eyes showed to the back of your head. “And what are you gonna do about it?” You push him onto his back, fingers grasping the material of his undergarments.  

Jungkook swallows before saying, “I'm gonna fuck you so hard you will never even think of leaving me.”

Biting your lip, you slide his undergarments down his toned legs. His cock is just as perfect as the rest of him–long, curved at the top and flaming red, craving to be touched. Using the precum that has gattered at the tip you smear it along his shaft, watching in awe as his face confronts in pleasure. He lets you play with him for a while like that, drive him to the insanity with your teasing.  

Just when you're about to position yourself over his cock, he stops you. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.  

“I did. Once,” you answer honestly. “But it didn't mean anything to me.” You slowly sink down on him, welcoming the slightly burning stretch with a satisfied moan.  

Jungkook hisses, digs his fingers into your waist and you're sure he'll leave bruising marks. “And what does this mean?” he asks, almost chokes out feeling your hot canal enveloping his length.  

“Everything,” you breathe out, lifting yourself off him just to slam down hard afterwards. “You mean the world to me.” you say; it’s priactially a whisper. As you're staring into his wide eyes, you can see your love for him reflected in them. It all feels like a dream you don't wanna wake up from.  

“I love you, Y/N,” he confesses and you know he means it. “From the moment I saw you for the first time I knew you would be the one for me.”  

A lonely tear slides down your cheeks and he catches it with his thumb. “I love you too, Jungkook.” you murmur.  

He smiles like a fool, opens his mouth to say more but you shut him up with a kiss and your hips establishing a steady rhythm on his cock. You pull away from his lips, saliva dribbling down both of your chins but you don't care, bouncing on him like your life depends on it. Maybe it does a little.  

“So good,” you whimper, the tip of his cock almost hitting your cervix with every stroke.  

Underneath you Jungkook looks like he might die right here and there, his chest sweaty and heaving with every breath he takes. He has a vice grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his cock. To your surprise you find yourself liking that side of him, the rough touch of his hands on your skin. You wonder what he's capable of if you push him a little further.  

“Oh, gods!” you keen when his cock brushes past the spot that makes you see stars. He fucks into you just in time for you to add, “Just like that.”  

As much as Jungkook enjoys seeing you bouncing on top of him, he grows tired of just laying still and taking it. In one, swift motion, he flips you onto your back. You squel after the sudden change of positions but that quickly morphs into a loud moan as he rams his cock inside your cunt.

He picks up the pace, making you feel every inch of him. He stares down where your body ends and his begins, watching his cock disappearing in your hole. You urge him to look at you instead, pull him down to leave a messy kiss on his lips. “Shit, you're so perfect,” he marvels, palms squeezing every part of your body he could reach. “Look at you, taking my cock like a good girl,” he spits, leaning to suck a mark on your neck. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“I love it. Love your cock,” you say over the slapping sounds of your skin meeting his. “You're so good to me Jungkookie, so good.” As you feel another, powerful orgasm approaching, you slip your fingers down your body to toy with your clit.  

Jungkook catches it and snatches your hand away, replacing with his own. He rubs your sensitive bud fast and hard, making you cry out his name in a broken moan. “Are you gonna come for me, love? I want you to cream my cock like a good girl.” he rasps, slithering himself inside you with enough force to knock the breath out of your lungs. 

“Yes, yes!” you chant, feeling your cunt spasming around his length. He curses, fucking you through your high. “Kiss me, Jungkookie–please,” you nearly sob and he obliges right away, plunging his tongue inside your mouth to dance with yours. It's messy and wet but you're relishing in it.  

He pants against your mouth, his pace getting sloppy. “I'm not gonna last longer,” he stammers out. “Your pussy feels too good, I'm–”

“Shh,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks in your palms. “It's okay. You did so good, darling.” He moans at the praise, leans down to bury his face in your neck. 

“Oh gods, I'm gonna–ah, shit,” he groans, thrusts into your cunt a few more times and then he comes, spilling himself inside. “I love you, I love you.” he repeats, breathing heavily down your neck.

You wrap your arms around him, smiling to yourself. “And I love you.” you respond. “But please, for the love of Zeus, get off me or you'll suffocate me.”

Jungkook chuckles, lifting himself off your body. He props himself on his hand and stares down at you. You’ve never felt so happy. It’s right here, with him, that you feel the most acomplished. You wish to make it last forever. He places a kiss on your mouth, a sweet, quick peck before he crashes his body next to yours.

He pulls you to his side and you could feel his heart beating underneath the palm you placed on his chest. It beats with the love he has for you. 

“When do you think you will be able to go again?” you ask.

Jungkook cocks his head. “What? Are you proposing a round two?”

“Not exactly,” you quip, your nail ever so slightly brushing over his nipple. “Want you in my mouth this time.”

“You little minx.”

You smirk. If his already semi-hard cock is anything to go by, you have a long night ahead of yourself.

[intoanothermind]

Idyllic - Enoch O’Connor

Word Count: 11.3k words

– Enoch O’Connor x reader

Synopsis: Is it possible to fall in love through stories? Well, it happened to me. I fell in love with the stories that my grandmother told me.

Masterlist

(Okay, maybe I got a bit too excited writing this. But it was worth it, I liked the result, even if first I was going to make a whole fanfic out of this idea. And I based it off the movie as I still haven’t read the books. AU where Jacob was never followed by Barron.)

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I analysed the sepia photograph that almost shattered in my hands. It was old and worn out - from the time and the number of times it has been handled. The photo represented a small cave that seemed to be forgotten by everyone. The passage to the time that permeated most of my grandmother's teenage stories. I lowered the photo, seeing that I was directly in front of that same cave, on the small Welsh island of Cairnholm. I put the photograph in the pocket of my torn jeans and took a deep breath, trying to ignore how shaky my hands were. This was the moment I had been waiting for years, since my grandmother started telling me stories about this loop and I fell in love. I took a deep breath, knowing that this moment would change my life and I would not go back to my time again. I was prepared to leave everything I knew behind, with the proper farewells already made.

I squeezed the strap of the backpack that held some of my belongings and entered the cave. I could tell when I entered 1943. The air changed around me, becoming more dense before quieting. The sounds became calmer and my breathing heavier despite being in less polluted air - but I could blame the emotions. When I returned to the beach, the sky was no longer terribly cloudy. Instead, blue was prevalent, with only a few clouds. I smiled, because that meant I had done it. I followed the beach along the path I had taken the day before, when I visited the wreckage of the orphanage. It hadn’t been a pleasant visit. Even knowing the loops existed and how all the children were saved, seeing the place in pieces was heartbreaking. No wonder Grandma never returned to that place. But as I retraced my journey - familiar and at the same time unsettlingly different - I was trying to control my emotions. I didn't know how everyone would react to my presence. Grandma was still in correspondence with Miss Peregrine, but I didn't know the extent of their knowledge about me. Much less if they knew I was coming and whether they would be receptive to my arrival or not.

I started to hyperventilate when imagining the possibility of not being accepted, by everyone and by a peculiar one in particular. I stopped where I was, a few feet from crossing the small stream before the trees that hid the orphanage, and tried to take a deep breath. Even though there was a chance I wouldn’t be accepted, I had no other choice. Grandma was already getting old to protect me alone from the Hollows and I had no choice but to head to one of the loops around the world marked on the map Grandma gave me - and of course my obvious choice would be the one where my grandmother spent almost a decade living. When I felt calmer, I continued my walk. Seeing the big house - with reddish bricks and flowers growing through the structure - that housed Grandma's best childhood friends, I couldn't help the smile forming on my lips. The first to see me was a small, blond little girl in a pink dress that swayed around her body as she ran towards me.

“Eloise! You came back!”

My heart sank and the smile was gone.

“I ... I'm not Eloise. I'm her granddaughter, Y/N.” I replied. She stopped in front of me, studying my face.

She looked a little sad, but soon opened a big smile. “You look a lot like her. I'm Claire. Come, you have to meet everyone! They will be very happy!”

She started pulling me by the arm and, as much as I was eager to get to know everyone - even though I already knew from the stories I heard all my life - there was something I needed to do before.

“I would really love to, but I think I need to speak to Miss Peregrine first. Can you take me to her? Then you can introduce me to everyone.”

“Of course! Let's go!

Claire took me to the door. Every few meters that we walked, some new child turned to see who Claire was guiding so excitingly. Whispers and murmurs after a few seconds of silence. My arrival left the other children in an uproar. Wide eyes and surprised faces, they started whispering to each other, but none approached as Claire led me to the door. Perhaps because of my resemblance to my grandmother or the current clothes I wore. I looked among the children who were watching me, but the face I was looking for, however, was not among them.

“Miss Peregrine!” exclaimed Claire, entering the house with me.

As soon as we passed the bluish door, I looked around in wonder. Everything was so clear and clean. The staircase in front of me was complete, as were the side doors and the corridor hidden under the stairs on the right. So different from the orphanage that I visited back in 2019, the day before. That orphanage was destroyed, the wreckage left by the German bombing more than half a century before, still lying there.

“Y/N!

I looked at the person who called me and instantly recognized Alma Peregrine from the pictures Grandma showed me. Thin face and short hair with bluish threads. Blue eyes wide with a gleam of insanity, anxiety and wisdom. I smiled when I saw her approaching me with two cups in hand.

“Just in time, dear.” She said, handing me one of the cups. The smell that rose made me realize it was mint tea. “Claire, you can go play with the others. I'll take Y/N to meet everyone in a moment.” she told the blonde girl who still held my hand.

“But, Miss Peregrine...” Claire started to mumble, but the woman gave her a steady look that made her release my hand and jump happily back out.

“My name is Alma Peregrine, but I imagine I already knew that information.”

I smiled, nodding and accepting the handshake. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Peregrine.”

“The pleasure is mine, dear. Eloise talked a lot about you and warned us of your arrival.” She put a hand on my shoulder and guided me down the hall under the stairs, but stopped before we entered. “Leave your bag by the stairs, you can take it to your room later.”

I did as she asked and we headed down the hall, then into the kitchen and finally out into the courtyard. It was large, with grass, trees and shrubs pruned in various shapes - I could recognize an elephant, a centaur with a bow and arrow stretched out and a dinosaur farther down, near a football goalpost, where two boys played. One had bees around him and the other, well, I could just make out the clothes. Hugh and Millard. A blond boy was sitting under the dinosaur-shaped bush, shouting penalties at both of them while sharing his attention with a book. Beside him was a girl with brown braided hair and a few freckles watching the two boys play. Horace and Fiona.

Before we approached the presentations, however, I remembered something important.

“Oh, Miss Peregrine.” I said after taking another sip of tea. I reached for my jeans pocket by the folded letter and handed it to him under a curious look. “Grandma asked me to give it to you as soon as I arrived. You’ll have her new address, some new information before she forgot and… let's say attempts to keep in touch while you can.”

Alma Peregrine looked up at my face and I immediately recognized the look of pity and anguish that I so wanted to avoid.

“I'm sorry for your family, Y/N. And for Eloise too.”

I broke into a forced smile.

“It's all right. My parents' death happened many years ago, it isn’t something that bothers me very much.” I said and, on the one hand, I wasn’t lying. I was only eight when the Hollows killed them trying to get to me and my grandmother. Since then, Grandma and I haven't settled in one place for a long time and she was always with me, taking care of me. Until she thought it was appropriate for me to go on a loop because Alzheimer was advancing little by little. “And about Grandma... Well... We both knew that day was coming and she prepared me for it.”

“Still” Peregrine said, putting the letter in her dress pocket and hugging my shoulders “, I'm sorry.”

I nodded. “Only you and I have her new address. She wanted me to correspond with her while the disease is not yet very advanced and she can still remember.”

“Of course!” Peregrine stated. I sighed, relieved. I knew that someone other than her corresponding to the outside of the loop could be dangerous and I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to have contact with Grandma. “As long as possible, you can send letters to her and I will help you with that.”

“Thank you, Miss Peregrine.”

She smiled warmly at me, before being distracted by someone calling her name. I followed his gaze and saw Claire approaching again, this time with a girl about her size, with brown curls dangling around her face. I smiled as I recognized Bronwyn and right behind them the twins dressed in white clothes from head to toe.

“Y/N, you already knew Claire” Peregrine started the presentations. “and this is Bronwyn and the twins.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I said, smiling at the children in front of me.

The twins jumped a little, looking excited, but Bronwyn stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my legs. She lifted me up and I had to hold on to her shoulders to keep from falling when she lifted me off the floor.

“I'm very happy to meet Eloise's granddaughter, she was always sending photos of you.”

“Bronwyn, put her on the floor!” Miss Peregrine hurried to say, but I could only laugh.

“It's quite alright.” I assured. “It's really nice to meet Grandma's friends too, Bronwyn, she talked a lot about you.”

She giggled as she put me back on the floor and let out a “it'll be great to have you live with us” before running with Claire and the twins into the house. I looked at Peregrine, a little confused.

“The children knew that when you came it was to stay, Eloise always warned us of this, although not everyone believed that you would really come.” she paused and I wondered if she knew I could guess who she was referring to. “Claire must have spread it to everyone that you were here.”

We went further into the courtyard, approaching Horace and Fiona, who soon got up when they saw us.

“These are Horace and Fiona.” said Miss Peregrine. “Fiona, it's almost time.”

Fiona smiled broadly and waved at me before running towards the front of the house, to the garden there, while Horace watched my clothes curiously.

“This is an interesting attire.”

I lowered my head, examining my clothes. Half-worn jeans, a white T-shirt and a denim jacket on top, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. On my feet I had a pair of black mid-high all stars. Ordinary clothing, at least for the year I came from. I opened my eyes wide when I realized that I would have to adapt to the 1943 dress. Which meant I couldn't wear pants, let alone jeans.

“Miss Peregrine, will I not be able to wear my clothes?” I asked, almost getting desperate. I wasn’t at all comfortable in skirts and dresses.

Peregrine sighed, half defeated. I was sure Grandma must have had some discussions about it with her in the letters.

“It wouldn’t be ideal, but if you only use them inside the house, where no one but us would see it... I think we can work out a deal.” She said, taking me farther in the yard, passing the boys playing. “These are Hugh and Millard.” they waved at me, but continued the game. Well, Hugh waved and Millard must have touched his hat, which moved a little in the air. “And this is Jacob and Emma.”

I turned my head at the sound of the strange name. Emma was easy to recognize from Grandma's photographs. Blonde and very beautiful. She was barefoot and tied to a rope, floating back to the floor. On the other side of the rope was a tall, thin boy with black hair and blue eyes. Beside him were Emma's heavy shoes. But as I looked more closely, I realized that the boy was familiar to me. Not from Grandma's pictures, because I never heard a story that included any Jacob, but I recognized him. I had to hold the cup with both hands in order not to drop it on the floor due to the fright.

“Jake?!”

He turned so fast and startled that if Emma hadn't already been putting herself back in her shoes she would have flown away.

“Y/N?!” He seemed as surprised to recognize me as I was.

“Do you know each other?” asked Peregrine, frowning.

I blinked a few times to dispel the astonishment.

“Yes, we... We studied together in Florida for a few months before Grandma moved us.” I answered.

“My God, Y/N, it's you!” Jake hugged me quickly, before returning to Emma's side. “You look so different, older!”

“Well, it is 2019 on the outside, Jake, I think I aged a little bit more than you.” we laugh, including Emma.

“You must be Y/N, Eloise's granddaughter. I'm Emma, nice to meet you.” She said sympathetically, shaking my hand with a smile.

“Wait, is Eloise your grandmother? Eloise who left with my grandfather from the loop?”

I looked sideways at Emma when I heard Jacob's words, but she looked fine, smiling with Jacob's hand clasped in hers. I think there were some updates from the peculiar kids that Grandma didn't let me in on.

“So Abe is your grandfather.” I said, finally understanding why Jacob was there. “I don't think we found out before because I never saw your grandfather with you.”

“So you met him?” He frowned, confused.

I nodded. “Yes, Grandma took me a couple of times to see him, but when he was alone. He said he didn't want his grandson to know about the peculiars before he was 18. I'm really sorry for your grandfather.”

Jacob nodded, a little ruefully.

“Well, I see that you have a lot to talk about.” said Miss Peregrine. “I'll leave them then while I prepare dinner. Emma, take Y/N to her room later and lend some dress while we don't fix her wardrobe.”

“Has she met everyone?” she asked.

Miss Peregrine gave me a look that I couldn’t decipher and, by her next words, I wondered how much she knew me from the letters exchanged with Grandma.

“Y/N can meet Olive and Enoch at dinner.”

She took my cup of tea, which by now was cold, and went back into the house alone, leaving me with Emma and Jacob.

“So this means I'm now older than you?” I asked, hoping to break the silence.

And it worked, for Emma's laugh and Jacob's eyes roll.

“Only in appearance, Y/N, only in appearance.”

“Still, I'm 19 and you are 16.” I laughed with Emma when I saw Jacob's exasperated expression. “What is your peculiarity? It shouldn't be too obvious, since I didn't realize it when we were at school.”

Jacob scratched the back of his neck, a little uncomfortably.

“It's the same as my grandfather's, I can see the Hollows.”

After a few seconds of tense silence, I finally said something.

“Wow, that would have been so useful and easier than binoculars.”

“ Binoculars?” asked Emma.

I nodded. “A few years ago, Grandma, Abe and I created out of Grandma's peculiarity a type of binoculars to make visible what is invisible. So you can see the Hollows and even Millard if you want. We tried to recreate it to send another one to Miss Peregrine, but we couldn't.”

“And where is it now?” Jacob asked.

I swallowed hard and tried to respond as naturally as possible.

“With grandma. She would need it out there more than I do in here.”

Their faces became a little sad, but Emma soon changed the subject.

“And do you have the same peculiarity as Eloise? Artistic reality?”

“Yes and no.” I broke into a small smile when I saw their confused faces. “Grandma could give life to her paintings, but she was limited to canvas and paint. I just need a place to draw and a pen or pencil.”

“This is so cool, I would love for you to demonstrate!” Emma exclaimed, looking cheerful. “But dinner starts in a few minutes and we need to get you a dress.”

I think it was easy to see how I felt about dresses in my horrified expression, because Jacob started to laugh. Emma barely cared, holding my hand and leading me back to the house. Jacob came after us both, still laughing at my reluctance. But I knew there was no escape. We entered through the back door and passed the kitchen, where Peregrine was already busy with dinner. Jacob stayed behind to help her place the table in the dining room. When we returned to the foyer, I only had time to grab the strap of my backpack quickly before being pulled by Emma toward the marble stairs, covered in a dark red carpet.

After we passed the two flights of stairs, I found myself facing a half-dark corridor full of doors and a window at one end. Emma guided me to one of the doors to the left of the stairs. But I froze before following her into the room. I heard two voices coming from one of the rooms on the right side of the stairs, along with some strange noises, like scissors and clicks. I widened my eyes when I remembered that in the destroyed orphanage I saw in 2019, that room was the one with the bookcase full of broken jars. Enoch?

“Y/N?”

I turned to Emma, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

“Yes?” My voice came out squeaky and I was sure Emma noticed.

She raised her eyebrow, a little cynically, but said nothing. She just entered the room again, and this time, I followed.

“This is my room.” She said, going to the old wardrobe. Well, old for me. “Your room will be at the end of the hall, I'll take you there to change. But first, let's find a dress for you.”

I mumbled a little "okay" to her and watched as she went through her things. Emma took a small look at my shoes and pulled out a simple light blue dress, cut similar to the baby pink she was wearing, from inside the wardrobe.

“I think this dress here will look better on you with your... modern shoes.”

I giggled at her hesitation, but accepted the dress. Emma smiled and led me back into the hall. We passed the stairs and through the room that I had heard the voices before. We stopped in front of a room two doors down from that. After she said it would be my room from now on, she left me alone to change and get down in ten minutes. I looked around me. A simple single bed, an old wardrobe, a medium size mirror hanging next to the door and a simple table with a chair and a lamp under the window that faced the orphanage and the vegetable garden. The room was simple, but it looked cozy and I smiled. That would be my room for the next few decades and I wish I could make it my own corner. I left my backpack by the bed, knowing I could unpack later. I didn't bring much more than clothes and personal items in it, I knew that no electronic device would work there. Although I brought at least my cell phone and my polaroid camera. I knew I could design some kind of adapter for the plug and more paper for the photos.

I changed my clothes quickly, leaving my shirt and jeans folded on the bed. When I put on the dress, a little reluctantly, I went to the mirror. I was surprised to find that I was beautiful with it, despite some discomfort when using it. And Emma was right, it didn't look so bad with my black all star. I didn't want to be too late, so I just fixed my short curls and left the room towards the stairs. When I got to the hall, I realized that I had no idea where the dining room was. I heard the chirping voices of the children and followed one of the doors on the sides of the hall. The dining room was well lit and decorated. There was a large table in the middle, full of food and where everyone was already seated, except Miss Peregrine, who was standing at one end. There was an empty seat on his right side and soon after Emma, Jake, Bronwyn, Horace and Fiona, with Claire, Millard, Hugh, Olive and the twins on their other side. I looked at the other end of the table, at the boy I had been looking forward to meeting since I knew I was coming to the orphanage.

They must have heard it when I opened the door, because everyone turned to me. I smiled, a little embarrassed by the attention, but it widened when Enoch's dark eyes met mine.

“Eloise?!”

My smile closed slightly when he stood up abruptly, looking at me with a kind of horrified expression. I knew I wouldn't have a very good reception from him, but I think I was still hopeful that it would be different.

“Now, Enoch, of course not! It's Y/N!” exclaimed Millard, looking delighted that I joined them.

“Of course, you and Olive haven't been introduced to her yet.” said Miss Peregrine, holding out her arm for me to approach. “This is Y/N, Eloise's granddaughter. We've talked about it, kids, Y/N will be joining the orphanage from now on.”

I smiled when I realized that Olive and the others seemed to give me warm, welcoming smiles when I sat down next to Peregrine. But not Enoch. He was still looking at me with a dark and unreadable expression. He wasn't happy that I was there, but I couldn't figure out what else my arrival was doing to him. I didn't have much time to find out, as he soon turned and ran out of the dining room, with the children screaming for him.

“Okay, kids, we can have dinner today without him.” said Miss Peregrine.

Some children looked surprised. I don't think it was very common to have a meal with someone missing. But it seemed that everyone knew the reason behind it, from the effort they made to not mention it during the entire dinner. Other than that, however, the dinner was very lively. I avoided saying anything unless a question was addressed directly to me. Which means that I talked almost all the time that I wasn't chewing. Where were you born? How's Eloise? Why did you come? What do you think about meeting your grandmother's friends? Where have you two travelled before? Is it true that you already knew Jake?

It wasn’t so uncomfortable to answer the questions. Everyone there already seemed to know about Grandma's situation and why I would come here at some point. So even with the heaviest responses, the mood was not tense. When everyone was done, a phone rang in the background and everyone fell silent. I was a little confused, since I didn't remember Grandma talking about a phone call they received that September 3, 1943 in whatever story she told.

“Well, we will have to answer it.” said Miss Peregrine. “Emma, why don't you go ahead and answer it? Children, go with her and soon I will go. Y/N, wait a minute, please.”

As everyone went out into the hall, Peregrine took the empty plate that was in Enoch's place and began to fill it with the leftover food in the middle of the table, while I waited standing beside the chair. When she looked satisfied, she wrapped the cutlery in a napkin and placed it in my hands along with the plate.

“Can you take this to Enoch, dear?” she said, with a twinkle in her eyes that I dare say is a little suspicious. “His room is the first door to the right of the stairs.”

Of course it was.

“Are you sure it isn’t better for you to take it?” I asked in a low voice, a little afraid. “I don't think he'll want to see me.”

“He needs to get used to you sometime, Y/N.” She stated in a sweet voice. “Now go and come down again before reset.”

I nodded and headed for the hall. I could hear the children's tumult in the hallway leading to the kitchen, but I ignored them and went up the stairs, trying to prepare my heart to face the boy who had stolen my attention in all the stories Grandma told. I took a deep breath when I stopped in front of the door indicated by Miss Peregrine. I was nervous and afraid to drop the plate from my shaking hands. I knocked on the door and waited, but got no answer.

“Enoch?” this time I called when I knocked again.” Enoch, I brought your dinner.”

When I didn't get an answer again, I decided to test the knob. The door opened and I went inside. The room was as I imagined it from Grandma's descriptions and from what I could see from the wreckage of the orphanage in 2019. It had another door facing the entrance and a lamp in the middle of two large shelves full of pots. Some empty and others with dark water and shapes inside. I didn't need to look any closer to know that they were animal hearts. On the other side of the bookcase was the room itself. The single bed beside the door and a table directly in front of it, full of the most diverse objects, tools and doll parts. On the other side of the table was a large window with a closed blue partition. On one side of it was a sink and a half-dirty mirror and, on the other, a hammock hanging from the beam with more pieces of dolls. Despite the big window and the lamps and lamps scattered throughout the room, the atmosphere was still dark and impression of being somewhat morbid.

Enoch was facing the window, one hand in his pants pocket and the other arm resting on the frame. His expression was somber and, although he seems to be too absorbed in watching the sun almost set outside, I knew he was aware of my presence by his tense posture. I took a deep breath, preparing to formally introduce myself and leave him his food, but he spoke before I could open my mouth.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low and anguished and at no time did he turn towards me.

“Miss Peregrine asked me to bring you dinner.”

“I didn't mean up here, I meant what you are doing here in the loop.” He turned abruptly, with clenched fists. His gaze met mine and I had to control myself not to back down. I came knowing that my presence would bring painful memories to him and that he would be rude to me, but I didn't imagine that I would see so much hatred and contempt in his eyes. “If you are to leave just like Eloise did, you can go now. We don't need you here.”

I took a deep breath and tried to keep the pieces of my heart from becoming tears. I knew it would happen, I was prepared - it was what I kept repeating in my mind. Even so, it still hurt.

“I came to stay.” I replied and realized when he gasped with my firm tone and not intimidated. I left the plate and cutlery on the table, in a part free of dolls and tools. “I know that my presence is not pleasant at this moment, Enoch, but I am not leaving. I don't have the desire that she had to know the world outside because I already knew him. Since I was a child and heard stories about this place, I knew that this was where I would come when Grandma couldn't take care of me anymore. I imagine that like the others you must also know her situation. She was everything I had out there, so I have no reason to leave.

He opened his mouth to say something and I just raised my hand so he wouldn't interrupt me.

“No matter how much you want me to leave, I won’t. I came to 1943 to stay. You may have been the person I most wanted to meet. Yes, I know about your story and how much she hurt you, but she told me the amazing person you could be when you’re not in a bad mood around the corner and she always said that one of the biggest regrets in her life was leaving it. Before crossing the ocean, she asked me to take good care of you, because she knew you could be someone special to me and I intend to keep that promise, whether you want to or not. So you can treat me as badly as you want, I will not give up and I will not leave!”

I turned abruptly and left, without looking at him one last time. I was surprised at myself, for having said more than I intended, but at least I felt a weight coming out of my chest. And I wasn’t lying. Grandma said that one of her biggest regrets was having left him to go live in the world outside, but that at least it had led her to have mother and me. And the promise was real. I would take care of him in one way or another and I did intend to get him out of that armour.

“Oh, Y/N.” Peregrine looked at me with a warm and pitiful expression when I went down the stairs and that's when I realized that some tears were streaming down my cheek. I dried them quickly, hoping that it wouldn't be too apparent when I joined the other kids. “He just needs time, my dear, you just need to be patient.”

I swallowed hard when I realized that Grandma had talked more about me than I felt comfortable with. How embarrassing is your new headmistress to know about you liking the same boy your grandmother was romantically involved with? Is this just because of the stories told by the mentioned grandmother? I could almost feel my face exploding with shame.

“C'mon C'mon.” she rushed me, putting a gas mask in my hands and guiding me to the patio. “It's almost time to reset.”

I noticed that the children were all outside in the rain, with their masks on their faces and behind a small wooden table, where they had a gramophone and an open umbrella. Miss Peregrine hurried to put a clock on the table and turn on the gramophone. Typical '40s music started playing and I smiled as I put on the mask and joined the kids. It was a little nostalgic to hear it, as I always listened to it with Grandma. Olive, who was at my side, put her thick-gloved hand around me in a brief hug.

That's when I saw the flashes between the clouds. They looked like thunder, but they were orange. The first plane flew over the orphanage and I gasped, shocked to see a German plane live, even after I had prepared for it. It seemed too unbelievable that I was there, in the middle of World War II. Two more planes flew overhead and Miss Peregrine looked again at the pocket watch in her hand. Eight more planes passed over the house. A final plane flew over, and when it was near the orphanage, it opened the cargo hold and a bomb fell. I could see the swastika painted in white from my place on the floor. I winced. Not just because of the cold rain that ran down my clothes or because I knew what would happen if Miss Peregrine didn't return the last 24 hours - because I knew she would do it precisely. But because I knew everything that that symbol painted on the bomb meant. These kids living in a loop unaware of what happens in the future seem like a gift that Jacob and I wouldn’t share. Our knowledge of history seems to be a burden.

Seconds before the bomb hit the house, time stopped. The bomb stopped and so did the rain droplets. I saw Miss Peregrine turning the clock and everything moved in reverse. The bomb returned to the cargo compartment of the plane, which flew backwards in the sky, as did the other planes that had already passed and now returned. The raindrops returned to the sky, as did those that had already fallen. Time came back and it was day again. He came back more and it was night, but not like the one I had seen seconds before. It was a clear night with a starry sky. The clock read 2 September 1943.

I took a deep breath and sighed when I took off the mask. I was impacted by the reset. Despite everything Grandma had said and as she described it, seeing it in person was another experience. I was here, finally. My dream came true and I was here, in Cairnholm, Wales, living in Miss Peregrine's orphanage with other peculiar children, just like me. I would live my life frozen at the age of 19 and reliving September 3, 1943 every day.

And I couldn't be happier, despite all the circumstances that have brought me here.

“Y/N, Y/N!” Claire's voice took me out of my thoughts. She was already pulling me by the hand towards the house and the others laughed a little behind us. “Today I want Y/N to tell me a story!”

I laughed too. “But of course, princess. You just don't have to rip my arm off.”

The others continued to laugh and I smiled.

Before Claire pulled me through the door, however, I looked up. In one of the windows on the second floor I could see a figure watching us. Despite knowing that Enoch probably had a closed expression when he watched me, I put the mask under my arm and used my free hand to wave at him. I made sure to keep my smile on my face.

                         ~*~  

                  The months went by and when I realized it had been a year since I arrived. I was able to adapt easily to the life in the loop. Everyone there was very receptive to me - well, almost everyone - and the daily tasks weren’t so difficult, since they were distributed among all thirteen children. Many times when I stayed to prepare breakfast or lunch, Enoch was responsible for helping me. And I was sure I had been Miss Peregrine's idea. She seemed to want to help me interact with him. Not that it helps much, since he doesn't speak to me more than strictly necessary. But at least it was progress from the first many months, when he was just rude all the time. Olive also tried to help. She was closest to Enoch and, after a girl’s night in my room with her and Emma - when they not only tried on my 21st century clothes with a lot of laughter but also forced some secrets out of me - Olive tried to make him open up a little and not just plainly ignore me. Still, I treated him as I treated everyone: with a smile on my face and always willing to approach.

I became part of the routine there. Between the letters I exchanged with Grandma and the daily chores, I quickly became friends with everyone. Most of the morning I spent with Bronwyn, Claire and the twins, whether playing with dolls or playing tag. During the afternoon I played football with the boys or chess with Emma or Jacob. At least once a week I would join Emma and Olive for a girl’s night. When I didn't feel very well, either because I missed Grandma or because Enoch was extremely rude to me, I would sit in the library and spend all day there reading. Horace used to join me these days. Sometimes he managed to get some conversation going, sometimes we just kept each other company while we read. It was comforting.

When I first took my camera out of my room, everyone was curious. Miss Peregrine had a strict rule about talking about the future or having things from the future, but I think that since Jacob arrived three years before me, she didn't care so much about a few slips. Especially if it wasn't something that could cause too much impact. Even Enoch seemed interested, even though he tried not to show it in front of me. I made sure to take pictures of everyone and leave a copy for each peculiar. I even taught Emma how to use the camera and she loved taking it with her when she was out walking with Jake.

As for my peculiarity, I never practiced it as much as there in that loop. The younger children were always asking me to make them a new doll or toy for them, Hugh always asked me for a new ball when the old one burst and I managed to avoid some trips outside the loop by doing some things that Miss Peregrine needed. I always carried a pen I had in 2019 in my dress pocket. It was easier to be prepared, since there was always someone asking for something. And I didn't complain, it was always good to be able to see the smile on their faces afterwards and to be able to practice. Each new order was a new challenge. I had even started a new project to make binoculars that allow Miss Peregrine to see invisible things. It still hadn't had the same effect as I did with Grandma and Abe, but I was on the way.

Enoch, however, had never asked me for anything. Not that it stopped me from taking my pen and using several pieces of paper to draw hearts of all sizes. At least once a week I filled pots with hearts and left them in front of his room. At first he seemed upset by this and even told me to stop, but of course I ignored him - especially after I heard him saying to Miss Peregrine that their efficiency was equal to that of animal hearts. One of the times that I left the pots for him, I hid behind my bedroom door and waited for Enoch to leave his room. I could have sworn I saw a small smile on his lips before he slammed the door.

I was happy that Enoch seemed to open up to the other kids at least. A few weeks ago, after talking to Bronwyn about Victor on a day that she was particularly sad, I left the house looking for Claire, as I knew that maybe she was a little disoriented without her usual company. When I approached a tree furthest from the garden, I was surprised to find Enoch sitting in the shadows with Claire, giving life to several dolls in order to distract her. I stayed away, watching as he made her laugh with a small smile on his lips. I turned around and joined Bronwyn in her room again, my heart warming from the scene I witnessed, but not wanting to disturb them.

But even after the progress I made with Enoch, perhaps today it was the trigger for everything to go down. My emotions have never been so close to exploding.

Tonight was a movie night. Horace had announced that morning that he had dreamed of more than just clothes and Miss Peregrine decided that we would see after dinner. Everyone spent all day anxious, as it’s been many days since Horace hadn’t dreamed of anything interesting to be shown. Several times throughout the day I caught him looking at me like he was having an inside joke that I didn't understand. When everyone had finished dinner, we spread out in the living room. Claire sat on my lap, like almost every time we watched Horace's dreams, and I started braiding her hair, being careful to keep my fingers out of her backmouth. The twins sat on the floor, leaning against my legs, and Bronwyn sat down with Enoch on the couch directly across from us.

“Everyone ready, dears?” asked Miss Peregrine when she arrived in the room after taking the call.

“Horace said he had a very interesting dream! What do you think is it about?” Claire asked me, looking excited.

“We’ll find out soon enough, princess.” I replied, finishing braiding the blond hair.

When Miss Peregrine turned off the lights and Horace projected the images on the wall, I almost immediately regretted being there in that room. The first image was a girl with short curls and a tear-stained face. It was me. I couldn't see much beyond my face and my hand moving a pen over a piece of paper. I didn't seem to be doing my drawings, I was writing. I sniffed, with more tears streaming down my face, and ran my hand over my cheek to dry some of them, before leaning over the paper. Something moved behind me and it was then that I realized it was a door opening. A figure came in and the dream me turned around in fear. I felt the eyes of the other children on me and I swallowed, hoping the images would soon change. And they changed. The next image was of a beach, with calm waves. It stayed in that image for a few seconds before changing again. Horace was trying on a suit and looking at himself in the mirror.

The image changed again and I almost felt my face explode with shame. The dream showed me sitting in the shadow of a half-hidden tree, probably at the back of the orphanage courtyard. But I was not alone. Enoch was with me, his back against the tree and hugging me around the waist. I was leaning against his chest, between his legs. I had a book in my hands and read it aloud. We both laughed at something and he kissed my face several times until I turned and kissed his lips.

I just wanted a hole to open in the floor and swallow me. Some kids started giggling and Claire nudged my arm, laughing softly too. I heard a whistle from one of the boys and Jacob, who was sitting next to me, raised his eyebrow at me with a mocking smile on his lips. I gathered courage and looked up to see Enoch's reaction. I wish I hadn't done it. He didn't look at me, but he had an expression of pure disgust on his face. And it hurt more than I expected.

“I think it's fine for today, Horace, thank you.” said Miss Peregrine, turning on the lights while the others made noises of indignation. “Come on, come on, kids, it's almost time for reset.”

Everyone got up quickly. I wasn't in such a hurry, I was feeling a little dizzy with everything. When I finally got up from my seat on the sofa, the children had already gone after Miss Peregrine and only Enoch remained in the room. I avoided looking him in the eye when I passed him to leave too. But I was stopped abruptly when he grabbed my arm in an iron grip. I turned to him, confused, and the question stuck in my throat when I saw his black eyes shining with pure contempt.

“If you think that will happen, you are extremely wrong.” he said with so much venom in his tone that I almost choked on tears that were threatening to rise. “Now that Horace has shown us the dream, I will stop it.”

I didn't want to hear anymore. My emotions, which had been choking me for the past few days, seemed to bubble. I yanked my arm out of his grip and barely felt the sting that his fingers left on my skin. I practically flew out of the room and into the kitchen, ignoring the curious looks of those still in the hall. I needed to calm down. I took some water and took a sip. I took a deep breath, trying to contain the tightness in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. I stayed there for a few minutes and, when I heard the rain starting to fall, I decided that I would go to the room instead of watching the reset. All I wanted at that moment was to write a letter to grandma. She would know the right words to say to me so I wouldn't let my emotions take over my decisions and end up leaving for another loop. I finished drinking my water and left the kitchen. When I was heading for the stairs, however, I heard voices coming from the living room. It seemed to be an argument.

“… right to say that to her, Enoch!”

Emma.

“Doesn’t matter.” he said in a voice so low that I almost couldn't hear. He didn't seem as angry as he used to. He seemed almost… sad.

“Of course it matter!” Emma did look annoyed. “Y/N was nothing but kind and sweet to everyone here, especially you! You cannot treat her that way when she has given you no reason to do so.”

“You don't know that! She can decide to simply take her things and leave just like Eloise did! And what will prevent it? And what will become of me when I have to go through this pain all over again?”

“Enoch, put this in your head: Y/N is not leaving! She came here knowing that she will live here forever.”

I appreciated the fact that Emma was defending me, but I needed to act on my own. I opened the door and they both looked surprised to see me there.

“Emma is right, Enoch.” I said in a voice so calm that it surprised even myself, because I felt the complete opposite of calm. “Yes, there have been times when you treated me so badly in the last few months that I got to the point of almost taking the map I have with the loops and leaving. But do you know why I didn't and won't do it? First, because you wouldn't be the one I would leave behind. I made friends here, I made a family. I wouldn’t be able to abandon them because of you. And how many times do I need to repeat that I don't need to go back to 2019 because I have no reason to remain there besides my grandmother who is no longer able to live with me without attracting Hollows. In addition, I made a promise that I intend to keep.”

Emma tried to leave the room quietly, but I raised my hand and motioned for her not to go. My head was spinning so much that I needed her there with me in case I passed out in front of Enoch. He, in turn, just watched me while I vented everything. His shoulders fell and his eyes shone with an emotion that I didn't recognize when they strolled across my face. It was then that I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't even bother to dry them.

“I promised grandma that I would take care of you, Enoch. And it's not just because you were an important person to her, but because, with all the stories I heard from this place, I managed to fall in love with yours. I know this is weird. To I fall in love with someone just hearing about that person? Well, it happened. And then I get here and I can only fall more in love with you. You have become an important person to me and I feel completely pathetic for being in love with someone who has treated me badly since the moment you saw me. But I made a choice, I chose to come to this loop and I will stay true to that choice. Maybe I’ll regret it in the future? I might, but I will remain here because you are here and, even if you spend the next few centuries hating me, I will spend the next few centuries here enduring it, because I am pathetic. I'm pathetically in love with you.”

I finished talking and I was almost in tears. My breathing was heavy and my vision blurred. Emma looked at me biting her lip, as if holding a smile, but Enoch looked at me with wide eyes and completely bewildered. It was then that I realised everything I said and after a few seconds paralysed, I ran out of the room. I only stopped when I was back in my room, just in time to see through the window the night turning into day and night again. The children would soon begin to return to their rooms for bed. But I couldn't sleep after everything that happened that day. I just needed Grandma there with me, to give me a hug and make her special hot chocolate.

I took a deep breath, my back still against the closed door, and tried to control my tears, but I couldn't. The memory of the dream of the two of us under the tree and the way he treated me were still stuck like iron to my eyelids. I looked at the table under the window and ran to it. I turned on the lamp and took a piece of paper from the corner. I took my pen out of my dress pocket while I sat down and started writing a letter. I just hoped the handwriting was minimally readable, since I couldn't see very well between my tears.

                 Hello Grandma,

How are you? How is the nursing home treating you? I hope you haven't had any problems and that no Hollow has found it. I know it hasn't been more than a week or two since the last letter I wrote to you, but I think maybe I’ve reached my emotional limit. I know what you're going to say "but Y/N, it's only been a few months!" I know, grandma, I know. But I think I let everything accumulate and I couldn't take it after today's events.

I think the progress I reported to you was not so positive. I am quite sure that Enoch hates me perhaps more than he hates you. I'm sorry if I failed the promise to take care of him. In my defence, I did and continue to do whatever I can to let him at least know that I am being truthful about my intentions here. But after today I know he will hardly want to be in the same place as me, let alone open up again and stop being so… lonely.

Tonight was a movie night, Grandma. Do you remember how delighted I was every time you told me about them? And that, the first time I saw it, I wrote a whole letter about it? I am still fascinated by how Horace manages to project his dreams, but today all I wanted was for him to have kept that dream to himself. Maybe then my heart wouldn't be so broken. Horace dreamed of us, Grandma, me and Enoch. Together. Sitting under a tree and being kind to each other. Enoch even smiled in the dream. And while my heart was filled with a warm and euphoric feeling at the sight of it, Enoch later shattered it into thousands of pieces. He made it very clear that it would never happen, as he would do his best to avoid it.

Grandma... Is there something wrong with me? You were the only one who was present with me in my whole life, my only constant, my only friend and family. So I ask you to be completely honest with me and I trust you to be. Is something wrong with me? To prevent people from getting closer, to prevent me from being happy in the only place I have felt at home in my entire life? Is it my fault that I am unable to find the peace I have always sought here?

I feel so small, Grandma, so small and pathetic. Maybe it's my fault for not being able to be happy here. While everyone is so warm and welcoming to me... I feel like I blew it with Enoch, who was the biggest reason I chose 1943 in Cairnholm to stay. I told him, Grandma. I know you said that I should have told him before and in a way that I wouldn't scare him, but I practically screamed at his face that I was in love with him. I never felt so stupid and never really wanted so badly to go back in time and avoid my mistake. He will never want to look at me again...

I should have kept that secret with me forever. And it was the first time that I felt that maybe it was a mistake to come to this loop. What if he was better before I arrived? I don't think we ever got to talk about that possibility, but I admit that it just crossed my mind today. What if he was already better and I just made it worse? Should I go? Should I ask him if he wants me out? I'm sorry, Grandma, but I think I would have to break our promise and go. My heart sinks at the thought of leaving the others, but I would do anything to make Enoch happy.

                                       I had to stop writing the letter for a moment when more tears started to flow. I ran my hand over my cheek in a futile attempt to dry them and leaned over the paper again, trying to organize my confused thoughts into coherent sentences. But I didn't get to write, because the sound of the door opening caught my attention. I turned around scared, because I didn't expect anyone to come here after the curfew. I widened my eyes even more when I realized it was Enoch at the door and stood up, surprised.

“Enoch?!”

Enoch said nothing as he closed the door behind him. I rested my hands on the table behind me, embarrassed and nervous. When Enoch took the necessary steps to approach me, I had to support myself with my hands and waist on the table, as my legs no longer supported me. When his scent - a mixture of earth, soap and formaldehyde - hit me hard, I looked up and looked at his face. I was even more surprised when I saw anguish and sadness in his dark eyes. He raised a callused hand to my face, but hesitated only for a second when I tensed. I gasped and closed my eyes when his fingers touched my cheeks and dried my tears.

“Y/N...” Enoch said, his voice low and choppy. “I'm so sorry.”

I opened my eyes wide. An apology from him was the last thing I expected.

“I didn't want you to feel that way. Okay, I wanted to, but not for the reasons you think.” He added when he saw my raised eyebrow. He wiped away more tears that had just fallen and continued to hold my face in his hands. “I don't hate you, Y/N. At least not anymore. I wanted to hate you, I wanted you to hate me, but I can't. Even when I was rude to you, even when all I did was give you reasons to be rude to me too. But I feel different with you, when you open that smile even when I do my best to ignore you. When you put hearts on my door, when you share all your free time with others, giving them your attention and never complaining.”

My breathing became heavier as I began to understand the words he spoke as a small smile opened on his lips. His eyes shone a little brighter with each sentence and his gaze roamed my face with an emotion that I couldn't identify. When he spoke the next sentence, however, I felt like I could pass out right there.

“I fell in love with you, Y/N, and I'm sorry for everything I did with you. I just didn't want to get hurt again.”

I couldn't formulate any sentences. I felt like my brain had stopped working properly. I could only look at Enoch's face, opening and closing my mouth, trying to say something but without succeeding. After a few minutes of looking at us, Enoch's expression fell and he started to walk away from me. That's when I started to panic because I needed to give him an answer. I grabbed his wrist before he could walk to the door and put my other hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer to me. Our lips touched and I felt like my heart was going to explode when he didn't pull away. I felt his arms wrap around my waist and my entire body relaxed against his. His kiss was magical and I couldn't concentrate on anything other than Enoch - his scent, his arms around me, his chest against mine, his curls wrapped around my fingers, his lips forming a smile against mine.

We broke the kiss, but we didn't move away. I felt my cheeks burning when I saw his eyes watching me with a fondness I wasn’t used to. I hid my face against his shoulder, embarrassed, and he hugged me against his chest. The feeling of being in his arms was wonderful.

“Y/N?” he called and I leaned away minimally. I followed his gaze to where I had left the letter I wrote to Grandma and hurried to hide the letter behind my body. Enoch looked up at my face with a determined expression. “Y/N, I don't want you to leave. Please don’t leave me.”

The pain in your voice broke my heart.

“I won’t.” I guaranteed, placing my hand on his face and caressing his cheek. He leaned closer to my touch, seeming to relax. “I won’t leave. This is my home now. With Miss Peregrine, with the children and with you.”

Enoch took me by surprise when he kissed me again when I had barely finished my sentence. His kiss this time was stronger, more passionate. He pulled me even closer and I felt immersed in his perfume and his touch. One kiss became two, three, four and neither of us wanted to let the other go. Enoch lifted me up and my feet left the floor. I wrapped my legs around his waist to keep from falling and he held my thighs. His touch on my skin, his hair under my fingers, his lips against mine. I could only think of that moment, right now and how happy I was. Enoch guided us to my bed and leaned over me when my back touched the mattress. He looked into my eyes, searching for confirmation, and I pulled him to kiss him again.

I don't need to say what happened that night.

            ~*~

        The next day I woke up with something soft against my cheeks. Despite the sleep, I managed to open my eyes and see the smile that Enoch was giving me. It was such a rare smile that I couldn't help but smile as well. Enoch leaned over again and placed a kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, I couldn't help but try to go after him to prolong our kiss. He laughed.

“I need to go back to my room, Y/N.” He said and I frowned. “Miss Peregrine will wake up in a few minutes and it won't be good if she finds me here and in the situation we are in.”

Last night's memories flooded my mind and I realised I was out of my pyjamas under the covers while he was already dressed again. I blushed, but I couldn't help smiling.

“Yeah, I don't think it would be a good idea.” That was all I managed to answer, still feeling the euphoria of happiness in my chest.

Enoch laughed again and placed another kiss on my lips, this time taking longer.

“Get changed and go downstairs, I'll meet you at breakfast. After that I want to take you on a walk.”

“Alright.”

He pulled away to leave, but I grabbed his arm and kissed him again, a little resistant to let him go. He smiled against my lips and dodged my arms. I laughed when he winked at me before closing the door. I laid down again and sighed. The smile didn't leave my lips and I started to doubt that it would fade at some point. I just wanted to stay in that bed, going over the memories. But following the logic that the faster I got up, the faster I would meet him, I got out of bed and put on one of the dresses Horace had made for me.

Before leaving, however, I decided that I would finish the letter I wrote to Grandma. Maybe I would even write another one. When I sat down at the table, however, I noticed something interesting. The letter was already finished, in a letter that wasn’t mine.

          Dear Eloise,

I heard about your situation and I hope you are well as far as possible. I know that I cannot erase the past as I so often found myself imagining. I also know that the hole you left in my chest when you left may never close properly again. But I found someone who makes me ignore it and makes me concentrate on the happy moments here in the loop instead of drowning in sad memories. For a long time I hated you for the way you broke my heart when I left, but I won't be sinking into that feeling anymore, because if you hadn't left, if you hadn't left me, I wouldn't have known the reason for my smile. If you hadn't gone, I never would have met Y/N.

I don't say that as if the time we both spent together was in vain, as if nothing had meant anything to me. But looking at Y/N now, sleeping in her bed with such a serene expression on her face, as I complete her letter, I realise that maybe I was wrong about the intensity of the love I felt back then. Y/N makes me happy, truly happy. She makes me light and euphoric, as if there is nothing in the world to worry about while she is beside me. I know I made her suffer during the year that she was here and seeing how she didn't give up for a moment made me fall in love with her even more. And it also made me realise that I couldn’t deprive myself (or even deprive her) of that happiness just because of my fear that she would also leave me.

So I end this letter (heartbroken after reading the first half) by making you a promise just as she had done: I promise that I will take care of Y/N. I promise that I will spend the rest of our lives making up for the pain I caused her in her first few months here. I love her and all I want is for her to be happy here, beside me.

Thank you for having a wonderful granddaughter and I thank you most of all for the opportunity to have her in my life.

Affectionately,

Enoch O'Connor

              I couldn't help the lonely tear that ran down my face when I read the letter, just as I couldn't help my lips parting in a smile. I felt like I was falling in love again and even more when reading Enoch's words. I folded the paper and placed it in an envelope that was next to the lamp. I checked that I was properly dressed and left the room with the envelope in hand. I would like to ask Miss Peregrine to send it as soon as possible.

During breakfast the children looked confused and skeptical with the looks that Enoch and I exchanged, while Miss Peregrine had a small smirk on her lips and Emma was barely trying to hide her smug expression. I didn’t care. I was too anxious to take the walk with Enoch and to spend the next few centuries with him.

Needless to say, Horace's vision of the two of us in the shadow of the tree happened just a few weeks later, right?

[hargrove-mayfields]

Autistic max? I’m all in -🦖

yes!! Max being on the spectrum is one of my favorite headcanons! Here’s a bit of my thoughts and hcs for you anon! <3

okay so first i wanna talk a little about where this hc came from! this idea was born in my head for a multitude of reasons, but the general summary is this:

-she misses a lot of social+emotional cues! she didn’t pick up on just how annoyed Mike was with her in the gym and kept pushing until El intervened, she didn’t detect any of Lucas’ panic or frustration when he was explaining the upside down to her until he touches her, and when el is jealous and just not interested in meeting her, she seems to be completely unfazed by that until she walks away. also every scene she has with Billy, he’s very shut off and she seems to be confused about what she’s expected to say, missing that he’s angry until he’s lashing out, and idk to me it just seems like she doesn’t really have a grasp on understanding others’ emotions!

-similarly, she only seems to react in the face of immediate danger, as if she’s a lot of the time unaware of how bad things truly are around her. like when she’s helping to find dart without even knowing what’s going on, driving a whole muscle car and going down into the tunnels without a hint of fear, seeming barely concerned when the mindflayer was about to drop through the ceiling. it’s almost like she has trouble fully processing the consequences of certain things, which could also explain why she sneaks out even though she probably knows what Neil is like and the fact that it could potentially put her in danger.

-the way she dresses just screams tactile sensitivity! she doesn’t ever wear anything flowy, any scratchy materials, and even at the snowball, where we see Susan fussing over her, she’s still dressed for comfort. what young girl with a mother clearly interested in making her pretty is going to get away with wearing jeans to a school dance if she doesn’t have sensory issues?

-also, whenever she gets upset she seems to shut down. like she almost never talks to Billy after he yells at her unless it’s necessary, when her and Lucas are talking on top of the bus it definitely seems like she’s struggling to voice her feelings or put words to her emotions, when Billy’s in the sauna, after he’s activated she starts turning in on herself, and after his death she’s just sitting in his room. like maybe she doesn’t really understand her own emotions that well either.

I’m not really viewing any of this as like, solid evidence or anything btw, these are just some things I’ve noticed about her as an autistic girl her age and living in a very similar situation that I think are neat and relatable!

onto the stuff I literally made up because I love her!

-Susan gives me autism mommy vibes. Like, making it her identity that she has a child with autism, and at times that can get super frustrating for Max because she hates being her mom’s little trophy daughter, gossiped about at all the potlucks so people feel sorry for her. Her absolute least favorite thing is “She’s such a handful.” and when Susan pulls the I’m so lonely because of taking care of you card to make her feel bad. Especially because she doesn’t feel very taken care of, once she’d hit a certain age her mother decided she’d be alright without all that “kid stuff” and basically tossed her into the world on her on. (hence why she’s Billys responsibility)

-In the 80s (and still now if we’re being entirely honest) it was very normal to just throw a casual r slur into conversation and it kills Max every time her friends say it, especially Mike because she thinks he’s being mean and doesn’t like her. She doesn’t know how to explain to them that that hurts her feelings because she doesn’t even know how to bring it up that she’s autistic. Billy tells her once to try to cheer her up that he could beat them up for her but she cries even harder because that’s what she doesn’t want, is for them to think she’s overreacting. He feels bad and tries to make up for it bringing it up with some of the moms of the group and asking that they tell their kids to stop using that word ever.

-In California she was in special ed classes, but Hawkins Middle deems that not necessary for someone of her “functioning level” (yuck) and she gets landed in coed instead. It might’ve been alright if that was how she started her education, but she was already used to classes of four or five kids like her, and she just cannot learn in that new environment. So she does really, really bad in school her first year in Hawkins. She feels kind of self conscious around her friends because they’re all so smart and her grades make her feel stupid even though it’s not her fault, and that’s why she kinda drifts towards being close with El because she struggles with learning things too.

-Smells are probably her worst overstimulation triggers. Things like cigarette smoke, fresh brewed coffee, her moms perfume, cooking and baking smells, the automatic air freshener thing, candles. Pretty much anything stronger than the smell of water is just overwhelming for her, especially if there’s something else already working her up, because then a whiff of something too strong can put her straight into a meltdown. Billy decides to quit smoking for her (he’ll never admit that, he’s adamant that it was because it was messing with his lung capacity and he’s trying to work out) and he also does things like buy Susan a new, less offensive perfume for her birthday and open windows to get stuffy air out of the house. They never really talk about what that does for her but like, that’s part of how they start getting closer, is when he starts making little accommodations for her like that.

-In addition to smells, there are very specific sounds she can’t stand. It’s not all loud noises, some of them like the rev of Billy’s car or a bass guitar at an outdoor amphitheater are some of her favorites, but the ones she doesn’t like, she really hates. Things like styrofoam, dishes hitting off of each other, something scratching against ice that builds up in the freezer, TV static, the toaster popping up or the oven beeping, and people who can’t chew with their mouths closed (looking at you Billy, keep that gum in your mouth please) all make her feel gross. She’ll try to physically shake off the way those sounds make her feel but sometimes they’re just too much and she shuts down for a while until she gets to hear something else. In that case usually really quiet music or someone talking to her quietly can reel her back in.

-Her interests vary a lot! The longest she’s ever held one special interest was a Miss Piggy phase! Susan liked that she was showing interest in a feminine character because of a lot of her si’s were tomboyish, but Max liked Piggy because she knew karate and punched people who laughed at her or tried to make her feel bad about herself! She has all sorts of Piggy collectibles, like toys, bed sheets, posters, books, mugs and watches! Otherwise her interests and fixations tend to come and go pretty quickly, like one week she could want to know everything there is to know about pro skaters, and the next she’s into the history of circuses! She liked cars for a little while and Billy was really excited to indulge in that and let her get familiar with the camaro, but she shifted to video games pretty soon after and he had to let it drop.

-Another interest that’s also pretty constant for her is nature! Not only for the sensory experience of it, listening to leaves rustle and birds chirp and water rush, but also all the knowledge about it. She can identify any type of flower, grass, tree, critter, or fungus! When she’s melting down and needs to be away from the house, she asks Billy to take her to the state park so she can just sit and be quiet and calm down on a fallen tree or a swing set somewhere. They do have some woods behind their house but she’s too afraid to venture out there and prefers to be out with her brother anyways.

-Stims! She’ll fiddle with zippers and buttons and loose threads constantly to the point that they buy her three or four of the same jackets and shirts for when she inevitably breaks them. She also chews on sleeves and hoodie strings a lot. Other tactile stims she favors are string tricks and braiding and tieing knots! Braiding her and Billy’s hair is something she’ll do anytime she needs to feel grounded, and she has a whole bunch of those little wooden boards that kids use to learn how to tie their shoes to tie knots with. She also always has a pocketful of yarn, and her favorite thing to make with them is a spider web or a star!

-Sort of related to her fascination with string is that her shoelaces never ever match, she has like a whole drawer in her room full of different ones to change them out! (and she has Miss Piggy Bow Biters to put on them!)

-She’s also a very verbal stimmer at times! Giggles for days with Max, if she’s excited, happy, nervous, whatever, she’s giggling. Humming and mimicking too, like if she hears a sound she likes she’ll try to make it, whether it be part of a song or something she hears outside. But if she is sad she’ll get as quiet as a mouse.

Idk these are just like my sort of canon compliant hcs I guess? Like what I feel would be true for her in the timeline and storyline of the show!

[chironshorseass]

melted ice cream sandwiches

Thanks, @silenabeth​, for subconsciously adding your presence into this jksdhoisfjs. This one’s for you. Sorry it’s angsty, but oh well.

In which Percy and Annabeth have an argument, Connor Still chops off Annabeth's braid with a sword, and then she and Percy have a talk. It doesn't nearly go as planned, but at least they ate some ice cream sandwiches.

Rated T for language.

Read on ao3

(The Hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap)

A baby is born

Crying out for attention

The memories fade

Like looking through a fogged mirror

Decision to decisions are made

And not bought

But I thought this wouldn't hurt a lot

I guess not

“I’m your friend, of course I care!”

“You shouldn’t be my friend! That way it wouldn’t hurt so much!” Annabeth says.

It had started off as a simple comment, nothing too serious. Something about Annabeth not wanting him to help with reports—but Percy’s beginning to realize that anything can explode into an argument.

“What are you talking about?” he demands. Luckily, they’re near the woods, so at least no demigod can hear them. Not like last time.

“Just—I’m tired of you going away! You can’t have it both ways, Percy. Either you’re not my friend and forget about all this shit, or you stay here and fight him.”

“Why can’t I have it both ways? Last time I checked, I’ve spent enough time at camp to train. And why are you suddenly all gloomy and shit about being friends with me? Do you just...want me to be Luke? Make you feel better? Do you even give a shit about what he did?”

Her face reddens. “Why would any of this be about Luke?”  

“Because that’s all we fight about! You seem to have it in yourself to see him as this amazing hero when he’s the entire opposite of that!” Percy knows that what he’s saying is slightly ridiculous, and that she’s right; this has nothing to do about Luke, but he doesn’t particularly care at the moment. “Because the last prophecy was about him! You ‘lost’ the bastard to Kronos and you want him back, is that it?”

“What? Yes, I want him back—but, no, I—”

“He’s hurt you so much, Annabeth. You seriously care for him? You seriously don’t want to be my friend because you—you hate that I hate him?”

“Yes, I care for him! You didn’t know him when I did—but you mean so much—”

“He wanted to kill you!” Percy grabs her by the shoulders so they’re face to face, so she understands exactly what he’s talking about. “He doesn’t fucking care! Why can’t you see that?”

“All I see,” Annabeth seethes, shoving him off, “is a scared little boy who wants everything to be black and white.”

“You’re one to talk, telling me that I have to either stay in New York or stay at camp. I’m trying to make that work—”

“Work how, exactly? So that everyone here takes on the weight of the war while you go off and act all ‘normal’? Here’s a quick disclaimer: you’re not normal, Percy!”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m this close to probably dying, so forgive me for wanting to cool off a bit.”

They’re nose to nose now, and Percy can feel Annabeth breathing heavily, nostrils flared.

“Shut up,” she says.

“What?”

“Just, shut up!”  

She storms away before he can say anything else. The early singing of the birds doesn't sound so sweet anymore.

He can see her wipe at her face angrily as she runs to gods know where. He knows that she won’t let him see her cry.

:

He’s in the archery class, trying not to kill anyone, when he hears commotion by the arena.

“No! I’m fine!” a familiar voice keeps insisting—Annabeth.

She stomps past a very concerned-looking Connor. Her hair is pulled into two braids, as it was earlier in the morning. She’d been experimenting with different hairstyles—it probably had something to do with Silena’s influence—but now, Percy realizes that one of her braids is missing. It had been cut off, by the looks of it.

He lowers his bow, walking over to them. Something had happened, and it hadn’t been good.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Beth,” Connor says, this time truly sounding sorry. “I didn’t know that you wouldn’t block me—if there’s any way to repay you—“

She stops her fast-walking and turns towards him. “You’ve done enough.”

“Okay but I—”

“Hey!” Percy calls out as he approaches them. “What happened?” Annabeth suddenly starts walking again.

Connor stares at him sheepishly. “I sort of, um, cut her hair.”

Percy ignores him. “Annabeth? Come on! Don’t walk away—I’m asking you something!”

“And I don’t care to answer.”

“Can I help? In any way?”

“I don’t need your help, either.”

He sprints over to her anyway, grabbing one of her shoulders. “Come on, why—”

She shoulders him off.

Percy hears the steady footsteps of someone right behind them: Connor.

“Annabeth. Please,” he pants, running ahead and facing her. He walks backwards while she walks forward, a mule with a job in mind. “I’m so sorry. But where are we going?”

“‘We?’” she mutters, not looking at either of them. “None of your fucking business, assholes. Now leave me alone!"

Annabeth shoves them out of her path and runs. Runs before either of them can catch up. She’s always been faster than both of them.

What hits him there in the middle of a summer day, staggered with only a son of Hermes as a companion, is the pain he heard in her voice. And Percy has a feeling that it’s more than just her missing braid.

No, he is the cause of that pain—he’s the one to blame. And he feels like dying a little.

:

He sits by the canoe lake, the sun reaching further west because of the time. But even with the sun not directly above him, it still feels like laser beams down his neck.

Silena meets him there. Her camp shirt is tucked into her shorts in a stylish way that very few people can achieve, hair perfectly in place and without even a slight sheen of sweat on her face

Percy doesn’t know how she does it. It’s the middle of July, after all.

She sits down, pulling her legs into her chest and leaning in, watching him.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

She sighs, though it’s barely noticeable. “I came to talk to you. About Annabeth.”

He catches her gaze, but for the first time, Percy can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“She’s fine. If that’s what’s worrying you. Well, not exactly ‘fine,’ but—like, she’s not hurt. Physically.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Silena snorts and follows his eyes towards the swaying trees on the other side of the lake. They look so peaceful there, almost as if they’re dancing. Maybe they are. Maybe they don’t care about wars or drama.

Good for them.

“No,” she muses. “I guess she’s hurting, and not just because I had to cut so much of her pretty hair. Almost made me want to cry. She didn’t say much, but I can always tell when you two had a fight.”

“If you’re here to lecture me—”

“Oh, come on. I may be close to her, but I’m not the type to meddle. I just came here to tell you that you should talk to her.”

“Then you are meddling.”

She laughs. “Okay, maybe I am. And maybe I also talked to her about it. She’s not that mad at you. Mostly sad. It would do you both good if you actually worked things out.”

“Trust me, she hates me at the moment.”

“And trust me, she doesn’t. She wants you to go to her.”

They stare at each other, both gazes challenging, until one of them loses.

Percy breathes out a sigh of defeat. “Fine.”

Girls are so weird, he thinks.

But maybe he says that part aloud, because Silena rolls her eyes. “I heard that.”

“Of course you did.”

She winks at him. “Maybe you should give her an ice cream sandwich. You know, as a truce. I heard that the Hermes cabin stashed some from their last raid.”

“Um, I thought Annabeth wanted to talk to me. Why would we need a truce?”

“Oh, she certainly does. But ice cream never hurt anyone.”

“Fine. Whatever you say.”

“That’s the spirit,” she grins.

:

Percy finds her at the beach, in the part where grass is more common than sand. It’s dry and brittle, yellowed from scarce rain—but next to her it looks like golden thread.

Her hair is cut just above her shoulders, like a bob. He’d never seen her with short hair before, but he thinks that it makes her look older, in a way. Changes from that pretty girl he’d met nearly four years ago to a beautiful young woman. At least that’s what she’s making him feel.

Gods, she’s too good for me.

Percy takes a deep breath and clears his throat. Hopefully this can end well, because just by looking at her makes him nervous.

Annabeth had probably heard him coming, since she doesn’t startle at the sound.

That could be a good sign.

“Mind if I join you?”

She says nothing, but she also doesn’t protest when Percy sits down next to her.

“Uh…” He takes out the ice cream sandwiches that were in his pocket. “Do you, like, want any?”

She nearly smiles. Nearly. And she nods hesitantly, snatching one from his hand.

Good.

He doesn’t care that she still can’t meet his eyes. Or maybe he does care. And maybe he also cares that the space between them feels like the wind holding its breath, how her skin looks so warm, but instead of feeling it, he feels the grass tickling his legs.

“Um, it—you look pretty, that way…” he says, mainly to break the silence, but now he wants to slap himself. “Not that your hair wasn’t pretty before or anything. Well, not your hair, I mean—you were pretty before. Uh, not that you’re not pretty now—”

“It’s okay, Seaweed Brain. I get it. My haircut isn’t that bad.”

He can see her smiling from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t remember the last time she called him by his old nickname, least of all smile. Hopefully he isn’t blushing as much as he thinks.

“Silena helped. Before, it looked like half of my hair had been chopped with a sword—which it had, I guess. I’m still planning my revenge.”

“For Connor?”

Annabeth turns to Percy. “Yes. Connor… ” her gaze falters. She stares longingly out at the ocean, eyes blinking rapidly.

They don’t say much for a while, but rather listen to the song of the birds and the wind and the ocean. The grass between them flutter like butterflies, slight touches against their legs.

Annabeth rips the plastic off the ice cream sandwich and takes a big bite. He slips off the package of his own sandwich as well, but stops to notice how the vanilla melts under her fingers and how it oozes from her mouth and down to her chin. His own hands are covered in the soft feeling of the chocolate cookie, sticky and gross; his sandwich is almost melted in the harsh sunlight. He doesn’t wipe his hands away or feel like eating it anymore, and she doesn’t care to clean her chin up, either.

They’re both a mess.

The vanilla ice cream softens in his mouth, and an explosion of chocolate sweetness ensues after, but not before a big portion of the sandwich falls into his shorts and slips into the dry grass between his legs.

He hates ice cream sandwiches.

Why it was a good idea to share some in Long Island, during the warm days of summer, he has no idea. But the spray of salt that kiss their cheeks alongside the cacophonous roar of the waves make the situation not that horrible. At least in Percy’s opinion. Also Annabeth not mad at him anymore is a plus. Or perhaps she is. Their fight earlier in the day wasn’t exactly pretty.

She finishes her sandwich and licks some of the chocolate off her fingers.

“I just,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I’m tired. Of the same thing. Over and over. It’s not even Connor’s fault. Hell, this time it’s not your fault, either. I’m just...stupid.”

“Hey. Don’t ever say that. You are many things, Annabeth Chase, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

She must feel his heated gaze on her, because she meets his eyes. She quickly wipes away her tears.

“Maybe I wasn’t before. But now, I kind of am. I—I get carried away by you and how you’re never here, and I don’t even think about how close we are to the end, and then I can’t even fight well anymore—so Connor fucking Stoll cuts off one of my braids.

“And then I look weird and I can’t even cut my hair properly, so Silena helps and she looks at me like I’m...like I’m some poor creature! And I’m not! I just want things the way they were with my hair the way it was and with no wars and no prophecies and no shitty feelings and no...no traitors! I don’t care about quests, or glory—I can’t even fucking do that right because you almost died and Luke is now freaking possessed—and I...I want everything back the way it was!” she sobs into her hands, smearing her face with the remaining ice cream and chocolate.

Percy doesn’t know what to do. He wants to hug her, pull her close and tell her it’ll be alright. Kiss the top of her head and reassure her that they’ll make it out alive. But he doesn’t. Or at least, he doesn’t say any of those things.

But he does scoot closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and placing her head against the crook of his neck. He lets her weep until there are no tears left, lets her wrap her own arms around his neck. That way, they can hold each other properly.

“I’m sorry,” he says after her breathing has calmed down. Her short hair feels like silk against his hands.

“What are you sorry for? You’re the one that will...who will…” She hiccuped. “Gods, you don’t even know, and, and everything is supposed to be fine anyway!”

“What do I not know? You can tell me, ‘Beth. I’m your best friend.”

She shakes her head, mouth tightly closed, but soon her face contorts into another sob, and her hand comes up to her mouth to cover it. He holds her closer to his chest, not caring about how much ice cream has been smeared in the process.

“No, no,” she cries. “I—I can’t say. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

After a few minutes, her tears run warm and her breathing relaxes once again. The waves calm to the soothing sounds of water meeting shore. He obviously had a hand in that. But everything stops to a halt, and it comes down to Percy and Annabeth, holding each other. Just like in Siren Bay, only now things aren’t so simple. They know more than they should.

“If anyone should be sorry,” she whispers against his shirt, “it’s me.”

His hand tightens against her shoulders, but he doesn’t protest. It’s no use to try and contradict her right now.

Slowly, her arms loosen their hold on him and she sits down like she was before, but now she’s significantly closer to Percy, hips touching.

Annabeth breathes deeply, staring at her hands. They’re a mess of ice cream and grass; she wipes them away with her shirt. Then, she tries to do the same with her face.

“Here, I uh…brought some napkins.”  He fishes around in his pockets until they come up, offering some to her.

She grabs a handful. “Thanks.”

He looks at her while she works, until finally he says, “None of that is your fault.”

Her hands stop moving. She closes her eyes.

“But it is.” Percy almost doesn’t hear her. Almost lets the roaring winds drown her down, under the waves. A whisper amidst the sound of thunder.

Of course, he does hear.

“Why would all of this crap be your fault?”

“Because I couldn’t convince Luke to stay at camp. I had my chance, and I didn’t take it. Because I almost let you die.”

“First of all, you could never have changed Luke. I know you hate me saying it, but he’d already made his decision. And...well, I made my decision as well.”

“Like how you’ll make your decision to go to New York? During the summer?” Her voice isn’t accusing or angry, but desperate and soft.

“No, I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah I do. I won’t visit New York in a while, if...that’s what you want.”

“Of course it’s what I fucking want!”

He silently cringes at that. Wrong thing to say.

She sniffles the last of her tears and glares at him, eyes red.

“You’ll leave me anyway, sooner or later. Everyone leaves, and—and you’re no exception, Perseus Jackson. You hear me? You are not the exception!” As she says every word, she rips out the grass stems around her; they make popping sounds as the roots come off the ground. Her lips tremble and her eyes shine with fresh tears, but she doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, I don’t care if you go out to that wonderful city of yours with your pretty girlfriend to forget about your problems. That’s great—I wish I could do that. But your problems are very much real, and the people here are counting on you. Has it ever crossed your mind that they miss you? That I miss you? Why is staying here for a bit longer so bad?”

Something in Annabeth’s tone makes Percy feel like he’s stepping on a floor filled with broken glass.

“I—”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It’s—you’re not the problem. I don’t want to argue anymore. I just want to...spend more time with you.” She takes a rattling breath and looks at him directly in the eye once again. Her face is a wet sheen of tears, despite wiping them off with a napkin earlier. “All I meant to say is that we don't…” her train of thought stops; she stares at her hands. “We don’t have forever. And maybe you don’t think that you’ll leave me, but you don’t know that.”

“No one has forever. Unless you’re a god.”

She laughs bitterly. “That’s my point. If we don’t have forever, then why won’t you stay here? With us? Spend what little we have together.”

“Okay.”

She glances at him, stunned. “Okay? Just like that?”

“Yeah, why not? We’re at a summer camp. I’m supposed to enjoy things. Not leave. I’m...sorry about that.”

“No, I,” she sighs, “I get why you’ve been leaving. But, yeah, it would be nice if you could stay.”

“That’s what I’m planning to do,” he gins, content that for the first time in a while, he’s made Annabeth happy.

“Thanks for the ice cream sandwich, by the way.” She smiles, and some could say that it’s a weak attempt to seem grateful or content, but Percy knows that it’s genuine.

“Yeah. No problem.”

:

That night, Percy lets Sally know that he won’t be coming home in a while. For now, he is home. And Annabeth is his best friend, and so is Grover. And he can count on Beckendorf and Travis and Connor. They’re part of who he is, he realizes. And camp feels like belonging and the warmth of a thousand fires and a thousand starry nights.

But the missions and war preparations begin again.

And they both end up fighting. Nothing Percy says to Annabeth is right. Being without her hurts, but staying hurts even more.

He leaves the next morning.

Maybe after the summer is over, they can confront the feelings they have. Maybe they can fix whatever is broken between them when the war ends, and if they’re ready, be more than just friends. Maybe he’ll never have the courage to tell her that. Or maybe he’ll die. Maybe Kronos will win.

As Percy trudges up Half-Blood Hill, he feels someone watching him. He turns around, and there she is, her arms crossed and golden hair loose; it still hasn’t grown enough for her to put it in a ponytail. He can’t make out the look on Annabeth’s face, but he waves at her awkwardly all the same.

She doesn’t wave back.

When he sees Peleus’ smoke coming from Thalia’s tree, he looks back again. But she’s gone.

He hates ice cream sandwiches, but he hates his life more.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood In the Rivers: III

A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged the last chapter. I adore each and every one of you. 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T for some inappropriate eating of berries. 

Word Count: 5.3k

Read Chapters One & Two! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Three: Ripe Berries

It had taken her another two days for her to venture out of her chambers. Her legs felt weak and Daisy fretted over her like a mother as she helped her dress. “Shall I accompany you, my lady?”

“I will have one of the guards with me, Daisy. You have been my constant companion these past days. Please, rest. I know I am not easy company.”

Daisy shook her head with a small smile. “You are far better than all the rest of King’s Landing, my lady.”

But still, Y/N set off with one of the Dornish guards at her side before the sun had crested the horizon, sneaking away from the prying eyes of the Keep. The streets of King’s Landing were still bustling. It still smelled like piss and soured bread. That had not changed. And there seemed to be very little mourning anywhere she looked despite the capital being draped in black. The only mention of the King’s death she heard was talk of how Dontos’ head was set on a spike at the Lion Gate while the rest of him had been strung upon spikes at the other Gates around the city.

The guard beside her was kind and caught her as she stumbled. The stitches pulled the slightest bit but she was sure they were still intact. She was then bumped and jostled several more times by passersby, despite most making it a point to avoid her with the tall Dornishman at her side. Every contact hurt, pushing a tinge of pain through her tired bones. “Are you well, my lady?” He asked, voice soft as she grimaced and paused in the mouth of an alley.

“Crowds, it seems, will be my undoing. Will our journey be much further?”

“Just a few streets, my lady. I can carry you.”

He said it so earnestly that she had to laugh. Y/N stood straight and touched his arm in thanks. “That won’t be necessary. But I thank you for the offer.”

Her guard seemed unsure but carefully led her back onto the street and almost seemed to walk with his arms outstretched, pushing people away from her before they even came close. But, they eventually slowed to a stop in front of one of the many stables in the city. It was awash with Martell colors. Banners from their sworn houses were leaning on walls and their riding gear carefully placed among the stalls as the sand steeds waited patiently for riders. Each one was more beautiful than the last. “The Prince has requested you to take Lord Uller’s horse. He is a careful ride. You’ll be safe, my lady.” There were two horses readied for a journey near the other entrance, one a beautiful golden red and the other a tawny brown. The guard helped her onto the red stallion before mounting the brown.

The guard led her out of the dark city and onto the Rosby Road. The sun had just started to rise and drenched the green grasses and small apple orchards in a pink and orange glow.

“You have taken very good care of me. May I have your name, Ser?”

Her guard smiled as he looked at her, cheeks dimpling. “I am Daemon Sand, my lady.”

“You are from Godsgrace, are you not?” She had heard a story here and there of “the Bastard of Godsgrace” at tourneys and the ilk. She just hadn’t expected such a renowned swordsman to be so young.

The guard—Daemon—seemed pleased that she knew. “I am, my lady. My father, Ser Ryon Allyrion, is Lord of that fine keep.”

The pair talked for a few moments longer as he led her further into smattering of valleys and orchards before they slowed to a stop. He dismounted and helped her to do the same. She noticed that there were a few guards posted about the valley, their banners fluttering slowly in the light wind. Daemon led her through the trees, snagging an apple as he went, and then paused as the trees thinned. She looked out to see a small, open-sided tent erected in the depths of the valley.

“This is where I take my leave, my lady. But I shall escort you back when you are ready. You need only ask one of the other guards for me if I am not visible.”

“Thank you, ser.”

Daemon smiled again, dimples showing, and bowed before she turned and made her way down the dew-covered grass toward the tent. Even from afar, she could see a mess of linens and silks strewn across the tent’s floor. Overstuffed cushions and pillows gave way to a few golden tables stacked high with berries and apples and jugs of juice and water. Just as she ducked under the flap of the tent’s entry, she was swept up into an embrace in familiar arms, a kiss being pressed against her throat. “You have come, My Tully.” He was shirtless and his breeches were untied, leaving them loose around his hips. Something she only noticed as he released her.

Out of reflex, Y/N had looked up at the worn tent poles instead of appreciating his form. But the new nickname had her smiling. She liked being his—his Tully. “I am. And you must have been sleeping. I can come back later, my prince.”

He laughed and grasped her hand, still mindful of her injured arm, dragging her further into the dark shadows of the tent. “I am wide awake, I assure you.” The pair slowed to a stop and he tugged at the knot of her sling and pulled the silk away from her, careful to not agitate her injury. The scent of him once again filled her nose, spice and sandalwood, but now mixed with something earthy, but much sweeter, she could almost taste it on her tongue. He loosely threaded the silk around his own neck before he took her hands in his and pressed them against his soft stomach and she found herself relaxing as she felt the soft warmth he exuded under her palms. “Touch me. As I have touched you. It is just skin, my Tully, meant to be touched. And I can think of few other hands I would want to feel.”

It was a refreshing way to think of it, of nakedness. Just skin. And she would have to admit that she had wanted to feel his skin under her hands, wanting to know what he felt like, aside from the callouses on his hands. She smiled and did as she was bid, letting her hands wander over his stomach and chest, noting how his breath hitched the smallest bit when her nails started to scratch.

“Good morning, my lady.” Ellaria’s voice called her attention to the full mound of pillows in the center of the tent, Ellaria was lounging there, sipping juice as she smiled.

“G-good morning, Ellaria.” Her smile wobbled and Oberyn chuckled again before pressing a kiss to her neck.

“No need for shyness now, my lady.” Ellaria slipped from the pillows and walked toward them, golden robe slipping open to reveal an expanse of tan skin of her thigh, and purpled bruises that Y/N knew instinctively would be the size of Oberyn’s hand.

Realization dawned. The scent she’d been unable to place on Oberyn’s skin was a recent bout of fucking. They’d been fucking so recently she could still smell it. She wasn’t sure if she was sad she missed witnessing it or that she must have interrupted.

Ellaria’s robe was loosely tied about her waist, leaving her stomach and chest mostly uncovered, and with her sleep-mussed hair, Y/N knew she’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Ellaria licked her lips before teasingly pulling at the end of Y/N’s braid. She smiled, leaning over to kiss Oberyn over Y/N’s shoulder. “We are so happy you could join us. We needed a reprieve from the stench of the city.” They had been there since the night before last, paying the orchard’s owner handsomely for use of his land for a day or two. “Come,” Ellaria said, deftly, gently, pulling Y/N from Oberyn’s grip and leading her to the stack of pillows and cushions. “Sit with us.”

Y/N did and Oberyn reclined against the pillows on her other side. He pushed an arm behind his head, a picture of refined hedonism amongst rumpled silk and linen. He and Ellaria both offered her easy smiles as they lounged beside each other even as she stayed a bit more upright between them, turned around so she could look at them both at the same time. It was then, she realized a bit belatedly, how young she must seem to them. Oberyn had daughters older than her and Ellaria had four daughters of her own. And here she was, an injured little thing in their domain.

“I had a dream about you last night, My Tully,” Oberyn said.

“You did? And what was I doing in this dream of yours?” She couldn’t fight the smile growing on her lips.

“You were laughing and running through the trees of a forest. No matter how fast I ran, I could not match your pace.” He propped his head up against his fist as he looked at her. “But then you stopped and I reached out—I nearly touched you—but you turned and roared and your bones twisted and turned and then there was a shadowcat at my throat.”

“Were you afraid?” Y/N asked with a laugh. “Of me and my sharp teeth?”

“No.” His voice was clear. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Y/N smiled again and shook her head as she reached up to pluck a berry from a bowl. Red juice slipped down her fingers and she unconsciously sucked them clean. Two pairs of interested eyes watched her pink tongue lap at the juice with unreserved curiosity.

“I love shadowcats. Before my father sent me to live with Uncle Hoster, my mother would make up these fantastical little games for me. We’d track shadowcats through the Mountains of the Moon and I’d pretend to be one and jump out to scare her from between trees.” A melancholy sort of happiness tugged at her heart, as it always did when she thought of her years in the Vale with her parents. “We found a cub once. So young their stripes hadn’t come in just yet. Oh, I begged and pleaded with Mother to let me keep him. I promised I’d feed him every day and not let him eat any of the knights’ horses.”

“Did she let you?” Ellaria asked.

“Thankfully, no. She told me a story of a man in Pentos who’d kept a shadowcat as a pet. One night, he left the cage open by accident and he was found in pieces the next morning.” Y/N laughed. “But I still loved them.”

“Tell us more of your life.” Oberyn held out a berry for her to take but pulled his hand away when she reached for it. A finger tapped his lips as he held out the berry again.

Fighting against her prudent upbringing and every instinct telling her it was too familiar of an act to be shared with someone who was not her husband, Y/N leaned forward and sucked the berry from his fingers. Her tongue curled around the pads of his fingers unconsciously, licking the juice away. She glanced at Oberyn as she pulled back, seeing his mouth parted, watching her slick lips fall from his fingers. A jolt of arousal, sudden and swift, washed over her, doubling the coiling in her stomach that had started when she’d arrived. She quickly looked to Ellaria for a moment, trying to steady her heart. “What would you know?”

“Tell us everything,” Ellaria said with a smile as she held a berry of her own. “We feel like we know your heart, but not your life.”

Y/N tried to focus on Ellaria’s words and not the intent behind the innocuous berry. Everything felt so heady with them, so freeing. The simple act of eating berries had her clenching her thighs for a respite against the growing ache. “My life is not as exciting as I’m sure you’re hoping.” She leaned forward to eat the berry as Ellaria chuckled.

“We will be the judge of that.” As Y/N made sure to clean her fingers, just as she did with Oberyn, Ellaria pressed against her tongue and held her still for a moment. Just so she could look at her, eyes open and innocent, as she sucked on her fingers.

But she eventually released her hold and Y/N nearly whimpered at the loss. But, she attempted to right herself and continued on. “My father is Brynden Tully. My mother was Vaella. She and her parents were servants in Pentos, slaves in all but name. Mother said they stole a boat when the skies were dark and they rowed until their arms gave out. But they eventually made it to Gulltown. Their lives were hard but they eventually made an honest living. Mother was young when she was selected to be a maid for Lord Arryn.” Oberyn fed her another berry with a soft smile, encouraging her to continue. Even as his thumb pressed against her bottom lip to catch a bit of juice and then he lapped it away. She swallowed hard. “Uncle Hoster had tried several times to get Father to marry; there was a Redwyne woman who he was particularly ardent in his efforts to have married to my father and several more after her. Each one he refused. He was happy with his sword and his adventures. When Cousin Lysa became Lady of the Vale, Father was raised to Knight of the Gate by Lord Arryn. He was happy with his duties there, too. Mother was sent down to the Bloody Gate for something, and there they met, under the shadow of the Mountains of the Moon. Everyone tells me that their love was meant for songs. They fell in love so easily, so readily and deeply.” She sighed, happy and sad all at once. “Lysa has always been very fond of Father and was happy to see him so besotted. She arranged for Mother’s family to approve, not that it took much convincing, and had them married in a small ceremony in the sept of the Eyrie.” She pulled at the end of her braid. “Uncle Hoster was furious, as you could imagine. His brother marrying a lowborn, foreign girl? The outrage. It did nothing but foster continued animosity between them. Even when I was born, a few moons shy of being polite to some,” she added with another soft laugh, “Uncle Hoster did not offer any kind words.”

“But you were raised by your uncle. Surely he cared for you.”

“Yes, Hoster was very kind to me, raised me as his own when father had me sent from the Vale. I was this curious little thing, just a few days shy of my seventh nameday, when I was put in a wheelhouse with Septa Hellicent and a handful of knights of the Vale escorted us all the way to Riverrrun. Hoster took one look at me and smiled. It was a golden childhood, to be sure. I wanted for nothing and knew my father and uncle cared for me. When I spent two years at Winterfell with cousin Catelyn and her children, it was like I had siblings of my own. Sansa was ever the little lady then, too. Robb and Jon were my age and adamant they were going to be knights worthy of rivaling Aemon Targaryen. Bran was little more than a babe when I left—and Arya had just started to pick up a bow—I tried to correct her form but she was adamant she knew best.” Y/N chuckled at the memory of Arya’s determined little face.

“But why were you sent from the Vale?” Oberyn asked.

Y/N sighed, happy memory fading. “Mother was killed by some man of the Sons of the Mist—a mountain clan in the Vale. Everyone believes his arrow was meant for Father by the way he fled back into the mountains as soon as he saw Mother collapse. She died in my father’s arms. I was too young to really understand what was happening. Septa Hellicent tried to explain it with soft words and prayers to the Seven. But Father then came into my chamber, armor still bloody and tears in his eyes, and simply told me she was dead. He kissed my forehead and then left.” She touched her lips to stop their trembling. She hadn’t thought of that moment in so long. “A man of few words, really. Not that I would ever blame him for it.” She cleared her throat. “He sent me away the next morn. I have not seen him since.”

“Your father refuses to see you?” He asked, tone questioning and bordering on anger. Ellaria reached toward him and placed a hand against his arm for comfort. A grounding force against his warring impulses.

“It isn’t that he refuses,” Y/N quickly tried to explain. “He simply cannot handle it. I favor my mother too much for his heart to take. My uncle explained it; he would rather have my absence than I have his anger—anger at the world, the gods. All he would see when he would look at me was how he failed and was robbed of the love of his life.”

“You do not fault him for it?”

“I have wished that he would be there to teach me things only he could know, to wipe my tears when I am sad, laugh at my poor humor. But his loss is something I hope to never know as my own. He loves, me, I know. And that is my comfort.”

Oberyn was quiet for a moment and he looked at her as she traced shapes into the silk of the pillow beside her bent knees. “One of my youngest daughters, I named her Elia.”

“For your sister,” Y/N softly acknowledged.

“Yes. I did it out of love—I love my sister—I love my daughter. But every time I see her, I become sad and then I become angry. Not at her. Never at her.”

“But you worry she does not understand why you act the way you do.” Y/N nodded.

“I cannot send her away as your father did. I’ve not the stomach for it.” He paused. “I wish for her to know I love her.”

Y/N reached out and touched his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Then tell her. Every day. Tell her of her namesake and what your sister means to you. Tell her of the anger you feel at your sister’s cruel fate and that it is not meant to be directed at her. Tell her you love her.”

Oberyn’s shoulders slumped. “Will she forgive me? As you have forgiven your father?”

“I’m sure she already has.”

Oberyn smiled, just a small upturn of the corners of his plush lips. “I thank you, My Tully.”

“Of course, My Prince.” She squeezed his fingers again before detangling her grip. She drew a silk blanket across her lap as she looked out one of the sides of the tent, watching the sky start to turn from pink to blue. “I haven’t watched a sunrise is so long.”

“It is good to see you out,” Ellaria said. “I was worried I would never see you again outside those castle walls.”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

“You are,” Oberyn said, smile disappearing. “You must do as you are bid by the lions or they will have your head. Your wrists might not be in shackles, but you are a prisoner just the same.” He sat straight and leaned closer to her. “I saw the way Tywin Lannister looked at you as you danced. Tell me what he said.”

Y/N sighed. The memory of the old lion and their dance had been pushed to the recesses of her mind for the last handful of days. For a while, in her hazed mind, she had almost convinced herself that it had been an awful dream. But she knew that wasn’t true. And she knew she couldn’t lie. “He offered…to marry me. Make me Lady of the Rock. My second son would be Lord of the Riverlands.” Y/N turned away and pressed her fingers to her mouth again. She was so weak.

“What did you say?” Oberyn asked, voice low and commanding.

“I said nothing. Queen Margaery called me away before I was forced to answer. It has been a blessing, I suppose, that he did not come to visit my chambers when I was addled with Milk of the Poppy and might have said something to either accept or refuse.” She sighed. “They once told me that they’d never marry me to a brute. Dangled the throne of my family in front of me like a jewel. And I walked right into their grasp, didn’t I? Like a stupid little girl.”

Ellaria sat up as well and grasped her hands. “You are not a stupid little girl.”

“I am,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to pull away from Ellaria’s soft grip. Unworthy of it. “I should have run to Dorne with Sansa. I never should have believed I could somehow stem the tide of the Lannisters sweeping over the Realm.”

Ellaria raised her hands and kissed them. “You saw an opportunity. It would have been foolish not to take it.”

Y/N nodded but felt little reprieve from her regret. “The Tyrells have offered Loras as another suitor. He is third in line for The Reach and Olenna thinks we would be able to make the arrangement work.” She laughed, bitter. “My two choices; Lannister or Loras.”

“Must you only choose between them?”

“I have been given no other options. And with Jaime refusing to leave the Kingsguard and Tyrion being a dwarf, Tywin wants more heirs. I assume they will want a decision soon. I am surprised he has waited this long.” There was a tense sort of quiet in the valley then. She watched a pretty pink cloud drift west across the sky, avoiding the pairs’ gazes. “Yes. A stupid little girl.” She wanted desperately to go back to as it had been just a few moments before; lovely and intoxicating and everything revolving around the promise of happiness. Not this talk of her inevitable doom.

A frantic galloping soon broke the silence and Daisy rode in, the second guard from outside her chambers was behind her, looking considerably less panicked. “My lady!” Her cheeks were flushed and she quickly dismounted. “Tywin Lannister is looking for you. Demands your presence at the Small Council this morning.”

“What did you say when he was looking for me?”

“I said only I would have you ready within the hour.”

Y/N frowned and stood. “I must leave.” But she paused as she noted Oberyn standing too, donning his tunic and robe again and reaching for his boots. “My Prince?”

“Tywin Lannister has given Dorne a seat at the Small Council. But I am not surprised he did not inform me there was a meeting today.” His robe was still undone as he stepped to her side after kissing Ellaria again. He pulled the silk he had stolen from her earlier from around his neck and once again made her a sling. “Shall we go?”

They left after Y/N murmured a soft goodbye to Ellaria and Daisy trailed behind with Daemon and the other guard as she and Oberyn rode their horses ahead of the group back toward the Keep. It was quiet as they handed over the reins to the stablekeep. She couldn’t look at him, not even as he grasped her hand and tucked it into his arm. But it did give her a small amount of comfort to know he was still choosing to stand at her side. As they reached the Small Council chamber, he tightened his grip and pushed the door open before she could even think to pull away. Everyone else was already there, joined by Lord Mace Tyrell and Tyrion. Both Tywin and Cersei turned to see them and their gazes quickly found her hand on Oberyn’s arm.

“Ah, I was wondering if you’d both received my message about this meeting.”

“I received no message,” Oberyn said as he sauntered forward (and Y/N was quick to keep pace). “But Lady Tully was kind enough to mention it.” He smirked and then dropped his hold on her arm to pull a chair out for her. As she sat, he slid into the seat next to her.

Tywin stared at her. “I was unaware that Lady Tully knew that Dorne had been given a seat on the Council.”

She offered an easy lie; “we spoke at His Grace’s funeral, my lord. I did not mean any offence.”

The old lion was quiet for a moment. “No. Of course not.”

The meeting started and Y/N truly tried to pay attention to it, but found it hard when she felt Oberyn’s warm fingers slide across her knee. She pushed out a long breath to retain some sort of decorum. No telling of the scandal if his amorous touch was discovered in the present company. His fingers didn’t wander or retreat for the entirety of the meeting. Just settled over her leg, like an anchoring touch or a promise of something else.

The only information that she truly retained was news from the East, of Daenerys Targaryen. The Last Dragon. Maester Pycelle had received a scroll, wound around two golden dragons, from Mereen only the night prior.

“The Dragon Queen has her sights set on conquering all of Essos, rebuilding the Valyrian Freehold. She no longer cares for the Iron Throne, states that this ‘pitiful realm has had enough of Targaryen blood.’” Pycelle set the scroll down on the table with a dull ‘thunk.’

“For good reason. The Realm is in debt—nearly six million gold dragons and the Iron Bank is coming to collect.”

“Maybe the Dragon Whore will destroy the bank and do us all a favor-”

“No such thing will happen.” Tywin stopped Pycelle’s thoughts with a wave and then focused his eyes on Mace who withered under the stare. Talk quickly followed about The Reach helping to relieve the debt and then spiraled into how Margaery needed to actually be queen of the Seven Kingdoms before he even considered giving the Crown a single coin. But that was quickly put to bed, too. “King Tommen will marry Margaery within a fortnight. And The Reach,” Tywin gave another withering, pointed look toward the lord of the Reach, “shall pay for the festivities in full.”

Mace paused for a moment and then nodded.

It was interesting to watch the old lion be able to easily get what he wanted out of people. If it had been anyone else Y/N might have admired the blatant display of power. But soon, his stare was pinned on her and the meeting was adjourned. Cersei, draped in black, nearly smirked at her as she left the room and the rest of the Council soon followed. Only Oberyn remained behind with her and Tywin. She stood slowly.

“Is there something you need, Prince Oberyn?” Tywin asked.

“Yes, I was needing to speak to Lady Tully.”

“About what?”

Oberyn cocked his head to the side, still sitting in his seat. “It is a private matter.” His smirk started to spread. “I saved her life, did I not? Kept her from bleeding out when the fool shot her. She is safe with me.”

It was said so casually that Y/N nearly didn’t catch that Oberyn had been the one to cradle her as she almost bled to death during the wedding. He had been the kind, frantic eyes she’d stared into, thinking she was going to die. The knowledge left her heart fluttering in her chest as she turned to Tywin with an easy smile. “It shall only be a moment, I’m sure, my lord.”

Tywin looked at Oberyn again, jaw clenched, before bowing and walking toward the chamber door. But then he paused. And he turned back, aged face pulling into a sneer. “While you are both here; I know you are both fond of Ser Loras. Tommen has raised him to the Kingsguard.”

Shock washed over her before she could even attempt to reign in her emotions. “Oh.” The single syllable wobbled in her throat. “That is happy news. A knight worthy of protecting the King.”

Tywin’s smirk widened. “Yes. Happy news.” And then he turned and left.

As the door shut, Oberyn turned to her, standing from his chair. “I will not leave you alone with him. I could not bear the thought of it; of you being held by him, touched by his hands.” He grasped her face in a soft grip but his dark eyes were ablaze. “I will not let him have you.”

Y/N reached up with her free hand to touch his wrist, curling her fingers so she could feel his rapid pulse. “I have little choice in the matter now, my prince. You know this. You heard what he’s just said. Loras cannot be married to me. Tywin is now the only suitor and I doubt any others will step up to challenge him. If I could spend the rest of my days in that tent with you and Ellaria, I would. But the gods are not kind in times like this.” As the words tumbled from her mouth, it seemed she had come to understand that her dalliances with the Prince of Dorne and his paramour were numbered. They would end. She could never hold him in her arms for all the Realm to see and he would never be able to walk with her unaccompanied. They were to be strangers again. Just as she had started to understand what had driven her father to scandal. It felt like a chill had settled in her lungs. “Kiss me. Just once. Let me pretend I could have a choice.”

His lips pressed against hers in a kiss harsh and demanding, pulling her lips apart with a practiced force and delving into her mouth. Her grasp on his wrist tightened as he loomed over her, curling his tongue around hers as she gave soft little whimpers against his lips and he poured all of his fear and frustration and care for her into the act. She could feel it with every beat of his heart. He was stealing her breath without care and her lungs sweetly ached. It was only when she pressed her hand against his chest, fingers sliding against his skin under his robes in a silent plea for reprieve, that he broke apart from her but his grip did not leave and he only drew back far enough for her to feel his labored breathing against her spit-slicked lips. “My lady, please, let me take you away from here.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and she stepped back from him. His grasp on her dropped. “You know you cannot do that. It asks too much of you. Of Dorne. I would not see your family hurt because I was so selfish as to think-”

“I am the selfish one, My Tully. It is I who wants you close. Hang the rest.” He gathered her close again and pressed his forehead against hers. “I will not let him have you.”

And as she closed her eyes and relaxed in his strong hold, she almost let herself believe it.

A/N: All right. There’s chapter 3. Please let me know what you think! I adore hearing all of your thoughts. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please just let me know!

[bloody-bee-tea]

XiCheng "I can't sleep" for the prompt, following all those amazing ficlets where XiChen keeps showing up at Lotus Piers to help JC sleep, and this is the time JC finally asks for help for himself in absolute clear words!

What a good prompt and a much needed step forward for these boys! It follows after Picnic, but you can also read this series on AO3.

For once Lan Xichen isn’t flying to Lotus Pier because someone asked for his help, but simply because he wants to.

He hasn’t been in a while, and if he’s being honest, he misses Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling.

Plus, he wants to see if Jiang Cheng honoured his promise and looked for help.

The last time Lan Xichen was in Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng had agreed to let at least two people help with Jin Ling and Sect matters, and Lan Xichen wants to check the progress of that.

Lan Xichen hadn’t been able to stay for more than two days after Jiang Cheng made that promise, and so he hadn’t been able to help Jiang Cheng with making a decision or offering his advice. 

He trusted Jiang Cheng to find reliable people though, and now he just wants to see Jiang Cheng again.

When Lan Xichen touches down, Jiang Cheng is already waiting for him.

Lan Xichen smiles at him, but it’s threatening to slide right off his face when he gets a good look at Jiang Cheng.

He still looks like shit, maybe even worse so than the last time Lan Xichen saw him, and immediately dread settles in Lan Xichen’s gut.

“Where’s Jin Ling?” he asks, because Jiang Cheng’s arms are suspiciously empty and if something happened to Jin Ling Lan Xichen isn’t sure he could survive that.

He is aware that he is way too attached to both of them already.

“With Jiang Mingli,” Jiang Cheng immediately reassures him and Lan Xichen briefly closes his eyes with relief before he smiles at Jiang Cheng, this time for real.

“So you managed to find someone you trust,” he teasingly says and allows Jiang Cheng to lead him further into Lotus Pier.

“I did,” Jiang Cheng gives back with a small huff. “I can’t bear to part with Jin Ling for longer than a few hours a day, but I get some work done. And I have help with that now as well,” Jiang Cheng says before Lan Xichen can ask about that.

“I did promise you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Lan Xichen nods and then his eyes fall on Jiang Mingli, who is playing with Jin Ling a little further down the docs.

Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng come to a stop to watch them for a few moments and Lan Xichen can’t help his little chuckle when Jin Ling squeals in delight at the grass butterfly Jiang Mingli moves over his head.

“He’s good with him,” Lan Xichen remarks and he sees Jiang Cheng nod from the corner of his eyes.

“He is,” he agrees. “I had him work my paperwork with me before, but it turns out Jiang Mingli is really not good at that,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “So I had him stay with Jin Ling while I looked for someone for that, and it turns out Jin Ling adores him.”

“That’s great,” Lan Xichen says and it’s then that Jin Ling spots his uncle at the pier.

He’s not quite old enough to walk over by himself, but he’s a very fast crawler and soon enough he pulls himself up on Jiang Cheng’s robes.

“What are you doing, you little monster?” Jiang Cheng asks as he lifts Jin Ling up and briefly tosses him in the air.

Lan Xichen itches to reach out and tuck Jin Ling securely against his chest--surely this can’t be safe with all the water around--but then Jiang Cheng already has him safely in his arms again.

And Jin Ling is laughing like only a toddler can, loud and exuberantly.

Jiang Cheng smiles at Jin Ling, who babbles excitedly at him and Lan Xichen’s heart beats very fast when he sees that expression.

“Sect Leader Jiang, Sect Leader Lan,” Jiang Mingli interrupts his thoughts and Lan Xichen is thankful for it.

“Jiang Mingli,” Lan Xichen greets him warmly. “I see your Sect Leader accepted some help,” Lan Xichen says teasingly with a side-glance at Jiang Cheng who rolls his eyes at him.

“He did, Zewu-Jun, and I think we have you to thank for that,” Jiang Mingli gives back and bows deeply again. 

“No need,” Lan Xichen is quick to say, as he reaches out to bring him up from his bow. “I’m just glad my advice stuck.”

Jiang Mingli is clearly trying not to laugh when Jiang Cheng let’s out an annoyed huff but before he can say anything, Jin Ling reaches out for Lan Xichen.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen says as he reflexively reaches for him, and Jiang Cheng hands him over more than willingly.

Jin Ling is making a sound and it takes Lan Xichen a few moments to understand what he’s hearing.

“Is he humming?” he asks Jiang Cheng who has the audacity to laugh at him.

“Yes,” he gives back. 

“Young Master Jin has taken to try and sing at Sect Leader Jiang,” Jiang Mingli helpfully chimes in and Lan Xichen looks down at the still humming boy.

“I see,” he thoughtfully says. “So your uncle is the one with the beautiful voice and I’m the one who accompanies him, huh?” he asks the toddler and lightly tickles his tummy.

Lan Xichen has his hands full with keeping the squirming toddler safe in his grasp, but it doesn’t escape his notice that Jiang Cheng blushes slightly.

“If you have the time, Zewu-Jun, there was a meal prepared for you and Sect Leader Jiang,” Jiang Mingli interjects and Lan Xichen almost startles at his voice.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says and plucks Jin Ling right out of Lan Xichen’s hands to pass him over to Jiang Mingli again. “If you could take care of him for a little while longer,” he goes on and Jiang Mingli smiles at him.

“Of course I can,” he easily gives back, and moves back to where he was playing with Jin Ling before.

Lan Xichen watches in awe as Jiang Cheng simply turns around and leaves Jin Ling behind, clearly secure in the knowledge that he is well taken care of.

“I’m glad you decided to trust someone with him,” Lan Xichen can’t help but to say and Jiang Cheng eyes him.

“It’s not like I had much choice, did I?” he asks, but his voice isn’t biting, and Lan Xichen takes it for the light teasing it is.

“Not really, no,” he instead gives back and allows Jiang Cheng to lead him to their usual pier. 

Except this time, they don’t settle down right in front of Jiang Cheng’s private rooms, but move to the pavilion at the very end of it, where a meal has been prepared for them.

“Jiang Mingli is taking care of Jin Ling for a few hours a day, and I also have someone for most of the paperwork. An assistant, if you will,” Jiang Cheng explains as they sit down and Lan Xichen can’t help but to frown at that.

“If you excuse my bluntness, why do you still look like you are not sleeping then?” he carefully asks and Jiang Cheng smiles faintly at him, clearly not taking offence at the question.

“That’s because I’m not,” he confesses and then, for the first time since Lan Xichen arrived, he lowers his eyes and avoids Lan Xichen’s gaze. “I can’t sleep. I don’t know if everything is finally catching up to me now that I get a few hours a day to myself, but I--,” he hesitates briefly before he visibly shakes himself. “I have nightmares. Or I simply lay in my bed, unable to sleep,” Jiang Cheng says with a little shake of his head. 

“Did you try--,” Lan Xichen starts, but Jiang Cheng’s bitter chuckle cuts him off.

“I tried everything, short of someone knocking me out,” he gives back and Lan Xichen bites his tongue at that.

He doubts that unconsciousness and sleep provide the same kind of rest.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Lan Xichen carefully says and then falls silent.

He wants to offer to sing for Jiang Cheng, wants to offer him again to play some of the more calming songs he knows, but Lan Xichen is unsure where they stand and if offering would upset Jiang Cheng again.

Lan Xichen still vividly remembers his suspicions from the first time Lan Xichen offered this.

“Actually,” Jiang Cheng says and startles Lan Xichen out of his thoughts, “I was wondering if you’d play for me, too?”

Jiang Cheng isn’t meeting Lan Xichen’s eyes, but Lan Xichen gives him a reassuring smile nonetheless.

“Of course I would. You only ever have to ask,” he gently tells him and then hesitates. “Do you want a lullaby, or one of the other songs?” Lan Xichen then brings himself to ask and Jiang Cheng scrubs a hand over his face.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with letting you use spiritual energy on me yet,” Jiang Cheng admits and he seems honestly sorry about it, too.

“And I already told you, that’s not necessary. The songs are calming in nature, spiritual energy or not. If you would like to try it I’m more than willing,” Lan Xichen says and Jiang Cheng heaves out a sigh.

“Please,” he eventually whispers. “I’m just so tired.”

“Okay,” Lan Xichen says and summons Liebing, as he scoots around so that he can sit with his legs stretched out in front of him.

When he’s situated he expectantly looks up at Jiang Cheng who has his mouth open as if he wants to protest.

“How many drooled on robes would that make then?” Jiang Cheng drily asks, even as he sits down and lowers his head towards Lan Xichen’s thigh.

“I am not counting,” Lan Xichen promises him and briefly puts his hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder before he starts to play Rest.

It’s normally used to calm resentful energy, but even without added spiritual energy it’s good to calm restless minds, Lan Xichen has found.

Lan Xichen plays through the song twice, before he lowers his flute.

Jiang Cheng hasn’t moved in a while and he has gone heavy against Lan Xichen’s leg, but he’s not sure if Jiang Cheng has fallen asleep yet.

Lan Xichen still doesn’t dare to speak directly to Jiang Cheng, so instead he lightly rests his hand on his shoulder.

Jiang Cheng is motionless for long enough that Lan Xichen starts to believe he drifted off, when he suddenly moves.

Jiang Cheng reaches up with his hand and Lan Xichen is convinced he’s is going to push his hand off. So he’s thoroughly startled when Jiang Cheng threads their fingers together instead and pulls his hand down towards his chest.

“Xichen, what are we doing? What is this?” Jiang Cheng asks, his voice barely above a whisper, and he keeps his eyes closed, but Lan Xichen can see the tension in his face.

“I’m not sure,” Lan Xichen honestly replies, his voice just as soft. “But I don’t want it to stop,” he goes on, and it must have been the right thing to say, because Jiang Cheng let’s out a long breath before he brings up his other hand as well so that he can properly cradle Lan Xichen’s against his chest.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng breathes out. “Play it again?” he then asks and Lan Xichen can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.

“I would need both hands for that,” he softly reminds Jiang Cheng who makes an unhappy noise at the back of his throat. “How about I sing something for you instead?” Lan Xichen asks and it takes Jiang Cheng a while to answer.

“Fine,” he eventually allows and Lan Xichen can’t help but to smile softly down at Jiang Cheng.

He can’t even find it in him to mind when he realizes that Jiang Cheng is peeking up at him.

Instead of saying anything to that Lan Xichen squeezes Jiang Cheng’s hand once and then he starts to sing. For once, it’s not a lullaby, but a song about home and the safety that provides and he hopes Jiang Cheng can find some safety here. 

At least enough to fall asleep.

When the song is done, Lan Xichen shifts to humming, so he doesn’t startle Jiang Cheng with an abrupt silence and he carefully looks down at him.

Jiang Cheng’s face is completely relaxed and Lan Xichen is sure that he is deeply asleep by now.

Lan Xichen isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with all these feelings that threaten to swallow him whole, with this warm glow in his chest, caused by the implicit trust Jiang Cheng is showing him right now, but he vows to never betray it.

[Sleep Deprivation Sentence Starters]

It is already too precious to Lan Xichen after all.

Next part

{Buy me a kofi}  

[jmcfarlane]

DRONE3

DRONe3

.<0_O> — — µ — <_<)))) DRONe³ And other Poems and writings by James McFarlane Telepath/Necromancer James McFarlane·Friday, May 18, 2018 . Telepath may 2018 Pencil sharp, smoke a dart early morning engines start Crescent moon blue grass tunes frost on the window and my spoon. Dopamine and serotonin, pain relief telepath droning, a walk of life, on a limb buds froze until the dawn of spring. Train passing dread grasses, Sage burning sky lasting, electric currents flowing now, necromancer up and down, Dopamine and serotonin pain relief telepath droning, a walk of life on a limb buds froze until the dawn of spring. -Seumas Necromancer May 2018 Floating wearily but in some comfort overhead. Making sheets move on my bed. Conversations in and out, speaking without our mouths. Blue fires light up your darkness please don’t ever find me as heartless I love you always one two three here’s the bass now jam with me Exhale eternally into the mic, angel choirs out on strike. Necromancer up and down, rein / radius across town, soon I will return with thee to this town/life Ville/vie. –Seumas (New Revisions) James McFarlane +Seamus to thee, from my effort unsatisfied underground nothingdrones, its letting go and walking away from it to choose to lose, this is therapy now I need to go, you know it and I got the show on the road I’mtired and now am holding a rose, I’m loosing my grip on the following code DRONe -Seumas (James) Monday, February 22, 2016 OK thisone’s right off the wall: this is a strangely written and personal poem It’scalled “Siren heart Drone” (meant for a mature audience) A’ hem…. I’m nervous, I don’t freestyle often I wish there was a way to put this near the bottom of my timeline, it’ll be my latest and greatest lyric though, + POSETIVE INDUCTION — The positive attraction to your conductive psyche, is a form in itself existing in me, subjective almost ironically, the circuitry, being both electricity and imaginary cranked up high by your fun chemistry by way of the cerebral. (Which is flattering me) The circuitry with chemistry minus proximity, (causing a reaction deliberately) the electrical frequencies that you received from me were; artsy descriptions in accents I read. Other elements of me manifesting masculinity through my dorky frequency, gave off feedback that, officially; for me heralded the dawn of freed energy. So… metaphysical seed, dropped and sewn that day, (I guess what I am trying to say is): My girl my girl, don’t lie to me, oceans away your eyes can see, my bending sending light like this, in response to; the drone from your white laced lips. For the of lack of your treble and charge of your base, my “methadone”, White Light/White Heat, can take its place, anti-acidic mantra chi, surrounding me, a black dot in space. Divided by the curve encased, the metaphysical takes place. The fact that we’re in touch today, makes sirens blare and drones play, I’ll send this over right away, and then appropriately play, ‘beautiful face’ a newer way, I could elaborate for 3 straight days. Now what follows is what’s next on the fret board of your hex. It’s between, us; a fish out of net. So this will be all they get. ok here goes, ya, this is for the ladies in town I know that sounds weak but I blame the moons energy for you cute young women never being around when I finally spit the rhyme on solid ground, neway this is about you, you and the town where I choose, and choose to settle down instead of just stop swimming and drown, no more worries, no frowns, I’m gunna work it on out, cause I’m bound for the tides, not the sound, yea, ok, you know what I mean, yea k here I go, you ready? You steady? I stole the crown from the underground, I thought it would look nice with your gown, I’m upward bound so, are you down with my verbs and nouns? I don’t freestyle rap but this might as well be,flowin literally right now cause i come down hard with a sound that this new town including your highness have minds to breakdown, so get down breakdown, my chic mystique-psychologique will make you turn around and blush while your current boyfriends drunk on the ground cause he substitutes love with down, he doesn’t have an ear, genetically, to hear your siren sound for which I was born to kinetically harmonize, desensitize and heal your weary eyes. This is the treatment we need now ill even show you how, like a bow that goes up and down, helping us resonate these bloody strings, while the clipper ship sinks…… Sinks with the low tide.c’mon lets head home. The moons making my fire rise. That means soon it will be high tide, the ocean spray it stings my eyes, so let’s go inside, its morning time, look at color in the sky the sun is just about to rise. MY clipper ship’s on seas of rye. Empty bottles of scotch catch her in the eye. I’m not afraid of all those guys, they’re lucky they even have a sty. I’ve seen farms that would make you cry. These pale blue eyes are all but mine. And yours are like that brand of dye, that in our last summer together, we ALL tried, permanent like the purple in my mind’s eye or the in the dimly lit sky the night I officially died, all from a med, instead of one I took 10, benzodiazepines, all I wanted to do was compound the prescribed effect at the right dose they make a nervous wreck feel and appear normal so I took them, now I’m in debt, but only tried this cause u have me in check, ready to knock the crown off my head, make it your golden cauldron instead. You know I’m good with shocking steel and know how to forge blend anneal so this golden crown is probably real, and I assure u from the other room that it’s safe to use took a meal. Only cause it’s my deal I leave out the part about removing toxic alloys by melting steel, adding chemicals from the field and as the method never revealed used those same chemicals, that we all feel, all the time in our head to make tiny slow moving particles to turn make gold out of lead. So neways with confidence I said GO AHEAD! But I couldn’t lie to her, so I yelled from the other room, “u should know, that thing is gold but it use to be lead. She laughed, hesitated, placed the pewter cauldron on the stove instead and put the golden crown on her head. She finally walked down the hall and into her room where I was using dust pan and broom, she didn’t say nething, just got up on her bed which was shrouded with purple threads forgetting her glasses, still she picked up my book and read, I said here ill read aloud for you instead, within a few minutes of reading she started to turn red, the stove was on low so she got herself fed THAN served us both breakfast in bed. SUDDENLY I awake and see that we are parked at the end of a pier in some town in Quebec, I yell out stupidly from my stuper, WERE ON A PIER! She had good laugh about that occurrence on several occasions. but ya I took too many pills and was all sleepy on our road trip, all in all, yet again, I fed my head then lost all my cred, it being an accident, it made me sleep like the dead, that’s when I lost you, or you lost me, literally you looked everywhere and couldn’t find me, conscious or not, id soon figure id been stung by the bee, the most painful thing however, and my only memory was later that night when you were beside me, or was it he that got there before me, ok now I must stop and back up, the cheap words pouring from me, telling the details of this pathetic story it’s pissing me off, like losing the love of your life to a drug, and then officially to drugs plural, like 5 years of fucking up pretty much following this one night, the moment you realized you had lost the one girl, the one you compare every girlfriend you get ultimately fucking that up too, the one. its caused ache in whets left of my drug affected love starved blackened heart and caused my excellent poem to go right off the rails, so I’ll get on topic and ill even do it in rhyme, what inspires me to try to try, it’s the ache in my heart that is its key function now when I think of this girl and am reminded of the moment I lost her. ok here goes, regardless, we were in bed together, and from your sleepy head where your soul lies and you can never die, I heard your memories cry, and as I realized all the days I tried so hard to try but wouldn’t, couldn’t try and now I can’t cry is because I was always too shy in your unfulfilled eyes despite being my inspiration for the last 4 or 5 years of drugs and art with your recent if u can even call it that separation the focus intensifies about u and other girls like the sweet PortugueseIrish girl from the only psych ward I recommend at hotel diu in Kingston where I was actually treated properly (maybe cause it’s a catholic hospital, maybe cause I was so fucked up I appeared catatonic for days till this fox brought me down and romanced me for a month) she’s your competition….who contributed to my psychological cardiomyopathy however, a number of “the ones” but evenbefore that I was fucked up, I was the youngest psychiatric patient in Ontario or something, I learned how to smoke inside a smoking room in the shithole Scarborough grace when I was fifteen, I think I checked myself in hen I was twelve just to get away, that may have been what that asshole head of psychiatry was talking about. I also hit the highest highs, and the most demonic abysses of suicidal advanced psychotic depression, and took more abuse for it from nurses drs and the police, not to mention my family, but I still unconditionally love and am loved by my parents and grandparents, Jesus, I sacrificed my life and goals to save my families souls literally offed myself when I was 16 years old to end the devils elaborate foothold on me the people around the household appliances and machines, the behavior of living things the weather and the temperature of the room depending on my tortured state the only common theme is that others hurt and share it with me and my empathy kind of bounces back like an echo, I express and receive the grief while later, I only know this because when I fall, which I don’t do nemore thanks to medical science, its all about them.. but now this, she cried in her sleep and the only difference about these tears the ones that dried before her, is that the tears were for the two of us,not for being hurt but for me getting hurt and that hurt her, and it came out of her in a subconscious later state, kind of like me, this happened something like five years ago and it never gets old, ok , so here’s how THIS sad story goes; back to you, we were basically sleeping on the ground, I was tied up and bound, mothers little helper’s cheque bounced, I stupidly blame the devil in benzos but as of last Chinese new year I now denounce him, clonazepam is free from sin,(the cure), which I am resistant to so even though in the name of a better life I took 1/16th of an ounce I was still wide awake laying beside you, thinking only to myself about how I fucked up, it wasn’t even my own script at the time like u even need to know this it was a gift from the big Mc the tragically crip former editor in chief of legal manuscript, this bug makes the dj tick, and he made me, (sick) so (to this day I thank god for the count and amount per pill per day,,, throw your troubles away and pray that it was ok to stray from your holy bible, “psychology today”) So I was now bound for the pound, complete and total disgrace all around, from the moment u made that sound I knew our plans were going down that I would leave town, shoot smack and somehow return because YOU specifically gave the instruction to COME BACK! But things got whack I dropped out of school after taking philosophy which I passed, took drugs then relaxed let the nothing drone blare and move towards and away from the past managed to stay out of the psycho shack and somehow followed the chemical and psychological path out of the woods, fuck that was one long sidetrack, but it’s over, now, it took a year of wandering to end it but I did so…back before I initially left town your eye lids were down. I’d spent our whole friendship collectively letting you down by being ur favorite one in town and not responding in a way that could let us…. Fuck I was a clown,ever since I pulled a sigmen froid and used white to get off opiates it’s been renown but like the psychologist before me once declared, down (heroin) so satisfying in the right dose, has basically fulfilled their open ended prediction for the drugs future, in one shot like vaccine, the queen of all drugs, administered in the highest healthy dosage intravenously is the cure all found in Montreal, and then a deliberate clean cut from all non prescribed recreational narcotics, that is until the dreaded lady in white shows up on ur doorstep, I say let her in, and move away never to see her again, with the experience and satisfaction of the act of consuming heroin as your catalyst to change your life and only take clonazepam. So before all that we had a healthy friendship, it was doomed but I loved you so u kept me around and there was all sorts of ways we got down without ever fooling around except this time I discreetly describe further down when my phone ran out of batteries while you went to town , I thought I was a fuckin martyr because all id make u do is dance, that’s the gods truth so baaaack to me not being a creep, I geometrically see the opposing symmetrical verticy of our rhombus reveal its true ego as FUCKING TRAPAZOID when I hear your inner pain, I’m no hypnotist (yet) but u were zonked after a day of mosh pitting ultimately falling for the other guy, while I slept in the grass like an ASS. you let out a whimper in your sleep and two out of three of us knew, this chick is deep, from then on I took the title of weak, I had let my biological ancestors down with swords in their hands and in my hand your crown, and still I let you down, AND YOU STILL even tried several sexy and awkward times to make it happen and I let you down, u can tell a social disease when the same set of words are used multiple times to rhyme with other words that have that sound i.e. : I let you down. In that strange little town. It’s been well over a year and to end on a harmonious note after all this purple melancholy. I’m gunna say two words to you and they are not” “I do” It’sI’m sorry. I’m sorry lately for this poem, but mostly I’m sorry for not maturing into the man you thought I could be. I’m recovered from my early episodes now, took 16 years but I used the gear to properly hear and respond without fear, if only I did this within the time frame we had, Now were both sad. And I don’t wanna upset u, ur glowie or ur boyfriend or neone else, soo I’m gunna play a song, it’s called : one thing that keeps this black heart beating””(referring to my heart: that “upturned bass drum” The thing that keeps it beating is the dissonant and strangely beautiful siren song that echoes in my mind as the inspiration, “love” and the knowledge that one can be loved and in my case always, I only philosophies with the partial use of solid evidence that I have been loved by the one I love therefore at and for that moment(pretty much after the momentmy phone died, after 30 seconds of reading trainpotting aloud, there was a subconscious subjective foggy notion that was there to be discovered by the psyche, at this moment I can prove using circumstantial evidence and truth know by both partied involved, the dependant factor being me loving her forever, and the independent factor her being a single indecisive woman looking for a man who will love her forever combining to make a positive chemical and physical reaction, that is the fundamental tradition that is the goal of all living things on this plant and its most evolutionary form of it is when it’s “Love based” one giving the other what its most in need of and deprived of, the others love, not the love of a friend, but physical experiments that are love based, expressing love on not necessarily a physical level (like if ur on the phone or sumthing)but specifically a sexual level. The compounding factors that result in reactions happenings crescendos babies,, are when the energy isn’t circular but moves in one direction, when the one party is starved, and the other has a wealth, and the act of giving not just what the yearning needs, but what he wants, when the desired with all her wealth, imparts her secret harbored denied expression love though tradional reproduction based activities, that friendship goes from “limbo” into action, even for a moment, through technology that alerts the senses, in this case hearing, whether the deprived is even present or physically participating, isn’t the point the point is that the foggy notion of true love was expressed transmitted in a traditional and pivotal form, even though I picked up the transmission through one sense, my ability to hear, the value of those vibrations, though lo-fi and misinterpreted until the last few seconds before the line went dead the compounding nature of the universe is seen between you and me, me and the chemicals and elements the acid the love that is positively charged by me and only me, in this battery regardless of proximity my charge is still the key, literally loving you moved energy directly making me alternately free but obviously reflects its imperfections symmetrically and quite similarly to your perfect face and body only introspectively and this thing I call negativity you existentially use to control and manipulate me by means of electrical currents like a shark in the sea, but the ocean currents in our world somehow moved me so far we couldn’t be but as the drone turns up the heat as chemists cure insanity, inevitably the duality of the friendship followed the trail right back to me, from the beach into the city, while metaphysical acid rain fell on her black umbrella, drops of synthetic nightshade provided a ground and a side effect equaled a perfectly balanced sound resembling a circuit around my neck and down to the nervous wreck, I stand and smoke out on the deck, and remember that was how we met I stop, wait my energies charge self provides, enough energy to survive, with my new social activity the acid, charge, size, speed and proximity and the voltage of the current and relativity. My positively charged abilities that betray the moon like your fertility, a simple circuit can’t explain the lovesick emotional pain still forming drops of acid rain only strengthening my brain, its time I have to get reactive, send this to her radically brilliant highly attractive yet negatively charged mind where chemicals of another kind will get inspired as she reads about batteries and his energy (that she secretly lovingly keeps rightfully under her locks and key with her sharp mind and memory should recall the flattery, the almost dead battery, poetic license and mad hattery finally gets me through the matter we, lost all sense of pattern, see, the point was electricity, and keyboards I would never see, played like a former prodigy, with drones that resonate with me just barely metaphysically, through my sleep deprived behavior induced heightened state, I’ve always been able to wait, epiphanies sometimes come too late, but revelations give me faith that your negative mind and my positive state, memories of how u altered fate, I know threes more to come but wait, don’t get offended by my state , my batteries dead so save the date, remember wiser things I’ve depictions finished in your head, an electrician would have briefly said, what took me hours, in ten minutes u will have read, I must finish without my meds, they knock me out, blow to the head, I’ll miss away you time instead, that lilliad inside your mind….it’s way too late you’re so unkind, but one important thing u need, to know I know u love to read, do not read too much to your seed, it makes a flower yer indeed, with pain killing power guaranteed, but this makes a subconscious need to find a source for output feed, destined to be completely freed ad finally have the urge to read, its therapy apparently, the experiment of reading aloud and they drift off on angels clouds, you think their gunna make you proud, well brace yourself, speakers are loud, they developed and were well endowed, language and its mystic power it not to be strewn on the flowers, this is my dependant variable, the words the use on me were terrible, a bird a seed knowledge unbearable, though every word is understandable, hypnotic methods subconscious dependable, lovely developmental psychology is the cause of my constant source of energy what I was born to do was reap, infinite knowledge in my sleep a steady drone of literature, I’m older now administer reality and life in place of shame rejection and disgrace, aside from my abilities that serve me independently, instinct survival evolution, speed all factors meant to help me breed, but would you read that to your seed, your surly growing potent weed, I’m not a normal human being I spend time speaking hearing seeing, proving while your disagreeing now the sheep are all fleeing, my purpose hear is slowly weaning I’m a negative source of positive energy, that means nothing drones glowies and friends that are enemies, all that I needs a path and an receiver, a sound to ride on, subwoofer and tweeters, it’s the music u shared with me that keeps me going The proof that our signal reached desired objectives, was clear to my ear which contained an elective, my minds using psychology to be less selective, behavioral science removes the block painlessly love, loss and malpractice grew my circuitry aimlessly, evolving survival instincts team with nature, my chemical background makes life like a phase, the instincts resulting are acute like a razor and amplified abilities through manipulating manipulative chemicals without wavers, resulting in behavior that can reach and amaze her… the extent of the damage is to be overlooked, by using knowledge and memory or reading a book design and time weren’t key features its transference of whines from student to teacher, let me out of detention you feminine creature ill read aloud it’s the right way to reach her, the demand and supply was shot at the sky and with lasers for eyes that reflect off her kind I was surprised to find that in no time I heard her wine, go out of her mind, and through her elective design I read junkie sublime and the fidelity was just fine for my desensitized mind. Literally proving her love up against my undying lazerlove therefore, proving that from that moment in time It was (now literally) one(the one) and another(me) falling “in love “officially identified by the subjective and objective forms that equal true love, for a time, which in rhyme and time I now feel it was divine, it’s began and ended in one harmonious line (in a Scottish accent no less) and buried in our minds getting weaker over time the signal is dying the whine and her trying has kept me flying farther away for lack of a sign that she was officially mine, but my nose it did grind on the stone learning life through the drone all on my own stealing crowns off of thrones, almost completely destroying my home, getting dipped in chrome, and then ground to the bone,, but that’s ok now because I how I know, I made her come through a phone, I’ve reaped what id sewn, now I am grown, with skills to hone no more wearing a cone, from the unknown to the known heralded by the morningdrone which is an inaudible tone interacting metaphysical rods and cones in my everlasting home among milestones made of greymatter behind bone in the form of the intangible moan that has royalties owned by the one xylophone a tone so foreign and feminine it may be that of a banshee or crone, the soil of my subconscious, is where I’ve been instructed and shown but my chance was blown there already something growin that knows the suns light is shown, now I’m alone, why did I buy that bus ticket when I could have flown. Another way of iterating this love story is an s follows introduction, obstruction instruction, induction, seduction production reduction destruction I’m trying to link two portions of this production, causing a reaction like a light turning on send notification from yin to yang (2 great friends of the opposite sex ultimately consummating their union in the way nature wanted it to be) but for us it was highly evolved in that even over the lo-fi filter of cell phones she was sending her love, whether she got off or not that id like ton know, but,, I got the drone of her during, (which if I’m not wrong is typically the main attraction for most women, their anatomy makes for a better “during” in her case conveniently, I’ll admit, without my flawed physical presence, I’m sure she didn’t just give up when my phone ran out of batteries, she was by the banks of her own lagoon, , the stimuli for me, the understanding an witnessing this correlative reaction, correlative because based on all the evidence, the great friendship which was WE were In Love,,,, that passes by my standard and I’m a philosophy grad, this Idea of me and this one girl being in love ISNT EVEN PRAGMATIC like most of my theories, the ONLY thing that get in the way of it being classified as nething between us other than, well I’m afraid to word it frankly because it makes y philosophy look dumb, the only factor threatening this TRUTH, this explainable objective form, is.. the time frame, the setting and the timing of the whole ordeal, my argument is that my reserved intense devotion that was pretty much spellbound, was appropriately (although delicately and let’s say modernly)relieved back to square one, literally and true even though it’s in the days ahead, metaphysic means dead.\\ I’m pretty lonely, so I make allot of art these days, like so; since she left me for dead and we both had left town, with thoughts of her crying asleep on the ground, my mind plays a drone, just to keep the pain down, it’s the girls very essence, oh to hear those pipes sound, if I was there this reel could have burned her house down, But our minds were both trying, Scottish lyrics I had, her bagpipes were sighing, and droning like mad, even though I was dying to get under her plaid, her fingers were flying and the lyrics were “rad the sound of her drones blared through the aero phones, I had broken a string and the bow had no rozen, but her body remembered what she had forgotten, string breaking caused her heat up and harden, this dissonant silence was her chance to depart from his flaws and his jigs and his odds and his rigs and ivy wrapped wand honey drippin upon this Venus in tartan who gushed forth the art of his masculine heart, the yin joins the yang and d string goes twang, The key that she played in was the string that I broke;I awoke in a doria mile off the coast. I swear by the sword of Ulysses and QueenMary’s crown you can’t quiet this siren when she fools around. Sending me to the moon and abyss on her sound It’s siren heart drone and that’s written in stone like I said, STELLAR, and you can TELLHER, most likely shell be a be a BETTER SPELLER, most likely ull say THE WORST THING EVER cause you’re a BULLSHIT SELLER, wave got mutual friends that FLOCK TOGETHER, social cannibals up shit creek FOREVER “sharp fanged teeth sheep” identified by Brethr in touch with friends of mine with FEATHERS, who govern karma AND THE WEATHER harmonizing OUR ENDEVOUR dissonance and TAKING PLEASURE in currents charged “+”, sea vessel PROPELLERS droning on for OH SWEET NEVER, nothing “like” inevitably BETTER the next “day, mon” frère, myself sharply dressed, a new pair of ‘GO GETTERS’ high, but fly, “the local YELLER” inscribes, as I dictate the true, (and prescribed), (in “”blood)-”LETER”! …BUY LETTER!”technique””’s psychology thesis of persuasion,-through love cure for; pain from shame stemming from taking the blame for the psychopaths that are perfectly sane who corporally, “embodying hells flames, wicked games to derange, the use of tools to cause pain, so the hands free to gain more control without shame ….and words that confuse and lead them in. vein cutting through lies and psychosomatic pain” making it rain your blood to put out the flames, an empty vessel that openly claims he righteously bears the right to OFFSET karma in his favorite time double negatives stuck on rewind with the fist or the tool of thing without mind, just current flowing into itself sustaining itself by shackling you with a voice that speaks truths that the vessel and devil greedily use to ultimately abduct you consume love your subconscious would refuse to give, to lose, so you wind kicking yourself while he rips on your soul defacing and displacing what’s left of you, what set you apart from a caved in shoe who’s uneven because the others got two, souls are unbreakable but if he breaks you, ill have the words the voice and the truth, the vessel in which to put soul into you, love and affection reflecting on you a new pair of shoes and so basically you feeling loved and in good mood no longer producing that parasite food, by walking and talking, souls in your shoes, while my bare feet support prescribed truth, a chemical network of mes and you ultimately held together with glue your love is the only way I can get through my psychological problems of which I have used to heat cook and serve us both food they drive me to supplementing love with miscues, attempts to draw a good picture of shoes, that drawn the attention of someone like you, or someone who offers a love I can’t refuse, because it me who also has many a bruise, the glue the chemical I trust and I use are prescribed and administered with bruit force and tools, leaving the chemically gifted unloved and unused and undone on the run with the songs you have sung, giving u satisfaction, and leaving u hung out to dry by the sick and the dumb, and the one, that u can give a gift to, is the only way we can say I love you and the fact that we are is what makes it true now I can scrape this shit right off your shoe, here goes, gimme my cloths my cigarettes prescribed glue, a roof over my head a bed and you, and then maybe I’ll start wearing shoes, here’s my complex singing the blues, from my effort unsatisfied underground nothingdrones too, its letting go and walking away from it to choose to lose, this is therapy now I need to go, you know it and I got the show on the road I’mtired and now am holding a rose, I’m loosing my grip on the following code,I’ll let the field talke care I m old, its time to end thiflodi broke the mouldand me with my everything about the shoe, its maker your sou out your soul leaving with bound by psychosocial with day moon SETTERS. home made psychopath GET ER, and lose her to a knitted SWEATER meant to the and if shit hits the fan in my house you become a fuckin CAVE DWELLER you officially for me heralded the dawn of freed energy so metaphysical seed dropped and sewn that day I guess what I a tying to say is seroquel can kill the day and lithium when charged can phase can kill your kidney and your craze over sirens who’ve been underground their perfect face and al around static in the air and sound of talismans and something foud induction tells you write this down what she conducts may flood the town, and this guythatts on the other line isn’t he a project of mine, sais nurse so cute and fine that flirt with my bipolar mind could his stimuli be cut, (if my nurse heard that shed bust my nut the think I’m guna get more worse nuclear winters parallel universe but bipolar ppls irony ill crack the joke an ice your nuclear explosion twice a day while I’m away leading weak dicks astray but giving your negative drones away the moans that I’m familiar with the point is I’m sick, was born with antennae metaphic that can even change channels like sappic girl on girl to girl on me altering duality and that what I get for free cable metaphysically so u better charge your battery, start the car pray she needs a guy with speed, instead of the duality of loving and love being received define love for me because lm low on batteries, finally the irony iron like steel I’m not even funny she gave me a drone that carried me home plate metal armor still that suckers dethroned all because of the ironic poem guaranteed to call my home circuitry and sacred tones, hooked up to my broke dying alone charge that she hears in my voice instinct are what’s the driving force to be my Venus in furs of course striking my eardrums while art of a new form could cure my heart, when deprivation and avant-garde combine to make things into art the the thing that makes drones stop and start my wordsandfingers take a form that independently grows horns, what an art to harmonize your frequencies with, smart, you dirty little butter tart you were supposed to cure my heart at least u got it throughtome you rising storm makes my anteenae start to channel lo-fi forms a and v imnow starting to clearly see I got to hear pure femininity express its love physically, while the ironic truth is easy to see, that my talisman masxulinity had no hand in physically and so my strengths like mediocrity, thisescwe took a short boat that sent out a masculine frequency that was enough to ride that came through the airwaves only a dined, to start your engines, and the elements it’s the charge that ironically subjectively means of a whim of a, separating you from me and that despite ur reaction objective by only induction by the ma lonely ur still a part of me, like the wasted energy of a missing battery that from within bears a charge, that was meant to be, the high voltage current, of hot energy. wat a grT TRIP THIS IS, ALTHOUGH ONG AND UNCOMFORTABLE AT LES I STILL HAVE ROCK AND ROLL AND BY DIVINE TIMING WE TOO A STROLL ADNTALKED A LITTLE THATS MY GOAL AND NOTHING DRONES AND HEAVY STONES WERE LEVITATED WITH THE MOAN OF SIRENSS BUT YOUR NOT A PHONE AND NO SUPRIZE CANT LEAVE ALONE OW I THRIV OFF DIAL TONED CAUSE IM DEPENDANT ON YOU STONE THE TALISMAN YOU CALL MY HHOME AND THAT TIE YOU CALLED ME ON THE PHON YOU WERE IN MY HEAD SAFE IN YOUR HOME BAD TIMING AND A HEAVY TONE BATTERIES DEAD: NOW WERE NOTHING DRONES…………………………………………………………….. thisescwe took a short boat that sent out a masculin frequency that was enough toride that came through the airwaves only a denied, to start your engines, and the elements it’s the charge that ironically subjective by means of a whim of a, separating you from me and that despite urreaction objective by only induction by the ma lonely Seroquel can ‘kill. The day’, and lithium (when charged) can phase, can kill your kidneys and your ‘“crazy” laser ray’s perspective.’ Meant for sirens, waves, underground stalactites, space, and drops of acid rain onto your base. Meant to cauterize with time and phase the straight; your sex, the Vikings take, and that edge they use to reap and waste. ((their secret way through; to slice through the glazed over passageway, that freezes waves of blood they made. Turned to crimson ice seen by my red hot rays, melt into salty ocean sprays) Then not so far away at night I kill the day and reap twilight, my heat turns from red to white like scars that weep acid rain despite my efforts, however insane, you do this over and over again) Relief; from emotional THEN/BY physical pain. In that order, we’re both deranged. here goes, gimme my cloths my cigarettes prescribed glue, a roof over my head a bed and you, and then maybe I’ll start wearing shoes, here’s my complex singin the blues, from my effort unsatisfied underground nothingdrones, its letting go and walking away from it to choose to lose, this is therapy now I need to go, you know it and I got the show on the road I’m tired and now am holding a rose, I’m loosing my grip on the following code, It’s meant for: a couple; of different: ppl 1 knø james ((pérsunµli); ‘(urThInKn èù¹d “Like¹¹ i+ Th0µGh))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) ) — ¹o-² øس=FOUR!!!!!!!!²O_O³⁴!! (0_0)T0o?O_o)❤µ¼FOR¼ldd.”( þ+¹na!’(LOL!)?,X&Y” =ø(þ iN þÉd àvèç¹<>³µ)/(µø+þ²)ùþ³@ — ¹²³¹²³¹²³¹²³ James McFarlane• Ideas About mental Illness — James McFarlane Here’s my theory on paranoia. (Usually considered a negative symptom of psychosis) It can help gather information or misinform those who experience it. Even in wellness it is always potentially present in all of us. It’s a survival instinct. It makes us more attentive. My unique experience and understanding is when paranoia and other symptoms are present, heightened and amplified alertness to important information perceived by the senses is collected and whatever data is missing the brain either fills it in with logical thought or logical hallucination in some cases. I will further iterate this several ways for you to better grasp it. For most people there is so much excess data you wind up believing a falsity. Simple logic should let you know best which is most accurate among the extra data collected by suspicion, inner thoughts and hallucination ultimately fitting like Lego into the fractured “factual” data perceived. I believe mostly it is our internal sense of logic that is used to make hallucinations like dreams that appear similar to our regular reality. It is your sense of logic that determines how accurate the thought or hallucination might be compared to reality. It is hard to determine between reality and hallucination because hallucination adheres to reality. But if you can detect like in a lucid dream (aware of being in a dream) that it’s a hallucination you’re ok. It’s not that difficult to determine what thought or hallucination fits if you’re experiencing (or expecting) allot of symptoms having an automatic thought process that simplifies things by showing the most accurate possibility alone to the individual by involuntary thoughts and possibly hallucination. This can be a more accurate depiction of what’s not reachable by the actual senses. The point or idea is that hallucinations and involuntary thoughts mimic reality as best they can, so, they can be used to determine what is beyond our senses reach either corresponding with the senses themselves (hallucination) or through mind talk (which is the method that most mimics what we call telepathy and is much more controlled and has less effect on your behaviour and environment than hallucination). This mind talk or “intrusive thoughts” can be our sense of logic. It’s our sense of what’s real that makes up our involuntary thoughts and hallucinations so they’re may be an ounce or two of truth in them even though they aren’t real they can be identical ideas to what is really there. This is to be used for those who can’t see or hear what are out of reach of their senses like sonar or radar and further aid those who have and impairment or just want to experiment with extending their senses. This only applies to the unwell. Like I have said amphetamine could mimic the hypomanic state in regular people perhaps. This could be a tool for treating a range of mental disorders. Depression, lack of communication in certain critical mental conditions.(Alzheimer’s etc.) It’s not just guessing at involuntary thoughts and hallucinations, the tool combines accurate and distorted data collected by the senses. This extends the senses that help us try to understand. (Only some of us may have this as a mental pattern). You may be calling this a delusion well I call a delusion an idea. And remember, an idea can make the body including the brain do interesting things. Mono ideo dynamics Determining what’s real and what’s not isn’t a problem here, you know what’s a thought and an actual sound or hallucination when this is occurring so if they combine to make a more accurate awareness with good results than it doesn’t matter whether it’ telepathy or a mental tool isolated to the mind its generating data for the individual I assure you. Collecting data even from other people’s minds is definitely a factor in this theory (it’s a tangent but it’s important.) Involuntary thought is inner thought that appears to be info coming from an obvious source or other person. This is when the argument for delusion is most appropriate. Telepathy is a possible conclusion in the case of mind chatter or involuntary or external thoughts unlike ‘sense extension’ which is a potential tool involving similar aspects but also the actual environment. The mind to mind thing doesn’t involve physical reality like the sense extension theory which involves hearing and assuming all five senses if you were sick enough could improve the perception of our environment by way of hallucination corresponding with the senses, verses logical lingual additions to your line of thought (involuntary thoughts) which can be thought alone (mind talk) This opens a window to hybrid hearing combining involuntary thought with semi audible data, this was my first discovery and personal experience along the line of useful mental activity. So I would call it all external or involuntary mental data. The reason I included the telepathy as idea in this was because sense extension which may be provable is using the same material our thoughts are made of suggesting that the other ideas are worth experimenting with. I suggest mental information can be projected into the metaphysical reality affectively by a person just like shouting a person’s name. This is blatantly how it works from my perspective. What we imagine goes out into the air and some of us are there to hear it within our thoughts; mind chatter. Talking to yourself in your head as well as other transmissions or incoming additions. Not something we do all the time. Some people rarely do it or experience it. These are introspective expressions nevertheless they are the fabric of what sense extension involves. So if sense extension, (because it uses the senses, reality and hallucination/involuntary thought) can be tested and valuable info is collected from those tests, because of its use of involuntary thoughts which mimics telepathy, it could help prove or add merit to the idea of telepathy and its other explanations that are as follows. Proving telepathy involves seeing how things like sense extension is in the same weave as actual things we use or experience like thought, mental chatter, hallucination, dreams. This part of the universe is becoming objective when using a hybrid or functional form to better understand our surroundings. Just believing in these functions and experiencing them improves your regular perception and observational skills. These are hybrid metaphysical tools for perceiving your surroundings by use of hallucination and or thought and actual fractured data picked up by the senses. I tackle this mind chatter idea more so because it’s a solid symptom that doesn’t fail, like hallucination often does. Thoughts in the form of language coming from people around you or your multipersonalitied conscience is a good thing as long as it’s a good thing. When it no longer is in the range of being able to be used as a tool, these thoughts can be turned off or turned on by meds and belief or disbelief in the idea. But when it’s happening properly, like in hypomania, it does act as an aid in awareness of what’s most likely going on in other people’s thoughts. It informs you of the most likely thought usually in relation to you, aiding you every time by making you aware of something you didn’t know before. Word for word telepathy is a miracle, mental chatter that informs you of what’s most accurately going on in other people’s heads by way of involuntary lingual statements in the mind is not. It’s worth investigating, it’s a gift that has never led me to harm, only understanding. The fact that it’s in your head makes it a passive process where you have the option of responding or not, verbally or mentally if you’re a believer in telepathy. You can have communications, often in the form of mental lingual impressions from people around you, as long as their chattering in their heads. More often they respond verbally or through body language. (This could be also called a thought related delusion, and it probably is) Like sense extension it helps figure out without effort what’s most likely going on somewhere else but this involves getting a mental impression of what’s going on in someone else’s head and apparently only if It’s about you or directed to you, mostly. Telepathy and sense extension go hand in hand. What’s real and usable and what’s a symptom may need to be looked over and not just thrown in the isolation chamber. Mind chatter and thought insertion are two different things I think. Thought insertion means you think someone or something else is in your head and it is overwhelming. Mind chatter or “telepathy” follows a pattern of logic that is more precise than your own usually, it follows a rule, I am certain of it. That’s why it’s better to use cause it’s your intuition delivered lingualy. Thought insertion is like having someone else in control, whereas mind chatter is somewhat under control and mostly in your control as you are the experienced one. Involuntary thoughts (other people’s voices) could be telepathy and if it follows such a dynamic and structured law it should not be called thought insertion. Sense extension is something more practical and objective than telepathy type thinking, but it is untested and like I said, I deal with mind talk even when I am well and it is always accurate and helpful. The idea of partly using data from the peripheries of our trusted senses shows that these elements are not to be underrated or mislabelled. The fact that we can only see farther stars in the sky by looking off to the side is a great example of use of the peripheries of our senses. Similar is my experience of seeing peoples more true emotions on their faces when using peripheral vision. Is esp or just one example of a passive and informative hallucination? Let us not throw aside my interpretation of the experience of useful and unique mental activity by giving it the unattractive label of thought insertion when the fundamentals of these ideas may be useful for inventing evolution like tools to reach out into parts of the universe we have not yet studied. Distorted senses combined with an inherent logical thought process that is accurate if not pragmatic I my experience in every case. This could be an opportunity to reopen the study of parapsychology. (The fact that these are just an accurate perception mechanism is good enough). To reveal this delusion, we’ll assume all this is still only going on in one’s active imagination. However using a pattern of brain activity that mimics telepathy as a tool to read his/her environment better is cool; the only difference this has to sense extension is that there is no real life data involved. This in my opinion makes it the most commonly used and confronted with, solid, and most effective tool I deal with. (even when well) There are practices like muscle reading which is getting data through seeing a person’s movement that are examples of a semi proven method that mimic things like telepathy. I propose mental activities that are involuntary and positive like some of the symptoms of a mental illness, could be used as a link between what we see as dysfunctional mental activity and a breakthrough into the endeavour to prove that thoughts are part of our dynamic world as a form and can be used as a medical or social tool. This mental activity in serious cases of unwellness can alter the way we operate, not just the way we think. Paranoia could take over and it could be false data, and the repercussions could crescendo. In their reality and in reality itself. I say listening to your thoughts (whatever form they take) and interpreting them, it’s safer than experimenting with hallucination because mind chatter can be a factor in hypomania and in wellness. Only in the case of hallucination being used in a controlled environment with positive energy being present, for instance with a schizophrenic, they can be very well while hallucinations are still present. If in that state the hallucination tends follow what the senses are trying to perceive and use a situation like the sense extension experiment involving hallucination and obstructed hearing it may prove to be a good tool/idea possibly for aiding the hearing impaired in this situation or a similar situation that works. It could work because it could fill in more data where it was lacking and it may inherently be attempting to be accurate. This attempt is evident in other mental processes mentioned here. In the case of experimenting with this type of thing never should you be depressed manic, psychotic or over whelmed with psychological issues. If you are in an unwell state seek help, but be open to the new ideas that may present themselves to you. Know that the brain is elastic and does heal. The hippocampus and you are always growing. If it’s suggesting that its telepathy aiding us and guiding us that makes you sceptical I’m not going to just drop it. Be pragmatic and get a bit more insight into how it worked for me. First off, all that makes it telepathy as I’ve said is that it only involves thought. One thing that suggests that it is a thought from another source is the amount of unusable but accurate information that comes along with these seemingly incoming transmissions. It behaves like a mental environment that doesn’t involve just you; the metaphysical plain. You mostly hear in your thoughts what applies to you from those around you but there is other mental exclamations at times coming from different sources for different destinations, or in most cases mental exclamations just for themselves. Also getting an involuntary thought of apparently what is being said somewhere completely out of reach of the senses is a factor here. This is bigger than the structure of telepathy. If you are being talked about in the other room the brain informs you of it and who is saying it, this is clearly a survival instinct to gain intelligence of what may be out there and what most likely is, this type of sense may be evidently seen and utilized more by animals than humans. Probably because of the invention of language, putting the sense in recession. These ideas suggest that the metephysical plain is not just in my head but is there for everybody (and that privacy may be an issue.) The experienced and well user of the mental functions could actually receive and send out positive and effective transmissions with a ripple effect, real or not. (for what it’s worth, even to gain confidence and boost chemicals, respond and react accordingly to these transmissions and you’ll find it fits and improves your presence and role in the situation, that’s my experience) while the sick are just spiralling and not even communicating because their usually using negative or confusing behaviour or energy. What’s also evident of its existence is the obviousness the transmissions go both ways. I’m not just getting your impression of me in my thoughts; it’s obvious you’re getting mine. Its conjoint mental activity. It involves everyone but I think it requires a guide. If these are just symptoms, they rarely intensify and do dissipate more or less with wellness. I say if it’s not the metaphysical plain it’s at least explained by two minds appearing to correspond by (often coincidentally) one playing out the others activity as accurately as it can within the mind. This as a law would be evident enough to prove telepathy. I see a constant pattern in when the transmitters communicate, that they are thinking that thought and responding to one another (seen though body language and verbal responses. That’s telepathy like activity rationalised. It’s not always word for word because often I ask and they say no I did not think those words. Apparently it’s a mental impression of yourself delivered in the form of verbal thoughts or inaudible expressions from other people in the vicinity or elsewhere. Finally the hybrid hearing idea.The most effective and safe of the ideas here. (Thought and hearing mixed) It would be hard to disprove because of a lack of qualified candidates and the scenarios required. The hybrid hearing idea like I’ve said is not activity isolated only to thought, but the idea that involves using factual data and the imaginary simultaneously. Sense extension without hallucination. Deciphering between actual sense and involuntary thought is easy, you know what you hear and what you think, they become conjoint in some mental states indicating that the possibility of an extension “fill in the blacks” scenario. Know that this involves either an overactive imagination. The logical involuntary lingual thought mental activity combined with the brains attempt to hear the less audible is a marriage that could create the extension of the impaired or out of reach sense (hearing in this case) What I propose is happening here may be hearing the bass of a conversation because bass carries farther, and your mind places the other frequencies (treble) in the form of an involuntary imaginary sound. I suggest this is too intricate and accurate to be delusion. To actually be aware of the volume according to the distance or nature of the info that comes from not the unknown but an obvious source is evident of that intricacy. The psychotic skills talked about here are among the skills we’re all born with. All humans are capable of psychosis. Which is the foundation of these things. I just find mania to be safe, similar and more of an advantage. Our brains and beings all have an inner need and desire to figure out what is reality. Even when that reality is obstructed, it uses other means to get around to perceiving the world correctly. This line of thought has the potential to be a step forward in changing others view of these symptoms. To suggest that they are meant to be enhance to our advantage, not abolished; this is the stuff of change at an evolutionary level because as I said earlier it does involve everybody and anybody. The Chemically Endowed / THE HEALTH SYSTEM James McFarlane June 1st, 2016 Mania is the increasing of one’s “reward” chemicals in the brain chronically (a symptom of Bipolar). A fact about mania is that it is not so often as out of control as we are tempted to assume. We don’t know the limits it can push positive wise. A negative aspect is surely something that we have seen occasionally. An example could be a world leader like Alexander the great. On the positive side of it are people like Van Gough and many other artists, teachers and authors. Making tireless efforts at just causes inspired by epiphany is just one of the activities a bipolar individual has the option of pursuing. (Sometimes with phenomenal results) This can be a positive activity of the broad ranged individual. Mania is an abundant source of potential positive energy. The mythical Greek god Dionysus has been called the god of mania. He partied allot and was the estranged son of Zeus. There were cults formed in his honor and the remanence of them still exist today as a common and highly manipulated, manipulative tradition known as the entertainment industry. Antianxietys, antidepressants, antipsychotics and mood stabilizers; drugs that (have attributes that researchers have neglected to even identify) help and plague the bipolar individual as the most commonly used tool to ward off symptoms. In some cases, recreational drugs like amphetamine ((that seem to force up the mood of an individual) among drugs that are normally oriented with unwellness)) I suggest, could be a surprising aid in speeding up the recovery process of depression (the opposing symptom in bipolar to mania which have psychosis as a common theme at the peripheries of both poles of experience) through cognitive stimulation. This is important because antidepressants take several weeks to take effect and suicide could be prevented by the induction of a more open approach to medical uses of recreational drugs. This activity should be combined with social interaction in the case of recovery because it surrounds the recovery of the social aspects of the self (I do not recommend this as the first option for a recovery process). Like most drugs this behavior may take years off the recovery process but could wind up taking years off your life. If closely watched and tested the medicinal benefits of illegal or unreaserched drugs as well as further data released on drugs in general and their common circumstances may be a great stride in the remedy of mental, psychological conditions and social misconceptions which solutions are still being put off by ignorance of the populous and adverse political agendas. Other treatment options not listed above include electroshock therapy and psychical exercises like cognitive behavioural therapy. These alternatives are used less most likely because pharmaceuticals are a huge part of controlling the populous and funding corporations and government. However, a regimented combination of any of these factors could be a breakthrough for some. Called “consumers” by people that work in the pharmaceutical industry, these human beings endowed with seemingly new chemicular behaviors have a heavy cross to bear. I believe that it is obviously possible that over half the population (just to be fair) are born chemically inclined, but forced under the heel of the majority of the others who are from my perspective, psychologically twisted by ignorance, power over the sick, and unjustified behaviour based (((most likely (just to be fair) for some, subconsciously))) on either inherent or just blatant jealousy. I say this because the majority of people in a position of dominance in our society, (security guards, nurses, the police, doctors what have you) are brutally unfair, unprofessional, and ignorant in most cases. This attitude fuels the biggest and oldest and crudest intolerance ever committed by one group against its own people. The mentally endowed verses the psychologically twisted and everyone in between or strung along is the latest and oldest injustice I can see other than the genocide of the shamanistic cultures of north and south America. The most obviously funded sick lack of justice and care for their own counterpart (ever challenged till present day) by a government is currently at hand. It’s a matter of time and interest among corporations. Their need for money will guarantee that the proper drugs will be the end of this problem. Their survival as a business is the only co-dependent factor for the cause. Once the sick become well, ((the inevitable outcome (already achieved)) the drugs will be reinvented a few times ultimately plateauing as a renewable idea by these scientific salesman and their evil subordinates running the place like some kind of sick joke to themselves. Those who wield tools and permission to inflict pain, bondage and any form of abuse they find delectable simply to put off paperwork (and sooth their own often nocturnal boredom) only assigned to be used in the inevitable malpractice suits soon to be ensued by the just with the just against the corrupt. With blunt force and jealousy against their only threat and reliable witness to the sick twisted 24 hour a day fetish of legally and illegally taking the rights and freedoms and everything that makes life desirable from the ill to make way for a prolonged treatment of abuse and betrayal from the psychologically bent nurses and security guards, doctors, police not to forget your everyday sociopath / psychopath walking the streets and perverting the direction and attention of the staff and patients of mental health wings across the country (Canada). Folks like these who lack the basic right and wrong skills, used obviously and openly by the sick and the meek to inevitably over throw the ranks of sociopaths and psychopaths governing, misusing and perverting the writing of history. All of their efforts put into this “note taking” endeavour to be rewarded with indulgence into the sick pleasures of a dysfunctional beauracracy and political disgrace to be. As for the sick, (and well) the neglect of one’s health and deterioration of relationships is often inevitable during episodes and when being forced against such characters mentioned above. These new victims often leaving the institution with their own newly afflicted psychological scars. This is understandable considering how different and under informed the external world and the unbalanced individual usually are. The unwell individual tends to get overwhelmed with heightened and distorted perception, and the outside worlds clashes with their reality. Inevitably against their will, (usually after lots of experience) and sadly, many forms of legalized abuse from the system that seems to be above all law, they become accustomed to the system and more knowledgeable about medication. This is the only way I’ve seen someone become well, for longer. It’s important to channel the knowledge from their experience into productive endeavours. This is the exceptional goal. Chemicals are a big part of the inclined individual’s life (Pharmaceutical, natural and usually recreational). Often enough a well-balanced person emerges but the fight against unwellness and addiction is ongoing for many. Even once well, the psychological challenges of adjusting to life can set in. Thankfully this is also treatable either with anxiety medicine or therapy (or in the case of the Canadian health system, prolonged and tormenting hospital stays crudely striped with prolonged bondage and isolation chambers. Psychology being the completely unfunded and rightful alternative. Wellness comes with time and knowledge as well as trial and error. The potential experience for these individuals is more than the average prescription. Logically and philosophically looking at these problems is key to understanding them. Stigma; it’s a thing like racism that is rampant in every culture today but especially in western culture apparently. A mild example of stigma is using a negative label or misconception such as “split personality” or “psycho”. These are words attached to now folklore, lies and misunderstanding so this ignorance is apparently the first thing to go. In the case of bipolars, it is often amplified social ability versus depression or other emotional states that is confused with complete loss of judgement. Schizophrenics seem to have an even keel in terms of personality in most cases. I know there is no mood disorder but full on hallucinations. This could be due to an unexplained increased constant source of dopamine in their system I suggest gets used to produce complex distractions that could be used to their own advantage, like poetry etc.. (Unproven connection) The biggest problem is the assumption our government and citizens have; that the mentally ill are violent. This ultimately subjects us to being treated like escaped zoo animals by every authority figure you can think of. This is how they legally get us into straps; the word violent. This word can be used in ways it shouldn’t which is often the case. Once declared violent and mentally ill you’re bound for a living hell most likely for quite some time. All the ugly side effects of the system itself leave you psychologically damaged. You get a fate worse than prison by far, especially if you’re rebellious. I have rarely if ever have seen an act of violence towards another from a person that lives in a society that has them already sedated, and threatened by fearful ignorant authority figures with shackles, tasers, injections and cruelty in general at the ready. I’ve mostly seen vigilance or peaceful protest in those in an unwell state, simply because they have the logic to see what they’re up against. We’ve seen this all our lives. Even those who fight back really never had a chance to show that they meant no harm. I say this because our common goal as this type of person is to be understood. While up against a mass of smug sociopath liars who are constantly projecting joyously in groups that we’re mentally incompetent and incapable. This whole thing makes me want to kick an isolation room wall in and pull out the insulation over and over again. That type of treatment on that scale and for that length of time inspires anger in the most emotionally controlled of individuals. This type of passive brutality cannot be easily understood by people who are on a regular level of unchanging dopamine and serotonin. Basically, it is those who are in control and uninformed that are inevitably inflicted with the stigma for mental illness otherwise these are used as tools by the PhDs that as of late have the audacity to wield side effects deceptively like better acting medication (as well as transference upon their staff). Mania is a powerful source of energy. Success of any kind is a possibility with people that have the genetic makeup of the bipolar individual and quite possibly the schizophrenic and schizoaffective system casualties. Most who blindly submit are in a sedated or in a financially constricted reality for most of their lives. However massive bodies of work that gain quality over time with practice are usually seen with all types of mentally ill individuals. Productivity is a given with excess energy and hopefully with excess dopamine. This is something the bipolar individual has at their disposal. (The excess dopamine, like I stated earlier, being the undiscovered advantage for schizophrenic and hybrid diagnosis individuals). If psychological ailment is part of ones developmental makeup, seek help through private practices in your nearest large city center, like psychologist offices, astrological predictions or the cheaper alternative; fortune cookies. ((all systems more trustable than the political money grab being masqueraded by the Canadian government and god knows where)). Hobbies will get lots of attention and skills like writing will be improved for most. Phenomenal ideas and activities must be given attention. It must come from a desire to be appreciated in a world that sees them as useless and treated as such as well as resentment for the genetic advantage and the mitochondrial patterns I will stipulate below. First off I am compelled to write; things like physical agility are improved as well when new energy comes along. Now, the organelle mitochondria in animal cells produces energy for the cell. Like the patterns of the near solar system and probably menstrual cycles and similar monthly patterns recorded to date, all of these cells (differing by their design) work as groups. Most likely shifting by the behavior and the pressures of the environment and or the environments one is involved with as well as (chiefly) the positive verses negative intentions or energy put forth. The positive being more strong and more apt to gaining velocity compared to negative endeavours while the ignorant become subjected to rapid, (fuelled by culture and social upheaval) evolutionary de-emphasis. Tradition will save many who are open minded. It has been theorized that a person who inherits the bipolar gene may have abnormal mitochondrial activity. I reiterate that this would cause fluctuating energy production for the whole body and possibly more so for the brain, ultimately spiking or dropping essential consciousness related chemicals like serotonin and dopamine. Mainly above the baseline of level as far as positive living goes indicating that it’s an innovative evolutionary trait. (These chemicals and the proper medicine are prime factors for the bipolars however independent) the natural chemicals)) These are known simply as chemicals that affect our mood. Or sometimes referred to as (and in everyone’s experience) reward chemicals (endorphins) and oxytocin (the love chemical). The mitochondrial theories as well as more psychological rather than biological theories (i.e. “mono-ideo dynamics”) are unproven. (most called into question more than 100 years ago left unelaborated but proposing a hypothesis unfinished on purpose, ie. Mono-ideo dynamics meaning that an idea can make the body do anything the body is capable of to the peripheries, any part of the body. The “any” part of course cautiously suggesting the brain) The future of mental health I would say is the extensive categorizing of the dosage and drug or treatment in relation to different types of people or circumstances. (i.e. more than 10 conditions, more like a dictionary of conditions to be) Also, once the medical scam plateaus (due to actual research and political attention) psychology as a treatment method will be implemented beyond nurses attempting some form of cognitive behavioral therapy. It is those employed to work with the mentally ill and the graduates of psychology or related studies who must insist on more data collection and way more research into the possibilities the mind itself can offer in medical treatment of all illness. It occurs to me now obviously that psych has been previously placed on the priority list as secondary to the drug trade and religion so to gain funding for an renewable priceless trade like deduction of illogical pursuits and outcomes. (A basic form of psychology that should aid dangerous things like delusion and the laws of attraction). Psychology research mut be put on the forefront so we can get meds chosen, dosages corrected and diagnoses discovered and made faster and more accurately. (And produce more jobs in all levels of the field of medicine) It’s a century old marriage and divorce between medicine, and free will. Psychology should be treated as equally as important as medicine as it is half the battle against corruption of our society, ecosystem and those who inhabit it. Back to the original induction and pragmatic endeavour of self controlling mental chemicals that have their own agenda, or the agenda of the moon and the weather; the social activities of a manic person can be difficult to put up with for others because it’s constant and overbearing at times. This factor most likely is being brought up because of my experience with passive aggressive tendencies. What is interesting is that it can stimulate chemicals in people around the source (more importantly I say between couples). Basic emotional chemicals like endorphins and oxytocin (excitement, survival and `love` related chemicals in any order) can be increased in other people at higher than normal rates and levels (not to mention the freed individual themselves). These chemicals can be a blissful and natural human experience when people are close to one another. This can be achieved through stylized communication between persons. In cases of manic people with other manic people; it’s a vibrant social atmosphere. It’s manifesting the inner emotion or thought into reality or more commonly manifesting it into iteration. In any case one can activate the other pretty easily without consumption of any substance. Any communication and body language is the stimulation factor here when differing types of people get together. This is what psychology is; ‘Behaviour changing chemicals, changing environment’. Boring and seemingly opposing efforts is also a common occurrence because it’s hard to stay positive for most and for those around them because, it’s been a long battle and opposites attract. Phrases like that as well as phrasing like “everybody’s different” is an indication that intellect and work ethic are also independent factors essential to the coexisting of partners in general. The state best to experiment in as far as is hypomania (medium mania) or even just wellness. Ways to activate a slow rise in your serotonin level if you’re not bipolar would be using a mild stimulant like amphetamine (Dexedrine). This is not something to try on your own. I’m suggesting this to be a carefully overseen test involving chemicals that are dangerous to be used in excess and for prolonged periods of time. If you become manic, know that once your manic states have passed and you’re well you still possess the ability to partake in and test different psychological and parapsychological activities (it does stay with you and up to date). One thing to discover while well is that a person can up their brain’s chemicals at will without the use of drugs, rather, behaviour or behavioural exercises. Once you’ve done that and or submitted to the opposing factors of the weaker you are both freed. This has been going on for billions of years in many forms. Dancing, sex, geometry, sensory deprivation (like vision quests or modern culture traditions) gaining knowledge about the earth from the stars, cultural and group oriented endeavours like art or chemical revolution (i.e. drugs rock and roll all stimulate the body chakras as well as the earth’s). Other theories basically thrown around by the wiser of the eastern west in the form of literature or poetry comes to mind, like; “electricity comes from other planets”, in relation to mono-ideo dynamics in relation to bipolars and nature; “The Gift” etc. (The Velvet Underground, 1969). All of these “foggy notions” are there for usually the reason they’re being inspired, meaning put art intentions and science together and you’ve got something good. Unless you succumb to the marketplace. Only drugs inspire chemicals on command without the need for circumstance (this is a modern cultural tradition). The nature of mania is that you become ‘antennae’ of sorts that more easily gathers information. It’s up to you what you do with your energy or your manic that turns the tides in your favour. Your perception may be higher in this state, but there (as always) is; a down side of it as there is duality in all things in nature. Psychosis depression and psychological problems plague the inexperienced young bipolar individual’s lives until an effective treatment plan is accepted or forced on them. Other ways to cushion this (and to avoid too many episodes) is complying with treatment plans to your liking and staying away from recreational drugs for the most part. Or rather, opposing and cheating the laws of the flawed marketplace. The process as a whole is always a learning experience for most. For sure, unbalanced brains are the next step in biological evolution. The union of the mind and body, the relationship between the physical and metaphysical, and how human culture is merged with the ethereal will occur along with the reopening of the practices originating from primitive psychology like the agenda of the heavenly bodies of fire above. Victim Psychology One thing I have realized over the past many years is that there are two kinds of people in the world; the aggressors and the passive. Like the chimps and the bonobos, the psychopaths and the victimized, the sociopath and the weary guardian, the farmer and the farm animal, the nurse and the sickly the dominant prey upon the weak. I have found the sociopath to be friendly and the psychopath to be gentlemanly and wise at times. This does not condone they’re compulsive destructive social and physical abuse that they inflict upon they’re victims. A psychopath is someone who enjoys committing violence upon another. A sociopath is one who has no care for the wellbeing of others. This is rampant in modern Canadian livelihood. One other thing I’ve noticed about aggressors is that they go in and out of remission. (Which is cooperative behavior) A volatile destruction of one’s trust of others and distorting of one’s actions that is prevalent in victims is sexual abuse of the young and old alike. Next to physical assault it’s the most reactive and high profile to this day of violations of another person therefore it falls in the category of psychopathy from what I can see because of its physical and emotional impact. Victims carry on in public, say profoundly erratic and shocking statements, take up malevolence for those who stand by them and seek a vengeance that has no sympathy in any circumstance against theirs and other persons abusers. Their paranoia fuelles the problem of wrongful accusation cases ongoingly across the board. Usually a current abuser is in the background with these cases fuelling the fire while the victim holds out for some kind of mercy or justice. Wife beating and general abuse of children and animals are the most haness and hated by the public and the spectrum of victims in this country. (Canada) Sexual abuse is the most widely discussed and concerning of abusive behaviors towards humanity, (to the point that it’s an ongoing obsession and topic in the daily conversation in a conflictive situation between persons and within groups of all sizes) breeds decay within the psychological health of the groups themselves(like paranoia to a schitsophrenic) and they revel in it, abusers and all. All the power to the victims for their enthusiasm, but to reiterate what I wrote above, these actions are somewhat on occasion either false puppetry put on by the victim’s close and currently occupied as; violator, or by bystanders who just want a show or to gossip. The falsity and sadly sociopathic act of ‘fish netting’ just about every oddball as a possible suspect of these lowly behaviors is very common in today’s society. However, I have realized that their paranoia is justified by the number of women beating and sexual abuse cases showing up as a reality today and that there is a correlation with the amount of homosexuals that are violently “in the closet” who turn up in our courts and also who don’t (mainly due to victims trying to hold their lives together). Can this be explained by ethnicity clashes? Gangs?Terrorism?Languages? Why this correlation? Is it obviously connected to what was formerly seen as perversion, homosexuality, as a factor in these broken homes. Just because by my census in northern Ontario found that heterosexuality was a minority here and that the abuse rate changed for the worse shows that it is possibly a correlation. How long has this been going on? I find that these men need to use women as a shield, a sexual punching bag that’s worth no more than a cheap roast beef. This is a new social disease. Not homosexuality, but the act of taking a mate of the sex you aren’t interested in for personal gain. The action of these men is typical abuse and the women go on destroying their psychological health through these empty relationships. This one (me) who is looking for a healthy relationship feels ripped off however the sociopathic women choose their life like dolls instead. While the jails hold the psychopaths. The police jail and court workers go on with their corrupt behavior in our region. It’s that that continues to choke our young women into a compromise. They are a social disease, we are under siege from sick nations and countries and our men are allowing our women and children to fall by the wayside to make room for more homosexual dominance. It’s time to liberate the inflicted to avoid more people crossing over to psychological toxicity. As these victims start to depreciate into self destructing and outwardly destructive tendencies. Psychologists must prescribe and teach like never before in this age of lies, abuse and corruption. LO-FI Music Explained JAMES MCFARLANE·SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2016 LO-FI MUSIC EXPLAINED The additional distorted data collected from the peripheries of our senses deliberately recreated and reproduced by means of adverse, outdated and unintentionally altered technology and style. Recorded or preformed ideally in the form of what we know as music and or film. broken record? More like audible snowflake. The geometry of nature get betrayed and expands when recording art under predetermined and active circumstances at the whim of the conditions of the environment and it’s setbacks. LO-FI Music/Media is the effect that the decay of our technology has on the pristine conditions in which we perform and record our visual and audible experience and the deliberate recreation and reproduction of these anomalies. Atonally thrusting forth with a foggy notion that these new audio and visual recordings of patterns that emerge from the more primitive forms of technology over time vaguely and remarkably respond to and compliment the setting of the reality intentionally being recorded on an almost conscious level. The question of how to activate them and where hey come from arises when artists of our own age with a knowledge of the recent technological and cultural past attempt the avantgard. Using predominantly analogue and traditional technology affected by time itself that we can alter ourselves in combined with natural (random) rate, voltage, velocity selection what have you to reproduce art AND what the ultimate effect of the recording process has on these works of avantgard art is the idea behind and the method LO-FI Music/Media. -James McFarlane (Seamus) I blew up Einsteins theory on insanity — James McFarlane (Seumas) JAMES MCFARLANE·SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2016 Einstein said that the definition of insanity was repeating ones actions over and over again, expecting different results. I say that this behavior is far from insane. It is the fundamental law of how our development, bodies, daily lives, cultural traditions, reproduction, evolution and solar systems function. When looked at closely we see that even the most repetitious behavior is constantly changing at various rates. This is a law in all things in our universe therefore nothing ever really repeats itself. Rotations beautifully exist in nature and follow an imperfect geometry that we mimic in our cultures according the the schedules of the massive bodies above. Rock and roll, like opium or the moon have differing effects on the geometric patterns of our lives and evolution. Some rock an roll music by use of musical instruments (science) has combined the harmony of natures repetitious behavior (the drone) with the ever changing distortion factors like; time, mass, pitch and amplitude that are essential and fundamental to the evolutionary principle of repetitious behavior. Its the repetition that is the foundation we stand on, as long as your standing on it, expect something new to come about. Simply our presence in a scenario changes the physical and metaphysical environment at some rate, its our behavior and descisions that change that rate what manifests as the artwork or reality. — James McFarlane (Seumas) lyrics — James McFarlane (Seamus(Substreet Drones)) JAMES MCFARLANE·SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2016 NEW — weird song (2016) the reaper, put the beat on hold, bones dug up just like the sunflowers in the snow, now deeper into the river of sight, if you go in that cave dont turn out the light, white light shines bright, no stars tonight, behind the vox stack, their singin heart is black, subwayswhislting over my head, thank god i climbed aboard instead, reap what you sew 4x (coda) Heart is black ive been had (ive been had) ive gone mad (ive gone mad) ths is war, (this is war) i told you all this before i beg you, i want you too, write me back heart is black face the facts, art is black, heart is black face the facts, art is black, oohicant stay, (ooh icant stay) cant go your way, (cant go your way) i felt you sweet smack, Your smoke is black (smoke is black) i beg you, i want you too, write me back heart is black face the facts, art is black, Beautiful face she thinks shes alright, butshes out of sight, swim in for a bite, underneath the white light, thining of fashons, and still looking smashing appealing to fools, out of all kinds of schools, lo frequency base, mixed with the acid taste, no it couldnt compare, to your beautiful face. you left a hole in my chest, a better shot than the rest, do you have five minutes, for a warhol screen test, at dawn i see a star burning not lie the rest, cant help but sit and wonder where its going next 4x cant help but sit and wonder where shes going next 4x Blue Haired BelleBlue Haired Belle, hangs around the gates of hellMorning stars get lost, in the flow of your blue sky locksDon’t despair, you’ve been on a track please take care, Come fly with me, its your blue sky that’s pure dont you see. Its alright You, me , everybody,we, see, only moonbeams,comets not so high,eathquakes in the sky,lalalight n short in hight and , nananight and it’s alright,lalalight n short in hight and , nananight and it’s alright, You light the way, through tunnels, try not the scrape, the gunnels,on the right a cave in sight, it’s alright not this timeon the right a cave in sight, it’s alright not this timelalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala lalalalaooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaoooooo Main Street When you called me up hereIdidnt feel like walkin, Now your sayin to me,youdidnt feel like talkinwhy are we so clumsy,so clumsy with our breadnow you tell me honey, how you keep your stomach fed, always lending yourself out, to the freaks that dot our lives,honey when you gunna shout, at those drones in out beehive,take a walk uptown, to the bucket where they drown,gunna tell them when they get out,to get theiur handouts downtown MorningAt the dawn of a new age,Sun comes up, smell the burning sage,take a step foreward, turn the pagesay goodbye to all those dark dark days, MAking a brew I stare a the fire,stir the pot, and then connect the wires,turn on the amp, the music inspires,got to free my mind from all the cheats and all the liars. Morningdrone You, you know what I mean, when isay,that nothings gunna happen today,and you, you know what imean,wheni tell you it’s just not my scene, you, yeees you, what the hell are we gunnado?and you, the only one you listen to, is a man, by the name of, Lou. We, yeees us three, could make it at a defferentpace,I, know that, it’s a discrace, Lord, take us to another place, So grab your stuff, your record albums,you take the wine, and ill take the guns, and into the ocean, we will go, cause you know, were headed, for the coast,so raise up your glasses, for a toast,ha, which one of us can drink the most,the father, theson, or the holy ghost,and you say that this car can race,but can it take us to that other place, a different side of mother natures face. take me to another place. Nothing drones honey comes from lots of work, sticky feet moving berserkpatterns form in crude beauty, drones fulfill a pointless duty, honey drips, from the hive, golden jkelly feeds their wife, pretty flowers messy home, nothing drones on like the cone, back and forth, in and out, dancing like we use our mouths,the pay is small and so are you, results of that sweetens my tooth, the task is never ending, constantly descending, dripping in the mouths of those not worth defending. Oppenheimer park Rolling down the open road, to the end of the line,end of the world, end of the illusion of time,I go down to the water, and feel the cool surf,hear music in the air and take it for what it’s worth, cant understand why people, could live on so little,when so much goes through them, and through the needle, so hasty, with the selling of their saved souls,the western downtown is bright, blunt, and bold. Walk up and down throughout the day, out of your mind,think of your home nevermore, till the end of timethe loop drones on and on like a broken clock,don’t need to climb the montain, cause your at the top Hastngs is not coming for you, your coming for it,like hell it bewccons like the incline of a pit,the east side, sits a nd people come from near and far,to sit, and sink, into the grass, in oppenheimer park oracle so your torched,your hanging by a thread,don’t scorch, your pretty little head,wishing through your lips that it worntpass,feels like your turning from a liquid to a gas, take a trip right to the edge of your mind, consciousness poured out and left behind,take a break from all the flats and all the sharpd,ride a cloud of nothing, and numb your broken heart To thew edge of your mind, distortion blurrs the line bettweenwhats out there and whats inside, deep in the cave, breath in the cold air,see shadows on the wall,… stare bring news just like homing pigeon,come down, and start a new religion, leave now, and speak out, littereally or metephorical,the knowledge you posess will make you the oracle. Pipe Dream A science experiment gone totally wronga weather balloon with some kind of evil about it,all the kids at school could see it above the horizon,my friends and i knew we’d be better off without it, king kong, walked along high street, where the freaks and thugs call home,if he could reach this floating disaster on time,he knew he would never have to die alone,hethough about it and realised the people wouldntunderstandhe knew their alien nation would turn this ape into a man, darkened minds turn on a dime, revolve in time along thin white linesyin and yang drip from a wolfs fang, one pulls the trigger the other goes band why can we get to the meaningof this philosophy of feeling, how do we break the silence of the checkerboard of violence. Darkened fool has lots of toolsd, dead at the deep end of the pool, boring times and pouring rhyme, the question, is this really mine? why can we get to the meaningof this philosophy of feeling, how do we break the silence of the checkerboard of violence. Psych em out Psychem out like rabid vermin, make em shout a phony sermon,see right through their simple game,right to their core their thoughts of shame, watchem blow upon the fire, rocks explode right on the liar, social change brings end to war, housewife trembles on the floor,backwardsforewards, up and downvoisc encircle all aorund, observeprecieve hear see know learn mirror be, identify possible flaws, of the menace with no causethe time is now, so try to learn how to bend the rules they use to keep you down. Rabbit hole Salvage you mind while it is illuminated, a fire out of control,a cabbage in ttime, right now it is fumigated, wired and housing a soul,badhabbits in line, schedualed to be terminated, inspire you out of your hole, A rabbit , redefined and underrated but higher than ever before, drink up while the tea is hot and bright blue, the flesh of the gods makes it so,3 caps and some stems is all i can do, to see shooting stars upon the snow, think sweetly of me, with emotions so true as yu stand and look through the window,think of thinkgs to do when im gone for good now, waving at the bus watching it go, Im down in the southland, with deep curving valleys and bridges all rusty and crumbling, with grasses all dying and rivers of green and subways whistling under me. a spot on the corner , a 30 dollar gutar, a case and a cigarette too, is all that i need to get usedd to my home and bring my mind closer to you. The last of this song, is all out of place, but the pace rings true to the rule, of the verses before i shut tight the door on the patterns lost and misconstrewen,becauseits all backwards and forewards like this, its in shambles but its not a ruin,the end of this 4 verse song has arrived, to the point you might not clue in. Sea of lights Rockj and rave, through the night,on speed in a sea of lights,jump spin contort thrust,black white pain lust,spent a week there last might, maybe more,steal yourself a holy death crouching by the door cause we all live in sin but it makes music sound new, go out on a limb, and let the world surround you, we rave through the atonal thrusts and the booms,tonight the flowers of evil are in full bloom, Standing there all in white, she sings in the spotlight, in darkness and style, we strum all the whilestanding all in black behind the vox stack, from behind sunglasses, we inspire the masses, cause we all live in sin but it makes music sound new, go out on a limb, and let the world surround you, we rave through the atonal thrusts and the booms,tonight the flowers of evil are in full bloom, Walk and talk it through the park,whiplashgirlchild in the darkrun run run, take a drag shoot your speed while you brag i’ve been orchestrating behind sunglasses,immitatingprodogy, and writer, man, tomboy and a throusand fans zeppelin spotlights on my brain exploding plastic in my veinhypnotyic tones as the propellers drone,mind bending sounds, resonate undreground, dak circles never weed, new york 1963, Chcmysic, velvet freak desensitize alter tweak, no money car moon or sun, sell your blood for heroin,if she ever comes now now, moe beat on that drum now now,pink perfume, mantra neumes silk screen factory tunes superstar test only the best wine coffee speed heroin rest,darkcircl;es never weep, new yourk 1963,theyve been up for weeks, in the white light the tweak, in 63 Skeleton Here we are again, moneys all been spent, you don’t know where hesbeen,hes trying to fend off things that dwell within, hes a skeleton. at the end of days hes been here before he says, narrow in mannyways,hes a skeleton,andidont know where hesgoin, or why he thinks itssnowin, he can see the wind thatsblowin, hes a skeleton, Spotlight Reap what you sew,snakes and poppys in her hair,sun flowers in the snow,make you look like your not so old,it had been so long i could not recall her face,she came outside to meet me though iwas’t her case,nowi sit and wonder if I’m out of place,the memories i had of her, are in outer space Standing all in white, she sings in the spotlight, in darkness and style, we strum all the while,on the odd days I could talk to her,harmony and dissonence, a modern venus in furs,up and down that hallway, rotating the earth,waiting there for hours and hours, for her the quench my thirst. Sweet grass summertime,see the star shine, and i don’t mind revisiting those times,although my mind is blown, i play the drone,saying goodbye while you’re getting stoned. Vicious lips oooooo what to do,iwanna see you too,i think imgoin mad, ooooim not that sad noooi wonder sometimes where you are,what moon what planet under what star,id like to think your not that far, but we both know that trip was hard your vicious lips, eard on the airwaves, waking the dead, from their graves,your sweet, but your toxic, been three weeks since you dropped itI found it in my pocket, your trains comin I cant stop it You Made Me the reaper, put the beat on hold, turns to dust when they turn to dope,promises, he couldntkeep,to save a life, only three feet deep,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me,the reaper, put the beat on hold, turns to dust when they turn to dope,promises, he couldntkeep,to save a life, only three feet deep,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me, Come Back Around JAMES MCFARLANE·FRIDAY, MAY 13, 201610 Reads The process as a whole is always a learning experience like no other. Ultimately, like the brain has a recognition and physical atribute that corresponds with most chemicals in nature (possibly even synthetic chemicals) the psychological functions that a person can aquire are almostordaned and recieved in a timely fashion by the organ and im assuming the subconscious effortlessly and for evolutionary purpose. So I will assume everyones own, (however existential), growth experience is interesting. Having the atribute of spiking and deminishing of at least two of the brains most important chemicals related to experience, and behavior… and the awareness of the (most obvious to you) potential for not only chemical related occurances and their ripple effect, but the behavioral methods that the acute brain, manic brain, almost has a natural function to excercise and use usually either for a better survival or further expansion into astonishing existential and soon to be investigated parapsychological, social behaviors that tend to stick as long as they serve in a new type evolutionary (ie “Counter intuative”, productive and humanistic beavior that the mind eagerly draws in like an antennae recieving and storing up valueable energy. Setting this agenda and also surviving the early episodes, of bipolar, (which are usually the most drastic) are two hurdles to get over, let alone the crude, almost sickening archetectural features in our community hospitals, thats purpose cannot be desguised as heathcare to the human eye. A grossly overused assortment of bondage equipment and isolation chambers (not to mention your absence of any dignifying articles of clothing( also to be moved and set in place on occasion) nowadays plate glass walls, a whole dungeon setup designed by those people involved no less, who really probably care wheather the colour they chose or how their design would function better than the decaying sweat soaked ultimately in our home towns case, my favorite case, dried blood stained, apparenty approved for use by some dr, a single hallway, to alk up and down seemingly endlessly, untill not suprisedby the inevitable dread code white, that is the delight for the predominantly, …listen t me… dominated, by your average practicing as ferociously as they can with as little effort as possible, sociopath and more importantly to re ognise, violent violators psychopaths, who pretymch have the real pl working there stressin over what could possibly be these ppls capabilities, and are alienated inside by this evil thay cannot risk their ,,, virtully anything valuable, like a job or who knows, omg… thats why she left,,,,, so, yaa, these ppl rise like cream, annnnnd they have a really good time eeeehm, .. now nurse practitioners or legends, thir former dominator look like theyve aged, well lets say i was convinced they had beeen using prolongued use on heavy stimulents, like crack. iloldrewaout a blueprint with symboldsfr the patient advocate, neaysi mostly wantd to write and its alot of shit thats gone no doubt as home with ,,,lets say u know like fat cat. what, i was 15, and he was fat then, now hes the last one standing up there that i know of. oh yea… so i would say if u want out, and as of late i thing the design is perfect for the right ppl, socios included, fuckers, but, the dr, they are jst as careless as the security guards who cant hide haw stupid the really are and the odd couple who are revealing that their ok, still, idicovered, ,, maybe not in north bay, but in a proper community, like the city, ………..lost my train,,,, i think that i was getting at how just to be fair and …eyea 50 percent of the staff endowd with the ability to weildstrapps, and are encouraged by their no doubt under educated superiors, to always have the wrist ready to be broken if, now this brings me back,,,, they chokeyou, than comes the bondage that betty page would think is very unatractive, idk,,, the thing is,,, ya the drs, oh waut,, ok…. 1/3 of all of them are,,,, exculding the drs, and the janitors, who if ihaventdiscosedya are always there to pile up on a code white, and i know,, listen to me, no janitor ive met would grab my ass so hard on such a numerous a pile up, i have eyes in theback f my head,,,,,,, italalot,,,,,,, ppl that work so hard tp climb so not that far up the ladder in society, yes, sum of them are costume rocking witchcrftprodiges, who, will, 1 take the whole bunch of guys .. it may have been the forensic unit,,, this little thing is known by ,ppl, ive talked to about the psych who are inderectyl told by their others who work it, and ave stories about the oddity of us. iduno,, alot went down, but,, boring s yea she walks me throught e bysantine conduit iup to the floor, and the police have to walk somewhere behind to uncuff me and ta da, , y o iwanna bring up corporeal action when the best times,,, due to the conditios of bondage uuuuuuuuuuh were strictly through plate glass,,,,, ie. rare appearenced that are pretty much the only way. i really was bloody fucking thirsty 8percent and i mea ya,, when i was younngti chewed up braaaaan and drank my watttaaeer, and drew peace sighnsandd 7 days laterrrrr, after she sumhow managed to get an earbud into my head screaming for any colour you like by pink floyd, and playd the fungsonhggg, badassss. straight jacket. prolly day 4,,,,, i still think cough syrop is good for teenagerswhatver,,m took me to the top. ok… to get offf, the ward do as such; by Ultimately drawin on to no apparent end in crayons complete with nicotine gum (smokes,, the only freedom, not yet a right, that is so hard to get,,,,, and i learned to smoke in side the scarborough general hospitol,,, that room soon became the chamber, i would be locked in, for manny weeks, at different times,, thats where alot also hapened, is where the nude bondage asianfemaldr, ..whati mean i s theatwwhatwuldlou reed say… they never forgave us for nagasaki.,,, newaysive never spent more time in a i also a what appears to be and have bben told by assdocter of the north bay pstychwhi took to court at the hospitol and he got yelled at by a panel while my dad defended him and i ate cookies cus ii was really manic,,,, i also was 15 1/2… he later let me try and commit suicide,, thats a story of a different colour,, sounds like sprockets, idk,, idontwafe war with very real religiossympomatic shat, iuuuuuhm , so,,,, hereswahat krb8tujvcklwelbutrin.,,, ya, it istaken orally it shoul get right to work in three ad a half weeks, if suicidal,,,,, pray, oooir if u cant get dxedrine,, or sum speed beane drink a bottle of childrensgeapecoughsyrup once a day,,,, this acts as a seritonin reuptake inhibitor of a differrentcolour. 2 to 4 hours,,,iu get the mental stimulation,, it reall is a mellow buzz butttttyupppidecare fuck cough syrop…… dexedrineisnt out there and i know it couould really bbe used and they aslso do,, ie. jfk, addisons disease, dexedrine/anphetamine. so,, it will make y0ur 90 year old great aunt we all frogot about over in blind river get up from the abyss of alzheimers and dementia and sing thins is the day that the lord hath made,, ,but with real and concious interaction,,, without memory of course. however,,, she does that,,, did that anyway , but,,, im sure every month not every day,, at least one trial of … iuffingadhd adults can take it,,, why cant she. smeared into the grate of every window and the classy bubble rooom which actually was made with enough pride according to the regionnsid say, to have an even more, almost funny, and certainly battered scratched and spat on bubble for the head psychiatrist t poke his head into every few days. Lets not froget how that scene ended. like my father and grandfather before me who conditioned and alterred the correctiona institutions for fifty fife years now a conmfortablevacatin for psychopaths and whoever, not even the hole could stand up to point blank restraints naked, with your flimsy gown around your chest. at least in the bubble room there was lots of privacy, u know, to each institution their own, glass , bubble blood stained, probably 60 years of ppl that somehow said something that attracted the attention of their nurse, who no doubt vollynteered after printing your file which is most likely epic thick, there is no room for any of their creative stylings in that no, i did just smash the wall into pieces and ya all the insulatin is everywhere, high five and respect from my cute transference mistress, (and a couple others.) Perverts Dictionary (O_o))))))))))))) Trilateral — jinx No doubt — yes, super Doble- adorable, dobles, adobles Straight up — forthrightly, correct, right, or goof Throwing babies makes them gay Avant garde — protect the old (art) stay the same Downtown, — quiet not ratting Technology — rewind/splice mp3 interchangable Right up — shooting up Not up — free (not in trouble) Word — “my promise” new word, yes Naw — ya goof / no Buzz out — use vibrator / get high Drone- parapsychological anomalie Phe — speed (methanphetamenes) Stellar — awsum / the sun / single thing Figure — shape (claivoiance) One — god / goof Out-gay or leaving No doubt — ur gay / im gay. (For sure (im a whore)) straight up In — a goof out “my thing ‘ — claivoiant animation (repeated) Pentagon/circuit — terrific Duality — love or contrast in nature Straight — not gay or no drugs Up-in torouble/retarded/fucked Goof — crazy p/pedophile / molester/rapist/asshole Pervert-whore/hooker Asshole-incessant talker(mean) Solid-honest reliable Ethereal — heavely, sticky, Bird- girl pervert , moron Badass-pervert/violent, missile Idiot –saying nething Toad- smaker (heavy) old vagina A hard — a stiffy Eh eh- turning vol down and then up to trick parents in the 70s in quebec Bonhome — dildo, goof, good man Ein — get in /out (here) goof (French) ass hole/vagina Institution/church shouting= good Tabernacle-chest Coalis-chalise Zeut-fuck Fuck- rape/damnet or sex Stomping — raping Bang out- beat on Beat up — gay kids trying to get their frieing off violently Rank out — make someone stink by working them or hurting them / cast someone out canadian military style (gay) , gang up on someone till they freak out (psychopaths do it all over Canada)’ Trast- drunk /party/water Dai-morning, cool, fun, ausum, hello! Good-goof Story along-paranormal happening involving ancestral memory Psychic-all in one, prophet telepath Telepathic — mind to mind talker, thinker Telekinetic- moving things/ ppl Claivoiance- seeing colour from other ppls minds Rod-skyfish/fast moving anomaly animal Vaj-old or young vagina Oss — dog or baby vagina Grandma- bag in tree Candy — transsexual My honey — sexy (on the wind(throwing laughter(female))) Beating off — complex Wacking off-pervert Jerking off — solid (female) Move-walk / go Mullet-militia Freak –goof (black word) Ca — crap — crow call Germ freak-someone who forces germs on ppl Quay-(beautiful woman (cunt) — woman) latin Mead-morphene Rin — heroin (dust / cookie crumble) Beans — speed pills Rids — Ritalin No shit- of course Jib-meth Hellfire — run off meth (bad) Food — crack Molly-mdma /e Bombs — ecstacy cid — Acid (lsd) shrooms-magic mushrooms sterl — brother (little) afgan weed — brown pot kife — bad weed (shake) leaves) shibby — cool/goof cool-gay/awsum fade white — see white on od (heroin/mescelin(go to heaven/hell)) road — freedom — out of institution the suck — mescalin myth ast — perversion telekinetic- asty sortof meta/physical movement from the brain outwardly god — goof — one or christ lady stink — female deodorant leave it — shirt on chest (gay /bi) stop it hiboit gland — make you fat cured with amricain medicine merican — goof citizen of America Canadian- a sovereign citizen of Canada (incestewous clown) Were done — end releationship British — gay mongerers Nono –nig mistake Famished — thirsty / starved Sent — innocent Pervert — to change something and make it last nothing — absence, bipolar universai — multiple universes psykinetics — telepathy / telekinetics/claivoiance geniupsy — psykinetic offspring genius — generating new thought (brilliant) bipolar- up and down serotonin and dopamine, psychopath — violent person sociopath — not caring about neone oppositional defiant — opposing help borderline personality — victim misbehaving schitzophrenic — high fixed dopamine, fixed seretonin (normal)\ drone — unpiloted airplane, good worker, artist , schitzophrenic dick — enlarged clitoris get out of here — come here little child aced — gay men trying to get pregnant, daughter , sqaired away k — ketamine ass — dad/grandfather hun — little stut( skank) brecky — greek (breakfast) supper — jewish (Dinner) brecko — Italian (breakfast) avatar — ethereal image of oneself asshole — girl or boy or rapist (north bay / Chicago)\ goof — sad or sexy ethereal image from shame can be cured with desensitization (knumbaning) (telepathic) ya — pedophile dude — black pedophile Italian cowboy, fake doctor (candadian) huffin — pretending to be someone else while using telekinteicks in a sexual fashion. sadomasochist — paingiver/enjoyer earphoning — hearing ppl in ypur speaker — hold speaker up to ear and hand over other ear, psychopaths recommendation pur — rapist/pervert uggz — ug;y phile — pedophile ace — gays — rape — sister — grandma-brother path — telepath or a psychopath/sociopath, can — male whore cop- fake police (pedophile) musac — music laid — losing virginity glowie — acid victims (creep) ente old stupid goof dex — cough syrup bed down — tie to bed (north bay) fuck right off — screw my girlfriend\ fuck off — go cop the u- universe no shit — definitely mangina — friend spect-respect right up — repect straight up — disguise Italian — scot Adisguzi — disgusting excuse me No shit- really? Love — goodbyek“love”  and the knowledge that one can be loved and in my case always, I only philosophise with the partial use of solid evidence that I have been loved by the one I love therefore at and for that moment(pretty much after the moment my phone died, after 30 seconds of reading trainpotting aloud, there was a subconscious subjective foggy notion that was there to be discovered by the psyche,  at this moment I can prove using circumstancial evidence and truth know by both partied involved, the dependant factor being me loving her forever, and the independent factor her being a single indesisive woman looking for a man who will love her forever combining to make a positive chemical and psysical reaction, that is the fundamental tradition that is the goal of all living thngs on this plant and its most evolutionary form of it is when it’s “Love based” one giving the other what its most in need of and deprived of, the others love, not the love of a friend, but physical experiments that are love based, expressing love on not neccesarily a physical level (like if ur on the phone or sumthing)but specifically a sexual level. The compounding factors that result in reactions happenings cresendoes babies,, are when the energy isnt circular but moves in one direction, when the one party is starved, an the other has a wealth, and the act of giving not just what the yearning needs, but what  he wants, when the desired with all her wealth, emparts her secret harboured denied expression love though tradional reproduction based activities, that friendship goes from “limbo” into action, even for a moment, through technology that alerts the senses, in this case hearing, wheather the deprived is even present or physically participating, isn’t the point the point is that the foggy notion of true love was expressed transmitted in a traditional and pivitol form, even though I picked up the transmission through one sense,  my ability to hear, the value of those vibrations, though lo-fi and misenterperted until the last few seconds before the line went dead (FUCK), were interperated and acknowledged and the whole venus in furs philosophy of the one party giving the other what it wants so bad, but has been denied, and doing it with love, or what they BOTH KNOW is the kind of love that’s needed and given over finally with effortless,  voluntary participation from the dominant, resuling in satisfaction in bohe parties (in my case the girl and I were more harmonized cause it was love based. Sex based, and send in the sacred medium of sound, and the talisman, the artifact, the memory the high velocity evidence that the message was of high fidelity, was that she didn’t use descriptive words (language) I was unfortunately (my medium at the time) it was her specific instrumental natural sirens alerting me to the intentions that truly lied behind her actions towards me  even if it was for that day only, this medium I collected from the field is highly obvious and irreplaceable piece of art that is regarded by the mind of the homosapien on a natural level as evidence that it not just social interacton, its a higher form of interaction, sexual yes, the highest form, occurs only when the truly loving is truly loved, on a sexual level, which indicates physical involvement,  and it did, only on one side, the side of the desired, the starvd had revieved the intention, and it was love, something metaphysical that can only be cofimed as occurring for ne length of time is undeniable corporeal action, even if its just her, givin er to you reading literature over the phone, the gift of reassurance that you are loved in this memorable case was not through words, but audible expressions from the depths of physical and mental activity from her diaphragm through her vocal chords and into my eardrum, was evidence enough that our seemingly healthy and thriving friendship was being held in limbo while I struggled with life and suffered over the denial of the true real deal love you were harbouring and saving in yourself for the future, didn’t dim and go out like a candle that burned up all the wax. Without official acknowledgement celebration and because I was still fucked up, without the long lasting  relationship that we wished wold follow and planned for, the sound of her primal sirens, sent mono ideo-dnamically from her entire physical being emitting frequencies that resonate with the earth around her and correspond with the stimuli, me, the correspondence being the brief experience of hearing the broadcast of it, acknowledging the fact that no matter how flawed or un aware I was prior to precieving what was transpiring an how classicly themed to fit my experience it was, that the fucking phone died before I heard the end of it, I clued in to what was going on, (id been informed of this “drone”she makes by her ex boyfriend (the other guy) right before he drove his helpful and convenient car out of her life)  Even if it was “her being noisy” it was fundamental sensual body chemistry, stimulated physically by the best means she knew how mentally by the imperative consciousness of the presence of the instinctualy, reproductivly essential of (in her case) a genuine male emitting stimuli, in both of our cases the stimuli was audio. The rare and most modern evolutionary trait is the simultaneous(I say this empathetically because were using language the figure this out not a live experiment going on right now or some shit) Emotional involvemint by both parties “while during coitus” bein, to into words, (I know that you’ve been loveing me so im gunna love you back) tho words are sweet but it doesn’t compare to the same message sent in the biologically, exceptional quality thats essential to the balance of the bodies involved and there connection to one another, the planet and the unverse, sound and where it comes from and the intention or involuntary reason for its presence and amplitude, dissonant or harmonious, perhaps my reading, my being on the line was the drone, and the harmony was her dissonant siren song. Its our new found puprose as humans to when ready reproduce.  Love is highly evolved, and requires corporeal and linguistic and energetic action on both parties to be confirmed as true love. It works like a battery(the casing of the battery is the relationship here), one end needs what the other end has access to; the positive end has its own energy attached to it(the juice in the battery, posetve energy),(in this case this is our one, the girl)attractive body(+end)and a mind (the positive ends underside that’s harboring all the energy in the friendship/relationship (battery casing)the negative port on the other end of the battery on its outside (my mind in this case)is permanently attached through the casing of the battery to the mind of the desired, this girls memories thoughts etc. (the underside of the positive end) and not her body. Why because the casing is plastic,( the friendship) isnt enough to join the two to create a circuit, but the love(the battery juice made up of strange elemets) attracted by her negative mind(the underside of the positive end) and makes her body(the tip) fertile and ready to create electricity(communication) only the casing of battery acid(loving friendship)charged by my positive actions(the acid is positively charged by the underside of my mind(the negative ends underside) which represents my body, which behaves like the warm intentions of my actions, which positively go nowhere unless her mind (negative underside of the top of the battery)gets inspired by the love in the friendship (which is positively charged yearning, my positive actions played lovingly into her open mind(negative underside of the top) inspiring her to do something with her body(top of the battery positive) in response to my positive charge on her mind and all the love it can unleash,  for the sake of warm intentions she turns on a cell phone,, her phone(or wire casing) the copper thread in the wire(the signal) the positive charge in the wire, (her calling me) and her hooking up the wire touching it to the negative end of the battery(her bodies actions and warm intentions inspired by a recognisable charge I embody that she identifies with(my body and life being negatively charged with aa positive mind and her beautiful face and attractive personality.)  my phone rings and I see its her, the one, I immediately am inspired that its her charge the one im missing positively lovely, what is she up to? and i pick it up, A simple circuit at this point, is her using a tool or wire to send all her positive energy through to her body by using her minds attraction to positive energy, by simply attaching the wire it sends the positive energy not just through her mind and body but back down on her body, when the extension (the wire) is put on my mind(the negative end of the battery in this case, my mind),deliberately by her, sending the energized current of the love in our friendship (juice in the battery) into my mind(the end of the battery with a bump) by way of the wire (cell phone signals connecting our phones and her voice and energy being the current) all the positive energy meets the negative charge of my mind and then that foreign female tone (positive electrical current) the positive energy stemming from the juice, the love, that’s made up of elements like lithium(in the case of the battery and in my case as well) this element and other alloys, the whole chemistry of the battery acid, holds the charge positive because energy flows, and love or acid can be charged by the bi polarity of conducters meaning they are opposing one anothers charge on the outside leaving potential for power over nature,  while on the inside, inside the battery the compounding nature of the universe is seen between you and me, me and the chemicals and elements the acid the love that is positively charged by me and only me, in this battery regardless of proximity my charge is still the key, litteraly loving you moved energy directly making me alternately free but obviously reflects its imperfections symetricaly and quite similarly to your perfect face and body  only introspectively and this thing I call negativity you existentially use to control and manipulate me by means of electrical currents like a shark in the sea, but the ocean currents in our world somehow moved me so far we couldn’t be but as the drone turns up the heat as chemists cure insanity, inevitably the duality of the friendship followed the trail right back to me,  from the beach into the city,  while metaphysical acid rain fell on her black umbrella,  drops of synthetic nightshade provided a ground and a side effect equaled a perfectly balanced sound resembling a circuit around my neck and down to the nervous wreck, I stand and smoke out on the deck, and remember that was how we met I  stop, wait my energys charge self provides, enough energy to survive, with my new social activity the acid, charge, size, speed and proximity and  the voltage of the current and relativity. My positively charged ablilitys that betray the moon like your fertility, a simple circuit cant explain the lovesick emotional pain still forming drops of acid rain only strengthening my brain, its time I have to get reactive, send this to her radically brilliant highly attractive yet negatively charged mind where chemicals of another kind will get inspired as she reads about batteries and his energy (that she secretly lovingly keeps rightfully under her locks and key with her sharp mind and memory should recall the flattery,  the almost dead battery, poetic licence and mad hattery finally gets me through the matter we, lost all sense of pattern, see, the point was electricity, and keyboards I would never see, played like a former prodigy, with drones that resonate with me just barely metaphysically, through my sleep deprived behavior induced heightened state, Ive always been able to wait, epiphanies sometimes come too late, but revelations give me faith that your negative mind and my positive state, memories of how u altered fate, I know theres more to come but wait, don’t get offended by my state , my batteries dead so save the date, remember wiser things I’ve depictions finished in your head, an electrician would have briefly said, what took me hours,  in ten minutes u will have read, I must finish without my meds, theyd knock me out, blow to the head, ill miss away you time instead,  that lilliad inside your mind

[thehobbycollector]

The Seer & The Wolf - Ch. 8

  Author’s note: I originally said Fenrys was 18yrs older than Kestra, because I can’t math. He’s 12yrs older than her.

          It took a week for Rowan to schedule a visit to the City Guard. With all the rebuilding, and council meetings about the rebuilding, it had taken some finagling to find a day and time when his whole court was available. But he’d managed it. They left the castle, Aedion leading the way toward the city barracks, Rowan beside him. Lysandra and Aelin were a few steps behind, chatting about something, while Fenrys padded at their side. As they wove through the streets, giggling children dared each other to get close enough to touch the large wolf.

             “This feels like an ambush,” Aedion growled at him, softly.

             “It’s not an ambush,” Rowan responded. “We are simply going to show our support of the Captain of the Guard.”

             “All of us. Without warning.” Aedion gave Rowan a pointed look.

             Rowan’s lips twitched, but he said, “If it was an ambush, I would have called Lorcan and Elide back from Perranth.”

             “That is not reassuring,” grumbled Aedion. From behind them, Lysandra spoke up.

             “Why do we need to show support for the Captain of the Guard?”

             “Some of her men have been spreading anti-Fae sentiments around the city,” Aedion said quietly, taking her hand as she moved up next to him.

             “And she hasn’t shut them down?” demanded Aelin.

             “Kes, has been unofficially managing the Guard since the siege,” Aedion explained, since Rowan apparently hadn’t. “Certain disciplinary actions are… ill advised for anyone who hasn’t been appointed Captain by the proper authorities.”

             “Why haven’t we handled this before now?”

             “Because, despite the few malcontents, she’s kept the Guard running so smoothly that we didn’t know,” Rowan admitted. Aelin glanced at him, seeing that he was kicking himself for letting something potentially dangerous fall through the cracks.

             “That’s impressive,” Lysandra said.

             “Comes from years of keeping kids in line,” Aedion muttered. Aelin glanced at him in question as they stepped into the training-yard but looked around instead of asking what he meant by that.

             A handful of young guards were standing around on the packed earth. They looked like they had been in the middle of a morning training session, but all them were tense and silent, watching an open door in the building to her right. An angry male voice drifted out of it, and she realized the guards were listening to an argument. Or a dressing down, since only the male’s voice could be heard. Her court lingered in the entrance of the training-yard, listening and simmering. The filthy string of slurs and insults coming from the door was enough to blister even Aelin’s ears.

             After a few moments, a girl, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen noticed the courts presence. Her eyes widened and then she was moving toward the open door. She stuck her head inside and Aelin heard her say, “We have company.”

               Kestra had known they were coming. She had spent the week since her visit to the castle keeping busy and ignoring the queasy feeling she experienced every time she thought about what she had told Aedion Ashryver. She felt guilty about implying that her avoidance of the castle had been because she was afraid of the Fae warriors in the court. She had never feared them. Her fear stemmed from what would happen if their oath to Maeve forced them to reveal her existence. Or at least it had, when Maeve was alive. Now, though… she knew what she was afraid of. She was just having a hard time admitting it to herself.

After everything she had been through, it seemed utterly ridiculous that she should be scared of reuniting with the last shred of family she had. And it was all because of that damned mating bond. If she hadn’t known it was there, she would have ecstatically thrown herself at Fenrys two months ago. But instead, she had avoided him. Caught between the longing to see him and her absolute refusal to let anyone, including herself, put another leash on him.

So, she had thrown herself into her work and her training. Letting her physical exhaustion every night pull her into a sleep so deep the visions couldn’t reach her. Until this morning. She had gotten back from a dawn run along the river to find Wade waiting in her office. A vision had flickered before her eyes as she stepped through the door. She’d slumped into her chair, the portrait of an easy target and, leaving the door open, had let him rant. Each word out of his mouth was another foot of rope, that he was unknowingly hanging himself with.

Kestra stood, moved around her desk, and stepped into the sunshine beyond Cassidy. She pushed her nerves down and looked toward the barracks entrance. She almost laughed at what she saw. The Queen and her court were standing just inside the training-yard, looking thunderous. Then the Queen blinked. Once. Twice.

“Kestra?”

Kestra bowed at the waist, “Your Majesty.” She had barely straightened when Aelin’s arms wrapped around her.

Kestra returned Aelin’s embrace as she tried to keep her grip on reality. She knew Wade was behind her, gaping as the Queen hugged her. There was a flash of light, then she was seeing the training-yard from the wrong angle, reeling in shock. And inside of her, that single thread of silk thickened into a thin chain. She blinked as Aelin pulled away, settling back into her own body. Unsure of what she would see if she looked to where the court was standing, she focused on the Queen before her.

“Welcome home,” she said with a smile.

Aelin opened her mouth to reply, then whirled to her cousin, demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me Kestra was running the guard?!” The turn of her body gave Kestra a direct line of sight to where the court stood, and her eyes locked with Fenrys’s. He was rigid, his eyes wide, twin scars down his face standing out against his bloodless skin. Kestra stilled, unable to breathe. Then Aelin squeezed her hand, and she blinked, realizing the conversation had continued around her.

She looked back at the Queen. “What?”

“I said, that if you want it, you are officially the Captain of the City Guard.” Aelin jerked her chin over her shoulder, “Rowan has the decree in his pocket.”

Holding Aelin’s gaze, refusing to look anywhere else, Kestra took a deep breath. As she let it out, she put aside everything except what she was about to do.

She tossed an order over her shoulder, “Emmet get the others.” As he disappeared into the mess hall, Payden following him, Kestra eyed Wade, still standing in the door to her office. He had managed to control himself enough to close his mouth, though his eyes were dark with anger. She crossed her arms and studied him silently, waiting for Emmet to return with Rayden and Torc. When he did, she noted two more guards following. Good. Five against one made for a better show.

“You’ve wanted a shot at me for a while now,” she said to Wade. “So, here’s your chance. Before I accept the offer of Captain, I’ll let you and your friends fight me for it. If you win, I’ll walk away from the Guard.” She felt a flicker of concern from the other end of the bond and ignored it.

A feral glint entered Wade’s eye as he silently moved into position in the center of the yard.

“Didn’t you once beat six demi-Fae while blindfolded?” Aelin murmured from her side. Kestra slid her eyes toward the Queen.

“Where did you hear that story?” Something green flashed in the sun and she looked down to the silk sash that had been tied around Aelin’s waist – whch she was now holding out. Kestra looked back up to find Aelin smirking.

“Show off a little,” was all she said. Kestra swallowed a laugh and accepted the offering. Aelin went to join the rest of her court where they had spread out against the walls of the barracks buildings. Kestra moved farther into the center of the training-yard, then turned to the watching royals.

“Your Highness, the rules if you would.”

Whitethorn leaned his shoulders against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, as irreverent as his Queen. “Any weapon of choice. You’re out when blood is drawn over either the heart or the throat. Do remember that this fight is not to the death.”

Kestra nodded once to him. She tied the sash around her eyes while her back was still to her opponents, then held her hands out to Cassidy, who deposited a fighting knife into each. As she got into position, dropping into both a fighting stance and her magic, she sent a message down the bond.

***

Fenrys was having trouble breathing.

He didn’t know where to look first. To the guards standing around the yard, most of them looking younger than Aelin, all of them grinning in savage delight. To Aelin and Aedion, twin expressions of smug satisfaction on their faces. Or to his long, lost adopted sister preparing to fight five men out for her blood, blindfolded.

His sister… who was his mate. What the rutting hell.

Even after a hundred years, he had recognized her the moment she stepped out of that doorway. He’d never thought to again see the way the sun lit up the honey and violet shades of her hair. Or the way her grey eyes sparked silver when she was up to something, as they had just done when she looked at Aelin.

Kestra had been the first wild-thing he had ever loved. Six years after he and Connall had left their family estate, Fenrys had been sent to the south-east of Doranelle to put down a rogue Fae. He had been in the area of his family’s lands, so he had stopped at home on his way back to the City of Rivers. Only for his mother to inform him that Kestra had disappeared three years prior. He had been devastated.

Fenrys shifted where he had taken a spot against the doorway she had come out of, and looked inside, while Rowan explained the contest about to happen. Inside was an office. The previous captain’s office, he realized. As he surveyed the desk strewn with schedules and messages, he breathed in through his nose, pulling her scent into his lungs. He was expecting the sunshine and spring grass. But there was another scent mixed with them, something more mature, like freshly-oiled leather. He whipped his head back to the training-yard to look at her. He knew that scent; had come across it all over the world. It had driven him nearly out of his mind, trying to figure out why it was familiar.

Kestra had moved into position, the blindfold in place, her only weapons a pair of fighting knives. He started as he realized that all five men had grabbed a sword. As she shifted her balance onto her toes, he felt the mating bond quiver as she said, I’m trying to concentrate.

She didn’t seem as shocked at the bond as he was. In fact, when she had first seen him, she hadn’t looked surprised at all. Just… uncertain. Fenrys set aside what that might mean as Rowan said, “Begin,” and Kestra exploded into motion.

She moved like a whirlwind. Staying one step ahead of her five opponents, yet not getting close enough to mark them. He recognized fighting styles from at least four different kingdoms, as well as several of his mother’s signature moves, each blending seamlessly into the next. After a minute, she slowed a fraction, allowing her opponents to get closer, but still keeping half a step ahead of them. Another minute went by, and she slowed again. When the fight passed into its third minute, she started marking the men. It was over in seconds. Each of her five opponents had a scratch on their throat, leaking blood.

He had never seen anyone fight like that. He guessed that, with a hundred years of practice, Aelin might come close.

Kestra was reaching up to pull the blindfold off, her back to the defeated guards, when Fenrys saw one of them lunge toward her. He grabbed his magic and jumped, appearing in front of him. Fenrys disarmed him with one hand, the other wrapping around the man’s throat as he snarled in his face.

[wish-upon-a-sapphic-star]

Chapter 4: The Queen

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 AO3

~

Remus immediately falls to his knees and bows before the King and Queen, head touching the ground. Something deep inside him trembles in fear. He has met many of the other gods before, but they were all Olympians. And though their power was enough to make any man weak in the knees just from being in the presence, there is something different about Hades and Persephone. Instead of feeling it in the air, he feels their power in his soul. It’s a chill that permeates his bones and binds his spirit, reminding him that someday they will have complete power over him and he will have no choice over when that day is.

“Rise, son of Apollo.” It is not the King like he would have expected, but the Queen that speaks. Her voice is sweet and soothing—wildflowers growing in the surrounding death.

He stands.

Persephone smiles at him and he relaxes a bit. She is a brilliant star in this dark realm, yet only a fool would think her out of place. Her beauty is not that of Aphrodite, the kind that makes the heart stop and the mind weak, but she is beautiful all the same, in a kind, comforting way. Her skin is the color of wet soil, her eyes the color of the grass. Her radiance is that of life, yet she dresses in death. She wears a black dress that drapes far beyond her feet and pools on the ground, with a wide neckline and sleeves that flow just past her elbows. Her wrists are adorned with bracelets of gold and bracelets of bone, and images from legends of heroes long dead are painted across her neck and collarbones. She is the perfect image of the Queen of the dead, complete with a golden crown of spikes, but for the flowers threaded through her many braids.

Hades is just as beautiful, but distinctly not in a comforting way. His skin is ghostly pale and his power floats off him in wisps of darkness. He is every bit as terrifying as the stories say, with the strong jawline and icy eyes, the dark robes with threads of gold that cover all but his hands and his face and the many rings on both hands. His white hair is pulled into a tight braid that hangs down over his left shoulder. He wears the same crown as his queen and sits in the matching throne of stone; the king to her queen, but on equal platforms and with equal power over their domain. 

Despite his cold demeanor, Hades smiles. “Cerberus, who have you brought in today?” The dog runs over to the king and sits with his heads in Hades’ lap, wagging his tail. Hades idly scratches behind the dog’s many ears and looks towards Remus.

Remus clears his throat. “I am Remus, son of Apollo. It’s an honor to be in your presence.”

“Ah, yes, the famed musician.” Hades looks indifferent, but something in his voice tells Remus he is more intrigued than he wants to let on. “Have you come to serenade us?”

He knows he should just answer the question, but he is too shocked. “You’ve heard of me?”

“We’ve heard talk of you,” Persephone says. “It seems even the dead know your name.”

“So it seems,” Hades agrees. “Well, you’re not dead, so why are you here?”

Persephone glares at her husband, then looks back towards Remus and smiles. “You’ll have to excuse him. Manners aren’t exactly his expertise.”

“It’s no trouble,” Remus rushes. He definitely did not want to anger the god of the dead. “I understand the concern. I’m here because—”

“You’re a singer, are you not?” Hades interrupted.

“I am.”

“Then don’t tell us why. Sing it to us. You clearly want something from us, or else you wouldn’t be here. Impress us, and we’ll give it to you.”

Remus nods. “Of course.” He pulls his lyre from its bag and plucks each string individually, ensuring they are all in tune. Given the temperature and pressure changes they should be wildly out of tune, but by some miracle the chord he plays is just as beautiful as it always is.

He takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart and steady his hands. He gets one chance at this. If he gets this wrong he will never see Sirius again. The thought alone is enough to steel himself completely.

He takes another breath, and sings. 

His voice fills the cavernous throne room, echoing off the walls and bouncing off the ceiling. Remus has performed all over Greece, but never before has he heard acoustics like this. It means he has to emphasize his consonants even more, lest they get lost in the sound, but it’s a small price to pay. Here even the slightest change in dynamics is pronounced, his vowels sound more pure, and his music surrounds him, grounding him, reminding him of all that he is. He stops thinking about the music and simply becomes it. He does not sing his song, he is his song. Music has always been his life, but now his life is music.

His song begins where it all began for him: when his father gave him his lyre. He sings of studying under Apollo, of learning to be the best musician the world has ever seen. He sings of playing for his mother and learning to write lyrics from his mother and his aunts, of how he could impress the muses even at a young age. Slowly Remus starts adding a countermelody with his lyre, a background in his story. He sings of performing, of learning just how much people love his music. He adds a diminuendo, getting softer as he sings of learning that it is not his skill that people care for, but his talent, his magic, and that people have no individual reactions to his music. He uses the lyre to harmonize with him, using a minor key, reminding himself of the misery, the boredom, the utter nothingness he felt.

Then, he sings of meeting Sirius. He sings of their first encounter, a verse that rises above all the others, with crashing chords and sforzandos, so full of soul and joy and love he has to blink back tears. He sings of their courtship, the little moments with Sirius, the laughs, the arguments, the moments he could think of nothing but how in love he was, how in love he still is. He sings of their first kiss, of the first time they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The melody changes. The lyre harmonizes with him, a happy sound, yet not. He sings of their wedding, and how it should have been the best moment in his life and how it was ruined. He sings of the months after. The months that should have been happy, but there was always too much uncertainty, too much fear to truly relax. He sings of trying to find peace anyway. Of trying to forget. He sings of his joy with Sirius and the life they built together.

The song changes once again. He plays one last ringing diminished chord on the lyre before letting it fade out, singing a capella. He lets just his voice engulf him as he sings of Sirius’ death. He sings of how lost he is. His devastation, his sorrow, his torn heart, all poured out into the cavern, ringing all around him. He sings until his voice is raw, until his lungs are crying out for breath too often for him to continue. He sings his last note and listens to it echo around him.

Remus closes his eyes, breathing hard. 

When he opens his eyes he finds that both Hades and Persephone are crying. Persephone reaches over and squeezes her husband’s hand.

Remus doesn’t know how to react. He’s made people cry when singing before, but never any of the gods. He looks down and stands in silence as he puts his lyre away. It’s not fitting for a mortal to look upon a god when they are crying.

“Thank you,” says the Queen.

Remus looks up. Hades does not thank him, but he nods his head with respect.

“It was my honor,” Remus says.

Hades offers him a small smile. “You want your husband back, don’t you.”

It isn’t a question, but Remus nods anyway.

“You have many talents and you have certainly impressed us, but I don’t know if I can fulfill that request.”

Remus’ heart sinks. Maybe coming here was pointless.

“Hades…” Persephone starts.

“He wants me to bring someone back from the dead. There are plenty of rules against that.”

“He’s Apollo’s son. He’s family,” Persephone insists. 

Hades stares at her for a moment, before finally conceding. “Alright. I’ll bring him back.”

Remus smiles, tears falling. He laughs a little. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“On one condition.”

Once again, it is not Hades that speaks, but Persephone, grinning. Hades rolls his eyes.

“You will walk back to the world of the living and your husband will walk behind you along this road.” She waves her hand and another path appears. “Once you reach the end both you and him will live the life together you once had. But I warn you: If you look back at him even once during your journey, he will return here, and you will not be able to enter the Underworld until your death.”

“I understand,” Remus says.

Persephone waves at him. “Good luck.” 

Part 5

[lucienlowell]

Vergil comes home to find his Fem!S/O standing in the rain, but she is happy. She tells him to imagine the rain washing away everything negative and leaving him cleansed of anything negative. Maybe ending with making love in the rain? I hope this is okay!!! And if you don't want to write the making love in the rain that's fine!

Aaaaah that is perfectly fine, anon! I’m never gonna pass up a chance to write some sweet fluffy boinking~

The first you’re aware of Vergil’s presence is when his hand settles on your shoulder, hesitant and concerned, so warm on your skin that’s chilled from the rain. You hadn’t been expecting him home quite so soon (though perhaps you should have; he’s never one to delay or linger on a job), and the touch startles you, but not so much you can’t smile when you turn to face him and swipe a few strands of wet hair from your eyes. “You’re back early,” you greet him, cheerfully pleased, and the way his lips twitch a little like he’s kind of trying not to smile back too obviously is so endearing, it makes you feel warm from the inside out. “How did it go?”

“It went,” he pauses, looks a bit like he’s awkwardly considering, choosing his words, “tolerably. I was not expecting it to be…so simple. I suppose I’m a bit disappointed…” his hand clasps your shoulder a little more firmly as he trails off, clearly embarrassed to admit it, yet also knowing you won’t judge him for it. You never do, and he’s learnt he can rely on that. “But that is unimportant, right now,” he goes on, takes a breath and lets it slowly out again, his eyes searching your face as if he hopes to find something in your expression.

Confused, you tilt your head a little, bring your hand up to cover his. “What’s the matter?”

“…I was wondering the same about you,” he admits, looking a little discomfited, an expression that only grows at your obvious puzzlement. “Why are you…standing out in the rain like this? You’re soaked through. Has something happened?”

The worry in his voice makes you feel both guilty and pleased in equal measure, and you aren’t sure which emotion it is that makes you shake your head so firmly, makes a little bit of a laugh rise in your chest. “What? Oh, Vergil,” and the way he goes faintly pink when you say his name with such affection is utterly charming. “No, I’m alright. There’s nothing wrong. I’ve just always liked to do this, every once in a while - there’s something calming about it. Like the rain washes away even the littlest problems, and leaves me purified. Cleansed.” You can see interest in his gaze now, and so you go on, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you try it, too? Just close your eyes, feel the rain…imagine it washing everything away. Leaving nothing but calm. Nothing but us.”

He hesitates, perhaps just a moment too long, but when you’re opening your mouth to apologise, he speaks - quiet, almost inaudible under the steady beat of the rain. “Washing everything away,” he echoes you, goes a little more pink in the face and gently withdraws his hand from your grasp - you aren’t sure why, until he reaches up to slide his coat from his shoulders, and then you can’t help but smile. “Nothing but us…do you really think it will work?”

You know how vulnerable he must feel asking that question, and you reach for his hands once he’s removed his coat, set it carefully aside on the rain-soaked chair you were occupying before the clouds opened up above you. “It will,” you reassure him, and tilt your head back, closing your eyes, trusting him to mirror your actions. “I promise.”

You hear him sigh acquiescence, and when you dare to take a quick peek, he’s indeed mirrored you, his eyes tightly shut and his face tipped up to the rain.

The two of you stand there for what seems like a pleasurable eternity, your hands clasping his tightly enough you can feel the ever-present tension that threads itself through his body, and you’re just starting to wonder if he feels this a bit too silly to actually try when he sighs again, closes his fingers shyly round yours just a little and some of that tension shudders out of him, the set of his shoulders subtly relaxing. “This is,” he starts, soft, breathy, like he’s very unsure of what he’s even about to say, “not unpleasant. I…have not felt this peaceful in–” and you know he’s not pausing out of embarrassment or reluctance, but because he genuinely can’t think of the answer; it brings a wave of sadness, and you can’t help but step closer, releasing his hands to put your arms around him instead, relaxing against his chest when he lifts his own arms to return the favour.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, pressing your ear to his chest so you can hear his strong, steady heartbeat, letting it lull you into further relaxation. “Don’t think about it, Vergil. Just…try to be, for a little bit, okay? No thinking. Just being.”

“Just being,” he echoes uncertainly, and when you tilt your head just a little so you can look up at him, you’re honestly surprised that his expression is so open, so genuinely calm in a way that his usual forced lack of expression can never hope to match. “How do…I do that?”

You smile gently, lift your head fully, looking into his eyes. “What do you want to do right now?” you ask, and maybe there’s a little bit of a tease in your tone, but you don’t really notice. “Don’t second-guess yourself or hold back; just do it, whatever it is.”

He’s silent this time, just looking at you for a long moment, and so it catches you off guard when his arms tighten around you and he bows his head so his lips meet yours.

Filled with a warmth that completely blocks out the chill of the rain, you push yourself up onto your toes, your fingers curling against his back, digging into the thick material of his vest like you’re trying to hold on for dear life - and perhaps you are, in the best way possible, because he’s not trying to restrain himself like he usually does. No, instead he’s kissing you more deeply, enfolding you tight in his embrace, and you hardly realise the both of you are gasping a little when his mouth finally leaves yours, the both of you having forgot to properly breathe in your eagerness. “____”, he breathes, the sound of your name almost sinful on his trembling lips, and you can’t stop the all-over shiver that runs through you, trying to push yourself further into his arms as he goes on - “May I…lose myself in you? Just for a little while…”

“Of course you may,” you respond, your voice also just a mere breath, and you’re pleased when he shivers in return. “Lose yourself in me…as much as you want. As long as you want.”

His throat works a little as he swallows, anticipation stealing away any words he might have spoken, and his fingers tremble as he reluctantly lets go of you, begins to pluck at the fastenings to his clothes.

You step back to give him room, working your own clothes off, and it’s not long before the both of you are fully bared to the rain; you dimly think you ought to feel a bit chilled, if not downright cold, but simply looking at him so proudly naked before you brings an all-consuming warmth that blocks out all else, and when he reaches for you and sinks down to the wet grass with you, it only grows stronger. “Vergil,” you whisper, press yourself against him and let out a stuttered gasp when his fingers find their way between your legs, almost testingly - seeing how ready you are for him, you realise, and you part your legs further, letting him feel how much you want. “Vergil, please. Make love to me–”

He doesn’t reply with words - he simply lets out a low groan, full of all the emotion he doesn’t know how to voice, and gently turns you onto your back in the grass, settling atop you.

You can feel him pressing against you, so hard, so ready, and when he rocks his hips forward to slide into you, you rise to meet him with a breathy moan.

It feels so wonderful, so different from even the most careful and gentle times you two have had before, and you’re getting lost in him just as much as he is in you, not even trying to stifle the little gasps and moans and cries that every movement he makes is drawing from your lips - that would require coherent thought, anyway, and right now you want to stop thinking just as much as he does, wrapping your arms tight round his back and letting your fingers press against his rain-slick skin, your legs soon following suit in circling his waist as if trying to pull him deeper into you though he’s already burying himself in your warmth as far as he can go.

“Vergil,” you pant out, tilting your head so your mouth is at his ear, and the delicious shudder he gives at your hot breath against his skin only makes you want to do it again, so you do - licking shakily at his earlobe, catching it gently between your teeth for a second before you moan out his name and he trembles all over. He’s so unguarded, so genuine right now, and you adore it so much that it’s starting to overwhelm you, something about the pure openness touching on a part of your mind that makes the familiar heat of an impending climax build deep within you; you don’t have the mind to resist it even if you’d wanted to try, and so you simply arch against him a little more, press your heels into the small of his back and nip at his ear again, managing words that are not so much sound as simply little puffs of breath right against his ear. “Vergil, I - I’m going to…”

“____,” he pants out, and you’ve never heard him say your name with quite so much desire before, the heat within you only growing stronger because of it. “Yes - I - as well–”

You smile at that, dreamy, delirious, feeling the sudden urge to kiss him so that none but you will get to hear the sound he makes when he comes, and your head tilts almost automatically so that your lips meet his.

He kisses you greedily, swallows your cry of release, and you do the same for him when he follows you over the figurative edge not long after.

For a long moment, the two of you lay there, catching your breath and simply luxuriating in the feel of one another; it’s only the realisation that the rain has stopped that gets the attention of either one of you, and you’re reluctant to do it but you shift under him, unwrapping your legs from round his waist for a bit of a pleased stretch. “We should go inside,” you tell him, and the petulant noise he makes from where his face is buried in your neck makes you smile. “The rain stopped, and I’m - starting to get a little cold…” you feel sheepish admitting it, but the wet grass beneath you is a bit unpleasantly chilly, though you don’t regret what got you there. “We can keep going once we’re inside - I could use a nice hot shower…”

He makes the petulant noise again, but raises his head to look you in the eye. “With me, I presume.”

You smile, peck a kiss to his lips and feel pleased when he blushes faintly. “Of course.”

[dreamergirl6]

Faerie Snapshots: Part III

Since he had become king more and more nixes had come to court. They were everywhere. Kieran wasn't sure how he felt about this latest development.

There was one nixie who kept catching his eye and winking, he would have pursued her if he had not been tied to Mark and Cristina.

Fae did not mind laying with others, but he didn't think Cristina would like it. Mark he was sure would understand.

But Kieran did not want to lay with anyone in his court yet, not unless he had a reason to do so.

He finally caught her in one of the groves beginning to dot the unseelie lands. The blight was slowly receding.

"Who are you?"

He asked making her turn and bow.

"Liege Lord, I am Nerissa."

Her black eyes twinkled like biotite.

His own eyes narrowed and his back went straight.

"Why do you keep watching me?"

She gave a teasing smile as she straightened and moved a little closer.

"You are a young king, with shadowhunters as lovers. And yet you are good, and kind to your people. It has been a long time since there had been a kind Unseelie king."

He didn't speak simply watching her.

She shrugged, her black gauzy dress stained with petals of blue, green, and red.

"So I have heard. I am young, not yet 100. Our kin are happy to have one of their own on the throne."

A jolt went through him, their kin? Were they people of his mother? The mother who mysteriously vanished or left when he was a child?

He swallowed and stepped backward.

"What is it you want?"

She frowned and tilted her head.

"I have upset you."

"You are trying my patience."

He said instead.

She sighed and gave him a sad smile.

"You do not have a consort, your brothers and others think you are weak. I have heard the whispers in the corridors."

"My father did not have one."

"You are not your father."

She said softly, she gently moved to touch his cheek. The touch was cool, soft. He frowned and pulled away. Where was Winter when he needed him?

He forced himself not to look.

"I am not. What is your point?"

"I want to bring our people to their former glory. We were dancer and artisans of the courts. We were beautiful and coveted. I am proposing I become your consort."

His two toned eyes widened and he shook his head but she cut him off.

"Ask your lovers, tell them my proposal, I am patient. I do not seek your heart, only your position."

She moved to walk past him when they heard a smirk behind them.

Prince Duran gazed at them, his arms crossed. Kieran and Nerissa straightened their backs and waited for him to speak.

Duran shook his head and tutted. He looked at Kieran and sneered.

"Brother, consorting with Nixies? And here I thought you wouldn't be sulling our bloodline."

Kieran's mouth thinned but he had quickly learned to keep his mouth shut. Nerissa sent him a look before she walked off.

Duran shook his head before he walked off.

Kieran sighed and turned away from the Tower toward the small grove.

"Why did you not stop her?"

He asked softly, he could feel Winter at his back.

"She has a point Leige Lord. You need heirs, to be legitimate in the eyes of your brothers, preferably with many fae but this is a star-"

"No. No I will take a consort if I need to but I will not lay with others if I can help it. I do not wish to give myself to others."

He knew it was a more human concept rather than fae. But he meant it. He had seen how Erec had looked at Marcella when he was younger, one of the only moments his brother's face had softened.

How they always had their heads bowed together conspiring, how Erec's eyes would alight on one of the pretty gentry or handmaids of the court but never long.

How he never approached one unless Marcella had given him a nod or some other signal he had not seen.

He wanted that, he realized blatantly as he stared at the slowly growing grass. He wanted a partnership he could rely on. Someone who had his interests at heart.

Someone who understood his position, who wished to help his people as he did. His fists clenched and he turned to see Winter watching him.

"Keep an eye on Nerissa, I want to see what she does when no one else can see her. I want to see if she means what she says."

Winter bowed and turned to one of his Redcaps to deliver the orders.

***

Kieran was in his cottage, looking over parchmant and treaties. It had been a month since he and Nerissa had talked in that grove.

He hadn't asked for an update on her nor had he asked for Winter to stop. He wanted to see if she would slip up.

She seemed to be making a name for herself even when Kieran hadn't asked her to do anything.

"Kieran?"

Warm hands went around his neck and he smiled, he looked up to see Cristina staring down at him.

"You are awake. My apologies I should be by your side."

She shook her head gently and kissed his forehead. Mark wasn't with them, he had been tied up in the Shadowhunter-Downworlder Alliance work. He had a meeting with some of the heads from Beunas Aires now.

Kieran knew he should be picking a representative soon. He had an inkling of who he would be choosing. He knew Adaon was the Seelie representative.

"My lady, I have something I need to discuss with you."

He said softly looking up at Cristina. Cristina gave a small frown but nodded.

She stepped back as Kieran stood and went to sit on the couch, he was dressed down, a thread bare tunic and breaches.

"I have been approached by a fae to become my consort. She is a Nixie like me and wishes to make the court better for our kind, and to help our people as I do."

Kieran didn't see a point in being gentle or jor speaking the truth.

Cristina stared at him for a long moment, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to think of something to say.

"Will you take her offer?"

She finally asked softly.

He shook his head, he reached for her. Bringing her to sit next to him on the couch.

"Not if you or Mark will not accept it. I wish to only be with you both."

He didn't think telling Cristina she was pretty that it would help.

Cristina nodded. Her mouth went in a thin line.

"I'll talk to Mark, hopefully we can come see you soon. Will - can we meet her?"

He nodded quickly.

"Of course. I'd love for you too. I wish for you to speak to her as well."

[jynxlovesluck]

Princey Bride

"Hi, honey." Joan saw their mother come in, even threw the haze in their eyes and brain. She sat on their bed and started petting their hair back. They leaned into it, and their mother gave them her best half smile. Joan's mother always seemed too tired for a real one, lately. And a little stab of pure guilt entered their system when they remembered what the doctor said.

"He'll-"

"It's them, doctor. If you would please. My child is nonbinary." Their mother had a firm but gentle look on her face, crossing her arms. Joan, even feverous, admired their mother. They really loved her and did so as fiercely as she did them.

The doctor had cleared his throat and tapped his own against his clipboard. "-They'll be better soon. Mostly, your child is sick from the stress of the situation. It happens with children whose gone through extreme stress in quick succession."

Their mother's face fell. "Oh."

The memory only made Joan double over coughing in their pink and blue quilt. Their mother rubbed their back. When Joan could finally speak they gave their mom the brightest face they could, despite the fact it hurt and even they knew they were to pale. "Hi, Mom."

She seemed to glow above them. "You feelin' any better?" Joan felt lighter. They practically melted at the soft touches, the way their curly hair was brushed back.

Joan mumbled. "A little bit." They looked down and started picking at the loose threads under their fingertips. Their mother stopped petting their hair and started fidgeting her hands in her lap. She bit her lip and looked at Joan. "Guess what?"

Joan's eyes shifted over. "What?"

Their mother took a deep breath. "Your Grandfather's here."

“Mom, can't you tell him I'm sick.”

“You're sick?” She covered her mouth in a mock-shock expression, her eyebrows raised high to match her wide eyes. She laughed at Joan’s pout. “That's why he's here. He wants to know if you're okay…” Her voice seemed to lose momentum.

“He'll pinch my cheek. I hate that.” Joan crossed their arms.

“Maybe he won't .”

“Heyyyy!! How's the sickie, eh?” Joan's grandfather was as loud and dramatic as he always was. When they were younger, their grandpa was the best person ever. But Joan’s dad didn't like how their grandpa could pull a fantasy story from the air, how he could enter a room with a flourish. Once Joan had even heard him yelling at their mother.

“That stupid old man can't keep filling our sons head with fantasies! It won't help him in the long run.”

They were snapped out of it when calloused hands pinched their cheeks. Joan looked their mother with an eyebrow raised.

She shrugged. “I think I'll leave you two pals alone.” Quickly and quietly she left the room.

“Ah, well.” Their grandpa shrugged, identical to their mother. “T-She's missing all the excitement. And,” a twinkle seemed to appear in his eyes, and suddenly Joan could swear all the wrinkles by his eyes disappeared, “the surprise I brought you.”  

Joan leaned forward quickly, getting dizzy from the momentum. “What is it?” They hadn't gotten a gift since…  

Well, it had been a while.

A poorly wrapped box was handed to Joan. The wrapping might have been terrible, but the paper was colorful and it was heavy.

“Well? Open it up. Go on.”

“Hold on grandpa Thomas!” Joan laughed, the paper being ripped to shreds in seconds. When he opened the cardboard flaps, he found.

“A book?”

“That's right. I know your not a big fan of reading because of your dyslexia.” Their grandpa looked at the ceiling. “But it was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your mother, and today, I'm gonna read it to you. If you would like me to.”

“Is it realistic?” Joan looked at the cover. It looked old. And when they touched it, the book definitely felt brittle and smelled like the classics section in the library.

“It’s very realistic! Why its accurate on all the betrayals of loyalty, truth, love, and how bonds are formed!” Grandpa Thomas waved his hands as he talked, and for a moment he looked exactly like an old photo their mom showed Joan.

“Doesn't sound too bad. I'll try and stay awake.” Joan laid back in their covers. As long as they weren't trying to read something that didn't even have the right font while they felt tired, it shouldn't be terrible. Hopefully.

“Oh. Well, thank you very much. Very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming. All right.” Grandpa Thomas winked at them and Joan felt himself relax. They settled back into their star sign pillows and studied their grandpa’s face. Grandpa Thomas sat in the old brown chair by Joan’s bed. “The Princes Bride, by S. Morgenstern, Chapter One. Roman was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. His favorite pastimes were riding his horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was Virgil but he never called him that." Grandpa Thomas looked up from the book. “Isn't that a wonderful beginning?”

“Yeah, it's really good.” Not normally what Joan would read if given the chance, but not bad.

Grandpa Thomas smiled and went back to reading. "Nothing gave Roman as much pleasure as ordering Virgil around."

~

The farm was smaller than many in the King's kingdom. But Roman's father only kept it to drop off his son. Count Elms didn't have time for his third child and sent him away with one servant to accompany him and see to all his needs. A few big sweeping hills of grass, enough crops to feed his son, and a bag of money for any other needs.

“And one last thing.” The count had gestured in front of him. A boy was thrown to Roman's feet like a bag of potatoes, kicking up dust and dirt. Roman coughed, covering his mouth and eyes. When the air cleared, he looked at his father and ignored the boy.

“Why?” he pointed to the boy, who was struggling to get up only for one of his father's assistants to shove him back over.

Right in Roman's legs.

“You may be a waste of a child, but your still mine. And until I find a fool rich enough to pay for your hand in marriage, you need a servant to cater towards your needs.”

“But father!” Roman grabbed the Count's sleeve. “You can’t possibly be-”

Roman was knocked against the ground alongside the servant. “Don't touch me you worm.” He shook his hand. “The scouts will be back to check on you at a later date. Is that understood?”

“Yes, father.” Roman looked up at his father, brows lowered and lip bleeding. The scowl on his face was a fraction away from a frown. He got up to his knees and grabbed the hem of his shirt in a vice grip. “I shall wait here for the scouts until you kind find me a suitor.”

“Good.” he didn't take another look at Roman, and instead left in his carriage.

Roman waited for his father to leave before he stood up. The servant quickly got to his own feet. He was bowing to Roman, yet what he couldn't see was the utter frustration on his face. “Hello, sir. My name’s Virgil.”

Roman was already heading towards the small house before Virgil could finish, tears streaming down his face and an overwhelming sadness in his heart.

“....Okay.” Virgil sighed and headed for the servant's courtiers. “Great. Fantastic. I’m a damn farm hand.”

That was the basis of how their relationship went on. Roman felt betrayed and took it out on Virgil.

“Farm Boy, polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.” Roman would say, trying to seem dignified even as he handed Virgil real cooked food and a pitcher of water. “And don’t forget to take care of yourself. Or else.”  

“As you wish,” Virgil said, trying not to smile when he saw Roman hiding behind the pillars outside the stable.

He wouldn't leave until he saw Virgil eating.

-

“‘As you wish' was all he ever said to him, besides snarky comments when the two would argue.” Grandpa Thomas laughed, and Joan snickered. The two of them sounded like dorks, but they had to admit they didn't feel bored. Joan grabbed his stuffed bunny and listened to grandpa Thomas’s voice echoing around the room.

-

The days were thankfully full of warmth. And slowly, the cold that seemed to take over Roman’s soul melted. Virgil, as it turns out, was the same age as him. He just had been malnourished when Roman’s father had gotten ownership of him.

Something Roman, through a lot of food and badgering to get him to rest, fixed. Now Virgil was much better, and a lot more…

Virgil chopped wood; Roman could see his muscles bulge.

Built was the word he was looking for.

Although whenever Roman needed him, despite the fact that he could leave, Virgil always did what he asked.

“Farm boy, fill these with water… please.” It was reluctant. Their. Whatever they were, wasn't built on a foundation that was more servant and master.

Except, Masters didn't fuss over injuries.

Except, Servants don’t leave a pit in their Master's stomach and an ache that could barely be ignored.

Except, Roman had been given Virgil’s paperwork for his freedom and set in on his dresser while he slept.

Except, Virgil was still there the next day, to Roman’s relief.  He felt selfish, hoping Virgil wouldn't leave. But the joy when he saw the dark eyes and shocking purple hair filled him to the brim.

“As you wish.”

-

Grandpa Thomas sighed, as though he was remembering something fondly. “An amazing day is when Roman had realized that at that point, when Virgil said ‘as you wish’ what he meant…” he paused for suspense, looking at Joan’s big eyes.

“What Grandpa? What does he mean?!” Joan balled up his fits.

Their grandpa chuckled. “What he meant was ‘I love you.’ And, to Roman’s disbelief and excitement, the most amazing day was when he realized he loved Virgil back.”

-

Roman was nervous. He had prepared a picnic on the hill with the best view. He would tell Virgil how he felt. Roman could do it, he was the proud son of Count Elms!

The air seemed to dry when Roman actually saw Virgil, once again shirtless and Coming back from riding his horse. Suddenly he wasn't the Counts son. He was Roman, a man who had been falling for Virgil for two years.

He took a deep breath. “Farmboy...fetch me that pitcher.”

Virgil smiled and brought the pitcher of water with him. Roman had the pitcher of wine he had gotten from trade. “As you wish.”

Roman tried not to blush when he saw Virgil’s eyes barely look at the spread beneath them, keeping his eyes only on Roman.

Always. Always on Roman. And well, he wasn't much better, looking at Virgil.

“I thought maybe we could have dinner together today.” He wanted to smack himself. Virgil had long moved into the house and regularly ate dinner with each other. Roman’s father would smack him for the way he was twirling his fingers. “I, I mean. Dinner together put here to watch the sunset.”

Virgil’s face was redder than a tomato. It eased Roman’s fears at least.

“Y-yeah. Yes. Um. As you wish?” Virgil brushed his bangs back to look at Roman.

“Good. Because I wish for you to join me. If you want to.” Roman bit his lip and sat down.  

“Whatever you say, Sir Sing a lot,” Virgil said, a smirk on his face.

By their third glasses of wine and when most of the food was gone, the both of them leaned against each other while they watched the sun start to go down. Their laughter seemed to roll over the hills, and if Roman ever thanked his father for anything, it would be for giving him this. And if he ever managed, he would thank Virgil for letting him in on the world's best-kept secret.

Virgil’s smile.

The stars started appearing even with the sun still being up. It was warm and bright. The quiet of their piece of the countryside was better than the vengeful chatter constantly around his old home. He finally leaned away from Virgil. He turned to look him straight in the eyes.

“Virgil. There's something I think we need to talk about.”

Virgil immediately sat up. “What? What's wrong?” he already had a gleam of panic in his eyes. Roman cupped his face and shook his head, trying not to laugh. “No, no, nothing bad. Nothing wrong. But Virgil.” Roman leaned in, gently placing his forehead against Virgil’s.

“I love you.” Roman stilled himself. His first instinct was to run when Virgil didn't say anything. But he saw the look in his eyes right before tears silently went down his face. “Oh my god Virgil, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he started to let go of Virgil’s face when two hands stopped him.

“Roman. I love you too.” Virgil leaned closer.

Roman felt his breath hitch. Virgil smelled like the wildflowers he brought Roman earlier, and like the woods. “Kiss me.”

“As you wish.”

(Alright everyone! that’s chapter one!!!! please tell me what you think <3.

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@em-be-lievable @madly-handsome @ravenclawangst @raiseafuckingglass

@thewritingasexual @peachy-patton-writes

[drabblemeister]

Viking AU | the Red Hunter

Pairing: JayTim Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @tanekore​!!! I know you’ve been pining for more Viking AU and so I fell into an idea for a continuation to that first part that...I think only you and I have ever seen, LOL. I hope that you like this and that you have an absolutely wonderful day and that this helps feed your creative fire! <3 More Notes: For everyone else reading, all that needs to really be known is that Tim is on the run, under the impression that Bruce (and Dick and Damian respectively) think he is responsible for a death that seems to have Clan Drake written all over it. Since they’ve all taken a vow to not kill...well, this spells betrayal. ___

The stream frothed at the edges, the runoff catching against twigs and leaves and mulch. Songbirds exchanged staccato beats of warning, and Tim, swallowing against a lump in his throat, kept moving.

The water was freezing. It had flooded his boots hours ago, icy and searing, turning his feet and calves numb – but there could be hounds behind him and this was the only way to throw their scent. He wondered how far they’d chase him. How far he’d have to run.

How many hours has it been? It was past midday and the netted canopy of tree branches held him hostage from the sun. His skin felt cold, damp with sweat. He’d nicked himself on thorn-brush somewhere along the way, and the skin on his forearm itched.

How much longer can I keep going?

He knew the answer.

His lungs burned. His muscles ached. The blood-rush had long left him, and now, as he staggered about in the wild, legs sloshing against a freshwater flow, he found his thoughts fraying.

Where am I going to go?

It was a cold, dark thought.

He didn’t have anywhere to go. Ahead, there was forest. Trees, streams, and the Red Lake – which was dangerous. He wouldn’t be protected there; he wouldn’t be known. They’d take away his name – make him fight, like the bloodthirsty animals they were. Tim’s stomach curled.

And then he froze, his world-sense driving him to a halt as soon as he heard it – a long whistle, high-pitched and singing, just before contacting with a tree with a studded thud.

“Arrow…” Tim whispered, heart jackhammering. His head whirled as he searched for the source. For an archer. For anything. At the same time, his thoughts shifted a mile a minute. There shouldn’t be anyone here; it was the Midland, unless he’d followed the wrong stream, unless he was lost.

He felt hot. Above him, the birds had quieted. Tim felt the smallest threads of panic unwind because it was a saturating silence, one that weighed heavy, made his throat feel dry – and he was itching at his arm again, it was so red—

“Oi!” A voice, loud.

Tim snapped towards it. It sent the forest into chaos – a wild goose burst from the hedges, squawking and desperate. Another arrow sang loud enough that Tim squinted his eyes closed, a deafening ring in his ear. It had missed him by inches.

Another thud, as the arrow pegged a tree behind him, and then Tim’s eyes were open – then wide when he and the marksman met eyes.

Red paint, Tim thought. It was smeared across the other’s eyes, like a mask, and contrasted the deep black of the leather sheathing his chest, though the center bore the blood red crest of Red Lake – a scarlet bird taking flight.

Tim took a step backwards. He wasn’t sure how he looked, young and alone, dressed in western furs. The only ink he had was on his back, hidden from sight – not that it would mean anything to a Red, anyway.

They were Drake markings, and since that particular clan, save Tim, had perished – well, few people knew what the art actually meant.

Raising his hands, enough to show he had no weapon, Tim said, “I just wish to pass through.” His throat felt raw and his words came out scraped.

The stranger, not twenty paces away, shifted on his feet, half shrouded by shadow. He was tall, thick-shouldered, drawn with angles that spelled warrior. His hair had been shaved above his ears and the top, long grown, had been swept back into braids, woven with cherry-red string.

When he didn’t reply, Tim tried again, in Norseman tongue. It had been a while since he’d practiced these words, and his lips stumbled through – only, to be interrupted.

“Stop talking.”

Tim did. He tried to think, but his thoughts slipped from sharp to muddled, so much that he had to force himself to focus. He blinked. Licked his lips. Tried not to waver on his feet, though the stream water felt faster now – colder.

He’d seen the stranger come forward, and even though it had been slowly, and with intent, the approach happened quickly. It would have been silly to move, to try and leave. There was no place to go, and aside from that – the man had a bow. A longbow, Tim noted, absently, and at least ten daggers of varying sizes on his belt.

Tim had nothing.

When the Red used the corner of his bow to prod Tim’s furs out of the way, he learned as much. It was fear that pooled in Tim’s gut, paired with a numb feeling as he suddenly felt sluggish instead of alert.

Why did he ache this badly?

His arm felt like fire. Had he touched poison…?

Out of patience with being assessed, Tim lifted his eyes to meet the other’s. “Let me pass,” he said, urging cooler notes into his words. They worked on Dick, most times, when Tim wanted something.

This stranger, however, simply thought it was funny. Up close, Tim guessed they were of an age, which reminded him how much Drake he had in him; it felt like standing next to Bruce, overwhelmed by both stature and presence. His family had never been known as warriors, but they had the sight, and had been graced with cutting, blue eyes that sought to duplicate the colors of the sky.

The man dropped a hand and drew a blade, slow and with meaning. It made Tim remember all the things he’d heard about the Red Lake in one big sweeping rush – Bruce’s warnings that they never hesitated to kill, that they played games, that it made the hunt more fun.

So Tim stood stock-still as the blade twirled expertly between calloused fingers, surprised but unwilling to show it when the dagger was eventually handed to him.

“If you want something from me,” the Red stated, standing languidly at the edge of the stream, “earn it.”

Tim understood now. He was going to have to fight his way out. He was being given an opportunity – but also was at a handicap, legs aching and fevered as the rash on his arm had finally gotten into his bloodstream, and tch, because that meant he didn’t have time for this.

But, if anything, he was decent at compartmentalizing. To an extent, at least. He accepted the dagger and took a few steps forward, meeting the other along the shoreline, keeping his composure somehow, hiding his weaknesses, like he’d been taught, behind a straightened stance and narrowed eyes.

“If I defeat you, you’ll let me pass?” he asked, seeking and agreement.

The Red, with his dark hair and dark eyes, and darker, sun-drenched skin, offered a smirk. “Sure.”

In terms of small victories, Tim appreciated that the man didn’t think he could fight. Too little was said for the element of surprise, and Tim had won a fair share of sparring matches by pretending to be less than he was. This wasn’t quite the same, he knew – because  no one picked fights against this particular tribe; they cheated, and didn’t have rules.

The dagger was well balanced, the handle of the leather worn. Tim considered another disadvantage: he couldn’t kill.

Focus, Tim thought, and he breathed in, centered himself, struggled to think of strategy and strategy alone. His vision spotted when he felt a flash of heat burn at the back of his neck, up through his temples and forehead. His legs felt heavy, so he’d rely on his core. More than any time he’d fought before – he needed to end this, quick.

The bow got tossed aside; Tim noted how far without really looking. It was useless in hand-to-hand, and Tim hated bloodsports, which is exactly what this was. The man tugged out a blade of his own – shorter and duller. His lips were quirked and his eyes glittered – this had his interest piqued, and on a better day, Tim would have been anxious to bring the stranger to his knees.

Tim cleared his throat, ignoring the damp of sweat on his back, in his hair. For what it was worth, the stranger hadn’t seemed to realize Tim’s state, which was either a blessing or a curse.

And then…

…the Red leapt. It was fast, even though he was so built, and when he came forward, Tim went on autopilot. So many hours grappling with Dick; so many times he’d successfully fought off Damian, who’d thought to take Tim by surprise.

And this – this wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t unfamiliar, either. So Tim discarded the blade, a quick flick towards the earth below him, imbedding it there – and shifted easily enough, catching the other’s outstretched arm while twisting his own body, using his centered weight to toss the other up and over his shoulder, and down, hard enough that the Red was forced to roll.

Then Tim was ducking, grabbing for the blade, ready for the Red to scramble up and double back, preparing to shuffle backwards – only the other man leapt at him low, tackling him flat, and Tim’s knife when sputtering sideways into long grass.

Tim rolled, just before the other’s full weight settled, pinning the man beneath him with just enough effort to reach for the longbow, which was only a hairsbreadth away. The Red was onto him though, and Tim noticed, with some degree of confusion, that his opponent had lost his weapon somewhere along the line as well.

“Nope,” the Red said, wrapping an arm around Tim’s waist and flinging him sideways, sending him a decent distance from the wooden arch of the bow. His side scraped against the gravel; his arm scalded, laced with a teeth-gritting pain that threw Tim’s concentration off and forced a stuttered sound from between his lips. He clawed at his arm violently and it burned beneath his touch.

“Well aren’t you a bundle of surprises,” the Red said, and he crept over Tim with the intent to pin him down, to rub it in Tim’s face, most likely, how easy that had been—

—but Tim was shaking, unable to help it, the heat finally having gotten to him, and the Red, confused, looked him up and down before he finally realized that Tim was gripping his arm tight enough to cause the skin to go white.

It was hard to tell if the look on the warrior’s face was curiosity or concern; as he dragged a leg over Tim’s torso, holding Tim down by the his weight and thighs alone, he made quick work of peeling Tim’s arms apart – which had Tim raking in air like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

“You managed to throw me,” the Red yanked Tim’s arm higher, so that it was nearly straight, to get a better look at the wound, “half dead from this?”

Tim could barely process pain in a way that it was growing more and more difficult to stay conscious. It wasn’t made easier by the weight of another man weighing down his abdomen, and Tim could barely make out the world around him through tear-blurred eyes and double vision.

And then, “How long?”

Tim had no idea what that meant.

A finger stabbed against the rash, bringing a sudden burst of pain-driven clarity as Tim gasped and threw his head back.

“How long has it been like this?” the stranger tried again.

Tim felt chills rack him; language was suddenly hard, he couldn’t grasp what he needed.

“Mor-ning?” he tried. His voice sounded miles away.

The Red cursed, and it was a dark word. In less than a moment he was shuffling, yanking Tim up to sit, running a finger along Tim’s jaw in order to tip his chin upwards.  There eyes met, and Tim realized the other’s weren’t black, like he’d thought. Just some shadowed, dark-water color; an ocean tide during a storm, lost to light.

“Who do you belong to?” the Red questioned, tone urgent even if Tim couldn’t put together just what as being asked..

No one owned him. He was a Drake.

“I am…not…”

The Red seemed to know where he was going, and disagreed. “This will be a life-debt,” he pointed out, as if it was matter of fact. “If you wake, you’ll belong to me.”

Tim wanted to argue; felt it in his bones.

But then the man asked, “Do you want to live?” 

The darkness was a consuming thing, chewing at the edges of his thoughts, devouring his sanity whole. The pain felt distant, the world felt like a faraway thing. It was a wonder, then, that Tim said, “Yes.” ______________